Hi, lads~ welcome! My name is Mel (she/her) and I typically write for Chris Evans characters but I also write for a few other misc. characters! I also create dividers for writers to use.
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Other Fandoms/Characters that I am feeeening to write for:
Raymond Smith from The Gentlemen
Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders
Eric Coulter from Divergent series/films
Bellamy Blake from the 100
Matt Murdock from Daredevil
Clark Kent from DCU 2025 (love HC but David Corenswet is a new fixation)
Dr. Michael ''Robby'' Robinavitch from the Pitt
summary: You and Matt have wanted to take things to the next level, but every time you try to get intimate, something, or someone, interrupts.
word count: 4.1k+
pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader
notes: at this point, i think i need to make a series masterlist for these two, lol. here's the third installment - and here are the first two: goodnight n go and love language
also, sex concept is one of my favorite songs, and it's by sofia isella. i recommend you go check her out!
warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, making out, peter parker, mention of other marvel characters, matt's a little shit, smut, oral (f!receiving), brief handjob, unprotected piv, creampie
matt murdock masterlist
It wasn’t like you and Matt hadn’t been alone since you started dating. But somehow, every single attempt at finally taking things further kept getting inconveniently interrupted.
Like now, for instance.
Matt’s lips skimmed along your neck, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist. You sighed softly, tangling your fingers in his hair.
"Matty," you whispered.
He hummed against your skin, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Yeah?"
"Can we—"
Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.
Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."
You hesitated. "But what if—"
"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."
It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."
Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.
"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."
"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"
"What happened?"
"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"
"Levi."
"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."
You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.
Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"
"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"
"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."
You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."
Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."
You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."
Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."
---
A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.
"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.
"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.
The knocking grew louder.
"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"
Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."
You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."
Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."
You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."
"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."
Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."
You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.
---
It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.
You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.
“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.
You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."
Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."
"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."
Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."
You glared at her. "Shut up."
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."
"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.
"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.
You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."
Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."
"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."
She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."
Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.
Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"
You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."
Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."
You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."
Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."
Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."
You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.
Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"
"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."
Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."
Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"
You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."
---
Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.
"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.
"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.
You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.
"Hey," he said softly.
You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."
Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"
You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."
His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"
You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."
Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."
"Thank God," you muttered.
Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"
You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."
"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."
You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.
The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.
Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.
"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"
Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."
You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."
Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."
You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.
But, of course, it could never be that easy.
A knock rattled on a window in the living room.
Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."
You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."
The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"
A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."
You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"
Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."
You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.
Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"
"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.
You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.
"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"
"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.
Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"
"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.
Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"
Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"
Peter blinked. "What? No."
Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."
Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”
You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"
Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."
Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"
Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."
You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"
"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."
You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."
Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"
Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."
Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"
"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."
Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.
"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."
Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"
"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."
Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."
He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.
Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"
You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."
Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"
You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”
“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.
Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”
Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."
You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."
He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"
"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."
Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."
You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."
"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."
"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.
"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.
You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."
"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."
You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."
Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."
"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.
He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."
---
It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.
"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.
"Locked," you whispered back.
"Phone?"
"On silent."
Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"
You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."
He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."
You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."
Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."
Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."
He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."
You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.
"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.
He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."
You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."
Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."
Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.
His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.
Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.
"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.
You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."
His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.
Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.
"Lie back for me, angel."
You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.
"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."
Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.
"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.
"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."
That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.
You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.
His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.
"Fuck," you whispered.
Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"
Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.
"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.
He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.
You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.
Your thighs started to shake.
"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.
He didn't stop.
He doubled down.
His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.
"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.
"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."
You shattered.
It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.
Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.
He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.
"Hi," he murmured.
You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."
"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.
"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."
He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.
You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.
"Your turn, devil boy."
Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.
"Say it again," he murmured.
You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."
Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."
"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."
His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.
His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.
"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.
You bit your lip. "God, Matty."
He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."
"I like what I see."
Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.
You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."
He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.
"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.
Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."
You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.
"You sure?"
"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."
He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.
"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."
You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.
Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.
"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."
He did.
A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"
Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.
"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"
"Matt—"
"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."
Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"
"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."
You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.
Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"
He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.
"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.
Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."
You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."
His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.
"Every second."
And for once, nothing interrupted.
if you have any requests with these two, don't be afraid to send in an ask!!
summary: You and Matt are childhood friends who met at the orphanage. But people always assume you two are dating.
word count: 3.6k+
pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader
notes: as an og matt murdock stan, i can't believe i've never wrote for him. i hope this is accurate to his character!
and the title goodnight n go is a song by ariana grande from her album sweetener - which i fully believe is an underrated album
also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba
warnings/tags: mentions of twirling/playing with hair, after endgame (so tony is dead😭), best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, oblivious idiots, slight angst, mention of injuries and blood
“And don’t forget to clean the coffee filter. I don’t want anyone getting sick. Again.” You said, grabbing your purse.
“I swear, sometimes your worse than my mother.” Foggy replied, sipping from his mug.
Karen quirked a brow, “your mother isn’t exactly a role model for parenting.”
Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, Foggy."
Foggy sighed dramatically, setting his mug down. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean the damn filter. But if I get coffee poisoning or whatever, I’m blaming you."
"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."
"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.
"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."
Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."
"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."
"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.
You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.
Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."
Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."
Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."
Matt just smirked and walked out.
---
It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.
"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.
"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."
Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."
"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.
Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"
"Same as always. How was court?"
"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."
"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.
Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."
"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."
Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"
You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"
He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."
You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.
Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.
"You tired?" he asked, voice low.
"Mm, a little," you admitted.
Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.
"You could stay," he murmured.
"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.
"And you always do."
You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.
---
The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.
You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.
Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.
"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."
Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."
You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.
"Tired?"
"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."
"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."
"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.
Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."
"You’re too slow."
"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."
You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.
"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.
"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.
You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."
Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"
"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"
His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."
You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."
"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."
You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.
---
You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.
A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.
"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.
His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."
His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.
You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"
"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.
You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.
---
The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.
Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.
"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.
"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.
"Mm. That must’ve been it."
You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.
"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."
He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."
Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.
Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."
Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"
Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."
"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"
"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.
Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.
Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.
The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.
"Date?"
Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."
You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.
Damn him.
---
At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.
"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.
You scoffed. "I am not."
"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"
You blinked. "You hate dancing."
"That’s not true."
"You avoid dancing."
Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."
You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.
His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.
"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.
"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."
Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.
"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.
"Doing what?"
"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.
Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."
You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.
It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.
And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.
---
It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.
You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.
"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.
Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."
Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."
You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.
"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.
Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."
"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.
Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.
"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"
"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.
You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."
Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."
"You better."
There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.
Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"
The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."
Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."
You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.
You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.
"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.
Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.
"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.
Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.
Damn him.
You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."
Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."
---
A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.
You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.
"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.
"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.
You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.
Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"
"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."
"You don’t waste time, do you?"
"Matt."
"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.
You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.
The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.
Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.
"You’re mad at me," he murmured.
You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"
Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.
He kissed you.
It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.
Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.
You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.
You didn’t.
Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.
Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.
"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.
His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."
You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.
Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.
Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.
"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.
Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."
"You kissed me, Murdock."
"Mm. And you kissed me back."
You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."
Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.
"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.
“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”
Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.
"You’re on the floor," he murmured.
"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.
His lips quirked. "Come up here."
You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.
"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.
"How so?"
"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.
You shot him a look. "Distracting me."
Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"
The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.
"No," you admitted softly.
His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."
You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."
Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"
You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."
"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.
You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.
For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.
"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.
Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.
"Matt."
"I won’t," he murmured.
"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."
Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."
"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.
He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.
And for once, Matt actually stayed still.
i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)
it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!
and, one more thing, i'd love to write more of these two! if you have any requests, send them in! i fear that that shower scene in that ddba trailer has taken up my mind... so don't be surprised if i write shower sex with matt soon...
synopsis: Jfc, Clark teasing you by pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, only to pull back, then press forward again, then pull back???
cw: porn and no plot, clark teases you, bigdick!clark, slight dacryphilia, depictions of porn in general <3
wc: 364 (blurb)
a/n: can you tell i'm ovulating 😩
He'll do it for a good while, after he's already worked you up, eaten your pussy, and fucked you on his fingers for well over an hour. So when, instead of sinking his cock into your needy cunt, he starts teasing you, you start crying.
Fat tears roll down your pretty face as desire and frustration bubble up in you.
“Clark,” you whine, begging. “Clark, please, just...just fuck me.”
“I will, I will,” he promises, while continuing to tease you.
You, a mewling, whining, squirming mess, try to press your hips against his to get him in you, but his huge hand falls on your hip and grips it tight, holding you still.
“I'll give you what you need, just be patient,” he says firmly.
Still, he keeps it up. Just the tiniest of rolls of his hips so the fat tip just barely starts sinking into you, before he pulls away.
He likes the way your cunt opens up to him when you think he'll finally push inside, and then the way you desperately clench around nothing as he pulls back.
“Clark!” you cry, pouting, cheeks soaked from your tears. “Please!”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” he says, but he keeps it up. He's just so obsessed with the way your slick dribbles out of you every time he pulls away, thin strings of your essence connecting the arousal on your hole to the one smeared on the tip of his cock.
He likes how desperate you are, how you start blubbering his name and begging, and how soaked you are by the time he finally gives you what you want.
He sinks into you slowly. He's been working you up for so long, that the feeling of him in you is enough for you to come.
He feels your gummy walls squeeze him tight the second he's all the way in. Your thighs shaking and his name leaving your lips in little squeals and gasps are obvious giveaways of your orgasm.
He laughs softly, his voice rough. “‘m sorry, sweet girl. Did I make you wait too long? I'm sorry. I just love seeing how desperate your pussy is for me.”
♡ 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
a/n: i have been fiddling with this most of spring, all throughout the second season of ddba... i feel so rusty writing, but i think it still turned out really cute. also, because it turned out so monster long, i zoomed through the editing part, so there might still be a few mistakes here and there, idk
summary: “look,” you whipped back at him and lashed out, “I don’t work with anyone else, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with you,” before you ripped yourself free of his grip and switched on your invisibility.
warnings: matt murdock x superhero!reader, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, rivals to lovers, reader has invisibility powers, reader's superhero name is shadow, touch starved!reader, reader is an emo queen and we love her, dark past, violence, injuries, patching up each other's wounds, alcohol consumption, slow burn, forced proximity, idiots in love, kissing, rooftop sex, clothed sex, manhandling, size kink, handjob, oral, fingering, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming
word count: 13.370
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist
The company by the name of Onyx Corp was one of the many groups, protected under the guise of being a pharmaceutical manufacturer, around the globe that had obsessively attempted to recreate the very same serum that had turned Steve Rogers into Captain America. To your knowledge, the scientists had started out with small rodents as their test subjects, but as their greed grew, so did their hunger for more complex guinea pigs, leading them to snatch up kids, mostly from seedy foster homes, just like the one you had spent the beginning of your life in.
If it hadn’t been for the stealthy nature of the power their twisted attempt awoke within you, then escape wouldn’t have been plausible, seeing as none of the other subjects got to keep on breathing once they’d fulfilled their purpose to the organisation.
You’d always been good at hiding.
Some would even argue that you were too good.
Especially after the experiments Onyx Corp ran on you, the ones that changed you on a molecular level and inevitably led you down this path of sneaking into criminals’ homes and stealing evidence from them, planting bugs, or whatever it took to make you feel less powerless in this hellish world.
Did that make you a criminal as well? Technically, you were breaking several laws… but for a good cause, so maybe that could lighten the sentence? Not that the chances of you ever getting caught were truly any of your concern. One of the few perks of your little curse. When one has the ability to turn completely invisible, it’s difficult to be linked as a suspect.
Had you been scared of it? Yes. Of course. Especially in the beginning, when you thought you were crazy for risking your life again when you were already on borrowed time. But as confidence grew and your clumsiness got under control, you became like a shadow in the city of New York. Or at least, that’s what the papers called the mysterious ghost that broke into mob hideouts and delivered evidence at the footsteps of the press.
It was a lonely life you led, although whether it was out of necessity or a preference, wasn’t a question you knew the answer to. The void was all you knew at this point, after years of hiding from the powerful people who only saw you as a liability that should have been eliminated ages ago.
But at least you had found a purpose, a small way to make the community a safer place, whether you were an active part of it or not. Even if you’d never be able to step back into the light, it still helped make the hollowness of your heart an easier burden to bear.
Holding your breath, your eyes flickered up from the lockpicks, jammed inside of the door in front of you, to peek hesitantly at the guard around the dark corner, his heavy footsteps slowly pacing up and down the long hallways outside of the district attorney’s office.
Once the door clicked open and you slipped inside, it didn’t take too long before you found what you were searching for, though as you cracked the procured folder open in your palms and began to skim through it, a thump found your ears and caused you to slam the file shut again.
Your head snapped up in the direction of the ajar doorway, only a beat passing before you heard the security guard from out in the corridor call out over the radio.
Feet rooted to the ground, your only path of escape was swiftly blocked by the blur of a scuffle, now several guards attempting to overpower an intruder dressed in deep, dark crimson.
A gasp escaped your seized-up lungs as you recognised the brutal fists of the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
Apparently, you hadn’t been the only vigilante in New York suspicious of the crooked politician, though never in your wildest dreams did you think that Daredevil’s path would ever cross your own.
Half frozen in fear, another part of you couldn’t help but marvel at the precision of his skills, as combat had never been something you’d refined to that degree. Sure, you had tried, just in the rare case that you were ever noticed, but in no way could it compare to the whirlwind before you now.
Once everyone but the devil was unconscious on the ground, you saw as his broad, panting shoulders appeared around the corner, his hulking form slowly stepping over the threshold.
Your heart thumped in your chest as you stayed frozen in the corner, watching as he paused on his way to the desk, tilting his head a moment before it twisted in the direction of you.
“Give me the folder,” the devil demanded straight at your invisible form. Holding your breath, your eyes were the size of saucers as the infamous vigilante continued to speak, “come on, I know that you’re scared,” he tried to soften his tone as he extended a hand, “you don’t have to end up like your buddies if you just hand it over.”
Blinking hard, your neck twisted just to make sure that he was in fact speaking to you and not some person lurking in the background, “you–…you can see me?”
Cocking his head, Daredevil murmured, “w-what?”
“How?” you panted as he closed the distance between you, “I–, hey!” he promptly snatched up the folder your stunned fingers had slackened around.
“You should probably call an ambulance for the others,” he noted before turning on his heel.
Face completely muddled with confusion, you sputtered, “wha–, I don’t work here–, give that back!” you lunged to try and steal back the file.
And though you tried your hardest to keep up with the devil’s quick reflexes, the tussle that rapidly unfolded didn’t last too long before he knocked you on your ass and escaped into the dark of the night.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” you murmured just beneath your breath as soon as you found your way inside of the DA’s penthouse, the very next night, only to discover the unconscious frames of two security guards on the floor.
But before you could even draw another breath, your invisible frame was slammed up against the nearby wall, your powers flickering at the impact, revealing your form.
“Are you following me?” Daredevil grunted as his forearm held you pinned.
Stiffening up, “me following you? In your dreams,” you gasped before attempting to give him a shove, “get off of me!”
With a faint huff, the vigilante complied, lowering his grip and taking a single step back.
“I–,” you panted as you glared back at him, “how the fuck did you manage to spot me? I mean, even with my invisibility up, I always make sure to be careful, especially after running into someone like you who can apparently see straight through all of that.”
“Invisi–,” he echoed, clearly taken aback, “wait, you’re invisible?”
“Well, yeah…” your eyes shifted as you pointed out the obvious, “or well,” concentrating a moment, you then turned your physique transparent once more, “now I am.”
Tilting his head, the devil listened closely before murmuring, “huh… so that’s what that buzzing was…”
“Buzz?”
“Yeah. It sounds like your body’s vibrating when you do that…” he pointed out the detail which your own hearing wasn’t sharp enough to be aware of, and your heartbeat began to pick up as the reality of his heightened senses dawned on you. When he parted his lips again, he almost sounded starstruck as he put the pieces together, “…you’re Shadow… the vigilante that brought down Vladimir Rozanov…”
“Uhm, yeah… I thought you figured that part out when you saw straight through the whole invisibility thing,” your feet shifted slightly beneath you, “or do I just look like any other person to you when I switch it on?”
“Well, not exactly,” he briefly pursed his lips, “I could hear you,” he then shared, “your breathing… your pulse… and what I now know is what your powers sound like.”
“Seriously?” your nerves only grew at the thought of him being capable of reading you like a book, “and here I thought you could just see me. That is so much more intimate…” heat swiftly rose in your cheeks as you realised how that must have sounded, “I mean–, uhm… so you can’t see me?”
A chuckle swiftly escaped him because of how ironic that question was if you knew the man behind the mask, “no. I can’t.”
“Well… that’s comforting, I guess…” you coughed before an awkward joke slipped out past your lips, “then again, with those kind of senses, you probably know what I had for breakfast this morning–”
“Sourdough toast with butter, a sharp cheddar and half a pickle,” he slowly took a single step closer as he actually answered your jest, “although all I can really focus on right now is the chocolate bar you were gobbling down on your way here.”
“I–…” your eyes flickered across his partially obscured features as you stood completely frozen in front of him.
When he finally began to back away from you, he didn’t stray too far from your orbit, only shifted slightly as he did a half turn and parted his lips again after a beat of silence had consumed the space between you, “well, I guess an apology might be in order, seeing as I didn’t realise who you were and just took that file from you…”
Swallowing hard, you found the courage to speak to the devil once more, “that and how you swooped in like a fucking hurricane, nearly killing everyone.”
“Wow, wow, I didn’t kill anyone,” he swiftly shot back, his palm drifting up defensively.
“Maybe not, but you did beat them half to death,” you gestured to the unconscious security guards, lying like rugs on the floor.
“What, are you seriously gonna stand here like a pot calling the kettle black?”
“I don’t hurt anyone unless I have to,” you pointed out, “and even then, I don’t black out until they’re basically pulp.”
Letting out a sigh, Daredevil twisted his body further away from you till his silhouette caught the moonlight streaming in through the windows, “alright…” his hands came to rest on his hips, “…well, I was gonna suggest lending you a hand tonight, seeing as we’re obviously after the same thing, but sure, if you instead wanna just stand there and critique me, go right ahead.”
A scoff left your lungs faster than your eyebrows managed to soar up towards the sky, “you help me? Please. I don’t need your help, much less want it,” you crossed your arms heatedly.
Pursing his lips, he simply uttered, “suit yourself, then…” before you watched him saunter over to the plush armchair in the corner and drop down into it, his feet swiftly swinging up upon the coffee table as his fingers interlaced behind his head.
A sharp huff escaped you as you stared back at him, momentarily stunned by his audacity, before muttering, “asshole…” which only made the petty devil smirk, although that wasn’t a reaction you managed to spot before you turned on your heel and began to search the place.
Trying your best to ignore the comments the other vigilante occasionally threw out simply to get on your nerve, your eyes nearly rolled out of your skull by the time that you eventually found the hidden safe in the study.
And when a curse left your lungs as you struggled to unlock it, or even track down some clue as to what the combination was, the devil suddenly appeared over your shoulder, his low voice tickling the shell of your ear as he asked teasingly, “you sure you don’t need my assistance?”
“Unless you can crack a fucking safe, then no,” you begrudgingly admitted defeat, “we might as well just leave.”
To which Daredevil simply smirked and told you to step aside. You stood utterly dumbfounded beside him as he just walked up and began to twist the lock, his other palm flat against the safe as he listened closely as the springs inside virtually bent to his will.
And as the only sound that echoed throughout the office was the dull clicks of the lock beneath the devil’s touch, you let your stare drift down over his silhouette. From the stubbly jaw that poked out of the bottom of his mask, to the way his suit moulded against his broad frame, your eyes didn’t snap away till his voice suddenly found your ears.
“You okay?” he briefly paused as he fought a blooming smirk.
“Of course,” you coughed, forcing your vision upon anything else, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your adrenaline’s high…” he gave you the benefit of the doubt, even though he had picked up on how your heart was still nearly thumping out of your chest, and not because of any nerves.
You couldn’t help but chalk his comment up to just yet another jab at your capability, which promptly sent you crashing down onto earth with a huff, “I’m fine.”
When the safe finally clicked open, and Daredevil picked up the thumb drive resting atop the stack of cash inside, your fingers swiftly snatched it up before you spun around and turned on the computer on the desk behind you.
“What’s on it?” the devil asked as he slowly wandered to the other side of the desk, looming behind the monitor as your eyes briefly strayed from the screen to glance up at him.
“Well, let’s see…” your eyes narrowed as you opened up the contents, “…at least enough evidence that he was in cahoots with a–, uh, William Rawlins,” you carefully read the name out loud, “do you have any idea who that is?”
“Yeah, a bit,” he tilted his head, “he’s CIA, but not the good kind.”
Opening up another document, you skimmed through it and uttered, “…says they’re overseeing some sort of weapon development for an unsanctioned military operation.”
“A weapon? What kind?”
“Doesn’t say, it just says–…” your fingers on the mouse then suddenly froze, a small gasp too slipping from your lips as your eyes landed upon a familiar name that had haunted you for years.
“What? What did you find?” the devil shifted his stance, waiting for you to share what discovery you’d stumbled upon. But as not a single word escaped you and the terror taking over your soul became the only thing thumping in his perceptive ears, the vigilante slowly inched closer, drifting to the corner of the desk as he kneeled down beside your panicking form and softened his tone, “Shadow, what is it?”
Hyperventilating as you fought to tear your wide eyes away from the font glowing on the screen, you eventually managed to utter, “…it’s nothing,” before you rapidly pulled out the thumb drive and turned off the computer, “there’s nothing on here.”
But as you got up and tried to slip past the devil as he straightened up as well, he managed to catch your elbow, “wait–”
“Look,” you whipped back at him and lashed out, “I don’t work with anyone else, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with you,” before you ripped yourself free of his grip and switched on your invisibility.
It was a sudden downpour which had drawn you into the random bar by the name of Josie’s for shelter. And with the dark storm that had already been brewing inside of you, since the moment you had discovered that the mission you were on had actually been bringing you right back home all along, you swiftly found yourself ordering drink after drink to try and numb the pain. Though alcohol wasn’t the wisest choice, you weren’t in a position to be picky about how you got to tend to your wounds.
When your third shot of tequila burned in your throat and the small glass slammed back down against the bar top, the front door to the establishment swung open and in flooded a jovial trio, drenched from the rain.
“Matt, you gotta promise me, man,” you overheard one of the suit-clad men say to the other one that held onto his elbow as a guide inside, the cane in his palm only resting there instead of tapping the ground, “this is the last time you were late for court.”
Slipping off her dripping coat, the blonde woman piped up as well, “I’d like to add in, not just for court, but other engagements in general as well.”
“Hey, hey, we won the case, didn’t we?” the blind man, they called Matt, replied with a playful grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his tinted glasses, “or are we not here for celebratory drinks?”
A shiver trickled down your spine at the familiar sound of that low timbre, making you glance over your shoulder as the group crossed the room to reach the pool table towards the back of the establishment.
“Just because you can charm your way through an improvised closing argument doesn’t mean that’s how our firm’s standards should be,” you heard the floppy-haired man point out.
“Yeah, at least for the sake of our sanity,” the woman tilted her head, “I mean, this is probably the fourth time I thought Foggy was gonna have a heart attack right then and there in the courtroom.”
Shrugging off his jacket, Matt threw up his hands, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll do better, I promise.”
“Hmm…” the man, presumably by the name of Foggy, narrowed his eyes at his friend as he reached for one of the sticks on the wall, grabbing one for the woman as well, “I’ll believe it when I see it…”
“Well, how about this for a start,” Matthew loosened his tie slightly and began to roll up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt, “I’ll pay for all of the drinks tonight, huh?”
His two pals then exchanged a playful glance and crossed their arms, before each of their eyes returned to the blind lawyer, “…make it top shelf and maybe we’ll consider it.”
The alcohol certainly didn’t help matters as you put the pieces together and promptly began to panic.
You knew who that voice belonged to…
Freezing up, it took everything in your power not to instinctively turn invisible as he wandered up to the other end of the bar and ordered a round of drinks, even trying to hold your breath till he disappeared once again with glasses in his hands.
The man behind the devil mask was a lawyer? Why was he pretending to be blind? And most importantly, why in the world was he here?
You didn’t believe in coincidences, certainly not when it came to people like you and him… the only logical explanation must have been that he had seen you come in and followed after with the intent of stealing back the thumb drive that was still burning a hole in your pocket, purely out of paranoia to leave it in your slummy apartment, so that he could push you out of the way and do the job himself.
Your terror soon melted into rage as you watched the trio from afar, silently seething as they played a game of pool, joking and laughing, the devil even playing up his cover and asking the tall blonde for assistance on finding the right angle to shoot his shot.
So by the time they began to set up for a second game, and you watched Matt excuse himself to go to the lavatory, your feet acted of their own accord as you suddenly found yourself storming across the room, and catching the bathroom door before he managed to slam it shut behind him.
Pushing your way inside, your fingers swiftly twisted the lock before pushing the object of your ire up against the tile wall.
“Why the fuck are you following me?” you snarled, your fists buried in his shirt as your heated pants fanned across his face.
“Fuck–,” a faint chuckle broke up his gasp at the impact, “I thought you’d at least let me take a leak first,” he croaked, your presence clearly not coming as a surprise to him.
“Answer the goddamn question, Daredevil,” you spat, your face inching in close to his own, “or do you prefer to be called something else, counsellor?”
“Christ, I’m not following you!” he swore, before his own hands came up and flipped you around with ease, promptly trading places and pinning you against the wall instead, “I always go to this bar, something you’d probably know if you were stalking me,” the lawyer accused.
“Oh, get over yourself!” you fumed, “I’m trying to stay away from you, not worm my way into your weird little charade of a life, which I must say, the fake blind thing is very extreme just to make people not suspicious of what you do at night.”
A scoff then bubbled in his throat, “I’m not.”
“Yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes, “there’s no way you would be able to do all of that if you were blind,” you then snatched off his tinted glasses, though instead of confirming your accusations, the brown eyes that were revealed beneath didn’t meet your own stare, promptly causing your brows to knit together in confusion.
“Well…” Matt exhaled slowly, “…sight is overrated.”
Blinking back at him a second, it took you a moment to utter, “…so your freaky senses, how you could hear my heartbeat and shit, that’s how you see?” still completely stunned by the revelation.
“That’s certainly one way to put it, yeah,” he tilted his head.
As you then felt his grip on you loosen, though he did let go, his feet didn’t shift an inch, still rooted close enough to you for goosebumps to erupt across your skin.
Letting out a low sigh, you eventually uttered as your gaze stayed locked upon him, “…I’m not giving you the thumb drive.”
“Alright,” he murmured in a calm yet cocky tone, “I’ll manage.”
“No, what I mean is that you need to drop this and let me be the one to handle it, alone,” you pointed out, a heated breath huffing out of your nostrils.
“Why?”
“Just because–… look,” you seethed, momentarily squeezing your eyes shut, “this job, it’s personal for me, okay? I don’t want you fucking it all up,” your eyes flickered open once more to glare back at him, “so please just go back out there to your little girlfriend and stay the hell out of my way.”
“The fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay away!” you hissed in a hushed tone when none other than the devil of Hell’s Kitchen snuck up on you as you lurked outside of Onyx Corp’s old headquarters, scoping out the rundown place from the shadows in hopes of finding a way inside past the guards that wandered the grounds of the abandoned building.
“I know,” he simply answered, his tone calm as opposed to your own.
His ego truly must have been as big as you assumed, seeing as he couldn’t let himself stay out of your hair and complete the job all on your own.
And with your paranoid thoughts dragging you further down into your own personal hell, you swiftly heard yourself growl, “please, just go.”
But instead of turning on his heel, the devil just settled in against the chain-link fence, his burly arms folding across his chest.
A long sigh slipped from your lungs as you bowed your head in defeat, “I don’t have time for this… if you’re not gonna leave, then please just stay out of my way, okay? And if I can’t stop you from going in there as well, then just don’t act like an idiot around the place. They had to close down this location a few years back after a quote on quote chemical accident, but seeing as there are still a fair bit of guards posted about the perimeter, they probably haven’t found a way to safely clean it yet,” you impatiently told him, “so if you run into a blue and potent substance, do not get into contact with it, okay?”
“Aw…” a smirk then blossomed on his lips, “is that concern I hear in your voice?”
“No!” you shot him a glare, “I just don’t wanna be blamed for killing Daredevil.”
“Matt,” he suddenly corrected you.
“What?”
“My name, and the other person you would hypothetically be killing,” he leaned in slightly to utter, “Matthew Murdock.”
Narrowing your eyes slightly, you simply grumbled, “yeah, I know what your name is.”
“Then why don’t I know yours yet?”
Letting out a sigh, “I don’t have time for this…” you then switched on your powers and slipped through the nearby hole in the fence.
Though it took a bit of finesse, you managed to sneak past the various guards and into the old headquarters, the very same place where you were held captive as a child.
A chill ran down your spine as you stepped inside the musty building, and paralysing memories flashed within your mind.
“Hey, you alright?” Matthew’s voice then suddenly echoed from behind you, ripping you enough out of your terror to shift your feet across the floor once more.
Avoiding his question, you instead accused, “did you beat up those guards just to follow me in here?”
“No, they’re fine, I tried to do it your way,” you heard him say, though still couldn’t help but imagine the degrading things he stopped himself from adding, how he thought your method of doing things was surely idiotic compared to his own brutal one, “you didn’t answer my question.”
The silence in the room drew out before you finally answered him with a low sigh, “…it’s Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” before you strayed from his side and disappeared into the office directly to the right, swiftly tearing open the closest file cabinet before you could spot the faint smile on Matthew’s lips.
When he followed you into the room, your search went on for a while without any success before any of you uttered another word.
“So…” the devil eventually broke the silence, “tell me again why you’re looking through whatever’s left in here instead of just sneaking your way into Onyx Corp’s new building?”
“Because, firstly,” you muttered as you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “they’ve built precautions in case someone like me tries to waltz in or out of there. They’ve used those for years, whether it’s as collars to keep subjects under control or if it’s on a larger scale, devices that essentially block off entire areas,” your body tensed at the traumatic memories that still lived on under your skin, “and secondly, even if I did find a way inside, that office wouldn’t be the right one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that after this place shut down, they received too much of the wrong attention, so then, when they rebuilt, they split themselves up into separate locations. The official office, showcasing the polished front of a pharmaceutical powerhouse, and the secret lab, where they develop chemical weapons and test on innocent people, which I’ve been trying for years, but still haven’t been able to track down.”
“And so, you think that maybe the address is somewhere in here?”
“What, do you have a better idea, counsellor?” you swiftly turned to glare at him.
“I mean, I don’t have powers like you–, unless my heightened senses also triggers whatever alarm or trap or what they’ve got rigged in there,” his hand gestured alongside his words.
“It wouldn’t,” you uttered coldly and turned back to the files you were thumbing through, “you got your abilities in a–, different way than me, so you’d be fine.”
His body continued to stay twisted towards you as you soon heard him speak once more, “…how do you know so much about all of this?”
“What do you mean?” your back stayed turned to him, “I do my research for these types of things, don’t you? Or do you just go in there and swing your fists, hoping that you hit the people that deserve it?”
“I just mean that you know a lot,” his jaw clenched at your verbal jab, “your sources must be incredible.”
“They are,” you shot back at him coldly, keeping your guard up.
As the morning grew closer, and you began to run out of stones to turn, the two of you hit a dead end.
Perhaps it was your own stubbornness, straining yourself and keeping up your invisibility long enough for a migraine to begin to throb within your head, simply to somehow prove the speculated assumptions of the other vigilante wrong, but the traumatically nostalgic surroundings you still found yourself in certainly didn’t help matters either.
“Hey…” Matthew then paused and twisted towards your frame, “…you good?”
Cracking your tense neck with a sigh, you muttered, “why wouldn’t I be?”
And with a faint nod of his head, he pointed out, “you’re bleeding.”
It wasn’t till now that you felt the crimson that slowly leaked out of your left nostril, your touch swiftly drifting up to check. It wasn’t the first time that your body had complained about you straining your abilities till you were stretched too thin, but at least this time the consequences wasn’t anything you couldn’t power through, “it’s nothing…” you attempted to downplay it as you wiped the blood away, though the devil on the other side of the room didn’t stop looking concerned, “I’m fine!” you swiftly snapped, “it’s just a nosebleed. The air in here is fucking dry or whatever.”
And with a reply on the tip of his tongue, Matt instead swallowed it and simply uttered, “okay…”
But as he then turned back to continue the search, his head soon twisted before he took a sharp detour into the hallway. Directly on the other side of the threshold, he then kneeled down and picked up a small chain with some rusty dog tags dangling on the end.
Slipping off one of his gloves, he caught the metal and gently brushed his thumb over the raised letters on it.
“Y/n Y/l/n…” he read out loud, the sound of your name causing you to freeze as you turned to spot what it was that he had found. Tilting his head in your direction, the puzzle of your past began to fall into place, “you–… this really is personal for you, isn’t it?”
You’d completely forgotten that you’d lost it back in the chaos of your escape, “…they made us wear those just to be able to tell us kids apart…” you bowed your head.
Slowly rising to his feet once more, he uttered, “so this is how you got your powers? How you became Shadow? You were a test subject?”
“Well, I didn’t wish upon a fucking star…” you exhaled slowly, “…do you get it now? Why I need to be the one to take these fuckers down?”
“And here I thought I’d finally gotten rid of you,” the words left your lips as soon as you saw Matthew show up in your periphery again the very next night, “don’t you have a better way to spend your Friday night?”
A faint smile twitched at the corner of his lip as he came to a stop beside you in the dark alley, “nope.”
“Really? You’d rather be slumming it with me yet again, breaking into some CIA idiot’s home, instead of going on some hot date with your little girlfriend?”
“What?” the devil nearly laughed.
“The leggy blonde you played pool with at the bar.”
“Ah, yeah, no. Karen’s just a friend,” he shook his head as a playful smile finally broke through and bloomed on his lips, “so I’m sorry, you’re out of luck, there’s no girlfriend to spend my Friday nights with, so I guess you’re stuck with me instead.”
You climbed up onto the fire escape in order to break into Rawlins’ apartment, and though Matthew was tall enough to jump up and catch the ladder, your frame had to be boosted up, a detail you prayed he wouldn’t revel in too much.
Since the CIA agent was tangled in the mess you were trying to sort out, your mission had led you here to his home, to hunt down a keycard to gain access to the inner sanctum of the Onyx Corporation, where hopefully the answers would be within reach, even if it came at a grievous price.
The pursuit, however, for the keycard wasn’t as fruitful as you’d hoped, as it wasn’t even hidden away in the personal safe Matt cracked open in his bedroom.
And even though you had been careful and made sure the agent wouldn’t be home this night, the front door still cracked open before the two of you were able to clear out.
“Fuck–,” you scrambled a moment before you made a split decision and shoved the devil into the nearby closet as footsteps began to echo out in the hall, slipping your own body inside as well before quietly yanking the door closed behind you.
Your face stayed twisted towards the door, listening intently to the murmured voices that reverberated throughout the apartment. It wasn’t till you finally shifted your neck and looked back at Matt that you realised just how tight the closet actually was. Your body was plastered against his, standing so near that your noses nearly brushed against one another when he tilted his head to listen closely. You could feel his breath fan across your cheeks, causing them to heat up as your own pants began to pick up. In the low light, you couldn’t help but stare as he concentrated.
Your head was spinning by the time your gaze dropped to his lips. You hadn’t been this close to someone else in a very long time, and seeing as your senses were that starved, your body couldn’t help but react, which soon caught the devil’s attention, distracting you both long enough to get caught when the closet doors suddenly swung open.
It wasn’t just Rawlins that had come home early for a brief pitstop till his night continued, but a few of his military brats were waiting by the door as well, making the fight that promptly broke out a little less fair.
In the beginning of the struggle, Rawlins’ jacket flung off his shoulders as Matt tried to grab him, but as the coat crashed to the ground, his wallet tumbled out of the pocket and slid across the floor. And with the hopes that the keycard was hidden in there the whole time, you swiftly went invisible, hoping you’d be able to avoid the many opponents as you rushed to snatch it up.
But just as you managed to grab it and it flipped open to reveal the very item you needed to steal, one of the foes saw the floating wallet and tackled you to the ground, knocking the air clean out of your lungs, the blow causing you to lose your grip on both the item and your invisibility, the wallet promptly tumbling from your flickering fingers.
And when all hope seemed lost, and Rawlins had called in reinforcements, more folks storming in through the front door by the second, you felt Matthew grab you before you could even think, as there was no other option but to flee from the fight.
Bloodied and panting, it wasn’t easy to escape up onto the rooftop. In the haze of it all, you weren’t even sure how you managed it at all.
But just before you could yell at him for dragging you up onto a dead end, the devil pulled out his billy clubs, twisted one of the handles, and flung across the night sky for the cord in between to extend and the far and to tangled itself around something in the distance like a grappling hook. Wrapping his arm tightly around your waist, he didn’t offer you a warning before you both went soaring, your fretful eyes not daring to peek back open before you felt your boots land on the next rooftop over.
Your lungs burned as you kept on running, swinging from building to building till you couldn’t even spot the one you’d fled from any longer as you glanced over the glinting horizon.
“Damn it–,” you cursed when you finally slowed down to catch your breath on a rooftop, “I almost had it!”
Breathlessly, Matt only grinned at your frustration before he dripped his fingers into a pocket and uttered, “you mean this?” as he held up the keycard.
Eyes widening in disbelief, you panted, “how did you–”
“You’re not the only one who can be sneaky,” he smirked before you snatched it out of his grasp to look at it closely.
“Oh my god…” a soft smile appeared on your lips as you stared down at the small card, “I can’t believe we did it…”
“We?” Matthew’s head cocked slightly as he echoed.
A breath caught in your throat as your eyes flickered up from the keycard to blink back at him, “…maybe–, maybe, we aren’t such a bad team after all…” you admitted, tugging the card into a pocket of your black cargo pants as the man across from you on the rooftop simply smirked as you finally began to soften up, “…look…” you hesitated, your gaze averting, “…I know I said that I wanted to work alone, and I know that you hate me, but–”
“Hold up,” Matt swiftly interrupted, “you think I hate you?”
Glancing up towards the stars above, your arms briefly raised in an exhausted shrug, “well, what other explanation is there?”
But instead of answering you, Matt instead just stood there for a second, before he slowly closed the distance between you both, grabbed your face and leaned in to press his lips against your own.
You were nearly too stunned to react as he stole your breath away. It wasn’t till he pulled back slightly and the whole city froze for a moment around you, his palms still cradling your jaw as you blinked up at him, that you finally found your footing.
And when you raised yourself back up to kiss him once again, your touch drifting up to rest against his bent arms, you felt his lips smile against your own.
The simple kiss, however, swiftly spun out of control.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline that still pumped in your veins from the fight that was to blame for when it exploded, and you found yourself pushing Matt up against the nearby brick wall as you made out.
Perhaps it was your loneliness that was at fault, as you eagerly let him pluck your body up off the ground, and your thighs wrapped around his hips, a faint whimper crawling up your throat and vibrating against Matt’s tongue as your core pressed against him, your throbbing cunt promptly clenching around nothing as his gloved grip dug into your ass and drew you even closer to his growing hardness.
It had been ages since you’d been touched like this, so naturally it would have probably felt this amazing no matter who it was that satisfied that deprived urge… right?
Your hips rocked down against his own as you made out, his hold on you too grinding your core feverishly against his. As he twisted around for your spine to now instead be pressed up against the brick, your fingers grasped his stubbly jaw and hazily strayed up to claw against the sides of his helmet.
Soon you were both so riled up, the sloppy kisses and heavy petting only scratching the itch just enough to drive you mad, your fingers desperately shot down between your bodies to reach the tent in his pants. Straying from your lips, the devil let out a low groan as your palm brushed against his hardness in your frantic mission to free it. Bowing your head, your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to tug at his belt without much success, but luckily, before a pout could find your lips, Matthew got the message and readjusted his grip on you, balancing you with just a single arm, as his free one reached down to undo his pants for you, his swift fingers flicking open the complicated suit effortlessly.
That same wide palm then drifted up to brush against your blushing cheek as you let yourself blink down at the fat cock that sprang out, your mouth agape as your impatient fingers wrapped around the girth, though you only got to gawk a second longer before he tilted your chin and reunited his lips with your own.
“Fuck,” he panted into your mouth as your touch slowly twisted up and down his throbbing length. Dropping his hand back down near his other beneath your ass, he shifted his grip on you, juggling you like a toy in his grasp, to let himself nearly tear your black pants in two as he ripped them down just barely low enough for your soaked panties to be revealed.
Though as he yanked that drenched cotton to the side, before he even got the chance to touch you at all, you tilted his cock in your grasp, angling it for the tip of him to slide against you instead.
But even as you began to rub his head against your clit, his own palm didn’t stray yet, but instead rested over your own as your dripping pussy soaked him, and didn’t wander till your patterns grew more zealous, angling further south to your drooling hole. And as you rubbed him against your entrance, his gloved fingers dragged over your puffy pearl, though only for a moment before soaring up to his lips, his teeth hastily tearing the one glove off and letting it drop to the ground beneath you, for his touch to then reunite with you without any barrier.
“Oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as he drew slow, firm circles over you, “don’t stop–”
Bowing his head to kiss along your neck, a devilish smirk flashed across his face, “yeah? You like that, Shadow?” he let himself revel in your euphoria.
“Shut up,” a whine vibrated in your throat, “just don’t stop,” you mumbled as you then slipped the very tip of him inside of you.
A breathless moan escaped the both of you when your warm walls finally clung around him. Re-adjusting your grasp on his broad shoulders, joining your hand with the one still locked around his neck, his fingers continued the careful pattern over your clit as you slowly, and shallowly, began to lower yourself down upon him. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt his forehead tilt back up to rest against your own, panting into each other’s mouths as you gradually stretched yourself out on his cock.
He didn’t stop touching you till you were whimpering in his arms and trying to bounce on his dick. Your legs trembled on either side of him as he then dug his grasp into the plush of your ass and began to move you, his own hips too bucking up to meet the desperate movements as he fucked you.
It was all just a haze of heated pants, curses and moans melting and mixing with the wet, sloppy noises of his cock splitting you open, with the night noises of the city around you only a mere memory in the background.
Not long passed before you came undone on his fat cock, your powers momentarily flickering as you writhed in his arms, and your cunt fluttered around his girth, pushing him over the edge as well.
His face stayed buried in the crook of your neck, catching his breath, as you both stayed frozen in each other’s arms, your poor pussy nearly choking him to death as his cock remained inside of you, but neither one of you dared to speak or even move an inch.
But when you finally did, it was slow as you began to peel yourselves away from one another. He began by carefully lowering your one leg, though as it shakily reunited with the flat rooftop below, you failed to stifle a groan as his cock slipped out of you.
You could barely look at him as you realised the line you’d just crossed, or more like set on fucking fire, silently panicking as you scrambled to cover back up.
Tugging your panties back over your messy pussy, you promptly clenched around nothing as you felt his hot load begin to leak out of you and ruin your underwear even further.
And when a hesitant squeak finally found its way to your lips, “that–…” your eyes stayed averted, even as your words faded.
Tilting his head, a smirk bloomed on Matt’s face, “yeah?” he uttered as the single word that had bubbled up your throat hadn’t yet made him doubt the rest of your pending sentence.
“…was such a mistake…” you apprehensively finished, eyes still glued to the ground, “we can’t–… we can’t let it happen again.”
Sucking in a sharp breath as his smile faded from his lips, on his exhale, Matt murmured, “…right…you beat me to it…”
“I mean,” you finally glanced up at the man in front of you, “it was just the adrenaline of it all that got to us,” your head nodded slowly as you tried to convince yourself.
“Mhm,” he hesitantly hummed, barely moving at all as he listened.
“So, we should just forget it ever happened and move on.”
His broad chest then shifted slowly beneath his suit as his lungs filled up with oxygen, letting your words settle in his soul before he agreed with a quiet, “…okay.”
“Get up.”
Arms crossed tightly over your chest, your invisibility faded just as you kicked the bedframe.
“What the–,” Matt swiftly shot awake, the slumber still muddled on his face as he initially jerked in alarm till he realised who exactly it was that had snuck into his apartment, “what are you doing here?”
But instead of answering his question, you just huffed impatiently, “we gotta go, come on.”
“Wha–,” he pushed himself up to a sitting position, “what time is it?”
“Four in the morning,” you briefly glanced down at the watch on your wrist, “which means we’re already running late, so let’s go.”
Letting out a low exhale, “okay…” he tore off the covers and begrudgingly swung his legs over the side of the bed, “is it a surprise or are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”
Standing a little taller, you informed him in a clear tone, “I got a lead,” and tried your best to ignore his state of undress, how, even in the low light pouring in from the windows, you could make out the scars starched across his bare chest, one even dipping down below the black boxers that clung around his hips.
But his expression didn’t perk up at your news as his dark brows only furrowed faintly, “…you know you could have just called me about this, right?”
“Didn’t have your number,” you shrugged. Tearing your eyes away from him, you ripped open your dark backpack, “put this on,” you ordered after you’d tossed a faded blue uniform at him.
“Uhh… no thanks?” he cocked an eyebrow as he peeled it off of his shoulder where it had landed and held it in his palm, “I’ve got my own clothes, ones that don’t reek of industrial cleaning products.”
Exhaling sharply, your jaw clenched, “look, I know that you just woke up, but some of us haven’t slept at all yet and have instead stayed up just to string this whole plan together,” you fished out a white undershirt as well for him.
“And are you gonna share it with me or what?” he asked before being hit in the face with the tank top.
“I will when you put that fucking uniform on,” your hands landed on your hips as you waited a tense moment before he rolled his eyes pettily, yet finally complied. And as you watched him change right in front of you instead of shifting to somewhere more private, you began to tell him, “every morning at five, the janitorial staff at Onyx Corp shows up for work. One of said staff members is now missing a uniform, and has magically had their schedule tampered with, giving them a day off,” you tilted your head, “so you’re gonna show up instead, slip in with the crowd, use the keycard, sneak into the CEO, Richard Weiss’ office and steal his personal laptop. All the info we’re missing should be on that thing.”
“Okay…” he drew out a breath as he moulded over your plan, “or, I mean, I’m a lawyer, why couldn’t I just walk in there as myself, make up some legal bullshit or something–, ouch!” his offhand suggestion halted as you promptly smacked his shoulder.
“And have you then be added to their radar for sniffing where you shouldn’t, have them hunt you down till you’re dead? Believe it or not, I am trying to protect you, you idiot,” you growled as you plucked the last few items out of your bag, a baseball cap and a pair of plain sunglasses, and shoved them into his lap, “so could you at least not be a fucking dumbass about it and just say thank you?”
The sun was slowly rising as you sat, cloaked by your powers, on the roof of the opposing building to the Onyx Corporation’s official headquarters, and watched from afar as Matthew successfully slipped inside among the small morning crowd of workers.
The large structure in the middle of the city was mostly made up of wide windowpanes, making it easier for you to track the disguised lawyer as he made his way through the fishbowl, although it still didn’t help calm the terror that wrecked your body.
Being this close was frankly one of the most reckless things you’d ever done. If anyone saw you, if you let your invisibility so much as just flicker, you’d be a dead woman.
But when you saw Matthew inside covertly reach his destination, the keycard working as he slipped inside of the CEO’s office, when the laptop was under his arm and he pushed the door open once more to exit, a pair of guards caught him red-handed and a fight promptly broke out.
Your hope, however, faded rapidly as it didn’t take long before more security was alerted and piled on the vigilante. But even then, you still tried to stay optimistic, having witnessed first-hand the dreadful messes Daredevil was capable of getting out of on his own.
But when his form was pinned to the ground by enough people that he stood no chance, and the door on the opposite end of the floor swung open, revealing the bone-chilling visage of the boss himself, slowly marching down to the wreckage on full display through the agape doors of his office, you were then left with no choice on what to do next.
You held onto your invisibility for as long as possible, but after you’d only taken a few steps inside of the building, a sharp and sudden pain began to throb within your head, drawing a groan from your trembling body as you tried not to scream as it nearly felt like something was trying to crush your skull, your powers promptly began to flicker.
Trying to fight against it and somehow attempt to keep your cloaking up, it kept on flickering as you rushed to the stairwell.
You were panting and dizzy by the time you reached the top, though it wasn’t because of the numerous steps. Blood trickling out of your nose, your hand shook violently as you reached for the doorknob, your eyes landing on it as your powers kept on flashing, and you waited till your palm disappeared once more, hopefully timing it just right as you pushed the door open to dip into the hallway and enter the chaos.
Passing the janitorial cart he had pushed around to keep up his cover, your hands swiftly seized the mop that stuck out of it, and as your stomping feet dragged you closer to the fray, you swung the mop like a golf club, striking the guards pinning Matt to the floor.
Though, as you freed him, the long handle of the mop splintering in the process, your powers faltered once more, revealing your form to everyone in the office, including the very man who had once fooled the innocent little orphanage you used to be, condemning you to an adolescence of torture, the one and only, Richard Weiss, head of Onyx Corps.
“Well… if it isn’t our little Shadow, come back home at last…” he nearly chuckled as his stare held you frozen in terror, “should have known you were the troublemaker behind all of this.”
And though Matthew’s fists began to swing again as soon as he was able, it didn’t take long for him to conclude that you were severely outnumbered. It didn’t matter that the laptop wasn’t in the possession of either of you, at this point, your lives mattered more.
But when Matt’s attempts failed, you decided to try something, even though you were barely hanging on any longer, it was almost like an instinct kicked in and you grabbed Matthew’s hand in yours, somehow turning him invisible as well, just long enough for your initial escape to become possible.
But as soon as you got out of dodge, slipping into the elevator, you let go of his wide palm and your powers flickered out once more.
Both of you were panting and hunched over as Matthew stayed busy, reached over to hit the emergency button, stopping the elevator, before his body elongated, briefly jumping up to pop open the latch at the top.
It wasn’t till his fingers laced together and he waited for you to bend your knee and let him boost you up first, that he slowed down enough to notice just how beaten you were.
Though you had previously experienced these waves in the more compact package of the collars Onyx Corp used to control their test subjects with, it was something else entirely to try and be submerged inside an area protected by the same rays, and on top of that, attempting to fight against it, torturing your body that much further.
There wasn’t just blood dripping out of your nose, but your ears, the corner of your mouth, and even your eyes as well.
“Y/n, are you–,” worry twisted Matthew’s low timbre in a way you didn’t think possible.
“I’m fine,” you tried to dismiss through your pained whimper, “I just need to catch my breath,” you clutched the steel wall, “you go up first, I’m right behind you.”
Although he hesitated a moment, he eventually did as you wished, pulling himself up through the narrow latch and groaning lowly as the strain tore at the injuries he himself had sustained. But when his arm shot back down to pull you up as well, your body finally gave out when he’d lifted you up to join him in the elevator shaft, and the world faded to black.
It was full daylight by the time you stirred, though you weren’t on the roof of the elevator any longer, not even inside that horrific building anymore, as it finally felt as if you were able to breathe again. It was instead Matthew’s apartment that met your hazy gaze as soon as your eyes fluttered open.
Squinting a moment at the bright light pouring in through the tall windows, you realised that you were lying in his bed, the very same one he had been resting in when you’d disrupted his slumber earlier that day.
For a moment, you thought you were all alone till your neck twisted to the right and you saw the man further into the depths of the apartment, sitting at the humble dining table. He was shirtless, with only the glint of a cross necklace resting against his pecs as he patched himself up. And as you felt yourself begin to breathe more easy at the discovery that you hadn’t woken up to any imminent danger, you let yourself relax, and for a flash, stare at Matthew before any of your guards could shoot up and hinder you from taking in the vision his half-naked and bloodied form, quietly groaning as he concentrated on his stitches, the whole display making your heart beat louder, though not in your chest, but between your thighs.
Tilting his head suddenly, the needle in Matt’s fingers paused as he noticed you were finally awake, “hey,” a soft smile appeared on his lips.
“What happened?” you asked weakly in a hoarse tone.
“You passed out,” he paused his patching up, carefully tearing the thread on the needle before he had finished all of the stitches.
“I did?” your brows furrowed as you tried to recall, hazily attempting to sit up, only realising now that you were still clad in the same black, utilitarian outfit as before, blood-soaked and torn from the fight.
“Whoa, whoa, no,” Matt hastily rushed to your side, “your stubborn ass essentially just tried to power your way through a meatgrinder, so lay back down.”
“God, I’m fine,” you tried to push away his palms as they came to rest against your shoulders.
“No, you’re not,” he uttered firmly.
“Matt–”
“Jesus! Would you just shut up for a second and let me help you?”
Your eyes snapped up to his worried expression as he raised his voice, and you finally gave in, carefully lowering back down upon the pillow.
Blinking up at him a moment as his broad, bare shoulders relaxed once more, his feet staying glued beside the bedframe as he loomed above your horizontal form, you then asked, “how did I get out of there?”
Drawing in a breath, he shared, “well, I carried you,” as if it was the obvious answer.
“You should have just left me,” your head began to shake faintly as you squeezed your eyes shut, “it would have been safer if you were–”
“You risked your life coming in to save me,” he interrupted you, “so this just makes us even.”
Eyes fluttering back open, your chest slowly rose and fell as you simply stared up at him for a moment, completely lost for words as he continued to stand by your side.
And when he finally broke the silence, it was to utter, “it’s mostly bruises you’ve got, but there is a cut on your shoulder,” his chin tilted in the direction of that side, “I tried to just keep it wrapped while you were unconscious, but I should probably stitch it up for you.”
Nodding slowly as your stare stayed on him instead of straying to the bloodied dish towel tied around your side, you murmured, “okay…”
Once he’d helped you sit back up, he only disappeared into the living room for a moment to grab the first aid kit, your own fingers slowly unlacing your boots and dropping them to the floor, before he returned to your side and planted himself on the edge of the mattress.
A sharp hiss escaped you when you tried to peel your long-sleeved top off. But your movement paused when the hem reached your ribs as you felt Matthew’s palms suddenly land atop your own, silently asking you for permission to help. Instead of uttering a word, you simply let your own hands slip out from under his touch, letting him take over and slowly pull the shirt over your head, leaving you in just pants and a sports bra.
Your breathing was ragged as you simply stared at him the whole time he tended to your wound, and by the time that he finished, the silence continued to draw out, growing thick in the air between you both, as neither of you dared to move a muscle.
“…you should try and get some rest,” he eventually uttered, nearly in a whisper.
“Right…” you exhaled and finally tore your gaze away from him to glance down at the remanence of your clothing, not exactly comfortable against your skin, “…do you maybe have a shirt or something that I could borrow?”
“Sure,” he breathed, then got up to open his closet, plucked out a t-shirt and handed it to you, “here.”
“Thanks,” you grasped the soft cotton, bowing your head to glance down at it.
And as you simply stared at it a moment without shifting to put it on, “do you–…” Matt hesitantly offered, “do you need a hand?”
“I–…” you let out a sigh, flirting momentarily with the idea of your usual tough shell, but fortunately, you were so exhausted that you couldn’t resist, “…okay.”
His touch was like fire as it ghosted across your skin, making your pussy throb between your thighs as he carefully helped you first out of the black pants, slowly tugging them down your legs, before he pulled the tight sports bra off, your own breath hitching as your soft tits dropped from the confines. Matt tried to stay strong as he lastly helped you into the borrowed shirt, swallowing hard before he finally let go of you, even though that was the very last thing he yearned to do.
When you layed back down under his covers, you couldn’t fall back asleep even though your body was screaming for the rest, your stare instead staying glued on the lawyer as he returned to the living room and went back to patching himself up.
It was then that it hit you what that feeling that fluttered within you truly was.
You felt safe.
For the first time in forever.
With him by your side, you felt safe.
It was evening by the time that you woke up again, the sun once more setting, dipping down below the towering buildings outside.
“You okay?” you heard Matthew’s voice and twisted gently in the sheets to find him sitting on the couch just on the other side of the open sliding door, leaned over the coffee table and going through some stuff.
“What are you doing?” you asked as you curled onto your side to face him more, your knees bending up towards your chest.
“Well…” he exhaled slowly and let the papers in his hand drop to the rest on the tabletop below him, “since we didn’t get the laptop, I’m trying to find another way to locate that lab.”
Tears then welled up in your eyes and thickened the words in your throat as the level of just how much he cared came as a surprise to you, “any success?”
“Uh, maybe. There is this one scientist who worked there, but he was arrested for something else,” he clicked his tongue, “currently sitting pretty in prison.”
“Wait, are you saying–,” you caught onto what he was hinting at, “do you wanna go in there and pretend to be his lawyer? Do you think that’d work?”
“Well, if reasoning with him doesn’t work, then I can always just let the devil out, see if that’ll loosen his lips.”
Staring at him in pure and unadulterated amazement, the tears in your eyes escaped with a small sob and began to roll down your cheeks.
“Hey,” he promptly darted to your side, sitting down on the bed beside you, “what’s wrong? Is it–, do you not want me to go? I’m sorry, I–”
Shaking your head, you sniffled, “no, it’s not that–”
“Have you changed your mind?” he tilted his head as you then pushed yourself up to a sitting position next to him, “you wanna go back to being a lone wolf? Because not that I don’t believe you’re strong enough to take these people on all on your own, you are, you really are, but I just–… I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” he choked on his words, “so please. Please let me help. Let me–, let us work together. Make these people pay for everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve done to you…”
Sucking in a breath, you stared back at him, unable to find the words, before you felt your spine begin to slant forward as you let your forehead simply rest against his own.
“…Matt–…” your voice was barely a whisper as finally filled out the sparse space between you both, “…you’re the first person that I can’t hide from… and not just because you can sense me even when I’m invisible, but you see me…” another tear escaped the corner of your eye, “…truly see me…” you then felt him grab your cheek, your glossy eyes briefly fluttering closed at the contact, “I’ve never–…” you blinked back at him again, panting as your gaze then dropped to his lips, “…you–…” you felt him slowly begin to drag you closer, but just as the tip of your nose brushed against his own, your eyes squeezed shut as you whispered once more, “we shouldn’t…”
“Why not?” he breathed, his wide palm remaining against your cheek as his fingertip slowly stretched up into your hairline.
“Matt…” you exhaled, but instinctively leaned into his touch.
“Don’t you want to?” he croaked hazily, “doesn’t it kill you too, this thing between us?” a fresh blubber of tears sprang forth from you as his words struck true, “I know it’s not just me, I know… I can feel the way your breath hitches when you look at me… I can hear the way your pulse picks up when I’m near… like a fucking drum between your legs…” his nose twitched gently as he nearly growled.
“…still doesn’t mean we should give in to it…” you whispered, “…Matthew, I–… these people have been after me for most of my life. I can’t risk putting anyone else in danger simply for caring about them,” your tearful eyes blinked back at him, “I know first-hand what they do to someone, someone like us. I can’t let you go through that as well.”
Letting his grip glide into your hair completely, he let your words sink in before he eventually uttered, “…if it means having you, then that’s a risk I’d be willing to take…”
For a moment, you simply stared at him, slightly doubting whether you’d heard him correctly, before something inside of you finally unravelled and you leaned in to press your lips against his own.
It was slow yet rumbling with passion. His thumb gently wiped away the last few tears that rolled down your cheeks before the kiss faded into small, unhurried pecks. Your palm floated up to caress his burly forearm as he continued to cradle your face, drawing out the kisses for as long as possible.
Soon, your limbs were tangled around one another, hugging each other’s forms as your lips stayed locked, occasionally pausing for a breath to let a gentle smile take over.
But when you felt as if you still weren’t close enough to him, you found yourself carefully crawling into his lap, a shift he couldn’t help but aid as his arms around you tightened and he drew you in flush against him, your thighs on either side of his hips on the edge of the bed.
But it still didn’t scratch the itch enough, leading your breath to grow ragged as your fingers tangled in his shirt and your lips wandered down the side of his neck.
“Are you–…” he breathed heavy as you kissed along his throat, his fingers instinctively denting low on your hips, “what can I–, what do you need?”
A sly smirk then bloomed on your lips as you kept on kissing his skin, “you really gonna sit here and claim that you don’t know what I need right now?” a faint giggle escaped you as even you had already noticed the dull throbbing between your thighs that was nearly making you drool.
“No, I mean–, are you feeling better?” his grip on you tightened as he tried to keep cool and hold onto the fact of all the trauma your body had just sustained.
That made you pull back a bit as a gentle smile lit up your face, “yeah,” you uttered warmly, “I’m not a hundred per cent yet, probably won’t be for a while, but the sleep really helped.”
“And how about your shoulder?” he cocked his head, gesturing faintly towards it.
“It’s fine,” you breathed, “I have a pretty high pain tolerance,” you then saw as Matt mirrored your smile before he dipped back in to steal another kiss. But then, as the brief break had cleared enough of your fog as well, you cut the peck short before your mind could get cloudy again, “wait, but what about you?” you realised, and glanced to his injuries, only some of them not covered by his t-shirt, “you got way more banged up than me.”
“Oh,” he continued to grin, “I’m just fine,” he told you as he then slowly leaned in.
“You sure?” you asked, your lips curling into a smile as he continued to slant closer.
“Well, I mean,” he tilted his head as he smirked, “I could be better…” he then began to plant a trail of slow pecks all along the length of your neck.
“Oh yeah?” a breathy chuckle escaped you.
“Yeah…” his palms caught your cheeks as his lips travelled up your throat till they were pressing against your face once more, “there might be something you could do to help…”
And as you then playfully slipped your arm down between your forms to reach for the hardness that had been nudging you, “…something like this?” you grinned as you palmed the tent in his pants.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his head tilting upwards to share your breath, “yeah, exactly something like that…” he smiled as well before he collided his lips with yours once again.
His broad palms coasted all along the shape of your frame, finally letting himself touch you the way that he had yearned for, all of his thoughtful reservations dropped to the floor, just like his tight t-shirt, as you soon peeled it over his head, your heated kiss only pausing a moment before you both dove right back in.
You gasped against his lips as his wide hands strayed from their kneading of your soft ass, for his fingertips to stretch down over the cotton of your panties, reaching between your legs and teasingly brushing over the soaked fabric. As he pressed down harder, rolling your clit through the material, your hand flexed against his hardness.
“God, I wanna taste you so fucking bad…” he then panted against your lips as you wiggled down into his touch, “can I? Please?”
Breathlessly pulling back to let your hazy eyes sweep across his face, your head tilted in a faint nod, “o-okay,” before a grin then flashed across Matt’s face and his burly arms tightened around your frame, taking you with him as he flipped you around and layed you down on the mattress.
Still slotted between your thighs, Matthew only loomed above you for a moment before he sank down to kneel on the floor beside the bed. Catching your hips, he yanked you closer to the edge, drawing out a giggly yelp from your lungs.
Peeping down at him, your chest rose and fell rapidly as he slowly peeled your panties down your legs, webs of your want briefly clinging to the cotton as it was torn away from your drooling pussy, before the glinting strings snapped back against your throbbing core.
“Holy–, fuck!” you gasped as he buried his face between your legs, his sweet tongue dragging through your wet folds, tracing your clit before it slipped down to lap up the nectar leaking out of you, groaning against your heat as his nose nudged against your puffy pearl.
His grip dented your waist as his mouth tilted back up to overwhelm your clit, the borrowed t-shirt you still wore bunching up beneath his fingers.
The man was eating you out as if it were his last day on earth, his facial hair rubbing your poor pussy raw as you wiggled beneath him, dizzy against the sheets as one of his hands glided down between your quivering legs.
For a moment, the tips of his fingers traced slow circles over your entrance, before one of them then eased inside, just to the second knuckle, gradually opening you up for him.
By the time your cunt was clenching around two of his digits, sunk deeper inside of you than your own touch could ever reach, your arm fluttered down to tremble against his palm that still remained splayed against your abdomen. You clawed at his skin till he flipped his hand around and clutched your own tight, his broad thumb briefly brushing over your knuckles as you moaned beneath him.
But as you felt yourself near the edge, you lifted your head just an inch above the sheets and cast your hazy gaze down to the man blissful between your legs.
Even though this was more than you could ever dream of, there was something else in this moment that your soul was screaming for.
Letting out a whimper, your other hand shot down to tangle in his dark hair right before you gasped, “wait–, stop–,” and his mouth let go of you with a pop, “come here,” you whispered breathlessly as your fingers let go of his locks, and you caught onto the cross necklace dangling from his neck. Pulling on it as if it was a leash, you dragged him till he was hovering above your splayed-out form, and his lips came crashing into yours.
The entire lower half of his face was soaked in your juices, making you mewl against his tongue as you tasted yourself on him.
“Please fuck me,” you panted when you finally parted from the sloppy kiss, “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Yeah?” Matthew smirked above you, his fingers catching the hem of your shirt, “you need me inside of you?” he tilted his chin as he dragged the last shred of clothing over your head and flung it onto the floor.
“Uh-huh,” you nodded as you foggily reached down to fumble with his pants, but before you could manage to undo them, his own fingers nimbly took over.
“You wanna feel me stretch you out again?” he grunted, your eyes fluttering as you watched his heavy cock spring forth and slap him in the abdomen.
Your head was spinning as he then suddenly flipped you around, manhandling and moulding you beneath him till he had you bent over the mattress, your legs now dangling off the side of his bed next to where his own stood rooted, “Matt–”
“You wanna cum on my cock?” he finished pushing his pants off completely and you twisted your neck to catch a glimpse of him behind you.
“Y-yes!” you slurred breathlessly, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt him tap the weight of himself against your soft pussy, your drool nearly dripping down over him like honey before he finally nudged at your opening and the tip of his dick slipped inside, “oh fuck–”
“Oh my god…” he groaned as he gradually split you open on his fat girth, “of course you somehow feel even fucking better than I remembered…” his upper body melted down over you, his glinting necklace tickling your skin before his soft lips pressed against your spine, “so fucking wet and warm… you’re fucking perfect…”
You were grabbing the sheets by the time his thrusts had gained such ferocity that his heavy balls were smacking against your throbbing clit each time he bottomed out within you, making you whimper rhythmically beneath him with each maddening buck.
Slipping his hand beneath your chin, he tilted your face up towards his own, arching your back for him to steal a messy kiss from your lips, though he held you captive there a moment longer afterwards, letting you blink up at him as each time his hips snapped against your ass, it made it harder and harder for you to keep your eyes open.
That first orgasm hit you like a freight train, after you’d initially denied yourself of the ecstasy, it only rocked you that much more fiercely when you finally let it, your powers flickering as you lost control, turning your body transparent a dozen times in your swift descent as you came crashing down against the mattress.
Before you’d caught your breath, Matthew gently flipped you back around and scooted your frame further up upon the bed as he joined you as well.
Your legs clung against his hips as he crawled above you, and you felt his arms curl around and beneath your form, hugging you close as his cock throbbed against your pussy.
And as you briefly reached down to slip his length, glistening and covered in your cream, back inside, he continued to let himself finally hold onto you for dear life as he nearly fucked you straight through the mattress in maddeningly slow and deep strokes.
“O-oh, Matt,” you whimpered, his forehead resting against your own as your mouth stayed agape in a silent gasp, completely lost in him.
Nudging your legs to part further for him, you then heard him command, “play with that pussy for me,” in a similar, dark grunt as when the devil mask was obscuring half of his face. But when his words washed over your dazed form and sent a shiver down your spine, he ghosted his lips against your own as your hands stayed locked around his neck, “earth to Shadow…”
“Huh?” you sluggishly blinked back up at his brown eyes.
“Did you hear what I just said?”
Head spinning, you gasped, “uhm, uh-huh,” and nodded hazily, your nose nudging against his own, though your fingers still didn’t spring to life yet.
“Then go on,” he chuckled breathlessly at the state he had put you in, “make that pretty pussy cum on my cock one more time.”
Your eyes soon rolled in your skull as you then rubbed your puffy pearl raw and cried out beneath him as you tumbled over the edge once again. Your cunt choked his girth so fiercely that he couldn’t help but promptly cum as well, his dick twitching inside of you as you milked him of all of his worth.
You weren’t sure how much time passed before either of you finally moved, but you nearly managed to fall asleep while his cock was still splitting you open and his load was slowly leaking onto the sheets.
But when you eventually settled into Matthew’s side and your weary stare blinked up at his serene features, you found yourself whispering into the night, “…you really think we can do this?”
Twisting his head slightly, he uttered, “what? Take down Onyx Corp,” his arm around you tightening slightly at your lasting gloom, “or be together?”
Drawing in a breath, you averted your gaze as you admitted dimly, “both.”
Lying still a second, you then felt him shift beside you, snaking his grip around your frame before he then dragged you closer till you were splayed out directly on top of his chest. Gliding his touch up to catch your face, he waited for your stare to return to him before he uttered, “…I think that together, we can do anything.”
SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.
A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.
** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.
*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)
**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)
special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever
The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.
Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.
Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.
Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”
Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.
The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.
You:
cutie patootie alert
there’s this really handsome guy at the bar
i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before
i think i’m in love with him
my night just got a 100% better
Allison:
age
what does he look like
is he bald?
You:
he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here
brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong
i didn’t stare at him for too long
otherwise that would’ve been very weird
and no he’s not fucking bald
that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair
Allison:
so you’re dating retired now
get it grandma!
You:
oh fuck you allison
Allison:
it’s okay girl we all have our flaws
just make sure it’s nobody’s father
wait it’s not mine right?
You:
nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it
Allison:
bitch
Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.
“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.
The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”
Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”
Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.
Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”
The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.
“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”
Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”
“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”
Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.
“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.
“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”
(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)
He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.
“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”
“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.
“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.
You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.
“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”
Yeah… that you knew.
It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.
As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.
“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.
“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”
“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”
For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.
“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”
His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”
“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”
“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”
“Look, Wolvie. I–”
“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”
“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”
You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.
Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”
The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”
“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”
“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”
“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”
A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”
“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”
“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”
“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”
Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”
“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”
“Me neither.”
“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”
You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”
Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”
But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”
The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.
(But you aren’t.)
His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”
“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”
Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”
“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”
“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”
As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.
What the fuck had just happened?
“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”
She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”
You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”
After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.
Your savior complex strikes again!
It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.
Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”
Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.
“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”
“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”
“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”
“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”
You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”
“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”
“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.
Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.
“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.
“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?
“You sure?”
“Affirmative.”
“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”
“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”
“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.
“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”
“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”
Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”
Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.
“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”
Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”
“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”
“What? No.”
“Why not? She’s cute.”
Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.
Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”
“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.
After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”
You could die at peace.
“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”
“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”
“Now why would you think that?”
“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”
“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.
“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”
“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”
“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.
He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”
Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”
His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”
This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.
“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.
“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”
Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.
Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”
You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”
“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.
Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”
“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”
“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”
Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”
“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”
“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”
“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”
When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”
“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.
Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”
“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”
From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”
“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”
“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”
“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”
“Go fuck yourself, will you?”
“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”
Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?
Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.
“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.
You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”
Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”
You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”
He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?
“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”
He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.
“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”
You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”
The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”
“I just... I want to understand you better.”
“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”
He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”
With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.
“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”
“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”
The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.
Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”
Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”
But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”
Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”
You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”
He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”
“Should I give you some space?”
That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”
“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”
“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”
“God, do you ever shut up?”
You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.
“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.
“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”
“Am I that easily replaced?”
“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”
Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.
Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.
He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?
It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.
Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?
“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.
“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”
The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.
“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”
“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”
You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.
“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”
“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”
“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”
“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”
“Careful.”
“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”
You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”
His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”
“Get your hands off her.”
Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.
“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”
“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”
Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”
“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”
The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”
“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.
“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.
“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.
“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”
“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”
The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”
Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”
“Don’t. Now is not the time.”
“I was protecting you.”
“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.
Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”
You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”
“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”
“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”
His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”
“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”
You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.
“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.
“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”
In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.
“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”
“Right here? On the counter?”
“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”
“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”
“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.
“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”
Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”
“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”
“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”
“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”
His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“L-logan–”
“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”
You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”
With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.
“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”
He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.
“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”
“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”
Who had given him a damn script for this?
The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.
Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”
And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.
“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”
You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”
“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”
You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”
Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”
"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple
SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)
A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…
Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.
You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.
It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.
“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.
“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”
Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”
“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.
“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”
His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.
There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.
“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.
“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”
You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”
Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”
“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”
“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”
Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.
As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.
All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.
Why is he about to fight a cat?
“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”
“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”
Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”
“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”
This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.
At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”
Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.
Far from dozing off, you feel alive.
It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”
“Ask away.”
You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.
Okay, that was… weirdly specific.
Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.
“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”
“Fucking, you mean.”
“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”
His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”
“I can walk on my own.”
“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.
As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now you’re making jokes?”
“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”
Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is what I want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.
You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.
Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.
“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”
“You could use a new wardrobe.”
“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”
“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.
You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”
Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”
“I think I’ve already heard that before.”
“Kid.”
You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”
He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”
“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”
“Do you have an off switch?”
“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”
“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.
“Wait. I have a game to play.”
“It’s late.”
“Please?”
He sighs. “Okay.”
“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”
“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”
“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”
“Really? You, of all people?”
“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”
“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”
Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.
You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.
“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.
“You love having the final say, don’t you?”
“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”
“You can always get new teeth.”
“But my morning breath—”
“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”
“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.
Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”
“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.
More silence.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“What was the Great Depression like?”
“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”
And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.
Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”
You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.
Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”
Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.
“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”
That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.
“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”
“Logan…”
“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”
You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.
Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”
“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”
“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”
“I could’ve done something much worse.”
“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”
“What if—”
You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”
This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.
“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.
“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”
A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.
You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.
The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.
“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”
Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”
“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”
At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.
You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”
Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”
“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”
“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”
“I don’t.”
He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”
“I said I don’t.”
“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.
You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”
“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”
“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.
“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”
“Wade, that’s not even possible.”
“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”
“How did you pass History in high school?”
“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”
You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”
“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”
The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”
“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”
Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.
“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.
“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”
“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”
“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”
“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”
“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”
Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”
Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”
“Over a month.”
“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”
“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”
“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”
Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.
Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, homey.”
“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”
“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”
Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”
“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”
You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“Oh, no.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”
“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”
Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.
Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.
The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.
What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.
Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.
Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.
You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.
It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”
He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”
“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”
“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”
Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”
“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”
You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.
“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.
“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”
“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”
“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”
You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.
From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”
“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.
“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.
Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.
He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”
Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.
You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.
“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”
Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.
“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.
Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.
“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.
“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”
You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.
The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.
Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.
It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”
Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.
You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.
Hey.
You again.
Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.
Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.
Okay.
“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.
“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.
Sure.
What’s that?
Why not?
Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.
We— we’ll figure it out.
We’ll figure it out.
“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.
My name’s Tom.
Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.
When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”
Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”
“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”
“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”
You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”
“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.
Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.
“Logan, they weren’t even official.”
“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.
“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”
His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”
Lord have mercy.
“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.
He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”
“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”
The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”
“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.
“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”
He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”
“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “
“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.
“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”
For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:
“You are the most exasperating person I know.”
“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”
“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”
You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.
“Drop it, kid.”
“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”
Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”
You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”
Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”
“Fine with me.”
“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”
Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”
That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.
He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”
You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.
A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”
Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..
“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”
You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.
“Will you—can you—”
“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”
God, you love it when he’s mean.
“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.
A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”
The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”
He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”
You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.
Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”
In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”
“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”
“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”
“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”
“Bub.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”
Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.
“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”
“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”
“Negative, Sergeant.”
“You don’t have any?”
You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”
The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”
Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”
Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”
“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”
“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”
“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”
“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”
“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”
“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.
Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.
“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.
The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”
He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”
“Inside.”
“What?”
“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”
He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”
“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”
“Logan?”
“Tell me, bub.”
“Knock, knock.”
He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”
“Ice cream.”
“Ice cream who?”
“Ice cream for you all night long.”
“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”
This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.
✦summary: you and dean hate each other. there isn't a moment you aren't fighting, just like there isn't a moment you don't wish he'd love you back, and there isn't a single second he doesn't want you more than you can imagine. ✦
✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), jealous!dean, angst, overprotective dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, feral smut (manhandling, praise kink and degradation kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, stripping, thigh riding, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, light nipple play, begging, fingering, face sitting, jerking off, pussy slapping, rough sex, some edging, cockwarming, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, light dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 11.5k✦
✦author's note: monthly voted fic! he's yearning so hard guys✦
The bar is loud, but you expected that. It’s what you needed. Between that and the drink in you hands, it’s going to quiet your thoughts. They get lost in chatter of the crowd, and the bass drum of the music. It pounds in your chest and dislodges your heart. You let it. You don’t want to feel it right now.
You check your phone, even though you’ve told yourself not to. The case is sticky from the bar counter, and you wrinkle your nose at the screen before you even read the messages.
Five missed calls from – Dean Winchester.
A sixth one comes through, your phone buzzing angrily. You roll your eyes, and for a long second you seriously consider drowning the damn thing in the abandoned beer glass next to you.
He doesn’t get to call you, like you’re some wandering child. He doesn’t get to get angry about you being out, when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place. And you told Sam to tell him that you’d be here. So really, this is Dean’s fault, then Sam’s, then yours.
The call goes to voicemail. You flip the screen back over, and take a long drink. If it’s really that big a deal that you’re out without him, he can put on his pants and come get you himself.
And he won’t. And that’s part of the problem.
Dean’s going to lecture you about safety when you crawl back in the morning, and you’re going to roll your eyes. He’ll ask you if you think something’s funny, sweetheart? You look him dead in his pretty eyes and say I don’t know, is it? He’ll get angrier. You’ll get angrier. Sam will try to mediate, and you’ll throw something at him before stomping off. Dean will chase after you, and wrestle you back into the room while calling you a brat.
When you get tossed down on the mattress, you’ll sink your nails into his shoulder, because you do every time. You want to drag him down with you, to make him feel this the same way you always have.
To big, too much. Too soft in all the wrong places, and too spiked everywhere else. There’s a sharp, angry shell around your heart that’s grown like an exoskeleton. It’s got wires and teeth that snap, whenever Dean gives you a little too much attention. You can never tell if it’s trying to eat him or latch onto him anymore. You don’t think it really matters.
Dean hates you. He thinks you hate him. He’s going to grab your knees and pin them to your chest, and you’re going to be the only woman in the world who he doesn’t notice flush against him. He’ll hiss that you can’t just go running around alone. That it’s not like you, to be reckless. You spit a fuck you, his grip will get tight, and he’ll shove you away to go take one of his long showers.
Sam will tell you to stop testing him. You’ll tell Sam to eat himself, and go back to sulking like a child in the corner.
Only Dean can do that to you. You hate and love him for it.
When you met—on a hunt that didn’t matter, until it did—he made you all giggly and dumb. Years of training and a mind that could never slow down, turned to goo from one roughish, lazy smile.
“You like trouble?” He’d asked you, trying even then to talk you out of a hunt.
“No. No one likes trouble.”
Dean had chuckled. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart. Most girls like you love it.”
You’d snorted. “Girls like me? What’s a girl like me?”
“Gorgeous.” He’d smirked, like he’d been dying for you to ask. “Smart. Mouthy-“
“Mouthy?” You’d cut him off, rolling your eyes. “Are you from the 60s?”
“No. But you’re provin’ my point.”
“You didn’t have a point. You were just trying to sleep with me.”
Dean had raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But- Is it working-“
“No.”
It had been. If Sam hadn’t come back to the car two seconds later, you would’ve climbed into Dean’s lap like a whore. Which wasn’t what you were. It wasn’t what you did. Sex with a half-stranger, sex in general, you didn’t toss your body around easily. You’d never been able to do the removing emotions part of casual sex. You’d always managed to come up with a million reasons not to, most of them looking something like have a hookup, get pregnant, the father’s already gone, the baby’s born with cancer, you love it anyway and it dies in your arms, if you’d been more responsible the baby would’ve solved climate change, everyone dies in a fiery explosion.
But you’d looked at Dean, and seen no death or path out that didn’t end in light. He’d grabbed your thigh in the dark of the car, and you’d flushed and smiled to yourself like a schoolgirl.
“You wanna know my middle name?” He’d whispered to you, later that night.
“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard-“
“It’s not a pick up line! I’m askin’ you a question-“
“But it’s going to turn into a pickup line.” You’d said flatly, and Dean had given you a boyish smile that almost made you forget that he was covered in vampire blood.
“You already know me so well,” he’d cooed, and you’d snorted.
“You’re predictable.”
“So you’re never gonna wonder what I’m thinking.”
You’d shoved his face away with a hand, still giggling. This was usually the point in a hunt where you started thinking about what came next. How long you had to get out of town, how much food you’d need to eat now before you got to your next stop—if you eat too much, you’re going to overstuff and get sick, if you don’t eat enough you’re going to be weak and pass out behind the wheel and cause a fifty car pile-up—and if there are any strings you needed to wrap up on the case.
But Dean had been smiling at you. And that had felt like the only thing that mattered.
“C’mon, ask me what my middle name is-“
You’d covered his mouth with a hand, shooting him a stern glare. His eyes had gleamed with affection, and something deeper you try not to think about now. It hurts too much. It makes you mourn for something that was never even yours to have.
“Only so you shut up,” you’d whispered. “What’s your middle name.”
You’d dropped your hand, and Dean had touched his lips like he was in some telenovela. You’d fought a smile. You’d never known someone could be so handsome it made your heart ache, and so cute you thought you’d explode.
He’d puffed out his chest, and grinned at you like he won the lottery.
“It’s Trouble-“
“It’s Adam.” Sam had called from the table. Dean had looked at him like he’d just murdered a puppy, and you’d laughed so hard you almost fell off the bed.
And you’d thought something was growing. You’d been a foolish girl, who thought the dorky, handsome hero in front of her would give chase, when she turned him down.,
If you could go back, you’d slap yourself in the face and tell you to get it together. Dean Winchester is Dean Winchester. You listen to the what the shadows whisper. You knew his reputation before he smiled at you in the low light of his car. You’re smart. Sam goes to you for research advice, you’ve come up with whole new ways to kill demons and trap angels. You fucking knew better, than to fall in love with Dean.
You should’ve known better.
You didn’t.
So you attached yourself to them like a little, leeching parasite. You followed them around, the Winchester’s shadow, and fell more in love with Dean, and got your heart broken every night when he slipped out of the bar with another woman on his arm.
You’d gotten mean. You’d started getting short with him, and he’d fueled the fire building in the cavity of your chest by being a dick. Suddenly you were too inexperienced for every hunt. Too young to be out alone—you’ve had that fight more times than you can count—or too tense and tightly wound to think clearly.
He’s the one who doesn’t think clearly. He’s the one who drinks himself to death after a hunt and has literally fucked monsters because he can’t be bothered to plan ahead. He drags you and Sam to towns because he’s got a good feeling about them. He tells you to just relax, princess, and you want to punch him in his stupid, pretty face.
But you still love him. You love him so much you think it’s going to kill you. And you keep that locked in the deepest chamber of your heart, because he never needs to know that you still get stupid and soft for him. If he finds out that the first time he tried to leave on a hunt without you, you almost started crying in the middle of the bunker kitchen, he’ll look at you like you’re crazy.
And you are crazy. You know that. You’re a fumbling, wild ball of worries and sneers, and Dean would never want a nagger. He’d never want a younger woman who acts like she knows better—even though you do—and who needs him to be perfectly attentive and affectionate every second of every day.
You’re in love with a man who hates you. And if you had to listen to him fuck that secretary through the wall all night, you were going to kill yourself on their bed.
So now you’re at this loud, disgusting bar, drinking something that you’re praying numbs the pain, and smiling so wide it hurts your face.
The abandoned beer’s owner came back. He’s a broad shouldered, smirking man with a clean cut face, and lighter hair. If you get a little more squint, he looks just like Dean. If you get a little more buzzed, he’ll sound like him too.
You hate causal sex. It doesn’t count if you’re pretending it’s Dean. It doesn’t count if it makes this stop hurting.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here?” The man drawls, leaning across the bar.
You giggle, and it sounds distant to your ears. “Drinking.”
“Yeah?” The man smirks. “You like drinkin’, doll?”
You shake your head, swinging your feet and spinning in the bar stool. The man raises his brows.
“You sure you don’t? You’re goin’ through that thing fast.”
“It tastes bad.” You wrinkle your nose. “Feels good.”
The man’s smile turns wolfish. Your phone starts to buzz again, and you glare at the screen before shutting it fully off.
“Boyfriend?” The man asks, and you shake your head.
“He wishes.”
No, he doesn’t.
That’s the problem.
And you keep flirting—if it can even be called that, because you mostly babble about hating the drink you got and hating Dean and loving the man’s drink because Dean likes that one too—and the man’s hands find their way to your lower back and thigh.
“Why don’t I help you forget about Dean?” He winks at you, and you shrug.
The world is mostly just blurred colors and lights now. Everything feels awfully light, in a way you’re not sure you like.
But you like forgetting about Dean more. So even though you want to tell this man that it’s impossible to forget about Dean, you’re also just lost enough to want help finding your way out.
“Okay.” You beam at him.
You make it to the parking lot—his arm around your waist, herding you like a lost lamb—before Dean ruins everything. He always ruins everything.
There’s a shout of your name, almost ripping through the hazy fog of your drunken mind. You were feet from the man’s car. Just a few more steps from having fun, which you’re bad at doing, but maybe if you practiced, Dean would like you more.
From the look on his face when you turn around, it might’ve actually made him like you less.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He marches across the lot with a scowl, hands balled into fists and gaze fixed solely on you. “I almost made Sammy file a missing persons report-“
“’M not missing.” You stick your tongue out at him. “’M right here. Stupid.”
You mutter the last word under your breath, and Dean freezes. He blinks slowly, gaze raking over your body. That’s not fair. It makes you feel all warm and puddley. Your core floods with heat, and your knees get weak, and he’s get looking at you.
Dean takes a half-step forward, his voice dropping low and rough. “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
There’s a larger gust of wind. Dean’s eyes gleam in the golden light of the parking lot. He looks a little like an angel. You trip standing up, then giggle when the man pulls you back up. Dean’s jaw drops, his brow knitting tight.
“You’re fuckin’ wasted.” He mutters, shaking his head. “Jesus, sweetheart- C’mon.” He steps forward, reaching out a hand. “Let’s go.”
“Nuh uh.” You pout, shaking you head. “I’m not drunk-“
“You’re standing like we’re on a freakin’ ship. Come on.” He flexes his hand, and you cross your arms over your chest.
He doesn’t get to win. “I’m having fun.”
“We can have fun back at the room-“
“The lady said she’s having fun.” The man next to you pulls you tighter into his side, fingers curling on your hip like a lock. “Screw off, pal. I got here first.”
And Dean recoils, looking at the man like he’s noticing him for the first time. You can’t read his expression in the low light, but it seems angry. Or just annoyed. Or indifferent. His jaw looks sharp and clenched. You want to lick it.
“Listen, bud.” Dean snaps, glaring down at the man. “This ain’t a who got here first thing. My girl’s drunk. I’m takin’ her home, or I’m punching you in the face.”
The man is silent for a moment. He and Dean glower at each other, and you frown between them. There’s something poking at your drink addled brain, but it’s spelling a word you can’t read. All you can really figure out is that they’re being weird.
“You Dean?” The man asks.
Dean’s eyes narrow. His shoulders square, the way they do before he’s about to swing at a demon. “Yeah. And?”
“Nothin’.” The man smirks. “Just… Thought you’d be God, based on how she was talkin’ about you. But,” he chuckles, tipping his chin. “You’re just a little bitch.”
Dean’s jaw ticks. You don’t need the lighting to figure out what he’s thinking now. You can almost feel it, rolling off of him in waves.
He’s pissed.
He looks the man up and down, and if he throws a punch, you know he won’t be the one who goes down. You’re drunk enough not to worry about the violence of it. All your useless thoughts can spin around is the idea of Dean fighting for you. Of his massive arms flexing as he knocks down the other man—who, the longer your Dean stands in front of you, looks less and less appealing—and scoops you into his arms like the princess he mocks you with being. Then he can wrap his arm around your head and fuck you against the hood of his car, until you’re drooling all over his cock.
You giggle at nothing, a unignorable heat pooling between your legs. Dean’s attention snaps back over, and you beam at him.
Something in his gaze shifts. He lets out a slow breath, and stretches out a hand.
“Let’s go, princess.” He beckons with two crooked fingers, and you almost stumble forwards. “We can watch whatever you want, alright? I’ll get you some of that ice cream you like, and- Sammy can watch with you, if you don’t want me around. Just-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Get over here. Please.”
He sounds so tired. Tired and almost sad. Your feet move without your permission, and you reach to take his hand.
The man yanks you back, and you yelp.
“Remember what you told me, doll.” He drawls in your ear, loud enough for Dean to still hear. “Remember how he treats you.”
Dean scowls. “You stay out of this-“
“He doesn’t care.” The man ignores him. “You told me, he doesn’t love you.”
Dean opens his mouth, something stricken flashing over his features. You feel a little sick.
“C’mon. I got you.” The man rubs your hip, smiling gently. “Show him what he’s missing. He can bitch about it, alone all night while you get fucked real good.”
Dean’s face is a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has an expression like someone just punched him in the gut.
And it’s not the fucking real good that steels you. It’s the reminder that Dean won’t be alone. He has his secretary. And you’re allowed to have your random bar man, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Dean rasps your name. “Come here-“
“You come here.” You snap, and it’s meant to be a sharp, killing blow that makes him sigh and give up.
If you were a little less drunk, you would’ve known that was never going to work.
Dean’s throat bobs. He exhales like he’s going through the trials of Hercules, rather than arguing in a parking lot. He rubs his jaw, looks up to the sky like he’s praying, and chuckles. It’s dry and flat, but so deep and rough. You shiver at the sound, and almost fall right into him again.
“Alright.” Dean mutters, shaking out his arm. “Fine.”
He marches forward, clocks the man across the jaw, and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It happens so fast your body is still catching up with it, by the time he’s halfway back to the car. You realize you should be thrashing and shouting when you hear the Impala door unlock. Your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate though. Dean’s back is warm, and his hand is resting near your ass, and it’s making you putty for him to play with.
He did it so fast. He didn’t even break a sweat or give the man a chance to fight back, before he grabbed you. When he lowers you into shotgun, he does it so gently. Like even after getting on his nervous, you’re precious cargo. He brushes the hair from your face, hunched over as you settle into the bench.
You blink at him, still drunk and confused. Dean still has that strange look in his eyes, his lips parted as you just stare at each other. His hand lingers on your cheek. You lean into the touch, and his nostrils flare.
Across the parking lot, there’s a roar of his name.
Dean sighs, and stands up. He walks around the hood of the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the car. You watch his fingers move like a starved woman. You want him to put them in your mouth, and you almost tell him when there’s a slam on his window.
The man is shouting at him, veins bulging and eyes bugging. He looks nothing like Dean now.
And Dean doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even look at him. He just puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the lot. If the man gives chase, you don’t see. You’re too busy staring at Dean.
The first half of the drive is silent. Low music plays on the radio, and you watch Dean in the moving light of the road. Long shadows and dim streetlamps make him look like he fell out of a dream. Your arms twitch to wrap around him. Your eyes are heavy, your head intoxicated by the rich, amber and smoke smell of his cologne. If you lay your head in his lap, you wonder if he’d shove you away.
“You weren’t actually gonna go with him.” Dean mutters suddenly, and you blink.
“Huh?”
“That douchebag.” His fingers flex on the wheel. “You weren’t gonna fuck him.”
You frown. Useless, exhausted tears prick at your eyes. You don’t even know where they’re coming from. Just that you feel small, and you’re tired, and Dean’s dragging you back to the motel just so he can fuck another woman with peace of mind.
“He’s not even your type-“
“You don’t know what my type is.” You grumble, sinking into your seat.
Dean huffs a laugh. “I’ve seen what kinda guys you find hot on TV. He was ugly.”
“He wasn’t ugly-“
“Yeah, he was.”
“You’re ugly.” You snap, and Dean laughs. You get why. You didn’t even convince yourself.
“Only on the inside, sweetheart.”
Your lips wobbles. For some reason, that pushes the tears out of your eyes. You sink into the bench, wrapping into a tight little ball that Dean won’t be able to pry apart. You can’t stop the tears, but he doesn’t get to have more leverage.
Dean clears his throat. “Are you crying-“
“Shut up.” You sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve.
He murmurs your name, voice softer than before, and you lean against the window.
“Shut up-“
“You’re fuckin’ crying-“
“Dean!” You glare at him through the blur of the tears. “Just- Leave me alone!”
Dean’s silent for a second. But only a second.
“Did he hurt you?” He grunts, something hot and angry lining his words. “Before I got there, did that son of a bitch-“
“He barely even touched me, you just- You fucking-“
“I what? What the hell did I do-“
“You hate me!” You shout, and Dean goes horribly still.
“Don’t be insane.” He mutters your name, glaring out at the road. “I don’t hate you.”
You scoff, hugging your knees tight to your chest. “Yes, you do. You hate me, and you- You never let me have any fun-“
“That wasn’t fun, that was a lawsuit.”
You don’t even have a good comeback to that. He’s probably right. It just makes you angrier.
You turn away from him all together, watching the trees blur past in the window. You’re certain you’re going to be sick now. You close your eyes, the tears still flowing, and hide your face behind your hair and in your knees.
Dean sighs. His voice gets softer again.
“Listen, you’re drunk, alright? You’re gonna feel better in the morning-“
“No.” Your words are muffled, but you know he’ll still hear them. “I won’t.”
“Yeah, you will. I get a million of these drunken… feelings.” He says the word in an oddly tight tone. “You just gotta sleep them off.”
You laugh, wet and weak. “Whatever, Dean.”
“I’m trying to help-“
“No, you’re not.” You hug yourself tighter. “You just wanna get back to her.”
He’s silent again. You can hear his fingers drumming on the wheel. Almost hear the frown in his voice when he finally speaks.
“Who the hell are you talking about.”
“Your secretary lady.” You grumble, bitter and tired.
“You mean Katy?”
You grunt. “I hate her.”
“I- Princess, I sent her home like- Two hours ago.” He pauses. The air in the car feels oddly heavy. “Moment Sammy told me you were gone.”
You huff, but don’t respond. You can’t think of anything. You can barely understand what that means.
“You hate her?” Dean’s voice is so quiet you almost miss it.
“Mhm.”
“You barely even talked to her-“
“I don’t care.” You mutter, rubbing away the tears on your cheeks. “I hate her.”
“Why-“
“’M tired.” You pull your face out of your knees, and find Dean staring at you.
He clears his throat, and looks back to the road. You think you’re going to start sobbing again, when he stretches out an arm around your shoulder.
Neither of you say anything, when he slowly pulls you into his side. You haven’t been this close to him in a while. He’s just as warm as you remember. You’re already half-asleep, just from a few seconds of his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder and your face pressed into his neck.
“I didn’t like him that much either.” Dean mutters suddenly. “Your bar guy.”
You hum, nosing at his jaw. He smells good.
“I wish you’d tell me.” He adds. “When you were goin’ out. I’d come with you-“
“I don’t want you to come with me.”
Dean tenses. He doesn’t pull away. “I’m fun at bars, sweetheart..” His voice is too casual. “We’d have a good time-“
“You’d have a good time.” You grumble. “I’d be alone.”
“I wouldn’t- If we went out, I wouldn’t ditch-“
“Yes, you would.” You yawn, and you’re crying again, but it’s softer.
Even now, Dean makes everything easier.
You wish you could hate him more than you love him. You don’t think you’re ever going to manage.
“You hate me.” You whisper, sleep already pulling on the corners of your brain. “’S not fair.”
Dean swallows. His fingers still on your arm. “Why not?”
“’Cause I-“
You cut yourself off with a yawn. Dean mutters your name, and you shake your head, burrowing further into his side. You need to be as close as possible. You need to sink something into him that he can never wipe away, the same way he did with you.
“I love you,” you mumble. “And you hate me. And- It’s not fair, Dean.” You tremble, letting out a soft, pained breath. “Not fair.”
And sleep drags you under. But right before the world fades, you could swear you hear Dean’s low voice, and it floats through your dreams.
“I don’t hate you, baby.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t if I tried.”
Dean hasn’t spoken to you since last night.
You get up in the morning with a migraine and shame burning your face. You remember all of it. Every painful, whiny moment. You acted like the lovesick, annoying girl he accuses you of being. You told him the thing you swore you’d never say aloud. Once Sam tried to make you admit it, and you dumped a glass of iced tea over his head. You’d whimpered Dean’s name into your pillows while you touched yourself, and you’ve told yourself to get it together in the bathroom mirror, but you’ve never said it aloud.
And you just told.
You ruined everything.
He gives you meds and a glass of water to help the hangover, but he doesn’t look you in the eyes. You pack up the rooms and hit the road, but he doesn’t look in the rearview mirror to check on you even once. You bite the inside of your cheek and refuse to cry again. That will just make you seem more pathetic than you already are.
“What’s going on with you two.” Sam mutters when you stop at a gas station, hanging over your shoulder in the candy aisle.
“Nothing-“
“Don’t lie.” He gives you a flat look. “You’re not even fighting, which means you’re fighting.”
You peer up at him with a flat expression, and he sighs.
“You know what I mean. What the hell did he say to you.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
Sam mutters your name, and you grab a candy bar, flipping him off over your shoulder.
“Just drop it, okay?”
“No! I can’t drop it! I live with you guys, and- This is so much worse than when you were acting like you hated each other-“
“Sam-“
“You can’t see his face while he’s driving.” Sam hisses, grabbing a pack of almonds. “He’s either going to punch himself or cry, and that’s gonna be a whole freakin’ thing. Just- Talk to him-“
“He can talk to me.” You grab a pack of jerky. You can’t help it. Dean must be hungry too, and despite all your common sense, you still love him so much the world is slipping out from under your feet.
Sam pleads with your name. You shake your head.
“Please. Drop it.”
He examines you for a moment, then sighs. He agrees to drop it. It doesn’t make anything better at all.
Because Dean’s not even being mean or overbearing or annoying. He’s just silent. And Sam’s right.
It’s so much worse.
Normally by this point in the ride, you’ve been fighting so much that Sam turns up the radio until you can’t hear each other. You’ll poke his neck to annoy him, and he’ll swat you like a fly before cornering you against the car when you stop for food. You’ll shove him and march into the diner. He’ll stomp after you and sit too close in the booth, making you press your thighs together with every mocking word. He’ll flirt with the waitress, and you’ll daydream about throttling her every time she bats her eyes. Dean will keep your knees against each other’s, while he gets her number, and you’ll pour a bunch of salt over his pie when he goes to the bathroom.
You’ll shove at each other, until one of you snaps and stomps away. You’ll cry yourself to sleep that night, because he hates you, he hates you, he hates you.
But you don’t even have any tears left, and Dean doesn’t hate you.
He just can’t stand to look at you, now that he knows you love him.
Sam gives you worried looks, while Dean glares silently at the road. His fingers drum on the wheel, and you hug yourself tight. He might not be looking at you, but you can’t stop looking at him. If he asks you to leave, it will kill you. If he doesn’t ask you, but never speaks to you again, you’ll just wither away into nothing. But you can’t be the one to break the silence. You’ll only make it worse.
You stop at a diner, and the waitress has the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen and the kind of honeyed smile that usually makes Dean smirk.
Today he doesn’t even look at her. You have to order for him, which makes the waitress glare at you, as if you’re responsible for him sulking so much he doesn’t care about boobs—and you are, but she has no way to know that—and you give her a tight smile.
Dean doesn’t thank you for the food, but he looks at you for the first time all day. You blink at him, biting back the pout threatening your lips. You’re not going to break here, in broad daylight, with Sam right there.
Dean lets out a slow exhale through his nose, and looks back to his food. You blink away the useless sting behind your eyes, biting your inner cheek until it’s swollen. Sam gives you a pitying look. You shoot him a glare.
“He still sat next to you.” Sam mutters while Dean checks you into a motel, that night. “Whatever happened, he’s not that mad at you-“
“Sammy!” Dean calls from the desk. “The lady needs our IDs!”
Sam sighs, going through his pockets as he walks over.
Dean’s gaze meets yours, and you flush. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you fucking hate it. You thought you knew all his expression. You thought you knew him. You thought he’d at least have the guts to turn you down like a man.
Instead his tongue flicks over his lips, and he rips his gaze back to the desk attendant. You hate her. You hate him. You love him. Your head hurts, overflowing with too many thoughts that you can’t even pick them apart. You want to scream and cry and run and sink into the floor. It’s not fair of him, to do this to you. You’re going to be sick. You want to drown your sorrows in as many drinks as you can find.
You settle for curling into your bed, hiding your face in the pillows, and crying until your body is limp and your throat is sore. He knows you love him. He hates you. He’s never going to look at you again, and you’re going to turn into a ghost. An evil, angry ghost. One of the ghosts that he has to kill. Then he’s going to kill you, and you’re going to turn into a demon, then you’re going to start the apocalypse again, and everyone ever is going to die because you told Dean you love him.
You cry until you can barely breathe, then a little while after. It was silent. There was no way Sam and Dean would hear it, even through the door joining your rooms.
But there’s a creak, and you sniff, turning your head just enough that Sam will be able to hear you.
“I’m fine, Sam-“
“Not Sam.” Dean mutters, and you freeze.
You don’t move. You don’t dare. Dean clears his throat, and you hear him shifting on his feet. He’s close enough to be fully through the door. You hear it close behind him, and bunch the sheets in your arms.
“I- Uh- I was hopin’ we could talk?”
You still don’t move. Dean coughs. His voice is even rougher than usual. Normally, if you had the brainpower, you’d be worried about him.
“Can you look at me?”
You scowl at the pillow in your face. “No.”
Dean mutters your name, and you cut him off with short words.
“Go away, Dean.”
“No, we need to- I got some shit to say, alright-“
“I don’t care.”
“Trust me, princess, you’re gonna care about this-“
“Stop calling me that!” The words rip from your throat, sudden and broken.
You flip over, moving to your knees, and Dean stumbles back like you punched him. His face is red, and there are bags under his eyes. He’s still handsome.
Asshole.
“I-“
“Shut up.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at his slack expression. “Stop- Stop calling me princess and sweetheart and- and acting like you fucking care about me! It’s fucking cruel, Dean, it was a dick move before and now- Now you know.” Your voice cracks. You can’t even say it again. “Now you know, alright? You know what I- How I am! And I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have told you, but I was drunk, and I- I was tired, and you were being nice and you’re never nice to me-“
Dean opens his mouth, and you chuck a pillow right at his chest.
“No.” You spit, pushing up higher on your knees. “No, you don’t get to talk now. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t need- You don’t have to tell me! I get it, I know what you’re going to say!” You thought you were out of tears. You were wrong. “I’m just a stupid little girl, and you see me like a fucking sister or whatever, I don’t know what I’m talking about and I don’t know how I feel and you- You’d never-“ You choke on your own words. “You’d never feel-“
He moves quickly. You don’t even get the chance to throw another pillow.
Dean grabs your face between his hands, pulling right up into his. Dean kisses you, and your sharp words dissolve into a surprised sound, then a tiny moan.
His mouth is demanding. Your lips are already parted, and when the moan pushes its way up from your chest, Dean pushes his tongue over yours with a grunt. It’s a messy and desperate, noses bumping and spit mixing. You try and shove back, but Dean just pushes further over you, and you dissolve into his touch.
You’re panting, when he pulls away. He keeps his hands firmly planted, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lips and his shoulders heaving. His fingers are tangled in your hair. You feel small under his gaze, but not in the painful, ignored way like before. It’s like you’re being shielded. Like he’s trying to protect you from your own, spiraling thoughts by sucking them out of your face.
It’s working. You stare at him with an open awe you can feel in your chest, bubbling and light.
He kissed you.
His lips were soft and chapped in the best way, and he was even better at kissing than you imagined. He tasted a little sugary from the pie he had with dinner, and something richer that was just Dean. His touch on your is almost reverent, and you want to suck on his thumb to see if it tastes as good as his lips. You want to suck on every part of him. For science. You want, you want, you want. Dean kissed you, and now all you can feel—thundering through your bloodstream—is want.
He murmurs your name, scanning over your slack features. Your eyes flutter. His throat bobs.
“I’m gonna talk now.” He says, and you nod.
You should be shoving or fighting him, but he’s looking at you like you matter. And you’re far too tired to bother with anything but tears or pleas for more kisses right now.
“I thought-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low, dry laugh. “I thought you hated me.”
“I don’t-“
“Yeah, I got that now.” He gives you an amused, tired look. “But- Sweetheart, you called me a seductive manwhore last week.”
Your face burns a little. He’d been flirting with another waitress, at another diner. You’d wanted to slit her throat.
“Seductive is a compliment.” You mumble weakly, dropping your gaze to his chest. Dean chuckles.
“From where I was sittin’, it felt like you wanted to kill me.”
You shake your head, the movement small between his hands. “You looked like you wanted me to fuck off. You always looked like you wanted me to fuck off-“
“No.” His grip tightens, and your attention shoots back up.
And you think you understand that expression. It’s heavy, and you have seen it before. But it’s always been a dull glint in his eyes, before he looks away.
Longing.
“Dean…” You whisper, and he leans down, pressing his brow to yours.
“I never want you to fuck off.” He mutters. “Never. Please- Don’t.”
His voice breaks. You reach up to grab his wrists, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“I know I ain’t perfect. I know I’m old, and a dick, and I don’t got much to offer-“
“I like what you have to offer.” You whisper. His brow knits tighter. “I always liked it.”
Dean chuckles. “You shot me down. First time I offered it.”
“You wanted a hookup, I- I can’t do that-“
“I couldn’t either.” He looks at you under hooded eyes. “Not with you.”
You press your lips in a thin line, years of anger and sparring fading into a blur of a dull, bruising ache. He was always a wound you refused to heal. If he cuts you open any wider, you don’t think you’re going to have the option anymore.
“You didn’t seem interested.” Dean rasps. “You started- Lookin’ at me all weird and calling me names and-“
“I loved you.” You say it before you can think. Dean lets out a sharp breath, his weight pressing further down.
“But- I- You too.” He winces, like he hates the words. “I didn’t- It was never- Son of a bitch-“
He looks like it’s paining him to try and say it. And you know. You know he can’t, because he doesn’t even say it to Sam.
But he looks like he’s going to cry. Dean never cries.
He means it. The thing you never let yourself dream of, he means it.
“I- You just- I wanted shit, and you seemed like you wanted nothin’ to do with me, so I-“
You move carefully, tugging that collar of his shirt down into the kiss. Dean goes rigid for a single, horrible second.
Then he almost melts.
His fingers dig into your skin like he can’t bear to let go. His body collapses over yours, his kisses going from the soft ones you started to fast and desperate. He kisses you like he’s trying to leave a mark, and you meet him with every bit off passion.
Dean folds you down, until you’re flat on the mattress. Your legs fly up to wrap around his torso, and he grabs one of your hands, tangling your fingers together. The kisses turn slow. A little more certain and controlled, Dean sucking on your lower lip before kissing the corner of your mouth, then your upper lip. You smile into the kiss, and a broken sound rumbles from his chest.
He pins your hands next to your head, squeezing once before he breaks away. He looks wrecked. He stares at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and your head buzzes, nice and clear of what ifs.
All that matters right now is Dean above you, and the electric heat in your body. How his hand fits so perfectly in yours. How your bodies are already molding together, and you’re both still fully clothed.
“You deserve better, baby.” He mutters, and you almost laugh.
There’s nothing better. There’s Dean, glorious and unreachable, and there’s everyone else.
“No.” You whisper, beaming up at him. “I don’t.”
Dean’s throat bobs. He lowers himself down slowly, pressing his lips slowly over yours. Like he’s still not fully sure. You hum happily into the kiss, and he takes the cue easily.
You lose yourself in him quickly. His lazy, passionate kisses and his hands, slowly tracing over your body. He starts with light touches near your hips and waist, every brush of his fingers making you shiver. You arch into it, when his thumb grazes the bare skin of your midriff. Dean groans, testing the waters with another slow graze of his fingers.
“Deeean…” You breathe against his lips, and he grunts.
“You’re so soft.” He mutters, slipping his hand under your shirt. “So fuckin’ reactive and soft.”
You whimper, heels digging into his back as he teases his fingers up your spine. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Not teasin’.” He nips at the corner of your mouth. “Just sayin’ things that are true, baby. Not my fault they make you all stupid.”
Your breath hitches, your head tipping back as your legs spread slightly. Dean hums, interest flashing in his gaze. He noticed. Of course he did. He notices everything.
“You like that?” He drawls, kissing over your cheek, then down your neck. “You like bein’ called baby? Or called stupid.”
His hand drifts up your side, until his thumb is grazing under your breast. The sensation, combined with his dirty words, makes your hips roll. A dizzy, pleased sigh escapes your lips. Dean chuckles, rubbing his thumb in a tight circle. His lips graze a sensitive spot on your neck, and your hips roll again.
“I think you like both.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Dirty girl, bet you’re already wet for me.”
You whimper, the sound turning to a sharp gasp when Dean shoves his knee right between your thighs. You buck off the bed at the sudden pressure, eyes glazing and mouth hanging open.
Dean sucks on that sensitive spot, and your whole body shivers. You can’t stand to not move, not with the heat of him all around you. His thumb drags up, brushing over your nipple right as his tongue flicks against your skin. You start to mindlessly grind against his knee, chasing just a little bit more friction. Dean chuckle, biting softly at your neck before bullying his knee further against your clothed cunt.
“That’s it.” He growls in your ear. “Messy fuckin’ girl, already humping my leg. You need it that bad, sweetheart? Can’t even wait for me?”
“I- I’m sorry-“ You whine, trying to stop your body from moving.
It doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Dean slips his hand from under your shirt and grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze onto his, and his attention just fuels the wildfire under your skin. You need him, and form of him you can get. You need him harsh and all over your body, until there’s are marks you won’t be able to wash away in the morning. You need him to claim you so deeply neither of you can back out.
Dean watches you with a gentle, but sharp awe. Like he’s trying to memorize the scene below him, that you’re sure is quiet a sight. You fucking his leg like a dog in heat, your adoration and love finally allowed to pour all over your face.
“Need you,” you breathe out, grabbing his wrist. “Need you so bad, Dean.”
A low rumble leaves his chest, his eyes getting darker with every tiny moan from your lips. His attention is almost too much. You try and turn your face into the sheets, but he tugs it back with barely a flick of his wrist.
“Dean, please-“
“Look at me.” He taps your cheek with one finger, slamming his knee forward.
Your glossy, tear-stained eyes dart to his, and he smirks. It’s soft, but dangerous. He smiles down at you, and another breath of his name escapes your lips.
“What do you want, sweet girl?” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Use your words.”
It takes you a second to remember how. “You,” you breathe out, and Dean’s jaw ticks. “Want you, Dean, always wanted you-“
“I know, baby,” he coos, leaning slowly down. Your noses bump, and you whimper, closing your eyes. “You want me so bad it hurts, don’t you. Bet your little pussy is fuckin’ calling my name, begging me to stuff her up.”
“Yes,” you nod, bobbleheaded and dizzy. “Oh my god, yes-“
“But how.” His voice turns stern, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Do you want me? Soft? Or,” he pushes your further down onto his knee, and your eyes roll a little back. “Hard?”
Dean drags his thumb over your lips, squeezing your cheeks into a tiny pout. You try to keep fucking his knee, but he’s got you pinned so hard against it that you can’t move. You’re trapped in a cruel kind of heaven, with everything right on the brink of falling, and Dean holding you over the edge by the nape of your neck.
“Hard,” you whisper, dragging your eyes open to meet his. He needs to see it. How bad you want him. “Wanna- Ohh-“ Your lashes flutter, as Dean starts to slowly grind his knee against your core. “Wanna feel you. All of you. Don’t- Don’t hold back.”
His grip on your jaw tightens. His voice drops a full octave. “Baby, are you-“
“Yes.” You smile at him, already a little drunk on his everything. “I trust you.”
And that seems to be what gets him. Dean blinks at you for a second, the façade of pure control slipping. You know it’s a game, and that when you’re done he’s going to coddle you like a princess. But you’re not sure he knew you knew. Not sure he understood that, even when you thought he hated you, you would’ve placed your life in his hands without even a beat of hesitation.
Dean leans down, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. His hand pulls from yours, and he wraps his arm around your lower back. His fingers tickle your sides a little, teasing the side of your breast, and you giggle. Dean grunts, pushing you further into the mattress. It just makes you giggle more.
“Somethin’ funny?” He mutters, and you can hear it again. He’s back in this. It sends a shivering thrill through your body.
You need more. And you shake your head, trying to test just how much it takes him to snap.
“You’re laughin’ like something’s funny.” Dean leans back up, glaring down at your lovedrunk, giddy expression.
There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.
You’re about to be fucked into next week.
“Look at you.” He mutters, palming at your breast through your shirt. You gasp, arching into the touch, and Dean chuckles. “You’d do anything I told you, huh. Just to make me fuck you.”
You shake your head, and Dean chuckles.
“Don’t lie, princess. Good girls don’t lie to me.”
Your breath catches. Your thighs press around Dean’s knee, the grind of your hips short and uncontrolled. He lets you writhe below him, smirking at the pants that escape your lips.
“Does it hurt?” he coos, smearing some spit over your cheek. “Your pussy aching, baby girl? Already can’t take it?”
“N- No.” You choke out. “I can take it-“
“Doesn’t seem like you can.” He mutters, scanning over your limp body. “I’m not even touchin’ you and you’re about to cum. Can’t believe you’re that fucking easy.”
You whimper, shaking your head. “I- I’m not easy-“
“Yeah?” Dean mocks. “How many other guys you fucked?”
“Two. Just two-“
“They make you feel like this?”
“No- Never-“
“Damn right. They don’t.” Dean grunts. “You’re mine, princess. My fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, heat rushing through you at the possession in his voice. You are his. He has no idea, how completely and totally his you are.
“Say you’re mine.” Dean orders, and you nod.
“Yours. All yours, Dean, I’m- Fuuuck-“
He pinches your nipple rolling it between two fingers. Your hips try to buck off the bed, but he’s pinned you down too well.
“Fuck- Dean- You can’t just-“
You moan, and he chuckles.
“Oh, baby.” He leans back down, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
Dean nips on your lower lip, then rises back up, patting your cheek.
“Open.”
You do, without a thought. He chuckles, leans down, and spits right into your swollen lips.
“Swallow.” He grunts, and you obey.
You lick your lips for good measure. Just to see how he’ll react. His mouth falls a little open, a deep, possessive sound rumbling chest.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost fully to himself. “So fuckin’ eager. You ready to listen, princess?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, and add for good measure. “Please.”
Dean’s lips twitch. “Beggin’ and I don’t even have you naked yet. We should fix that.”
“Fix what-“
“Stand up.” Dean drags you upright with steady, but firm hands.
You follow his lead, letting him move you off the mattress and onto shaking legs. He keeps you between his spread knees, smirking up at your confused expression. He’s got one hand, steadily rubbing the back of your thigh.
“Strip.” He orders, and your cheeks burn.
“Dean-“
You cut yourself off, when he just raises his brows. God, if he wasn’t begging you for attention fifteen minutes ago, you’d be putting up more of a fight. Just for the show of it. To prove that you’re perfectly capable of thinking for yourself. That you don’t need him at all.
But you think he knows that. And for once, you don’t want to have to think at all.
You peel off your clothing slowly, burning under Dean’s gaze. He’s tracking every movement, dragging over every bare inch of skin. Your top goes first, and his hands fly right up to palm your breasts. His hand is big and warm, and you bite back a tiny moan.
Dean smirks, leaning slowly forward to trail open, wet kisses over the valley of your breasts. You weave your fingers through his hair, your breath stuttering. You fumble with your bottoms. It’s a little hard to focus, with his tongue swirling around your sensitive, peaked nipple.
“Shit- Dean-“ You take a deep breath, tugging at his soft, short locks. “That’s- Mmmm-“
He sucks lightly, and you lean fully over his chest. He chuckles, flicking his tongue back and forth, and all you can think of is that sinful mouth against your core.
“I- I can’t-“
“Yes, you can.” He kisses your nipple, before switching to the neglected one. “For me.”
You swallow, grabbing at the hem of your bottoms and tugging them down. Dean grabs a handful of your ass, slapping it once before dipping his fingers down between your thighs. You collapse over him with a weak noise, and Dean just laughs. The shame in how quickly he’s unraveling you, how wet you know you are, it just makes you ache for him more. He’s got you, needy and in the palm of his hand. He knows it. And still, he touches you like he’s been waiting to his whole life.
“That’s my girl.” He mutters. “Son of a bitch, you’re so fuckin’ wet. You been walkin’ around like this? Waiting to get bent over and turned into my little cockslut.”
“Ye- Yes.” You press your face into his hair, nails scratching at his neck. “Oh my god, Deean-“
“Yeah. That’s right.” Dean hums as you grind down onto his fingers, teasing between the lips of your pussy. “Barely even fuckin’ touching you, and you’re soaking my hands. Jesus,” he laughs, the sound vibrating against your chest. “You’re getting wetter every time I talk.”
You keen, when the tip of his forefinger grazes your clit. It’s like being struck by lightning, making your whole body rush with pleasure and your pussy clench around nothing. He flicks it, just that once, then pulls away. You hug his head tighter, begging between your every moan.
Dean doesn’t budge. He rubs over your pussy without touching your clit again, muttering dirty words against your skin.
“Look at you,” he kisses your shoulder. “My pretty fuckin’ girl.”
“Dean-“
“Come on.” He slaps your ass again, and your knees give a little. “Like I couldn’t make you cum just from talkin’ to you.”
You flush, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you fully into his lap. Dean pauses, at the way you shiver, and pulls back. You try to avoid his gaze, but he isn’t having it. He grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, eyes gleaming and playful.
“Oh, I could, couldn’t I.” He smirks. “You’d cum for me just sittin’ here, letting me call you names.”
“No.” Your protest is short. Weak. Dean looks at you like he’s just pulled the sweetest bunny into his trap, and he wants to eat you alive.
He pulls you down for one of those kisses that’s too slow and sweet. It’s almost mocking, with how his cock is straining against his jeans, pressing into your thigh. You dissolve into it, lowering your guard against your better judgement. Dean squeezes your ass, rubbing where he’d spanked before. Your knees are jelly, your core pressed right against his denim-clad bulge.
Jesus, he must be massive. Just the idea makes you shiver, and Dean smiles against your lips.
“You’re bein’ so patient,” he coos, massaging your hips. “You trust me, don’t you? You know I’m gonna fuck you real good.”
You hum an agreement, smiling from the praise. Dean combs his fingers through your hair, sucking on your lower lips before pulling slightly back.
“You’re ready, aren’t you? I could fuck you right now and you’d take me like I was lubed up.”
You whimper, and Dean pushes you further onto his bulge.
“You gonna let me own you, sweet girl? Let me make you the dirty fuckin’ cumslut you wanna be.”
“Deaan-“ You gasp weakly. “Don’t be mean-“
“Why?” He kisses your cheek. “You like it. You’re the one who said you wanted it, baby. And fuckin’ gush,” he runs his hand between your thighs. “Every fuckin’ time I call you my dirty little girl.”
He’s right. Your pussy clenches, arousal dripping down your thighs. Dean laughs, manhandling you to stay upright as moves fully onto the mattress and lies flat on his back. You stare at him for a second, unable to move with his hold on your hips, but unsure what to do with yourself. You’re straddling him, watching with an open mouth as he pulls off his shirt and settles fully into the pillow. His cock is pushed right against your pussy. You grind down, and he hisses.
“Not yet.” He mutters at your pout. “Need to taste that sweet pussy. C’mere.”
He beckons, and your mouth falls open when you realize what he means.
“Dean, I can’t- You’re going to suffocate-“
“Nobel death.” He grins, and you scowl.
“I don’t want you to die the first time we have sex.”
“First time?” He wiggles his brows. “You’re gonna let me come back for seconds?”
“Dean, I’m serious-“
“So am I, can we do an all you can eat kinda situation-“
“Dean Winchester.” You shove his chest, and the idiot just laughs. “I’m not- I’m not doing that. I don’t want to hurt you, that’s- I’m not-“
“Hey.” Dean grabs your hand, squeezing it gently. You meet his gaze, and it’s a million times softer than before. “It’s okay. This ain’t gonna hurt me, I swear, but if you just don’t wanna, I have a lotta other ways to make us both feel good.”
He drags his thumb over your knuckles, and you take a deep breath. You hadn’t realized it. You were about to cry again.
You peer at Dean through your lashes, and he offers you a boyish, gentle smile.
“Promise it won’t hurt you?” You whisper, and he nods.
“Swear on your life.”
You nod, slowly and carefully. Dean opens his mouth—probably about to ask if you’re sure—but you’re already crawling up his chest.
He smiles, rubbing your thighs as you settle them on either side of his head. You take a deep breath, your hands fidgeting and unsure where to rest. Dean grabs them and guides them into his hair, before kissing the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, and you almost collapse straight over him.
He laughs, digging his dull nails into your ass. “Sweetheart, point of this is you sitting on my face.”
“I- I am-“
“You’re hovering. That ain’t sittin’.”
“I don’t want to crush you-“
“You won’t.” He sighs, kissing the opposite thigh. “I got you, right?”
You nod. He trails the kisses upwards, close to where you’re sure you’re dripping on his beard. His eyes never leave yours.
“You trust me?” He rasps, warm breath fanning over your pussy.
“Of- Of course I trust you-“
“Good.” Dean kisses your clit, sloppy and using his tongue to flick the little button back and forth.
You almost shriek, the sensation overwhelming. You squirm, unsure if you’re trying to get closer or wiggle away. Dean makes the choice for you.
“Hold on.” He grunts, right before yanking you right down onto his face.
And oh.
Oh god.
You’ve been eaten out before. Even by people who were good at it. Who enjoyed it. You came before, and walked away with no complaints.
Compared to this, they might as well have just spat on it and walked away.
Dean eats you out like he’s on a personal mission for honor between your legs. Like he lost something in your pussy and he’s trying to shake it loose. His jaw works like he’s devouring the finest food of his life, his tongue dragging and pumping in and out of your sensitive opening. His nose is pressed right against your clit, and he moves it with his full face, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.
“Fuuck- Fuck!” You cry out, yanking on Dean’s hair. “Dean- Oh- Oh my God-“
He moans, and the vibration makes it better and worse all at once. You’re trembling, no way to escape it, no way to feel it less. Dean massages your ass as he works, keeping you pinned to his face, to the pleasure he’s slowly dragging out of your body.
You pull his hair again, and his time he smacks your ass with his moan. Your back arches. You have to grab the bed frame to stop yourself from collapsing.
“Dean- Deeaaan-“
You chant the word like a prayer. It’s all you can remember. The infernal man below you laughs, and you push down harder into his wet, open mouth. He grunts, and doubles his efforts. His tongue traces around your pussy before shoving back into your tight cunt, and you clench around him with a whimper.
He tightens his grip on your hips, dragging them slowly back and forth. Guiding you into fucking his face. You follow his rhythm, and swear you can feel him everywhere in your body. Your nerves light up, with every stroke of his tongue and bump of his nose on your clit. Your mouth hangs open, and you pant as you try to hold off your orgasm, building up and up and up in your core.
One of his hands disappears from your body. You’re too lost in his mouth below you to notice, until you hear it.
The sound of slapping skin, mixed with Dean’s increasing moans below you. You manage to find enough of a mind to look over your shoulder, and the sight shoots straight to your pussy, gushing on Dean’s face.
He’s fisting his cock, thick and long and a little curved. He beats it into his hand, the head angry and red, coated in a thick layer of pre-cum. You twist back around looking down at his face between your thighs, and find him staring back.
He’s been staring the whole time. Eyes dark and wrecked, fixed on you as you writhed and moaned above him. He’s getting off to it. To having you like this.
Dean moans—fully, totally moans—into your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours.
And you can’t hold it off.
“Dean- I- I’m gonna-“
He squeezes your ass, moaning against your pussy again.
Permission.
You cum with a cry of his name, grinding down onto his face through your orgasm. Your vision goes white, your whole body shaking and seizing up as Dean’s tongue strokes you through it. He doesn’t stop when you’re a trembling, dazed mess above him. He slowly shifts you backwards, cradling your body as sits up, forcing your back into the sheets, between his legs.
He kisses your clit gently, eyes shining on your unfocused, glossy ones.
“Taste better than I imagined.” He murmurs, slowly moving you further up the bed. “And trust me, baby. I lost a whole lotta sleep imagining.”
You swallow, eyes darting to his still hard cock. Dean follows your hungry gaze, then laughs, angling it to rub between the lips of your pussy.
“You’re really that needy, huh.” He teases. “Not enough for just my mouth. Gotta have my cock, too.”
You hum, too lost in the feeling to even protest. You’re flat on your back, legs hiked up in the air and over Dean’s shoulder, fully exposing your poor, swollen pussy to him. He slides his cock right between the slick lips, the tip bumping your clit. You pout up at Dean, spreading your legs wider to try and urge him on. He raises his brows, pausing with his cock pressed over your clit.
“Already too fucked out to talk?”
You nod, and pride and worry mix in his eyes.
“Baby, if you need me to take it easy-“
You shake your head frantically. He promised no holding back. You want to be sore from him in the morning.
Dean sighs, lowering your legs so he can lean over your face. You glare at him, grinding your hips up against him. He pins you back to the bed with a single hand sprawled on your abdomen and a stern look.
“There’s gonna be more time for it to be rough.” He murmurs. “I been plenty mean tonight. And I love it, sweetheart, I do, but I’m gonna love anything-“
“Dean.” You push out, your voice wrecked and hoarse. “Hard. Please.”
“Are you-“
You push up on weak elbows, capturing his mouth against yours. Dean leans down, kissing you with every bit of adoration and softness he’s about to rip away for the sake of pleasure. You smile against the kiss, boneless and happy, and Dean grunts.
“Alright.” He mutters, the darkness in his voice sending a chill down your spine. “You get what you ask for, baby girl.”
Yes.
You’d say it, if he hadn’t already stolen most of the words from your body. And you thought that it was bad before.
Dean slowly shoves himself into your dripping cunt, and you can’t remember your own fucking name.
He’s big. So big you’re not sure how you’re fitting him. His hand on your abdomen pushes you deeper into the mattress, forcing you to take every thick, veiny inch of him. You whimper, and the sound gets swallowed by Dean’s lips.
“Feel that?” He hisses, tone harsh in the way that sends a thrill to your core. “Feel my cock, filling up your tight little pussy?”
You nod, mouth hanging open. Dean bottoms out with a grunt, pulling your hips roughly up to let him hit a deeper angle. You mewl, eyes rolling back at the burning, perfect stretch of him.
“That’s right.” He mutters, rutting into your wet, hot channel. “This is what you fuckin’ begged for, princess. To be a brainless little cockslut. You can’t even talk right now, can you? Just gonna lay there and look pretty while I do all the work?”
Tears prick at your eyes. You’re so full you almost don’t think you can handle it.
Dean isn’t going to give you much of a choice.
“Damn right you are.” He mutters to himself, dragging almost fully out of you before slamming back in, knocking the air from your lungs.
You sob with pleasure, reaching up to grab at his face. Dean kisses your wrist, repeating the motion with an even harsher thrust than before.
“That’s it.” He grunts, pushing over your as he finds a brutal pace. “That’s my girl. Fit me like a glove, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever fucked, so good for me, so fuckin’ good-“
Dean groans, crashing his lips over yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding on for dear life as he fucks stars behind your eyes and lightning through your body. If you weren’t ruined for him before, you are now. There isn’t another man in the world, who could reduce you to such a sobbing, wrecked mess while fucking you like a doll, then kiss all over your face like you’re the most important thing in the world.
He’s handling your body like it only exists for him to fuck. Grabbing your hips and breasts like they’re toys, positioning in the best way for him to hit you deeper. So deep he’s finding burning, pleasurable spots in you that you hadn’t known existed before, that make your whole body light up with pleasure. You can feel him in your throat, though every single inch of you, his muscles flexing and chest heaving and cock drilling into you until your pussy is drooling and he’s just sliding in and out.
But he kisses you like he’s a soldier being sent off to war. Rough and desperate, but loving. With all the fervor of a man who’s trying to something both of you have lost the words for. You return his every kiss, and his thrusts get sharper. Deeper.
You make sounds that are supposed to be his name. The room fills with the obscene sound of his cock, pounding into your cunt. You tip your head back and he starts to bite and suck on your throat, like he really can’t find enough of you to worship.
“Shit, baby-“ He presses his nose against your jaw, voice cracking as the bed creaks beneath you both. “Gonna- Gonna fuckin’- Where’d you want it-“
You grab his shoulders, yanking him fully down. Dean groans, doubling over and pressing his mouth back over yours.
“Come with me, sweetheart, c’mon- Milk my fuckin’ cock-“
His thumb slips between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight, unforgiving circles. You scream silently, as your orgasm hits you like a train. Dean fucks you through it, moaning your name as he chases his own release. White hot cum paints your inner walls, and Dean fucks it back into you with rough grunts and shorter thrusts.
You think you might be floating. You’ve never been this stuffed up, this warm. All the mocking and harshness from Dean is gone, replaced by worshipful hands that caress your face and gentle kisses over every spot he played with. Neither of you seem ready to know. You know you aren’t at all, and Dean’s curled over you like a very heavy blanket.
You rub his back, smiling up at the ceiling. It’s quiet. You’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe forever.
Dean rises over you, still not pulling out. His eyes are glazed, his expression wrecked. You reach up to cup his cheek, and he leans into the touch.
“My girl.” He mutters, and even if he doesn’t say it like one, you know it’s a question.
“Your girl.” You whisper.
You’ve never seen him smile so wide, than before he leans back down to kiss you again.
And if you make him smile like that for the rest of your life, then you know you’ve done something right.
✦End note: the good thing about writing these fics is that it's fun. the bad thing is that i've set my standards WAY too high. ✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
mmh thinking loads about clark and his grown-out hair…don't mind me….
tags: implied smut, fluff, domestic bliss, gratuitous mention of his curls (700+ wc)
—
i'd imagine that fhe first time you noticed would've been when you're just in bed with him, lounging after a hearty home-cooked dinner. he's laying on his belly beside you, with an arm tucked under his pillow. he gets like that when he eats too much, usually burning the lethargy off with a nap. quietly, you'd watch the sturdy, broad lines of his back rise and fall, in utter bliss.
"mm. can feel you staring at me. i think." after a long while of you squinting, he'd call you out on it, voice a sleepy, pillow-muffled drawl.
you'd clamber over his stupidly slender waist, combing your fingers through his thick, slightly coarse locks. "your hairs gotten seriously long."
clark remains a drifting cloud beneath you. the only evidence of his presence being the low, content grumbles he makes at the gentle pressure of your nails against his scalp. he lifts his head a fraction. "…has it?"
"mhm." you hum, non-committal. slumping your whole weight into the wide expanse of his broad back. scents of cedar & peppermint coating your senses. your knuckles come to push the curled out edges by the nape of his neck. it springs back up under your nudge. "i've never seen it stick out like this."
you stroke through his curls a little rougher, eliciting a full-bodied shudder from your sleepy boyfriend, "i see. i've had my hands a little full lately." a soft, deep sigh leaves him, and you feel his calloused hands blindly feel for your ankles, snug by his waist. he thumbs at the muscle there, sliding up your calf.
"should i get it cut?" he offers, cheeks pressed against his pillow.
your ministrations stills, "hmm. dunno." you answer honestly, pulling at the curled edges to make them stick out more. "it's sort of…hot. gives you a dishevelled…rugged look." you lower yourself, resting your cheeks onto his traps.
"…"
his arm wraps around your lower back. and with a swift movement, you feel your vision tilt as he plops you beneath him. "ack!" you gasp, steadying a palm by his thick bicep, which he flexes, for your enjoyment.
clark shuffles to cage you in his arms, favouring his weight with his left forearm. one side of his head is visibly styled out in a messy swoop from where you were combing through. though a shorter, unruly strand curls past his forehead.
"i'm not sure if it's good for the hero image. to look unkempt," he ponders seriously, palms pressed against his cheeks as he lays on his side.
you blink up at him. still thrown by the sudden adjustment."…i'm just saying." your knuckles graze past the stray lock, melting into him, with a thigh draped along his ribs. "i like you like this. softer. just f'me." your words trail into murmurs, but he catches them anyway.
the dimples, deep in his cheeks makes themselves known first, and he lets out a huff, sizing you with a dopey smile. "that so?" clark leans on, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot below your ears. the first peck tickles you, with his messy hair brushing past your ears. "hahah. hey! that tickles." you groan, catching a brief glimpse of his blurred, dark locks," geez…like some…wild beast."
"hmm. make up your mind," he rumbles, trailing teasing kisses past your collarbone, to your sternum. clark lifts his head up, eyes glinting in wanton adoration for you. "am i a beast, or some cool…hip dude?"
you stare at him, in mild disgust. "cool hip dude? nevermind. you can never be rugged."
he nips at your wrist when it comes to rest at the back of his head. "ow!" you yelp, shooting him a displeased look. clark just laughs, replacing the sting with a chaste peck. he guides your hand to the back of his head, as though encouraging you to keep it there.
"got your verdict yet?" the shift in the playfulness is subtle as he makes his way down your midsection. pressing another breathy kiss beneath your breasts to your navel. your eyes don't leave him, and neither does your idle palm, half-vanished in his curls.
before you can think to answer, clark lifts your hips up for a second to slide your sleep shorts down. keeping his gaze locked on yours as he presses his lips to your inner thighs.
you swallow the shudder that threatened to give away your building arousal, hands imperceptibly tightening where it was once lax.
explicit 18+ ……. so oh my god imagine there was some magic* doll type dildo that you bought at a random hole in the wall toy shop, label on the packaging claiming it was the most realistic one made to date and the price tag definitely reflected it. you liked the girth, the curve, the entire shape of it so much that the dent in your bank account didn’t seem to matter when you rushed to grab it off the shelf since it looked to be the only one in stock.
the magic* part of it being where everytime you suck it and ride it, clark (and only clark specifically, from miles and miles away) could feel everything you’re doing to it and doesn’t even know what’s happening. doesn’t understand why his dick starts feeling so fucking good out of the blue. first time it happens it’s a mundane Sunday night, the same night you went to the toy shop and bought it. he’s lying on his back in bed reading when he feels a velvety magic invisible tongue-like pull begin slurping on his dick. licking up his balls, gulping him down like every inch was breakfast. and it made him pause, put a bookmark on the page he left on, stare down at his dick still sitting snug in his boxers and getting wetter by the minute.
he holds his breath and pinches his brows when all the sudden the tightest, wettest hole just seemed to start fucking itself silly on his cock like it was the most primal urge that needed to get sated, and only he could provide the fill. he doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know how he can possibly be feeling these things as if someone really was on top of him fucking the shit out of his dick. he gasps when his dick twitches and bobs around like it’s having the most fulfilling fuck of its life, nearly knocking clark the fuck out when he slams his head back barely landing on his pillow and clenching his fists on the bedsheet.
the invisible pussy on top of him just bounces away, switching up angles that seemed to nudge her in her favorite places, angling the dildo so his curve grazes up against her tender spots. his yells echo in his empty bedroom as he cums so hard and so prematurely it began gushing out of him, and while you’re riding away on the dildo that unbeknownst to you was somehow physically tied and connected to clark’s real dick, you start to feel the warm splashes of cum roping out and you look down, out of breath from the most satisfying workout you’ve been able to have in awhile, seeing how it starts dripping out of you. and then you end up wondering if the package of the sex toy you bought even disclosed if it came with fake cum inside……
part one + part two
. . .
could potentially write up a whole freak fic of this if I have the inspo and the time lmfao I have so muchhh I wanna write this filth came to me in a psychic daydream ……. Magic dildo yum
i write some nsfw and dark fics; please read and heed the tags i add! these may include taboo topics such as noncon, dubcon, fauxcest, and the like. (last updated: 04/10/2026)
matt murdock x reader
general matt x reader tag
scent of peace [ao3]
voicemail, vase, vigilante
ten and two
soft serve
fortune cookie
moonstruck
heartstring
what's in matt's wallet?
valentine's day eve
my goat is washed 🔥 (tired!matt)
after hours
secretary!reader blurb
the very injured caterpillar
that's all
massaging injured matt
geography
troubleshooting
rearranging
series:
infinity on high
us at the end of the year
🔞:
let it be done unto me
cross the line
apple lotion
timeout
possession
how many kisses are enough?
oral with matt in the office
transcendent third (feat. foggy nelson)
my dark/mean!matt tag
benjamin "dex" poindexter x reader
general dex x reader tag
ring toss [ao3]
off target [ao3]
cat, interrupted [ao3]
dex vs. the emoji industrial complex
slammer
metronome
how does he text?
🔞:
trigger happy [ao3]
loser [ao3]
misfit (part 2 to loser)
backslide
reroll
pegging dex
take everything [ao3] [darkfic]
foggy nelson x reader
general foggy nelson x reader tag
jealous!bf headcanons
realizing you're in love with college!foggy
🔞:
joint effort
transcendent third (feat. matt murdock)
do not feed my works to generative ai or i will kill myself ((ヽ(๑╹◡╹๑)ﾉ))♬
18+! cw: professor/student relationship, power imbalance, mean!dom!matt, use of professor/sir/mr. murdock, masturbation, cockwarming, shameless amounts of begging, praise kink, squirting, choking, pussy slapping, unprotected piv, cockdrunk reader, lowkey nothing happens irl so 😇😇🙏
summary: matt knows better. your crush on him is harmless, easy to ignore- until it isn’t. he knows he shouldn’t want you, but that’s never stopped him before.
A/N: back from the grave with self indulgent porn!!!!!! this is lowkey cope bc i have horrible classes for the next sem nd the most i can do is hope for a hot prof 🤞
ao3 mirror
Matt tells himself he’ll save your essay for last. This is the extent of whatever luxury he’ll allow himself, a harmless concession to the ache your little crush stirs in him. But after four hours of the screen reader droning lifelessly in his ear, the rest of the papers have dissolved into a whirlpool of sterile takes on Milton’s relativism. It's all so trite and numbing—he can’t help but sigh. Leaning back, he swirls the scotch in his glass, eager for the only respite that remained.
Your work.
He exhales.
He’s not like that, he would never.
A student having a crush on him is hardly something new. God knows he’d do anything to be spared the bold, bare-legged co-eds doused in Juicy Couture, with their giggly attempts at leaning too far over his desk. Their movements remind him of newborn deer: clumsy and sexless. But as for you, even as your racing heartbeat gives you away, your only response seems to be to shut it down by chipping away harder at your own work. And though he toys with you, subtly picking on you more than the rest, it seems you haven’t caught on—or if you have, you’re choosing not to act.
In any case, Matt’s grateful for your restraint. It allows him the opportunity to reject transgression. It lets him believe, for a moment, that this wrongness is his alone to bear, instead of a pleasure he’s denying you both.
His cock is stiff in his pants, making him shift uncomfortably.
He tips back the scotch and takes in how the warmth blooms down his throat and across his chest. His mind is weightless, and this way it is a consolation that whatever he’s about to do can at least be partly attributed to the buzzing in his bloodstream. Closing his eyes, Matt finally relents, letting his thoughts swallow him whole.
You’re sitting on his lap, in his office after hours. Your thighs are draped over his, still mostly dressed except for your halfway-unbuttoned blouse and flipped-up skirt. His firm chest is to your back and your panties are shoved to the side, your hot, needy pussy weeping at being stuffed full with his swollen cock. Its every twitch inside you makes you whimper and pulsate around him, desperate for any friction, any relief, anything. But Matt takes pleasure in denying you this, just as you have denied him your attention. It is something that makes you squirm to no avail as his strong arm comes squarely across your waist, barring you from any movement.
“Read,” he commands, low and rough in your ear.
Even as he’s stretching you out, you know you have to try. The papers on the desk before you are arranged in three sizable piles, and it makes your stomach twist something horrible: finishing this task of dictating papers to him might very well be impossible. You've barely made it through four.
It’s stupid, really. He has the class submit their work through the online portal, so there’s no reason for him to have asked for hard copies this time—except only, you suspect, to have you hold each page, feel its weight, make you read to him while you’re impaled on his cock.
Shaken, you focus back on the matter at hand: the essay you’re holding. You recognize it as your classmate’s, a nice soft-spoken boy who’s sat next to you in class once or twice. In fact, he’s cute. You might even like him.
“Th-the central tenet of…,” Soft and breathy syllables escape your lips while his big hand palms your exposed tits, which spill over the loosened fabric of your blouse. Matt chuckles darkly at the way your voice squeaks in response to his harsh tugging and pinching at your nipples, enough to hurt and slow down your progress.
Yes, you like your soft-spoken boy, but not like this.
Not like how you belong so completely to Mr. Murdock.
You can tell he is tilting his head behind you, as he does when he’s disappointed. You can feel his breath ghost over the back of your neck.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “I know you skipped a line.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you whine again in protest, but you see that he is right. “I’m sorry. I cou—…”
“I don’t care, you’ll read it again,” he says, tightening the arm around your waist, pinning you flush against his chest.
“Enunciate this time. Properly.”
You sob. There’s a little relief in tightening the muscles of your pussy around him, squeezing and bearing down almost as if to force his cock out, but all it does is make him groan into your shoulder, grinding his hips up just barely. It is enough to make your thighs tremble but not enough to fuck you, and your pussy’s so wet that your creamy slick is drooling down the base of him now, over his balls, soaking into the fabric of his slacks. You should be mortified at the mess you’re making, but your body is quickly betraying your mind as you fall apart just from being so, so full.
“Please,” you mewl, a hiccup in your throat as you try to behave, try to focus again on the printed letters. You’ve creased the paper in your hand and a crisscross of lines are wrinkled through your classmate’s words. For some reason, this makes your chest seize, and you feel the guilty tears rising before you even understand why. “I’m trying. I just— Please, Mr. Murdock…”
It’s taking everything he has not to thrust up into you, or better yet push you forward and fuck you forcefully against his desk until you can do nothing else but cry.
“Please what?” he prompts, heat radiating off his body. Clearly, being called by that name has some effect on him—Mr. Murdock, it is what you call him in class, Mr. Murdock in that huffy, indignant tone that tells him you’re far from pleased with his teasing. Evidently, he loves it.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly, a stark contrast to his aggressive suckling and biting on your neck, sure to leave marks for everyone to see. “You’re a big girl, use your words for me.”
And though he doesn’t spell it out, the message is clear to you: you’re not going anywhere. The corridors have long gone quiet and no one is coming; he can stay here all night until you finish reading every last paper, or until you beg.
After all, it takes so little for him to give in, doesn’t it?
“Fuck me,” you gasp, the desperate shame burning in your cheeks. Then louder, breaking, “Fuck me, please, just a little… I’ll keep reading… I swear I will, please…”
Your breath hitches, unable to say more. You’re sure he’s ignoring you again, letting you squirm around him, but then he turns your face just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, and when he does his stubble scrapes at your cheek.
How could he ever deny his sweet, polite girl?
Matt pulls back and bites your bare shoulder, slowly shifting his hips. It is one deep, dragging stroke that has your vision going spotty, your whole body falling limp. The sound it makes is obscene, your sloppy, sticky pussy milking his cock.
“That’s it, fuck, that’s my girl,” voice raspy and sweet, lifting your hips up before dropping you, letting gravity fuck him into you. The sensation, along with his praise, makes you feel so full and fuzzy you want to cry again. “See? You can do something right after all. Take it all for me, okay?”
You nod tremulously. You are eager to please and you know he knows this. He knows there is nothing else to you, he is all you feel, all you hear, all you are. And perhaps you’ve finally done something right because he doesn’t stop at one thrust, rocking his hips again deep as he’ll go.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” he smirks as his lips brush your ear, though you can barely make out the words through the thudding in your temples, “What happened to your focus, hm? Too much for that pretty little head of yours?”
You try to answer, but all that escapes is a high shattered whimper as he thrusts up again, his free hand coming up to close around your throat, pressing, testing how much you can take before your breaths turn to labored gasps.
“M-Mr. Murdock, I can’t... Oh god, Matt..”
He ignores your protests, even your blatant nerve to use his name. Instead he growls, “You can take it,” with sweat beading at his temples as he kisses down your neck, your shoulder. “This is what you’re made for. You’ll take what I give you.” His lips never stop moving and nor does his other hand, which has gone from steadying your waist to stroking up and down your sides tenderly. Your tits bounce shamelessly with every thrust, and your skirt’s hiked so high it’s come up to the softness of your stomach. But Matt’s still fully dressed, except for the thick, glistening cock impaling your tight wet cunt—stretching you, reshaping you.
Matt’s pace is just a little short of brutal, and each stroke drags you closer and closer to the gaping pit in the bottom of your stomach that is building and building and it is worsened by his roaming hand coming between your legs to rub your engorged clit.
His palm smacks your bare cunt once, twice, again—hissing at the way it makes you seize and clench around him. You cry out, clawing at the watch on his wrist in blind desperation. The pressure is tipping toward the unbearable. The way he’s touching you sets off a mounting pressure in your bladder, and you try to shift away, but it’s no use. He’s too strong and you’re too far gone.
A small, terrified part of you wants to tap out before you humiliate yourself completely, before you make even more of a mess all over the place.
“Wait, Professor—please-!” you gasp suddenly. Frantically, you try to close your legs, trying to block his frenzied rubbing at your sensitive clit. “Wait, I think I’m… m’gonna…”
“What?” he grunts, not letting up even a little. “What now?”
“M’gonna pee, stop it, stop it—!”
To your dismay, Matt laughs. Dark and so smug you feel stupid for even saying it. He shakes his head, like you’ve just told him a completely asinine joke.
“You’re not gonna pee, sweetheart,” he tells you, spitting the word with amusement, or maybe disgust—you can’t really tell with him fucking you dumb. “But if you need to close your legs that badly…”
His hands slide down your thighs smoothly, and then they’re clasping around your ankles—bending your knees in, folding your legs tight to trap him deep inside you as he bounces you on his dick.
The pressure is instantaneous and you instantly know you’ve made a mistake, whining and crying as the tautness in you winds tighter and tighter, pressure everywhere from the inside out growing and cresting and—
Eventually you’re unable to hold it. Your body convulses violently, spine bowing as your legs kick open and shake helplessly. He holds you down with both hands, fucking you through every spasm of your cunt as it gushes all over his shaft, spraying and soaking his lap, his thighs, his ruined slacks. Even the papers on the desk.
“God,” Matt groans loudly, eyes fluttering. A string of curses tumble freely from his lips as your pussy spasms around him. “Fuck, there she is, so good, baby. So perfect for me.”
You slump back down on him, shuddering. You’re thoroughly exhausted, boneless at the exertion, but he’s far from finished.
Matt lifts you with ease, shifting you forward to bend you over. The stacks of essays sink and topple beneath you—some slide to the floor and some catch under your bare tits, but you barely register them, body folding with no hint of resistance.
His hand flattens between your shoulder blades, pinning you down against the desk. He pulls out—drawing a pitiful whine from your throat—but only long enough to spit into his palm, and then he’s sheathing himself back in you again, bottoming out to the hilt.
It knocks the air clean from your lungs. It feels so much deeper like this, held in place by him, that your brain sparks and short-circuits with the overwhelming push.
“Hands down on the desk. Palms flat,” he orders, voice hoarse. One hand fumbles across the surface until he catches a sheet, shoving it before you. “Eyes on the page.”
Oh god. You can’t do this again.
You can barely even see the words, your vision addled by tears and sweat. But you want to please him, you need to, so you plant your hands down on the desk without being told twice.
“Read.”
And he starts to fuck you.
No pretense now. He ruts into you hard, every thrust raw and wet through your spent cunt, each loud slam of his hips against your ass punctuating your choked gasps. The desk rocks with each impact and you tremble to keep yourself upright. His grip bruises your hips, thumbs digging into soft flesh, using you to chase his own selfish release.
You try to read, but whatever’s on the page is pulsing in and out of meaning, and any word you can start to form melts on your tongue as he spears you deeper, the fat head of his cock punching into the tender spot that makes you see stars.
“Oh, trying to be good now?” he croons, sweet with mockery, “Cute. You think I'm gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you came?”
You shake your head no. Lips parted, you try to focus again—but you can barely even think of doing anything else but shutting up and taking it, save for your helpless babblings of oh god Matt... Professor, Mr. Murdock please…
His grin is audible in his breath.
His star student, fucked stupid, drunk on his cock.
“Continue,” he snarls, hips snapping harder, his length pistoning in and out of you as he grabs at your ass with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, spreading you open, striking it to elicit more of your loud cries. “Keep reading. Keep fucking trying.”
His thrusts are getting sloppy now, ragged with increased fervor but precise enough to hit that spot again and again every time. Matt can hear it in your breathing. It hitches and tightens, and breaks every time the fat head of his cock drags against the swollen, sensitive spot inside you.
“I can’t anymore, please.. it’s too much…”
Sure enough, you’re close again. It’s less sharp than before, but it’s still so much—the stretch, the forceful hand pinning you down as he uses your abused cunt, all of it forces only his name from your lips again, no matter how hard you try to obey his orders. You don’t fucking care about these papers. You only want him.
“M-Mr. Murdock…”
“S’right... say it...” he grits out, voice breaking. “You’re mine... you’re mine, sweetheart.”
His rhythm stutters, grip crushing at your hips. With finality, he drives his cock as deep as he can go, and with a broken groan he spills his thick seed inside you, rocking in short jerks as his body shudders behind you. Feeling him fill you up, you join him in his climax, your fluttering cunt milking him with every aftershock.
Spent, Matt practically collapses over you, braced on one arm beside yours as he rides it out.
You don’t know your name and you can’t find it in yourself to care. He’s still inside you. He hasn’t moved, stinging your shoulder with his ragged breaths.
Your little game is over, and you feel a little bad for him, really. You suppose he’ll have to use the screen reader after all.
Unless, of course, he’s decided you’ll keep going.
Back alone in his office, Matt exhales sharply, chin tipped up and chest heaving. His hand is still wrapped around his cock, fingers coated in his own spill. Distantly, he hopes his slacks hadn’t been too badly soiled, having been pushed down just far enough to get the job done.
Before him, your work glows faintly on the screen, untouched and half-read.
Matt shuts his eyes. His guilt sits like a hot stone in his chest. You, sweet and unsuspecting and shy, have no idea what he’s done. What he’s doing. But even with the shame, honesty is a virtue Matt has chosen to keep. And the truth is he’s going to do it again. He’s far, far from done.
summary: it’s ridiculous, because matt murdock is just kind. that’s who he is — kind to everyone, sweet to the elderly clients and charming to the young ones. beloved by the whole neighborhood. this smile isn’t special. you’re not special. (wc: 1.5k)
tags: f!reader, mutual pining, i keep writing flangst when i want to write smut... sigh. SUPER UNEDITED, if this has some similarities to my earlier secretary!reader blurbs that’s bc they’re branched off one mega draft… hehh ^_^;
part one of us at the end of the year
You’ve got it bad.
You sniff inwards, nose starting to drip on account of the weather. The bottom of the paper cups sting and dig into your fingers. This is a timed event, a regular one by all accounts. These coffee runs see you return to Matt’s office precisely when his cup sits empty, the faint ring of dried espresso at the bottom the only evidence of his last drink.
He’s never in peril of having to go without. Your eight months as secretary to Nelson, Murdock and Page have seen to that. Like second nature, you’ve memorized the rhythm of his days. You can have his files ready before he asks, organized exactly how he prefers: contracts first, discovery second, correspondence last. And if you’re lucky enough, his lack of vision will be enough to veil it, protect your affections for him a little longer, under the guise of simply doing your job well. All of it banked on your hope that he’s not that perceptive.
So, a losing battle.
To say you’re pushing it would be an understatement.
How else to explain the stupid, painstaking braille notes you started leaving three months ago? The first one itself cost you fifty-five minutes and a headache (not to mention one stolen slate-and-stylus set, courtesy of the rarely-opened file cabinet), fingers aching from all that gripping and punching just for five words—
Made completely worth it by the smile that had broken across his face once his fingers had finally brushed over those dots.
It’s routine now: arriving early, with coffee from the good cart or brewed yourself, and while it cools to drinking temperature on his desk (never too hot, he burns his tongue), you hunch over, punching away at whatever silly thought, whatever sweet contemplation that’s crossed your mind that morning.
Coffee machine plotting against us / Can feel it
Foggy ate all good donuts tragedy strikes NMP
Happy Friday. All done!
You’re working on today’s (Printer can smell fear / demands human sacrifice. Hire intern?) when the door opens and Matt enters, shaking snow from his dark hair. He’s early. December in New York has been merciless, of the particular wet slush kind rather than the cold, postcard-picture type you’d dreamed about as a kid, but Matt at least navigates for himself well enough to still be charming.
“Morning,” you call out, all casual-like as if your heart hadn’t just kicked into double-time.
“Morning. That fresh coffee I smell?”
“Yeah, just how you like it,” you say, quickly finishing up, and stand to smooth your shirt out, cross his office with the gathered files. To watch him hang his coat and fold his cane gives you the impression of a hot spike sinking between your brows; it’s not hard for you to superimpose apartment walls and picture frames onto the sight, imagine it domestic.
Oh, you’re so gone.
Matt luckily doesn’t notice. He inhales and groans appreciatively, much to the prickled pleasure at the back of your neck. “You’re an angel.”
“Hardly!” You set the folder down on his desk, punched-out index card included. “Um, okay, you have a meeting with a Mr. Meyer from BMP at ten, then the people from the Lust—sorry, Lutz—case are coming here to see you at two… They should have those files you requested. And Foggy wanted to go over the plan for the Gillespie deposition before noon… I left some out, but you can check the rest in the file I sent you.” All of it comes in a rush and you’re straight short for air, but still, with affected nonchalance: “Oh, and your note.”
“...My note.” With the way his fingers search the desk and find it immediately, you’d think nothing you said meant anything to him but just that. You chew on your cheek, bouncing on your toes slightly, watching as he reads. His expression softens and a huff of laughter escapes him, the smile tugging at his mouth.
“What? The printer?”
“Yup. Keeps jamming.”
“I didn’t know you had such cutthroat tendencies in you.”
“Consider it, Matt. Lots of kids out of work there looking for something to do.”
You’re backing toward the door before you can do something stupid, like stay too long. He’s still smiling, and it’s so bright and beautiful it makes you feel stripped bare.
It’s ridiculous, because Matt Murdock is just kind. That’s who he is — kind to everyone, sweet to the elderly clients and charming to the young ones. Beloved by the whole neighborhood. This smile isn’t special. You’re not special.
“Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything else,” you squeak, already fleeing.
“Wait—”
You don’t trust yourself enough to turn around.
“Thanks for the note, it’s sweet.”
Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Heart pounding in your chest, you feel like you’re going to pass out. You should say something witty. Something light, biting. Instead, you mumble, “Okay, s’nothing,” and escape to your desk, thankful he isn’t aware of the flush creeping up your neck.
You pass Karen’s office on your way out, and she glances up with an eyebrow raised. She’s caught you staring at Matt’s office door more than once, but to her credit, she’s never said anything.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yup! Fine!” You collapse into your chair, pulling up the planner on your screen. “Just fine.”
A printer demanding human sacrifice.
Matt can’t help smiling like an idiot far after you’ve scampered back off to your desk. He knows he shouldn’t encourage it—he knows it’s wrong or at the very least, doomed. You’ve been leaving these notes for months now; he should tell you that you don’t have to.
Exploiting his listening ability isn’t something he’s proud of but he does it all the same. Your heartbeat kicks up whenever he’s near. Call it selfish, self-centered, but Matt knows what that means. There’s a sweetness to your scent when you’re near him, warm and coaxing, and it makes him want to gather you up and just—
And just nothing. He can’t. He won’t.
Ruining good things is what he’s best at. Sweet things, of which you’re the epitome— genuine kindness.
It’s not that he’s a nihilist; in fact, he’s been more optimistic as of late. But even if it were all in good fun, all light and casual—he can’t consider the point of starting anything at all. Maybe if he were younger, he supposes, a little less scuffed and clipped by life, he would’ve risked it for a chance at something like this. But you deserve better than a life of constant lies and waiting up at night wondering if he’ll come home at all.
Still, it’s utterly endearing to him, hearing every muttered curse and frustrated sigh from you first thing in the morning as you work on the notes. You spend your lunches sometimes at your desk, just practicing, and he’s heard you prick your fingers more than once—the whispered ow, dammit—as punctuation to countless mistakes.
To tell you to stop would mean not getting these notes anymore. These little windows into your thoughts he’s intoxicated with.
So, there’s nothing else to do but be kind to you in return without crossing that line. There are no dinner reservations, no lingering touches nor confessions. He can’t covet that much. Only this: kindness, sweetness, a mirror to your own thoughtfulness, perhaps more than he should. That’s all he can do.
The coffee is perfect again, he isn’t surprised by that. Tracing the note one more time, Matt sighs and pulls open the drawer.
The card finds its place with all the others.
One way or another though, illusion must give way to reality.
It’s a Thursday. Business as usual. You’re at your desk, slate and stylus in hand, and there’s nothing clever to write. Not even anything particularly funny or interesting. The well has dried up, and your senses instead dedicate themselves to eavesdropping: the conversation is drifting from the break room, where Matt’s getting water.
“You should ask her out,” Foggy is saying. “She was into you, buddy.”
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“Come on!” You hear a thump, and recognize it for the good old-fashioned Foggy Nelson empathic gesticulating. “A, she gave you her number. B, she’s gorgeous, and B point five, she’s a lawyer, so you’d actually have stuff in common.”
A pause, then Matt laughs, soft and a little self-deprecating. “Sure. Maybe.”
“Maybe meaning you’ll actually call her or maybe meaning you’ll lose the number and pretend you never got it?”
“Meaning I’ll think about it.”
You stare down at the slate, at the empty index card holding nothing of note.
Of course.
There’s a gorgeous lawyer from a bar. Probably sophisticated, brilliant, someone who drinks wine without getting her mouth stained and talks legal jargon and doesn’t need to Google half the terms that cross her desk. Someone who fits into Matt’s world.
It’s not like you were thinking you had a chance. A girl who leaves silly notes and can barely manage basic braille.
You set down the stylus. Even many minutes later, the note sits unfinished on your desk, and you stare at it for a long moment before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.
For the touch prompts, #3 with Matt? soft reverent touching and kisses of any kind with Matt are just so (ಥ﹏ಥ)
fortune cookie
pairing: matt murdock x reader
summary: for the prompt “lips pressed against a brow-bone” — the fortune cookies are more accurate than you think. (or: 1.6k indulgent words of drunk shenanigans, blind piggyback rides, and matt murdock being a lovesick fool)
a/n: first of all… i’d like to apologize. did i completely lose the plot? yes. did i have so much fun writing this? also yes. + i agree, kissing matt is just so…… jxhjvxjsb. THANK YOU for the request!!!!!!
You wonder if the dragon in the window has a name.
Its lacquered decal keeps curling and uncurling in the faint draft with each swing of the door, something that’s becoming less and less common as the night wears on and the last of the regulars filter out. By the time the check comes—two fortune cookies balanced neatly on top—the restaurant is nearly empty, save for a lone couple arguing by the fish tank and a delivery guy leaning on the counter, scrolling his phone.
Across from you, Matt asks, “Ready?”
You don’t answer right away, still staring through the dragon’s eye as it catches the light. Frowning absently, you wiggle your toes inside the medieval torture devices more commonly known as your shoes. You can handle this, damn it. Far be it from you to betray your own stubbornness, so you refuse to take them off. If Matt can handle day-shift court and night-shift getting-turned-into-a-pin-cushion on the regular, you can survive a little closed-toe action for one night.
Even if it’s killing you.
“Ready,” you say finally.
Matt’s mouth quirks up as he fishes for his cookie. He breaks it open neatly, setting the halves on a napkin, and holds the slip out to you. “Read it for me?”
“Mm. Let’s see…” You clear your throat, squinting at the print under the yellow overhead light before letting out an amused snort. “...Huh.”
“What is it?”
“It’s weird.”
“What is it?”
“Okay.” You clear your throat again. “The road to happiness is paved with pavement.”
There’s a pause as the words materialize in the air. Matt tilts his head, smiling like he’s not sure he’s heard you right. “...Paved with what?”
“Pavement,” you confirm, voice lilting with amusement.
“No. No, you made that up.”
“Excuse me?” You hold the paper up and wave it under his nose gleefully, a gesture you realize too late is completely pointless. “It’s right here! Pavement!”
“And I’m supposed to trust you with something as important as my destiny?” Matt leans in and he’s doing that thing with his eyebrows, his expression halfway between suspicion and unbridled mirth. But his theatrics are fooling no one, discredited completely by the little dimple cutting into his cheek.
“Read my heartbeat, Murdock, and tell me I’m lying.”
He waves you off, smirking, flicking his fingers for you to take your turn. “Yours better be good, then.”
You stick your tongue out at him and crush your cookie open, sending crumbs flying everywhere. The crunch echoes in the quiet and you hum, picking out the little strip, smoothing it down flat before reading aloud,
“You already have everything you need.”
Matt raises his brows. He licks his lips, shifting in his seat. “Well, that sounds more normal. And optimistic.”
“Better than yours,” you agree. “Maybe it’s saying you should start a construction company.”
“Do you think I’d look good in a hard hat?”
You wiggle your trapped toes again, considering it. “I guess if it’s got the little horns.”
By the time you stagger out into the night, the air is cold and pleasantly dry, smelling faintly of fried oil from the takeout place next door. Streetlights bleed into hazy halos. You try to walk—you really do—but both of you are tipsy and you’re barely six steps in when Matt pulls you back, fingers curling around your forearm, tugging you in for a kiss. Soft, slow, his mouth warm against yours and his stubble scratching at the plush skin of your lips as he murmurs something you can’t catch. It’s the kind of kiss you feel in your chest more than anywhere else, and with him so close, it’s almost enough to make you forget that your feet are screaming at you in agony.
“Matthew,” you protest weakly, letting him kiss you again anyway. “We need to go home.”
“Later, later.” His fingers flex around your arm, reeling you back in for another. Again and again. Every few steps, he stops and turns you toward him, mouth slotting against yours warmly until you forget what direction you were going. A sap yourself, you meet him halfway every time—which has you up on your toes, the tendrils of pain shooting up your legs as you do.
By the time you’ve made it halfway down the second block, three things have happened. First, you’ve gone dizzy and are leaning into his chest, forced to admit you’re no longer capable of walking straight on your own. Second, Matt’s established his title as Insatiable Husband, effectively having stolen more kisses from you than you can count. Third and last—your shoes have become completely, utterly, beyond-question unbearable.
“I swear to God, my feet—”
“That’s it. Take them off,” Matt says. Tempted, you have to actively resist. Your knees are starting to feel a little floaty, and it’s the third time you’ve tripped over an uneven patch of concrete. He huffs a quiet laugh at your defiance and starts to crouch in front of you. “Off. Okay. On my back.”
“I can’t, Matt. What kind of woman would I be if I can’t handle my own shoes?”
“The kind of woman who has a husband to carry her. Take them off and get on. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Nooooo,” you whine, but the next thing you know, your arms are around Matt’s shoulders, your chest pressed into the solid plane of his back. He straightens up once you’ve clambered on, his hands steadily hooked under your thighs. Your shoes have been looped together by the straps, swinging from your fingers, and it takes him a few steps forward for both of your fogged-up brains to remember—
He’s still blind.
Which means that while his gait’s steady at first, he’s not totally sober and—contrary to the myths you’ve been spinning about his heightened senses—navigating drunk, blind and human-backpacked is hardly anyone’s strong suit.
Which is how for better or for worse, you end up becoming his terrible, self-appointed navigator.
“Left!” you instruct grandly, smacking your palm against his chest.
Matt veers left and plows directly into a trash can. The CLANG echoes down the block, and a cat explodes from out the shadows, yowling its outrage.
“WHOOPS!”
“Whoops?!”
“I meant my left!”
“We’re facing the same way.”
You groan into his neck. “God, you’re right. Okay, back up. Sorry, babe. Obstacle cleared. Forward, forward.”
Needless to say, the trek home is a slow, perilous pilgrimage. The second collision is with a newspaper stand, and for Crash Number Three, you call “straight ahead!” which means he barrels you both into a pile of stacked cardboard boxes.
Your shoes slip from your hand, clattering somewhere on the ground.
From the other side of the street, someone yells, “Are you fuckin’ blind?” and you shout back, “YES HE IS, HAVE SOME RESPECT!” nearly falling off his back as you do, and Matt’s laughing too hard to even chastise you for horrible directions after that.
But there has to be some saint of his that’s looking out of him, because by some miracle, you do make it to your building without taking out a fourth casualty. You’re crying with laughter by the time you make it to the door, face buried into his nape, murmuring, “You did really good, Matty.”
He stumbles inside with you still clinging to him, and he lowers you onto the couch like you’re made of glass.
Before you can even catch your breath, Matt’s leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head and the other wrapping gently around your wrist. His thumb traces the steady beat there, listening for the vivid tell of your pulse, and when he kisses you again it’s slower, so gentle you barely feel it graze your skin. Still, you can feel him everywhere: the warmth of his body over you, the faint tickle of his tousled hair against your cheek, the scent of dew and beer clinging to his clothes. A traveling press of his mouth to yours, to your cheek, to your brow, and even when he pauses to breathe you watch the pretty pinkness of his lips part slightly, like he’s tasting the air between you, as if he must catalogue the indulgent moment to save it for another day.
Your hand drifts into his hair, and he leans into it, and the world’s suddenly gone very quiet and luminous between you.
And because everything’s going perfectly well, that’s when it goes wrong.
“Matt.”
“Mmm?”
“Where are my shoes?”
He pulls back an inch. “What?”
“My shoes!” You bolt upright, alarm threading into your voice. “I left my shoes! How’d I forget my shoes? My shoes. My shoes…” You trail off into a pitiful, tipsy whine, burying your head back into the cushions.
Matt stares at you for a beat, unseeing, letting the haze fully shatter. Then, softly, he sighs, “Christ.”
He’s already reaching for his coat. Stumbling a little on his feet, he shoves an arm through the sleeve haphazardly and says, “Okay. Stay here, I’ll get it. Do you remember where you left them?”
Your vision’s going in and out of blackness, and you watch him stand, his hair mussed from your hands and cheeks flushed deep from the cold and the alcohol. Your husband looks ridiculous: absurdly handsome, and absurdly willing to go back for your damned shoes, even if he’s swaying slightly on his feet himself. He’s here, warm, flushed, yours—and all at once, you can’t bring yourself to let him walk back into the night alone.
“Oh, forget it, Matt, wait,” you say, catching his sleeve. The panic’s ebbed before it could even catch. “Come back here.”
He hesitates, but he lets you pull him back down beside you, engulfing him in another kiss.
“Changed your mind?” he smiles against your mouth, and the utter heat from him makes your head swim.
“Leave it. They hurt anyway, so don’t go.” Your palm cups his cheek briefly before you press a kiss there, then another to the solid ridge of his brow, then back to the familiar softness of his lips. “Stay here. I already have everything I need.”
synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done
warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n
authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism
main masterlist. other Robby fic
“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”
Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”
“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”
You nodded along, humming.
She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”
You took a long gulp of your wine.
“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.
“Me?”
“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”
“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.
The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.
When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.
“It's um?” Trinity asked.
“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.
Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.
Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.
You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.
Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”
You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”
“Different how?” asked Dennis.
“Is it still casual?”
You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”
“You want to be more?”
You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"
“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”
With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.
“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”
She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.
“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”
“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.
On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.
She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.
You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G
“You're gonna leave them,” he said.
You and Trinity sat up. “What?”
“No!”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Their medicine?” you asked.
Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”
You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.
“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”
The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.
“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.
“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”
You thought we was giving them too much credit.
Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”
He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”
That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.
Easier in practise when you work with them.
The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.
“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”
“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.
“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”
Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”
“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.
“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”
“Which one was Mark?” you asked.
“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”
Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.
You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”
“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”
“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.
Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.
“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”
Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”
“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”
Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.
“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.
“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.
Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”
“On a Wednesday? Nop.”
“Wanna come over?”
There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.
You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.
Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”
He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”
The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.
“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.
Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.
You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”
He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.
“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”
“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.
Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”
Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.
He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”
“Films,” you confirm.
“And talk.”
“We talk.”
Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”
“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.
You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.
Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”
You answered truthfully. “No.”
That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.
Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.
You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.
Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.
The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.
The next day passed like another dry spell.
It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.
It felt something like punishment.
Or a test.
By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.
“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.
“What? No.”
“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.
Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”
You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”
It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.
“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.
Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”
Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.
“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”
It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.
Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”
“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”
He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”
“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.
He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”
By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.
“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”
“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.
“No other choice.”
You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”
“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”
Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.
“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.
“Blood loss is slowing down.”
“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.
“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.
“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.
Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”
“Trin-” you snap.
“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”
You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.
It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!
But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.
“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.
“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.
“You think you could show me?”
You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.
“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”
You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.
“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”
You nodded with an absent mind.
Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.
He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”
Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?
With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.
You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.
“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.
You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-
Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.
If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.
“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.
You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.
“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”
Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.
“Good girl.”
When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.
“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.
Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”
“Where's Huckleberry?”
“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”
You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”
“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”
You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”
“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.
“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”
“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”
She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.
You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.
You'd never do that again.
Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.
Your phone was heavy in your pocket.
Call him.
But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.
You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.
Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.
You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-
That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.
You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.
Robby stood on the other side of the door.
You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”
His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”
You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.
Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.
“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”
“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.
“Oh?”
He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”
“Oh.”
His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”
You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”
“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.
“What-what-what do you mean?”
Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”
“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.
“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”
It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.
“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.
They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”
If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.
“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”
Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”
“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”
Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?
“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”
Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-
You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”
Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.
“Robby-”
“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”
“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.
He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”
Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?
“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”
His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”
Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”
Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.
His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.
Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”
“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.
You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”
“Good girl.”
You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.
He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.
You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.
“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.
His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”
His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.
“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.
Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.
“I should hope so.”
You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.
You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.
“Michael-”
He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.
Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.
He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.
“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.
Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.
All the while you wet down his scrubs.
“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.
You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.
Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”
His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.
“Mmph-”
“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”
Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.
His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.
You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”
He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.
“Michael-”
His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”
With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.
“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.
“All mine, huh?”
“Yes,” you said, breathless.
Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.
You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.
Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.
Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”
The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.
Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.
“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.
He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”
You shook your head.
Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.
His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.
“Want your cock, Robby-”
He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.
You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.
“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”
You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.
The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.
“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.
“Michael.”
He nodded.
“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.
Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-
Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”
When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-
Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.
His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.
“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.
The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.
Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.
“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.
“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”
Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.
His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”
“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”
“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.
Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.
“Oh god,” he uttered.
You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.
The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.
Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.
“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”
In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.
If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.
He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.
You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.
He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.
Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.
If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.
Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-
A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.
Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.
Robby stirred next to you. Last night.
He stayed.
“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.
You hummed, nodding and readying to move-
His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”
You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”
Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”
Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.
You hadn't closed the door.
“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.
“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”
The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.
You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.
Robby beside you didn't even stir.
“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.
He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.
You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.
✦ Pairing: Curtis Everett/fem!Reader
✦ Word count: ~4k
✦ Rating: Explicit
✦ Warnings/tags: plus size!reader, demon king!Curtis, Curtis is like 250 cm/8,2 feet, Curtis has horns, kidnapping, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, belly bulge, dirty talk, cum marking, pet names (lamb).
✦ Summary: For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper.
✦ Note: Is this among the dirtiest things I've written? Probably... but it was so much fun! If you like it please reblog it. Comments and asks are always welcome!
✦ I don't keep a taglist, but you can follow @veltanawrites and turn on notifications to get notified when I post something new.
Masterlist | AO3
The demon named Lloyd looked on with dismay as the Demon King threw yet another of the lesser demons into the abyss of no return. It wasn't that Lloyd disliked the king’s actions. No, it was just that over the course of a thousand years, since the king had been betrayed by his then betrothed, his patience with mistakes had grown shorter, and the number of lesser demons in the realm had started to dwindle.
For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper. If there was one thing Lloyd knew, it was that the king needed to get laid and to have someone to care about. Despite being the ruthless king of the demon realm, Lloyd had been there when the king and his betrothed were together, and the king showed a softer side, and a more even temper, back then.
But another problem was also that, since the betrayal, the king had refused to consider an alliance with any of the other factions that inhabited the demon realm. So Lloyd had done the only thing he could, and looked to other realms, close to the demon one.
No demon alive today had been there when the veil between the realms had been thin enough to pass through regularly, but many attributed that to the demon's humanoid bodies. The fact that humans and demons could mate and produce viable offspring both Lloyd and the demon king were living proof of.
And as such, the demon Lloyd looked to the human world. And he found you.
You stand still just inside the door to the apartment you share with two other people. The air is suffocatingly hot outside, and you looked forward to the cool air inside as you walked home. Except your roommates are having a party, with the windows wide open for people to smoke from. It's as hot inside as outside. You're already sweating through your shirt, blazer, and skirt, and you want to take a long, cool shower, but not when there are twenty other people in the apartment.
You make your way through the throng towards your door, happy that you locked it before going to work. Some of your things have started to disappear lately. Inside, with the door locked once again, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a tad cooler in your room with the blinds pulled and the window closed. You turn on the fan and stand in the breeze while taking off your clothes and throwing them in the hamper. No reusing those for another day. You need to do laundry too, if you want to have something to wear to work at the end of the week. Exhausted, you lay on the bed in just your underwear, limbs spread, waiting for the fan to cool your heated skin.
Everything seems to crash into you all at once. Your shitty work day, your stealing roommates, the never-ending tirade of chores, the unbearable heat you won’t be able to escape until winter, and then the apartment will be freezing cold instead. Tears run down the side of your face. Also, there is a gaping hole in your chest from feeling lonely. There are only so many romance books a girl can read before starting to long for that kind of connection of her own, and you really want a connection like that. You just want someone who cares about you and wants you, despite all your flaws.
“Is that really too much to ask?” you say out loud to no one in particular.
“Of course it’s not,” a voice answers, startling you up from your bed. Standing by your desk is a man, dressed smartly in well-fitting clothes with a mustache that could be from an eighties porno, with his hair combed back. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy your roommates would hang out with.
“Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling with fear, throwing your arms up to cover your exposed chest as you back as far away from him as you can, but in the small room, you don’t get far. You’re sure you locked the door behind you. The man must have been in your room before you entered, hiding somewhere, and now he’s going to rape and kill you. The music is blaring from the party. No one is going to hear you scream. You eye the door, but you have to pass him to get to it. The window is not a quick escape since it’s closed.
“I’m Lloyd,” the man answers, and you realize just then how tall he is, a good bit over two meters. “And I’m here to take you somewhere better.”
You’re frozen stiff. “No,” you manage to press out.
“I can assure you that no harm will come to you, if that eases your mind,” he says, and you notice that his eyes seem to be unnaturally blue, almost glowing.
“What?”
“You will not be harmed, you have my word.”
“I don’t understand,” you say, more tears are running down your face now. The man is clearly insane.
“There is no need to cry, you will have a much better life than whatever this is,” he says, looking around your room with clear distaste. “I guess humans like their earthly belongings, so if it makes you feel any better, we can take all of it with us.”
Then he holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go.”
But you don’t move, you can’t, fear is gripping your chest so hard you can barely breathe.
When he takes a step closer to you, your body suddenly switches to flight mode. With a burst of adrenaline, you go for the door, needing to try at least to save yourself. You feel an arm band around your waist, and the world turns upside down and somehow also inside out. It’s like you're on a roller coaster for zero point one second, screaming as you drop down into nothing, before you’re suddenly in a room again, except it’s completely different from before.
“What in the actual fuck,” you say, before throwing up.
Demon king Curtis stalks through the winding corridors of the ever-changing castle on his way back to his room. He needs a drink and to not see anyone else for a good long while. All day, he’s spent dealing with emissaries from the nearby realms, trying to negotiate trade deals so his people can continue to thrive, but all their offers involve some kind of marriage, and he is not doing that. He shouldn’t even be in those meetings. It’s Lloyd’s task to manage that, but Lloyd claimed he was busy. Whatever the fuck that means.
Think of the demon, and he shall appear, Curtis thinks as he nears his room, because waiting outside is Lloyd, with one of those shit-eating grins that can only mean trouble.
“What have you done now?” Curtis asks, irritation thick in his tone.
“Only what I deemed necessary.”
“That can’t be good, then.”
“We’ll see,” Lloyd’s smile widens, and then continues, “There is a present waiting for you in your room, and I hope it will bring you much joy.”
After staring at Lloyd a moment longer, Curtis opens the door with some trepidation. A present from Lloyd could mean anything, literally, and he isn’t sure he would like any of it. To his surprise, he finds a woman standing in the middle of the floor. A red band covers your eyes, while a soft robe drapes your body, tied at the waist. Curtis can feel the nervousness radiating off of you, and you jump when he closes the door.
Walking up to you, he takes you in more carefully, noticing that without a doubt, you are human. It’s an odd present coming from Lloyd. A human woman. But he also can’t help but notice how the robe hangs off your voluptuous body in a way that makes his mouth water. Even if it’s Lloyd’s doing, Curtis is king for a reason, and a present never comes without an ulterior motive.
“Who are you?” Curtis asks, and you jump again, before stuttering out your name.
“What are you doing here?” is his next question.
“Your… friend, Lloyd, was in my apartment. He brought me here. He said you needed a… companion.”
“And what’s in it for you, human?”
You swallow.
“I don’t know. No work? No chores? I won’t be lonely anymore.” Curtis can sense no lies in your words. “And Lloyd said that… that you’d bring me pleasure.”
Curtis can’t help but give a small laugh.
“And what if I just kill you instead, human?”
You stiffen even more, if possible.
“Lloyd said I wouldn’t be harmed,” you manage to answer, voice tight with fear.
“Did he now. You’re under his protection?”
Curtis glances back at the door, and for a second, thinks of calling for the other demon to make him explain, but if he knows Lloyd right, the demon is already gone.
“I guess,” you confirm.
Curtis muses on that for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hurt you or kill you, but he is big even by demon standards, taller than Lloyd, and his touch could break your bones.
“He gave me a ring,” you hold up your hand and show Curtis a black band around your middle finger. “He said it would protect my body, make it strong enough to withstand whatever you’d want to do with me.”
Now, the faint smell of arousal rises from you. You clearly don’t know what's good for you, but that only makes Curtis want you more.
“And what else did Lloyd tell you about me?”
“That you’re the demon king, ruler over this realm, and that you’ve been alone for a very long time. And that you won’t hurt me.”
Curtis hums and reaches for your face, dragging his finger over your cheek, but you don’t flinch or pull back. The fear coming from you actually lessens.
“No, I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “Remove your robe for me, my sacrificial lamb.”
With surprisingly steady fingers, you undo the knot and let the robe fall open, revealing your body that he’d only guessed at, and it’s far from disappointing. As the robe floats to the floor, Curtis takes you in, now only covered in a bra and underwear. Your breasts will fit perfectly in his hands, he knows right away, and his face will fit just as well between your plush thighs. With all your soft curves on display, there is no keeping Curtis’s cock from hardening.
That a human would undo him is hard to believe, but you seem to be removed from the politics of the demon realm, and therefore, he decides to take a chance and accept the offering given to him. You’re here because you don’t want to be lonely, and Curtis is quite fed up with that himself. It’s been a long time since he felt lust as he does now.
He lets his finger go up to your blindfold.
“Let’s get this off so you can see what the king of the demon realm looks like, before I take you to bed, lamb.”
He slips it off your face, but your eyes are squeezed shut.
“Are you sure my face won’t melt off when I see you?”
Curtis chuckles, “I’m quite sure.”
The light in the room is not bright, but your eyes still take some time to adjust from being closed. When you finally see the demon king, you have a hard time taking it all in.
He looks human-ish, except for his height and the horns on his head. They sprout from his forehead, curving back over his skull and the short buzz, before curving back up and slightly forward again, sharp points pointing upwards. It just adds to his height, and he is the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and you thought Lloyd was big. He is best described as massive, with thick, broad shoulders and a wide torso left bare to reveal hard muscle beneath a scattering of dark hair.
After you took a bath and got new clothes, Lloyd had been kind enough to conjure a picture of the demon king while he explained everything, and you thought Curtis looked good then. But up close, he's gorgeous, and so big your knees feel weak from both nerves and arousal. So what if the majority of your romance books on the shelves had monsters in them?
“Hi,” you manage to croak out.
He smiles, and you're relieved that he doesn't have sharp teeth; neither does he have claws or cloven hoofs.
“Hello, my sacrificial lamb,” he reaches out his hand, and you take it. His skin is much warmer than a human's, but not uncomfortably. With a yank, he pulls you into his body, right into his bare upper body.
You look up into his face, and his eyes glow with the same eerie blue that Lloyd’s did. Power and strength radiate from him, but you're not afraid. This whole thing is crazy and fucked up, but if you don't take it at its word, you're going to drive yourself insane.
Therefore, to calm your mind, you place a chaste kiss against Curtis' skin and tell yourself it's going to be alright. Strong hands close around your waist, and you're suddenly lifted. A shriek escapes you because you've never been lifted before. Sure, some dudes have tried, but it mostly ended with them grunting with failure and you feeling miserable. Curtis does it effortlessly. He only says, “Come up here and do that instead,” with a wicked grin.
As you're face-to-face with him, you realize he is even more gorgeous up close. You wrap your legs around his body, and he holds you with one hand on your ass, while the other grips the back of your neck.
A low rumble seems to come from Curtis' chest.
“Your ass fits perfectly in my hand, it's like you were made for me, my lamb.”
You stroke your hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard, making his rumble louder, which you think means he likes it. The grip on your neck hardens, and a second later, he's pressing your mouth against his.
He's not shy about kissing you in any way; he knows what he wants, and he takes it, opening your mouth, exploring with his tongue, which is human-like, if a bit more pointed. You wind your arms around his neck, holding on as he starts walking towards a bed that is bigger than any you’ve seen before. But you're not surprised since Curtis is so big. He sits down on the edge with you in his lap, straddling him, and the unmistakable feeling of his bulge presses right into your cunt.
You want to blame the fact that it's been a long time since a man touched you, and that's the reason why you're already so horny and wet. But it's not. It's everything about Curtis. The way he feels, smells, and tastes. And the way he handles you like you weigh nothing.
Experimentally, you grind down, and when Curtis moans into the kiss, the whole room seems to vibrate with it. You find you need to ask an important question, though, before this goes any further.
“How…,” but you feel a little embarrassed at asking. He raises an eyebrow.
“How is it gonna fit?“
A slow smile creeps up his face, his thumb caressing your cheek.
“Don't worry, my lamb. I will make it fit.”
That shouldn't turn you on even more, but it does. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a moan unbidden falls from your lips. With a growl, Curtis flips you onto the bed, then tears the bra and panties from your body, leaving you naked and exposed.
“Does my lamb like that idea?” he asks as he kneels between your spread legs. But he's not looking at your cunt, he's keeping eye contact with you as he picks up your foot, kissing your ankle. You have a hard time forming words, even thoughts, so you just nod as he moves higher up your leg with kisses and licks.
“Do you want me to force my demon cock into your human cunt? Want me to watch as you struggle to take it?”
Ashamed, you hide your face in your hands before nodding again.
“I'll have to thank Lloyd for finding the filthiest little lamb in the human realm for me,” he chuckles. His kisses stop in the middle of your thigh, and you peek from your fingers to see why.
Now his gaze is glued to your exposed cunt, his chest heaving heavily, the grip on your leg hardening. Without looking away, he commands, “Clench.”
For a second, you're confused, and then you do what he wants, clenching the muscles in your vagina. As you do, more wetness leaks out.
“I'm going to enjoy ruining that wet cunt after I've feasted on it,” he says, letting go of your leg and lying down on the bed.
His massive hands spread you open, but he's not hurting you; he's careful with his touch, you can tell that, despite your mind being overrun by lust. The moment his mouth lands on you, all thoughts go out of your head, though. There is only the feel of his tongue and lips, exploring all the most sensitive parts of you. His eyes are closed, and there is a content, constant hum coming from him. You try to keep your eyes on him, because he looks divine nestled between your full thighs, but he's doing things you've longed for, and it's hard not to sink back into the bed and just let him do what he wants until you break.
He suckles on your clit, using his tongue to play with it, before sliding his mouth down and pressing his thick, long tongue into your channel, over and over again, driving you insane with pleasure.
You're scrambling for something to hold onto. The sheets on the bed aren't enough, and you want to touch him, but you're not sure you're allowed to touch his horns, and you're not coherent enough to ask. But still, your hands creep down your body, itching to feel him, and before you know it, your hands close around the ribbed surface of the horns, right as he does something devilish with his mouth, and you use the grip to pull him even closer and grind against his mouth.
He looks up at you, and your eyes meet for a second. Your chest rises and falls, but he doesn't look mad.
“It feels so good,” you say, almost pleading, even though he's giving you everything.
He hums in response, because he can't talk with his mouth so closely pressed to you, before continuing like before.
When a thick finger slides into you, searching, then finding, there is no way for you to hinder the orgasm crashing into you. With a strangled cry, you come around Curtis' finger and against his mouth. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure envelopes you until the only thing you feel is the point of contact, where his finger is still working you over, and his tongue plays with your bundle of sensitive nerves. And he doesn't stop, even when it starts to become too much, and you whimper instead. When you try to push at his head and move away, he simply pulls you back.
For every orgasm after that he pulls from you; you get more delirious, but something is missing. Even with two fingers in you now, fucking you in times with his tongue, you want more.
“Curtis,” you plead, again, “I need more!“
He pulls back, kissing your cunt one last time, before sitting back on his knees. His mouth and chin are wet with you, and he licks his lips as he undoes his pants.
Curtis’ cock is, well, it's a monster, bigger than anything you've had before, bigger than your toys, and fucking gorgeous. You're scared and aroused at the same time. His massive hand closes around it, stroking it a few times, and precum leaks freely from the tip. At least it's one; you've read books where the main male characters have had two, and you're not ready for that yet.
“The ring will protect you,” Curtis says, his voice tight, clearly holding himself back. “It will only be good for you. Now turn over, on your knees, head down.”
You do as he says, nervous energy fluttering in your chest despite your previous orgasms.
Curtis places a steadying hand on your ass, and you take a deep breath as you feel the nudge of the big cockhead against your opening.
The ring might protect you from splitting in two, but it doesn't take away the feel of the delicious stretch as Curtis pushes into you. Your body somehow gives, and there is no pain, only pleasure. He takes his time. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you, and if you look over your shoulder, his eyes are fixed at the point of connection, watching your body swallow inch after inch of his cock, until he bottoms out with an almost painful groan.
He leans forward and grabs one of your hands, guiding it in under your body and pressing it up against your soft stomach, until you feel what he wants you to feel—the bulge of him.
“It fits perfectly, my lamb. You're filled to the brim with me now.”
“I- I love it!” you confess, and you keep your hand there as he starts fucking you, feeling the bulge in your belly over and over again. His heavy balls slap against your exposed cunt with every thrust, and it's so sensitive from previous orgasms that you're quickly on the brink of another again.
“I feel you, lamb, pulsing around me. Are you going to come with a demon's cock in your tight cunt?”
“Yes, Curtis!” you answer with a moan.
Suddenly, you hear him spit, and cool saliva hits your skin, right against your asshole. A moment later, Curtis' big thumb enters you there, too.
It's simply too much for you. You come like you've never come before, cursing and screaming, losing all strength in your body. Your arms and upper body lie limply against the sheets, drool seeps from your mouth, as Curtis continues to fuck you. It's a miracle you can stay on your knees, but you do it for him, because it continues even after, the pleasure he brings you over and over again never stops. It could be the fact that you're in a whole other realm, or it could be because of Curtis, or maybe both. He's unstoppable, pulling many more orgasms from you, until your head is empty of any other thoughts than that of his touch. But finally, it's his time too.
The walls of the chamber rattle and shake the louder his moans get, things fall from shelves, and you hear glass breaking somewhere. With an inhuman growl, he flips you onto your back, and then he comes inside you with a roar until it overflows, and he pulls out to continue coming over your stomach and tits, painting you and marking you with his seed.
“Mine,” he says, over and over again.
Curtis' eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't want to sleep. Even though you're already snoring softly in his arms, he doesn't want to look away from you, his lamb. His chest has felt so hollow for such a long time, so it's a strange feeling to now have it filled with contentment and a bit of happiness.
He sent Lloyd a message that he won't be available for anything, for the foreseeable future. Curtis might have made you come multiple times tonight, but he also needs to take time to show you the realm, or more importantly, show the realm you. They need to know what their new queen looks like after all.
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