#when I draw matt in the coat THEN WHAT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

souliebird · 3 months ago

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[[and then I met you || Ch. 35]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.6k

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He dreams of hands.

They are soft and delicate, but they do not treat him as such. They wrap around his throat, tightening and cutting off his air until he is left gasping and wheezing - nails dig into him, breaking his flesh and drawing up dots of blood.

But the hands do not hurt him. They do not cause pain.

They only bring him pleasure.

They make him feel Desired.

Wanted.

They claw desperately at him, not holding back as they squeeze and tear at him. He isn’t treated as something delicate - something that will crack and break under the slightest pressure. He arches into them as he is marked with thin lines of scratches - begs with what voice he can muster for more.

More.

He’s teased to the point of almost too much before the hands reset.

Whatever they plan for him, he submits so easily to it.

He yearns for it when one leaves his neck to force open his jaw. He is in bliss as his lips are pushed back so his teeth are exposed like he’s an animal in need of inspection. A thumb tests the sharpness of his canines before more digits are added to completely fill his mouth. His head is tilted and guided so he can be thoroughly examined and he prays the fingers will gag him - be shoved down his throat so all he can taste is their saltiness.

But they don’t. They retract until only the tips remain, keeping him from being able to close his mouth. A low whine escapes his throat in protest, something weak and pathetic and needy, and the response he gets is more pressure to his windpipe until he’s struggling to breathe.

As his lungs become desperate for oxygen, something viscous begins to drip into his waiting maw and he wastes no time drinking down whatever the gift is. It is tangy and musky, but sweet and he wants it to coat the inside of his mouth.

He wants to drown in it.

As he begins to overflow and get his wish, the hands holding him down begin to fade into nothingness and he is left floating in the abyss.

But he is not alone.

He is wrapped within the drumming of twin beats - one is stronger than the other, but they are both steady. They are both warm. They call to him and the beast inside his chest trills out in response - he wants to be with them. To be a part of them.

Soon, the smaller beat begins to morph - it’s firm ‘thuds’ stretching and bending until they are words.

“Daddy, wake up.”

Matt’s eyes blink open.

Despite their uselessness in terms of sight, the act still helps him wake up and fight off his grogginess as he begins to process all the inputs he is receiving. The most obvious and important of the signals he is getting is that of his precious daughter, standing next to the bed, just by his chest.

She does not seem distressed in any way, so he does not panic. He lets himself yawn and for his brain to catch up to being awake before he responds.

“Yes, princess?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. He doesn’t move, hoping that whatever has his daughter out of bed is trivial and he won’t have to get up just yet. He has no idea what time it is, but he gets so little rest that even an extra few minutes will do him wonders.

“Daddy!” Minnie’s voice is filled with absolute delight at his acknowledgement, but is also a fraction above a whisper - like she is just barely breathing out the words. Matt’s lips turn up into a soft smile as he realizes she’s trying to be quiet so she will not wake the other person sleeping in his bed. You are deep in Dreamland, but you have a Mother's Ear. If you hear Minnie up and talking, you'll jump to attention, and neither he or his princess want that.

He rolls so he is on his side facing his little one, and reaches out to run the back of his index finger over one of her full cheeks, “Why are you awake, baby?”

Mouse preens at the affection, a wide smile taking over her face as she leans into his touch, “I needs help, please thank you,” she starts, her soft voice coming out a little rushed as she tries to tell him everything at once. “I gots up all by myselfs and went pee in the toilets. All by myselfs. Buts, Daddy, I can’t…I can’t reach the sinks. I trieded but it's too high and I can’t reach it. I tried really really hard! Mommy says, Daddy, she says, Mommy says if I can’ts do it myself I gotta ask for help. So I need help, please thank you.”

Matt takes in the information slowly, letting it roll in his brain and combine with everything else he senses.

He can hear the toilet gurgling and refilling after being flushed. He can smell the traces of urine on Minnie’s fingers from her efforts to clean herself. The world begins to bloom around him as he processes what is being asked of him.

A small amount of Pride fills him at her attempts to take care of herself. She wears pull ups to sleep because she is still learning to control her bladder at night, but since Matt has known her, there have been no accidents he is aware of - even in this new environment. It isn’t her fault he has a tall pedestal sink with no step stool for her to use so she can wash her hands.

Rest is important, but his little girl needs him, so Matt rolls himself out of bed.

As soon as he is up on his feet, Minnie is holding up her arms to be picked up, so she is scooped up onto his hips, and her tiny arms go right around his neck. His shirt covers the bruises and cuts that make up his entire torso, but it does nothing to cushion the pain of thirty pounds being bumped into him. He's far too disciplined to wince or grunt, but he reminds himself this is why he needs to work on his defense.

He can't play with his daughter with broken ribs.

As he carries her to the bathroom, he becomes more and more awake and Minnie’s attempts to turn on the sink become more and more obvious.

The faucet is dripping the smallest amount of water, one drop at a time - the handle has just barely been nudged to turn on - and something semi solid has been dragged over to be in front of the sink. Only when Matt is right in front of it and can feel the item with his foot does he realize it’s his empty laundry hamper, but tilted over to be on its side.

He huffs a soft laugh as he imagines his daughter trying to figure out a solution to her hand-washing problem. He loves her cleverness and outside the box toddler thinking.

“Did you try to climb up on the hamper to wash your hands?” he asks, curious as to what the response will be. He's curious about her logic and curious if she'll admit to moving the hamper.

“It’s not strongs enough to hold me,” she grumbles into his shoulder and Matt does nothing to suppress his grin. He likes the answer. He likes how honest and direct she is.

He likes that she follows the rules her mother gave about washing her hands. He likes that she realized she had a problem and attempted to find a solution, and when that didn't work, she came and asked for help.

Matt loves her so so much and he loves all the values you have instilled into her. They are the values that you hold, that you cherish, and think are the most important. Every time he thinks about what a wonderful mother you are, his heart swells and he can't believe God is being so gracious with him.

He thanks the Lord everyday for you and the precious angel you have brought into his life.

Matt gets his foot under the hamper and lifts it back up right with ease, explaining as he does, “It’s made of wicker - that’s a type of tree. It’s hollow inside and that means it can’t support any weight. It’s only meant to hold clothes, not people.” He wants her to understand why her problem solving didn't work. He selfishly wants to encourage this type of behavior. If she can get up at night and wash her own hands, he gets more sleep.

“But I’m a peoples.”

“You are a peoples. But Daddy overlooked not having a step stool for you,” he says, owning up to his oversight. He admittedly has not been around too much during waking hours, unfortunately. The firm has been busy, so Matt has been getting to work at seven thirty in the morning and Minnie gets tired around eight at night. That doesn't give him a lot of time when he gets home at six in the evening. “I’ll get one for you today, okay?”

“Can it be pink?”

Matt agrees to the request as the hamper is returned to its usual home, and once that is done, he assists Minnie by holding her up to the sink so she can thoroughly wash her hands. He is no longer surprised at how seriously she takes the task - his angel always wants to follow any rules her Mommy gives her and he knows first hand how overwhelming dirty hands can be on the senses - and the combination results in Minnie scrubbing enough to make a surgeon jealous.

As his daughter focuses on her task, he lets his hearing open up to the world outside the apartment. He gets the feeling it is still a few hours until sunrise - there is a distinct stillness the city gets between four and six am, and that is just beginning to waiver. In his quick scan, no one gives him an exact time, but he knows well enough that however early it is, his day has started. By the way his little girl is humming while she works, he knows there is no chance of getting her back to sleep. She is up and about and there is no way Matt is going to rouse you from your slumber when he’s perfectly capable and taking care of his angel.

He’s used to working on no sleep and he’ll happily sacrifice a few hours of rest to be able to be with his daughter. Plus, he’ll be in court all day, supporting Foggy as second chair - with all the breaks and waiting around that normally occurs, he can sneak in a few power naps.

He’ll be fine.

As for his morning with his sweet girl, Matt has been wanting to cook with Minnie for a while. Despite his diet of take out and leftovers, he does know his way around a kitchen and he knows for a fact Mouse is the best sous chef New York has to offer. She will be thrilled to help him do something special for her favorite person in the world.

And she will be even more thrilled when Matt tells her the plan is to make her Mommy breakfast in bed. He very much wants to spoil you after you took such good care of him the night before and letting you sleep in will just be the tip of the iceberg.

You deserve the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon, and while he can’t manage that at this exact moment, he can wrangle up a few physical reminders of his adoration.

Minnie gets the last of the soap off her hands and Matt pivots so she can reach the towel to dry herself off. As he does, his mind refocuses to the morning routine and the steps he needs to take before he can enact the first steps of his plan - he needs to get his daughter ready for her day. That means getting her dressed and doing her hair.

He sees no reason to beat around the bush, so he bluntly asks, “how do you want to do your hair today, Princess?”

Mouse gives a tiny gasp and looks up at him with what he can only guess is wonder, “you’re gonna do my hair, Daddy?” Her little hands shoot up and she begins patting around her bed-head curls and he can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she determines what she wants. You’ve told him a few times that you have been letting her make this big decision in the mornings, so he waits patiently, understanding the need for independence.

“A ponytail!” is the final verdict and Matt is slightly relieved it is nothing complicated.

“We can do a ponytail. Can you pick out some clothes that will go nice with a ponytail?” he asks, knowing the answer will be an enthusiastic ‘yes’. Hair is something he can deal with, but picking out a toddler approved outfit is beyond his skill level for obvious reasons. Minnie is a little fashionista with all her tulle and party dresses and he would hate to make her look like a jester instead of the royalty she is.

He adjusts his hold on her before leaving the bathroom and as he makes his way back to the bedroom, he drops his voice low, “we need to be quiet so we don’t wake Mommy, okay?”

“Quiet,” Mouse breathes in agreement, her face scrunching up with determination as she does. “So we don't wake Mommy.” He knows then that she will try her best to obey him and it makes his heart swell.

He has the sweetest little girl in the world.

He sets her back down just outside the doorway, and to his great surprise, she instantly pushes up to be on her tip toes. She is a bit wobbly, but she has far more control than he expected for a four year old. She turns to him, and in the most authoritative voice he’s heard in a while advises, “we gotta be quiets” before sneaking into the room.

Her steps are exaggerated - she lifts her foot up way too high to be practical before setting it down again and between each movement is a pause to check for noise. He is reminded of an old timey bank robber and he guesses that must be the reference she is mimicking - some Bugs Bunny or Scooby Doo cartoon where silence was crucial. Her antics make him smile and he takes a moment to observe them - noting how she is true to her nickname. She makes no excessive noise and he’s sure if he didn’t have his superior senses, he wouldn’t be able to detect her.

It is amazing to him that something that took years of training for him to master comes so naturally to Minnie. She truly is his miracle, and if he thinks about it for too long, he gets overly emotional and philosophical, so he tucks all his awe away for another time and follows her into the bedroom.

While Mouse follows her mission of picking out some clothes, Matt grabs the bucket of hair supplies from his dresser. He doesn’t know what all the different bottles and products are for, but he takes them all anyway. He is hoping a few more sessions will have him graduating out of the novice category of hair styling and he will be able to do more than the basics.

Apparently, asking Minnie to pick out clothes while being quiet also made her focus, as she selects something from her suitcase in record speed. She exits back into the living room the same time he does, a big smile on her face as she holds up her prizes to present to him. He's pretty sure she's showing him a pair of leggings and a t-shirt dress, but such small clothes are a little harder for him to figure out.

“I wanna wear these.”

“With your ponytail?”

“Yes, please! Thank you!”

With the hard decisions made, he guides Mouse over to the couch and that begins the process of changing her into her day clothes. He’s so very lucky that she finds novelty in him being the one to assist her, because she wants to show him all the right way to do things and that she can get dressed all by herself. He’s only needed to help straighten everything out and to tell her she looks perfect in her apparently pink dress.

Her hair is almost just as easy - Matt finds joy in running his fingers through her bouncy little curls and Minnie can't soak up the affection quick enough. He’s gentle as he manually detangles any knots and he forgoes the brush completely in favor of pulling her hair up with his hands. It is far from the smoothest of ponytails, but as soon as his hands are away from her head, Mouse is running to the nearest reflective surface to examine herself.

She twirls and poses, pretending she is in front of a camera while declaring, “Daddy made me extra pretty!”

He does not need anymore ego boosting, but the compliment goes right into his front pocket and he will be telling Foggy about his accomplishments.

He lets her spin around and have her fun, in no rush to move the morning along. He knows better than anyone that these types of small moments are what his Soul and Heart need and he will cling to them as long as he can. He does wish he knew how to get his phone to take video and pictures, because he knows how much you would cherish them. It is something he plans to work on - not only for you but for him as well. He has daydreams about attending dance recitals and spelling bees and he wants to be the proud dad in the crowd filming everything. He wants to be able to go back to those moments and listen to them anytime he wants to.

But until he actually has the energy and patience to learn more about his phone, he will treasure this time only in his memory.

Minnie gives a final peace sign to her reflection, then she turns and hurries over to Matt with her arms held out to be picked up.

“I’m a kitty!” she eagerly tells him as he once again swings her up onto his hip. She not-so-gently headbutts him in the shoulder, then starts rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “Meow meow meow!”

Her gleefullness is infectious and Matt is quickly grinning while he begins to exaggeratedly pet at her back, “Well, Miss Kitty, I was thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and I was hoping to have an assistant. Since my daughter seems to have disappeared, do you think you can help me?”

Minnie pulls back so she can look at him, then she reaches up, fingers curled up to make a paw, and starts playfully, but so gently, batting at his cheek. “Meow meow, scrambled eggs and toast? Meow meow. I knows how to make those, I can helps, meow meow!”

“You can help?” He confirms and she nods so hard her curls bounce around behind her. “And you won’t get any fur in the eggs? This is an extra special breakfast.”

“Meow meow, extra special breakfast, meow meow?”

He hums in affirmation and begins to carry his little girl towards the kitchen. “Extra special breakfast. You see, someone I love very very much is still asleep and I think it would be nice to wake her up with breakfast in bed. What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

Matt gets another light bop to the face just as Minnie asks, “Meow meow, is it for Mommy, meow meow?”

“It is for Mommy.”

He sets her on the back counter, away from the stove, and starts to pull out everything he will need to complete his task. As he does, Mouse begins to swing her feet.

“Meow meow, Mommy likes red stuff on her eggies. Meow meow meow,” she tells you, but he has no idea what she is talking about. He’s never noticed if you add something to your eggs, but he’s not entirely sure if you have eaten eggs together. Most of your meals together have been lunch or dinner, and he doesn’t recall any breakfast for dinner scenarios.

“I don’t think I have any red stuff,” he advises as he takes out the milk, eggs, cheese, and butter from the fridge. She is completely nonplussed by the update and keeps up her kitty-time play.

“Meow meow, she likes cheese, toos. Meow meow.”

That makes him chuckle and instead of putting the bag onto the counter, he offers it to his daughter, who eagerly hugs it to her chest. “Do kitties like cheese, too?”

“Meow meow, kitties love cheese! Meow meow meow!”

“What about whisking eggs, do kitties love to do that?”

He doesn’t get a verbal response and he gets about a quarter of a second of warning before Minnie is leaping down from the counter. He darts forward, catching her by the waist as her feet miss brushing the floor by a centimeter, but his hold is no match against a wiggly toddler and she’s running out of the kitchen before his mind can process what just happened.

He stands slowly, his heart slamming in his chest with adrenaline over his sweet girl jumping off something twice her height. She had no fear or second thoughts about it, but all he can imagine is her little body crumbling to the ground in pain.

Is this what he puts Foggy through everytime he puts on his helmet?

He pales at the thought.

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t safe to do that. You could have gotten hurt,” he tells her, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. He’s only very recently started caring about his own well being and he’s thrown himself in danger without thought so many times that he’s pretty sure even God has lost count.

“Kitties land on their feets!” Minnie tells him from across the room, rummaging in her bag of toys. He has no idea what she could possibly be looking for and at the moment, as long as she is safe, he doesn’t care.

He drags a hand over his face, very suddenly understanding why being a parent is a full time job. He is definitely going to add on to his plans to spoil you - Minnie is a sweet angel but you need more than praise for raising her.

She finds whatever she was looking for and runs back towards him with it held high over her head - it is plastic and by the smell of it, he’s pretty sure it came from her kitchen playset.

“I knows how to whisk, meow meow!”

Matt takes a deep breath to reset himself, then lets his affection and love for his daughter take over, “you do, do you?”

“Meow meow, yeah, I can whisk lots of things!” She waves the toy at him, clearly proud of herself, and he chuckles at her sweetness and eagerness. He wanted her help in the kitchen and he is certainly going to get it.

“Okay, then, Chef Miss Kitty, let's make some eggs.”

First thing first, he gets the coffee going. He switched to the brand you prefer the morning after your first time in his apartment and he’s made sure to memorize exactly how you take it so he can give you the perfect cup every time.

Next, he cracks eggs into a bowl while Minnie watches like a hawk, her toy whisk clenched tightly in her hand and waiting to do her job. He adds a dash of milk and as soon as he sets down the carton, his shirt is being tugged on so he can lift up his little angel - so he does.

Determined doesn’t even begin to describe what Matt witnesses. Minnie takes the task as seriously as a professional chef, hunched forward and silent as she works. There is a little pout on her lips and he has to latch onto his own professionalism so he won’t laugh.

There is no need for him to direct her - she was not telling tall tales about her abilities. She blends the eggs beautifully and when Matt senses there is no point in continuing to whisk, he kisses her cheek.

“I think you got them, sweetheart. They are perfect, thank you.”

“I love whisking,” she whispers to him like it is a secret and he takes note of it. He’s sure that when Minnie finally gets to meet Foggy’s parents, there will be lots of desserts in his future. Anna loves baking and loves grandkids and letting her have an afternoon with a toddler who loves to cook will probably be like an early Christmas.

She stays on his hip as toast is started and butter is dropped in the pan to melt. She keeps surprisingly quiet, only piping up to ask to switch her whisk for a spatula. She gets a real one as the time comes to start cooking the eggs.

“You have to let them bubble a little and start to become firm,” Matt directs, hoping his directions make sense. “When the parts touching the pan get solid, you have to push them out of the way so the liquidy part can cook, too. Got it?”

“Meow meow, got it, meow meow.”

He doesn’t know if she really understands what he is saying, but it is clear that you have let her stir the eggs before. She is gentle as she nudges things around, like she is aware too much will make a mess and again, she stays sharply focused, seemingly wanting to make your breakfast in bed as perfect as possible. He is quickly learning that tomfoolery is not tolerated in Chef Miss Kitty’s kitchen and he is more than fine with that. He thinks it is absolutely charming that she is so dedicated.

She sits up straighter when the eggs begin to firm and form into a runny scramble and Matt hums out soft praise, “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

“I knows how to make eggies, meow meow.”

“You sure do. Do you want to add the cheese now?”

“Meow meow, yes, please. Meow meow.”

He gives her another kiss and a minute later, Minnie is telling him the newly cheesy eggs are done and he sets her down so he can transfer everything to plates. She stays in his shadow but out from under his feet as the toast is buttered and cut, and coffee is poured. It is only after everything is ready to go that he realizes that he does not have a tray to properly present breakfast in bed.

He considers his options, then decides on just bringing the plate as is, with a dish towel under it to keep you from burning your hands. He’ll make sure he has the correct set up for the next time he does this - because he knows very well there will be a next time, and a time after that, and many more after that.

The moment Minnie steps out of his small kitchen area, her demeanor changes completely. She is back to being an excited toddler and Matt lets himself throw his head back and laugh as she takes off towards the bedroom. He follows after her, his heart swollen and glowing with love for both her and the woman who changed his life for the better. He prays this is one of the moments he will remember for the rest of his time on Earth and can replay in his mind over and over again.

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! We made you breakfast!”

---

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you

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ariestrxsh · 7 months ago

Note

could you write a blurb on horny reader touching herself in the car, while matt is sitting next to her, driving, and he talks her through it and like instructs her and shit?

(if this is a bad idea please ignore🙈)

Literally not a bad idea at all! I took your idea and spiced it up a bit. 😇 I hope you like what I came up with. 💖

Matt talks you through touching yourself on a long drive...

It had been a long drive. You were several hours in and still had a few more to go, your boyfriend's playlist looping for a third time on the speakers of the car.

You looked over at Matt, who looked incredibly good today. You weren't sure if it was his most recent haircut, maybe his grown out stubble, or maybe the way the veins on his hands really popped when he gripped the steering wheel.

It could have even been the small bumps in the road or the vibrations of the car, drawing your attention to the throbbing between your legs. Either way, you couldn't help the wet spot that was beginning to form on the front of your panties while you studied your boyfriend who looked concentrated - and a bit bored, granted you had been on the same stretch of road for fifty miles now.

He let out a big, long yawn, wrinkling his nose and rubbing his eyes. "You doing alright?" You asked him. "Yeah, just getting tired. You mind talking to me a little bit to keep me awake?" He wondered. "I actually have a better idea to keep you awake," you said, smirking and narrowing your eyes at him as a diabolical plan took form in your mind.

You were horny, and Matt needed something to keep him alert. Why not solve both your problems at once?

"Oh, and what could that be?" Matt flirtatiously asked. He could tell by the tone of your voice that you were about to suggest something naughty. Without saying anything, you unbuckled your seat belt and pulled down your shorts along with your panties. Matt's eyes widened as you took your purple laced thong and hung it from his rearview mirror.

You pulled your makeup mirror out of your purse, propped your leg up on the side of the door, and hooked your arm around your thigh with the mirror in hand to give Matt a look at your wet pussy. "Why don't you do the talking, and I'll do whatever you tell me to?" You asked, grinning over at Matt.

His gaze was locked on the mirror that was reflecting the perfect view of your cunt back at him, and his lips curled into a smile after he wet them. "Spread it open for me, baby," Matt requested, his blue eyes dancing back and forth between the road and what you were showcasing for him, focusing just a bit more on the latter.

You took your two fingers and slowly spread your lips to reveal your intricate folds to him. "Mmm. It's so pretty, baby. Why don't you start rubbing your clit in circles for me?" He cooed, his cock jolting awake at the sight. You took the tips of your fingers and placed them over your bundle of nerves, moving them in a circular motion. You sharply inhaled at the sensation.

"That's my girl. Do it just like that for me," he encouraged you. He loved watching you, and he adored how spontaneous you were when it came to these kinds of things. "Why don't you go a little faster?" He said in a low, sexy voice, getting turned on by the way your pussy drooled onto his seat. You did as he said, drawing tighter circles and biting down on your lip to keep a whimper from sneaking out.

He adjusted the volume dial, turning his playlist into nothing but quiet background noise."C'mon. I know you're not shy. Your panties are hanging from my rearview. Let me hear you," he leaned over, purring into your ear. Your head fell back, and you let out a moan at the way Matt spoke to you while you played with yourself based on his direction.

"Put them inside and fuck yourself with them," Matt smirked at you. You listened obediently, your eyes rolling back into your head as you did. He looked into the reflective surface at how you stretched perfectly around your fingers, coating them with your juices, slowly moving them in and out of your hole.

"Give me a taste, baby," Matt requested, and you pulled your fingers out just long enough for Matt to grab your hand and suck them clean while he looked into your eyes. "Mmm. Good girl. Now keep going," he told you, his glance flicking back over towards the road. You put your digits back in, and when he told you to add one, you did. "Faster," he whispered, admiring you.

He couldn't get enough of the sounds of your playing with yourself, your needy whimpers and the way you squelched around your three fingers as you vigorously pumped them deep into your cunt. "Pretend it's my cock," Matt purred, knowing that's exactly what he was imagining, desperate to watch you cum all over your fingers. You curled them, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, nearing orgasm while you imagined it was your boyfriend fucking you.

Matt was completely hypnotized by you and the intimate show you were putting on for him. You started to get close, and Matt could read it in the pleasure written on your face. "Come on. Be a good girl and finish all over those fingers for me," Matt cooed, giving you permission to cum.

Your legs started to tremble, your core started to shake, and your pussy throbbed around your fingers. Your urgent moans filled the car, drowning out the soft sound of Matt's playlist coming through the speakers. Matt intently watched, his cock twitching in his jeans as you squirted all over the mirror, splashing some on his seat and coating your hand with your juices.

He couldn't get enough of how hot it was that his girlfriend could squirt, and he loved it anytime you'd show it off.

"Holy shit, that was hot," Matt whispered, taking in the view one last time before shifting his eyes back to the road with a newfound alertness. "Well, I'm awake now."

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo drabble

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sunflowersandsapphires · 5 months ago

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Comfort Headcanons for Frank, Matt, and Mikey

A/n: so I am ridiculously overwhelmed by personal and political stuff right now. And I told myself I was going to write every day this week if possible, but my brain was being difficult today. So instead of working on a longer fic I wrote some self-indulgent headcanons about Frank, Matt, and Mikey caring for an overwhelmed partner. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to send me other headcanon requests!

How would they’d react to you being overwhelmed

Frank

Frank would pick up on this IMMEDIATELY

the second your self care habits change, he’s onto you. You stay up later than normal two nights in a row, or run out the door with a granola bar instead of eating a real breakfast, and he is concerned™️

He’s willing to entertain it for three days max. He knows life gets tough sometimes, and he doesn’t want to encroach on your process—but we all know that once this man is worried, he’s minutes away from taking control. He has issues but we love him for it.

On the 4th day, when you’re waking up exhausted after far too little sleep and rejecting his offer to take you out for breakfast, he puts his foot down.

“Gonna order in for dinner tonight, ok? We can watch that movie you wanted to see and turn in early.”

You hastily agree, bolting out the door before you end up late to your job.

When you finally arrive home, he’s all over you in an instant. Murmuring his hellos while helping you out of your coat and shoes, ushering you over the couch.

He’s insisting that you sit in his lap while the two of you pick out dinner, offering suggestions for restaurants instead of leaving the choice open-ended. Given how tired and generally stressed you seem, he wants to take as much weight off your shoulders as possible.

Once dinner has been ordered, he tucks you close to his chest, practically burying you in a jumble of muscular limbs, humming appreciatively when you nuzzle further into his space. His hand is cupped around your nape, thumb gently brushing over your spine as you hunch toward him.

“Ready to talk about what’s botherin’ ya, doll?” The question leaves room to decline, but his stern tone suggests you choose to answer.

He listens carefully as you tell him what’s on your mind, brushing silent kisses against your forehead whenever your breath wavers around a stifled sob. His hands never move from your skin, cradling you to him like he’s trying to absorb your pain.

He wouldn’t let you lift a finger the rest of the night. Retrieving the take out, dishing it up for you, drawing you a bath, tucking you into bed

When you’re beginning to drift off atop his giant shoulder, he’d rest his forehead against yours.

“I know it’s tough right now. But we’ll get through. I promise.”

“Please don’t leave, Frank.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babydoll.”

Matt

Matt isn’t as observant of your habits and routines, but he can sure as hell pick up changes in body language.

Gritting teeth, blinking back tears, frustrated sighs—he notices all of it. He might not act on it immediately, brushing it off when you explain that you just had a bad day, but when your fatigue and growing apathy persist…

I think you hiding something from him would spook him for sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be determined to get answers out of you. He’d set his personal anxieties aside and prepare for a serious talk.

He’d leave the office somewhat early, asking you to meet him at his apartment. He’d offer you a beer, or whatever you were in the mood for (if his lacking fridge and pantry allowed for it), and he’d ask you the big question.

“You aren’t yourself lately. What’s going on?”

He’s not happy when you start crying, but he’s definitely relieved when you collapse into his arms and explain your recent mood. Even more so when you confess it had nothing to do with him.

As always, he harbors immense guilt for not being there, not being endlessly supportive, not being able to solve the issues gnawing at you with his own two fists.

But what he doesn’t realize is that he’s helping just by being there. By being present and absentmindedly squeezing you with his tree-trunk arms. By acknowledging your struggles and offering what he could.

He’d cut his patrols short for a few days, nearly begging you to sleep at his loft instead of in your own bed, so he could keep a metaphorical eye on you. He sleeps better with you by his side anyway.

Mikey

You’re Michael’s whole world, so he’d know you were overwhelmed before you realized it yourself.

As soon as he spotted the stress lines on your face, he’d be on his feet, trying his best to lighten the burden.

He’d walk you to and from work, as always, maybe even stopping by to keep you company on your lunch hour.

When he wasn’t with you, or ignoring his family, he’d be constantly cleaning the house and working through your joint to do list, taking task after task off your plate so you could properly decompress.

He wouldn’t pressure you to talk to him about it, but he’d give you the option.

“I’m here if ya want to talk, pet. Anytime ya need.”

And, of course, you’d take him up on it. Explaining that you could handle everything and you didn’t want him to overwhelm himself trying to help you because it was just a pile of small things that were wearing you down. But he’d have none of it.

“I wanna do this fer ya. Let me help, love.”

He’d bundle you in a knit blanket on the couch and set the tv to your favorite show, kissing the top of your head before heading to the kitchen to clean up after dinner.

I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you’re all doing ok this week. It’s rough out there.

#matt murdock #daredevil #frank castle #matt murdock x reader #my writing #charlie cox #marvel #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #frank castle x reader #headcanons

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blissfulflw · 2 months ago

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐹𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝐼𝑛 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟

Pairing- Kim Chaewon x fem reader

Genre- fluff, slow burn

Word count- 3236

The rain had a soft rhythm to it — not insistent, not loud, just enough to blur the edges of the world outside your café window. You tapped your pencil against your sketchbook, watching a woman in a yellow coat cross the street, her umbrella tilted just slightly off-center. You were halfway through tracing her outline when a subtle click broke your focus.

You looked up.

Across the narrow street, a girl stood with a camera raised — small, mirrorless, matte black. Her hair was tucked into a knit beanie, her gaze calm behind the lens. She wasn’t aiming at you, exactly — just beyond you, at the same woman in the yellow coat. But when the woman disappeared into the crowd, her eyes met yours.

Just for a second.

Then she lowered the camera, gave you a polite nod, and disappeared into the fogged-up gray of the city.

You blinked down at your sketch. For a moment, it felt like someone else had been drawing with you.

—

A week passed.

You were back in your studio, surrounded by blank canvases and half-finished pieces, when a knock interrupted the quiet hum of jazz from your speaker.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

You opened the door and froze.

She was there — the photographer. Same quiet gaze, same slightly oversized coat. She smiled, a little unsure, and held up a flyer.

“Are you the artist behind the Alone, Together series?” she asked, her voice soft but clear.

You nodded, your curiosity outweighing your surprise.

“I’m Kim Chaewon,” she said. “I’m… working on a collaboration project for the Perception & Reality exhibition. They told me you’d be perfect for it.”

You didn’t respond right away. Her presence was gentle, but there was something focused in her eyes — like she was already composing a photo in her mind, with you in the center.

“…Do you want to come in?” you asked finally, stepping aside.

She smiled again, this time warmer. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And just like that, the frame shifted.

Chaewon stepped carefully into your studio like she was entering a sacred space. Her eyes drifted over the scattered sketches pinned to the walls, the tangled tubes of paint, the coffee-stained notebooks stacked on your desk. She didn’t speak right away — just wandered a little, like she was letting the room speak to her first.

You watched her quietly. Most people asked questions immediately — How long have you been painting? What’s your process? Where do you get your inspiration? But she didn’t. She just looked. Observed.

Finally, she stopped in front of a canvas. It was a recent one — unfinished, a blurry figure sitting on a train alone, smudged charcoal blending into cool-toned acrylic.

“This one feels… heavy,” she said softly. “But not sad. Just… quiet.”

You blinked. That was exactly what you were trying to say with it, but no one else had put it in words.

“That’s from a photo I took in Busan,” you said. “But I left the background out. I wanted to focus on the stillness.”

She turned to look at you, a hint of surprise in her expression. “I think I took a photo from that same train. Maybe not the same person, but… the same silence.”

There was a strange, gentle buzz in the air between you. Like your mediums — so different — had touched somewhere invisible.

Chaewon moved closer to your desk, pulling out a slim folder from her tote bag. She laid a few 4x6 prints on the surface. Black-and-white shots. Empty chairs in cafés. A forgotten scarf on a bench. A woman waiting by a window, her reflection sharper than her face.

“I work with a lot of negative space,” she said. “People say it feels lonely. I think it just gives the moment room to breathe.”

You didn’t say anything at first — you were too busy noticing the way her fingers lingered on the edges of the photos, like they weren’t just pictures but memories she hadn’t fully let go of.

“I want us to build something together,” she said quietly. “You interpret emotion through form. I capture it in fragments. Maybe… if we combine them, we’ll find something whole.”

You swallowed, heart beating a little faster than before. You’d collaborated before — but this didn’t feel like a project. It felt like a conversation waiting to happen across brushstrokes and shutter clicks.

You looked up at her.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s find it.”

And in that moment, Chaewon smiled like the first light after rain.

_____

It was just past eleven when you met Chaewon by the bridge. The sky was clear, for once — the kind of deep, endless navy that swallowed the city lights but never quite dimmed them. She was already there, camera slung across her shoulder, standing at the edge of the railing, watching reflections dance in the Han River.

“You’re late,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder — but there was no irritation in her voice. Only quiet amusement.

You held up a sketchpad in apology. “Had to sharpen all my pencils. Big night.”

She laughed under her breath, a small cloud of fog blooming in the cold.

You stood beside her in silence for a moment, letting the world settle. The city around you buzzed faintly — cars in the distance, the low hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog. But up here, it was like time had pressed pause.

Chaewon raised her camera.

Click.

You glanced at her. “What did you just take?”

“You looking at the water,” she said. “You looked… unfinished.”

You opened your mouth to reply — then closed it. You weren’t sure if that was an insult or the most accurate thing anyone had said about you in months.

“Come on,” she said, stepping off the bridge path. “There’s a street nearby with old neon signs. I want to show you something.”

_____

The street was narrow, almost forgotten — a strip of aging motels and shuttered shops, lit by flickering pink and blue lights. The signs buzzed faintly, casting colored shadows onto the cracked sidewalk.

Chaewon knelt down and took a few shots of the broken glass under a vending machine, then gestured toward it.

“Sketch this,” she said. “But don’t draw the machine. Draw the feeling.”

You raised an eyebrow, kneeling beside her. “What feeling?”

She didn’t look at you. “That it used to be important. And now it’s not.”

You glanced down at the shattered glass, at the stickers peeling from the sides. There was something tender in the way she said it — as if she saw the past in things most people just stepped over.

You began sketching. No machine. No brand logos. Just the spill of light on the ground, the glow warping through the broken surface, the faint impression of something lost. Chaewon moved quietly around you, taking photos from different angles — never interrupting, just orbiting.

At some point, she sat beside you, reviewing her shots.

“Most photographers try to freeze beauty,” she said. “I try to freeze feelings. Especially the ones that disappear fast.”

You glanced at her, her profile calm and focused under the neon glow.

“What do you do with them?” you asked.

She looked at you then, eyes meeting yours with quiet weight.

“I keep them,” she said. “Until someone else sees what I saw.”

You held her gaze longer than you meant to. Your pencil stilled.

“…Then I guess that’s what I’m doing too,” you murmured.

She smiled softly. “Maybe that’s why this will work.”

_____

Later that night, you walked back together, her camera clicking occasionally, your sketchpad tucked under your arm. She stopped once to take a picture of your shadow beside hers.

You looked down at the two outlines.

She showed you the shot.

“Still unfinished,” she whispered. “But not alone.”

_____

You were setting up your canvas for the day — mixing a soft lilac base, letting it breathe on the page — when you heard the knock.

It was lighter than usual. Three quick taps.

When you opened the door, you found Chaewon bundled in a hoodie, cheeks slightly pink from the morning chill… and a small white blur nestled in her arms.

You blinked.

“Is that a cloud?” you asked, already smiling.

Chaewon gave a breathy laugh and adjusted the bundle. “This is Shiro,” she said. “He gets separation anxiety and I didn’t want to leave him alone while I was working with you. I figured… studio dog privileges?”

Shiro gave a soft bark — more of a chirp, really — and licked Chaewon’s chin. He looked like a cotton ball with legs.

You stepped aside, letting them in. “He’s lucky he’s cute. Any other dog, and I’d say no.”

Shiro trotted in confidently, did a full sniff-circle of the studio, and promptly curled up in the corner by the space heater like he owned the place.

“He’s never that calm in new places,” Chaewon said, surprised. “He must like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, dipping your brush in pale pink. “Smart dog.”

Chaewon set her camera bag down and crouched beside Shiro, scratching behind his ears.

For a few moments, the studio was filled only with quiet brushstrokes, the occasional jingle of Shiro’s tiny collar, and the low hum of a vinyl record spinning in the background.

“Do you ever paint animals?” Chaewon asked after a while, chin propped in her palm as she sat cross-legged beside you.

“Only symbolically,” you said. “I once painted a rabbit into a piece as a stand-in for childhood fear. But I’ve never painted something this…” You gestured toward Shiro, who was now softly snoring. “Round.”

Chaewon laughed, the kind of laugh she only had when she was completely at ease — quiet, unguarded.

You glanced over at her, feeling that strange tug again. Like the air between you two had a color, if only you could name it.

“You could try,” she said softly. “Painting him. Just once.”

You looked at Shiro, at his tiny form curled like a comma, as if pausing the sentence of your day. And somehow, the idea didn’t seem silly at all.

“…Maybe,” you said. “But only if you take a photo of him first. One that’s more feeling than form.”

Chaewon tilted her head. “A collaboration within a collaboration?”

“Exactly.”

She smiled, pulling out her camera with a click of the latch. “Let’s do it.”

—

You spent the next hour half-working, half-laughing as Shiro wandered the studio, almost knocked over your water jar (twice), and finally decided your lap was the best possible throne. Chaewon caught every moment — shutter clicks syncing with your brushstrokes, your soft muttering when the puppy pawed at your sleeve mid-line, her own quiet joy caught between frames.

At one point, as Shiro fell asleep on your feet, Chaewon stood just beside you, close enough for your arms to brush as she looked at your sketch-in-progress.

You didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“…You’re good with him,” she murmured.

You glanced up at her. “Dogs or photographers?”

She smiled, not taking her eyes off the page. “Both.”

And somehow, that felt like more than a compliment.

It felt like a step closer.

It was nearly midnight when you both decided to stop.

The studio was warm and quiet, lit only by a single overhead bulb and the golden flicker of the lamp by the window. Outside, rain tapped softly against the glass — not heavy, not rushed, just present. The kind of rain that wraps the world in softness.

Chaewon sat on the floor, legs stretched out, her camera resting on her lap. Shiro was curled into her side, fast asleep, one tiny paw twitching in a dream. You were perched on a stool nearby, still holding your brush but not painting, just… looking.

Not at the canvas. At her.

She was glowing in a way you hadn’t noticed before. Not from the light — but from the stillness. From the comfort that had bloomed quietly between you over the past few weeks, like something tender growing in a place it wasn’t meant to, and thriving anyway.

She caught you staring.

For once, you didn’t look away.

Her lips curved slightly. Not a teasing smile. Something smaller. Realer. A recognition.

“You’ve stopped painting,” she said softly, voice barely above the rain.

You nodded. “I think I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“For this part,” you said, gesturing toward the moment — the warm room, the sleepy dog, the quiet closeness that had somehow become the most familiar thing in your life.

She didn’t answer right away. Just shifted a little, resting her head against the wall, eyes on you now.

“I used to think art had to hurt to mean something,” she said quietly. “That the best work came from broken places.”

You leaned forward slightly. “And now?”

She met your gaze, steady.

“Now I think maybe… it just has to be honest.”

Your throat tightened, something unspoken moving just beneath the surface of your chest. You looked at her, really looked — at the way her sweater slid off one shoulder, at the soft tiredness in her eyes, at the way she never seemed to look through you, only into.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, before you even realized you were saying it.

She tilted her head.

“Of what?”

“That I’m already painting you into everything,” you said. “Even the pieces that have nothing to do with you. You’re just… there.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Then she stood, slowly, carefully, as not to wake Shiro. She crossed the small distance between you, stood right in front of your stool, close enough that your knees brushed.

Her hand came up, light as breath, and touched your cheek.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she whispered. “I see you. Every version of you. And I like them all.”

You leaned into her touch without thinking.

And when she kissed you — soft, unhurried, with the kind of gentleness that felt like a promise — it didn’t feel like a beginning or an ending.

It felt like coming home to something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

_____

The sun was barely up when you stirred.

Light filtered in through the thin curtains, gentle and diffused, casting long golden stripes across the hardwood floor. It was the kind of morning that didn’t rush you — the kind that gave you permission to stay still.

You shifted slightly, careful not to move too much. Chaewon was still asleep beside you on the studio couch, her head tucked against your shoulder, one arm wrapped lightly around your waist. Shiro was curled up on your legs like a warm, fuzzy paperweight, breathing slow and even.

It had just… happened.

No big declarations. No awkward questions. Just two hearts, finally quiet enough to hear each other.

You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to name the feeling in your chest. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. Just… wonder. Like standing in front of a canvas you hadn’t planned to paint, but realizing the colors were already in your hands.

Chaewon stirred.

She blinked once, then slowly sat up, her hair slightly messy, a sleep-creased smile tugging at her lips.

“Hi,” she said, voice raspy from sleep.

“Hey,” you replied, soft and a little breathless.

She looked at you for a long moment — eyes studying your face like she was memorizing it all over again. Then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against yours.

“I was worried,” she murmured.

“About last night?”

She nodded. “That maybe it was just… the quiet, or the rain. That maybe we’d wake up and regret it.”

You swallowed. “Do you?”

She pulled back just far enough to look you in the eye.

“No.”

You felt something inside you unclench — something you hadn’t even realized was wound tight.

“…Me neither.”

She smiled then, fully — the kind of smile you’d only seen in rare, fleeting moments. The kind that made you want to grab a brush or a camera or something just to make it last forever.

Shiro stretched dramatically between you, yawned, and flopped into Chaewon’s lap.

She laughed, petting his soft fur. “He’s a good chaperone.”

You grinned. “A terrible one, actually. Didn’t even bark once.”

Chaewon tilted her head toward you. “Maybe he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That this… was supposed to happen.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just took her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles, and held it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because suddenly, it was.

Spring had just begun to settle in. The air smelled faintly of flowers and new leaves, and the riverside path glowed golden with the last stretch of afternoon sun.

You walked slowly, a little behind Chaewon, who was crouched ahead trying — and failing — to rein in Shiro, who had decided the walk was actually a race and the leash was optional.

“Shiro!” she called, laughing as the little white puffball darted toward a pile of fallen petals. “You’re not a squirrel. Stop trying to fight them.”

You jogged up beside her, watching with a grin as Shiro pounced triumphantly into a flower patch and immediately sneezed three times in a row.

“He’s unhinged,” you said.

“He’s free,” Chaewon corrected, trying to wipe dirt from his fur as he rolled dramatically onto his back. “There’s a difference.”

You offered her your hand to pull her up. She took it without hesitation, letting her fingers linger longer than necessary as she rose.

You kept holding her hand as you walked.

It felt like this had become your rhythm — a soft togetherness. Quiet glances shared across easels, music played low on studio nights, coffees brought without asking. And now this. A day without pressure. Just light, and laughter, and the dog who ruled your lives like a tiny tyrant in a fur coat.

Chaewon looked at you sideways, a smirk on her lips. “You know what this is, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Chaos?”

“A date.”

You blinked. “Is it?”

She squeezed your hand. “Yeah. One of the good ones.”

You stopped walking for a second. Just long enough to let the moment bloom.

The river glinted beside you, soft ripples catching the light. Shiro finally sat still, tongue out, proud of whatever imaginary creature he’d just chased away.

You turned to her, letting your forehead rest gently against hers. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

She nodded, brushing her nose against yours. “No cameras, no canvas. Just you and me and this… ridiculous little dog.”

You laughed, the kind of laugh that felt like air after holding your breath too long.

Shiro barked once, as if to scold you for standing still.

Chaewon pulled back and grinned. “Come on, he’s got more energy than both of us combined.”

“I’m starting to think he’s the one dating both of us.”

“He’d never settle for just one person,” she said with mock seriousness.

You reached down to scoop him up. He immediately wriggled, then licked your chin like a little menace before settling into your arms, triumphant.

Chaewon leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

And then, without rushing, without fear, the two of you kept walking.

Side by side.

Into the soft light.

#blissfulflw ❀ fics #kpop #kpop gg #le sserafim #le sserafim x you #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem #le sserafim fluff #kim chaewon #chaewon x you #chaewon x reader #chaewon x fem #kim chaewon x reader #Kim Chaewon x you #kim chaewon x fem reader #Kim Chaewon fluff #chaewon fluff #fluff #slow burn

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mattluvr · 7 months ago

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CEO!matt when reader is soaked with rain so her his favorite white button is see through

“sorry i’m late, sir.” you apologise, barrelling through the door to his office in a damp trench coat, umbrella hanging limply by your side.

a storm had hit boston hard and fast this morning, and due to a missed alarm, you’d not had time to check the weather forecast as you’d rushed to get ready. evidently, your weak attempts at protecting yourself from the harsh rain hadn’t worked in the slightest, freshly washed hair now slicked, makeup running down your face.

all this, and still matt found himself having to adjust his pants and scoot under his desk that slight bit more to hide his crotch from your view.

you see, you’d made the silly decision to wear a white shirt to work today, now obviously soaked through by the rain, white lace bra visible to the naked eye. and, what makes it worse for matt is that it’s his favourite shirt of yours, the buttons starting halfway down your chest, ruffles lining the edges, only drawing more attention to your cleavage. which didn’t help his issue down there.

you frown as you observe matt’s pinched expression, certain that he’s mad at you for your tardiness, and you slowly put your umbrella away, shaking the rain off you as you shrug off your coat also.

great. now matt has an even better view of your tits your see through shirt, gulping and rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to pull his eyes away.

“is everything okay, sir?” you mumble, stepping forward to check he isn’t dying or some shit, which obviously receives a knee jerk reaction from your boss, who snaps his head up and waves you away.

“you can, um, go. i don’t care about you being late.” matt hisses, angry at how his eyes keep subconsciously travelling down to your chest. his next words are strained, but he feels they need to be said before he gets reported for harassment. “and change your shirt. the rain’s made it see through.”

you look down and realise that matt is in fact correct, and your cheeks flush bright red, pulling your coat back on as quickly as possible. “shit, i am so sorry.”

and before he can say anything else, you’re running out of the room, embarrassment flooding through your body as you rush to the end of the corridor, back to the safety of your desk. you can’t believe that’s just happened to you, in front of matt of all people. and, on top of all that, the bra that just so happens to be on display is the sexiest one out of your entire lingerie drawer. naturally.

you groan, opening up your laptop to start your work for the day, still blissfully unaware of matt’s actual reaction to your transparency problem. who, speaking of, is currently cooped up in the bathroom attached to his office, rubbing one out.

his hard on had been raging. it’s not his fault you’d decided to wear such a see through shirt on the rare day it storms in boston.

he finishes and calls you back to his office. to see your inappropriate outfit again. duh.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274, @matts1freak, @h3arts4nat, @sturn777, @sofieeeeex, @ifwdominicfike ) is open!

divider credits. . . @issysh3ll

thank you for all the CEO!matt requests, i’m working through them slowly but surely 🫶

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #anon #CEO!matt by mattluvr

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miguelhugger2099 · 1 year ago

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Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

#i need a cold cigarette to ease the pain #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #punk!migs

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets.

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think.

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body.

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew.

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year.

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand.

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works.

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?”

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place.

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did.

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter.

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face.

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks.

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls.

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to.

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her?

Will she even let you?

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment.

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt.

He has always been all she has and needed.

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing.

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard.

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control.

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class.

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even.

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls.

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug.

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully.

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice.

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up.

“Have it your way.”

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers.

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit.

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does.

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you.

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance.

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt.

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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rhea-is-bored-again · 1 month ago

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omg omg omg i love your works so much!! could i please get a tattoo artist! dallas x reader? and reader's getting her first tattoo? no pressure!!

...i fear im in love with this.

i gotchu!!

guys this picture of matt is just...YUMM

ink and a cherry cola

you were the last person dally thought would stride into the parlor he worked at, heads turning from workers and customers alike as your heels clicked against the linoleum floor.

cherry coke in hand, you sweetly told the receptionist that you had an appointment in booth 7, to which the heavily tatted man behind the counter nodded, flustered, and ushered you to the booth.

dallas' head popped out from under the cabinet to look you up and down.

"dally, she's with you." the man said, scurrying back off and pulling curtain closed.

dallas nodded at you, clearing his throat and beginning to prep his supplies, wiping them down with antiseptic. your face began to heat up: he was a tad handsome.

"so. got an idea in mind?" dallas mumbled, still a little surprised someone like you was here.

you nodded, handing over your small sketchpad to him. it had a cluster of daises. he looked over it, nodding and placing it to the side.

"right here under my rib." you say, pressing at the spot through your clothes, to which he nodded again and unplugged the gun.

"go ahead and sit in the chair, if you want food or something just ask." he mumbled gruffly, and you nodded with a smile.

you got yourself situated on the flatly stuffed leather, as dallas kicked a knob to recline the seat backwards.

you saw his eyes trail down your body, and your skin tingled as he looked at you for approval before gently pushing your shirt up, latex-clad hands surprisingly gently as they wiped down your skin.

there is a bond of trust between the artist and the client, no matter how quick it must be made. after all, he was going to stick needles in your skin, right?

you could feel some weird air crackle between you to as you began to push you shirt up.

dallas felt his heart jump as more of your silky skin was revealed, swallows being caught in his throat as he began to trace out the drawing in soft pen.

he could tell you were starting to get apprehensive, when your breathing began getting a little shaky.

he drummed his fingers against your skin, gaze hard as he looked up at you through dark lashes.

"take a breath, okay? it'll be just fine."

his deep voice calmed you a little, but you still had to squeeze your eyes shut when the soft buzzing of the needle hit your skin.

it hurt for a bit, and dallas could tell. his free hand rubbed little circles on your skin to soothe you.

"you can open your eyes, y'know. just look at me, okay?"

dallas said with a smirk, looking up at you momentarily before back to the design.

your hands clung to the edge of the leather seat, letting out a soft whimper as the pain began to seep back in.

dallas' heart skipped but he kept going, taking breaks every now and then.

"so...why daises, huh?" he asked her raising an eyebrow as he started to trace it out again.

"mum's favorite flower." you mumbled.

once he finished the second layer, he sat back to let you have a break, nudging his head toward the mini fridge.

instead of leaving, he stayed in the room with you, asking if anything hurt too much, or if you were bleeding.

he was being surprisingly sweet. based on what you'd heard of him, he wasn't usually this...caring?

the daises ached real bad. and when dallas asked you if you were ready for the last coat, you shook your head, not wanting to feel the pain again.

he touched your hand- you weren't sure if it was accident or not, but it made your heart beat faster nonetheless- and looked up at you with dark eyes.

"get it over with, okay? it'll take fifteen minutes at most, then you can get outta here."

"um, only if you want." he quickly added.

you eventually gave in, and this time then pain was much greater, due to the already red skin being pierced again.

what helped a little was dallas mumbling soft praises as he worked.

"doin' good, angel. just a bit more."

"deep breaths, just like that."

"come on, you're almost done."

it made your heart skip a beat, a swarm of butterflies blooming in your stomach. before you knew it, you were done, and dallas was gently patting plastic wrap over it to let it dry.

"looks great. here." he slid her a little packet and a bottle of antiseptic.

"thank you." you murmured, taking it and giving him a smile, and dallas felt his stupid stomach flip.

"uh huh."

as you walked out, you looked over the paper- it had care instructions on it.

in the corner, there was a few numbers scrawled on it, and right under it-

call me.

you smiled, and placed it into your pocket.

a/n: guys i really wnat a tattoo. and a hot tattoo artist. sorry, this one was a little longer than usual 🫶

#dallas winston x reader #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders x y/n #darry curtis x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader

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xx-dinah-writing-xx · 1 month ago

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I need more Matt. Pretty please 🙏🏻

In the smutiness of smut. 😅

Interview underneath the desk

Matt Smith x reader

smut 18+, mdni warnings: power play, blowjob under desk, cock worship, deepthroating, messy oral, spit kink, light hair pulling, brat taming, voice kink, spanking (implied), desk sex, rough sex, choking (light), possessive/dom behavior, degradation (consensual), creampie, overstimulation, belly bulge mention, size kink, public risk kink (during interview), orgasm control, unprotected sex

————

Matt has a work face.

You know it well, the polite half-smile, the faint nodding, the furrowed brow when someone says something especially idiotic. It’s the face he wears now, sitting stiffly in his office chair, lit by the golden late-morning sun and his laptop screen. One hand cupped around a mug, other resting on the desk. And that calm, smooth, practiced voice echoing into the mic.

“All I’m saying is, I think the dragons are a metaphor. I mean, you can read it that way, right?” he’s saying to one of his castmates, something about symbolism and lore.

You? You’re not listening to a single word.

You’re sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs tucked to your chest, completely naked.

He told you to wait. To be good. Said he had interviews from ten to twelve and not to distract him.

Which is exactly why you’ve decided to do the opposite.

You crawl over slowly. Silently. He doesn’t even notice when you slip between his legs, until your fingertips graze up the inside of his thigh and he jolts ever so slightly. His eyes twitch. His jaw tightens.

But he keeps talking.

You smirk to yourself. The challenge is accepted.

His dress pants are soft under your cheek as you nuzzle against his bulge, slow and kittenish. You feel the twitch in him already, like his cock knows exactly who’s nuzzling it.

Matt clears his throat into the mic. “Sorry, uh, what was the question again?”

You giggle silently.

You unzip his trousers one slow, delicious inch at a time. His hand shifts under the desk, trying to stop you without drawing attention. But your fingers are too fast, too determined. You tug his cock free, already thick and growing in your hand. Red at the tip. Hot. Heavy.

He isn’t wearing boxers.

Thank fuck.

You lap the head with one slow swipe of your tongue, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He closes his eyes for just half a second, and when he opens them again, he’s a little more flushed.

“Yeah, no, I agree,” he says to the Zoom room, voice a touch strained. “And the tone… tonally… it really shifts after episode six…”

You open your mouth and take him in deep.

His thighs flex. He breathes in sharply.

You love the taste of him. Clean, salty, hardening under your tongue as you suck slow and deep. You bob your head with practiced rhythm, one hand twisting around his shaft while the other cradles his balls. You go messy, drool dripping down your chin, spit soaking your palm. You hum around him just to make his jaw clench tighter.

He dares a glance down and nearly breaks.

Because you look up at him, tongue out, moaning softly like a fucking siren.

“You okay, Matt?” one of the co-stars asks, laughing.

“Y-yeah, just… hot in here,” he says, shifting in his seat.

You pull off with a loud pop and drag your tongue from base to tip, then swallow him again with a moan that vibrates.Your throat flutters. Your spit coats everything. You let yourself drool, dripping onto your chest, just to hear his breath catch through his nose.

He has to hold onto the edge of the desk now. His knuckles go white. You flatten your tongue, take him deeper, moaning greedily like you’re starved.

He tries to keep it together. Really, he does.

But you feel him twitch. Feel the way he pulses on your tongue. The way his hips rock forward ever so slightly, like his body’s betraying him.

“Sorry, could you repeat that? I missed the, the first bit,” he says through gritted teeth, managing a smile.

You smirk, eyes glinting.

Because then you go feral.

You pump him with both hands, twisting, sucking obscene but hushed, messy enough to shame porn stars. His cock slips out for a second and you slap it against your tongue with a wet smack, then suck it back down with a wet slurp that echoes under the desk.

Matt slaps the underside of the desk in warning.

You look up at him, grinning through slobber, and keep going.

Until,

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have for Matt,” the host says cheerfully. “Thanks again for joining us!”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Matt says, voice thick with strain.

You don’t stop.

You keep sucking until the laptop screen dims, until the call ends. Until the room is finally, blessedly silent except for your slick, filthy mouth and his ragged breathing.

Then Matt grabs a fistful of your hair.

And fucks your throat.

No more patience. No more composure. Just furious, pent-up thrusts that have you gagging and drooling and moaning around him until he grunts and explodes, filling your mouth with a long, desperate groan.

You swallow it all. Of course you do.

And when he finally lets you up for air, spit coating your chin, chest heaving, you smile up at him like butter wouldn’t melt.

“I was good, wasn’t I?” you ask sweetly.

Matt’s breathing hard. Sweaty. Wrecked.

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling, lips glossy with spit and the taste of him still thick on your tongue.

His voice still echoes in the room, deeper now. Rougher. Almost dangerous.

“Get on the desk. Now. Since you’re so eager to be part of the interview.”

Your stomach flips.

Heat floods between your thighs, still soaked from the way you rubbed them together under his desk like a needy little slut while he pretended to care about someone’s thoughts on dragons and destiny. You rise without hesitation, licking the corner of your mouth, a flicker of that bratty smile curling there.

He watches you like he might devour you.

You turn around slowly, placing your palms on the edge of the desk, and then you climb up, knee, knee, hips swaying. You hear his sharp inhale when you spread your legs, settling into a full kneel on the desk like a girl unwrapping herself for worship. Your thighs shine. Your core glistens. You know how slick you are and how much he wants to ruin it.

“Face me,” he says tightly.

You shift around until your ass is perched right at the edge, legs dangling, knees parted shamelessly.

Matt steps in, looming over you with his undone trousers clinging to his hips, the shirt he’d buttoned neatly this morning now soaked with sweat and rumpled beyond repair. His eyes flick over your body, your flushed cheeks, your spit-streaked chest, your trembling thighs.

And that smirk on your face.

He cups your chin with one hand, forcing your gaze up to his. “You wanted my attention that badly?”

“I wanted your cock,” you whisper, lips brushing his thumb.

“Fucking filthy little thing.”

He grabs your thighs, spreads them wider, and lines himself up. No teasing. No gentle words. Just a thick, wet thrust as he slams into you in one long, hard push that makes your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.

“Matt!”

“Louder,” he hisses, grabbing your waist and dragging you flush to the edge, fucking into you with deep, punishing strokes. “Come on, princess. Give the press a real story.”

You cry out, head lolling back, hands scrabbling for purchase on the polished surface. The desk wobbles beneath you. Papers scatter. A pen clatters to the floor.

He’s merciless now. One hand grips your throat just enough to ground you, the other holds your hip in place as he slamsinto you over and over.

“Wanted to act like a slut under my desk?” he pants, lips at your ear. “Then take it like one.”

You moan something incoherent, legs trembling, body twitching with every deep thrust. He presses a hand to your lower belly and groans when he feels how deep he is.

“You feel that?” he growls. “I’m in your fucking guts, baby. You wanted my attention, well here it is.”

Your orgasm punches through you so fast it steals your breath. You sob through it, writhing on the desk as your vision blurs and your thighs clamp around him. But Matt doesn’t stop.

Not even close.

He growls something rough, mine, always mine, and keeps going, chasing his own finish like a man possessed. Your body bounces with every thrust, overstimulated and soaked and still begging.

When he finally spills inside you, his grip turns bruising, holding you still as his hips jerk forward and you feel him throb inside you.

The room goes quiet except for your heavy breathing and the slow drip of sweat down your back.

You blink up at him, flushed and dizzy, voice hoarse. “So… what’s the next interview about?”

Matt leans down, kisses your spit-slick lips, and mutters against your mouth:

“Your punishment. That was just the start.”

#fem reader #reader #yn #fluff #matt smith x reader #matt smith #matt smith x yn #matt smith imagine #matt smith x female reader #matt smith one shot #matt smith smut #daemon targaryen x reader

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago

Text

Gold Dust

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Public use of an app based sex toy, smut. Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: Aemond's office Christmas party is the last thing either of them want to attend, however, he comes up with an idea to make it fun for both of them.

Author's note: Can be read as an addition of this series, but also works as a standalone. Day seven of the Smuffmas prompts - "sharing a drink and toys". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Aemond edit in first picture is by @kyloremus.

It’s been six blissful months since her and Aemond moved in together. Having decided his own lofty high rise flat no longer felt like home - in truth, it never had - he’d offered a swap with Mysaria, and she’d leapt at the offer.

Aemond’s flat was paid for outright, so there’d be no expenses incurred on her part, beyond standard bills and utilities. She suited the space, adding a touch of glamour to the modern matte black and chrome surroundings. Her jaw had dropped when he’d handed her the deeds, his grandfather’s law firm already having handled the necessary paperwork and transfer of ownership. Aemond didn’t want rent, he simply wanted to live with the woman he loved. The simple act of Mysaria giving them a space to be by themselves was payment enough in his mind.

The security of the smaller, more homely feeling flat which she now shared with him had been trickier to negotiate. The landlord had snubbed Aemond’s initial offer to buy it from him, insisting he’d make more in rental payments from it than he would if he sold it. Some moderate pressure applied by the legal team of Otto Hightower, and an offer well above its current market value had soon seen to that, so now they were homeowners of a place that was theirs.

Mysaria’s old room had been turned into a home office, a space where either her or Aemond could work from home if and when they wanted to, aside from that they had made no further changes. The cosy little space was where they had shared their fondest memories, and every aspect of their relationship was woven into it.

She shrugs off her coat, hanging it up by the front door, and sighs in relief as the warmth of the central heating prickles her skin. She stoops to ruffle Vhagar behind the ears, a reward for the elderly doberman having reluctantly left her bed to greet her, before walking through to the living room. The blankets on the sofa are exactly as she’d left them the previous evening, and she eagerly retreats back into her nest, snatching up the TV remote from the coffee table.

“Good day?” Aemond asks, propping himself against the door frame as he emerges from the home office, the faintest smirk of amusement playing upon his lips as he looks at her.

She regards him with a warm smile, her features softening instantly despite how tired and irritated she feels. “Horrid, thanks for asking. Do we have any wine left?”

“There’ll be wine at the party, I expect,” he says, moving to sit next to her and brushing a chaste kiss against her temple.

“What?”

He narrows his eye at her, drawing back to look at her carefully. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

She groans as realisation dawns upon her. “Shit, your office Christmas party. Do we really have to go?”

He sighs, nodding and interlocks his fingers with hers. “Ordinarily, I’d give it a miss, you know I loathe parties, but my grandfather has called in more than a few favours for me this year. I owe him this.”

An hour later, and she steps out of the bedroom, hair and make-up finished and a slinky silk dress hugging her curves.

“Beautful,” Aemond breathes quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

She smiles bashfully, feeling her skin heat up beneath the weight of his compliment as he pulls away, and watches with curiosity as he moves past her to rummage around on the top shelf of their wardrobe.

“What are you doing?”

“Your outfit’s missing something,” he tells her, pulling down the Lovehoney box, a glint in his eye as he turns to her.

“Aemond, no!”

The app controlled egg vibrator had been a drunken purchase on her behalf, that she’d regretted the moment it had arrived. Upon discovering it, Aemond’s reaction had been much more enthusiastic, kneeling between her spread legs and watching in fascination as she’d whimpered and writhed as he’d played with the settings using the app on his phone.

It had been fun at the time, but she’d considered it impractical and tucked it away, hoping he’d forgotten about it. It’s clear now that he hasn’t.

“Oh come now, darling, it’ll make the evening much more fun for both of us. Consider it an early Christmas gift to me.”

It doesn’t take much persuading, and soon she is sitting in the back of a black cab next to him, her coat pulled tight around her against the chilly December air, made colder still by a distinct lack of knickers, which Aemond had insisted she leave behind.

She is acutely aware of the feeling of the egg enveloped snugly inside of her, its presence, though discreet, making her feel as though she brandishes a scarlet letter that their taxi driver must be aware of.

“No!” She mouths desperately at Aemond as he pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the app.

He flashes her the briefest of grins, tapping once on the screen. A mild singular buzz reverberates through her, causing her to clasp a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Aemond eyes her carefully, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before pocketing his phone once more.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

They step into the office, already bustling with people, chatter and light classical music fill the opulent space which is decked out in rich, mahogany furnishings and forest green upholstery, ever the indication that the Hightowers come from old money.

“There they are!” Aegon greets them loudly with a grin, arms spread and half drunk flutes of champagne clutched by the stem between each of his fingers. His shoulder length blonde hair is tousled, and his white shirt is open by three buttons.

“How long have you been here?” She asks, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” he slurs around a mouthful of vol-au-vent.

Otto steps up behind him, placing a ring clad hand upon his shoulder. “I tell you where you might like it, Aegon, on the terrace; outside.”

She watches with amusement as the older man leads him away.

“I’d better give him a hand,” Aemond mutters quietly, the warmth of his palm leaving her lower back as he moves to follow. He nods towards his older sister. “Good to see you, Hel.”

She smiles warmly at Hel leaning in as the two peck each other’s cheeks. “How are you doing?” She asks fondly.

“Starving!” Helaena complains, pulling her sheer turquoise wrap tighter around herself and waving away a tray of canapés that’s being offered around by a member of serving staff. “Not a single vegan option here, everything’s either got salmon in it or is slathered in cream cheese.”

“You could always sneak off to grab something?” She offers sympathetically.

“Aeg said there’s a kebab shop over the road. I might see if he’ll grab me a falafel wrap later. Anyway,” she continues, snatching up two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to her. “How are you?!”

“Yeah, really good!” She grins. “Aemond mentioned we might fly to New York for New Year’s, go and see Daeron. I’ve not met him yet and I– oh!”

She bows her head, biting back the quiet moan that tries to escape her, as the egg inside her vibrates incessantly. Her head snaps up, making eye contact with Aemond, who stands in a corner with his phone out, a sly smile upon his face.

Bastard.

“You alright?” Helaena asks, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

“Mhm…just...champagne bubbles…they go right up my nose!” She feigns a laugh, embarrassment making her skin feel hot.

Ever the dutiful girlfriend, she does her rounds of the office, speaking to colleagues and family members alike, though every interaction is thwarted by sudden and persistent vibrations between her legs.

After an hour of polite chit chat with Alicent, Criston, Otto and several other party guests, she leans back against the wall next to Aemond’s office door, needing a breather from socialising, but also feeling lightheaded from the intermittent throbbing in her core.

The door swings slowly open and Aemond steps out, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

“Having fun?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” she narrows her eyes, “you clearly are. What’s that you’ve got?”

“Laphroaig,” he tells her, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Thirty six year old The Wall Peat, to be precise. Grandfather would never offer this around to the guests. Lucky for me I know he keeps it stashed in his bottom desk drawer.”

“Lucky indeed,” she purrs up at him.

He grabs her hand, pulling her into his office and closes the door behind them, before backing her up against the desk, until she perches on the edge.

“Let me see,” he whispers, pushing her dress up above her hips.

His free hand applies gentle pressure to her knee, spreading her legs, and she watches the bob of his throat as he swallows thickly, taking in the sight of the arousal that coats her centre.

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly. “The idea of you walking around making innocent small talk while you’re soaked is driving me mad.”

She giggles, clenching around the egg that’s nestled within her as she sees his gaze darken. Aemond pulls out his phone again, changing the setting to a constant vibrate, before setting it down on the desk behind her.

Mewling helplessly, shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her as Aemond’s thumb swipes against her sodden folds, spreading her open to watch intently.

He takes a sip from his glass, and she gasps as he grabs her forcefully by the hair at the back of her head, crushing her lips against his and letting the whisky pass from his mouth to hers. She moans quietly, the intensity of the burn of the liquid that slips down her throat and the throbbing ache between her legs making her feel dizzy.

She is devastatingly close, can feel the pressure building to boiling point, and she whines, pressing her face into the crook of Aemond’s neck, fingertips rumpling the fabric of his black button down shirt as she grasps his biceps for purchase. “Fuck, Aemond, I–”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, let go,” he coos.

She bites down on the juncture of his neck to muffle her pleasured cry, earning her a startled grunt from Aemond. Her body spasms around the toy, climaxing with a force that makes her toes curl inside of her high heels, before going limp against his chest.

He settles his glass down and strokes her hair before pulling back. His long, dexterous fingers wrap around the cord of egg, and despite how gentle he is as he tugs it free, she still hisses with overstimulation as it leaves her body. The sudden feeling of emptiness is alien to her after having spent most of the evening with it inside of her.

“Can…can we go home now?” She asks tiredly, as he wraps the toy in tissue and deposits it on the desk.

“Hmmm, not just yet,” Aemond tells her, taking her hand and guiding it to palm over the erection that strains against the confines of his suit trousers. “I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

Chapter five || Series masterlist

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-five: "The Evening of Insecurity"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 9.2k

Summary: You attend a fancy gala as Matt's date.

Old insecurities resurface, making you question your place at Matt's side.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: The gala smut you've all been patiently waiting for (AKA there's semi-public sex in this installment)! Enjoy the return of Spicy Matty because this installment is slightly angsty but definitely filthy. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @babygirlmurdock @theoraekenslover @wanda-maxamommy @justanerd1

Sitting in the back of the limo, your eyes were fixed on the skyline of the city flying by through the open sunroof. All the bright lights intermittently shining along the tall buildings stood out against the night sky–like false stars glittering amongst the city. As the excited chatter among your friends filled the air, you felt your nerves for the evening increase, gnawing at your stomach as you sat silently beside Matt. Occasionally your eyes would drop down to sneak glances at him in his tuxedo beside you as he focused on the conversation, a smile drawn wide on his handsome face as he listened to Foggy. His presence gave you a bit of comfort at least, though admittedly the sight of him dressed so well also caused a stir of anxious butterflies to flutter in your gut.

You’d gotten ready with Marci and Karen at Karen’s apartment for the evening, so you hadn’t actually seen Matt until he’d shown up with Foggy in the limo a little bit ago. Of course he’d looked just as breathtaking in a tuxedo as you remembered him looking during that charity benefit where you’d received an award last year. The dress shirt and suit coat he had on fit his broad, muscular torso just right, making you wish you’d been alone with him in the back of the limo on the ride to the gala. You were certain you’d have ruined your makeup and messed his hair and clothes if it had been just the pair of you alone, too. He looked more than good enough for you to want to throw decorum straight out of the sunroof if it wasn't for the fact that you both had an audience. You were longing to rip that bow tie off of him and tear open the buttons on his shirt. Your fingers practically itched in your lap to yank the zipper of his dress pants down, your body refraining from climbing on top of him and–

Matt’s hand tightened around yours in your lap, the gesture drawing you instantly from your thoughts. Gaze dropping down from the sunroof once more, you saw he’d focused his attention on you now. His dark glasses hid his eyes, but you could see the little coy smile now playing along his lips. He’d clearly picked up on what you’d been thinking about, the thought causing you to clear your throat as you ducked your head, grinning to yourself. Matt leaned over towards you in the seat, his mouth just beside your ear when he spoke.

“Trust me, I’m thinking about after the gala already, too,” he whispered.

At the sound of his deep voice in your ear, the nerves that had been in your stomach were abruptly replaced with a fire that quickly found its way through your veins, heating you from head to toe where you sat. Eyes still averted towards the deep red heels just visible beneath your floor length black dress, you couldn’t resist the words from spilling out of your lips next.

“Actually,” you whispered back, “I was thinking about what I wish we could’ve done beforehand. In the limo. If it had just been us.”

You caught the sharp intake of his breath beside your ear, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you fought back the smile growing further on your face. His hand gripped yours tighter as you felt the limo begin to slow to a stop.

“Oh, hey!” Foggy exclaimed from across the large limo seat. “Looks like we're finally here! Time to rub elbows with the filthy rich, drink all their booze, and eat all their little fancy finger foods!”

You were too focused on the presence of Matt beside you to excitedly stare out the window with your friends now that the limo was gradually pulling to a stop. Instead, you were very aware of the side of Matt's body currently pressed against the side of yours where you sat.

“Might want to control your thoughts tonight, sweetheart,” Matt murmured, his mouth still beside your ear. “I might not be able to hear them, but I can certainly guess at them.”

Raising your gaze from your shoes, you turned and focused on the cocky grin along his mouth. Taking a slow breath in, you fought to control the urge to force him to stay back in the limo with you, desperate to keep him all to yourself for the evening instead of actually attending the event. It was probably a good thing that you hadn't gotten ready together at the apartment because the pair of you might have never left, especially if your first week of living together was anything to go by. Matt dressed in a tuxedo was a turn on all on its own–a sight you were absolutely weak for.

“You're doing it again,” he cheekily pointed out.

“I can't help it,” you whined softly, aware of your friends already beginning to exit the limo. “It's hard to not have thoughts when you're dressed like that.”

Forcing your eyes away from Matt, you began to scoot along the length of the seat, making your way towards the limo's exit with Matt following behind after you. Carefully you slid out of the vehicle, trying to make sure you remained covered as you stepped outside due to the high slit in the side of your dress. You sent the driver a smile and a polite ‘thank you’ as you took a couple of shaky steps past where he was holding the car door open.

Smoothing a hand down the silk of your dress, your other clutching your purse, you turned back around just in time to see Matt gracefully ease his way out of the back of the limo. You almost lost your footing as you saw him rising to his full height in his tuxedo, your heart skipping at the sight of him. His covered gaze quickly found you, probably having caught the stutter of the traitorous organ in your chest. The smile that formed along his mouth caused your heart to start up again, pounding rapidly and unevenly inside of you.

The grin remained as he stepped over towards you, your breath coming in sharper as you tried to contain yourself. Matt held out an arm expectantly in your direction and you swallowed hard, reaching out and directing his large hand to your upper arm. His fingers curled firmly around your bare skin, the heat of them raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

Matt leaned in towards you, amusement in his voice as he whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart. I don't want you passing out on me.”

Heat was burning at your cheeks as a sudden timidity began to overtake you. That feeling like you didn't belong at this man's side–a feeling you hadn't really felt to this extent in quite some time–was suddenly washing over you. It didn't help that you were leading him up onto the sidewalk and over towards your friends where they were standing in front of the elegant ballroom the event was taking place at. Foggy looked handsome as well in his tuxedo as he stood beside both the stunning Marci and Karen, the pair looking like glamorous models in their dresses.

As you led the both of you towards your friends, Matt silent at your side, your eyes were shifting around at all the well-dressed people making their way towards the entrance. Almost immediately your nerves hit you like a truck once more, your foot twisting in your heels as you took another step. Briefly you faltered, but Matt’s hand gripped your arm tight and quickly caught you, stopping you before you could fall.

“Relax, everything is going to be alright,” Matt assured you, his mouth once more beside your ear as you both continued walking towards the ballroom entrance. “I've got you tonight Bambi. Just take a deep breath.”

“Right,” you murmured back, nodding your head quickly as nerves continued to fill your stomach. “Tonight will–will be fun.”

“I'll make sure you enjoy yourself here, sweetheart,” he promised. “Just relax and focus on me. That's all you need to do.”

You glanced at him beside you skeptically, your stomach anxiously flipping inside of you. “Okay, that normally calms me down, but tonight is a bit different. It’s not that you don't always look good, but tonight you look insanely good, Matt. Which almost makes me more nervous than relaxed.”

He chuckled lightly, focusing on you at his side as he walked. “And does it make you more or less nervous to know you're coming back home with me after all of this no matter what?” he asked.

“More nervous,” you immediately answered.

“Mmm,” he hummed back thoughtfully, his attention returning ahead of him. “Then maybe don't think about what I'm going to do to you when we get home tonight.”

You laughed weakly as the pair of you approached your friend group. Unfortunately what he'd said had only made you think about going home with this handsome man after the gala even more. And that was only increasing your anxiety for some reason. You definitely felt out of place at his side now that you'd left the safe confines of the limo, your eyes taking in the sight of all the stunning couples around you.

“Yeah, not helping,” you whispered.

Matt laughed lightly at your side, his warm hand affectionately squeezing your bicep. You didn't know how you had thought you could handle attending this event as his date, but now that you were here, you certainly hoped you could survive it.

Focusing on your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you checked over your makeup and hair once more, making sure everything still looked as good as it had when you’d first left Karen’s apartment. Satisfied that nothing seemed too out of place, even with the occasional kisses Matt had snuck in so far this evening, your hands once more smoothed down the sides of your silk dress.

You had to admit, the dress you’d chosen for tonight looked good on you. It hit in all the right places and the side slit that reached mid-way up your thigh was surprisingly flattering. You’d certainly never worn anything quite so beautiful before, only having splurged because Matt had practically urged you to buy something you really wanted to wear tonight.

But despite how beautiful the dress was and how good it made you feel to be in it, the nerves still fluttered frantically in your stomach as you stared back at your reflection. A frown pulled the corners of your mouth downwards, your eyes focused on the way they’d dropped. The slight confidence boost you’d felt tonight after getting ready with Karen and Marci had almost completely disappeared in the first hour of you being here with Matt.

You’d followed him around, his arm looped through yours, politely greeting the people that approached him and smiling as they discussed varying topics. You’d joined the conversations whenever you’d had a chance, but nothing had fully shaken the insecurity that had only continued to grow inside of you every single time Matt introduced you as his girlfriend, because you could’ve sworn a few women had openly sneered at you. Others had given you a once over, their defined brows arching in something like distaste as they eyed you.

You knew Matt couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but you wondered if he’d somehow known something was happening. He’d often pull you further into his side throughout the evening and whisper comforting words before planting a lingering kiss to your temple. And while the gesture occasionally eased a flare up of your insecurity, that feeling always quickly returned whenever the pair of you passed some gorgeous, model-like woman in what was clearly a designer dress as she turned her nose up at you. Or as some other well-dressed man shot you a curious, almost offended glance. You’d soon found yourself wondering how your friends had been so excited about attending an event with all these stuck-up New York City elite–though it seemed like all of them were fairing vastly better this evening than you. And that only made you further feel like you didn’t belong here, walking the ballroom with Matt’s arm looped through yours as if you actually could be the one at his side.

As you were adjusting a loose strand of hair while looking at your reflection, a woman entered the bathroom and approached the opposite end of the counter, ignoring you entirely as she began fixing her makeup. Squaring your shoulders, you forced yourself out of your spiraling thoughts now that you were no longer alone. They weren't going to help anything tonight anyway.

You reached a hand out, grabbing your clutch purse from off the counter before turning and heading towards the exit. Making your way down the short hallway outside of the bathrooms, you smiled politely whenever you passed someone as sweat began to dampen your palms. When you finally re-entered the extravagantly decorated ballroom a moment later, the sound of the live orchestra playing hit your ears just over the noise of multiple conversations. Feeling your nerves increase even further at the room full of people, you mentally reminded yourself that you only needed to survive for a few more hours here before you and Matt could go home.

Eyes scanning the room, it didn't take you long before you found Matt among the crowd of people. He was standing exactly where you’d left him a few minutes ago when you’d excused yourself to the restroom, but now you noticed he was talking to a different group of people than when you’d been at his side initially–three men and one of those gorgeous, model-like women who was standing a little too close to him. With a sigh, you plastered a bright smile onto your face once more and began making your way through the crowd and over towards the group, walking carefully so as not to trip in your heels. But your smile faltered the closer you neared the group when you began to pick up on the conversation.

“Oh, I apologize,” you overheard one of the men saying to Matt. “I truly thought she was your date tonight. You both just look so good standing together, I only assumed.”

You felt your feet come to an abrupt stop along the floor at the man’s words, your heart thudding so heavily in your chest that you could feel it. That was the last thing you wanted to hear tonight. More confirmation that you weren’t good enough to be at Matt’s side–that you didn’t belong there.

“Ahh, well, considering I’m blind, I can't exactly see why you'd say that,” Matt replied.

His tone had been charming and polite as usual when he'd responded, but you’d caught the edge to his words that the others clearly hadn't. Nevertheless, the entire group still laughed at his joke, but you winced as you stood there rooted to the spot feeling like your heart was gradually sinking to the floor.

“But I can assure you all, my lovely girlfriend is around here somewhere,” Matt added on. “And I’m sure she’ll be back very soon.”

Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to take another step over towards the group, attempting to push down the hurt the man’s comment had caused. You knew it was only a mistake, but that didn't stop it from unleashing even more insecure thoughts that were now running wild in your head, making you feel even worse than you had been a few minutes ago in the bathroom. Though it was taking everything in you to not have your fears feel validated by that small mistake.

You’d barely managed to take two steps closer before you noticed the woman beside Matt raise a hand and place it along his shoulder. The sight had your feet abruptly come to a stop once more. You noticed Matt had stiffened at her touch, but the sight of her so casually and intimately beginning to rub her hand along him immediately elicited a strong reaction from within you. Sick churned in your stomach, your heart nearly launching itself out of your mouth at the sight of this woman so brazenly touching him like that. As if she had every right to do so. The urge to vomit only increased when she leaned in towards him with a seductive smile spread across her damn red lips.

“If I was your lovely girlfriend,” she purred at him, “I’d know far better than to leave you alone in a room full of gorgeous women. Wouldn’t want one coming along and stealing you away from me, if I was her.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt tears burn at your eyes as the other men in the group burst into laughter at her comment. As if what she'd said was actually funny and the implication of her words wasn't vastly inappropriate. The woman just stood there smiling at Matt, her hand still rubbing his shoulder. You took in the frown along Matt’s lips for a second before your feet suddenly moved of their own accord, spinning you around and taking you directly away from the group. Too focused on fighting back tears in your eyes, your hands nearly crushing your clutch purse as you stalked off, you hadn't caught what Matt responded to the woman with.

By the time you'd finally weaved your way around the mass of people and found yourself out of the ballroom and in an empty hallway, you'd completely lost your sense of direction. You had no idea where you'd wandered off to, your mind too busy cruelly playing back the mental image of that woman touching Matt the way she had. Saying the things she'd said.

Right now you wanted to scream. To collapse onto the floor and cry, giving into your spiraling thoughts that came rushing back to you–all the ones trying to tell you that you’d never be good enough for Matt. That you didn't belong at his side at events like this. That you would never be the right woman for him.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you attempted to muffle the choked sound of a sob that you were desperately fighting back. Because you knew that you couldn't cry here no matter how much you wanted to break down. You didn't want to ruin Matt's evening with your insecurities, the very same ones which you thought you'd put to rest already when it came to you being with him. Yet here you were, hiding in a hallway and trying not to cry because some woman was hitting on him in front of you again . Upset because some guy had mistaken her as his date just because of how she looked standing next to him.

Sniffling hard, you tried to force yourself to stop getting so worked up over all of this. This wasn’t the time or the place. Frantically you blinked back your tears, reminding yourself repeatedly that Matt had clearly not wanted that woman's advances and that he had openly acknowledged having a significant other. He hadn't done anything wrong. You honestly weren't even upset at him.

But still, that moment had wounded you quite deeply anyway. It made you once more feel like you weren't meant to be with him.

Trying to focus on your breathing, you attempted to calm it down and even it out. You needed to relax so that you could find your way back to the ballroom and finish out the rest of the night. You’d worry about all of these spiraling feelings of inadequacy later. But as you were inhaling a slow and quivering breath in, you heard the door at the end of the hall open. Before you could even turn around to see who'd joined you, you heard Matt gently calling out your name. Eyes closing, you roughly blew out the breath you'd just taken. You hadn't wanted him to know how upset you'd been over something so ridiculous. Especially not with how far your relationship had come with him over the past few months.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Matt asked.

With your back facing him, you quickly began wiping at your dampened cheeks, forcing the tears back. You knew it was pointless though because you knew with his senses he had already been aware of the fact that you’d been in here crying. Continuing to roughly wipe at your cheeks, you heard the sound of Matt’s footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Yeah, I'm–I'm fine, Matt,” you answered, trying to keep your voice even.

“You're crying,” he pointed out. “You're not fine.”

Blinking hard a few more times, you tried to quickly regain control over yourself. But the moment you felt Matt's gentle hand on your shoulder, a soft sniffle snuck its way out of you.

“I know you overheard what just happened,” he told you quietly. “I heard you walking over as it was happening. I know that’s what has you upset and I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

You shook your head before looking back over your shoulder at him. Matt was standing just behind you, his glasses no longer on his face and covering his eyes, probably having removed them and slipped them into his jacket pocket when he’d come to talk to you. There was a worried crease between his brows as his eyes continued to dart around your face, scanning you over. You could practically feel the way he was analyzing your body right now.

“You didn't do anything wrong, Matt,” you assured him. “You don't need to apologize. It's just–”

You broke off on a sigh, your eyes dropping down to your red heels peeking out from beneath your dress. Matt's hand on your shoulder began to gently spin you around to face him before his other hand landed on your opposite shoulder. Both of his hands gave you a firm, comforting squeeze as you continued to avoid his stare.

“It's just what, sweetheart?” he prompted.

You winced, shaking your head. “It's stupid. Really. I got upset and I was hoping to just come out here and calm down because I know how stupid it all is. We've been over this before–I thought I was past this already.”

“Hey,” Matt murmured, both of his thumbs beginning to rub soothing little circles over your bare shoulders, “whatever upset you isn't stupid. You can talk to me, you know that. I want you to talk to me. We do have that pinky promise, after all.”

Shoulders sagging in defeat, you knew he was right and had a point. You both had long since agreed to communicate with each other. This was precisely one of those times where you needed to.

Inhaling a deep breath, you slowly released it before your eyes traveled their way up Matt's handsome form in his tuxedo. When your eyes finally landed on his face, you couldn't help but relax at the way he was gazing down at you with so much love and concern reflected in his eyes. The sight only had you feeling further idiotic for having had such a strong reaction to that woman hitting on him.

“It’s really stupid but…I just feel like all night everyone has been staring at me like I don't belong here. Or rather, here with you, specifically,” you confessed awkwardly. “Mainly the women. They've just…openly made faces at me all night long and it's been weighing on me. And then to–to come back from the bathroom just to overhear all of that? For that woman to just touch you like that? Make the comment she did?”

You shook your head, that unpleasant squirming of your heart in your chest returning at the memory. Quickly you tried to blink back the tears, not wanting to cry anymore. Matt's expression only further softened as he listened to you.

“To hear someone else openly acknowledge that another woman looked good next to you–something people here would probably never say about me–it…hurt,” you whispered.

Matt was quick to wrap his arms around your shoulders, drawing you into the front of himself as he pulled you in for a hug. Your own arms timidly rose up, encircling his waist under his suit coat as you buried your face against his chest, careful not to smear any makeup onto his white shirt. The cologne he'd put on tonight filled your nose as you breathed in, somehow calming the uneven pattering of your aching heart. He smelled good, like something warm and woodsy. Safe and comfortable. The longer you breathed it in, the more it eased that ache in your chest just a little bit more.

“I wouldn't concern yourself with the opinion of anyone here,” he told you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. “Everyone here is so superficial and just putting on an act. And if you forgot already, they only invited us here last minute as a slight. Believe me, I've overheard some of the things being said about Nelson, Murdock, and Page when they think we can't hear. It's not you, sweetheart. I promise you that. And you know I love you,” he continued, the soft and even rhythm of his voice calming you more in his embrace. “Not a number far enough from one, right? I don't want anyone here but you and I never will.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “That’s why I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” he replied. “You had a human reaction to the way you're being treated, sweetheart. That’s normal. It’s okay. I'm just sorry that's how you're being treated because you're here with me.”

One of Matt's hands unwrapped itself from around your shoulders, his fingertips beginning to glide their way down the back of your bare arm as his other continued to hold you to the front of himself. Your eyes closed under his touch, goosebumps rising along the skin his fingers had just brushed over. When his hand reached your wrist, you allowed him to gently unwrap it from around his waist.

“But you know,” he murmured, something about his change in tone catching your attention as his fingers interlocked with yours, “one of these days, there'll be a ring on this hand.”

Your eyes flew open, your entire body tensing against the front of him at what he'd just unexpectedly said. His fingers continued to affectionately toy with the fingers of your left hand as you stood there feeling like you suddenly couldn't breathe, your heart skipping a beat.

“And then I'll be introducing you to everyone as my fiancé at these galas,” he continued, a hint of a smile in his voice, “not my girlfriend.”

Your knees felt weak at his words, your right arm holding onto Matt even tighter, afraid you might actually lose your balance in your heels. It had been awhile since either of you had mentioned marriage, both of you having been so busy lately, but you knew it was something you both wanted. It’d been discussed. But for some reason standing there and hearing him so casually refer to you as being his future fiancé had you wondering if maybe you were closer to that future than you’d even realized. Was it possible he’d already bought a ring? You were too afraid to even hope for that, but the prospect of being engaged to him soon had your insecurities immediately draining straight out of you.

“And eventually,” Matt continued, his chin rising from off the top of your head, his lips lowering beside your ear, “I’ll be introducing you as my wife at these things. Then they’ll all have to call you Mrs. Murdock.”

Sucking in a sharp breath that got stuck in your throat, you found yourself suddenly lightheaded just at the thought of that. A jolt of excitement raced through you as Matt pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then his lips were curling into a smile along your skin. At a loss for words, you stood there with your mouth slightly parted in surprise as you tried to process the fact that he'd just said that.

“You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed out, not even pausing to think.

Because you did. You liked the sound of that a lot. The idea that Matt really wanted only you so much that he’d make a lifelong commitment to you. That he’d put a ring on your finger as a visible reminder to everyone else that you were his, and someday, you’d get to put one on his finger that showed the world he was yours . Forever.

You liked the thought of that far more than you realized, especially here in this moment and after what had just happened out in that ballroom.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, his hand which wasn't currently interlocked with yours sliding slowly down your back, “wasn’t quite expecting that reaction when I said that.”

“Wasn’t exactly expecting you to say that,” you whispered back.

His hand continued its slow descent down your spine, a shudder racing up the length of it under his palm. Eventually its trajectory changed, his hand coming to rest along your hip. Holding onto your waist in one hand, his other hand still entwined with yours, Matt began to carefully walk you backwards. As you moved, his nose nuzzled affectionately against your temple while your face remained buried against his chest. You felt your breath coming in sharper, the fingers of your right hand curling around his dress shirt beneath his suit coat as you tried to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet.

“I want to make you mine,” Matt told you, an edge of the possessive Devil in his words. “And I want you to know that you’re mine. To never question it.”

Your back had just barely bumped against the wall before Matt’s hand released yours and instead came to lightly encircle your jaw in his large palm. A soft gasp slipped out of your mouth as his hand gently pushed your head back against the wall, raising it up so that your mouth lined up with his. He leaned in and your eyes snapped shut just before his lips were on yours, somehow soft and full of heat simultaneously.

You lost your footing at the intensity of the kiss, your left hand flying out to grasp onto Matt’s bicep over his suit coat just before his body pushed you further back against the wall, keeping you upright. His hand continued to hold your jaw firmly in place as he kissed you in a way that he had yet to this entire evening–a way that had your knees trembling. But just as you’d barely had a chance to match that intensity, he abruptly broke away from you, a fire burning in his hazel eyes as he focused his sightless gaze along your cheek. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your mind still reeling in the moment.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he told you. “And I don’t care who tries to flirt with me. There might be a whole room of other women out there,” he continued, gesturing his head back down the hall in the direction from where he’d come, “but the only one I want is right here. And if you want, sweetheart,” he whispered huskily, his hand releasing your jaw and sliding down to lightly grip your neck, “I would be more than happy to show you how much I want you right now.”

Head still resting against the wall behind you, your eyes grew wide. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“I–I’m not sure I follow,” you whispered.

Matt's face hovered a few inches from yours, that unmistakable heat still burning in his eyes as he focused back on you, a small smile on his mouth. You were positive the tips of his fingers were feeling the thrumming of your heart with where they each rested along your neck.

“There’s a room to your right,” he said. “Yes?”

Slowly turning your head, you glanced over your shoulder. There was in fact a door there, one labeled ‘office.’

“I don’t hear any cameras inside of it, and I’m guessing it has a locking door,” Matt said.

Your attention returned to him, your brows jumping up onto your forehead. “Are you suggesting we…?”

“Yes,” he replied, his smile growing into something mischievous on his face, a glint of something flickering in his eyes. “If you want to, of course.”

“But–but Matt,” you whispered in a rush, your cheeks heating as you glanced back to the door at the other end of the hall, “there’s literally hundreds of people back in the ballroom. And security roaming around. We are by no means alone here. We could get caught!”

He shrugged a shoulder, the movement drawing your eyes back to him. You could feel your heart beating faster in your chest at his suggestion, an unexpected excitement growing inside of you at the prospect of having him here at this gala without anyone knowing. The pair of you had never done anything like this before, the closest having been when he’d teased you back at Fogwell’s Gym last year. But you'd been alone at the gym that night–this was different.

“I can assure you,” he began, “that no one has even been down this hallway except us all night. Trust me, I can tell. If we keep quiet, no one will ever know but us. So it’s up to you, sweetheart.” The corner of his lip curled into a devilish smirk, the sight causing your thighs to press together. “We can certainly head back to the ballroom instead. I would be content just having you at my side for the rest of the night. Or,” he continued, the corner of his lip curling even higher, “I could ease any of your lingering insecurities for the rest of the evening first. Prove that you and you alone are mine.”

His hand released your neck as he pushed back off the wall, giving you space. Space you found yourself not remotely wanting.

“But the choice is yours,” he assured you. “Because you know I'd never want to make you uncomfortable.”

Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you felt at a loss for words as you tried to decide. There was a part of you that wanted to lead him back down the hallway and just finish out the night. It wasn't like the pair of you couldn't do all of this back at the apartment afterwards, and it would be more than mortifying if the pair of you got caught fucking in an office during this gala. But another part of you was curious. Curious to see what he meant about easing your insecurities–because you knew whatever happened he certainly would. And the thought of fucking him while everyone else was a few rooms over was tempting, especially considering the way both you and Matt had been treated so far this evening by the other guests. It'd be a little secret just between the both of you, and something about that had your blood beginning to rush to your cunt.

Ultimately the image of that woman who'd been running her hand along Matt’s shoulder flashed through your mind again, but this time something else raced through your entire body at the memory of it. Something almost possessive hit you hard. Something territorial. Without further contemplation, you knew exactly what you wanted right now.

Hands flying out, they latched onto the lapels of Matt's tuxedo before roughly yanking him towards you, immediately crashing your mouth onto his. Matt's hand tightened along your hip almost bruisingly tight in response, something like a snarl vibrating in his throat and rolling into your own mouth. The sound of it had your fingers curling further around his suit coat, your feet beginning to clumsily guide the both of you over towards the office door. After a few steps, your hand released his coat, beginning to feel around the wall for the door handle. You were too caught up in kissing Matt to actually look for it, not wanting to end the moment, but he must've realized what you were doing because he broke away from you a moment later, loosing a breathy laugh as your hand continued to blindly search for the handle.

“I take that as a yes on doing this,” Matt teased. He released his hold on your hip, grabbing you by the hand instead and shooting you a cheeky smile, one that had the corners of his eyes creasing. “Allow me,” he said.

He pulled you a few more steps down the hall towards the door, reaching a hand out and easily opening it. All the while he continued to smile back at you, his attention never leaving you. Somehow that only made you want him more–especially in that damn tuxedo.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, tugging you along after him. A giggle escaped you as you stumbled into the room behind him, your feet a little unsteady in your heels. You were still unable to believe that you were about to do what you were about to with him while so many people were nearby. But as usual, this was Matt you were with. The very same Matt who always made you feel safe and comfortable.

You had barely entered the room before Matt turned back towards you, quickly closing the door and flipping the lock on the handle. And then he was on you once more, pushing you back against the door without warning as he caged you in between his arms. His mouth was at your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the length of it like you both hadn't just been briefly interrupted. Your head fell back against the door behind you with a soft thump , your eyelids fluttering in pleasure as your hands rose up, grabbing helplessly at his back.

“Only want you,” Matt murmured against your skin between kisses. “Only you.”

He continued trailing his sensual kisses along your throat, his hips pressing you firmly back into the door. Your breath was coming in sharp already, your mind almost entirely forgetting about the gala happening just a few rooms over because of his skilled mouth. When his lips finally landed over your pulse point, you felt his teeth gently bite down on the skin, taking you by surprise and eliciting a sharp hiss of pleasure from you. Your nails dug into his suit jacket, your teeth gritting together to keep from making too much noise.

“ Matt ,” you breathed out.

“ Mine ,” he snarled in response along your neck.

The hand he had splayed wide along the door beside your head dropped down, landing on your thigh through the slit of your dress. He let out a pleased noise as he began to trail kisses past your collarbone, his face lowering to the cleavage the V-cut of your dress created. His hand began to massage the muscle of your thigh, gradually making its way further up your leg and towards your ass as his lips began to suck at a patch of skin along your breast. A dampness was steadily growing between your thighs, your eyes completely closing under his attention as one of your hands slid up and into his hair.

“Thought there was a slit in your dress,” he whispered, face still buried against your chest, the stubble on his chin tickling you with each word. “Was hoping to properly appreciate it tonight.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut short by his teeth placing soft nips along the swell of your left breast. His hot breath cascaded its way down the front of your dress as he did, the feel of it causing your brain to go blank. His large palm was kneading your ass in a way that had a soft moan tumbling out of your lips, one you were powerless to stop. Matt's mouth paused at the noise, hovering just above your chest as you felt his hand dragging its way back down to your thigh.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned, his warm palm sliding to the inside of your thigh, fingertips brushing against your cunt just over your now damp panties. “Need to keep quiet if you don't want us to get caught.”

“That might prove–”

You stopped short as Matt's fingers pushed your panties to the side. They soon began sliding back and forth through your damp folds, collecting the slick that had been steadily forming there for the past few minutes as your breath hitched. Hips squirming along the solid door behind you, a surge of pleasure raced through you when the pad of his finger began to delicately circle your clit. Eyes closed, you swore you saw white flash across your closed lids. He always knew exactly how to touch you.

“Difficult,” you finished lamely.

“Mmm,” he hummed out thoughtfully.

The pad of his finger continued tracing circles over your clit, your cunt starting to desperately ache for his attention as he did. You could feel his erection growing against your leg through his dress pants with the way his hips were still pushing you back into the door. The feel of it almost had you accidentally loosing another moan.

“Or maybe you'd rather they all knew you were in here with me,” Matt continued, his tone suddenly dark and low–something reminiscent of the Devil. “Is that what you want? For all of them out there to know you're in here letting me touch you like this?”

A quiet curse slipped out of your mouth, your back arching against the door as his finger quickened its pace, pressing more firmly against you as he did. Admittedly you wished that woman out there knew exactly what he was doing to you right now after the way she'd been touching him. You wished she knew just how much he wanted your hands on him instead of hers.

“ Yes ,” you whispered, the word sneaking its way out of your lips.

The truth of your admission surprised even you, your eyes flying open. Matt was hovering over your cleavage, his finger still drawing delicious patterns on your clit. But his face shifted ever so slightly upwards at your response, his focus turning up towards you. There was something almost dark matching the intensity in his eyes, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as a growl rumbled in his chest. Your heart instantly accelerated at the look on his face.

“Certainly caught the truth in that,” he assured you, his finger never stopping its movements along you. “So you want me to give you a reason not to doubt that you're mine for the rest of the night? Is that what you want? To stuff you with my cock and fill you with my cum so you know who exactly you belong to?”

“Yes,” you answered.

Once again you’d found yourself stunned at your admission–and how quickly you’d answered. Even Matt seemed to be taken by surprise for a brief second, his head tilting a little to the side. But then ever so slowly his hand slipped out from under your dress, his smirk growing at the faint, pathetic groan you emitted at the loss of contact.

He straightened up before you, both of his hands landing on the belt at his waist. Your eyes dropped down in the small distance between you, your heart hammering away in your chest as you watched his hands undo the buckle before sliding his zipper down. In a swift movement, he shoved his pants and boxers farther down his thick thighs before tugging his dress shirt out of the way, all the while your eyes were focused on the emergence of his erect cock springing forth. Practically salivating at the sight of it, especially considering the exhilarating situation you both were in, you whined impatiently against the door.

Matt’s eyes flew to your chin at the noise, a smile overtaking the smirk on his lips. In seconds he was pressing you back against the door behind you, one hand firmly grasping your thigh while his other roughly shoved the fabric of your dress out of the way so forcefully that you swore you heard a seam tear. But you didn’t care as he hoisted your leg up onto his hip, the head of his cock bumping against the slick of your core. Your hips eagerly twitched forwards at the contact, already desperate to feel him fill you.

Matt’s forehead lowered to rest against yours, the hand he didn’t have holding your leg in place along his hip beginning to drag his cock back and forth through your arousal. You bit the tip of your tongue more firmly with each teasing pass of him through your folds–partly in anticipation and partly to remind yourself to keep quiet. Even if you couldn’t hear the noise of the gala, there was a small part of you still aware of it continuing not that far away.

But when you felt him finally sink inside of you, you almost forgot your own name. The pair of you released a sigh at almost the exact same moment, as if you’d been waiting far too long for this connection between the pair of you tonight. Though truthfully with how long you’d had to endure chaste kisses, seeing him in that tuxedo while watching him display his intelligence in conversation all night, had felt like a new form of torture. And now having him finally burying himself inside of you felt like the sweet relief you’d been craving.

Matt rolled his hips forward into you, sliding the entirety of himself inside of you as your hands wound their way into his hair, keeping his forehead against yours. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you almost didn't feel them just before his fingers dug into your thigh where the slit of your dress had slipped out of the way, gripping you tightly in place against him. His other hand landed with a sharp slam on the door near your head, holding himself upright.

“I’ll give you something to remind yourself that you’re mine for the rest of the evening,” his husky voice promised you. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart.”

Your whole body trembled at his words, feeling him drag his cock out from inside of you slowly at first before he sharply thrust himself back inside of you. Clenching your teeth together at the impact, your fingers curled tighter around the strands of his hair, not even worrying about how mussed it would look by the end of this. You had a feeling the both of you would look disheveled at this point no matter what, and a large part of you almost didn’t care anymore.

Gradually Matt began to pick up his pace as he began to fuck you, his hips eventually snapping forward into you so hard that your back and your ass pounded into the door behind you, the resounding bang accentuating each time he pumped into you, the noise louder than the obscene sound of skin on skin. You were struggling to keep your mouth shut, fighting to keep your pleasure quiet as Matt’s hips continued to viciously roll into you over and over again.

Eventually your lone heel on the floor began to slide ever so slightly back and forth along the tile with the intensity of each of his thrusts. One of your hands dropped down, grabbing onto his round and solid bare ass in an attempt to hold onto something. Beneath your palm, you could feel the large muscle repeatedly contracting in your hold with every pump of his cock burying itself inside of you. Eyes becoming half-lidded, your ragged breaths mingled with his sharp grunts in the minimal space that existed between your mouths. His forehead hadn’t left its place against yours, and every so often his mouth would occasionally graze your lips before he took the opportunity to seize your mouth in soft little kisses. The intimacy of the tender action was a perfect contrast to the way he was currently roughly fucking you into the door behind you.

“No one else–will ever have me–like you do,” Matt ground out between each sharp slam of his hips into yours. “You'll be–the only one–I call Mrs. Murdock.”

Your nails dug into the firm muscle of his ass at his words. You once more hadn't expected him to say that, but the pleasure of hearing it again shot straight through you so fast that you swore your whole body had ignited. With his cock filling you so wholly and those words echoing in your mind, you felt a moan building in the back of your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunted. “The way your body reacts every time I say that–”

Matt inhaled a hiss of air, his hips faltering in their rhythm as if he was already struggling not to cum just at your reaction. The fact that he was so turned on at the prospect of you being his wife alone had your eyes snapping shut completely, that moan that had been building in your throat making it halfway out of your mouth before Matt quickly quieted it with his own, swallowing the sound.

You could feel yourself growing closer to your release already, far more turned on by hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Murdock’ as he buried himself inside of you than you could ever imagine. With the way his body was shuddering against yours, you could tell it was having an unexplainable effect on him, too. One that was drawing him fast to his own climax.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

You heard Matt let out a low groan, his hips beginning to sloppily slam into your own as his blunt nails dug into the flesh of your thigh, clamping it tighter to his hip. Your release was building just at his reaction, making you understand just how he was feeling in that moment, too.

“Call me that again,” you breathed out.

His mouth found yours immediately, latching on as he kissed you fiercely but with so much tenderness. As if he was struggling with the intensity of his own feelings at your request. When he broke away from your mouth, he stayed so close that you could feel his lips brush yours as he whispered the name one more time.

Your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, your thighs shaking as another particularly rough thrust of Matt's hips pushed you back into the door. Your cunt tightened around him as he once more filled you, the delicious stretch of him inside you one you wanted to remember for the rest of the night.

It was the pleasure-filled, deep moan that Matt so carelessly spilled into the room as he abruptly came inside of you that had you about to cum along with him. He continued to pump into you, the warmth of his release filling you as you neared your own climax. But the moment Matt whispered ‘I love you’ in a broken, breathy pant, you completely lost it.

Gritting your teeth together, you fought back the moan growing deep in your chest as best as you could, though you couldn't completely quiet it as a wave of pleasure raced up the entirety of your body. Your thighs trembled at the intensity of it as Matt's cock gradually began to slow its pace, your own orgasm washing over you in a crashing, dizzying wave that took you by surprise.

Eventually when you'd finally fallen limp against the door behind you, exhausted and spent, his hips entirely stopped their movement. Inevitably Matt's forehead left yours, your eyes opening as he carefully removed himself from inside of you before shifting your panties back in place. The pair of you were both panting hard, attempting to catch your labored breaths. His face was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, a look of almost smug satisfaction on it.

Matt's hand gently lowered your leg from his hip, returning your foot to the floor as your hands both found their way to his hips, trying to keep your balance. Matt's own hands landed on your shoulders in return, helping to keep you upright as his gaze landed on your cheek.

“Certainly didn't expect tonight to go this way,” he mused.

“You and me both,” you breathed out, still trying to catch your breath. “I've never exactly done that before.”

When Matt was sure you weren't about to lose your footing, he released his hold on you and took a step back. With an amused huff and a growing smirk, he began to pull his pants back up and to fix his disheveled state of undress.

“Pretty sure that wasn't the first time we've done that , sweetheart,” he teased. “We seem to do that often. And quite well.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you readjusted your dress, noticing he had just slightly torn the seam when he’d yanked it out of the way. Though you didn't think it was too noticeable to continue wearing tonight.

“You know what I mean, Matt,” you told him.

“I know, I'm only teasing, love,” he assured you.

Your eyes spotted the small, decorative mirror hanging on the wall across the room, just past Matt as he continued adjusting his tuxedo. You bent down carefully, picking up your clutch purse that you'd dropped to the floor the moment Matt had pushed you back into the door, and then you made your way over to it.

“Convenient there's a mirror in here,” you said to Matt as you began inspecting your slightly smudged lipstick. “I can at least attempt to make myself presentable again before we go back out there.”

Using your fingers to wipe away the smeared lipstick as best you could, you heard Matt approaching you from behind. You saw him appear over your shoulder in the mirror a second later, taking in his out of place hair and slightly rumpled shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing himself to the back of you as he leaned in towards your ear, your eyes catching sight of a devious smile on his mouth before he spoke.

“Now when we go back out there,” he murmured, his voice once more low and husky like the Devil’s, “I want you to remember this moment anytime anyone looks at you like you don't belong at my side. And if you catch yourself starting to believe them, I want you to do something for me, okay?”

“And what's that?” you asked him slowly.

Matt's nose brushed along the shell of your ear, your body straightening at the touch.

“I want you to focus on the feel of my cum dripping down your thighs,” he ordered you.

Your hands stopped what they were doing trying to fix your makeup, hovering over your face as your breath caught in your throat. Eyes growing wide at Matt's reflection, you watched as he pulled away from your ear, turning and grinning at you through the mirror.

“I know I'll certainly be paying attention to it for the rest of the night,” he said, grin growing wider.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #fftd

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