#because Matt is just SAYING THESE THINGS IN MY DRAFT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiarastromboli · 12 days

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𝕭𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖊𝖘

𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘺𝘯

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𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: smut, unprotected sex (DON’T DO THAT), alcohol consumption, mention of dangerous driving choking, adrenaline, mean!Matt, rough sex.

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a disappointing discovery in the middle of the night, y/n turns to her last resort to get home—her worst enemy, Matt. But things will take a different turn that night.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Sorry if the ending isn't amazing; I didn't know how to finish it. It's been sitting in my drafts for weeks.

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Here I am at my ex's place, again.

As if the four previous betrayals weren't enough, I had to fall back into his arms, again.

It was 3 a.m. We had just come back from a random party, and when he went to shower, I couldn't help but snoop through his phone.

It wasn't new; trust clearly never existed in our relationship, and I was too drunk to stop myself from going further.

Unsurprisingly, while snooping through his phone, I saw that he had continued talking to the girl he had cheated on me with the week before.

I thought he had truly changed this time and that tonight we would be able to have fun in bed! What a fool I was.

Tears didn't even come this time; I was too accustomed to this situation. I simply got up, silently grabbed my things, and grabbed a cheap bottle of vodka from his bar. What? I needed it more than him, and anyway, he probably won't miss it given its price! Then I stumbled out.

"Oh my fucking god!" I sighed as I took a big gulp from the vodka bottle.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket to order an Uber, only to realize that at this hour, the prices were exorbitant.

"Fuck!" I groaned, tossing my head back before straightening up and fixing my hair.

My heels were killing my feet, and my dress was far too revealing for me to hitchhike or even consider walking home.

I went through my contacts and called all my friends, more or less close, who had their driver's licenses, hoping that one of them would be awake. Of course, none of them were.

I took a deep breath, trying not to lose patience and throw my phone on the ground. What the fuck am I supposed to do right now??

I took another gulp; this time, I almost fell to the ground because of the amount of alcohol in my blood.

In reality, I had one option left, one person I didn't want to call. Matt.

I don't even know how I have his number in my phone; this guy is clearly the last person I want to talk to.

I turned back towards my ex's apartment for a moment, sarcastically thinking maybe it's not so bad anyway. It wouldn't be the first time I went straight back to him after he cheated on me.

Then my eyes returned to my screen, where it said ‘Matt’ in my contacts. I owe it to myself to have a little more respect than that.

I sighed before dialing the number; maybe he was sleeping too, maybe he wouldn't even answer, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't want to come pick me up.

I let the phone ring for a few seconds before telling myself that this was all ridiculous and hanging up.

Oh well, anyway, in both situations, I was dissatisfied, so I might as well turn to something I'm used to!

I started walking back towards his apartment when my phone started ringing.

I didn't waste a second to answer, hoping it was one of my friends who had seen my call, but of course, it wasn't.

"Why the fuck are you calling at 3 am, y/n," I heard Matt's raspy voice say, with the muffled sound of music behind him.

"I need you to do me a favor," I said, rolling my eyes, and he started laughing.

"Yeah, sure, bye," he began to say before I cut him off.

"No, Matt! Please, I'm serious!" I said, desperate.

I heard him sigh as if annoyed, but he didn't say anything more.

"Come on, you know I wouldn't have asked you if I had any other option, please," I added, biting my lip.

"It must be something really important for you to beg me like this," he said in a provocative tone, what an asshole.

"I'm not begging you, asshole," I said, getting annoyed. The insult came out on its own, and I can't even blame it on the alcohol because I really wanted to say it.

"Insult me one more time and I'll hang up. You're lucky I even had the decency to call you back," he said condescendingly.

I sighed, gosh, why did I call him?

"What do you want?" he added.

"I need you to come pick me up," I started to say before he burst into laughter.

"I'm busy right now, y/n, I'm not your damn taxi. Aren't you old enough to call an Uber?" he said.

"Do you see the time? It's way too expensive right now!" I complained.

"Well, that's not my problem, so figure it out!" he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. It must have pleased him to know I was in this situation.

"Matt, come on!" I said, grumbling.

"And what do I get out of it?" he replied.

"I don't know, whatever you want, I just want to go home!" I told him.

"God, you're really annoying, y/n," he said, sighing, and I smiled, understanding what that meant. "Where are you?"

"At Ben's," I replied.

"Y/n, are you fucking kidding me? He lives on the other side of town!" he said, getting annoyed.

"You're a fucking liar, Matt, you live barely 15 minutes from here!" I said, furrowing my brows.

"I told you I'm busy, I'm at a party. You're making me go out of my way to take you home!" he said, still angry.

"You know what, Matt? Go fuck yourself if you're going to leave a completely drunk girl in the street in the middle of the night," I snapped, furious, before hanging up. What a fucking asshole! I hate him so much!

I kicked a rock lying there, feeling anger bubbling up even more.

I brought the bottle to my lips again, this time taking three big swallows. If I had to go back to Ben's, I'd need a lot more alcohol than this.

I was about to start walking back to my ex's apartment when I felt my phone vibrate again. It was Matt, again.

"Matt—" I started to say before being cut off by his voice.

"Don't move from where you are, I'm coming," he said, sternly, before hanging up.

"I—" I started to say before realizing he had hung up, then I sighed.

Ultimately, I didn't even know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

I stumbled over to the bench across the street and sat down.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I sighed, looking up at the sky before taking another drink.

At this point, I'd even prefer to go into an alcohol-induced coma! It might sound exaggerated to you, but believe me, it's not!

As far back as I can remember, the relationship I had with Matt was contentious.

It all started in high school when I met Nick, who quickly became a close friend of mine. Then I met Chris and Matt, his brothers.

At first, everything seemed fine until Matt decided to start hating me overnight for no reason.

Anyway, since then, he became cold and distant, which really hurt me, especially since at that time, I had a crush on him. So, I quickly started to dislike him, and since then, nothing has changed; we've remained ‘best enemies.’

After waiting for about 30 minutes, I saw Matt arrive in his car and park right in front of me.

"I thought you were on the other side of town?" I said without moving from where I was.

"I hurried; I wasn't going to leave a drunk girl alone on the street," he replied, referencing what I had told him earlier.

"Mmhm, feeling guilty, huh?" I said with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up and get in the damn car, y/n," he said, getting annoyed.

"Fuck you," I said, squinting.

Let's just say the amount of alcohol I had consumed in the meantime hadn't made me any nicer.

"Okay, that's enough; figure it out yourself, y/n," he said, starting the car again.

"No! Okay, I'm kidding! God, you take everything too seriously!" I said, chuckling, and quickly got up to reach his car.

Once I reached the door, I tried to open it, but it was locked. "Matt, open up."

"Ask me nicely, and we'll see," he said.

"Don't be a pain; just unlock the door for me!" I said, continuing to try to open it.

He didn't say anything and simply crossed his arms, looking at me, waiting for my response.

I sighed before saying what he wanted to hear, "Please, Matt, open the door for me."

"See, wasn't that hard," he said with a smirk before unlocking the car.

I opened the door and got in.

"Nice accessory," he said judgmentally, referring to my half-empty bottle.

I just gave him a dark look.

"So, what is it this time? Wait, let me guess, he cheated on you again, right?" he said amused.

"Go fuck yourself, Matt," I said, crossing my arms and looking outside.

"It was with who this time, one of your friends again?" he said, chuckling, and I didn't respond.

"No, it's his neighbor, isn't it? He slept with his neighbor? What’s her name again?" he said with that damn smirk.

"Can you please start your fucking car? We're not going to stay here all night, damn it!" I snapped.

"Hmm," he simply hummed, starting the car. "Anyway, I'll end up finding out because you always end up crying in Nick's arms," he said, shrugging.

After that, I didn't want to open my mouth again; he had already annoyed me enough. I just kept my gaze out the window in silence, hoping the journey would pass quickly. And indeed, it was going to pass quickly considering the speed at which he was driving.

"Matt!" I said, gripping the handle of my door when he took a very tight turn at a dangerous speed.

He didn't respond. "You're drunk," I said, looking at him.

"I'm not," he replied without looking at me.

"Yes, you are," I said, frowning.

He didn't respond, so I continued, "You always drive like this when you're drunk."

"Y/n, I told you I was at a party. Yes, I had a drink or two; otherwise, I would never have agreed to come pick you up," he said, scoffing.

"That's bad," I said.

"What, because you're sober right now?" he said, laughing, looking at the bottle on my lap.

"But I'm not driving," I said, raising my voice.

"Can't you be a little grateful for once in your fucking life, y/n," he said, hitting his steering wheel.

I flinched when he did that and stayed speechless, looking at him.

"It's not like you had any other options, did you?" he said, looking at me sharply, then accelerating.

"Matt, you should keep your eyes on the road!" I said, starting to panic.

But for some reason, maybe it was the alcohol, but I couldn't help but find it exciting, this mix of adrenaline and anger. It was like a Molotov cocktail with alcohol added.

"Why, what's wrong?" he said, maintaining his speed, and I looked at him, not knowing what to say.

"Are you scared?" he said, smiling.

"Matt!" I yelled as we narrowly missed a car while passing it.

"Does it scare you?" he continued.

I felt the tears welling up; I was lost, I was scared, but I liked it.

"Answer me, y/n!" he said, accelerating even more, the situation becoming more than dangerous.

"Yes!" I screamed, closing my eyes. "Yes, I'm scared!" I said, feeling a tear run down before opening my eyes again.

"But you love it, look at you, you can't help but watch," he said amusedly.

His eyes slid over my thighs, which were pressed together, and it made him smile.

"You really like this, don't you?" he said, slowing down when we arrived in front of my house.

The adrenaline still hadn't subsided; it was too much for me. I broke down in tears before opening the door and quickly getting out of the car; I felt like I was suffocating.

He stayed in his car for a moment, seeming hesitant, but he eventually turned off the engine and got out.

I immediately started walking towards my house, and he followed me, shouting, "y/n! y/n, stop!"

I didn't listen to him and hurried to grab my keys. "y/n, I'm sorry! Please!" he said, running towards me.

I opened the door, and he reached my side at that moment. "y/n, come on—"

I turned around, and without thinking, I kissed him.

I had been dying to do it.

And even though it killed me to admit it, I had been dying to do it for so long.

He didn't disconnect our lips; on the contrary, he deepened our kiss, leading us into the house backward.

Our tongues battled for dominance for a long moment, our teeth clashing. Without paying attention, my back collided with the wall of my living room, causing me to groan in pain, which allowed him to win our dominance battle and slip his tongue into my mouth.

I quickly forgot the pain when he grabbed my throat with his hand and pressed the lower part of his body against mine.

His lips left mine to place open-mouthed kisses on my jawline while applying pressure on my neck to keep me pinned against the wall.

"I knew you'd like that. I wonder how wet you are right now," he whispered in my ear, making me sigh with pleasure.

It would have been weird if I weren't drunk, I mean, I’m making out in my living room with the guy I like the least on earth, and honestly, it seems even more exciting this way.

"Ouch, fuck!" I moaned when he dug his teeth into my neck to leave his mark.

He reconnected our lips in an even more ravenous kiss after that, and I rushed to remove his clothes, starting with his top.

I slid my hands down his stomach to his belt to remove it. I was about to take off his pants too, but I was caught off guard and distracted when he slid his hand between my legs to feel the wet spot on my panties.

"So fucking wet, I knew it," he said with a smile before starting to massage my clit through my panties.

I moaned and dropped my head against his chest when he slid his hand under my panties to make direct contact with my pussy, making me shiver and grab his arm for support.

He wasted no time inserting two fingers into me and massaging my clit with his thumb.

"Fuck," I whimpered against his chest at all this sudden stimulation.

"Look me in the eyes, y/n," he ordered, but I was so lost in my pleasure that I didn't respond.

He increased the pace and grabbed me by the throat with his free hand this time. "I told you to look me in the eyes when I fuck you with my finger, y/n," he said firmly, and I moaned at the force with which he squeezed my neck and the speed at which his other hand moved between my legs.

"Mmph," I whined, struggling to keep my eyes open, and he seemed to love it judging by the smirk on his lips.

"You're such a slut for letting me do all this to you when you claim to hate me every day," he said, pressing against my ear to degrade me, and it only turned me on even more.

My legs started to weaken, and I felt my orgasm approaching. Without meaning to, I clenched my legs around his hand.

"Keep your fucking legs open, slut," he ordered, tightening his grip around my throat.

"Matt, I'm going to come," I told him, my face contorted with intense pleasure.

"No, you're not," he said, removing his fingers from me and releasing his hold on my throat, causing me to almost fall forward and moan at the lack of stimulation.

I looked at him confused, and he knelt in front of me, slowly removing my panties without breaking eye contact.

He then began kissing the bottom of my thigh, slowly and gently moving up towards my pussy. "I want you to come on my face," he said before burying his head between my legs under my dress.

I gasped in surprise as he did so, gripping onto his hair before letting my head fall back against the wall behind me.

He circled my clit with his lips and immediately started sucking, causing me to cry out in pleasure. I was already extremely close to the edge, but I've always been very sensitive.

"Oh my god," I whispered, placing my hand over my mouth when I realized how loud I was moaning.

And it seemed to amuse him because I felt him chuckle between my legs.

He shook his head between my legs, teasing my sensitive clit with his tongue. Just the sight of his head like that under my dress was enough to push me over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to come, Matt, I—oh god," I moaned again, and he slightly lifted my dress to watch me. That was the last straw for me; when I saw his piercing blue eyes, I immediately came on his face, letting out a string of curses and moans.

He then straightened up, and I threw myself at him to kiss him.

He took a step forward, slamming me violently back against the wall, and it would be a lie to say that I didn't love it.

This time, uninterrupted, I ran my hand over his pants to feel him through his jeans.

And he intensified our kiss as I started unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper.

Then I separated our lips, and he looked at me confused.

I looked at him, biting my lip, and began to kneel down, but before my knees could reach the floor, he suddenly grabbed my throat, making me gasp in surprise. "Matt—" I struggled to say because he was squeezing so tightly that I couldn't breathe.

"I can't wait, y/n. I want to feel you around me now," he said, releasing my throat, and I took a breath.

"Do you have a condom?" he asked, moaning as I continued to feel him through his pants.

"No, but... I want it inside..." I said timidly, and he widened his eyes.

"Please, I—" I started to say before he grabbed me by the hips and turned me against the wall, making me sigh in surprise.

"You're going to make me come before you even touch me if you keep that up, baby," he said in my ear, starting to unzip my dress from behind, but it got caught in the seam.

He didn't seem to have much patience because right after that, he ripped my dress off my body, tearing it, and I sighed in surprise at the force of his action.

"Matt!" I said, still facing away from him but turning my head toward him, and I saw him smile.

"Oh, it's okay, darling, I'll buy you another one," he said, slapping my ass and leaving a kiss on my shoulder as he removed his pants and boxers.

He trailed his lips up to my neck, leaving hot kisses, all the while taking his member and rubbing it against my entrance, causing me to let out small moans.

"I'm going to fuck you so well that I promise to make you forget about your ex," he whispered as he gradually inserted his member into me.

My jaw dropped, and my brows immediately furrowed at the burning sensation; he was much larger than Ben, without a doubt. "Ngh—Matt," I moaned when he hit the depth.

"That's right, say my name, get used to screaming it because this definitely won't be the last time I fuck this pretty pussy," he said, groaning in turn before starting to move inside me.

He gripped my hips with his hands, digging his fingers into my skin, and when he began to pick up the pace, I arched even more, hungry to feel him even deeper inside me than he already was.

"Fuck, I knew your pussy would be perfect for me," he said, slapping my ass before thrusting a bit harder.

"God, Matt—Oh—" I cried out as he started hitting that sensitive spot inside me, making me see stars.

He chuckled at my moans before grabbing my hair to pull it and turn my head so I could look at him.

"You look so pretty just like that, all for me," he whispered before kissing me and wrapping his arms around my waist to hold me in place and go even faster.

Our kiss was really messy because he was fucking me so well that I struggled to concentrate and not moan.

"Fuck, I need to see your face!" he said, separating our lips and pulling out abruptly, making me moan at the lack of contact.

Before I could react or understand what was happening, he turned me to face him again before placing his hands behind my thighs to lift me up and insert his cock into me again, and I moaned at the new angle.

"I've never tried this position before; let's see how long we can hold it like this," he said, chuckling before resting my back against the wall behind me.

I chuckled too before wrapping my legs around his hips, and he resumed his pelvic movements, making me roll my eyes and let my head fall back, driven by my pleasure.

He took the opportunity to bury his head in my neck and kiss me, so I lost my hands in his hair, playing with it and pulling on it.

"You smell so fucking good," he whispered against the skin of my neck, and I moaned.

"Matt," I said in a high-pitched moan, and he looked up at me.

"Mh?" he said, continuing to abuse my pussy with his deep thrusts.

"MmmMmmh-" I hummed with my eyes closed, unable to form a coherent sentence due to the overwhelming pleasure engulfing me.

He licked his lips, chuckling, "I'm fucking you dumb, huh?" he said proudly, and I didn't respond, so he started thrusting harder and more brutally.

I opened my eyes, feeling my orgasm approaching, and lowered my head towards him, grabbing his face with both hands. My mouth was open, emitting only sinful moans.

His eyes locked with mine, and he realized what was happening, so he increased the pace even more.

"Matt!" I screamed louder than before.

"Come! I know you want to come for me, y/n!" he said breathlessly. I could feel him twitching inside me; he wasn't far behind.

"F-fuck! Mphh Matt-" I moaned before tightening my pussy around his cock and climaxing, dropping my head forward.

He grabbed my face with one hand to kiss me before he also climaxed after a few more thrusts.

He then rested his head on my shoulder without letting go of the back of my thighs, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We were both out of breath.

He gently let my feet touch the ground, and I kept my arms around his neck to support myself.

"Bath?" I asked him, smiling.

"Only if there's a second round," he said, chuckling before kissing me.

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#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #best enemies

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megthemewlingquim · 1 month

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love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. “Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader smut #daredevil #netflix daredevil #husband! matt murdock #wife!reader #smut #daredevil smut

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farfromstrange · 6 months

Text

6 Totally Random Matt Murdock Headcanons that keep me up at night

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Just some Matty headcanons today!

Warnings: Mentions of Smut! 18+ MINORS DNI! (Not proofread)

A/n: I was planning on writing a fic, but then I found this in my drafts and thought I would finish it. Yes, I did write those at three in the morning every time I woke up. That's...that's not unhealthy at all or anything.

1. Volume

Matt is a very vocal person in bed. I'm not talking full-on screaming though.

While there are times he is quiet to hear your breathy moans and whines as he’s pounding into you and he hears you begging for “More, more, more…” as soon as he feels you around his cock, it’s game over for him. He loses that tiny bit of self-control. He grunts and groans, and sometimes, when he feels particularly in the mood, he whines and whimpers because you treat him so well.

Don't even get me started on when he goes down on you. He will moan just from the taste of you, and then some more when your hands tangle in his hair, causing the slightest amount of pain. He thrives off of it.

He wants to show you how good you make him feel, not just the other way around, and ever since he has noticed that you like it when he makes noise, he makes sure to moan every so often when you're fucking or making love or simply enjoying each other's bodies in all the ways possible. He trusts you enough to do it, to let himself go and surrender himself, and you reward him for being a good boy.

2. Eating...

We have established that Matt Murdock is the King Of Eating Pussy. The love for giving oral runs deep, not just in his desire to please and never take anything in return. Not just because he wants to make you feel good. It's literal torture on his sensitive senses when he doesn't get to drown between your legs at least once.

It's his form of worshipping you, of praying to you in a highly blasphemous context when he thinks about the things you have moaned, but he would do it time and time again. He loves it. The taste alone gets him high and then it's all he focuses on. It calms him.

I truly believe that hearing your heartbeat, the blood rushing in the veins of your thighs, and the taste of your arousal mixed with pheromones do something to him that lets out some sort of animal whenever he smells you. And then he just needs to have you or he will go crazy. It's the same with your natural scent.

Matt Murdock gets off on the mere taste of his partner’s arousal. He can taste it in the air. He makes sure to make you come on his tongue at least once when you’re getting intimate, and not just as foreplay. He does it before, during, and after, depending on his and your mood. He knows what buttons to press, how hard to suck on your clit and he knows how to slide his tongue inside of you and fuck you with it until you’re shaking. He will keep your thighs spread wide and hold you down, but let you wrap your legs around his head and clench around him because he loves the momentary loss of oxygen.

3. Consent.

He will only ever touch you when he knows that you want it. He won’t fuck you when you’re not in the right mental state because he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. He makes sure to ask and communicate and when your answers are not clear, he stops the scene. He can hear it in your heartbeat and he would never cross that line, not even when he is horny and full of adrenaline in the middle of the night.

He would ask you for permission to fuck you when you're asleep, maybe, so he won't have to wake you when he comes home late from patrol, but even then he needs vocal confirmation beforehand to know he won't cross a line. So every night when he leaves, he asks if you'd still be okay with it, and after learning that he would be anything but mad when you say no, you give him the most honest answer.

4. Cuddles

When he has a bad day, he wants nothing more than to be held by you. Either he is the little spoon or, and that happens the most often, he places his head in your chest as you entangle your limbs with his and hold him close, raking your nails through his hair.

He relaxes when you massage his scalp, but he also enjoys your touch on his tense shoulders, and that's when he likes to be pampered like a little princess. Pampering, in this case, is cuddles. He wants all the cuddles you can give him.

It's nights like these that he realizes how in love he is with you, and how safe he feels when he's in your arms. But God forbid anyone finds that out. He will not admit that he enjoys being pampered by you because that would make him seem vulnerable, and we all know our dear Matthew, don't we?

5. Concerts

This came to me randomly, but since he has sensitive hearing, it would be hard for him to go to concerts with you. However, he will make sure to follow along to the venue, drop you off, and then I'm certain he would find a rooftop somewhere further in the distance, put some earbuds in to protect his sensitive ears, and he would listen.

He would filter your voice out of the crowd and imagine himself dancing to the music with you. He loves how excited you get when your favorite artist is playing. He knows you're aware of what he's doing, and you make sure to whisper, "Thank you," under your breath.

Listening to you have fun at a concert would also broaden Matt's horizons when it comes to music, and you would catch him playing your Playlist at home while cooking one day, humming along.

One of these days, you will find a way to take him there with you, but until then, he makes sure you at least know he's listening while you're having the time of your life.

6. Neck-holding

This doesn't need an explanation, but I will give it to you anyway.

Matt loves holding your neck, sexually and non-sexually. He loves feeling your pulse, the way you respond to him, and he loves how much closer you get whenever he does it.

He'd be like, "Come here, sweetheart." And you would jump into his lap, cuddling into him, while he holds you with one arm around the rest of your body, the other wrapping gently around your neck.

And in bed, you guys probably know how it would go.

Do you guys want a Part 2? Maybe some angst?

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock headcanons #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #matt murdock imagines #x reader #daredevil #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

same ⮕ m.s.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: swearing, crying, anxious thoughts, kissing

summary: nick gives you some much needed advice, and things don’t go according to plan

a/n: (part two to obviously) i wasn’t expecting the amount of love i got for obviously, and i was SO excited for this part two that i tried to get through all of my requests so i could focus on this. thank you, i had SO much fun writing this 💓 i hope i tagged everyone !!!

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

part one || part two

tags: @222-lia , @black-yn , @lvrsparadise , @gwenloremain , @athenalive , @mxriverse , @notmarnaa , @rainsoakedphoenix , @peter-knows-spiderman , @sunflowerchild27 , @strniolo , @jellybeanbby , @oneirophobic , @landryz , @umichlover , @ot5xhabit , @edensocool , @floofparker , @friedfirewagonhorse , @avamartino , @hoshhoshh

You didn’t answer the text.

You tried, you really did. You had ‘yes’ typed out and drafted, but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’d pick Nick up from the house, or he’d get an Uber, but you couldn’t step foot in there.

You’d never been one to run away from anything, especially when it could start conflict, but this was…uncharted territory. Matt didn’t text you again after that, but every time Nick saw you, he complained about how Matt was acting like a kicked puppy, and today was no exception.

“I just don’t understand why he’s moping around all the time.” He said, flopping down on your bed and groaning. You couldn’t take hiding this from him anymore, so you sighed and opened your phone, opening the text from Matt and showing Nick. He glanced over, his eyes scanning over the text for longer than it should have taken.

It was quite a few moments before he reacted, but after fully processing it, he shot up and whipped around to face you, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Why haven’t you answered him? It’s no wonder he’s all out of whack!” Nick exclaimed. You knew he didn’t mean it in a mean way, but it still felt like a jab to your chest. You groaned and grabbed a pillow, pulling it over your face to muffle your scream into it. You pulled it away and hugged it close to you.

“I don’t know! I can’t…I can’t bring myself to answer it. I want nothing more than to answer him. Like, if he feels the same way that’s great and we can go from there, but if he doesn’t but still wants to be friends, it’ll be awkward even when I do get over him and, fuck! I don’t know what to do.” You completely let everything out, all of the worry and stress and frustration towards yourself completely diminishing as tears pooled in your eyes and a choked sob left your lips.

The crazy thing was that you knew that your crying wasn’t because you were hurting or sad—it was just such a relief to finally get everything you’d been feeling off of your chest that your body reacted in the only way it could. Nick wasted no time as he pulled you into his arms and held you, letting you get it out of your system before saying anything else.

When the tears finally stopped and your breathing was even, Nick pulled away but kept his hands on your shoulders. His eyes were locked on yours, full of love and care.

“First, never hold anything in like that. I don’t care what the topic is, it’s not worth the pain of keeping it in.” He said, his voice soft but stern. You nodded and wiped at your cheeks. Nick sighed and looked down, pulling his hands to his lap and fidgeting with his fingers before he looked back up. “Second, you should talk to Matt. He’s the only person that can find a solution to this situation that will be good for the both of you. He is the one you should be telling your worries to, because he is the only other person that knows exactly how you are feeling.”

You loved and hated when Nick was right. You knew you could only avoid this without going completely insane for so long, and eventually you’d have to get over yourself and just talk to him, even if it didn’t go well. Regardless of the outcome, you grabbed your phone and finally sent the message, locking it and dropping your phone into your lap.

Nick’s smile was all of the reassurance you needed.

You’d been pacing in your bedroom since Nick left, each minute on your clock going up making your heart race that much faster. Matt had told you he was on his way ten minutes ago, which meant he should be walking into your apartment at any moment, and it was agonizing.

Waiting had never been your strong suit, and the torturously slow build up was the proof. You had decided against doing this a million times, telling yourself that he wasn’t coming and you should just text him nevermind, but then having to convince yourself that he was coming and that you needed to chill out. It was a vicious cycle.

The sound of him knocking on your door made your skin crawl, every atom in your body at attention as you walked through your apartment and hesitated before pulling the door open. Matt was standing there, his eyes darting from the floor to you when you gestured for him to come in. You led him to the couch and sat down, not a word spoken between you until you finally looked into his eyes and word vomited all over the place.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, and it’s okay.”

Matt sighed and looked down. “Y/n.” He said, but once you start you can't stop.

“I just don’t want you to feel awkward and there’s this weird tension around every time we’re in the same room.” You said, Matt looking up with his mouth agape.

“What? Y/n—”

You dropped your head and looked into your lap. “I just hate the thought of losing you in any way, I just want you to know that it’s fine and I can get over this so you don’t have to feel wei—”

You were cut off completely when your head was lifted and Matt’s lips were on yours. Both of his hands were cupping your cheeks, his thumbs resting on your cheekbones. It was over soon before you could process it, your eyes opening when he pulled away to see him looking at you sternly.

“Would you shut up for a second?” He said, his voice tinged with the slightest bit of amusement. You nodded once, your wide eyes watching his every movement.

“Now, I want to say that you ignoring me sucked.” He started. You opened your mouth to apologize, but the look on his face had you shutting it completely and waiting for him to finish. “Thank you. It sucked, but it’s okay. I’m just glad that we’re talking now.” He said.You nodded as he sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Now that it seems I’ve made my feelings clear, I have some questions for you.” You nodded again, not fully able to speak yet.

“So, you like me?” He asked. You sighed, nodding reluctantly for the third time. You’d answer the next question out loud, once your heart had left your throat. Matt nodded and looked down, his cheeks pink. “For how long?”

You thought for a moment before scoffing—you couldn’t think of a specific moment. “How long have we known each other?” You asked humorlessly, Matt smiling and lifting his head.

“Where do we go from here?” He asked. You were staring at the pillow separating the two of you, pinching at it and removing nonexistent pieces of lint. You had absolutely no idea. You’d told yourself that you had to convince him that it was okay if he didn’t feel the same so many times, that you didn’t even think about what would happen if he did.

“I don’t know.” You said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.

Matt was already watching you, his eyes soft and a faint smile on his lips. He hummed and pursed his lips, feigning being hard in thought. You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement as his face lit up.

“How about—we take it slow, and let things happen naturally? The only thing we know for certain is how we feel.” He suggested, your heart racing as you processed the possibilities. “And no overthinking, just go with the flow.” He said, your smile growing as you nodded.

“I can get down with that.”

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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heartofwritiing · 6 months

Text

home is wherever you are tonight

paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

summary: its your birthday, a day you dread every year due to bad memories, and wilbur manages to change your mindset.

authors note: this has been sitting in my drafts since march and i forgot about it oops. this is completely self indulgent. Ive dreaded my birthday for the past five years because of personal reasons… i thought maybe writing a non-shitty fake birthday would make me feel better so, it did lol. enjoy!! :)

warnings: self indulgent, mentions of childhood trama, negative past events, mentions of toxic family, fluff, Wilbur being the cutest-best boyfriend, hurt-comfort, yes the title is a lyric from a lizzy mcalpine song.. unedited!

The day had come. the day you dreaded every year for as long as you could remember. it was your birthday.

Most people would be elated about turning another year older, to celebrate but not you. Instead, it filled you with utter disinterest and resentment. To you, it was just another day on the calendar.

Ever since you could remember you’ve just hated your birthday. Each year just felt like they got worse and worse with the number of times You had been let down. Whether it was by family drama or people just forgetting. It was the same every year. So when you finally moved away from your toxic relatives you pretty much forget about it. Only remembering when you'd get a text from your parents to wish you a happy birthday. At least they remembered now that you were gone...

You were relieved when no one at work had brought it up. you never really talked to your coworkers about your personal life, you weren't that type of person. Still, you were grateful the only attention you got today was from one of your peers Matt, asking about the printer in the office not working right.

When you walked into your flat, what you weren’t expecting was too see your boyfriend standing near the door waiting for you.

“why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Wilbur asks in a slightly offended tone.

The front door hasn’t even shut yet and he’s caught you completely off guard with his question. Your heart drops in your stomach.

“hello to you too,” you snort, putting your bag down and sliding your jacket off. "And how'd you even know?" Avoiding the question. Cause that will make this better.

he sighs.

“Answer the question please, love,”

You’re toeing off the uncomfortable shoes you were required to wear at your job as you blankly bink back at him.

You can tell by the frowned expression on his face that he wasn’t just gonna let you drop this anytime soon. His arms are crossed over his sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his curls fall around his eyes.

“maybe because it's not a big deal,” you shrugged. Wilbur stops you with a hand on your shoulder before you can escape to your shared room. It wasn't forceful but gentle, his eyes asking you to stay, talk, anything. You just wanted to go to bed and sleep until your shift tomorrow and just forget about this whole day.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks. "I don't particularly like my birthday but still celebrate with friends, family, and loved ones."

There it was.

You wanted to avoid this.

"Look, I don't want to pressure you into talking about this, you can tell me when you're ready. I can tell how uncomfortable you got when I asked you outright why you didn't say anything about it being your birthday, I'm sorry..."

You could tell he was just confused and who could blame him. You had only been dating for about a year and finally moved in together last month. He didn't want to pressure you into anything you weren't ready for, which was one of the many things you adored about him. Always so patient and thoughtful about your feelings and well-being.

There was no avoiding it now as he asked the question. Your heart beating in your ears.

“Why don’t you like your birthday, love?”

“well…” you began, but you could feel the lump in your throat forming as you thought carefully how to put it. You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “I just, have a lot of trauma revolving around today,”

Wilbur has moved slowly towards you now, almost like you were a spooked animal and he was trying to calm you. He listened carefully as you spoke slowly.

“my parents fought a lot growing up, and even on my birthday they just didn’t seem to care, even for one day, so i mostly spent my birthdays alone.”

The look in his eyes says it all. He feels so heartbroken for you. You collapsed into his chest and he wrapped you in his arms, squeezing you firmly and you felt the weight in your chest fading.

"Well listen, I got you your favorite type of cake, a good bottle of wine, not that cheap shit, the really nice one we liked. we're gonna sit on the couch and eat, and you can tell me all about your day." he pauses only to bring your face out from his chest to look you in your eyes. "and then, we're gonna cuddle and I'm gonna tell you how much I love and appreciate you."

With that, he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs and kisses your nose softly. You swear that press of his lips was what made you cave. You began to break down in front of him.

Wilbur's hands seem to be the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. If he wasn't holding you, you were sure you would have fallen to your knees by now. You sob silently as you take his wrists in your hands but don't remove them from your cheeks. The intensity of the long work day and all the recurring memories this day brought you every year, combined with Wilbur's sweet gestures and words made you break.

You felt everything come down on you all at once, yet there Wilbur was, always waiting for you at the end of the day. Always there to comfort you and support you. So these weren’t sad tears no, they were happy tears. Finally, you found someone who cherished you and cared for you enough.

@trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @highstonedcat

#wilbur soot x reader #fanfiction #wilbur soot x fem!reader #cc!wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fanfiction #x reader #fluff #mcyt imagine #birthday fic 🥳#self insert

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ellephlox · 2 years

Text

Obstinacy

Summary: You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you because you don’t want him to get sick, too — the question is, how long can you keep him away?

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Some gross pneumonia descriptions, light swearing, nothing else!

A/N: So I’ve been away for awhile, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been trying to write my own book and I finished the second draft, so taking the time for fan fiction has been on the back burner lately. But of course with the RETURN OF OUR BELOVED KING on She-Hulk, I had to take the time to write something because IM STILL FREAKING OUT GUYS MATT IS BACK AND HES SO AMAZING AND HOT AND ALLSKJF LSDKFJLSKDJFLSDK

You felt the chest pain on your way home from work — the kind that arrived out of nowhere, as though it dropped from the sky into your lungs, and seriously made you wonder how colds were able to work that quickly.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t a cold. You kept your hopes up as you cooked dinner, testing your chest a few times with a few large intakes of breath, but each time was the same result: a small tickle in the back, like a little voice saying, Hey, I’m here, and you’re going to be miserable for the next couple of days!

Which really stunk, if you were being honest. It was getting towards mid-October and you were hoping to carve pumpkins with Matt or do some other corny autumn activity that every other normal couple did in the city. Not that you two weren’t normal. But other couples didn’t really have to contend with the whole I’ll-see-you-later-honey-after-I-beat-up-some-bad-guys-tonight, and you figured it must make movie nights a lot more frequent for most people than it did for you and Matt. That was another thing on your list, too — watching a horror movie to get into the Halloween spirit.

“I’m not into horror movies,” Matt had said when you’d pitched the idea to him. “Audio commentary kind of kills the whole scary aspect.”

“Then you’re watching the wrong movies. I don’t mean movies with gallons of blood and cheap jump scares. I mean psychological horrors, the kinds that make you stay awake at night because they’re that freaky. We’re doing it, Murdock, whether you want to or not.”

Whether you want to or not, however, didn’t include the extenuating circumstances of getting sick.

It took longer than usual to get up the stairs to your apartment. You felt so drained that you wouldn’t have minded showering and then crashing into bed, if you weren’t hungry. The wind rattled at your windows as you cooked a big pot of rice, enough to last the next few days. You’d bought fixings yesterday to make a homemade curry with it, but one look at your pantry and you scrapped those plans in exchange for half a jar of pesto with a dubious expiration date on it. Matt wasn’t supposed to be over until after seven in the evening, thanks to the unforgiving hours of lawyering, but you called him as you stirred the pesto in with the rice.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” he said. His voice was lighthearted.

“Hi,” you said, as casually as possible. “How was your day?”

“I officially reduced the pile of paperwork on my desk from ten inches high to eight inches high, so I’d call it a success. You at your place?”

“Yeah. Hey, I wanted to let you know that I think I’m coming down with something, so maybe you should stay at your own place tonight.” Before Matt could ask, you added, “I’m fine. Just one of the colds that’s going around. But I’d feel horrible if you got it.”

“What about the pumpkins?”

“Pumpkins can wait. I haven’t even bought them yet.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, and your stomach flipped. What a way to boost my self-esteem that he actually likes me. “How about we just don’t share sodas, then?”

You frowned. “Last time this happened, I told you to stay away from me and then you just ended up kissing me. The next day, lo and behold, you started coughing. So, no. Not happening.”

“You kissed me, if I remember correctly.”

“Excuse me? What kind of a lawyer are you? That’s gaslighting, sir.”

He continued, ignoring you. “Maybe I’ll just hear some suspicious noises coming from your apartment tonight. And then I’ll have to investigate, because it’s my civic duty as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. And when I see a beautiful girl, sitting on the couch and pathetically eating rice and pesto alone, I’ll just have to join her. Accidentally, of course.”

“What I’m interpreting from that is that you go cuddle up with any girl that you find eating alone in her apartment.”

“What I’m interpreting is that Matt says he’s doing all these dangerous things at night but really he’s just chilling out while enjoying the lavish praise of being a local superhero,” Foggy said, his voice distant in the background.

You snorted. “Am I on speakerphone?”

“No,” Foggy answered, sounding far too cheerful for someone working far beyond sunset. “Matt just keeps his phone volume weirdly high for someone who supposedly has super-hearing.”

“I do have super-hearing, Foggy.”

“Then how are you not shattering your eardrums? Between your phone volume and crashing at girls’ apartments to eat rice and pesto, I’m really doubting this whole Daredevil façade,” Foggy said.

“Anyway,” Matt cut in, “I’ll pop in tonight, just to bring over some food and meds. Do you want anything specific?”

“Matt, really. I don’t want you catching this. And it’s late, you should get home and actually get some sleep for once. I’m fine, it just feels like a cold.” You would have elaborated, but your chest decided to seize at that moment, and you had to trail off quickly before it became apparent in your voice.

He sort of listened to you that night. He had swung by (through the window? Or with the spare key you’d given him? There was no way to know) and dropped off food, but it was while you were asleep, and it looked as though he’d only gone into the kitchen then left.

You’d only found the food when you wandered in blearily at three in the morning, sweating and freezing at the same time. There was no point for the thermometer; a fever was obvious and you didn’t particularly care what the number was. The cough was worse, though. It made it hard to fall back asleep — every few seconds you’d feel as though your lungs were spasming, and the back of your throat felt as though it had been bitten by fire ants.

Sirens rang in the distance. You hoped it wasn’t for something Matt was involved in; not because you didn’t trust him to handle it, but because it was three in the morning and you’d kick his ass if he wasn’t sleeping at this point.

Then the headache hit you. Maybe you wouldn’t be kicking his ass anytime soon.

The pressure was enough to make you stumble into the counter as you rummaged for a glass of water. Everything about your arms felt off, as though your muscles had been crushed into powder, and you misjudged your grasp on the glass. It fell, crashing to the floor and skating outwards like a nebula of knives. Automatically you reached for the paper towels, and in your haze you stepped forward.

Barefooted.

Glass crunched under your foot and you swore, not at the pain but at your own stupidity. It took another half an hour to bandage up the bottom of your foot and at that point you were too exhausted to finish cleaning up the glass.

When you woke up next, sun was filtering through your curtains and your mouth was as dry as though you’d swallowed ten cotton swabs. Dazed, you picked up your phone, and squinted at the notifications; one missed call from Matt and a followup text. Quickly you sent him an I’m okay message and then fell back onto your pillow.

The fever felt worse. Goosebumps ran up and down your legs, but you were simultaneously sweaty under your sheets, so you threw them off to go shower. Only then did you remember the glass you’d stepped on because your foot protested angrily as soon as you placed it onto the carpet.

Hopping was the only option remaining, and that expended just about every ounce of energy you’d garnered while sleeping, so that you just about collapsed against the bathroom wall, wheezing, by the time you’d made it. And of course that was when your phone rang, so you hopped back to your room, and barely made it in time before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?” you croaked.

“That’s all I need to hear. I’m coming over.”

“I... what?”

“Yeah. You sound terrible, Y/N.” Matt’s voice was overly concerned, and you didn’t like it at all; you could practically feel the pity coming off of him. At least, it felt like pity. And that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Matt, not only will I personally make you rue the day that you step foot in here while I’m sick, but—” You broke off, coughing, and wincing at the same time because you could imagine Matt’s expression on the other end.

“I don’t like talking to you over the phone,” he said in a low voice. “I hate not hearing your heartbeat, hearing your lungs, feeling your temperature. You’re being overruled. I’m coming.”

“Don’t you have to be at the court today?”

“Not until ten.”

Defeated, you flung the phone on the other side of the room. That conversation sucked out everything you had, and you gave up on the idea of taking a shower. The bed looked much more comfortable. It didn’t help that your breaths were getting alarmingly short, and it was difficult to draw in anything more than a quick inhale. Your eyes were closed for about five seconds before they popped back open.

Matt was coming. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You went to the windows and locked them all, then crossed to the front door. He had a spare key, but you also had a bolt, and you slid it across, feeling somewhat proud of yourself for having made the trek to the entryway. The bar is very, very low at this point.

You’d run a marathon right now before letting Matt get anywhere near you. That resolve was the only thing penetrating the fog around your head, and you double-checked the windows again. It wasn’t as though he’d be leaping and climbing up to them, anyway; he was coming from the office, and would therefore be in his lawyer suit. With the number of people down on the streets and the broad daylight, Matt would be hard-pressed to make it up to your fire escape without the newspaper headline being BLIND ACROBAT BREAKING AND ENTERING IN HELL’S KITCHEN the next day.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Matt was outside your door, and his sharp rap on the door did nothing to make you move. You sat at the counter, sipping on some water, and shook your head. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Y/N, I can hear the crackling in your lungs,” he said, his patience more intact than you would have expected. He thinks he’s going to win.

“My lungs aren’t crackling. They’re just... not feeling so hot.” Now overly-conscious of your breathing, you tried to make your breaths smoother and less obviously sick.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “You’ve got too fast of a heartbeat. Unlock the bolt or I’ll kick the door down.”

“Yeah, my heart’s racing, because there’s a man threatening to kick my door down,” you said, and feeling inspired, you clicked the on button of the remote next to you. The television flashed to life, showing the weather report, and you turned the volume up. Take that, Matt. “See? No more lung crackling or racing heartbeats.”

The only issue was that now you could hardly hear him. You barely made out his next sentence, it was so faint on the other side of the door. “I can still hear both, you know,” he said, muffled. “You know how many televisions there are in the average block of apartments that I have to filter out every single night?”

“Shit.” You shut the television off. “Listen away, then. It’s not going to change anything because I’m not letting you in.”

“I wasn’t kidding about kicking the door down.”

"And I’m not kidding about not letting you in. Plus, you’d have some tough questions to answer when my neighbors report you for kicking down my door, Devil Man.”

“Why won’t you accept help when you need it? You really need a doctor.”

“Hypocrite,” you said under your breath, relishing the fact that he could hear you.

“I can hear you.” Just as you’d expected. “And what I do is irrelevant to the fact that you’re currently sitting in your apartment with what’s probably pneumonia.”

“Oh, it’s not pneumonia,” you said dismissively, though you felt awful enough that he was probably right. At least, your lungs seemed to concur with that diagnosis, and as if to verbally agree with him you coughed, wheezing and choking for air.

“If I didn’t have to be at the court in half an hour, I’d go home and get into the suit just to have an excuse to come through your window right now.” Matt was pissed, that was for sure. There was a dangerous undertone to his voice, softened only by that ever-present concern in what he was saying.

“I know, Matt.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s a lost cause, alright? Tomorrow I’ll be feeling a lot better and then maybe — maybe — I’ll let you come in. And that’s if we keep all the windows open for fresh air and—”

“Why do I smell your blood?”

You glanced down at your foot. Traitor. It had stopped bleeding ages ago, but you should’ve changed the bandage again one more time before Matt showed up. “I’m... doing acupuncture. On myself.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine. I made a blood oath and pricked my thumb to assure myself that I will never, ever let you catch a sickness from me.”

“In ten seconds this door is coming down unless you tell me. And if you could hear my heartbeat, you’d know I’m not lying.”

“Fine! I just stepped on some glass, okay? But my foot is fine, it’s seen worse days. I mean, you should’ve seen that time that I got a pedicure and the lady told me my heels were the most cracked she’d seen in a long time.” You were rambling, and that wasn’t a good idea, because it made you lose your breath and then you were gasping for air.

After another five minutes of arguing that ended only when you swore to call the doctor if you got any worse, he left, grumbling that Foggy would kill both of you if he was late for court, and that was the only reason he was giving up — “temporarily”.

Only when it was too late did you realize that was a mistake, and that you should have let him help.

It was past two in the afternoon when you woke up from a nap, and every muscle in your body felt as though it were frozen. You were trembling slightly from the cold, but couldn’t muster the energy to even sit up and grab the blanket at the foot of your bed. It was difficult to swallow, and you clutched at your throat, certain that someone must be standing over you and clasping their hands around your neck, but there was no one there.

“Matt,” you whispered, expecting him to be there, or to hear you, but there was no one. Taking slow breaths, you tried to calm down on your own. One, two, three. One, two, three. All you could manage were short, raspy breaths that hardly got enough air, and your head pounded. Blindly you reached out for your glass of water, and nearly dropped it again, your hands were shaking so much. The feeling of your lips against the rim was like pressing a dried sponge to the edge of a bowl and the water tasted sour in your mouth.

And then you tried swallowing. It was as though someone had blocked up your throat, because you couldn’t swallow, and you gasped, heart racing as panic flooded through you; for a moment you couldn’t breathe and then you finally coughed up the water, chest heaving from the sharpness of each cough. You grabbed a tissue, hacking into it for at least another thirty seconds, and finally a glob of mucus came up and your airway cleared up just enough that you could breathe a bit more.

You almost tossed the tissue to the floor without looking at it, but a flash of red caught your eye.

Blood. In the mucus.

That was the tipping point for you. Didn’t people die shortly after coughing up blood in the movies? That was how it went. A character coughs, looks into their hand, and then resignedly tucks it away without the other characters seeing. It was like the knoll of death, ringing in your ears.

You hardly knew what you were doing as you dialed Matt’s number, not even thinking about what you were tapping into your phone but allowing muscle memory to guide you.

“Hello?” He picked up almost immediately.

“Matt—” You started to speak his name, but halted; it was too painful. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you started over. “Matt, I think I need you here.”

“What? What is it?”

“I’m—” You glanced down at the tissue. Literally dying here? That was a surefire way to make Matt have a heart attack. “I’m not doing so well. I might take you up on your offer to help.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be over in five minutes. Did you call the doctor already?”

“No.” The thought of calling the doctor was exhausting on its own.

Matt seemed to notice that. “I’ll call,” he assured you. “Can you breathe alright?”

“Not really.” Tears were spiking in your eyes and you brushed them away. “I just coughed and... there was some blood in it.” You wheezed for breath, the drawing in of air rattling everything inside of you and getting caught at the top of your throat.

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“But—”

“No, sweetheart. You need a real doctor. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Somehow you must have fallen asleep again, because Matt was lifting you from the bed and you wrapped your arms around him. “Can’t breathe,” you whispered, gasping for breath.

“I know. I can hear your lungs,” Matt said, voice strained. “I’ve got a cab waiting on the street. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“I... I can walk.” You slung an arm around him and made your way slowly out of the room, limping with every step on your bandaged foot. Matt, to his credit, allowed you to do what you could. His tie was loosened and his suit jacket was gone, but he still wore a button-down, tucked into his pants.

“Bet you won your case, then,” you whispered, hardly even aware of what was coming out of your mouth. “No one can... say no to this.”

“This?”

“Hm. This.” You meant to nod up and down at Matt, but it came across as more of a head shake. “You.”

And then your assertion that you could walk proved difficult to fulfill, so you redirected your efforts to not face-planting in your living room, despite the strong, steady hands Matt kept on you the entire time. Once you reached your stairs he took over for the most part; your feet were hardly touching the ground with the amount of support he was giving.

That was where your memory cut out. You must have passed out, because the next time you opened your eyes, it was in the hospital bed, and Matt was reading next to you, his long gaze fixed on the wall in front of him as his fingers danced over the text.

“Hi,” you whispered lamely. Everything about you was groggy and it was hard enough just to focus on him.

Him. Only he could look handsome in a hospital. At some point he’d exchanged the suit for a tee shirt and sweats, and his hair stuck out at every angle possible. You wondered vaguely if he’d come from Fogwell’s.

He set the book down, relief evident on his face. “Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?”

You ignored his question. “How do you always manage to look good?”

He nudged you. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“That’s... the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Even if you weren’t blind, it’d be a lie.” You closed your eyes, then opened them again. The ceiling was too white. “What happened?”

"Aspiration pneumonia.”

“Hm?”

“You have aspiration pneumonia,” he said. “Which just happens to be a type of pneumonia that’s not contagious.”

You meditated on this. “So?”

“So you could’ve let me into your apartment, that whole time,” he said, looking distinctly indignant, and it was enough to make you laugh. The laugh was short-lived, because it quickly transformed into a wracking cough that made your entire chest throb, but Matt was on his feet in an instant, holding your hand.

Only when the coughing stopped did you remember the bolt on your door. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get in?”

“Broke down the door, like I promised.”

“Are... are you serious? What about the neighbors?”

He laughed. “You know, breaking down a door isn’t incriminating evidence that I’m Daredevil. I told them you were having an emergency, and when they saw you, they believed me.”

“They saw me?” You didn’t remember an audience when Matt was helping you out of the apartment.

“Well, you were taking your sweet time on the stairs, and coughing loudly enough for anyone in a mile radius to hear you, so yeah, they wanted to see what was happening.”

You buried your face in your hands. “That’s just great. And now, what, is my apartment wide open for anyone to go in?”

“No, I called in a favor with Foggy, and he’s hanging out there until someone can come in and fix it.”

“Even better. Now I’m indebted to Foggy.”

Matt smiled coyly. “Oh, and I should mention—”

“Oh, no. What?”

“—that there’s something else you’ll love about all of this.”

“Stop smiling like that. Why are you smiling like that?”

“Aspiration pneumonia is commonly associated with the institutionalized elderly. In other words, it’s a nursing home problem.”

“A nursing home problem?”

“A nursing home problem,” he confirmed. “I was thinking that maybe for your next birthday I could get you fitted for dentures.”

“Hilarious. Really, so funny. You really should have been a comedian. I swear to you that the next time you get sick, I’m going to make fun of you and you’ll never hear the end of it. Got it?”

He grinned and squeezed your hand. “Murdocks don’t get sick.”

“That is the second biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I seem to recall that time you projectile-vomited off of the Ferris wheel.”

“Because I was motion-sick, not sick-sick.”

Your eyelids were already getting heavy just from the five-minute conversation. You beckoned him closer and leaned onto his shoulder, pressing yourself into his warmth. He smelled like fresh deodorant and coffee. “Pumpkin carving as soon as I can leave?”

“Definitely,” he said, placing your fingers onto the pulse that drummed under his wrist. “And this time, I’m not lying.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #Daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #MCU #hurt/comfort #reader #reader insert

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strniohoeee · 5 months

Text

Broken

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is depressed, and Matt takes notice to her behavior. Matt being the good friend he is he tries to get her out of her funk, but will it work?🫂

Warnings⚠️: None just mentions of depression. This was a request but Tumblrs being a munch and not letting me add it

Song for the imagine: hope ur ok- Olivia Rodrigo

But, God, I hope that you’re happier today

Cause I love you

And I hope that you’re okay

It’s been getting worse. I hate this feeling, this darkness that consumes me. I wanted nothing more than to feel okay. I hate the way my depression swallowed me whole and made me want to disappear from the face of the earth.

I just wanted to feel okay, I wanted to feel normal and not drained. I know my friends were getting annoyed with me. I would slip into these phases of not wanting to talk to them, see them, go out with them. I mean I could barely get out of my bed to do anything. Often skipping meals and not drinking water. I would just sleep all fucking day and cry when I was awake.

I was fortunate enough to be an influencer, so I didn’t have to worry about actually getting up to work. I posted YouTube drafts and TikTok drafts. It worked for a while, but people started to catch on, and were wondering where I went. I couldn’t even be honest and come out and say I was so depressed I couldn’t even sit up in my bed.

The one person who noticed the fastest was Matt. Randomly one day he started texting me wondering how I was doing, what I was doing, if I wanted to hang out with him and his brothers, if I wanted to join them for dinner, if I wanted to film a video with them. I appreciated it truly, but I also kept lying to him. Telling him that I was busy or I had plans, or I was filming. I could not allow anyone to see me this way. I mean I didn’t even want to see myself this way…..

Matt had put me in a groupchat with Chris and Nick, and honestly it was making me feel better. They kept my mind off of things by constantly making me laugh. I mean they would text from 10AM till 2AM every single day.

The blue eyed freaks🧿🧿

-Y/N can you pleaseeeeee come hang out with us we haven’t seen you in like two months- Chris

-Idkkkk -me

-plzzzzz like you never hangout with us anymore-Nick

-yeah I’ve just been busy-me

-busy??? Yeah right not busy enough to not hang out with us- Chris

-hey if she doesn’t want to hangout don’t force her, but we do miss you and would love to see you-Matt

-thanks Matt🖤-me

-booooo boring come over now, or I’ll come pick you up-Chris

-you can’t even drive Chris-me

-okay….ill get matt to drive me to come pick you up-Chris

-fineeeeee okay fine I’ll be over in a hour-me

-FUCKKKKK FINALLY OMG YES- Chris

-see yall soon<3-me

I had gotten up and decided to shower, washing my hair and just really try to clear my mind, and enjoy the fact that I’m getting to see my friends again. I hadn’t been out of my house in a good month, and this was giving me major anxiety.

I felt like once they’d see me they would know I haven’t been okay, and that’s something that scared me. I had to seem okay. I was never the one who broke down… ever.

I hadn’t finished getting ready. At first I wanted to put on some makeup to hide my dark eyes, but I decided against it because I really wasn’t in the mood. I headed out, and drove to the triplets house. When I got there Matt texted me letting me know that the door was unlocked and to meet them in his room.

I let myself in and walked to Matt’s room.

“Y/N” Chris yelled coming over and hugging me

“Hi guys” I said laughing

“She’s aliveeee” Nick said hugging me

“How have you guys been?” I asked plopping myself down on Matt’s bed with them

“We’ve been good, just filming honestly” Matt said

“Nice that’s always fun” I said

“I love it so much truly, but how have you been?” Nick asked

“I’ve been good, you know. Just uhhh been busy” I said lying straight through my teeth

“Nice, what have you been doing” Matt asked

“Oh you know just filming and editing and just going out with some of my other friends” I said

“I love your hair color by the way, when did you dye it red?” Chris asked me

“Oh like two months ago I need to get my roots done actually” I said running my hands through my hair

“Two months ago? I thought this was recent all your TikTok’s and YouTube videos your hair was black” Matt said looking at me suspiciously

“Oh uhhh” was all I could manage because I knew Matt was onto me

“Okay anyways I’m hungry” Chris said breaking the awkwardness

“Me too” Nick said

“McDonald’s?” Chris asked

“Fuck yes” Matt responded

“Okay Matt can you pick it up for us” Chris said pleading

“Uhhh I guess i have too since yall can’t drive” he said rolling his eyes

“I can drive” I said smiling

“Yayyyy this is why I love you” Chris said

“I’ll mobile order it so it’s less stressful” Nick said

They all put in their orders, and they handed the phone to me. My anxiety making me nauseous and not really in the mood to eat

“Oh I don’t think I’m going to get anything” I said

“WHAT? McDonald’s is your favorite” Nick said

“Uhh yeah I’m just not in the mood” I said

“Do you want something else?” Matt asked

“No I’m not hungry” I said looking at him

Matt nodded before taking the phone, messing with it f and then handing it to Nick.

“Alright let’s head out” I said

“Nick and I want to stay back y’all can go though” Chris said

“Sneaky fucks” Matt said laughing

Matt and I had gotten into my car heading over to the McDonalds

“What’s really going on?” Matt asked

“What do you mean?” I asked glancing over at him

“I know you’re not okay” he said looking at me

“Matt I’m fine” I said

“No you’re not. Your eyes…..I can tell that you’re sad” he said

“I’m just tired is all” I said swallowing thickly

“Y/N be honest…are you okay?” He asked reading my face for an answer

My lip quivered, and a lump formed in my throat. Nobody has asked me if I was okay.

“No” I whispered out in a croak

“Talk to me” he said sitting up

“I just don't know. I’ve been so depressed lately. I haven’t been able to get out of my bed. I’ve just been posting drafts because I can’t even get up to film. I can’t even get up to drink or eat anything. I miss my parents, I miss home and I just feel so alone. You were the first person to text me, and you have helped me a lot actually. You inviting me over was the first thing I have done in a month” I said letting a tear fall

“I’m so sorry you feel that way. I love you so fucking much, and I knew something was wrong that’s why I reached out. I care for you so much, and I don’t want you to struggle alone. I’m here for you” he said looking at me with saddened eyes

“I appreciate it Matt truly. You’re amazing” I said looking over at him and smiling weakly

“Never allow yourself to struggle alone okay. Please reach out to me or Nick or even Chris as crazy as that seems. We will always be here for you….always” he said

“I will. I just was fighting with myself for so long I couldn’t reach out for help” I said wiping my tears

“And that’s okay. No ones pressuring you to reach out, but know that the option is there. I would never turn you away. You know I’ll come flying to you in a heartbeat” he said nudging my shoulder

“I know Matt. I love you so much thank you for being here for me” I said nudging him back

“Also I got you your favorite from McDonald’s. I’m making sure you eat. I can tell you haven’t eaten. I can see it in your face” he said

“Thank you Matt what would I do without you” I said smiling at him

“I’m not sure actually” he said

“Don’t get too cocky” I said pointing my finger at him

We laughed, and I pulled up to the drive thru. We got our food, and we headed back home

We got back to their house, and started to eat in the kitchen. Laughing and catching up. Matt occasionally looking over at me, giving me reassuring smiles and glances.

I spent the night at their house, and I slept in Matt’s room. We watched my favorite childhood movies as he kept asking me if I was okay, and taking small glances at me.

Eventually we ended up falling asleep.

What would I do without Matt?

The End

This was a request, but Tumblr is actually being a dickrider so it wasn’t letting me put it with my story. But anywho I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines

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morsesnotes · 3 months

Text

JACE LACOB: The final shot of “Apollo” might just be my favorite. Morse in his car listening to the moon landing on the radio, in front of the Radcliffe Camera, the moon overhead. There’s just this sense of innate, intense loneliness and isolation embedded in the single image. What was the idea for this shot composition?

SHAUN EVANS: Exactly that, to be honest with you. Going back to the film director I was talking about, Tsai Ming-liang, I remember reading an article with him—he was saying…that “people who like my movies are the same people who like to look at the moon,” and I thought, God, that’s interesting. And I don’t know if anyone can relate to this, but I frequently look at the moon, and there’s a sense of that weird feeling that you can’t put your finger on, of being a part of something but also being separate from something, because it makes you feel tiny. And I suppose that’s what I wanted, really. I think it’s helped enormously by the music, which was not difficult, but took us a while—it was kind of easy because Matt [Matthew Slater] is a brilliant composer. I just wanted everything stripped away, so you just have one thing, one note on a piano, which is painful. And it makes you think you know you got the Thursday family at home doing their thing, and of course things aren’t great, but they have each other. And then, you have this person alone, in the car, in Oxford, lonelier than the man on the moon. Because that’s his fate. That’s what I was trying to do with it.

LACOB: Was that shot as scripted? I seem to remember Morse asleep in the back of the police car in at least one draft of Russell’s script for this.

EVANS: Yeah, there were a few: that he’s in the station house, and then he’s sleeping in his car because he can’t bear being in the station house. Two things really, two reasons why that changed: the time of the landing, he likely wouldn’t have been asleep at 8 o’clock (or whatever time, I can’t remember specifically, now). So that was problematic. Also to get the shot that I wanted, it would have been tricky to have me asleep in the back of the car and or in the front of the car. Also, again, it’s about being clear about what you’re trying to achieve, right? I want to achieve exactly what I’ve said, and exactly what you’ve picked up on. What I didn’t want is for it to end, and for people to go “Why is he asleep in the back of his car?” You know what I mean? But to be, hopefully, moved by the moment. So we spoke about it and decided to make the change.

Shaun Evans on Directing Apollo, PBS Masterpiece

#endeavour #itv endeavour #endeavour morse #endeavour: apollo #shaun evans #i love reading stuff like this #lonelier than the man on the moon </3 #apollo #pbs

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cherriesformatt · 2 months

Text

maneater || matt sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: he wish he never met you at all

warnings: slightly smut, broken heart, taking advantages, drinking, drugs, parties, alcohol

word count: 906

a/n: after watching Tara’s collab with Vinnie I finally finished this draft I had sitting here for a while. I don't think so I like it but I will let you judge.

🍒

The music in the house was so loud that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. Me and my friends ended up in some kind of influencers house party. As we would every weekend for free buzz and drugs.

I knew he is going to be here. He would because he knew I am going to be here. I didn't care that much to find him because he always find me first.

I knew that he liked me. He was sweet, don't get me wrong. But he just wasn't for me and I wasn't looking for anyone at the moment. But the thought that he came to every party just to see me even if he despised attending them. Poor boy. But I just wanted him all for myself every time.

I had some shots with some people I met for the first time. I also did say hello and smoked with Jett and Vinnie. That was their house. I still don't know how Sofie manage to became friends with Vinnie Hacker but I did not care too much. Their parties were really good and people always had good shit here.

The moment my body was moving to the music in the middle of the giant living room I felt his piercing blue eyes on me. Dancing made alcohol kind of evaporate from my body.

"Matthew…" I said when I felt arms around me.

I smiled when smell of his nice cologne came to my senses. His big hands rested on my hips and he gently kissed my neck.

"Do you have anything for me?" I asked turning around to face him. He didn't do drugs. But I did and he knew that sometimes they worked magic for us.

"Open your mouth pretty girl…" He said and I did as he said.

He placed small, pink, round drug on my tongue. I looked him in the eyes while I swallow it and turned around and started dancing close to his body. He looked great. He had black pants and black long sleeve shirt with his rings and chain. He just does something to me when he wears all black.

I was as well wearing black. The mini dress that he sent me this week with flowers and expensive wine. I never asked for any of that but I might have an opinion around town. And who I am going to be to deny all of that.

I wish I liked him the same way he liked me. But I didn't. He was a great guy, he had everything. Money, looks, skills. Oh…his fingers and mouth worked magic. But I just couldn't help that I did not like him more than a friend. I was broken. I felt like I should just end stuff with him. Every time I told my self it is going to be the last time. But I just simply couldn't resist him. His brothers hated my guts. I never actually spoke with them buy I knew. I knew from how they all looked at me.

When we danced I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"What's new Matty B?" I asked and smiled.

I felt that the drugs were starting to hit because when I looked at his eyes I released how much I craved him.

"I've been busy but I was looking forward to see you today…" He answered.

I smiled even bigger and took his hand in mine and dragged him away from the crowd.

As soon as we had some privacy I pinned his body to the wall and kissed him. He was a little surprised but he quickly moved us so my back was hitting the wall and he's fingers tightened on my hips. Because of course he needed to be the one in control.

I tangled my hand into his hair pulling him even closer to me. He was a great kisser. He made my heat up just by this simple thing.

"Let's go…" He pulled away from me and he lead me out to his car.

The drive was short. He took me to some house. It was very fancy.

"I rented it for the nigh…" He looked at me and my eyed widened.

"Matt you're the best" I said and jumped out of the car.

"Everything for my girl"

My girl..

We came inside and the house was very modern. The fire place was on and music was playing from the speakers. My favorite music.

Champagne was cooling in ice and right next to it were chocolate covered strawberries and roses. Also my favorites.

He pulled me close to him and kissed me again. I let him do everything he wanted.

I let him fed me the strawberries and drink champagne from my body. I left him go as many times as he wanted to the point that I couldn't speak or walk. I let him run us a bath and lay me in bed next to him. I let him kissed me goodnight because I knew it was also a kiss goodbye. But he didn't know.

Maybe I was a maneater. I did take a lot from that boy. But I wasn't worth him. He was too good to be true and I already broke his heart many times.

When he woke up next morning I wasn't there. And I made sure I would never see those beautiful ocean eyes ever again.

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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midnightsnyx · 8 months

Note

that angst 😭 could write a part two where reader calls back a few weeks later to see if there’s a chance or something but another girl answers the phone? 😳

original prompt here. i freaking loved this idea and it's been in my drafts unfinished forever but i finally finished it. hope u like it <3 requests are open!

The funny thing is that you know what Taryn’s voice sounds like. You know it like the back of your hand because in the 4 years you and Matt had been together, Taryn became like a sister to you.

Except, you panicked the moment you called Matt back a couple weeks after his drunk call and hung up as soon as you heard a female voice because you can’t. You can’t handle having your heart broken again, just because Matt drunk dialed you and you were dumb enough to call him back. So you ignored when he called you back an hour later, when he called you that night and ignored all the texts he sent, not even bothering to open them.

It’s not until 2 in the morning while you’re laying in bed unable to sleep because there’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind wondering why that voice sounded so damn familiar that you open Matt’s texts.

From Matty: hey call me back plz

From Matty: taryn answered my phone cuz she’s visiting with mom.

From Matty: i’m only speculating why u hung up as soon as she answered

From Matty: is it cuz u thought it was a random girl?

From Matty: sry taryn said that sounds bad

From Matty: plz call me. taryn wants to talk to u too but she doesn’t want to bother you

From Matty: sry she told me to stop blowing up ur phone. I understand if u don’t want to call me back and i'm sorry 4 drunk dialing u. I’ll leave u alone now

You can’t help but smile at the string of text messages. Matt was always bad for sending multiple texts instead of just sending what he wanted to say in one text. It’s kind of comforting to see that hasn’t changed.

You start to write a message, but pause, unsure what exactly to say. It’s too late in the night to call him although you’re certain he would answer it if he saw your number despite what time it is. But, he has a game tomorrow, and you don’t want to interrupt his sleep so you settle on sending a text message.

To Matty: hey

30 seconds later, your phone rings.

Matt.

You hesitate, only for a moment before answering the call.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hey,” he replies, a little breathlessly, like he didn’t think you would answer. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

Neither did I, you think to yourself.

Instead you say, “well, I did call you first.”

He chuckles at that and you realize how much you missed that sound. It makes you want to cry a little.

“Yeah, there was a little miscommunication, I guess. Taryn felt bad, she’ll probably call you tomorrow… if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” You’d never say no to talking to Taryn, especially if she’s feeling bad for something that’s not her fault.

Another pause and then: “why did you call me?”

The thing is, you weren’t going to call him but an opportunity arose that gives you the chance to move near him but you didn’t want to make any assumptions considering he was drunk when he called and told you he missed you.

“I got a job offer at a Firm in Fort Lauderdale and I wasn’t going to take it, but then you called and I thought,” you pause, realizing you’re rambling. “Well, I thought maybe the reason you called wasn’t just because you were drunk.”

He hasn’t said anything so you take a deep breath. “Look, I - we can’t just pick up where we left off but I thought, maybe this could be a refresh button.”

He’s been quiet too long that you’re starting to panic when he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in.

“You’d really move out here?” he asks quietly, probably remembering the last argument the two of you had that essentially ended your relationship.

“It’s a good job opportunity… and I miss you too,” you admit.

It’s a risk, taking the job and moving to another country, leaving everything you know here in Calgary. It’s a leap of faith and you can’t help but wonder what will happen if it doesn’t work out but when you arrive at the airport in Fort Lauderdale and see Matt’s smiling face waiting, you begin to think about what will happen if it does work out.

#hockey imagines #allies writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #allie answers #hockey imagine #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk blurb #matthew tkachuk x reader

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty six - you bring me home

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content minors dni! (car sex lmaooo, mxf nothing you haven’t seen before, its pretty sweet <3) swearing, canon typical violence, mention of scars, injuries, blood, literally packed everything into this chapter its a big one

a/n: wow. this was so rough oh my god. the entire first draft deleted itself and i had to re write the whole thing from memory, so i lost my planned chapter. i really hope i got everything in here, and im sorry for the wait AND how long it is lmao but i just. can’t believe i really finished it. ill rant at the end, but if you only read this part, i love you. thank you for letting me share the absolute vomit that is my brain. you are the best.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How was the drive?” Franks voice sends a shiver down your spine, even hundreds of miles away through a crappy phone line.

“Boring.” You sigh, pacing around the tiny motel room.

“You were meant to call an hour ago. Got me waitin’ up for you.” He sounds tired, and it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s stupid, but the image makes you a little giddy. Waiting up for you.

“There was… traffic.”

“You get lost?”

“Fuck you.” You bite automatically and he groans.

“So yeah?”

“Yes, Frank. I got lost.” He laughs, the sound managing to take your mind off the dark room you’d managed to secure for the night, the bedside light doing nothing to brighten the small space.

“I gave you a map. It’s a straight shot from where you started.” Rolling your eyes, you look at the map you’d now bundled into a ball and thrown into the trash.

“Who uses a printed map? Seriously, how fucking old are you?” It’s playful and familiar, and all the frustration of driving for 10 hours melts into the bed.

Being a key witness in a now ongoing case apparently didn’t come with any frequent flyer miles, because both Matt and Frank had said you couldn’t risk going through airport security and being flagged in a system, so it meant you had to drive nearly 18 hours to Florida. You thought you didn’t mind road trips, but after today you think it’s only road trips with Frank you don’t mind.

“Maps don’t change, baby. Besides, you’d drive yourself into a god damn tree the second that voice in the car told you you’d missed a turn.” You hate that he’s right— even the thought of that monotone voice droning in your ear for ten hours makes you cringe.

“Whatever. Tell me about something. You said you were going to speak to Madani today?” He’s the one sighing now, and clearly the talk was about as fun as your drive.

“She’s all over the place. Some mishandled evidence fucked their entire case, and Bobby’s lawyers were too well paid to let it go. Murdock said they’ll be able to find more— the appeal’s already been approved cause of how high profile it is, but he’s got no new evidence. He said he doesn’t know if they can get him.”

“That’s… what I expected, I guess.” Frank agrees, and your sudden silence only serves to bring the real issue to hand. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah. I got it covered.” The line goes quiet, and you don’t really know what to say.

On one hand, you want Bobby dead. You know can’t do it- it wasn’t smart, and the last thing you were going to do is drag everything Matt and Madani had worked for through the mud for someone like him, let alone put Sam in danger. Some fucked up part of you is a little mad that it won’t be you, but Frank has every reason to hate him as much as you. You know Frank wants this, and that telling him to stop is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Your hesitation would only spur him to do it faster, be more impulsive. You don’t want to say anything to put him off.

On the other, you just want him with you. You worry like some love sick child, scared he’s walked out the door and isn’t coming back. You worry he’ll get caught, and end up in the exact spot he was trying to get you out of. You’re scared he’ll get hurt, or worse. Every time you close your eyes you can see him bleeding out, dark red staining your hands until you can scream yourself awake. There’s so many things that could go wrong, and ten hours staring over the hood of your car gives you way too much time to think about hypotheticals.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Frank says softly, and you flop yourself back on the single bed.

“Are you?” He huffs like the question is irrelevant.

“Madani asked about your dad today.” He ignores the question, and you’re too interested to poke him on it.

“Oh?”

“Asked what he knew about your time there. If he ever worked with the Gnucci’s.” A lump forms in your throat.

“You think she knows about the weird... blood stuff?”

“Don’t see why she would. Either way, it’s not gonna matter once he’s dead.” The bluntness of it almost makes you laugh. “He’ll be gone, and no one will come for it. Or you.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, Frank.”

“I’m not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “Alright, I am, but not just that. The shit he said to me in there— the things he said about you. The way he looked at you in there… I watched that shit, and there’s no way in hell that asshole does what he did and lives.”

“What if he was found guilty? Would you of left it alone?” Maybe if you’d been more helpful to Matt and Madani, it would of gone better, and Frank would be here.

“You want me to answer that?” A part of you knew he wasn’t going to let it go. That wasn’t who he was. It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does to know that Frank would kill for you— just to make you safe. It does anyway, and heat flushes over your face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He agrees, a low sound rumbling from his end of the phone. “I spent most of the day wishing you were with me, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Turns out I fucking hate driving.” He laughs again, and if you could listen to the sound all night you think you’d sleep peacefully.

“You remember how mad you were that first time I didn’t let you drive?” Shaking your head, you flick off the lights slide under the covers.

“I was mad because you had a concussion and tried to fucking kill us.”

“Least I was gonna go the right way.”

“You tried switching drivers on the freeway, Castle.”

“Alright, I was a a bit out of it.” He says plainly and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “Wished you were here, too.”

“I bet you did.” He groans, and you hear him shift on the bed. Your bed.

“Too much space in here. Didn’t even know we had this much blanket.” He makes a real noisy show of it, tossing around the blankets you usually roll yourself up in. It’s meant to be a light hearted thing, but for some reason the idea of Frank spread out on your shared bed, one that you’ve both used extensively— it makes your heart race.

“Dickhead.” He groans again, shuffling around some more. “This one’s too small. Probably have to sleep on top of each other if you were here.”

“M’alright with that.”

“Not a lot of room to move, though.” You look around at the room, hardly enough space to stand in the corner.

“We’d figure something out.” You let your eyes flutter closed, humming high pitched at the idea. “What are you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

“You.” You admit, and he seems to like it.

“Me too. Haven’t gone a night in this apartment without fuckin’ you in this bed. Drivin’ me crazy.” You hum again, pressing your thighs together to try and dissipate the heat that’s suddenly overtaken your whole body. “You thinkin’ about it now too, aren’t you baby?”

“Yeah, Frank.”

“Don’t say my name like that.” He growls, and you bite your lip to hide your laugh.

“Why not, Frank?” You practically purr the word, drawing it out and saying it all breathy like you do when he’s teasing you.

“Cause you’re gonna make me drive ten hours just to fuck you in whatever dirty motel you pulled off into.” You’re still smiling, but you think if you keep messing with him, he’d do it. He’d drive ten hours, a hundred of them if it meant teaching you a lesson. Or just being with you. “I’ll see you soon. Real soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, knowing if you keep talking to him your entire plan will crumble in front of you, because you’re half considering driving home just to sleep next to him. “Soon. Be safe, okay?”

The words tumble out, and you try to hide the guilt you feel when you say them. He was only not safe because of you— because you couldn’t finish the job yourself. You’re glad he can’t see your face, because you hear him mumble on the other end and your eyes close listening to him.

“Always. Tell the kid I said hi.” With that, Frank hangs up the phone, and you slide it onto the table right next to the pistol you keep loaded and ready to fire.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank pulls the saturated beanie over his head, and it’s probably doing more harm than good at this point, but he doesn’t have a second to really give a shit. His eye-line is perfect— directed straight into the penthouse apartment Bobby Gnucci was driven to three hours ago. He’s been tucked away in the corner of the rooftop for just as long, watching the man pace and yell on the phone.

It had taken him a few goes to get the right frequency to listen in on the calls he was making, but once he had he took as much information done as he could. He’d had enough of watching, and now he was satisfied with the phones calls he’d listened to that the man was alone for the night; not counting his extensive security team layered through the apartment block. Frank felt the familiar hum in his veins, shoving his loaded pistol in his jeans and swinging the strap of a rifle over his shoulder, he headed down the stairs, across the street and slipped into the back of the building.

There’d be witnesses if he didn’t take the right route, and to make this work he needed every chance at an alibi he could get. He was so used to not caring— every time he’d gone into something like this, he didn’t have something to get back to. He had no preservation, no concern for what came after. Hell, if he was honest, he didn’t care if he went out doing something like this. He would of preferred it, maybe even hoped he’d die somewhere in the cross fire.

Even just talking to you on the phone had him itching to get back to you now. He wanted to be careful— something he never really thought of before. A heavy ache in his stomach that twisted something violent when he thought about not getting home, not making good on his promise from a few hours ago, it made him sick. He planned as much as he could, as much as he was capable of, and hoped to God it was enough.

Frank hid his body behind the corner of the wall. He hid his face, too, even though he’d already had Micro’s help shutting out the cameras. He knew it would set off alarms for the security team, but he planned for that. They’d spread out, follow orders that he’d listened to over the radio, three men on all the entries and exits, and then ten through the penthouse. If he timed it right, he could clear the first few levels before the guards arrived.

He didn’t care about making noise now— slamming his way up the fire access while Gnucci’s men no doubt got into position. He’d just past a number 6, and Bobby was on the top floor. 23. He kept going, not hearing any doors open. When he passed 9, the door on the level below him cracked open and he jammed through the next exit he reached, getting into position.

He could hear voices coming from his right, and steadied himself as he turned the safety off his gun. He had a small army of men to get through, but he knew if he could make it, landing the hit on Bobby would be easy.

He wasn’t nervous. Pure adrenaline flooded him, like it always did, and he didn’t think twice before standing out of cover and pulling the trigger.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How have you grown so much?!” You nearly shout, hugging Sam tighter as he all but latches onto your leg. “God, you’re gonna be my height soon.”

“I missed you!” He says, words muffled in your jacket. You don’t even have to bend really, he’s that tall. It is even possible for him to grow that much in just a month? “Come! I want to show you my stuff. Me and Niko share a room, and it’s the coolest thing…”

You let him drag you around the house, showing you the bunk beds that are set up for him and Nikolai. He shows you books he’s brought home from school, and it makes you smile how chaotic his room is. There’s piles of books and papers everywhere, stuffed under the bed and nearly toppling on the tables. It looks like it’s lived in… like a home, and your heart warms and breaks all at once.

When he finally finishes his impromptu tour, he pulls you outside where the rest of the family has set themselves up, and runs out into the giant back yard to chase after Nikolai. You hardly had a chance to say hello to them, but if you were honest you hadn’t thought of anything but Sam since you saw him.

“Did he show you the bunk beds?” The doctor— Zaed, you remind yourself, comes up behind you on the deck. “He hasn’t stopped talking about showing you.”

“I thought he was gonna explode.” Zaed laughs, and you turn to look at him. He’s still sporting a scar across his forehead, and it somehow makes his older features look slightly hardened. His face was still soft, something about him gesturing kindness, an observation you never made in the months you were locked away. “He told me you made them.”

“It took me weeks. I am not very… handy.” Smiling, you turn back to watch Sam and Nikolai screaming and laughing as they chase each other with Nerf guns. “I am sorry for what happened with the case.”

“So am I. If he’d gone away, you wouldn’t have to stay in Witness Protection.” He nods, turning away for a second only to return and offer you a can of something. “What is it?”

“It’s Russian. You’ll like it— it’s strong.” You crack it open and take a long drink, hoping to drown the rising anxiety that kneads the back of your mind at the thought of what Frank was doing right now. “We don’t mind it so much here.”

“Florida?” He nods.

“We want to stay. Corinne thinks the children— with what they’ve been through, shouldn’t move too much. They seem happy here.” You hum in agreement, listening to the light squeals of the youngest girl, who’s name you haven’t learnt yet, who’s got the biggest Nerf gun of all and is shooting the shit out of both boys. “It was my idea. To offer to take him in. If you are upset, please lay the blame with me—“

“Upset? God, why would I ever be upset?” He blinks in surprise, looking to you.

“You are here with him, and yet you still seem far away. I figured the suggestion was weighing on you. We only offer because… well, we have all grown quite fond of him, and for you— to you we owe our lives. I thought if we could make any of this easier…” You shake your head, finishing the bitter liquid in the can.

“You looking after Sam is about one of two good things I have going right now.” Zaed seems to relax, leaning forward onto the railing as you both stare out to watch the kids. “I think he’s happy here.”

“He is. He misses you, but he is happy.”

“And safe.”

“Of course. I pity anyone who would try to get past Corinne now.” You laugh at the tinge of genuine anxiety in his voice, as if he imagines it, but his eyes are full of admiration.

“I want to talk to him about it… make sure he’s okay, but if he wants to, I think him staying here would be the best thing for him.” Zaed doesn’t answer right away, just lets the echoed laughter of the kids fill both of your ears before he nods simply.

“He will be safe. And I am sure you will learn to love Florida, too, with how much you will visit?”

“What?” Again, a look of surprise crosses his face.

“Sam did not show you the spare room? We have cleared a space for you— whenever you need it. You… it is the least I could do. You saved my life—“

“Hardly.”

“I owe you it. My families life. My own. Whatever you should need here, the door would be open to you.” You have to look away, because it’s too much, and you don’t know when you became so soft that shit like this made you tear up.

“You don’t owe me anything. You keeping Sam safe is everything I ever wanted. I think we’re even now.” You laugh, your throat suddenly feeling a little tight.

“I couldn’t help but notice you arrived alone.” He questions, and you hide your face, unsure if the way you chew on your bottom lip gives too much away.

“Yeah.” No amount of alcohol could drown out the thought of Frank. You hadn’t heard from him in a day. Zaed looks at you, his eyes crinkling as he assess you.

“I thought he was going to drown with you that night. When he saw you go into the water… I recognise that look in a man’s eyes.” It seems so long ago now, and your hand instinctively goes to your stomach, where Frank sewed you up the first time. “He is coming soon, I assume? I doubt he would let you get too far from him right now.”

“Yeah, he’s…” You trust Zaed— but there’s only one person who takes precedent over the people taking care of your brother. “He’s just finishing up some stuff with the case in New York. He should be on his way now.”

“Ah.” He says, his eyes lingering on you in question. You say nothing, just sink a little more of the can. “Well, when he kills the ублюдок, I hope he makes it last.”

Before you can recover and wipe the shock off your face long enough to ask him how the hell he guessed what Frank is doing, Sam and Nikolai are in front of you, and Zaed disappears back into the house.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank grunts, a loud nearly animalistic sound vibrating off the walls as he clears the 23rd floor. Every time he breathes out, blood sprays out of his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s his own or he’s just covered in so much that it’s dripping off him. Either way he can’t help it, chest burning for oxygen after he laid the lower floors to absolute waste.

He’d ditched the assault rifle somewhere between the 18th and 19th floors, not even bothering to pull out his pistol. No— he’d fought every single one of them with his bare hands, and anything he could find scattered between dead bodies.

His right hand was fucked, and he’s pretty sure he got shot. Somewhere on the right side of his body, there’s a shooting pain between his thigh and his ribs, but it’s not enough to slow him down. He shoves his body weight into the penthouse door, throwing himself into guards he knows are ready and waiting for him. He reaches for his pistol, shooting three guys in the head before his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights in the room.

He hears them shouting orders, and he kills three more as he crosses the living room. One of them he puts through the TV screen, glass shattering under his hand as he crushes the man’s skull between the hard surface. The other two he shoots, and then moves towards the last four. All of them shield the door to the bedroom— putting their lives on the line for a man who doesn’t deserve the air he’s wasting.

Frank doesn’t have a moral compass when it comes to revenge. Not when it has to do with the people he loves. It’s why he clears the round of bullets in his gun on all four of them in less than thirty seconds, watching the lifeless bodies pile up in the doorway, there isn’t a single moment that he hesitates.

“Bobby!” Frank shouts, his voice horse and so loud he’s got no doubt the dead hear it.

He hears shuffling, and drops the pistol before stomping his way through into the bedroom. He sees Bobby, crawling across the floor in an attempt to reach for a gun dropped by one of the guards, but just as he goes to reach for it, Frank slams a bloody boot down on top of his hand, feeling the crush of bone under his weight.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and Frank smiles sickly, blood dripping from his teeth. “Get the fuck off me, you animal!”

Frank kicks him in the face, two of his teeth flying out and scattering across the carpet. As he rolls over, Frank grabs him by the collar and sits him up, watching his head lull to the side.

“Wake up.” Frank slams his fist into his skull. There was no way he was passing out this fast. Not after what he’s done. “Wake the fuck up.”

His hands shake with how hard he’s holding Bobby upright. So hard he feels the bone of his collar begin to give, and Frank chases the idea. Bobby thrashes, screaming as his eyes shoot open, the sound kicking Frank back into gear. He lets go of his shoulder long enough to pull back, only to drive his fist and crack the rest of his shoulder.

“Help m—“ Bobby tries to shout, but Frank shuts him off with another well placed shove of his weight into Bobby’s stomach, winding him. He wheezes, the pathetic sound something like music to Franks ears.

He punches him again— over and over. Not enough to kill him, though. No, Frank wasn’t done, he was just feeding the thrill. He’d been waiting too fucking long for this, and there was something satisfying about seeing this man— this weak excuse for a man being blinded by his own blood as he cries for someone to help him.

“Ain’t no one comin’ for you.” He growls, and grabs Bobby’s face so it hangs straight. His jaw is slack, but his eyes go wide when he feels the blade at his ribs. “You know that? That there ain’t a single person out there comin’ for you. No one gives a shit about you. You’re alone in here— your life in my hands.”

“Haaa—“ Bobby tries but whatever it is fades out into a scream when Frank slides the blade between his third and fourth rib. Slowly— real fucking slow. “They… they’ll come. Th-They’ll come f-for me.”

“No one’s comin’. Dead. All of ‘em. You’re alone.” He slides it a little deeper, watching the realisation wash over his face.

In truth, Frank wasn’t doing this for him. Sure, it felt fucking good, and Frank was enjoying the sight of the life draining out of his eyes, but he wants him to know why. Why he’s here, why he took out every last man in this building so he knew there was no hope. No one for him to go to.

He knew that’s what it was like for you. Frank couldn’t give you back those years, and he couldn’t take that much time with this— he’d thought about it, but he wanted this to end here and now. He could do this here, for you. Could make him know just how it feels to have all that power beat out of you, and know that there’s no one out there coming to save you.

“Stop…stop!” He wails, and Frank hits him harder. Every crack of his fist sends Bobby further into unconsciousness, and when he manages to stop himself, he shakes him awake again.

He gurgles on his own blood, dark red pools choking out of his mouth. His face is unrecognisable, already starting to blow up as he strangles in a few short breaths.

“I can… I have money. I can p—“ The effort of the words sprays another load of blood out of his mouth, and even though he’s exhausted, Frank laughs.

“You think I want money?” He leans down, yanking the knife out of his ribs and shoving it in again.

“Fuck! What do you—what do you want?!” Bobby wails again. Frank smiles.

“I want you to know that she’s the reason you’re dead. The last thing you’ll know is me— my face, and you’ll know it’s because you ended up just like you made her. Except she got out, and you never will.” Frank loses sense of time, his injuries starting to catch up with him as he yanks the knife out one more time, before slamming it home into Bobby’s skull.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m watching!” You shout as Sam lines up again, taking a few steps back before rushing forward and kicking the ball towards their make shift goal in the yard. You have to admit, for only been playing a few weeks, he’s got a hell of a kick on him.

“See! I’m getting better— my coach says next year I can try out for the first grade team if I keep training!” He’s smiling so big, and then he’s gone again, picking up the ball to take another shot at Nikolai who’s got goalkeeper gloves on, ready to catch it.

You’d be happy to watch this all day, but then Corinne calls out to you, telling you your phone is ringing, and you all but leap over the railing of the deck. When you race inside, you expect to see Franks name, and your heart sinks when you don’t. You knew he wouldn’t be able to call until it was over, but it’s been nearly two days since you’d heard anything. Then, you see it’s an unknown number calling, and your hands are shaking when you disappear into what is meant to be ‘your’ room to answer.

“Hello?” You recognise the voice instantly when she says your name. “Fucking hell, Karen. You scared me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but are you?!” She nearly shouts, and you are still coming back to your mind with relief it wasn’t someone telling you Frank was dead. “I don’t even know how you did it, but I don’t want to. The way they found him… Jesus.”

“Wait. What? Karen, I’m in Florida.”

“What?”

“I’m with my brother in Florida. I came up here two days ago after the trial.” She goes quiet, and you can hear the commotion in the background. Remembering it’s a Tuesday, and that she must be at work, it only furthers your suspicions. “Who’s dead?”

“Bobby is. They found him. They found his body— but…”

“Karen, tell me.” All you need to hear is Frank wasn’t found. That he got out of there before anyone saw him. It would be your fault— all of it would be your fault if he was found. You needed to get back, you needed—

“Sorry. Sorry, I just thought… with everything that happened before, I thought it might of been you. Bobby’s dead, but… there’s nearly 50 men in the building with him. They’re all dead. And Bobby; he was hardly recognisable. It took them nearly 24 hours to identify him.”

“24 hours?” Frank needed to get out of New York as soon as he killed Bobby. If the police had been crawling around there for nearly a day… “Karen, I gotta go. Thank you for calling.”

You cut it off before she responds, and call the only number saved in your phone. It only rings twice before he answers, and you could nearly cry when you hear his voice.

“Stop fuckin’ ringin’ me, Murdock. I don’t know shit and I’m busy.” He grumbles through the phone, and you choke out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, fuck. Sorry— hey, sweetheart. Was just about to call you.”

“It’s… did the— job go okay?” You try to calm your voice as best you can, knowing that if anyone traces the call he’s done for.

“It took me longer than I thought. Had to get stitched up, then Curtis drove me halfway— passed out for most of it.” Before you can ask, he answers. “I’m fine, don’t do that.”

“You’re okay?” Relief floods your body, phone nearly slipping out of your hand with how hard you were gripping it. “Everything’s… everything’s okay?”

“Come see for yourself. I’m pulling up.” Like a kid on Christmas, you toss the phone and basically sprint to the front door, hearing an unfamiliar truck rumble down the isolated street.

He’s driving, clearly having ditched Curtis, but when he gets out he’s got a limp, and his hand is bandaged. You don’t run, instead you stand in the driveway and soak up the image— Frank; leaning against the door of the truck, sunglasses covering up what you have no doubt are black eyes. Alive. Favouring his left side and still with dried blood on his head, but fucking here.

“You’re hurt.” You say it when you finally reach him, but it sounds pathetic, closer to the tone you’d whimper his name in.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says huskily and reaches out, yanking you forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

The soft touch of his bandaged hand is opposite to the greedy grasp of his free one, the one wrapping around your back and fisting the material of your shirt, pressing so you were flush against him. Both of your hands cup his face, feeling the rough surface of his skin. You lose yourself in the taste of him as your fingers trace the patterns of scars peppering around his head— a constellation you’ve memorised a million times over, and yet it still feels as illuminating as the first.

He groans your name, sliding his hand up to grip your jaw, thumb tugging on your bottom lip. You lean back slightly, staying at close to him as possible. His eyes look you up and down, and there’s a glint in his eye; a hunger that never seems to be satiated when he looks at you. He’s still feverish for it, and it makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Fuckin’ missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, and it makes you smile against his.

“I can tell.” His other hand forgets it’s injury as he searches your body, gripping your hips and pressing you closer.

“Get Sam. Let’s go home.” He tucks his head lower, mouth kissing under your jaw, and as much as you do want to get the fuck out of here with him, you pull away.

“He’s… he’s staying here.” Frank pushes the sunglasses off his face, looking at you through what is actually only one bruised eye.

“Staying?” You nod. “You sure?”

“I talked to him about it. He fucking loves it here, Frank. He didn’t want me to go again, but you should of seen him with them. They treat him like their own, and he adores them. It’s so much better than anything I could of thought.” Frank wraps his arms around your back and hugs you right, and your eyes flutter closed. “And you can’t just leave. They’re expecting you to come in and say hi.”

“Why?” The way he says it makes you laugh, as if you’d just asked him to drink gasoline.

“Come on.” You tug him by the wrists, and even though he groans and leans on you up the driveway, you both stagger inside and follow the sounds of Sam’s laughter, leaving everything else behind.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“They were being nice.” You haven’t wiped the smile off your face since you slid into the passenger seat this morning. “Well, I slept great. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Mhmm.” Frank grumbles, clearing having a much worse sleep than you did.

It was sweet, and truely, you wanted to take them up on it. When Frank dragged himself through the front door of where Sam had been staying, everyone had nearly jumped on him. Sam couldn’t contain himself, clearly trying to play it cool but simultaneously thinking Frank was the coolest person he’d ever met. It was sweet, the way Frank was with the kids, the sight making you both smile and want to cry.

Either way, when Corinne and Zaed had offered for you both to stay the night, Frank agreed and all but dragged you down the hallway after dinner. The spare room was nice— set up clearly for two people, and you were only human.

It would have been perfect— had the room not been sharing a wall with your brother and his new best friend. A very fucking thin wall. One that was nearly vibrating with how loud they screamed every five minutes playing some game on the TV. The louder they were, the more it became apparent that neither of you would be getting a lot of sleep, and not in the good way.

Having Frank that close all night but not being able to do anything about it reminded you of the start of this whole thing. How you shared a bed with him but had to force yourself to keep your hands to yourself. It was borderline painful, but eventually you managed to drift off to sleep, not missing how hard Franks hands were gripping your hips like he had to physically cement himself to stop from fucking you through the bed.

When you woke up, Frank had all your shit shoved in the car, and was outside cooking pancakes with Sam. You took your time saying goodbye— making sure to thank both Corinne and Zaed properly, and then promising you’ll be back. Soon. ‘So soon you won’t even have time to miss me’ you’d promised Sam, and he grinned and hugged you before disappearing to get ready for school.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Frank looked to you before shifting in his seat, one of his hands resting on your thigh and squeezing.

“Got a stop to make before getting back to New York.” You’d been driving for a while now— about half way between New York and where you’d left Sam. You turned in your seat, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be cryptic.” You try to sound assertive, but you can’t seem to hold any resentment when you could feel the warmth of him palm on your thigh.

“It’s close, alright? Promise.” The words eased something in your chest, the same way his smile did when he looked at you.

A small silence drifted between you as a Billy Joel song hummed softly on the radio, and your head dropped, eyes tracing over the bruises left on his knuckles. Your fingers dance around them, careful to keep your touches light. You follow the lines of black and blue up over his wrist, watching them disappear under the arm of his jumper. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and when you push up the sleeve just slightly, you swear loudly.

“Fucking hell! Is this broken?” You pull the sleeve up higher, and you tighten your grip on his wrist when he goes to pull away. If you hadn’t watched him so closely, you would of missed the way he winced, and you let go immediately. “Sorry. Sorry— fuck, Frank. Is this all from—“

“I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.” He says, keeping his blackened eyes trained on the road. It would of been easy to miss— not seeing him without clothes since he’d come back. Bile rises in your throat at the thought he was hurt because of you— because he was doing this for you. Suffering for you. Like he has the entire time.

“Are you lying?” He shakes his head, and you lightly poke him in the side. He hissed loudly, flinching away from you and swerving the car. “Pull over.”

“I’m not pulling over.” Frank groans.

“You’ve been driving for hours, just—“

“It’s fine. We only got a few more miles till—“

“Please.” There must have been something in your voice, some kind of soft vulnerability that even he isn’t used to hearing, and then the car is pulling off the side of an empty highway, dusk rolling over the hood of the truck.

You reach out, pulling the sunglasses off his face to reveal him slowly. This part you’ve seen, but it still knocks the wind out of you. The cut along his cheekbone, not deep enough to need stitches but you know it will scar over. His right eye is a deep purple, the left nearly green. You go to draw your fingers over his face, but hesitate, worried you’ll hurt him. He sees you pulling back and catches your wrist, placing your palm between his cheek and his own hand.

“Don’t do that.” You choke out a laugh, smoothing your hand over and back into his slightly longer hair, pulling him closer over the console of the car.

“I’m not doing anything.” You say softly, something guilty in your voice. When he hears it, he shakes his head at you.

“Can read you like a book. You got nothin’ to do with this, alright?”

“I have nothing to do with it?” You want to laugh. “I’m the reason you were there. The reason all this happened.”

“I would of been in the same place with or without you. This part?” He gestures to himself, his torso that you know all too well is littered with scars. “This isn’t a part you blame yourself for.”

“But it is. My fault.” He opens his mouth but you talk first. “All of this… watching those kids today, watching Sam— all I ever did was put him in danger. And you. It’s better for him to be there, away from all this. Away from me. Maybe now all this is over, it would be better…safer, if you—“

“Stop. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know how selfish you sound?” You blink a few times, eyes meeting his. At some point he’s leaned even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body thawing you out. “You’re right— I wouldn’t of gone back to New York the past two days if it wasn’t for you. You know why?”

“Listen—“

“No. I wouldn’t of gone back because I would of killed that asshole six months ago and been home in time for dinner. I’ve been doin’ this a long time, and there’s nothin’ you could of done that would of changed how this ended.” He holds your face up to his, rough hands holding you as gently as they could, and his thumb traces the scar just above your eyebrow. “Sam is safe with them, but don’t think for one fuckin’ second he’s better off without you. God knows I’m not. You’ve done nothin’ but good for that kid, and I’d… fucking hell. I’d be dead without you, you know that?”

“No you wouldn’t.” Your voice was so soft it hardly broke the silence, but he leaned in, his forehead pressing to yours. “You could probably jump out of a building and walk it off.”

“Maybe. But now I gotta be careful nd’ come home to you, don’t I?” He smiles, and then kisses you and you forget where you are. Words die on your tongue and are replaced by the taste of him, mind freezing over when he touches you. He does it every time. Every time he manages to take your breath away with one whisper of your name, one swipe of his thumb over your mouth. It’s intoxicating and dependant, something you never thought you’d want, but it feels so good with him. His hands drop to your waist, their pull demanding and needy as he yanks you up and over the centre console and onto his lap.

“I’d do it again. All of it. Kill every single—“ You kiss him again, squeezing your eyes shut, and he groans as you shift on his lap. “Fuck, baby we should wait till…”

“Till when?” You say breathlessly, and despite his words his hands are already sneaking underneath your shirt, his cool hands meeting your feverish skin. You can hardly keep your eyes open, and your hips roll forward again, seeking him out. “I want you now, Frank.”

“Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.” He says and then crashes into you, your back nearly pressing against the dash with how quick he moves. Your gasp of surprise is lost in his mouth, and you can feel the sparks he makes in your chest crackling their way through you, toes curling in your shoes.

Your half bent backwards, legs in either side of his as he keeps your chest pressed to him, both arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. You tug at his shirt helplessly, getting it stuck around his arm and he smiles against your mouth, leaning back to look at you before whipping it over his head.

In the dark of the room last night you wouldn’t of seen it, but now the lights streaming in from the car window, and Franks torso is nearly a rainbow in it— blue, purple and green bruises all up his side, with a short but deep cut on the low right side of his abdomen. He’s taken the bandage off it too early, the stitches still healing, but you can tell it’s expert work. Much better than the botched job you did a month or so back, something he still bares the reminders for.

“Just… just a couple scratches, huh?” He grunts something illegible and hauls you back to him.

“Shut up.” He keeps you pressed close, not giving you a chance to say something back, but then his hands dip lower and you’re a goner.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeah. Fuck waiting.

He’s got you here— now, on top of him, and he can’t even fucking think of anything else. Your hands are being so gentle and cautious when he really couldn’t care less about the pain, but you do. You always do.

He wasn’t gonna waste another second, and seeing your eyes close the second he got your pants off and dipped his hands between your legs… it’s pretty much as close to heaven as he was going to get.

You fall forward, Frank catching you with one arm and pulling you close while the other continues slow, teasing circles just how he knows gets you all worked up. Your head tucks away into his neck, and he lets you hide for now, but when he’s got you home— real home, then he’ll be able to look at you as much as he god damn wants.

Your hips move against him, chasing his slow rhythm, and he feels your teeth scrape agains this neck, wordlessly rushing him along.

“You need me that bad?” He says lowly, and watches in awe the way his words wash over you and yank you closer to the edge. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t of left you so needy—“

“Fuckkk… right there—please.” Your voice was so high it cracks a little, and it fucking sets him on fire.

“Get my belt for me, baby.” He whispers, feigning a bit of self control as he watches you quickly fumble with the buckle. The slight brush of your hands could finish him then and there, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and remember why he wanted to wait. He had just one more card to play— one that you’d seen him play a few times before, but he doesn’t think you expect it this time, and he needed some semblance of composure to remember it.

A real house, white picket fence and all, smack bang on halfway between New York and Florida. He couldn’t leave New York, not ever, but he had a new anchor now, one that deserved to have it all.

Frank planned to take you straight home. Make a ten hour drive and keep his hands to himself, but how the fuck could he when you were like this? Looking like you do, touching him so fucking sweet and soft and saying how much you missed every part of him— it was a dream come to life, and one of the few moments he’d let himself go in.

You shuffle as close as the seat allows, your now naked chest pressing against his. He dips his head, kissing your jaw, and he’s suddenly surrounded by you. Arms around his neck, warm and soft as your fingers thread in his hair, both of you moan at the feeling of him sliding into you. It’s white hot and nearly painful, how even with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, it still takes you a second to take him all the way. You wriggle your hips, trying to settle yourself and Frank nips at your neck, slowing your pace just slightly. He can hear you sigh, but you listen. You always fucking do.

“Shit— so fucking good. You can take it.” He hums and runs his hands over your skin. You lean into the touch, and when you sigh again he sinks your hips lower, a short punch of your name bursting from his chest when you slam yourself down. “Fuck. There you go.”

He’s a wreck underneath you, and your hands slither away from his hair to his face when you pull him up to kiss you. As much as he loves the feeling of your hips grinding down ever so slightly right now, it’s this part he loves the most. The slow intimacy of it— how he knows he can stay right here for the rest of the day and nothing will change. He can feel how much you love it, how much care you handle him with, and it cracks something old and hard in his gut.

You shudder as he lifts his hips, keeping your mouths together and kissing hungrily. He’d think you’d both been starved for a year the way you two act, but he’d admit it to anyone that asked that he was gone for you. He knows it well and true, in his chest and in the way you bounce in his lap, moaning into his mouth like he’s breathing air into your burning lungs.

“Fuck— fuck, I love you. I fucking… Jesus Christ, you’re so good. I love you.” He can’t shut himself up, and your breath gets faster. He knows you love it when he talks. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you— wanna feel you. I know you want to.”

“Slow… Frank, you’re gonna hurt yourself—“ You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. His hands stay tight on your hips, and he feels the pleasure buzz under his palms, your skin nearly alight with it on top of him. “Oh my god, don’t stop.”

He wraps his forearm around you and fucks you harder, any pain and injury burnt out by how tight you are around him, and how perfect you fit him. He’s close, so close that he’s hardly able to kiss you now. You both collide in a mess of tongues and sighs, and when he hears you croak out his name into his mouth, he knows you’re cumming for him.

He can’t hold himself back, chasing you into that high with blinding abandon. It hits him like a freight train, bowing him over you like he’s taken a hit, but it feels so good he can’t register that he isn’t breathing like this. He keeps kissing you until he’s sure he’s going to pass out, and only stops when you pull away, eyes darting to the highway where headlights slowly flicker on the horizon.

“Shit.” You say breathless, and you laugh. He can feel it, the sound shuddering through him from where he was still deep inside you, and your giggles soon turned to something less innocent when you heard Frank groan into your chest. “C’mon. Someone’ll see us.”

“Don’t move yet.” He puts his hands on your waist, fanning them out to reach as much of you as possible.

“Mhmm.” It’s like your body gives out at his request, slumping forward and moulding into him like you were made to fit this way. This was what he was talking about. The way you fit together— something that should be out of the question for him fits so right. “I love you, too.”

“Mhmm.” He copies and feels you smile against his skin. His hands trail up your spine, tracing the line of bones lightly to leave goosebumps in his wake. “What time is it?”

“Who gives a fuck?” You mumble, the words half muffled into his neck.

“I want you to see the house in the light, but you wanna go at it blind, be my guest.” It takes you a second, a scoff coming out of you before you sit up abruptly, making him groan again.

“House? What house? Another safe house.” Frank couldn’t keep a secret to save his life when it came to you.

“It’s a house. Twenty minute drive from here.”

“But New Yorks not—“

“I know. Good thing we got cars, yeah?” Your eyebrows are crossed together, and Franks thumb slips over the small scar he left on your face. The movement shifts your gaze to something softer, and he feels the brush of your eyelashes on his finger as you blink up at him.

“You did it on purpose. It’s right in the middle.” You say softly. “Jesus, Frank. You didn’t have to… I mean you—“

“Take a breath. I didn’t buy it. Was a gift from the US Goverment. One thing those guys are good for is their money. I just picked the spot.” He could nearly hear the rave of your heart, and you crushed yourself into him, words hushed and mumbled into his ear, but they melt him to the core all the same.

He’ll never get over hearing you say things like this to him. That you’re grateful for him, that he’s doing a good thing. It’s like nothing he did before you was ever good enough. There was always the next job, always the next group to track, but nothing would be enough. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for him. But here you were, telling him that he was the reason you were gonna be alright, and if he squints he can see it. The flicker of something hopeful, and if he holds onto you as tight as he can, he might just live to see it light him on fire.

“Did you say… you said twenty minutes from here. Why didn’t we just wait until—“

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” You laugh again, and the feeling has him gripping you tighter. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “And I wanted to fuck you here and now. Don’t want there to be a single fuckin’ surface where I ain’t had you.”

“Better get driving then, Castle. Sounds like you got a job to do.” The glint in your eye nearly makes him drag you outside and bend you over the hood, but the kiss you give him after is sickeningly sweet, so much so that he lets you slide off him and back into the passenger seat without so much as a nip of his teeth. “Tha–”

“Wait. Wait til you see it.” Frank said, and something about the way he looked at you had you nodding simply, and watching the trees race by as he sped you home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were asleep on the balcony again, and Frank moved as slow as he could to let you stay that way.

In the two weeks you’d been here, he could count on one hand how many times you’d actually slept in the bed. There were no neighbours for miles, nothing interrupting the stretch of sky all the way to the hills. Even Frank had to admit it was a killer view.

He came inside, pouring himself a drink, and a strange pit in his stomach settled after the burning liquid soothed his throat. He can’t seem to kick that feeling when you’re asleep. When you were awake, next to him, there wasn’t anything else he could think about. But alone, walking around a house he owned, a life he might try and live staring him in the face, he felt guilty. There were parts of him he wouldn’t ever get back, but this wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have. Peace and quiet, time to himself. A woman he loved within eyesight, buried under blankets cause she was too stubborn to come inside when it got freezing. He couldn’t figure out why now, of all times, was the time to be thinking of Maria. The weight of the ring around his neck was like an anchor. He knew it was stuck on the bottom of the ocean, but he couldn’t find it in himself to let go. He would sit there, hand cut up and bleeding, holding on for dear fucking life if no one moved him, waiting until he drowned.

Your footsteps were soft, in a way that he knows you can’t help. You tread through the open double doors, and Frank would roll his eyes at the way he could hear your teeth chattering if he wasn’t so distracted.

“You should of woke me.” You say, voice muffled from the mess your head was buried under. He took a step toward you, pushing it back so he could see your eyes.

“It’s late.”

“Couldn’t tell.” He can hear the smirk in your voice.

“You finally frozen to death, smart-ass?” You grumble something in reply, and he catches a few curse words before you look at him again. It’s nearly scary, the way you can read him with one sweep of your eyes. You clock his tone, the way he isn’t leaning into you with his full weight, and squint your eyes.

“What is it?” Frank sucks in a long breath, and kisses you.

He’s a complete idiot. That’s what it is. He can feel the buzzing pulse you wake in him, every movement of your lips on his rooting you deeper in his soul, chipping off ice until theres only warmth. How’s he supposed to tell you, after you’ve just kissed him like that, that he was thinking about his–

“You can talk to me about her, Frank.” You say with your head against his. Not it, her. Before he can ask, you smile a little. Even just a hint of that smile and he’s forgetting how to breathe. “You play with the ring when you’re nervous. It’s actually a bit of a tell.”

“Yeah?” He manages, hands trying to search their way through the blankets for you.

“Yeah. You have a lot of tells. For someone in your line of work, it’s actually a bit worrying.”

“You got me all figured out.” He says and means it, but you just roll your eyes.

“And you lean to the left when you think you can’t make a shot. You think it helps your angle.”

“Who woulda thought you were so observant.”

“You know, I actually did watch you when you were teaching me how to shoot.” Frank smiles, your skin finally under his palms. His hands splay on your back, and you lean closer.

“You were trying to fuck me the whole time. Don’t blame me for being surprised.” You try to whack him but your arms are pinned under the layers. Your laughter carries through him, skittering into his chest until he can’t help but laugh too.

“You came onto me.” He laughs harder. “It was very unprofessional. I was there to learn.”

“Damn fucking right I did.” His voice is low, and you shuffle around under his hold until your hands snake up behind his neck. His hair is too long, but he hasn’t cut it just yet. He tells himself that he hasn’t had time, but truthfully he likes the way it feels when you sift your fingers through the ends of it. Like now.

“You can tell me.” You say again, softer. He’s softer too– more malleable now you were here.

“I can’t help it.” He looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to where the sun is now just starting to rise. “She woulda… woulda liked it here. The kids, too.”

“You think so?” He nods, still staring into the orange sky.

“Probably would of had a lot to say about the inside, though.” You wrap around him tighter, head on his chest. “She was so good with those things. She loved when we painted our house. She had all these colors painted next to each other on the wall. All these different kinds of green. Everyone kept sayin’ it all looked the same but she... she could tell the difference. I could see what she meant when she put the couch next to it and shit, you know? She was real good with that stuff.”

“We could use her help around here. This place is sort of… ugly, on the inside.” He laughed again, his throat feeling tighter as he looked around. There was those same colour swatches, but none of them were coordinated like he was remembering. Pinks, blues, oranges and grays were all mixed together in big, sweeping strikes along the wall, stopping right above where your arm would be able to reach. “What would she have gone with?”

He looks down at you, your face washed in the light of the sunrise.

“The light orange. It looks good with the brown.” He nods over to the couch, an old leather one you’d made him pick up off the side of the road.

“We’ll do that one, then.” You tuck yourself under his chin, sighing.

“I think about ‘em everyday. What the kids would have looked like now. What they’d be doing. How Maria and I would of… raised ‘em. I was away all the time, but I just-”

“I think you would have been just fine.” You say into his chest, and Frank takes a shuddering breath.

“Why’s that?“

“Cause she was in love with you.” His chest tightens, and the grip he’s got on your waist gets a little tighter. “I’m… I’ll never be able to fix…that. It’ll always be with you, and nothing will change what happened, but I want you to know that they will always have a place here. You don’t have to apologize for talking about them– the kids, or Maria. I will never, ever not listen, and it will never be something I don’t want to hear. If they’re always with you, they’ll be with me, too.”

Frank takes two steps forward, and your feet pick up just in time to catch yourself before he throws you back on the couch. He’s never been good with words for things like this. He doesn’t think he should try to shove it all in a sentence, either. Not when theres so much he wants to say, but even more he wants to do.

You lay back, and he moves slowly. He wants you to know every move, every brush of his hand and his mouth is by design. He wants to know every square inch of you inside and out like you know him. He wants his hands to pull the strings, letting you hear all the things his mouth could never possibly form.

“Perfect.” Frank sighs against your mouth, over and over again. It was. You were. Are. The pit in his stomach disappears, pushed out and engulfed by the flames in his chest. There was no room for anything, not a single other feeling or word could possibly fit the way you two fit together. Your fingers tug at his shirt, and he takes it over his head. Your hands run and smooth gentle lines over his chest, over the healing wound on his side. It's jagged and wonky, and it nearly spelt your name. Frank thinks it’s the first time he’s looked down at himself and not hated to see the scars.

He unravels you like a gift to himself, savouring every moment even when you try to shrug off the blanket. You hadn’t dressed since last night, and Frank liked it even more this way. You sighed his name, and Frank shuddered, sealing his mouth over yours again. When his eyes opened for a split second, he could see your face, washed in orange light, and your hair swept to the side. He shut his eyes and kissed you again, the image seared into his mind forever.

Frank had faced a lot of bad things in his life. He had been shot, stabbed, pulled apart and put back together more times than he could remember. He thought he’d seen it all, felt it all before, but there was nothing like this. Nothing made him as weak as your fingers in his hair, and nothing made him as strong as the way you moaned his name. Nothing felt as good as sliding inside you, and nothing felt as empty as when you were gone. It made him lightheaded and brought him to the brink of consciousness, but he knew that this was right.

It could of been minutes or hours that had passed when he let himself go, but no amount of time with you under him would stop him from wanting more. The sun was up now, and Frank had you tucked to his side on the small space of the couch, legs tangled together in the blankets and each other. He felt you shiver against him, and the blankets wrapped around you had come loose. He bent to fix them, and when he moved you did it again.

He looked down, seeing the cold line of metal pressed against your bare back. The ring at the end was hanging over your ribs, and when Frank touched it, it was freezing. Holding it in his palm, it didn’t feel as heavy as it used to, and when he read the engraving on the back, he still felt cold.

Looking down at you, how you rolled over and sought him out even with your eyes closed, he leaned down to kiss the scar on your forehead. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he slipped the necklace off over his head, and placed it in a neat circle on the coffee table next to his head.

They would always have a place here. But it wasn’t them who gave him warmth anymore.

When he tucked himself back under the covers, he knew it was you. It was always you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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okay theres going to be an epilogue at some point, but it will probably be small and have very little plot, so this is the end of the main story. so, heres a little rant for you. if you read it, thank you, and if you dont, thank you anyways. knowing anyone is reading my words is a gift enough.

i think i have been writing this series for like 5/6 months ish?? thats fucking wild. i dont have an exact word count, but all i know is its fucking long. i cannot believe i wrote this much about a fictional character, but damn. that is a lot.

basically all i want to say here is thank you. to anyone who has read, interacted, or will read in the future, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it might be a lil dramatic but having people read stuff i write, let alone actually enjoy it makes me so incredibly happy. starting to write on here, and for frank especially, is probably one of the best decisions ive ever made. this series was a struggle to finish for so many reasons, mainly my incredible lack of planning and overall dumb writing schedule, but i have met so many incredible people along the way, and i am just so grateful to have a lil space to share my work.

frank castle will probably always own a giant spot in my heart, so thank you for letting me share my version of him. and letting me add as much smut as i want to this with no complaints bc i fuckin needed it okay!!!!!! i love you all. rant over. series over. damn!

p.s. i am never not going to write frank. dont worry. i already have an idea for my next series lmao!!!!!!!! luv ya!

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

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utilitycaster · 9 months

Note

The wildest part about people being mad on Imogen's behalf is Imogen herself understood Keyleth's position in spite of her own wishful thinking, helps acquire the blue flowers for her, was the first to acknowledge the Changebringer's help, and the first to say "I'm sorry" to Orym losing more of his people. I'm really baffled to read these "Orym is manipulative" takes and that it was dangerous of Keyleth to validate his anger. Do you think it goes back to the god stuff, or is it just Imodna?

I think a little of column A, little of column B, little of several other things. Since I've been on the "hey could we consider that Imogen and Laudna are adult women who are responsible for their own actions" train for over a year, the specific "Imogen can be mean-spirited as well as unintentionally insensitive" train since at least this past February, and the "Orym is correct and Bor'Dor signed his own death warrant by casting Vitriolic Sphere at a group of people who were not violent towards him" train for a month, let's break it down.

There are a small handful of people in the fandom who just really hate Liam. Per a very salty rant I put into my drafts shortly after 3x63 to describe this type of person, it is a small, scattered, bizarre group of people who for no apparent reason have decided to be foaming-at-the-mouth levels of furious because, as far as I can tell, a nerdy Gen X-er dad who went to Tisch is kind of corny sometimes. Anyway nothing he does will ever sit well with them so we can ignore them forever. Moving on.

Some is Imodna; I thought the whole issue of Imogen and Laudna as agency-less infants against a cruel world would have been ameliorated by them entering a canon relationship (one currently compatible with the 2013 Pinterest board vibes of fanon no less) but it appears to have not been the case. For more on this, see this still relevant post and, while I personally haven't ever written something up, there's just, again, a complete black hole of empathy from a segment of the fandom when it comes to any of the other characters; my post from this morning about Imogen as compared to Caleb touches upon it. You know the Far Side cartoon where a guy is talking to his dog and the dog only recognizes a small handful of words? I feel this is similar, like, they see that Imogen wanted one thing and Orym and Keyleth wanted another thing that wasn't even, as you point out, terribly incompatible, and then the "well if not thing Imogen wants and not 100% deferential to her then BAD BAD BAD" attitude kicked in.

But I do think, in the end, a lot of it does come back to if not the gods exactly, the idea that the Vanguard is, unmistakably, the enemy. They are not the revolution here to usher in a new era of rule by the people. Keyleth is not here to raze Vasselheim to the ground but to have a diplomatic discussion; neither is she here to grant any leniency to the woman who attacked Vax regardless of her connection to Imogen. And she finds the idea of a world without the gods, regardless of her own personal feelings, to be one to be avoided. [sidebar: I hope we get Matt on 4SD; I am wondering, after the one-two-three punch of Hevestro, the Raven Queen, and Keyleth all placing a heavy thumb on the scale opposing the Vanguard if he did not expect the party to be as conflicted about the role of the gods and is trying to wind up an argument that I think as of last episode reached the end of its useful life.] When you couple that with Orym's positive attitude towards the gods, that explains the animosity towards him.

The undermining of Orym's position over the past few episodes has always been one of emotion. First he was not objective - as if anyone else was objective! As if any moral decision is ever 100% objective! We all have biases! What kind of early 2000s atheist forum shit are you on to claim perfect rationality that conveniently matches the ideas that apparently came to you in a godless vision? It's insane. Then it was his grief; grief makes you irrational (unless you're Imogen grieving Laudna, in which case you are objectively right at all times, even as you shout down every other suggestion, beseech Laudna's first murderer, not a month later consider the potential validity of the her second, and try to to undo her immutable past) and remember, moral decisions must be made by the rational. Then it was his impatience (nevermind that Imogen has absolutely no patience). And now it's his anger, and he's apparently been manipulating the party the whole time by...having suggestions for the group which he mentions, and openly stating what he was feeling and what he wanted, and not intuiting that Laudna reawoke Delilah with his approximately no magical ability and then encouraging her to finish a job she had started herself. Because god Rational Objective Conceptual Being forbid women do anything; it is the role of the man to protect their fragile souls from all consequences.

Even more generally I think a lot of people- not just in this fandom, though certainly within this fandom - are terrified of anger. Like, they think they like it - they say they love barbarians (though rage is its own beast and I think very different from the anger Orym and Keyleth exhibit) but most of the discussion of them tends to veer more into angst, and most players of barbarians are often exploring emotions like grief, self-pity (as Ashton says), or frustration just as much if not more so than anger. I think a lot of people perceive anger as this awful thing inside them to be controlled and denied, or alternately to only be let out for whatever they think is a sufficiently righteous cause, and instead sit in an increasingly toxic stew of simmering resentment and conflict avoidance until they begin to think this is not just normal but aspirational - anything but that awful beast they call anger. It's not new in discussions of Keyleth, and it's not limited to her and Orym; I can point to nearly every single character who has had even the slightest of outbursts - even something as mild and controlled as Orym's whispered profanity or less - and I promise you there's been pearl-clutching for every single one of them.

Anyway, you make great points! One of the things that struck me about this episode and prompted my frustration and my post earlier today is that Imogen has changed. I think she's been mulling over Liliana since her appeals to her during the Key's activation were unsuccessful; she hesitantly told Chetney when he asked in Uthodurn that yes, if Liliana's death is necessary, she understands; and I think seeing the utter devastation and pain that was inflicted on Keyleth brought it into focus. She was much more open to FCG and the coin as well. And, you know, if one had embraced Imogen's moral ambiguity in the leadup to the solstice, and the possibility that she could betray the party, instead of shouting that down? Then one could see this as a beautiful moment of growth for Imogen. One could, in fact, if one was so inclined, attribute it to her new sense of ease thanks to her circlet, or even to her nascent romantic relationship. If one, of course, had wholeheartedly embraced Imogen's past moral ambiguity and the possibility of her betrayal.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role spoilers #critical role #long post

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farfromstrange · 11 months

Text

Tupperware | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: A conversation about kitchen supplies leads to something more...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), multiple orgasms, aftercare

Word Count: 6.7k (This is a literal Smut Beast)

A/n: Yeah, whatever you think the title means in context, I guarantee you, this is different. But also, maybe not. I found this in my drafts because it was originally planned as an FG One Shot, but I decided to just throw my plans off the board and turn it into a reader insert (I've written this a while back, but I reread and edited it). Funny story: I found this writing prompt and it reminded me of the accent I have and how I say Tupperware (and how everyone in my State says Tupperware, the German version ofc), and I found it funny because that is definitely something I did when I said it in English for the first time. Anyway, enjoy!

The couple sat on his couch, the lights of the Billboard growing more distinctive as the sun started to set. He was working on the paperwork that had piled up over the days while she was reading something on her laptop. The steady typing of her fingers synchronized with her steady breathing. He didn’t mind the sound of her working. He enjoyed the carelessness of it all. Just two people seeking the comfort of each other’s presence while doing two completely different things. It wasn’t weird, it was productive.

At some point, he reached for her leg that was poking his side and placed it in his lap. She smiled at the casual, domestic action. His fingers stroked her calves absentmindedly while his mind continued to occupy itself with the information on the case that reached in through his headphones.

He heard her laugh at something. He smiled as he asked, “What?”

“I was looking for some accessories for our kitchen,“ – his heart bloomed at the pronoun, – “And now Google is trying to sell me Tubberware,” she stated. “I don’t even use Tubberware anymore.”

The headphone fell from his ear.

“What are you saying?” Matt asked.

His lip twitched, more in disbelief than amusement, but it was also weirdly adorable, the way the ‘b’s’ rolled from her tongue.

“Say it again,” he told her.

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Tubberware,” she said, remaining serious and clueless throughout.

“Say it again. Slow.”

“Tubberware.”

“Slow, very slow– actually, say the first syllable.”

Her frown deepened. “Tub,” she said confidently.

Matt bit his cheek. “Wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“I thought I caught that. You’re saying tub. It’s P.”

He had to keep telling himself not to laugh, but it was so incredibly hard with the pout on her lips growing by the second.

She removed her leg from his lap and sat upright, laptop moving dangerously close to the edge of her thighs. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Tupperware,” he stated. “Tupper.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “It’s Tupperware?!”

He couldn’t hold it any longer. The laugh rolled off his lips like a serenading song. “It’s Tupperware, always has been, always will be,” he choked out.

The pout came back, stronger than before. A frustrated pout. This was entirely different from the confused and irritated one. “I thought it was tubberware because it kind of looks like a tub,” she muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he laughed.

“It looks like a tub,” she said.

“I know it does. I’m sorry.”

“Stop laughing at me, you dick!”

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… say it again. Please. For me.”

“So that you can make more fun of me?” she asked. “No thank you.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I promise. It just sounds so cute when you say it. Do it for me, please. I want to hear it again.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing too. She was supposed to be mad at him, but she somehow couldn’t because looking at it from this angle, she realized how stupid it was. Tubberware. It was hilarious, even.

“Tubberware,” she said again, trying to breathe through the fit of laughter bubbling in her throat.

Matt laughed. “Again,” he begged.

“Tubberware.”

“It’s so cute, I can’t-“ his voice cracked.

“I hate you!”

“I know you want to laugh,” he titled his head knowingly, “so laugh.”

“No,” she said.

“Please."

“Don’t tell me what to do,” but at this point, she was already laughing. The sound he loved so much grew louder by the second.

Her stomach hurt. His did, too.

“I’ve been saying it for years,” she said between breaths. “And no one’s ever told me. Oh, God!”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “I didn’t mean to… Tubberware.” He giggled. “It’s adorable.”

“Shut up!"

"I'm sorry, I'll stop." He wiped some more of his laughing tears.

Grateful for his attempt to compose himself, she nodded. "Okay,” she turned back toward her laptop, “While we’re already on the issue, do we need anything else?"

He threw his head back, thinking. “We could use some new spatulas,” he said. "And lunchboxes. Tupperware has some great choices, you should take a look."

Her laugh died into a smile. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“What I’m saying is, we’re not getting Tubberware.”

“Why not?” He cocked an eyebrow. “They’ve got great kitchen stuff and it’s easy to use. You know, for me as a blind man…”

“Matt Murdock, are you one of those Tubberware grandmas?” It was her turn to laugh.

He pouted. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, we need to talk about this.”

“No, I’ve got work to do. You should buy what I just said. We definitely need that.”

“Alright, let me see what Amazon has," she said.

“No, we'll get it from Tupperware," he retorted. "I've been using nothing else for years."

“That's not my problem. There are cheaper options. Amazon, same-day delivery. Why do we have Prime if we don't use it? And don't say because of the Podcasts, we have Spotify, which is ten times better."

“Tupperware has better quality.”

“I'm buying the spatula and the lunchboxes from Amazon, end of discussion.”

There was a playful smile on his lips, already telling her what he was about to say next was merely a joke. “You’re not the man of the house,” Matt argued. “As the man of the house, I dictate where we buy our kitchen supplies.”

She gasped, her mouth hanging wide open as she processed his words. Even though it was a joke, she couldn't help but feel slightly offended at even the prospect. Shaking her head, she cocked her eyebrows at him and said, “And as the woman you depend on to suck your dick, I strongly suggest you think about what you just said.”

He bit his cheek. “Oh, so we’re going there?”

She smirked. “I thought you could handle it, tough guy.”

“Okay, that’s it!” He tossed the case file aside, tore the laptop from her hands, and pulled her into his lap in one swift motion.

Matt was always the first to suggest a gentle game of teasing, but he barely had any tolerance for it. He was always the first to get riled up, no matter what. Perhaps she should have thought twice about her words, but it was so much more fun to see him like this than give in too soon.

He rolled her hips down into his, his fingers sure to leave bruises as he guided her along his slacks. The moan she let out was guttural.

Matt bit down on her earlobe. “Mouth off on me again and this is all you’re gonna get for the next week,” he said.

Her thighs fluttered around his own. The heartbeat between her legs bounced off his muscles. The room suddenly grew too hot to breathe the toxic air in.

“On second thought,” she began, though when Matt’s lips wandered from her ear to her neck and down to her cleavage, the words got caught in her throat.

He ran his hands under her shirt. Her skin was hot. The rough callouses of his fingers pulled the fabric aside until it slipped off her shoulders.

“No bra,” he smirked. “Nice.”

She whined. “I really need to buy kitchen supplies now, Matt,” she tried again.

He sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth. If they were hard due to the cold air in the apartment or because his touch sent her into overdrive she wasn’t sure, but once he was on her all she could think about was his stupid mouth on her tits.

Her nipple slipped off his tongue with a pornographic plop. “I want you to do as I say,” he said.

“You can't use your bedroom voice when we're talking about the apartment. Oh, fuck!”

He slapped his hand flat on her ass.

“You were saying?”

She wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his perfectly wet lips.

“Stop teasing me.”

Matt leaned back from the mess he made on her chest, eyelids fluttering innocently, hands rested on her hips again. “You said you needed to buy kitchen supplies,” he said.

And he was instantly back in his teasing mood, believing he finally got the upper hand.

“I lied,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. You really need to buy kitchen supplies.”

She huffed. “Fine, guess I’ll do it myself.”

He wanted to laugh.

Her shorts accompanied her shirt on the floor. Half naked, she plopped down next to him on the couch again.

Matt choked on nothing at all, her scent thick in the air. When her thighs moved, the sound it made was wet, hot, and sticky. He loved that sound. He loved it most when it was as close to his ears as possible, squished between those perfect thighs that made the sound unbearable.

She threw her head back, throat exposed. She sighed. Her fingers ran over her body, barely touching, only testing the waters. All hairs on her body stood at full attention, the ache between her thighs thudding so hard to the point where she could hear nothing but blood in her ears. Her heart sped up, half because of embarrassment, the other half because of excitement. She wasn’t sure what was stronger. They’d never done anything like this before and she doubted he’d even let her. Up until this point he hadn’t done anything but listen closely though, fists clenched around the soft fabric of his slacks close to his crotch.

Her fingers ghosted over the waistband of her panties. Black silk. He liked the feeling of lace on her, but after some time it began to tickle and he hated the way it itched at his skin, so she barely wore lace anymore. He had his hands on her at all times, she had to adapt.

Matt’s hand shot out instantly. Her fingers barely breached her panties and he already had enough. “Don’t you dare,” he said.

“Why?” she challenged. Her voice was nothing but a series of breaths.

“Because it’s mine.”

“If you won’t touch me-“

He shoved his fingers down her underwear.

“Fuck!” Her head fell even further down the armrest.

“You were saying?”

“I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“Why?” his thumb stopped over her clit. “Why should I give you anything?”

“Because I will buy or- or do anything you want from now on, I promise!”

“Watch your tone, sweetheart,” he bellowed.

“Please,” she squirmed, searching for any kind of friction. His hand kept her hips restrained without even trying, any move grazing her just enough to make her body jolt, but not nearly enough to be pleasurable.

“Hm,” he hummed.

“Please?”

“Okay,” and he pressed his thumb down so hard, she swore she saw stars dance around her clouded vision.

She moaned just the way he liked it. “Fuck.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Matt resumed his work. Even though his pants were painfully tight, he acted like nothing had happened. “I need to finish this paperwork,” he told her. “I won’t ignore my responsibilities just because someone decided to be a needy whore today. So if you want to cum, you better stay quiet so I can concentrate.”

His thumb worked its way up and down her clit, circled, and drew patterns she’d never seen before. She bit into her bottom lip until it drew blood.

He knew her body better than anyone else, better than herself even. He knew what she liked, what made her squirm, what she didn’t like, and what could make her body shake instantly.

Her body was an altar. He had every last inch mapped out to perfection. Her skin was soft like a sunny day in spring and it smelled salty like the sea, sweet like the field of flowers in Central Park, and distinctive like summer rain. Every time he touched her, he was on fire. The temperature in her body changed with every flick of his fingers. Every hitch of her breath he caught onto. She didn’t even have to tell him to keep going, he simply knew.

Matt worshipped her body like he would kneel on the bench at church. She was a row of burning candles before the cross and he knelt before her like a pathetic disciple willing to do anything to please the divine being.

Her stifled moans through the palm of her hand drove him crazy. Usually, he was a lot more composed than that, but it was late, he was overworked and he was horny, and he couldn’t concentrate with the wetness of her arousal lying thick in the air. He licked his lips to taste it. He tasted the air like a starved man.

Matt growled. “Fuck this,” he said.

She protested silently when he retreated his thumb. She sat up against the armrest, staring at him. His hair stood in all directions from the hand he ran through it, his lips plump, seeking friction.

“Come here.” He grabbed her hips and placed her back on his lap, legs on either side of his thigh. “I need you close to me,” he breathed into her mouth as they met halfway. “Ride my thigh.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Ride my thigh. Be a good girl and ride my thigh. You want to make yourself cum, hm? I’m giving you an opportunity here, unless, of course, you’re too pathetic to do it yourself. Do you need me to help you, hm?”

She swallowed again. “Please,” she said.

His hands gently began to roll her hips against him. “Like that?” he asked.

The moan she let out was answer enough.

“Feel good?”

She bit into her lip, nodding wildly.

“Use your words,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

Her head fell on his shoulder, hand seeking something to hold onto behind him at the back of the couch.

The silence earned her another hard slap on her ass.

“Answer me.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Feels good. Keep going, please.”

Matt smirked. “Good girl.”

The leather was dented under her fingers. She held onto the couch for dear life. His hands guided her hips deliciously over his thigh, the fabric of his slacks mixed with the silk of her underwear sliding against her sensitive clit over and over again driving her closer and closer to the end.

She saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Her eyes rolled back. The pressure in her lower abdomen began to build slowly but steadily. She involuntarily sped up, sloppily fighting against the slow pace he’d set. He would’ve stopped her if he hadn’t been so riled up already, so he let her. He let her chase for the sweet relief the knot in her stomach prepared her for.

“Matt,” she whined his name.

One of his hands began to stroke her back. “I know,” he said. “I know, baby.”

Her thighs twitched around his, her entire body shaking underneath his touch. It was all too much. His rough hands on her hot skin, his fingers digging in sure to leave bruises, and the gentle coax of his hand on her back, stroking innocently to help her through it. His touch was too much to bear.

Matt instantly reached out when she threw her head back. The moan sounded delicious in his ears. He caught her head with his hand around the back of her neck, making sure she wouldn’t fall over and hurt herself. She clenched around nothing, thighs threatening to close but his own kept them open.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn’t crying, not at all. The tear came from a place of pure pleasure. Her body couldn’t handle it. The sensations he put her through left her speechless every time he touched her. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat was dry.

His thumb drew circles on the back of her neck. He brought her back to earth after it just shattered before her very eyes.

“Fuck,” she choked out.

Matt guided her back into his chest and she took the support gladly. His heart beat against her bare breasts. The bulge in his pants became painfully clear once she regained feeling in her limbs. It brushed her thighs where it lay between his own.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“That was…” she couldn’t find the right words.

“I know.”

She didn’t quite trust her legs when she twisted to swing the one between his thighs over the other one. She kept her hands on his shoulders to straddle him without falling over.

Matt tilted his head, eyes searching for hers. “What’re you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Looks like you need some help,” she stated. She played with his belt buckle.

“It’s fine. You know I don’t need anything in return for making you feel good.”

“I know, but I want to. That looks painful.”

In one swift motion, she pulled the belt out of his slacks and tossed it aside.

Matt chuckled at her eagerness. “You are insatiable, you know that?” he dove in to kiss whatever bare skin he could reach.

His lips sloppily kissed down her neck and up again, chasing her lips. She kissed him back as hard as she could. Their teeth clashed, tongues fighting each other for dominance, knowing he’d win anyway. He swallowed every breath she took, sucking her dry and breathing new life back into her mouth.

She opened the button on his pants, trying hard to pull it down enough to get his aching cock out of them.

He caught onto her plan. Shifting his hips, she managed to reach into his boxers.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?” she blinked at him.

Matt reached for the hem of her panties. His fingers flexed.

Rip.

She gasped. The silk fell to the floor in nothing but flaps of fabric.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

“Fine.” In response, the buttons of his dress shirt flew in all directions. She ran her hands down his chest, satisfied with the ripped front of the shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He chuckled. “That’s fair.”

She kissed down every exposed sliver of skin on his torso. Her tongue ran over the jagged scars, the freshly healed bruises from a couple of nights ago. He was beautiful. With the billboard casting a pornographic red light on them, eyes closed, he looked like the child of an angel and a demon. His entire existence was ephemeral, his body a wonderland.

She sucked one of his perky nipples into her mouth. He arched almost entirely off the couch.

“I love you,” she breathed against him.

She liked the way the words sounded. For someone so afraid of admitting her feelings not so long ago, she’d come quite far. It had become her new favorite thing to say. Though the true weight of the statement came in the moments they were intimate. She could chant the same three words to him all day, but the second they were close to each other, touching where only they could touch, those three words regained their true meaning. It was sweet, almost innocent. The kind of love everyone wished for. An endless spiral of butterflies danced around in their stomachs.

Matt chuckled. The very same sound turned into a moan once her teeth dug into the flesh around his nipples.

“I’m worshipping you now,” she told him. Her kisses traveled down his body.

Her warmth on his chest disappeared. Instead, the hot trail of kissed lead to the opened button of his slacks. Her tongue played with his belly button, the happy trail leading into Neverland.

She kissed each scar on either side. “Perfect,” she hummed. “I don’t deserve you and yet you’re mine. This is mine. Only mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine,” she kissed the lower part of his stomach. “Mine,” her lips landed on the hem of his boxers. “Mine,” it was an animalistic growl. She pulled down his underwear swiftly.

Matt didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. He was so in awe of the way she touched and spoke of his body, he listened to her for the sake of having her praise him over and over again. The words carried innocence in their sinful ways.

He choked on air. His scars long forgotten, her mouth opened around its original destination.

“Lord have mercy!” he grabbed a fistful of hair.

Her tongue licked a thick stripe down his shaft.

Matt was a religious man. He prayed regularly and went to church and Sunday Mass. He swore never to take God anywhere other than he needed to be, but that woman and her cursed mouth made him see God in the fiery land of his unseeing vision. What they were doing was outright sinful. He knew he’d go to hell for saying the lord’s name in vain. He’d go to hell for everything he’d ever done and yet, while that was the truth, he didn’t care because, at that moment, he was living. He was alive. He’d gotten used to the thought of going to hell, seeking penance almost every day since. With her though, something had awakened inside of him. He couldn’t let it go. The Devil inside of him wanted to play.

Her mouth danced perfectly to the gospel of his moans, he forgot who he was. He tried hard not to push her head further down his cock, although the warmth of her throat sent him into pleasurable overdrive.

The cold air hit the head, falling from her lips like a wet towel. “It’s okay,” she said. “Take what you need.”

It was all the confirmation he needed.

His hips bucked up into her throat. She had laid off the gag reflex the first time she had his cock in her mouth, knowing the act alone could turn her on for more than one day. She could cum from simply touching him, hearing the dirty sounds slip past his swollen lips, and she’d be more than okay with it. The sounds he made were heaven’s gift to her, she was sure.

His cock twitched against her throat. She braced herself, eyes already closed.

“Stop,” he choked out.

She instantly sat back on her heels, naked and worked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all. I just… I need you.”

His chest heaved with the denied orgasm. The one he had denied himself. Anticipation rutted through his veins.

She swallowed the precum mixed with spit inside her hollowed-out mouth. The skin tingled. “You want me to-“ she pointed to his lap.

Matt sensed the motion. “If you want to,” he said. “But you can lay back and let me do all the work if that’s what you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Her thighs trapped his. She’d never been so comfortable doing that before. She was completely naked on top of him while he sat there, half-dressed, eyes searching for what he couldn’t see. Blood rushed to her cheeks. The position was compromising.

He pulled the hair from her face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I don’t know what I’m doing but yeah, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Mine,” he licked a stripe up her pulse point. “Mine,” the spank landed right on her ass. The next touch of his fingers made her shudder. Her cheeks flooded red with blood. “And mine,” he parted his fingers between her thighs to spread the lips of her pussy wide open.

Part of her wanted to scramble away. He couldn’t see but he could feel everything. It was just about the same as having him watch every inch of her body closely. Every last crevice he wanted to memorize. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her brain refused to function. She was entirely bare to him.

“Matt,” she said his name.

“You’re beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her again. Passionate, loving. “Remember our safe word?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me.”

“Red.”

He flicked the switch. “Okay, good girl,” the dark sound of his voice made all the embarrassment vanish. Instead, heat shot through her core. “Good girl, having your good little cunt spread for me. Just want to look at you the way I can. Want to see what’s mine. Want to feel how wet you are from riding my thigh. Oh, look at you!” he smirked. “This is turning you on, isn’t it? Your heart’s going crazy and you’re literally dripping. You’re making such a mess on my good pants. You want to make a mess on my cock now too, don’t you? You want to be my good little slut and ride my cock?”

She only whined.

His hand slapped across her ass harder this time. The collision stung. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Use your words or I’m leaving you like this.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice came out sobbing. “I’m sorry. I want you inside of me. I want to be your good girl, I promise.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, please! Please fuck me, Matthew. I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Don’t cry.” He wiped her cheeks. “I know I’m good, but no need to cry. You’ll get what you want. Want to make you feel good, hm. You deserve it for always being so patient.”

“Yes, I’ve been patient. I’ve been good. So good.”

He laughed. “You’re already so dumb for me, baby. You sure you can take this?”

“Yes!”

“What’s your color?” The always caring Matt Murdock peaked out from under the dark, sex-crazed facade only she got to see.

She shuddered. “I-“ words came harder than they should have.

His head titled. Worry spread across his face, ready to take back whatever he said.

“Green,” she eventually managed to say.

She only wanted the ache between her thighs to be numbed. She wanted him so incredibly deep inside of her, she could feel him bulge her stomach, everywhere he could be inside of her.

Matt smirked, and it only grew darker from there.

“Good girl,” he praised again.

She slapped her hand on her mouth. He bottomed out quickly, without warning. He penetrated her without thinking twice about it, burying himself so deep inside of her, he could feel her walls contracting around him with every inch. She sucked him in and she screamed. She was sure she screamed. Her hand was the only thing keeping the neighbors from knocking on their door. His name slipped from her lips like a prayer, like she was singing his name in church and the word echoed off the walls for everyone to hear. Except no one was supposed to hear this. It was just them. This was their safe space. They could be however they wanted to be like this, and only then they could touch each other so sweetly when the world wasn’t watching them and they didn’t have to worry about anything other than themselves.

The sound was new, even for Matt. He too was sure he let out the nastiest sound known to man, but unlike her, he had no intention of masking it. He bottomed out and he chose to stay like this for just a little while longer, waiting for her muscles to relax, waiting for her to enjoy this.

The impatient roll of her hips eased his worries.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

She breathed through her nose, “Okay.”

“Then ride me.”

And she did.

She started with a slow pace, taking her time to adjust to his size. Every inch of her felt perfectly filled out. He managed to reach parts of her she never could’ve found on her own. He had this way with her body, it was like a high that never ended, the endless train on the river of sugar rush.

Her eyes trailed up his body. Head tilted back, his eyes fluttered with every thrust of her hips. One arm flexed with the pressure he applied to the leather seat, the other was placed softly against the flesh of her hips. He made sure she knew he was there if she needed him to take control, though, at the same time, the move seemed almost domineering, leaving her no choice but to do as he wanted. She was completely at his mercy. Even the slightest touch made her cave. He knew it and she knew it.

If he’d told her to drive to hell with him, she would have.

The slow and steady pace felt like heaven to him. Her hips drew patterns to chase that spot so very deep inside of her, only he could reach it. The swirl was delicious around his cock, the hot, soft flesh of her insides rolling against him, up and down and up and down. He listened to her heartbeat, strangled breathing, and the goosebumps on her skin. Moan after moan escaped her lips, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hold it anymore. He filtered out every hint of discomfort or frustration. What she liked, what she continued doing, and what just didn’t seem to work. She explored herself without even realizing and it turned him on even more. He could’ve sworn he felt himself getting harder inside of her if that was humanly possible.

His ears only picked up on rushing blood and labored breaths. There was nothing else but the feeling of her body, the scent of sweat, and bittersweet arousal on his lips and tongue. He was entirely enveloped in her. Everything was about her. Her body, her wetness, her heart. The heart between her legs, loud and dominant.

She whimpered at the sight before her. Matt Murdock in all his glory, half naked with his shirt ripped at her fingers, fabric, and skin clutched between her nails. Sweat coated his forehead, mouth slightly agape. His lashes fluttered around his unseeing eyes. She didn’t even have to move. If she wanted to, the sight would’ve been enough to make her come undone in a matter of seconds. He was so comfortable in her presence, his shoulders slouched in absolute relaxation as her movement urged him closer to his own release.

The next time her hips rolled down into his, he met her movements. His hips jerked up with a purpose. That purpose lay deep inside of her and he knew where it was. The thrust from underneath made her cry out. The spongy spot inside of her danced with euphoria as the head of his cock brushed against it.

He chuckled breathlessly. “There it is,” his head stayed hung over the back of the couch.

She braced herself. The new wave of pleasure only spurred her on. The way he dove impossibly deeper into her with every brush against that sweet spot had him reeling, gripping the leather for any kind of support. She followed close behind, her hips beginning to move as if her life depended on it. With every thrust, she sped up. Although her legs slowly grew tired, all she could feel was the tingling knot deep in her stomach blossoming into a beautiful flower and waiting to blow.

The hand that had once laid around her waist landed around her throat instead. The leather wasn’t nearly enough to keep him composed if that was even possible.

Hell’s Kitchen always haunted him. Noise and smell followed him home, and the sound of innocent people getting hurt kept him from falling asleep most of the time. He couldn’t tune it out. The city was a part of him. Even asleep, he dreamed of all the bad that was out there and all the things he’d done in his life, the things that lead him there, the people he’d hurt. The city never slept and neither did he, not really.

Though with her, for the first time, he was able to breathe. She overwhelmed his senses to the point it almost became unbearable. Her touch singed his skin yet calmed his mind down to the point he could tune out everything else and just focus entirely on the woman atop him. Sight was overrated. He didn’t need to see to know the way she moved was graceful in itself. Everything she did, she did with passion. The rolls of her hips were angelic. With her head thrown back, sweat and tear all over her face, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever come across. He could feel every inch of her, smell her, taste her. The whole wide city disappeared in the wake of her existence.

She was his salvation. He was drowning.

“Matt,” she sighed. His name rolled sweetly over her lips like she was singing him to sleep.

He squeezed his fingers around her pulse point. The pressure caged her in, sending moons across the stars in her galaxy. She reached for his wrist, not sure if she wanted to keep him or push him away. The tingling traveled from her stomach into every last crevice of her being.

He twitched inside of her. His muscles tensed. She rolled against him again, chest to chest. Hard nipples brushed against each other.

She dove in for a taste. Sweat had nestled into his stubble. Air was overrated. She kissed him until her lungs had nothing left to give. Until there was no other way but to swim back to shore to take a deep breath.

They’d fucked before. They had sex before. They’d done a lot of things. Whatever this was though, it counted as neither. Time was of the essence. Not too little, not too much. Just the right amount of time, simply savoring each other, getting to know each other as much as humanly possible in the most intimate sense. Subconsciously, they’d both been carrying way too much pressure. It showed in the way they craved each other. Starving animals in the middle of the desert preying for sustenance.

She scratched her nails through the hairs on his chin, leaving red marks down his throat. He groaned ever so softly into the depths of her mouth.

“I love you,” she said. His name came in serial moans. She breathed hard, heavy. Lost all sense of space and time, as if she couldn’t even believe it herself.

Matt tasted the salt on his tongue, wet strains of tears carried from her drenched cheeks to his. She was crying, whining, begging, and as lovely as it was to hold her like this, the words were the last straw to destroy his composure completely.

“I love you.”

He flipped her over like she was a doll, easily handled, thighs opened to grant him the space he needed to get between them. All the while his hand remained on its throne around her throat.

She moaned. The red lights of the billboard shone at him from behind, fading into hues of purple and blue with each thrust. His hips brushed against her clit every time he dove forward, hard and relentless, deeper and deeper. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. The lights became a distant memory. Nothing mattered but the hot pressure inside her lower abdomen, his weight on her, the twitch of his cock against the spot inside of her at the same time he brushed the spot outside of her and all eventually just became too much.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me!”

She forced her eyes open. He loved it when she looked at him, vulnerable, exposed. And though she tried hard to obey, his pace made it almost impossible to keep her eyes open long enough. Not much longer and the only was about to snap.

“Who do you belong to? Who’s making you feel good?”

“You,” she gave him the answer he wanted. “Always you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Me, only me. You’re-“ he thrust his hips forward, “Mine. Mine.” he dug his teeth into her shoulder.

She sobbed. It was too much. Too good, too much. Her entire body was on fire.

“Matt, please.”

Waiting for permission, anything.

Fingers intertwined above her head on the armrest. She clawed onto him. His hand traveled down between their bodies, catching her clit just right between his fingers. Just a little more. Circles and triangles and more circles.

“All of this is mine, understood?” his face buried in the valve of her breasts. “I’m so in love with you,” he said. “So fucking in love with you.”

The Billboard outside exploded in fits of color. The coil snapped. She gave up the little control she had left, clinging onto him, shocks of pleasure wreaking havoc. Her pussy clenched around him. It was tight, so tight, and she kept him there until she could milk all he had to give her.

Matt stiffened. His mouth stayed open in a silent moan. Sound only came back to him once he came, hard. All the pressure from the week before unloaded and he fell on top of her, moaning, panting. His body vibrated with the aftershocks. The heat inside of her walls sucked him in until every last drop was spent, dripping along his softening shaft, out of her.

The world stood still.

“I love you,” the admission blew hot against her sternum. Her hands raked through his hair, holding him.

She sighed blissfully. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Matt was a sensitive person after sex. During, he took control. He hardly left her any time to breathe or think. After though, the world came crashing back in, his senses so overwhelmed by everything, he just needed someone to ground him. His mind wasn’t back yet, ears rushing with blood and every nerve in his body straining. The only thing keeping him sane was the beating of her heart against his ear.

Not sure if she could trust her legs just yet, she gently rolled them over. “Come on,” she whispered. “I’ll clean us up.”

He lay there, eyes directed at the ceiling. Her warmth disappeared only to be replaced by a lukewarm washcloth on his stomach.

She helped him out of his pants. The cold air of the apartment eased the burning.

He had regained most of his consciousness by the time she laid back on top of him. The sofa wasn’t spacious and for the first time, he was glad there was no space for her to move anywhere but his bare chest. The skin-to-skin contact made the sudden awareness less unbearable. He needed to focus on the feeling of her. He needed to remember what it felt like to breathe.

She traced patterns on his skin. Eventually, she asked, “You okay?”

“Thank you,” he said.

“You know, I love you too. More than anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you,” she looked up at him. “I don’t just love you, I’m in it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He couldn’t help it. “Oh,” the tears flowed freely.

“Hey-“

Matt choked out a laugh. “You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said. "And I don't even know why I'm crying because I'm not sad, I'm happy."

Her eyes softened. She touched his cheek gently. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, kissing her palm, down to her wrist, and back up.

“I was thinking,” she broke the silence.

“Dangerous,” he muttered.

“Hey!” she slapped him only slightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

“I was thinking,” she began again. “How about, you and I,” her fingers traveled down his exposed chest, “take the day off tomorrow, stay in,” she kissed his throat, “and have absolutely filthy sex everywhere in this apartment until I can’t walk anymore.”

He moaned. “That won’t be so hard,” he said.

Needless to say, he didn’t buy any kitchen supplies that day, the day after that, or the day after that. Truth be told, she never got the chance to buy them.

“We can start today.”

The second they stepped into the shower, her chest was pressed to the cold tiles as he took her from behind.

Even if she’d wanted to, the throbbing between her legs the next morning made shopping for something as useless as kitchen supplies an impossibility. And as she sat on the kitchen counter in the morning, back arched with his head buried deep between her thighs, she realized she wouldn’t regain feeling in her limbs anytime soon.

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