#it also took 3 months to write

[lovelyunholyc]

better than i ever even knew

NSFW - MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

fem!reader. pet names (princess, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby), minor angst start but happy ending, confessions, frenemies to lovers, porn with feelings on feelings. multiple orgasms, oral (f! receiving), mating press, riding, unprotected sex, matsukawa can and will fold u like a pretzel. if there's anything i missed, pls let me know, enjoy :)

"something you'd like to say to me, issei?"

makki had fallen asleep on your movie night, and you'd excused yourself to use their bathroom, only to find matsukawa waiting in the hallway for you after. he's caged you in somehow, pinned you to the wall like an insect on corkboard, with nothing more than his commanding presence and a notably large hand to the wall beside your head. he looms over you, imposing.

like he always seems to be, only to you.

his face is mere inches from your own, his eyes dark, half-lidded like they always are - but there's something different this time, something deeper and a little more dangerous.

you can't help but watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. they look even more plush and irresistibly pink from this close.

you've always wondered what they'd feel like between your teeth.

matsukawa snorts, eyes narrowing even further. "don't play coy, princess."

too stubborn to admit that the intensity of his gaze flusters you and clouds your mind too much to think of a witty reply, you avert your eyes and direct your focus on the hood of his jacket instead. "stop calling me that," you spit, at the strings of his hoodie, just as unwilling to address how his pet name for you has started to make heat bloom beneath your skin lately. he's been calling you that for years, and you used to find it endearing, used to blush for an entirely different reason when he spoke it.

now, it grates on your nerves.

it grates on your nerves how much you like it, how much you want him to call you that in other less than wholesome scenarios.

matsukawa hums thoughtfully, tilts his head in wonder. "what's gotten into you lately, hm? you've never had any problems with it before." he inches closer to inspect your expression.

you turn your head completely to avoid looking at him directly, so his gaze falls on the side of your face.

which might not have been the best idea, because it exposes the flush rising up your neck and to your cheeks.

matsukawa reaches up with his free hand and cradles your jaw, gentler than you expect. he traces the line of it with his thumb, making the back of your neck prickle pleasantly, stopping at your chin to move your head to face him. there's a tender sincerity in his eyes that you've rarely seen in him, all traces of the mischief prior completely gone, replaced with genuine concern. "are you alright?" his voice is nearly a whisper.

your mouth goes dry. the tension between you has morphed into something similar yet more profound, something that you're not sure you're ready to explore. you nod once, still averting your eyes.

"why have you been avoiding me?" he says softly, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he almost sounds pained. "i miss you."

you think your heart stops beating.

so he'd noticed. you shouldn't have expected any less, really - you've been friends for years, you know each other like the backs of your hands.

you aren't sure when you'd started to want more from him. and concluding that it was unfair for you to expect that of him and not wanting to cross the boundary, the foundation you'd built as good friends, you'd started to withdraw. gradually, lessening your invites to him when it proved too painful for you to be alone together with him, making excuses when he extended the invite to you.

you aren't sure what it helped - it hurt all the same, and you couldn't help but feel bitter that you were in this situation, all because you felt things for him that you didn't think you should. bitter at him, though he doesn't deserve it - he's been there for you ever since you could remember - and bitter at yourself, for putting you both through it. and here he is, scorned even more by your distance too.

your eyes well up with guilt as you let his words sink in, and it's all you can do to blink the tears away before they fall.

"hey, i'm sorry, prin-" matsukawa falters, seems to catch himself, and it pains you even more how considerate he's being though you've been so cruel to him and hadn't meant what you said. "whatever it is, it'll be okay. don't waste your tears on me." oh, if only he knew.

he tilts your chin up to face him once more, swipes his thumbs gently beneath your eyes to collect the stray tears that manage to escape. you want to weep at how tenderly he treats you, how much it makes you want him even more, and he has no idea.

you can't help but scowl again. you hate how much you love him.

you grab his wrists and hold him away from you. "stop it, stop being so nice to me all of a sudden." your voice sounds thick with emotion even to you, and you hate that, too.

matsukawa's undoubtedly stronger than you, and he can undo your grip easily, but he doesn't. instead, that stupid, cocky smirk is back, sensing that you're nearly back to your normal, stubborn self.

but then he says something that turns your world completely on its axis.

"why shouldn't i be nice to the only person i've ever been in love with?"

his eyes are sincere, the most open and honest you've ever seen them.

you're frozen, unsure of what to say, how to process it, unsure if you're somehow dreaming. you drop his hands, but he takes yours again, the warmth of his palms in yours grounding you back to the moment.

"i don't expect you to feel the same way. i'll always love you as a friend, so please don't cut me out of your life." he squeezes your hands once, brings one up to his face so he can touch his lips to your knuckle, barely a graze of skin that leaves you wanting more, before letting you go. he shrugs, gives you a charming, lopsided smile, but you can tell he's trying too hard to be nonchalant. "don't think too hard about it. i'll leave you alone now, i'm sorry."

you catch the hem of his shirt on instinct just before he can walk away. "issei, wait."

he stops, but doesn't swivel back around to you. you can't help but wonder what kind of facial expression he's making. as it is, you can't bear to look at him, focusing instead on your thumb and forefinger pinching at the fabric of his shirt.

"issei...." it's then that you notice his hand closest to you is trembling lightly, and it makes your breath hitch. "are you serious?"

"i wouldn't joke about something like that," he says, and his voice is a lot softer.

"then....look at me and say it." you gather your courage to meet his eyes and tug him back, closer than he was before.

a tingle rushes up your spine when he fixes his gaze back on yours, and that infuriating, lovely little smirk is still in place. there's a soft intensity in his eyes that you've never seen before, and it makes every one of your nerves ignite.

"i'm in love with you, dummy."

the sudden rush of emotion makes you surge up to capture his lips. finally.

it surprises him, you can tell, but he only stands frozen for a tenth of a second before it seems like he's awoken and his lips are moving in kind, kissing you back in short bursts, hands finding your waist, until you deepen it and nip at him to slide your tongue into his mouth.

matsukawa chuckles lightly against you, you can feel his lips widen into that lopsided grin, and he nips right back at you before you pull away to breathe, a dopey smile undoubtedly parting your lips.

"i like 'princess' better," you tease between heavy breaths, pressing even closer to him so he can kiss you again. the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his body against yours, is better than you could've expected, and it's so dizzying, you feel like you're floating when he wraps his arms around you and kisses across your face, down your jaw and throat.

matsukawa pulls back barely an inch to look at you and marvel at how pretty you look, the happiest he's ever seen you when just moments before you'd looked like you were on the verge of tears. he grins crookedly, wholeheartedly pleased. he doesn't think he's ever been happier than in this moment, either. "so you like me too, huh?"

you shake your head, let him back you up against the wall again so he can press your hips together easier, one of your legs automatically wrapping around his waist to make more room for him. "issei, i love you." it comes out so naturally, yet so abrupt, like soda shaken up in a bottle.

he groans against your neck at the admission, shifts back up to your face so he can kiss you fully, passionately, greedily. he steals the breath from your lungs, and you can only moan into him, arch into his hold and beg for more, more, more.

you've had a taste, and you're entirely sure you'll never be able to get enough.

you rock against each other, fingers roaming, pulling and pressing, and you think you might be losing your mind in the best way. matsukawa touches you so gently yet so firmly, as if he doesn't want to hurt you but needs to remind you he's there, breathing you in and taking everything you have to give.

you sigh against the side of his jaw, a grin tugging at your lips when you feel his thick fingers drag up your thighs to knead at the flesh of your ass. "take me to bed," you murmur into his skin, and the way you're looking at him, up through your lashes, eyes hooded and swimming with lust as he grinds you down on his thigh, is enough to drive him wild.

matsukawa blinks, mirrors your grin. "fuck, of course, princess."

you're so pleased to hear him call you that again, you kiss it right out of his mouth.

his bedroom is approximately five steps away from the hallway where you are, but it takes you several minutes of stumbling and giggling quietly to navigate it successfully, too caught up in each other to move productively. you're in your own little world, each happily engulfed in a trance that the other has cast on you, only made more intense with each lingering, greedy touch, each kiss, pulling and pushing like magnets.

when you look up again you're on your knees at the edge of matsukawa's bed, helping him out of his hoodie. true to form, he's not wearing anything underneath it, and though you've seen him shirtless dozens of times, it gives you pause.

it's different this time, this close, finally able to touch him the way you would've liked to for so long. this close, with the intensity of his half-lidded gaze on you, following your every move, inspecting your every expression.

"don't be shy now, sweetheart," matsukawa murmurs, and on instinct you cut him a look, which immediately softens when he takes your hands and places them on his chest.

"pretty," you can't help but praise as your hands roam, over the rippling muscle of his chest, his abdomen, coming back up to pinch playfully at his nipples as you catch his lips again in a searing kiss.

"speak for yourself," he says as he backs you into the middle of his bed, trailing his barrage of kisses down your neck, nipping and licking as he goes, making you gasp and whine at the sensations. long fingers slide beneath the waistband of your pants to squeeze ruefully at your ass, the cool metal of his rings making you shiver. he pushes you against his hips, where you can undoubtedly feel his sizable bulge - you can't help but try to grind into the heat of it, and you can feel his lips widen against your skin in response.

you do your best to shimmy your pants down your legs despite him being between them, and he couldn't be happier to help you. he hardly detaches from you as he slips them off and throws them to the side, then pauses to ask your permission before tugging your panties off too, with your enthusiastic 'please'. he doesn't have to ask how far you want to go, sensing how meaningful it must be after so long of pining over each other, because you pull him back to your lips and whisper, "i want you, issei, please," and he swears something else entirely comes over him and drives him wild.

matsukawa no longer has the patience to take the rest of your clothes off, kissing quickly down your body over your shirt to slot himself between your legs. he presses his lips along the inside of your thighs, placing your legs across his shoulders. he groans when he sees how wet you are, when he slides an experimental finger through your folds and a string of your slick connects him to you even when he pulls away. you gasp and arch your back lightly at the contact, fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you.

"such a pretty pussy," he praises, eyes glazed over with lust and pure hunger as he continues to watch his fingers tease you, smacking his lips when he licks them clean and takes his rings off. "just like the rest of you, hm?"

"'sei, please don't tease," you mumble breathlessly, anticipation making your voice tight.

"ah, you've waited long enough, haven't you, princess?" his words alone make you shiver, but then he trails wet kisses closer to your core and you want to cry out. "well, i have, too, and i just want to savor it, you know?" he says it casually, as if he isn't dangling your pleasure over you between those pretty fingers, as if he isn't so close to where you need him that the heat of his breath across your skin as he talks is making you squirm in his hold.

just before you can whine and pull at him in impatience, he chuckles and finally ducks his head to taste you directly.

you gasp when his warm tongue slips through your folds, gathering up your slick for him to swallow up soundly with a satisfied hum that makes you shudder. he finds your clit almost instantly, circling it with the very tip of his tongue and making you buck your hips involuntarily before he's pulling back, just to smile smugly at you.

you don't think he's ever looked better than with his curls mussed by the grip your fingers have them in, his eyes hooded and all sorts of ravenous, his chin glistening with your slick.

matsukawa licks his lips, bites lightly at the flesh of your thigh. "you taste better than i could've imagined," he admits, voice gruff and sending tingles down your spine.

that makes you laugh breathily, only for it to fade into a delicious little moan when he dives back between your legs.

matsukawa eats you out with the same intensity, the same deep, intensive passion, as he had when he finally had the opportunity to kiss you fully, and you don't have to wonder if he'd been waiting to do this, too. his tongue slides into your entrance, coaxing out more of what you have to give him, so deep that his nose nudges your clit and makes you whine. he alternates between sucking wet kisses and messy licks all across every part of your needy pussy, intent only on tasting you and applying pressure, making more and more of a mess that he then happily licks up, and when he isn't satisfied with just that, he pushes his fingers into you, pleased when you can take both digits so quickly, one after another, and grazes his teeth gently along your sensitive bud in wordless praise.

you're gasping his name seemingly endlessly, as if it's the only word you know, your mind all but blank except for thoughts of him, pulling and tugging at the roots of his hair, making him groan into you, the vibrations of his deep voice only fueling your ecstasy. all too soon, you feel the bubble of pleasure in your gut near bursting. matsukawa seems to sense this, and curves his fingers as he thrusts and brushes right into your sweet spot, simultaneously lapping at your aching clit before wrapping his lips around the swollen bud and sucking, hard.

you fall over the edge so abruptly, your vision whites out. your body seizes up, back arched away from the bed, thighs squeezing around his head, a final cry of his name on your lips as pleasure overtakes you.

matsukawa doesn't stop pumping his fingers and licking at your clit. even as your body instinctively wriggles away from sensitivity, he follows you, his mouth riding the waves of your pleasure, the rhythmic grind of your hips, loves the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way you spill into his palm. he laps up everything he can, only pulling away when you stop moving to watch with wonder as your pussy throbs around nothing in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

he chuckles when he sets your legs back down on the bed and gets a good look at you. "god, you're so fucking beautiful," he says, taking a moment just to stare at you, all wrecked and messy and gorgeous, panting in the middle of his bed with your shirt all askew and exposing your soft stomach, cheeks ruddy and eyes watery and face all fucked out, but a lopsided smile tipping at your lips. it only widens when your lidded gaze follows his hand, still wet from you, as it slips beneath the waistband of his pants, and undoubtedly fists at his cock.

"kiss me," you demand, barely a whisper, and it makes his cock throb in his hand.

matsukawa could never deny you. he surges forward and kisses you, moans into your mouth when your nimble fingers meet his beneath his pants and squeeze at his dick. you hum at the taste of yourself on his tongue, lick it off his lips as you thumb at his slit, share a lopsided grin that he then kisses off your face.

he lets you push him down on the bed then, raises his hips so you can ease his pants down his thighs and off and - he isn't wearing anything underneath that, either, and it doesn't surprise you, but makes you laugh.

when you look up at him again, you nearly salivate and come close to cardiac arrest all at once.

matsukawa's looks have never escaped your notice. as long as you've known each other, before you were even attracted to him, you'd known it as a fact that he was attractive. it was all too easy for him to develop his confidence, just cocky enough not to be completely arrogant but made even more attractive. tall, dark, handsome, and even worse - annoyingly witty - you often wondered how you'd not only harbored feelings for so long, but tolerated him enough to be friends for even longer.

you know him inside out, know him better than most.

but this, this is entirely new to you, though you most definitely see it as a positive now that your relationship has developed.

"issei," you swallow, "you're...big."

as if in response, his cock twitches where it rests against his abdomen, heavy and intimidating, though the swollen tip is leaking invitingly with precum.

matsukawa laughs, and you can't help but watch the way his abs contract with it, his skin glistening with how much he's dripped onto it. "you don't have to take it all, princess." something warm laces through his chest at the fact that you don't seem the least bit daunted, and instead look like you might start drooling. your gaze doesn't stray when he strokes himself once more, mesmerized.

you lick your lips without realizing it. "no," you correct, holding his gaze once more as you reach out to touch him fully, "i want you, issei, all of you."

he doesn't think he's ever heard anything more seductive in his life, more enticing. at that very moment, he thinks, is when he falls irreversibly, as if he wasn't in enough trouble to begin with.

your hand doesn't close around the base of his cock all the way, a fact that makes you shiver. matsukawa watches you closely, eyes glinting with unabashed lust, tongue darting out to lick his lips when you pucker yours, letting a dollop of spit land on the head of his cock. he curses under his breath, clearly barely holding himself together, and an addicting surge of power thrums through your veins.

you use your spit to aid the slide of your fist, up and down his shaft, pausing at the head to thumb at his slit, bending just to press a chaste, although wet, kiss to it before stroking your hand back down, squeezing at the base of him once more.

matsukawa tuts when you pull away. "princess, don't tease me if you don't want me to tease you, too."

you shrug coquettishly, your smile dripping with faux innocence. "it's only okay if i do it, baby."

his grin is nothing short of predatory. he all but pounces on you, grabbing you by the hips and shifting you back onto the bed so he can hover over you.

matsukawa disposes of your shirt so quickly you barely register it happening, and his mouth latches on to your chest instantly, big hands kneading at your breasts as his tongue swirls around your nipples, taking care to lave at them both and suck biting kisses into the swell of your chest. you whine in satisfaction, back arching instinctively to press more of your body into his needy touch, fingers raking through his soft curls only to encourage him.

one of his hands diverts and makes a path down to your stomach, until he's cupping your mons, grinning wickedly when he's reminded of how wet you still are.

matsukawa raises his head from your chest just enough to speak, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. "i'll take care of you, princess," he promises, voice strained. "i'll go slow, get you nice and ready for me."

you make to roll your eyes and tell him to get on with it, but then his fingers slide through your slit once more before slipping back in, with minimal resistance due to his previous work, and you have to bite back a moan instead.

it makes him chuckle, and he sits back on his haunches, gravity pushing you into his lap, thighs spread across his, opening you up to him completely. you can feel his dick brush against the inside of your thigh and can't help but shiver. his free hand glides along your skin appreciatively, squeezing at the supple flesh of your thigh, other fingers still massaging at your walls, scissoring in and out and stretching you wide for him.

matsukawa whistles quietly then, and you cut your eyes at him only to see him eyeing you hungrily and licking his lips. "shit," he murmurs low, dark, and fascinated. "you're gorgeous." he fixates on your pussy, how you suck his fingers in so sweetly, clenching around him as if you want, need something more. "look at you, so needy." and god, did he have exactly what you needed. "my fingers aren't enough for you, huh?" the tips of his fingers nudge into your sweet spot, making you gasp and instinctively grasp his wrist, and he only laughs lowly, doubling down and thumbing at your swollen clit, delighting when you squirm and whine at him.

"i'll give it to you, baby," he says, his voice so soft it almost sounds like he's thinking out loud rather than talking to you. his fingers part from you and he bends to kiss the center of your stomach in a strangely wholesome gesture, then pulls back to press your hips together, his shaft sliding enticingly through your slick, parting your folds. "i'll give you everything."

"o-oh, issei~ !" you keen at the new contact, walls clenching around nothing and what you want most nestled snugly between your legs, so close yet so far.

matsukawa presses himself against you, eyes practically sparkling with glee as he plays with you, as he watches your pretty pussy get even messier, coating his cock as he continues sliding it across you. the swollen head of it catches on your entrance, and he knows the whine you let out at that will be replaying in his head for weeks. he readjusts his grip on your thighs so he can direct your body better, firm though you're squirming so much he has to kiss you over and over in a futile attempt to soothe you (he doesn't think either of you care if it works, just too blissed out and caught up in each other and enjoying every second). when he moves his hips again, he makes sure to brush right against your clit with his cock, an easy feat with how thick he is, and groans into your mouth when your hand snakes between you to keep him there, your hips writhing beneath his, trapped between him and the mattress.

when you break away from his mouth to speak, dazed and pretty, a string of saliva connects you only for him to lick it up greedily. "i need you, issei, please," you nearly beg, thighs squeezing around his hips as if to punctuate yourself. it's music to his ears.

for as much as he seems to be falling apart at the seams, he still has the energy to tease you. "what do you need, princess?" he teases too at your fluttering hole, one large hand guiding his tip to nudge against it, just barely, only for him to shudder at how quickly and easily he can seem to sink into you.

still, he waits right there propped up on an elbow to look directly at you, chest to chest, your arms wrapped tightly across his back and legs spread wide against your bed.

you look like you're on the verge of cursing him out, but oh, he loves it, he loves you, loves that look you get when you're frustrated with him and now that he knows - frustrated but so in love it clouds your supposedly menacing gaze.

you raise one leg up to wrap loosely across his hip and pull him towards you, gasping when it shifts him just that tiny bit with the friction you so desperately need. "please, 'sei," you breathe, softer than anything, and who is he to deny you when you ask so nicely, with that stubborn yet lovestruck look in your pretty eyes?

"sorry to keep you waiting, princess." he says seriously, breathless and just as desperate, pressing his forehead to yours, noses touching together. he taps at your clit just to make you jolt, chuckling at your warning call of his name, before positioning the head of his cock at your entrance once more. "are you ready for me?"

you nod vigorously, managing to breathe out a frantic "yes, yes, god yes," just before his swollen tip sinks into you. your sharp gasp at the stretch makes him bury his face into your neck as he waits for you to grow accustomed to his girth, and he kisses and nips at your skin patiently.

you clutch him tight to you, muscles relaxing slowly with every touch of his lips on your skin, the soothing praise he whispers melting into you as your body molds to his.

"more," you plead after a moment, "more, issei- !"

matsukawa kisses his way up your jaw so he can watch your face again, brushing away hair that's stuck to your dampened forehead so he can see your eyes clearly. "i've got you, baby, you're taking me so well," he inches himself in with a hiss, your walls practically sucking him in, warm and wet and seemingly perfectly molded around his length. "anything you want, it's all yours." he shifts his hips away a bit just to push back in, and with one fluid stroke and a sharp moan escaping you, he's fully sheathed. he kisses across your open mouth, cradles your face with one hand and all the tenderness in the world cupped into his palm. "it's always been yours. i've always been yours."

his words aren't lost on you. staring intently into his eyes, your own start to well up with emotion, and he nudges his nose into yours with a quiet chuckle. you reach up to caress his cheek, heart swelling at the sincerity sparkling in his eyes, the warmth from him that seeps through your entire being and bubbling into pure, unadulterated happiness.

you tilt your head to capture his lips, indulge in his kisses until you're breathless.

when you part for air, it's you who laughs quietly, fingers stroking absently through the soft black curls of his hair. "we could've done this so much sooner," you lament, grinning when he graces you with another swift kiss before pulling back further.

matsukawa smiles, large palms gliding along your thighs and pressing into the plush playfully until he reaches the back of one of your knees and pushes it up against your chest. "trust me, princess," he says with a cocky gleam in his eye that makes you tingle, hips winding back simultaneously as he raises up minutely, "we've got all the time in the world to make up for it."

you're aware of how active he'd been before this, how your mutual friends seemed to speak about him as if he were some kind of sex god, though he'd never disclose any details - but you don't think anything could've prepared you for the depth of his prowess.

matsukawa starts slow and deep, hips rocking rhythmically and drawing back, the pressure and thickness of his cock seeming to reach every sensitive spot inside you. his eyes are glazed over with desire and the overwhelming pleasure you're giving him, but he's somehow still keen on your own pleasure, attuned to your every reaction, every satisfied little sound you make, every clench of your tight little cunt. he observes what you like, what seems to drive you most crazy, gasping and whining and writhing against him, and all but abuses them - nudging up against your sweet spot with the swollen head of his cock, grinding his pelvis intently into your puffy clit, licking at your throat, nipping at your chest.

you reward him with the most beautiful sounds, the sweetest pulls at the roots of his hair that make him fuck into you even harder, his hips moving on their own to drill you down into the mattress, pressed chest to chest with one arm hooked around the back of your knee to keep you opened up for him.

"oh my god, issei," you finally manage when he lets you breathe, panting against his cheek as he peppers kisses across your face all the while.

"feel good, princess?" his voice, smooth yet just the right kind of raspy, breathes right against your ear and makes you shudder pleasantly, arching further into him as his hips press back down. he pulls back a bit to admire you, how beautiful you look all dazed and fucked out, brows furrowed and mouth agape with how good he's making you feel, how you seem to instinctively reach back out for him every time he shifts away even the tiniest bit. at his prompting you nod furiously, seemingly lost for words.

he can't really blame you, because he chooses that moment to rub at your poor, sensitive clit with the rough pads of his fingers, relishing at how your back arches off the bed and you practically claw at his arms.

matsukawa's grin is sinister, teeth bared as he pauses, pulls his hips back a bit to sit back on his haunches and readjust you as if you weigh nothing, hands squeezing appreciatively at your flesh before he positions both your legs over his shoulders once more. "god, i'm gonna fucking ruin you," he bites out, placing a sweetly contradictory kiss to one of your thighs, "gonna mold this pretty pussy to the shape of my cock." he slides his fingers through your folds for emphasis, brushes up against where you're connected and groans at how wet you are, how his digits come away dripping so nicely. "like no one else can, princess." he doesn't miss the way your cunt clenches deliciously around him at his words.

he loves that you can still smirk stubbornly right back at him even in your position folded underneath him. "i'm gonna ruin you for anyone else, too, dummy," you say slyly, reaching up to pull him down to you by the nape of his neck, sighing dreamily when he indulges you with another breathtaking kiss.

he can't help but chuckle, knowing that it's more than true - you wrecked him long before he was even inside you and tasted heaven on your tongue and encased in the sweet velvet of your walls. and he's more than impressed with how eager you are for his mouth despite the awkward angle pushing your legs to your chest in a way he's sure can't be comfortable.

when his dick slides all the way back in to the hilt at this angle, you both gasp at how much deeper it seems, the head of his cock nudging right up against your cervix.

"ohh, fuck, pretty girl, i could die right now you're so fucking perfect," he breathes, like the air has been punched from his lungs, because you're swallowing him right up so perfectly, so snugly, and the base of his cock is rubbing right up against your clit and making you mewl nearly every time he thrusts in. his fingers weave between yours and pin them to the mattress, similarly to how his hips shove yours down into it, steady and unbelievably precise, and the room fills with the obnoxious noises of wet skin slapping against wet skin and the obscene squelch of your cunt sucking him in.

you giggle breathlessly, let go of one of his hands to clutch at the roots of his hair, tilting his head up from where his gaze had been locked on the mess between your bodies so he can look at you instead. "don't die before you make me cum again, issei."

matsukawa swears his heart palpitates at the cocky little smile on your face. you really are perfect - you look like a gorgeously lewd, perfect little angel, dazed and splayed out so delicately in his bed, tits bouncing with every purposeful thrust of his hips, your heavensent, divine pussy sucking him in so perfect, perfect, perfect. that word was made for you, he's so sure of it.

"of course not, angel," he simpers, licking his lips as his gaze rakes over your body. "how many can you take, hm?" one hand still laced with yours, he parts your lips around his dick with his free hand, grinning ruefully when you can only whine instead of answering his question.

he hadn't expected you to, anyway.

matsukawa continues to tease your body and relish in your sweet reactions, never breaking the brutal yet constant pace of his hips thrusting into you. he presses a heavy palm down on your lower stomach and groans from deep in his chest when you clench so nicely for him, whining at the new sensation. "you can feel me there, huh?" he hovers over you, your legs still hooked haphazardly across his shoulders, and kisses at your chest in approval. he marvels at how deep he truly is, carving his cock into you and building up your pleasure and his with every purposeful rock of his hips. he feels goosebumps rise on his skin at the primal, fleeting thought of fucking you full, fucking a baby into you, making you beg for it, needy and desperate. "i fucking love you, baby, taking me so fucking well." he isn't sure he's making much sense, but something comes over him with the sheer bliss he's feeling, and he can't stop talking - and you seem to absolutely love it, keening at every meaningless babble as if his voice is laced with the most addictive substance.

eventually he moves his hand down from your stomach to toy with your poor, puffy clit, smearing your combined juices all along the little bundle of nerves and rubbing vigorously. "cum all over my cock, princess, give it all to me," he all but growls, hips still moving as if on autopilot as he focuses all his attention on your pretty face, intent to watch you come undone.

your jaw locks and a silent scream escapes you as you tip over the edge once more, overwhelmed with pleasure as your orgasm crashes through your body, head to toe. when you have enough air to gasp into your hungry lungs, you can only breathe out a chorus of his name, clutching at his hair and the sheets beneath you, writhing against the mattress with every wave of pure bliss that rolls through you.

matsukawa fucks you through it, dutifully, eagerly. he nearly melts at the happily dreamy look on your face, the charming pinch of your brows and your mouth hanging agape just to chant his name and spur him on - and not to mention, the devastating flutter of your cunt around him, the pulse of your walls pushing out your wetness to coat his cock, the sweet glisten of the skin between your thighs and his shaft.

he's never been more in love. he can't help but think about how lucky he is to be the one making you lose yourself in the best way.

matsukawa stills his hips and kisses you down from your high, your tongues tangling and making a mess of your spit, but neither of you care, too lost in each other.

"keep going," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking through his hair and making him moan in satisfaction as the last few contractions of your orgasm wrack through him in turn. "wanna feel your cum inside me, issei."

matsukawa groans, low and guttural. you say and do the hottest things with such ease it should be illegal. "fuck," he grunts, "i did tell you i'd give you everything, didn't i?" he slips your legs down his shoulders carefully, but presses one to your chest with a large hand on the back of your knee. he repositions himself over you, makes sure you're secure and comfortable before he starts to move again.

this time, his pace is much faster, hyperfocused only on reaching his own peak.

your moans seem to get higher pitched the longer he pistons into the tight wet heat of your cunt, your legs shifting to close around him on instinct - he prevents you with that firm hold on the back of your knee, keeping you splayed open and vulnerable as he happily splits you apart on his cock.

matsukawa bites his lip in concentration, but low, satisfied sounds still escape him, too lost in the sweet vice of your pussy clamped around him to keep quiet.

when you reach up to tug at his hair again, with just the right amount of pressure, he thinks he loses his mind completely.

he only lasts a few valiant, sloppy thrusts, and then he's burying himself into you as deep as he can, his tall frame curling into you instinctively to get as close as possible, your name escaping from deep within his throat, low and lovely. with every sweet pulse of his thick cock he spills inside you, coating your fluttering walls in his seed until it leaks out between you, and you're gasping and shaking lightly at how positively full you feel, warm and more than content to be trapped in his embrace. his hips slow to a sensual grind that makes his pelvis nudge right into your clit, and before you know it, you're teetering excruciatingly slow towards another orgasm, shocked at how eager for it your tired body seems to be, squeezing around his cock - still hard despite how much he seemed to cum - and instinctively pressing closer to him.

matsukawa buries his face into the crook of your neck as he comes down, breathing heavy, arms wrapped tight around your waist. after a moment he turns you both on your side because he has half a mind not to crush you, and you giggle breathlessly, fingers soothing at his scalp. "fuuuuuck," he groans against your heated skin, drawn out on a long breath. "you're insane." he chuckles to himself, all too pleased.

you scoff, shifting so you can face him. you're so close you can see how much his pupils have dilated, the black nearly swallowing the entirety of his irises, and you wonder vaguely if yours are the same, if the emotion bursting from your slightly heaving chest is any indication. "says the one who's still hard." you clench around him for emphasis and he grunts as his cock twitches inside you, a large hand smacking lightly at your ass in admonishment.

"don't start something you can't finish, princess." that crooked grin is back, that addictingly smooth lilt of his voice.

instantly you're more energized, spurred on by his challenging tone, absolutely insatiable, and you mirror his smirk. "who says i can't finish?" you pull away from him, whining a little at the loss of his heat and the dull pressure of his cock plugging your releases. it leaks slowly out of you and along your still-wet inner thighs, but in another instant matsukawa's thick fingers are there, smearing it into your folds and making more of a mess of you.

you push his probing hand away so you can roll on top of him, and his grin widens when he figures out what you're doing and lays back comfortably with an arm tucked behind his head, those half-lidded eyes watchful, anticipating.

you don't miss the delicious flex of his bicep, the way that position emphasizes his arms and broad chest.

you lean in just to kiss him as you straddle his hips, his free hand squeezing at your thigh and gliding up your body to rest at the curve of your waist, his thumb soothing at your skin. you line him up to your entrance once more, and with your pleased little gasp, he slides in with hardly any resistance to speak of.

"that's it, beautiful," matsukawa rumbles, and with your hands braced on his chest you can feel his deep voice vibrate through you, and it makes you shiver. "you're so pretty like this." he says it softly, reverently, and your back arches a little bit more as if on instinct, preening with his praise.

you grin, sinking down all the way and humming in satisfaction along with him. you circle your hips, leaning down to kiss him, one hand on his chest and the other on the side of his face, caressing his cheek as he lets your tongue delve into his mouth, content to let you take the lead.

if he were honest, he'd let you do anything you wanted to him.

and he can't wait to explore that with you.

you lick up the line of spit that connects you when you pull back, raising your hips simultaneously and gasping against his cheek when you shift back down. his cock throbs deep inside you, every ridge and vein massaging at your walls so nicely every time you move, slow and purposeful.

"fuck, 'sei," you whine as you ride him with abandon, chasing the friction, the pure, liquid pleasure he's giving you, all but bouncing in his lap - to his clear delight. his eyes shine with mirth, darting across your every feature and leaving none without his attention. matsukawa groans in response, no longer lax and content to just admire you as you work yourself over him, sitting up to toy with your body, his hands now occupied with your breasts. he squeezes them together, pinching and licking at your nipples just to make you whimper and clutch at his wrists, back arching to push more of your flesh into his eager mouth.

matsukawa kisses his way up from your chest, where he's left his own pretty roses scattered across your skin, and starts sucking on your throat. you gasp when you feel his teeth glide across your pulse, shuddering and tugging on the hair at the back of his head. he chuckles against your jaw, big hands digging into the supple flesh of your ass to aid your movements.

"issei, i'm-" he interrupts you with a lick to your bottom lip, laughing softly at how quickly you respond, head tilting to follow his mouth when he pulls away.

"what is it, baby?" he asks, though he knows, can feel it in the way you clench around his dick, the tension pulling your muscles taut and making your pace stutter.

"'m close," you manage between kisses when he realizes he can't stay away from your mouth, either, and gives you what you want. "gonna cum, make me cum, issei please, i need to- oh-!"

matsukawa interrupts you again, this time by planting his feet on the mattress and thrusting up into you. he grips your thighs and slams you down onto his cock simultaneously, and your hair flies when you throw your head back with a deeply satisfied, high pitched moan. his grin is feral - he's addicted to the way you fall apart just for him, losing yourself again on his cock, tits bouncing with each brutal thrust he rewards you with for your pretty, shaky moans.

your fingers paw sloppily at your clit as you tumble over the edge once more, and he does his best to prolong your orgasm, but he only lasts a few messy thrusts himself before giving in and pumping you full again, unable to resist the tantalizing flutter of your walls around him.

matsukawa shoves his pulsing dick inside you as deep as he can and stills, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight to him, unconcerned that you're both sweaty and trembling and have a mess slowly spreading between you, both of you coming apart in your bliss yet coming together in the middle, tethering each other in your embrace. you hold him just as firmly, fingers dug into his soft curls, chest pressed to his and swooning all over again when you feel his heartbeat against your own, rattling around erratically in your ribcage as you come down from your devastating high, struggling to catch your breath.

soon enough, laughter bubbles up in his chest, shaking you both lightly. you giggle along with him, pinching playfully at his arm when he kisses your cheek and tells you, low and breathless, "i swear you're trying to kill me, princess."

"we should probably clean up," you suggest, laying your head on his shoulder and admittedly making no other move to do so.

"yeah, just..." matsukawa just stares at you for a long moment, a tender little half-smile adorning his lips, so small yet so bright - it lights up his whole face, makes his eyes sparkle and his skin glow, and you don't think he's ever looked more handsome. your heart does somersaults. "give me a second." his hand comes up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek, tracing the seam of your lips and making you smile against the pad of it. almost as if on instinct you kiss at his thumb, and his grin widens, because he thinks he sees everything he's ever wanted in your eyes.

you sigh dramatically when you feel more of your combined juices leak out of you and you suddenly feel unbearably sticky. "come on, issei, you can make googly eyes at me in the bath," you gripe, and peck at his lips before disentangling your sore limbs from his and moving to sit up.

matsukawa just laughs and does his best to help you out, because he can't argue.

but just because you ruined that tender moment prematurely, he thinks he'll do more than that in the bath.

[non-un-topo]

More clothing studies, this time from my fic Axis. I was aiming for authenticity while also trying to have each of their personalities show a little bit in their clothing choices. Two for Nicky, to show his layers.

[damnation-if]

hey!! can i ask for a color palatte description for the ro's? like what their hair/eye colors are?

hope you're having a good week 💙💙💙

Hi!

I spent a long time putting together a graphic for this before I realised that you asked for just a description haha... oops. well. here is the graphic anyway XD

If you're looking for a link to the page with more general descriptions, there are some on the RO's page.

Very sorry for the delay in replying! My life is. hectic. smdnfgbsfgf

[seventh-district]

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it���s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

-

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought.  “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand,  reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

-

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

-

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

-

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

[plusultraetc]

I can't believe I finished this before the deadline

[thevioletcaptain]

i'm supposed to be sleeping (went to bed like an hour ago) but i spent a decent chunk of today working on chapters 5 & 6 of as a friend and now my brain refuses to shut the hell up about it. which means that instead of being unconscious i've just spent 20 minutes rewriting the [first morning back at the bunker after everyone knows] scene on my phone, and i genuinely hope that it is actually as funny as it currently seems to my half-asleep brain.

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 😟

[nimeve]

what if i just go to bed

[mittenlady]

chapter 15 of CAYA is finally finished. unfortunately i will not be posting anything until i finish chapter 17 <3

[lesenbyan]

I will not start a project with denim when I've been awake for 19 hours. I will not start a project with denim with I've been awake for 19 hours. I will not start a project with denim when I've been awake for 19 hours. I will not-

[vampfiire]

currently 3 books through my reading goal so far and i honestly couldn't be prouder <3

[amelia]

(amy & eleven | do me a favour)

little video about the impossibility of holding onto what you treasure the most. it's about no one wanting to leave with roadblocks in front of their own ability to stay it's about "don't let go" "never" it's about how embarrassing it is to admit that you need someone so much that it turns into resentment and about how in the end to tear apart the ties that bind, perhaps "fuck off" might be TOO kind

[seaofreverie]

I actually made 9 drawings in 2 days

[atticuos]

For @yee-boii cuz you’re neat and your writing inspires me and I love you a bit :)

Rating: 🟠 Mature

❣️Mutual Pining & Yearning ✨

❣️Touch-Starved ✨

❣️Protective Bakugou Katsuki

❣️ Travelling to Winter and Fantasy AU

❣️Soft Epilogue

-

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, and Katsuki knows already.

He’s known this entire night. Izuku has never been good at hiding things, especially when it comes to love. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve; he wore it all over him, in his eyes, over his mouth and cheeks, beating right there out of his chest for everyone to see. For Katsuki to grab and keep.

Only ever for Katsuki.

-

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

i've never managed to write & update any multi-chapter fics on ao3 that weren't fully written before posting before this year and i've at least identified the consistent pattern i go through every month.

stage 1: "i know exactly what this chapter is going to be and i'm so excited to write it! it'll be done in a week!" *proceeds to write 60% of it in 2 days*

stage 2: *re-reads what i've written and compares it to past chapters* "this is shit. this isn't fulfilling my vision. i must look away" *ignores it for two weeks*

stage 3: *goes back to the wip draft, re-reads it* "actually this isn't bad! i'm really enjoying this! what do you mean i left off here mid-sentence????" *proceeds to think about writing without writing for a week*

stage 4: *grits teeth* "i must.... finish this.... i have plans.... i enjoy writing.... i'll make this... sound good... i can finish things i swear...." *spends an hour writing a single paragraph. somehow keeps up the energy for a week*

stage 5: *two days in the editing pit*

stage 6: *posts on ao3* "well that was difficult to get through but i have such a clear plan for the next chapter so i'm sure i'll write it so quickly and it'll be super fun and i won't have writer's block at all!! :)"

rinse and repeat

[plantenjoyer]

I SWEAR I KEEP TRYING TO DO ART BUT THEN SOMETHING GETS IN THE WAY AND THEN I PROCRASTINATE AND THEN SIX MONTHS PASS