Lala

"How womanly you are and how sweet and torturous it is to imagine your body along mine."

- Albert Camus

“Welcome back,” Evelyn said warmly as the two of you stepped into the private showroom. “You look bundled up.”

Your soft laugh floated beside him. “Just hiding some stitches. I got buried under a liquor store a couple weeks ago.” Matt’s jaw tightened instantly at the reminder. Evelyn made a horrified sound.

“Oh my goodness.”

His hand settled lightly at your lower back as Evelyn guided you deeper into the suite. That touch had become instinct now. You leaned into it unconsciously every time, and Matt was becoming alarmingly addicted to that.

The showroom smelled faintly of perfume, pressed silk, champagne, and expensive leather. Soft music drifted overhead. Fabric whispered around moving sales associates.

And beneath all of it was you. Your lotion. Your shampoo. The faint sweetness of your perfume. Matt had spent enough evenings beside you now that he recognized it instantly anywhere. Evelyn settled the three of you into the private fitting area. “So,” she said brightly, “tell me everything. Dress code? Theme? Mood?”

“Black tie,” Matt answered. Evelyn hummed approvingly. “And her preferences?”

Matt turned his head toward you slightly. You shifted uncomfortably beside him. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Nothing too flashy?”

Matt almost smiled. You had no idea what you looked like to other people. Or to him. Evelyn clearly didn’t agree either. “She’s stunning,” she informed Matt matter-of-factly. “We can absolutely do dramatic if we want.” Your heartbeat jumped slightly with...excitement? Matt heard it immediately. Interesting.

“She likes jewel tones,” he said quietly before you could protest further.

You turned toward him in surprise. Matt kept his expression neutral despite the satisfaction curling low in his chest. He’d memorized what colors changed your breathing. “She also needs softer fabrics,” he added.

Your pulse fluttered warmly this time. Matt felt it on his skin like a physical touch. Evelyn immediately shifted into business mode. “Silks, soft satins, lined chiffon,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Nothing stiff or scratchy then.” Matt nodded once. You stared at him openly now. “You remember that from the one time we've been shopping together?”

Matt almost laughed. Remember? He couldn't forget a single detail about you if he tried. He could pick out every single note of your perfume, could perfectly map out the exact texture of every bruise currently on your body beneath his hands, and how you curled instinctively toward his warmth while sleeping. Remembering fabric preferences was nothing.

“You mention things,” he said simply. Liar. You sounded suspiciously touched by that answer anyway if the muscles pulling your face into a smile were any indication. Matt needed to stop enjoying that expression immediately.

Evelyn disappeared briefly before returning with an army of dresses. You made a tiny overwhelmed sound. Matt smiled faintly. “There’s my brave girl.”

Your heart sped up, face flushing warm enough that he nearly lost composure on the spot. Evelyn absolutely noticed your reaction because her heartbeat also picked up immediately with interest.

“I’ll leave you two to start,” she said smoothly. “Call if you need sizing adjustments.” Then she vanished. The second the curtain closed behind her, silence settled softly between you.

“Brave girl?” Matt heard your smile.

“A factual statement.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You agreed to go shopping with me again.”

A laugh escaped you. Matt’s chest tightened painfully at the sound. He listened as hangers shifted softly. Fabric sliding. Then, “Okay, I’m trying the green one first.”

Matt sat slowly on one of the fitting room sofas. The room filled with your soft sounds immediately. Fabric moving over skin and little muttered complaints under your breath. Matt’s hands tightened once against the armrests. The mental imagery alone was becoming genuinely unfair. “How’s your shoulder?” he asked quietly.

“Okay.”

“…Liar.”

You gasped softly. “How did you know?” Matt almost answered honestly. Instead he said “I know how you are.” Another lie. He’d heard the tiny catch in your breathing when you lifted your arm. Could feel the warmth radiating from the healing skin as it stitched itself together.

The curtain rustled. Then your footsteps approached slowly in heels. The dress moved differently than your usual clothes. Fluid. Soft. Clinging slightly around your thighs as you walked. “Okay,” you said nervously. “This one might be too much.”

Matt stood immediately. “Describe it.”

You exhaled softly. “It’s… dark green satin.” Your voice grew quieter. “Low neckline. Off shoulder.” Matt pictured it instantly. A pause and then your heartbeat stumbled. “There’s a slit,” you admitted weakly.

“...How high?”

He heard you shift your weight nervously. “…Upper thigh.” Jesus Christ. Matt inhaled slowly through his nose. “Come here.”

Your pulse absolutely sprinted now. Still you obeyed. Soft heels clicking slowly across the floor until you stood directly in front of him. Close enough that he could feel heat radiating from your skin.

Matt’s hands found your waist carefully. The satin beneath his fingers nearly destroyed him. Smooth and thin, clinging gently to your body. “You weren’t kidding,” he murmured. He slid one hand slightly higher along your side. Feeling the way the fabric curved around your ribs. The shape of you, God. His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric at your waist. Matt laughed quietly under his breath. You were going to kill him.

“Turn around for me.” The words came lower now. Rougher.

Matt nearly groaned when he heard the slit shift with the movement. One hand settled carefully at your hip and the other brushed lightly over the top of your spine. Finding exposed skin immediately. “...Open back?”

“Mhm.”

“How low?”

“Matt.”

His hand slid down a fraction and your breath caught sharply. “How low?” he repeated softly.

“…To here.” You guided his hand lower carefully. And holy fucking God. Matt’s composure cracked visibly for one dangerous second. Bare skin. Warm beneath his fingertips. The dress dipping obscenely low over your back.

Your pulse exploded. Matt leaned slightly closer before he could stop himself and your scent wrapped around him immediately. Soft and oh so sweet. “You’re quiet,” he murmured quietly near your ear. “You’re making it hard to think," you replied. Matt closed his eyes briefly.

The zipper at your back on the second dress caught slightly. You made a tiny frustrated sound. Matt’s hand immediately felt for it. “Hold still.” The words came instinctively firm and you went completely still beneath his hands. Such a good girl.

The thought hit him so hard he almost physically recoiled from it. Instead he focused carefully on easing the zipper upward slowly. The backs of his fingers brushed your skin the entire way. Your breathing turned shallow immediately. Matt finished the zipper but his hand moved to rest lightly against the back of your neck.

Neither of you moved and the room felt suddenly very small. Very warm. Matt’s finger brushed once against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Then before he could fully think better of it he leaned in again and pressed the softest kiss imaginable just below your jaw. The sound you made after the kiss nearly snapped the last thread of Matt’s restraint. Small and breathless, a soft little whine against the quiet of the fitting room.

Matt felt that sound shoot straight to his cock and his hand tightened instinctively at your waist. Fuck. It was so quiet and stifled that you didn’t even seem aware you’d done it. But Matt was. Painfully aware.

The exposed skin at the back of your neck was warm beneath his fingertips, pulse fluttering wildly where his fingertips rested just below your ear. Every beat gave you away. Every single one.

And when your breathing hitched again Matt acted before he fully thought better of it. He pulled you gently backward against him. The movement was careful automatically. Mindful of the stitches and barely healed bruising. But it still made your breath catch sharply the second your back met his chest.

God. Matt closed his eyes briefly. The satin dress shifted softly beneath his hands as you settled against him. Your warmth radiated through the thin fabric immediately. Matt’s arm circled your waist more securely before he could stop himself. Protective. Possessive. Necessary. He wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that the feeling of you in his arms had become all too natural.

Your heartbeat hammered wildly now. Fast enough that Matt almost chuckled in amusement. “You make very tempting sounds,” he murmured quietly near your ear.

Your pulse jumped harder. Matt felt the exact moment embarrassment flooded through you. “You kissed me first,” you muttered. Matt’s mouth twitched. “I kissed your neck.”

“That definitely still counts.”

A laugh escaped him softly before he could stop it. You melted slightly more against him at the sound. Matt’s grip flexed once at your waist. You fit there too well. Too perfectly.

And before he could think through the consequences properly, he leaned down again. The second kiss landed lower this time. Right beneath your jaw.

Another soft sigh. Needier this time. Matt’s composure cracked outright and a rough breath escaped him before he buried his face briefly near your neck. Oh, god. He could smell your perfume. Your natural pheremones. Warm skin beneath all that expensive fabric. And underneath all of it was the tracest scent of your arousal. Matt clamped his eyes shut briefly. This was becoming a serious problem. Matt exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re shaking again,” he murmured quietly.

“So are you.”

Hell. His mouth curved faintly despite himself. Your head tilted slightly toward him then. And Matt instantly realized exactly how close your mouths suddenly were. Close enough to feel your breath. His heartbeat kicked hard against his ribs. Matt could hear the rush of blood beneath your skin while his own pulse continued to betray him

One more inch. That was all it would take. Matt almost did it. God help him, he almost did. Then somewhere beyond the fitting room, another customer laughed faintly. Reality snapped back into place immediately.

He inhaled sharply. Control. He needed control. Because kissing you in the middle of a luxury boutique fitting room was not a line he was crossing today. Even if every instinct in his body wanted to. Matt forced himself to step back slowly.

His fingertips dragged reluctantly along your waist before finally slipping away completely. “You need to try on another dress,” he said quietly. His voice sounded rougher than intended. Matt could practically feel your confusion and disappointment.

So he added, lower this time: “Before I forget where we are right now.” Your heartbeat exploded.

“Next dress, princess. Please.”

Matt sat back down heavily in the chair while you disappeared behind the changing curtain. And then came the soft sounds of you undressing. Matt shut his eyes immediately. Not helping. Not helping at all. Fabric sliding over skin. Matt dragged one hand down his face slowly. This was torture.

The next hour only got worse. One pale lavender dress made your heartbeat flutter nervously the second Evelyn called it “romantic.”

Your heartbeat gave away exactly how self-conscious you felt wearing it. Which only made him want to reassure you more.

“How does she look?” he asked Evelyn quietly when you stepped out again in another gown.

Your pulse spiked instantly at the question. Evelyn took one look at you and laughed softly. “She looks expensive, Mr Murdock.”

Mine. The thought hit Matt so fast and hard it genuinely startled him. His hand tightened unconsciously around the fabric at your hip. Not ownership. Never that, but something frighteningly close to cherished.

His responsibility to care for.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

Matt knew the second the dress came out of the garment bag that he was in trouble. The fabric alone gave it away. He heard the weight of it as you lifted it from the hanger. Heavier silk, structured drape, and he could hear the lining whispering softly against itself. Luxury.

And then your heartbeat changed. Not the nervous flutter from earlier dresses. This one betrayed your excitement.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” you teased softly from behind the curtain. Matt loosened his tie slightly. “I’m preparing myself.”

Your laugh drifted through the room. Warm and bright. Matt leaned back in the fitting chair and tried very hard not to imagine what you looked like changing a few feet away. He failed immediately.

The soft rustle of fabric slid through the room again. Then silence.

“Okay.” Your voice sounded strange. Smaller somehow. Matt’s pulse kicked instantly. “What?” Another pause and then, “…I think this might be the one.”

The curtain shifted open. The dress moved differently than every other one. Liquid silk. It flowed around your legs with a heavier glide, skimming your body in slow elegant waves when you walked toward him. Your heels clicked softer too with careful steps now. Nervous. Your heartbeat was going absolutely wild.

Matt stood immediately. “Describe it,” he said quietly. You laughed nervously. “Bossy.”

Matt moved closer slowly. The scent of your perfume wrapped around him instantly. Underneath it was your warm skin.

And then his fingertips found your waist. Matt nearly lost composure on the spot. The silk was impossibly smooth beneath his hands, hugging your body in a way that made his jaw tighten immediately. Form-fitting but not tight. Worse, it skimmed you, following every curve naturally.

Matt’s hands slid slightly higher before he could stop himself. Your breath caught sharply. “How bad is it?” you whispered.

Matt swallowed once. “Very bad.” Your pulse jumped hard enough that he almost chuckled. “What color?”

He already knew the answer.

Beneath the standard, clean tang of dry-cleaned silk, there was a bite of coppery, metallic iron over a faint, synthetic sweetness. That precise, laboratory chemical trace of a high-grade acid dye. It was aggressive and bold. The exact same unmistakable scent profile he cataloged every time he pulled his own cowl over his eyes. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as tilted his head expectantly. You were wearing his color. Still, he wanted to hear you say it.

“Red.”

Deep red silk. Of course it was. Matt’s hands flexed lightly at your waist. The dress dipped lower at the back than the others and he could feel the exposed warmth of your spine beneath his fingertips. “How low is the back?” he asked quietly.

“Lower than the green one.” Matt closed his eyes briefly. Fantastic. “And the front?”

You shifted slightly. The movement dragged silk softly against your thighs. His pulse thudded hard. “It’s…” You hesitated. “Elegant.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

A tiny laugh escaped you. “Moderate neckline.” Matt hummed quietly. “You’re lying.”

You gasped. “How do you know?”

Matt smiled faintly. “Lucky guess.” Liar. Your heart alone gave you away. He slid one hand slowly upward along your side until his fingertips brushed the thin strap near your shoulder. Bare skin. Soft. Your pulse sprinted immediately.

“Turn around for me.”

The dress brushed around your legs as you turned. Matt’s hand settled carefully at the small of your back. The silk dipped obscenely low there. His thumb brushed exposed skin and you inhaled sharply. “Matt.”

His name sounded dangerous in your mouth lately. He needed you to stop saying it like that. “How does the skirt move?” he asked quietly instead.

“It’s…” You exhaled softly. “Flowy. Heavy. Kinda dramatic.”

Matt pictured it instantly. You walking into a gala in this dress. Every man in the room staring. The thought made something hot and possessive twist low in his chest. Claimed emotionally in ways he had no right to feel yet. Matt forced himself to drop his hand.

Then you laughed suddenly. Bright and teasing. “This kinda feels like a Daredevil cosplay.”

Matt went perfectly still. Your pulse fluttered with amusement. Oblivious. Completely oblivious. He kept his expression neutral through years of courtroom practice alone. “Does it.”

“Mhm. Same color.” You smoothed the silk lightly beneath your hands. “Like… classy Daredevil.” Matt inhaled slowly through his nose. God was surely punishing him. And then somehow you made it worse.

“When he first showed up, all the boys in my elementary school were obsessed with him.” Matt physically stopped functioning for half a second. You continued casually, completely unaware of the psychic damage occurring two feet away from you. “They used to pretend to fight ninjas at recess." You chuckled.

Matt stared straight ahead blankly. Because when Daredevil first appeared publicly, you had been a child. Foggy’s “old man” comment suddenly echoed through Matt’s skull like a curse.

Your heartbeat danced happily while you continued. “I thought the suit was scary when I was little though.”

Matt cleared his throat once. Dangerously controlled. “Did you.”

“Mhm. But then when I got older…”

Your pulse changed. Fluttery now. Oh no. Matt sensed disaster instantly. “What.” You laughed sheepishly. “…I had a huge crush on him.”

Matt nearly died. Actually nearly died. Your pulse fluttered warmly with embarrassment. “I was like fourteen maybe?” you admitted. “He was literally on my school binder.”

Matt’s soul left his body. School binder. Daredevil. Matt pressed his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek just to remain upright. You were still talking. “I think every girl in New York had a vigilante phase.”

Matt made a strangled sound that he disguised as a cough. You paused immediately. “…Matt?”

He needed a minute. Several minutes. Possibly medical assistance. Because all he could picture suddenly was teenage you doodling hearts around a photo of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

And worst of all? Some deep selfish part of him was absurdly pleased. And not because you’d had a silly teenage crush on Daredevil.

Because somewhere beneath the mask and the stories and the newspaper headlines, you’d seen something worth noticing. Before you’d even known who he was. Matt hated how much that mattered to him.

“You okay?” you asked, laughing softly now. No. Absolutely not. Matt stepped closer instead before he could think better of it. His hands found your waist again automatically. The silk beneath his fingers was warm now from your body heat. “You had a crush on Daredevil,” he repeated carefully.

“Mhm.”

“At fourteen.”

You laughed. “When you say it like that it sounds embarrassing.”

You had no idea. None. His thumb brushed slowly along your waist through the silk. “You still like the whole Devil horns thing?” he asked quietly before he could stop himself.

Your heartbeat exploded. Silence. Then softly, “…Maybe.”

notes: who else wanted to watch matt be down bad for 3k words 🙋🏻‍♀️ also reader had a crush on daredevil as a kid hehe. i'm sure that didn't make matt feel about 500 years old.

i'm only gonna nerd out for a second but i did a lot of research for the red dress scene. yes it is true! dye colors have unique scents. natural having an earthy base vs synthetic having more of a bite of course. black dye might have a slight fishy/oily scent due to the sulfur based compounds used in a lot of black dyes. blue might have a slightly floral/bitter scent due to the Copper Phthalocyanine used in a lot of blue dyes. so yep, matt can smell colors.

the gala is the next chapter

Sunlight woke you slowly. Warmth first. Then soft fabric beneath you. The faint smell of coffee trailed in from somewhere beyond the bedroom. Your eyes blinked open reluctantly against pale gold morning light spilling through enormous windows.

For one blissful second, your brain was completely empty. Then, oh. Matt’s apartment. Your cheeks warmed immediately beneath the silk pillowcase. You stretched carefully beneath the sheets, groaning softly when the hangover made itself known.

“Ugh.”

The room was quiet. No Matt. Your gaze drifted automatically toward the doorway. Part of you expected awkwardness this morning. Instead the apartment felt strangely… calm. Like you belonged here.

You eventually peeled yourself from the absurdly comfortable bed and shuffled sleepily toward the bathroom. And immediately froze in the doorway. The bathroom was massive. Warm marble counters. Soft lighting. And very obviously his and hers.

Your stomach fluttered instantly. Matt’s side was unmistakable. Minimal. Neat. Dark bottles and expensive cologne arranged with impossible precision, braille labels lining drawers and containers discreetly. But the other side...

You stepped closer slowly. Your cleanser. Your moisturizer. The lip mask you liked. Your body lotion. The expensive serums. Even the stupidly luxurious electro facial device he’d bought you.

Duplicates of everything arranged neatly beside the sink like it had always belonged there. Your chest squeezed painfully. He’d obviously done this long before last night. Quietly. Like some hidden hopeful part of him had prepared space for you already.

You opened one drawer carefully and nearly died. Folded pajamas. Soft lounge clothes. Leggings. A sweater. Underwear still tagged. Socks.

“Oh my god.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper. Something warm and terrifying unfurled slowly inside your chest. Not possession or obligation. Care.

You stood there for another long moment just staring before eventually forcing yourself to move. Your hangover would not be cured by emotional devastation unfortunately. So you washed your face, did your skincare, using your own products from Matt’s counter while wearing Matt’s shirt in Matt’s bathroom. An experience dangerously close to intimacy.

By the time you wandered out toward the smell of coffee, you felt significantly more human. And immediately almost lost your mind again. Matt stood in the kitchen plating breakfast. Half dressed. Dark slacks and a white dress shirt. Tie still undone around his neck. His glasses sat low on his nose while he moved confidently around the kitchen with practiced familiarity.

Coffee already made.

Toast.

Omelettes.

Fruit.

Domesticity looked criminal on him. You leaned quietly against the furthest counter just to watch for a second. The morning light caught silver at his temples. God. He was so older-man gorgeous it genuinely made you irritated. Matt’s head tilted slightly before he smiled faintly. “You’re doing it again.” You nearly jumped. “Jesus.”

“That’s usually my reaction when someone silently watches me with homicidal intent.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. “How did you know?”

“Heard you walk in. You sighed pretty loudly.” Your smile widened helplessly. “You’re like a wizard.” Matt’s mouth softened faintly at your voice. Then, “How’s the hangover?”

“Managed.”

“Coffee helps.”

“Is this all for me?”

“Well, you drank enough tequila to tranquilize a horse.” Fair. You padded farther into the kitchen barefoot, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs.

Matt’s attention shifted subtly toward you as you approached. Tiny pause. Like he’d registered the amount of bare skin involved immediately. “You made breakfast,” you murmured.

“You cooked for me first.” The simple sincerity in his voice hit embarrassingly hard. You slid onto one of the stools at the counter while Matt set a plate carefully in front of you. The food smelled incredible. “So you really can cook too?” you accused. Matt sat beside you with his own coffee. “I contain multitudes.” You snorted into your cup.

The morning settled around you both softly after that. Easy conversation. Quiet clinking dishes. You eventually glanced toward him over your coffee. “So…” Matt hummed softly. “I saw the bathroom.” Silence. Not guilty silence. More like Matt realizing he’d been caught. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “And the clothes.” Another small pause.

“There are shoes too,” he admitted carefully.

Your chest did something stupid. “Matt.”

His fingers tapped once lightly against his coffee mug. “You shouldn’t have to wear your club clothes home.” The quiet practicality of the statement somehow made it even worse because you knew him well enough now to hear the truth underneath it. I wanted you comfortable here.

You looked down at your coffee briefly just to compose yourself. “But you had to have bought all that before last night.” Matt went still. Then after a second, “Yes.”

Your voice softened instinctively. “That’s… really sweet.”

Matt's head tilted down slightly toward the counter instead of directly toward you. Avoidant. Caught being tender. “I thought...I hoped eventually you might stay over,” he admitted quietly. Your stomach flipped violently. The apartment suddenly felt warmer.

“You can stay today if you want,” he added after a moment, clearly trying to redirect the conversation away from his own emotional vulnerability. “I’ll be at work most of the day but you’re welcome to use the apartment.”

You smiled faintly into your coffee. “You sound like you’re trying to casually offer me joint custody of your penthouse.” Matt huffed a quiet laugh. “Just making options available.”

But the soft hopefulness underneath it still lingered there between you both anyway.

Matt disappeared briefly after breakfast to finish getting ready. You told yourself you were absolutely not watching him go. This was a lie. Because unfortunately the man looked devastating in a dress shirt. You lingered at the kitchen counter for another minute after he left, sipping coffee slowly while your thoughts kept drifting back toward the bathroom.

Eventually curiosity won. You padded quietly down the hallway, still draped in Matt’s shirt, coffee mug warm between your hands. You found him in the bedroom fastening the cuffs of a charcoal suit jacket. Or trying to, anyway.

Because despite the composed exterior, Matt seemed… distracted this morning somehow. His briefcase sat on the dresser untouched. Phone buzzing intermittently with ignored emails. And his tie still hung loose around his neck. Your eyes lingered there a second too long. God. The things this man did to you in a suit should genuinely be studied.

Matt tilted his head slightly at your approach. “You’re quiet.”

“You’re annoyingly handsome.”

A faint smile pulled briefly at his mouth as he finally began doing his tie. “Good morning to you too.” You wandered closer anyway, setting your coffee down nearby before eyeing the tie he was straightening. “You’re gonna wrinkle it.”

“I’m aware.”

Matt’s fingers loosened slightly against the silk. You stepped between him and the dresser before you could think too hard about it. Close. Very close. He smelled like that clean soap and expensive cologne and fresh coffee.

Your fingers brushed the tie automatically. And then immediately blurted, “Oh my god, Matt.”

Matt’s brow lifted slightly. “What?”

“Everything you own is silk.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “That’s not true.”

“The sheets.” You straightened the tie carefully. “The ties. The pillowcases. Probably your soul somehow.” Matt’s hands settled lightly at your waist. Warm palms through thin fabric. Your pulse skipped instantly. “I like texture,” he said simply.

And suddenly that made terrifying amounts of sense. Of course he did. Everything in Matt’s world was touch. Soft wool. Smooth silk. Cashmere. Leather. Warm skin.

Matt’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly at your waist. The room felt very quiet suddenly. Morning sunlight spilled gold across dark wood floors while the city buzzed distantly beyond the windows. You were trying very hard not to think about how broad he was beneath your hands. “How do you even own shirts this soft?” you muttered.

“Money.”

You snorted. “At least you’re self-aware.”

Matt smiled faintly. You again fussed with the tie after another moment, smoothing it flat automatically against his chest.

And then neither of you moved away. Your hand still rested lightly against the silk. Matt’s hands still warm at your waist. Close enough now that you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath your fingertips. Matt’s thumb brushed once unconsciously against your side through the shirt.

Your breath caught immediately. His head tilted slightly downward toward you. His eyes landed somewhere near your chest. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to your heart, and judging by the way his jaw tightened subtly… he liked it.

Neither of you seemed willing to break the moment first. Then slowly, Matt’s hands shifted more securely against your waist. Your pulse skipped hard. And before your brain could catch up he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Warm. Lingering just enough to make your stomach flip violently.

You went completely still beneath his hands. Matt stayed close afterward. Close enough that the warmth of his breath brushed your skin. And for one suspended second, it genuinely felt like he might kiss you properly. Instead he exhaled softly through his nose.

“I’m not going into the office today.”

Matt’s mouth softened faintly against your cheek before he pulled back just enough to continue. “I can work from here.” You looked up at him helplessly. “Matt…”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I'm sure you saw the office setup anyway.” You laughed softly, still a little dazed from the kiss. “I did. There’s enough equipment in there to hack into the Pentagon.”

“Foggy says the same thing.”

His hands lingered at your waist another dangerous second before finally slipping away. The loss of warmth felt immediate. And judging by the way Matt adjusted his slacks a little too carefully afterward, he felt it too.

The rest of the morning settled into something dangerous because neither of you seemed prepared for how easy this felt. You and Matt left the bedroom for the office down the hall. And honestly? The setup was absurd. Two desks. Dual monitors on the second desk. Editing-quality screens. Enough processing power to render a movie. You stared at the equipment in disbelief “What exactly are you and Foggy doing in here?”

Matt looked up briefly from his work in the neighboring desk setup. “Winning.”

You snorted. “You rich people are exhausting.” Matt’s mouth twitched faintly before returning to whatever horrifying lawyer email he was typing.

You stayed curled up in the chair, one of his soft blankets tossed over your lap eventually while you logged into your Adobe account and started editing photos. The apartment settled into a rhythm after that. Keyboard clicks. Coffee refills. Quiet music playing somewhere low in the background from the built-in speakers. The occasional phone call.

And unfortunately for your nervous system Work Mode Matt was devastating. You tried not to eavesdrop at first. Really. But then you heard that voice. Low. Calm. Sharp as a blade.

“No,” Matt said evenly into his headset at one point, “that’s not what the statute says.” Silence. “Read subsection C again.”

You looked up automatically from your editing. Matt sat across the room in that crisp shirt, glasses low on his nose, one hand resting against his jaw while he listened. Focused. Composed. It was deeply unfair.

A few minutes later he ended another call with, “I don’t care what their PR team suggested. That’s still obstruction.”

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly. Oh no. Competence kink. You were done. Matt must’ve sensed your attention lingering because eventually he paused mid-email. “…Why are you so quiet?” You leaned your chin into your hand innocently. “You’re hot when you’re mean professionally.”

Matt went completely still. Then, “Please work on your photos.” You burst into helpless laughter while he rubbed briefly at his forehead.

Lunch arrived around one. Matt had ordered enough food for six people despite there being only two of you.

You ate cross-legged in your chair beside him at the second desk while telling him about your edits, describing them and occasionally bumping shoulders accidentally whenever you leaned too close to a screen trying to get the details right for him.

At some point you abandoned the blanket entirely because the apartment was warm. Which meant, yes. You were still only wearing his shirt. No pants. Bare legs. Bare feet tucked beneath you while you worked.

And because Matt was blind, your body had gradually stopped treating it like a big deal. Matt, meanwhile, was suffering in complete silence. He had been tense for almost twenty minutes. You noticed it slowly in those increasingly clipped answers. The rigid shoulders. The way his jaw kept tightening during the phone call.

You looked over from your monitor. Matt sat leaned slightly forward now, headset on, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose while someone talked endlessly through the speaker.

“…No,” he interrupted finally, voice sharper now. “They cannot file that motion without—” He stopped abruptly. Exhaled once through his nose. Patiently trying again. You frowned softly. Poor thing. Without really thinking about it, you pushed back from your chair and wandered quietly behind him.

Matt’s posture shifted immediately the second you approached. Aware. Your fingers landed gently against his shoulders. Warm through the thin dress shirt. Matt exhaled softly. You started kneading carefully at the tension gathered there while he continued the call.

“This is exactly what I warned you about,” he said into the headset, voice still composed despite the fact your thumbs had just pressed slowly into the base of his neck. Oh. The tiny pause afterward told you immediately that had affected him. Interesting.

You continued anyway. Slow circles against tight muscles. Gentle pressure upward beneath his hairline. Matt’s shoulders loosened by microscopic degrees beneath your hands. Another pause in his sentence, and then a rough little sound escaped low in his throat.

Your stomach flipped violently. Matt recovered almost immediately. Mostly. “Yes,” he said into the phone, voice suddenly rougher. “Continue.” Oh. OH. You bit your lip hard to stop smiling. Your fingers drifted higher carefully, scratching lightly against his scalp.

Matt froze. Completely froze. Then suddenly his hand reached backward blindly. And landed directly against your bare thigh. Warm palm with a firm grip. Instinctive. Like he needed grounding immediately.

The contact shocked both of you. Your breath caught softly. Matt’s fingers flexed once automatically against your skin. The shirt hem brushed his wrist. Which meant he could probably feel exactly how little separated his hand from the rest of your body. His jaw tightened visibly. On the headset someone was still talking. Matt clearly had no idea what they were saying anymore.

You watched his throat move once. Then another rough grunt slipped quietly from his chest when your nails dragged lightly through his hair again. Your entire body heated instantly. Matt finally muted the call with terrifyingly quick reflexes.

Silence crashed into the office. Neither of you moved. His hand still wrapped around your thigh. Your fingers still tangled lightly in his hair. Then Matt spoke without turning around. Low and measured. “You cannot do that while I’m working.”

You blinked innocently despite the fact your pulse was going insane. “Do what?”

Matt laughed once under his breath. A genuinely tortured sound. Then his grip tightened slightly against your leg. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “I’m trying very hard to behave myself today.”

The office felt warm suddenly. Too warm. You stood there behind him with your fingers still tangled lightly in his hair while Matt sat rigid beneath you, breathing carefully like restraint had become a full-body effort. Then without removing his hand from your leg, Matt unmuted the call. You nearly choked.

“…Yes,” he said smoothly into the headset, voice calm despite the fact his palm was still spread warm against your bare skin. “Sorry. Continue.” Your eyes widened immediately. Oh my god.

Matt’s thumb dragged slowly once against the inside of your thigh beneath the hem of his shirt. Not enough to be obscene. Enough to make your knees weak. The movement felt absentminded almost. Like he genuinely couldn’t help himself anymore. Meanwhile his voice stayed infuriatingly composed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he continued into the call. “I’m saying if we move forward with discovery now, we gain leverage.”

You stared at the side of his face in disbelief. This man was insane. Your nails scratched lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck again before you could stop yourself. Matt inhaled sharply through his nose and the hand on your thigh flexed hard.

A tiny rough sound escaped low in his chest before he swallowed it down immediately. “…Mhm,” he managed into the headset.

Matt’s fingers shifted higher. Slowly. Carefully exploring. The broad warmth of his palm skimmed upward another inch along your thigh before restraint caught him. He stopped there, beneath the shirt hem now.

Not squeezing, just holding. Like he was quietly intoxicated by the softness of your skin under his hand. You were pretty sure your brain had stopped functioning entirely.

Matt somehow continued speaking about case strategy for another minute while his thumb traced slow unconscious circles against your leg. You watched the tension in his jaw the entire time.

Eventually the call shifted toward logistics and less active participation from Matt. He even muted himself. That’s when you moved. Slowly stepping around the chair instead of behind it.

Matt’s head tilted immediately toward you as you approached. Always aware. Your hand slid lightly along his shoulder as you moved closer. Then, carefully, you perched sideways across his lap.

He went completely still. The headset crackled faintly with distant voices neither of you were listening to anymore. One of his arms wrapped instinctively around your waist to steady you the second your weight settled against him.

Your bare legs draped across his lap while his hand returned immediately to your thigh like it belonged there now. The contact felt natural in a terrifying way. You tucked yourself closer without thinking.

Matt exhaled softly through his nose at the movement. Almost shaky this time. Your fingers found his hair again automatically. Soft dark peppered strands sliding between your fingers while you scratched gently against his scalp.

Matt’s eyes closed. A tiny surrender. And then another low rumble left him. Not a word and not quite a groan. Just rough pleasure dragged quietly from somewhere deep in his chest.

Your entire body heated instantly. “You like that?” you whispered before your brain could stop you. Matt’s hand tightened hard against your thigh. His eyes opened slowly behind the glasses. The expression on his face nearly melted you into the floor. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, voice rough now, “I like you.”

Your heart stuttered violently. The call crackled again faintly through the headset. Matt looked profoundly irritated to remember it existed at all. You bit back a smile while continuing to play gently with his hair.

And Matt, completely doomed man that he was leaned subtly into your touch. The motion felt so unconscious. So needy. It made your chest ache.

Eventually someone on the call asked him a direct question. Matt blinked once like he’d forgotten where he was and unmuted himself. Then, “Yes,” he answered calmly while his thumb slid another slow stroke along your thigh. “Send me the revised notes before five.” You were going to die here.

A few more painfully normal work sentences later, Matt finally ended the call. Silence flooded the office instantly. Neither of you moved. You stayed curled sideways in his lap while his hand rested warm and heavy against your leg.

Close. Breathing the same air. Your fingers still buried softly in his hair. Matt removed the headset slowly and set it aside. Then leaned back slightly in the chair with you still against him.

You felt the exact moment he stopped pretending this wasn’t affecting him. His head tipped back briefly against the chair. Eyes closed again. Your fingertips brushed lightly through his hair once more. Matt let out another rough exhale. Then quietly, almost scolding, “You are unbelievably distracting.”

Neither of you moved. His office smelled like coffee and his expensive cologne and the faint honeyed-vanilla scent of your lotion lingering in the air between you both.

Outside the windows the city carried on normally. Inside this room? Nothing felt normal anymore. Your fingers drifted slowly through Matt’s hair again while you scratched a little more intently against his scalp. The reaction was instant. Visceral.

A rough exhale left him while his head tipped subtly back into your hand. God. You loved how responsive he was. How carefully controlled he usually seemed until you touched him. “You’re needy,” you murmured softly before you could stop yourself.

Matt laughed once under his breath. Low. Breathless almost. “You have no idea.”

Your stomach flipped violently. The hand on your thigh flexed again. This time not accidentally. His fingers squeezed slowly into the soft flesh there while his thumb dragged another deliberate stroke along the side of your leg, higher this time.

You inhaled sharply. “Matt,” you whispered. Your voice sounded thinner now. Affected. That seemed to snap something quietly inside him. Because suddenly his hand moved again. Sliding farther beneath the oversized hem of his shirt until his palm spread fully against your upper thigh.

Warm skin against warm skin. The contact hit like lightning and you made the tiniest sound before you could stop it.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly. Warning tone. Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair. Matt responded immediately. Another low grunt escaping him. You felt it rumble through his chest beneath your arm. “You like that too much,” you whispered shakily.

Matt opened his eyes slowly behind the glasses. The look on his face nearly ruined you. Focused entirely on you. Darkened with want. Still trying to behave. “I like you touching me,” he admitted softly.

The honesty in it hit embarrassingly hard. Because Matt rarely hid from the truth once he decided to say it. And right now? He wanted you.

You shifted slightly in his lap without thinking. The movement pressed you closer against him and Matt’s breath caught sharply. Oh. Your eyes widened slightly as realization hit. You could feel exactly how affected he was now. Matt clearly realized you noticed too because a quiet curse slipped under his breath.

Your cheeks burned instantly. Neither of you spoke for a second after that. And then very slowly he turned his head toward you. His nose brushed lightly against your cheek first. Tentative. Like he was giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t. God, you didn’t. Matt exhaled softly through his nose at your stillness. Then his mouth brushed your jaw. Not a kiss exactly. Then his mouth moved lower. A soft kiss. Just beneath your jaw this time.

You were panting by now, and your head tipped instinctively to give him more room. Matt made a pleased sound low in his throat at the movement. The hand on your thigh slid higher automatically.

You felt his restraint breaking inch by inch beneath your fingertips. “Matt,” you breathed. His forehead pressed briefly against your neck while he exhaled hard. “You keep making those sounds,” he murmured roughly against your skin, “and I’m not responsible for what happens next.”

Then his mouth touched the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. And you, completely helpless, let out a soft whine.

Matt lost it. His hand finally abandoned any remaining professionalism and slid firmly around the curve of your ass beneath the shirt instead. Warm palm gripping hard. Possessive and needy.

The sudden contact ripped a breathless whimper from your chest. “Please, Matt-” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Matt groaned sharply against your throat. The hand gripping your ass tightened immediately. Another rough breath left him, almost desperate beneath all that composure.

His mouth found your neck again. Warmer now. The kisses turned into something else entirely, you could feel the tip of his tongue just barely graze the delicate skin. Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair while your pulse went wild beneath his lips.

~DING~

The sound of the elevator opening caused Matt to freeze against your neck. Completely motionless. One hand still gripping your ass. The other locked around your waist. Your own breathing sounded embarrassingly loud in the sudden silence.

A beat passed. Then another. Matt lifted his head slowly. The expression on his face looked like physical pain. And before you could even process what was happening his forehead dropped briefly against your shoulder. “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Then, from down the hallway, “Matt?” The second the voice echoed down the hallway, Matt moved.

Hand withdrawing from your rear fast, forcing himself upright with visible effort. You stayed frozen in his lap for half a second longer, both of you breathing unevenly. Matt’s hand lingered at your waist like he physically didn’t want to let go yet.

Another shuffle echoed faintly from the foyer. “Matt?”

You watched Matt close his eyes briefly behind the glasses. Long suffering. Then quietly whispered to you, “Bedroom. Now.”

The low urgency in his voice sent heat straight through your stomach. You scrambled upright immediately and your legs nearly betrayed you. Matt caught your wrist automatically before you could stumble, steadying you with one warm hand against your hip.

Then another call from the hallway, “You ignoring me on purpose, Murdock?” Matt exhaled once through his nose. Back into lawyer mode. “Kitchen, Foggy.” he called out smoothly. “Be one second.”

How was he capable of sounding that calm when his hair was wrecked and his saliva was lingering on your neck somewhere? You were both doomed.

Matt’s hand finally slipped from your waist. The loss of warmth felt immediate. “Go,” he murmured softly. You shot him one last wide-eyed look before hurrying from the office toward the bedroom.

Your heartbeat hammered the entire scurry down the hallway. Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and immediately pressed both hands to your burning face. Your neck warm where Matt had kissed you. Your entire body still buzzing from his hands.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and nearly screamed. Disaster. Completely flushed. Hair messy. Mouth kiss-bitten despite the fact you still technically hadn’t kissed properly. You'd been biting your own lip rather roughly.

And the shirt...The shirt barely covered your upper thighs. You yanked open the drawer Matt had stocked for you with slightly shaky hands. You grabbed a pair of black leggings immediately and stepped into them as fast as possible.

Your hands still trembled a little. From adrenaline. From Matt. From the fact his hand had been very firmly gripping your ass like thirty seconds ago. You buried your face in your hands again briefly. Meanwhile, faintly from the living room, Foggy’s voice drifted down the hallway. “Mhm.”

You crept slightly closer to the cracked bedroom door without meaning to. “Matt, why do you sound weird?”

“I don’t sound weird.”

“You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“…Long morning.” You bit your lip hard to stop laughing. Foggy was absolutely not buying this. You could practically hear the suspicion forming in real time. Especially because Matt was normally so controlled. So unflappable. And you’d had him making needy noises in an office chair less than three minutes ago.

Out in the apartment you heard glasses clink softly. “Is...Is there someone else here right now?”

Matt went silent for one fatal second too long. “Oh my god,” Foggy said immediately. You took one final steadying breath before opening the bedroom door somewhat loudly.

Immediately you heard both men go quiet. Oh god. You stepped out into the hallway trying to look even remotely normal despite the fact your entire nervous system still felt molten from ten minutes ago.

Leggings now. Matt’s shirt still hanging oversized over your frame. Hair fixed… sort of. Cheeks probably still suspiciously flushed.

And at the end of the hallway stood Foggy Nelson. Who looked exactly like a man trying very hard not to react too visibly. Poor guy failed immediately. His eyebrows shot upward the second he saw you. Then his gaze flicked once toward Matt. Then back to you, eyes darting down briefly to the shirt. Then back to Matt again. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

Matt, meanwhile, remained leaning casually against the kitchen island with one hand around a coffee mug like his life wasn’t actively imploding.

But the second you hesitated his attention shifted fully toward you. And before you could decide whether to hover awkwardly or flee back into the bedroom forever, Matt’s hand found your waist as naturally as breathing when you reached his side. Warm palm. Steadying. Your stomach fluttered helplessly.

Foggy noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed. His expression changed immediately into something knowing. You tucked slightly closer toward Matt instinctively, suddenly hyperaware that these were two very grown adult lawyer men, older than you by two decades, and Foggy probably knew exactly what he had interrupted. Mortifying.

Matt’s thumb brushed once against your side beneath the shirt. Tiny grounding motion. You relaxed immediately despite yourself. Which only made Foggy look more emotionally invested in this situation.

“Hi,” you managed finally.

Foggy recovered enough to smile warmly. And okay, you instantly understood why Matt loved him. Foggy had one of those personalities that filled a room in a comforting way. Friendly, easy, and bright.

“Hi,” he echoed kindly. “I’m Foggy.”

“I know,” you blurted immediately. Then wanted to die. “Oh my god, sorry, that sounded weird. Matt talks about you all the time.” Foggy’s face lit up instantly. “Does he?” Matt sighed somewhere beside you. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Too late. Foggy was already delighted. “Oh this is fantastic. He never tells me anything. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get details about you out of this man?”

“Foggy.”

“I’m serious. I know more about the coffee guy downstairs than I know about Matt’s dating life.” You laughed helplessly before you could stop yourself. Matt’s hand tightened slightly at your waist at the sound. The tiny gesture hit you directly in the chest. Foggy absolutely caught that too.

And whatever he saw seemed to settle something quietly in him. Foggy hummed softly before he could stop himself. Matt tilted his head slightly. “What?” Foggy shook himself out of it quickly.“Nothing.”

You were still trying not to combust from embarrassment. Especially because Foggy was definitely putting together the age gap now too. Not negatively. Just… visibly.

And unfortunately both he and Matt carried that same intimidating grown-man energy that made you suddenly feel about nineteen years old. You folded your arms loosely over yourself. Foggy caught the motion immediately. His expression gentled further somehow and your cheeks burned hotter.

Matt’s hand slid a little more securely around your waist at that. Protective. “Foggy,” Matt said calmly. The immediate loyalty in his voice made your heart trip over itself. Foggy lifted both hands innocently. Then, after a beat, "You know this explains why you're the happiest I’ve seen you in months, right?”

Matt went still beside you. And suddenly the teasing atmosphere softened into something quieter. More honest. Because Matt hadn’t exactly hidden you. He’d protected this. Like something blooming, precious enough that exposing it too early might ruin it. Matt cleared his throat lightly. “You came here for a reason.”

Foggy snorted immediately. “Right. Yeah. Before I accidentally witness foreplay in your office again.”

You made a strangled noise. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Foggy grinned unapologetically. “Oh, come on. Your hair is messed up, you're both blushing, and she’s wearing your shirt. I’m a lawyer too, Matt. I can infer.” You were going to pass away. Right here. Instantly.

Foggy had, in fact, come for a reason. Eventually. After emotionally terrorizing both of you for several uninterrupted minutes. The actual files sat abandoned near the kitchen island while Foggy leaned against the counter drinking Matt’s coffee like he paid rent here.

Matt remained beside you the entire time. His hand still settled lightly against your waist while conversation drifted between the three of you.

“So,” Foggy said eventually, finally remembering the actual reason he’d come over. “These are the case notes I came to drop off.” Matt nodded once. “I’ll review them later.”

“Cool. Also-” Foggy paused. Then looked directly at you. A suspiciously innocent expression crossed his face. “Oh! Are you going to the gala?”

Matt went completely still beside you. You blinked. “The what?” Foggy’s eyebrows shot upward immediately. “Oh my god,” he said slowly, turning toward Matt. “You didn’t ask her yet?”

Matt looked profoundly irritated. “Foggy.”

“What? I assumed she knew.”

You glanced between them. “The gala?”

Foggy was already fully committed now. “The fundraiser next month. Fancy rooftop thing. Billionaires pretending they care about public defense while eating tiny crab cakes.”

You laughed softly. Matt, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to launch Foggy through the windows. “Were you... going to ask me?” you asked carefully, glancing up toward Matt. Matt’s jaw tightened once.

And suddenly he looked almost uncertain. Which felt bizarre after everything that morning. Matt Murdock was many things. Uncertain was rarely one of them. “Yes,” he admitted after a moment. “I was.”

“You should come,” he added brightly before Matt could continue. “Matt hates these things.”

“I do not hate them.”

“You absolutely hate them.”

Matt sighed. “They’re tolerable.”

Foggy pointed at him dramatically. “See? That’s lawyer language for misery.” You laughed again before you could stop yourself. Matt’s thumb brushed unconsciously against your side at the sound. "A gala,” you repeated softly.

Truthfully? The idea was intimidating. You’d never really existed in Matt’s world like that before. Fancy events and wealthy donors. People closer to Matt’s age and status. And standing beside him publicly? That felt strangely significant. Matt must’ve sensed the shift in your thoughts because his hand tightened slightly at your waist. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly.

The immediate lack of expectation made your chest ache a little. Because you knew he wanted you there. Foggy glanced between you both once before suddenly looking very interested in his coffee.

You looked up at Matt. Maybe it was reckless. Maybe you were already far too gone for this man. But the thought of standing beside him somewhere public, of being wanted there, made warmth bloom quietly in your chest. “I’ll go,” you said softly.

Matt froze. It happened so fast most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. He smiled broadly and it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You will?” he asked quietly. Like he genuinely hadn’t expected you to say yes. Your own smile softened helplessly. “Yeah.”

Matt looked devastatingly pleased by that answer.

The apartment felt strangely quiet after Foggy left. Like the air itself still held the imprint of everything that had almost happened in Matt’s office.

The front door clicked shut behind Foggy’s dramatic final, “Try not to scandalize the entire building before the gala, you two.” Then silence. You immediately buried your face in your hands. From beside you, Matt sighed deeply. “You handled that well.” You looked up in disbelief.

“I handled that well?”

“You did.”

“He thinks we were-”

“You were in my lap.” Your mouth dropped open. Matt’s expression remained perfectly composed for exactly two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched. "You are impossible,” you informed him.

“So I’ve been told.”

You groaned softly and leaned your forehead against his shoulder dramatically. Matt laughed quietly above you. God, you loved that sound. And then before you could overthink anything else Matt’s hand slid gently along your waist. Guiding you closer. You lifted your head just enough to look at him.

Matt’s face softened almost instantly at your nearness. His hand rose carefully from your waist to your cheek. Warm fingertips brushing softly along your skin. Your breath caught. And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against your forehead. Gentle. Lingering. Not at all heated like the office. Something softer.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed once beneath your cheekbone. Then quietly, “Come sit with me.” You followed him toward the couch feeling suspiciously boneless.

Matt settled into the corner cushions first before tugging you gently against his side without hesitation. One arm draped comfortably around your waist.

You curled instinctively into the warmth of him. Matt exhaled softly through his nose at the contact. Content. The realization made your stomach flip. “So,” he said after a moment. “The gala.” You groaned immediately. Matt smiled faintly beside you. “It won’t be that bad.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Matt’s thumb traced one absentminded stroke against your side beneath the shirt. "You won’t have to do much,” he continued softly. “Mostly introductions. Dinner. Listening to wealthy people congratulate themselves.”

You laughed quietly. “Any dancing?” Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “There’s usually dancing.” Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly hard. Matt dancing. Oh no. “Do you dance?” you asked carefully.

“Competently.”

The confidence in the answer nearly killed you. Of course he danced competently. Of course he probably knew how to hold a woman properly and lead perfectly and- Your brain abruptly betrayed you. Because suddenly all you could think about was, Matt was older. A lot older. Experienced and confident.

You stared blankly at the opposite wall while horrifying thoughts accumulated rapidly. How many women had danced with him? Kissed him? Been touched by those hands? How many women had heard the sounds you'd pulled from him? Your stomach twisted strangely. Not jealousy exactly. Something more vulnerable than that. Because suddenly you felt young in comparison. Inexperienced.

Matt must’ve sensed the shift immediately. His thumb stilled against your waist. “What happened?” he asked softly. You blinked “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

You huffed quietly. Matt waited patiently beside you. Eventually you mumbled, “You still make me nervous sometimes.”

His voice gentled instantly. “Why?” You stared down at your hands instead of him. Because saying this out loud felt mortifying. “You just…” you started weakly. “You seem very…” Matt stayed quiet. Waiting. “…Experienced.”

Silence. Then unexpectedly, Matt laughed softly under his breath. Not mocking. Almost surprised. You glanced up immediately. Matt’s expression had gone gentler than before somehow. "Sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your pulse jumped. He leaned back slightly into the couch cushions, considering his words carefully. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve had many relationships.” The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten.

“But?”

Matt’s fingers resumed their slow movement against your waist. Thoughtful now. “It’s been a long time,” he said after a moment. “And none of them…” He stopped.

Your heartbeat picked up immediately. Matt turned himself toward you fully then and the intensity of his attention nearly melted you into the couch. His other hand slid carefully over yours then. Guiding. And before you realized what he intended, he pressed your palm against the center of his chest.

Directly over his heart.

Your breath stalled. Fast. His heartbeat was fast. Not calm. Not composed. Pounding hard beneath your hand. Matt held your gaze the best he could manage while you felt it. Every heavy thud betrayed his outward appearance of control.

“You make me nervous too,” he said softly.

And somehow that felt even more intimate than if he’d just kissed you.

notes: matt, who won't kiss reader before she explicitly asks him to. also matt, who mouths at her neck and grabs a handful of ass instead.

and ooo a gala? that's sounds fun...

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Paint was streaked across the side of your hand as you stepped back from the canvas in your living room. The apartment smelled like acrylic paint and stale coffee again. Dani was sprawled across the couch scrolling through her phone while occasionally offering deeply unhelpful artistic criticism.

“That one looks sad.”

“It’s just a blue background so far.”

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your brush again just as your phone buzzed on the table beside you. You wiped your fingers quickly on a damp rag before opening the message.

Matt: How attached are you to your afternoon tomorrow?

You stared at the text for half a second, immediately suspicious.

You: That sounds threatening.

Dani looked up instantly. “Oooooh. Sugar Daddy texted?" You ignored her. It buzzed again.

Matt: That wasn’t my intention.

Though now that you mention it, I could probably phrase things less like a subpoena.

You snorted softly despite yourself.

You: Probably.

Matt: I’d like to take you shopping tomorrow.

You blinked. Dani watched your face narrow from across the couch. “What?”

You held up a finger.

You: Shopping for what?

The response took slightly longer this time.

Matt: Things you need.

You: Matt.

You stared at the message in disbelief, breath catching slightly. "He wants to take me shopping, apparently."

Across the couch, Dani’s eyes widened with absolute delight. You pointed at her without looking away from your phone. “Stop reacting. You’re making this worse.”

She clutched a couch pillow to her chest. “Girl, did you suck his dick last week or something?” You nearly dropped your phone.

“DANI.”

“I’m asking because men do not talk like that for free.” Heat flooded your face instantly.

You: You already give me an allowance.

The typing bubble appeared immediately this time.

Matt: Yes.

You: So if you’re doing all this then reduce this month's or something.

The response came so quickly it almost felt automatic.

Matt: No.

Matt This is part of our arrangement too, remember?

Your stomach fluttered unexpectedly. Before you could answer, another message appeared.

Matt: I enjoy taking care of you. Also, if I’m being selfish about it, it would make me happy.

You physically stopped breathing for a second. Your pulse hammered embarrassingly hard while you stared at the screen. Because somehow that sentence was calm and matter-of-fact and so very Matt. I enjoy taking care of you.

You actually closed your eyes briefly. This man was going to kill you.

You: You know this is insane behavior, right?

Matt: Will you let me do it anyway?

You: …Nothing too crazy.

Matt: Good. I’ll send a car at noon.

You covered your face with both hands immediately. “Oh my god.”

The next afternoon you stood outside your apartment building staring at the car that arrived for you while Dani practically vibrated beside you. You narrowed your eyes at the driver opening the back door for you.

“I’m scared.”

“You should be,” Dani said solemnly. “If you come home with a tiny designer dog and a silk robe, we'll have officially lost you.” Then she quietly added “…Also ask if he has a brother.”

You shoved her lightly before climbing into the car.

The drive downtown only made you more nervous. The further into the Upper East Side you went, the more obvious it became that Matt was not taking you to a normal shopping center. This place looked less like a mall and more like rich people habitat simulation. There were what looked to be private storefronts, and quiet stone walkways. Your stomach tightened instantly when you stepped out of the car.

The driver smiled politely. “Mr. Murdock is waiting upstairs.”

You stepped out of the elevator a few minutes later and immediately spotted Matt near one of the lounge areas. And god. That man was going to be the death of you. Dark charcoal coat over a dark sweater. Silver threaded through his hair beneath the afternoon light. Disgustingly handsome.

You greeted him, and he smiled the second he heard your voice. “There you are.”

Your stomach flipped traitorously. “You brought me to the Capitol from The Hunger Games.”

Matt laughed softly. “That bad?”

“There’s a woman over there holding a tiny dog wearing cashmere.”

“Based on that description she seems happy.”

“She seems tax exempt.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth lifted higher. The bastard was smirking at you. And before you could fully recover from that, another woman approached smoothly beside him. Stylish and impossibly polished. “Miss?” she asked warmly. “I’m Evelyn. I’ll be helping you both today.”

Helping. Today. Your soul briefly left your body. Evelyn gestured gracefully toward the first door.

“We thought we’d begin with body and skincare.”

You looked immediately at Matt. “You planned categories?”

Matt’s expression remained infuriatingly composed. “I may have prepared slightly.”

“Slightly,” you repeated.

“Well, you mentioned yesterday needing to restock a few things. And you've said before your skin was sensitive.”

Your mouth opened. Closed again. Because annoyingly, you had mentioned that. Once. Matt had apparently archived it permanently inside his terrifying lawyer brain.

Evelyn smiled knowingly beside you. “This way.”

The skincare boutique smelled heavenly. Soft citrus, bright florals, and warm vanilla.

“No,” you whispered weakly while staring at the shelves. Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “You brought me to rich Sephora.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate that comparison.”

You moved slowly through displays trying not to touch anything because every tiny glass bottle probably cost the same as your electric bill.

Unfortunately, Evelyn was apparently a professional enabler. “These formulas would be wonderful for sensitive skin,” she explained while showing you several products. “Especially once winter rolls around.”

You looked at the price tag and nearly blacked out. Then she handed you a small jar.

“This moisturizer is one of our bestsellers.”

You opened it carefully. And immediately melted. “Oh my god.”

Matt’s expression shifted instantly at your tone. “You like it?”

“It smells incredible.” Warm honey. Vanilla. Something soft and musky underneath.

You rubbed a tiny amount into your wrist automatically. Matt’s head tilted subtly toward the motion. His voice lowered just slightly. “Let me smell.”

Your brain short-circuited immediately. Still, you stepped closer automatically and held out your wrist. His fingers wrapped lightly around it, gentle and warm. Then he leaned slightly closer. One slow inhale.

Heat crawled instantly up your chest and throat. Matt’s thumb brushed once against the inside of your wrist before he let go again.

“That’s nice on you,” he said quietly.

You forgot how to speak for a second.

Evelyn continued, “This line also carries shower gels and lotion bars.”

You looked over. Then immediately gasped. Matt heard the delight in your voice instantly. Within twenty minutes there was a growing haul despite your increasingly horrified protests.

“Matt. This is insane.”

“You’ve said that several times.”

“You’re buying me like twelve things.”

“Twelve seems high.”

“Fine, nine but still.”

“Ah. Much better. I knew I was more reasonable than that.”

You stared at him in disbelief while Evelyn hid a smile nearby. And then you saw it. Sitting beautifully illuminated on a display pedestal like a futuristic weapon. Your eyes widened immediately. “No fucking way.”

“What?”

You moved closer automatically. “It’s that microcurrent facial device.”

“The what?”

“The fancy one,” you breathed.

Evelyn smiled. “It’s wonderful for sculpting and lifting.”

You looked physically pained. “I’ve wanted this thing forever.”

Matt heard it instantly, that tiny genuine longing in your voice. And that was it. Done. You noticed the exact moment his provider instincts fully snapped. “Add it,” he said calmly.

You whipped around. “WHAT? No.”

Matt looked entirely unbothered. “You want it.”

“It costs more than all of my utilities.”

“And?”

“And MATT.”

His mouth twitched slightly. “You’re very cute when you’re outraged.”

Your jaw dropped. Matt stepped a little closer then, lowering his voice just enough that it curled warm down your spine. “You deserve nice things.” Your pulse stumbled. “And,” he continued softly, “I really want to get it for you.”

Oh, you were doomed.

The private fitting suite should not have existed outside of movies. Soft lighting and blush-colored couches. Mirrors everywhere. Actual champagne being offered the second you sat down. You were beginning to understand how rich people became so detached from reality.

Matt sat beside you on one of the couches while Evelyn disappeared briefly after taking your measurements. And despite the absurd luxury around him, he still looked like he belonged here more than the furniture did.

Relaxed now. Recovered from the other night’s exhaustion. One arm draped comfortably along the back cushion behind you. You sipped quietly from the champagne flute. “This place makes me nervous,” you muttered.

Matt tilted his head toward you and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Then Evelyn returned carrying several pairs of jeans folded neatly over one arm. “These are the Japanese denim styles Mr. Murdock requested.”

You turned slowly toward him. “...Requested?”

Matt looked entirely unashamed. “I asked you on the phone to name one thing you needed and you said your jeans are falling apart.”

“That does not mean I need luxury artisanal denim.”

Evelyn handed you the first pair with professional calm. “These are hand-finished. Pre-washed as well to bypass the break in phase.”

You stared at her. “See?” you told Matt. “That’s not a sentence normal people say.”

Matt laughed softly into his champagne. You hated how much you liked making him laugh. “Try them on,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “That sounded less like a suggestion.”

“Mm.”

“Matt.”

“You need jeans.”

“I have jeans.”

“You told me you patched the knee with embroidery floss.”

“Because I’m resourceful.”

“You’re stubborn.”

Evelyn quietly vanished again before the flirty argument could become legally actionable. You changed quickly after that.

You stepped out of the dressing room cautiously. Matt turned immediately toward the sound of your footsteps. You looked down at yourself.

“…I hate that these are so nice.”

Matt smiled slowly. “Come here.”

Your stomach fluttered traitorously but you stepped closer automatically. He reached out carefully, fingertips brushing lightly against the denim at your hip first. Then lower along your outer thigh. Just feeling the fabric. His touch stayed respectful. But heat still bloomed instantly on your face.

“These are soft,” he murmured mostly to himself.

“Yeah,” you said weakly.

Matt’s hand slid to your waist. “You like them?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“Then we'll get them.”

You exhaled slowly. “Matt.”

“There it is again. The ‘this is too much’ tone.”

You folded your arms immediately. “Because this is too much.”

Matt leaned back slightly against the couch, expression calm. “You needed clothes.”

“I needed like… Target clothes.”

“You deserve better than Target.”

“That is an insane sentence.”

“You know what I mean.”

You looked away first. Because the problem wasn’t really the things, it was this feeling in the pit of your stomach. This overwhelming uncomfortable sensation of someone looking at you like you were worth investment. Worth luxury and care. But for how long?

Matt seemed to sense the shift immediately. His voice gentled slightly. “Hey.”

You looked back toward him and your throat tightened unexpectedly. Which was annoying. You tried deflecting immediately.

“You know, most people would simply buy their sugar baby a designer purse and call it a day.”

Matt’s mouth twitched. “Would a purse make you happier?”

“No.”

“Then I’m struggling to see the issue.”

“The issue,” you said carefully, “is that I feel like you’re spending an irresponsible amount of money on me.”

Matt actually looked faintly amused by that.“I promise you I’m not.”

“You bought me a skincare device that could probably communicate with satellites.”

“You were excited about it.”

“That is not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.”

Your heartbeat stumbled a little at the firmness in his voice. Matt set his champagne down carefully before speaking again. “This arrangement works because we’re both honest about what we want from it.” You went quiet.

“I like taking care of you,” he continued calmly. “You know that already.” Heat crept slowly up your neck. “And before you offer to reduce your allowance again, no.”

You stared at him. Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, voice lowering just a little.

“This is one of our evenings together.”

Your stomach flipped hard. “You spending time with me while I spoil you is not some separate inconvenience for me that you need to compensate for.” Jesus Christ. The almost condescending warmth in his tone made it worse somehow.

“You’re still overdoing it,” you muttered weakly.

Matt smiled faintly. “I know.”

“You admit it?”

“Of course.”

“Then why are you still doing it?”

“Because it makes me happy.”

Oh, you were in actual danger here.

An uncomfortable sigh that was almost a squeak came out of you and Matt picked up on it immediately. His expression softened slightly, amusement flickering faintly at the edges again. “You really don’t know what to do when someone wants to spoil you, do you?”

Silence settled briefly between you both.

Jeans had been one thing. Especially in a private fitting suite with soft lighting and Matt sitting on the couch looking like that. But Evelyn returned carrying garment bags this time. Several of them. Matt looked vaguely pleased with himself.

Evelyn laid the dresses carefully across the seating area while describing each one professionally.

Silk.

Satin.

A black cocktail dress.

A deep wine-colored wrap dress.

Something backless.

“I’m sensing panic,” Matt murmured. You hummed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Try one on for me.” For me.

Your stomach flipped so hard it should’ve been medically concerning. Evelyn disappeared tactfully after setting the last dress down, leaving you alone with Matt in the suite.

The first dress was black, simple and elegant. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a second too long before stepping out cautiously.

He immediately straightened slightly at the sound of your heels against the floor. “You changed shoes too?” he asked quietly.

“Uh… yeah, she brought a few pairs.”

“What kind?”

“Just heels.”

Matt smiled faintly. “That’s not a description.”

Your pulse fluttered stupidly.

“They’re black,” you muttered. “Strappy.”

His fingers flexed once lightly against his knee. “Come over here,” he said softly.

Matt reached out carefully when you stopped in front of him, fingertips brushing first against the fabric at your waist. Then lower. Slowly tracing the drape of the dress like he was reading it. Heat flooded your entire body instantly. His hand skimmed lightly along your side, pausing at your hip. A tiny exhale left him quietly and his hand slid away.

By the third dress his hesitation had faded.

“Turn around for me?”

Your brain short-circuited instantly. “For-” You cleared your throat. “For what?”

“So I can understand the fit.”

You stared at him. Then slowly twirled. The silence behind you stretched dangerously long. Matt’s head tilted slightly as he listened to the fabric shifting, the heels clicking softly.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you accused weakly.

You heard the smile in his voice. Then he held out a hand.

Your knees almost gave out. Matt’s fingertips found your wrist this time, guiding you a little closer to sit down beside him before his hand slid carefully down your arm. Then suddenly he was kneeling in front of you.

Your breath caught sharply as his fingers wrapped lightly around your ankle. Oh. Heat surged instantly through your stomach.

Matt’s expression stayed perfectly composed. Too composed. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Absolutely not. “Fine,” you lied.

His thumb brushed once slowly against the delicate strap around your ankle while he adjusted the heel slightly. And suddenly you felt on a deeply spiritual level that this man should not be allowed near any women.

His touch remained maddeningly restrained while he unfastened the shoe carefully. Then slipped it off. His fingers lingered for one dangerous second against the arch of your foot before releasing it.

You nearly stopped breathing. Matt definitely noticed if the low laugh that escaped him was any indication. Warm. Soft.

“This feels unrelated to shopping.”

“I disagree.”

You stared at him while he calmly reached for the other heel. The champagne in your bloodstream was not helping.

Neither was the fact that Matt looked devastating sitting there between your legs while removing expensive heels from your feet like some kind of bodice ripper sugar daddy fantasy. You were going to die here.

You sat at the edge of the couch while several shoe boxes sat open around you now. Matt remained kneeling in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every single pair had Matt carefully undoing any ties or straps, steady hands sliding against your ankle as he felt for them, warm fingers bracing lightly beneath your calf.

“These are stiffer,” he murmured while adjusting one pair against your foot.

“Yeah.”

“And the heel?”

“Not too high.”

Matt hummed quietly. The sound settled low in your stomach. His fingertips brushed slowly along the delicate strap wrapping your ankle before fastening it carefully. He ran fingertips over the raised design on top.

The movement was precise. Gentle. Then his fingers paused. Just briefly. His brows knit slightly.

“What?”

You looked down instinctively and immediately saw where he'd paused. The toe rings. Tiny delicate bands you wore almost constantly.

Matt’s thumb brushed lightly against one before he spoke again. “…You wear jewelry on your feet too?”

Heat crawled instantly up your neck. “That sounded judgmental.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “It wasn’t.”

His fingers moved carefully again, tracing lightly over the cool metal before continuing upward along your ankle strap. Your stomach flipped violently.

“Do you like them?” you asked before thinking better of it.

Matt went quiet for too long. He replied softly, “Very much.”

The suite suddenly felt ten degrees warmer.

Matt continued unfastening the heel like he hadn’t just casually detonated your nervous system. You stared helplessly down at him and his broad shoulders, pushed up sleeves, dark hair threaded with silver beneath the warm lighting. Beautiful hands adorned with an expensive watch. Kneeling between your legs helping you into designer heels.

The next pair was beautiful. Soft blush pink with thin straps crossing delicately over your feet and winding upward around your calves. The kind of shoes that existed purely to make women suffer beautifully.

You walked in them and immediately felt pretty. Like devastatingly pretty.

Matt straightened slightly at the sound of the heels against the floor. “What do they look like?”

You looked down at yourself. “They’re pink.”

“Mm.”

“And taller.”

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

Matt’s hands found your ankle immediately when you stopped in front of him. Warm palms sliding carefully upward along the ties wrapping around your calves.

You inhaled sharply. Because this pair had required more adjustment. More touch.

His fingertips traced slowly along the ribbons as he loosened one side slightly. And god, he looked affected now too. His jaw was tight like he was concentrating a little too hard.

You looked down at him helplessly. At the careful concentration in his face and the tenderness in his hands.

“…Can I have these ones?”

The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Shy.

Matt went completely still. You realized suddenly that this was the first thing you’d explicitly asked for. Not argued against or reluctantly accepted. Wanted.

And apparently that realization hit him like a truck. A tiny pause stretched between you both. Matt swallowed once.

When he spoke again, his voice had dropped lower somehow. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course you can, princess.”

Princess.

The pet name wrapped warm around your spine while Matt’s hands remained lightly against your legs. You were dead. The sudden ringing in your ears was surely your heart flatlining.

He sounded so pleased that you’d asked. Like he’d been waiting for it all day. Matt cleared his throat softly before undoing the ties at your calves with careful fingers.

Evelyn returned carrying entirely too many garment bags. You knew you were doomed immediately because unlike the dresses, these bags were smaller. A lot smaller. Fuck.

“I pulled a few evening and lounge options as well,” Evelyn explained smoothly while laying pieces carefully across the couch seating.

Silk.

Lace.

Satin ribbons.

Matt, seated beside you now, tilted his head slightly.

“She brought lingerie." you squeaked.

Matt went very still beside you. Evelyn, traitor that she was, continued calmly. “Some clients prefer more practical sleepwear, and I'm aware this was not on the list, but I thought these suited your style beautifully.”

Your style. As if she’d known you for years instead of four horrifyingly intimate hours. One by one, she began laying pieces out, matching lace sets, silk robes, delicate slips, something involving garters that nearly made you pass away on sight.

You avoided looking directly at Matt. Cowardly? Maybe. But absolutely necessary.

Evelyn lifted a black lace set first. “Very elegant,” she said. “Especially layered beneath the silk robe.” You made a tiny choking sound. Matt cleared his throat softly beside you.

“Would you like me to leave these here for you to browse privately?” Evelyn asked politely.

“Yes,” you answered immediately.

“At your leisure,” she continued smoothly, absolutely unconcerned by your ongoing psychological collapse.

Then, like the menace she truly was, “I’ll have the champagne refreshed as well.”

And with that she disappeared again. Silence. Complete silence. You stared at the couch covered in enough silk and lace to destroy any marriage.

Matt sat beside you with one hand wrapped around his champagne glass. Too composed.

“I think she believes we’re sleeping together,” you muttered weakly.

Matt’s mouth twitched faintly. “I gathered.”

“She brought garters, Matt.”

“Mm.”

“That's not a response.”

“I’m trying to behave.”

Heat flooded your entire face instantly. You looked over at him in horror.

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, amusement low in his voice now. “You can look if you want.”

Something about the way he said it, calm, warm, and completely sincere made your stomach flip hard. Like he genuinely wanted you to enjoy yourself. Not for him.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he continued quietly. “We’re shopping.”

“Normal shopping usually involves fewer corsets.”

A low laugh escaped him. “You’re very cute when you’re flustered too.”

You decided immediately that Matthew Murdock needed to be stopped by federal law enforcement.

Still despite your embarrassment you found yourself moving slowly toward the pieces laid out across the couch. Because some of them were beautiful. Soft ivory silk. Blue satin. Delicate lace trims. The robe sets especially caught your attention. Elegant and not overtly scandalous. Just...intimate.

You picked up one ivory slip carefully between your fingers. Soft silk with lace detailing at the neckline and hem. Short. Very short. Your brain immediately supplied the image of wearing it in Matt’s apartment and you nearly combusted on the spot.

“Found something?” Matt asked quietly.

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

His head tilted slightly toward the sound of the fabric moving through your hands. You looked down at it again.

“It's a... nightgown,” you murmured. “Ivory silk. Lace.”

Matt inhaled slowly once. Tiny but noticeable.

“Looks there’s a matching robe,” you added.

Matt’s fingers tightened slightly around his champagne glass. “You should get it,” he said softly.

Your heart started beating in embarrassing places. “You haven’t even-” You stopped. Then made the catastrophic mistake of continuing.

“…Do you want to feel it?”

Matt turned his head toward you slowly. Like he was making very sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

He set his glass down slowly before holding one hand out. You placed the silk carefully into his palm.

His fingertips slid carefully over the silk first. Then the lace. Matt’s thumb traced lightly along the delicate lace trim once more before he spoke.

“…Jesus.”

The word slipped out low. Barely audible like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He swallowed once before carefully folding the fabric back into your hands. But his fingers brushed yours during the handoff.

“You should definitely get that,” he said softly.

And you were pretty sure your soul physically left your body.

By the time Evelyn returned again, you had emotionally accepted that this shopping trip existed solely to test the limits of your cardiovascular system. Especially because now jewelry trays accompanied her.

“Oh no,” you whispered immediately.

Matt smiled beside you like he could physically hear the panic in your soul now.

Evelyn set several velvet trays carefully across the low table in front of you while another associate quietly refreshed the champagne.

Various gemstones. Delicate chains glinting beneath the soft lighting. Your apartment rent for the year sat on that table in jewelry form. Meanwhile Matt looked entirely too calm.

“I selected pieces that layer well with the clothing we chose,” Evelyn explained smoothly. The we chose nearly killed you.

Then she lifted the ivory silk set from earlier carefully.

“Oh. The matching thong is included with the slip, of course.”

Your soul left your body instantly.

“But,” Evelyn continued professionally, “you can choose between the silk or the lace version.” You stared at her. She looked directly at you waiting for an answer. You could physically feel heat climbing up your throat. “…The silk one,” you muttered weakly.

Matt picked up his champagne very slowly beside you. You refused to look at him.

Evelyn nodded calmly. “Excellent choice.”

You focused aggressively on the jewelry trays in front of you.

There were so many pieces. Tiny diamonds. Silver chains. Pearls. But one piece caught your eye almost immediately. A delicate gold necklace with a tiny ruby pendant resting at the center. Your fingers hovered over it automatically.

“You find something?”

You glanced toward him. “…Maybe.”

“Describe it to me.”

Your fingertips brushed lightly against the pendant before answering. “It’s gold,” you said softly. “Really thin chain.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, listening carefully. “And?”

“A tiny red ruby.”

Something shifted faintly in his expression. His mouth softened slightly at the edges. “You like red,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly. “I do.”

Matt held one hand out slowly. “May I?”

You placed the necklace carefully into his palm and watched as his fingertips traced slowly along the chain. Then the pendant. The ruby rested against the center of his palm while he ran his thumb once lightly over the stone. A tiny smile appeared afterward.

Matt nodded once immediately. Like he could already imagine it on you. Evelyn smiled knowingly before stepping subtly away again to give you both space.

Traitor.

Matt held the necklace carefully between his fingers before speaking. “Turn around for me?”

You turned away from him slowly and the suite fell impossibly quiet. You reached up to pull your hair carefully over one shoulder but Matt spoke softly behind you before you could.

“Lift your hair for me, princess.”

Your entire brain dissolved. The pet name making your stomach flutter while your hands moved automatically. Matt moved closer. Close enough that you could smell his clean soap, cologne, something heady and masculine lingering faintly beneath it all.

The first brush of his fingers against the back of your neck made you shiver.

He moved slowly while fastening the clasp. Knuckles brushed lightly against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Finally the clasp clicked softly into place. But his hands stayed there resting lightly at the back of your neck.

The ruby pendant settled cool against your chest and the air felt thick suddenly.

Matt murmured near your shoulder “…Beautiful.”

You weren’t entirely sure if he meant the necklace.

notes: and there we have it, matt's name for reader. fitting 👑 and wooo would you look at that matt has a provider kink but we already knew that

so we all know this is a sugar daddy fic, but how do we feel about that title (daddy/dad/sir) being used in future smut chapters? i'm still playing with some bedroom names for matt but at the moment it's just baby

-

Your mother dies a year later.

You move in with him because he’s your husband and has to care for you. His father likes to remind him of that every time there’s not enough food on the table for all three of you. 

A good man, his father declares, makes sure that his wife has enough to eat.

A good father, Kakuzu wants to throw back at him, would make sure his child doesn’t have to go hungry. But he doesn’t. Because while he might not be scared of anything, he’s too smart to get into trouble with the old man. It’s less risky to stay hungry and give his portion to you.

By the time he’s twelve, he’s doing odd jobs on the side whenever he can, handing you the money whenever he’s sure no one can see it. 

You’re a quiet one. He’s too tired to talk most nights anyway, so he’s glad you don’t chew off his ear when it’s time to slip into bed at night.

Ever since his father took up drinking and lost the house, they share a single room and huddle together for warmth at night. 

-

“Kakuzu,” You whisper. His eyes snap open, Kunai ready. It takes him a moment to realize it’s you. You haven’t spoken in so long he’s forgotten the sound of your voice.

“What?”

“Sh.” You move a little closer. Your legs are warm against his. He’s never noticed before how warm you are. “Don’t wake your father. I’ve got a job.”

“A job?” He furrows his brows. “You should still be in school.”

“Like they teach me anything useful.” You quip back at him. “There’s this rich family who’s got a gaggle of kids. I make one hundred ryō an hour looking after them.”

His mouth waters at the number. One hundred ryō could buy him a decent meal every night.

“How many hours are we talking?”

They get to planning. Two days later everything is set in motion. They move out while his father is out drinking, taking with them what little stuff they can find use in. There are no rules that forbid them from signing a lease on an apartment now that he’s a full-fledged Shinobi, even at twelve years old. 

You celebrate your first night with a home-cooked meal, the best he’s ever tasted. Sure the Miso soup could have used a little bit more salt and the fish had been charred at the edges, but there was no one looming over him, taking away all the good pieces, ruining every conversation with drunken rambling.

“I will never be like my father.” He promises and you smile. It lights up your face, and transforms you into a being of light and lightness. 

Kakuzu’s only twelve years old, but he’s seen death and he’s seen misery and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if this is what love is, he will never get tired of it.

-

Kakuzu’s fifteen when he catches an illness that almost kills him.

Painful spasms shake him as he coughs, skin aflame with a fever that wants to devour him whole.

He barely remembers anything but finding himself with his head in your lap, your hands moving through his hair.

There’s a strange lightness to your voice as you talk to him. He can barely focus on your words but they sound like magic, like you’re summoning something from deep inside him.

When he wakes up from a deep slumber days later you look younger, somehow.

“What was that about?” He asks from the safety of his bed. One day, soon, he will buy a new mattress and a proper Couch, but it held out the last three years and he wants to have a bit more saved, feel a bit safer before he starts splurging again.

“What do you mean?” You’re at the stove, cooking something. He can smell ginger and citrus. You’re a terrible liar.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Kakuzu, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” His temper comes and goes like a lightning strike, leaving him weak and shivering.

You stare back at him, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry.” He crawls out of bed. “I’m sorry.”

-

Kakuzu is fifteen when he finally understands the terms and conditions of this marriage.

Some Kekkai Genkais let you live longer than others. 

On paper, it could be really just that simple. Your Kekkai Genkai lets you live on for years and years and years, your only threat the darkness of your mind.

“Many of us have killed themselves after they lost their partners.” You explain with his head in your lap again, your hand in his hair.

“Is that what happened to your mother?” You don’t answer his question but he can tell the truth from the way your eyes lose their light.

“But why me?” Kakuzu asks, two days later when you’ve curled up next to him after Dinner. 

“I have two theories,” you explain softly. “Your Clan has brought forward many members with an exceptionally long lifespan.”

“And the other theory?”

“My Kekkai Genkai feeds on negative emotions. Misery. Sickness.” You fall silent. He doesn’t need you to keep going. He knows his family.

His father, who’s still not managed to drink himself to death. Whose temper is so famous that he’s often sent on three-man-missions alone. 

His grandfather, who’s rumored to have killed his first wife over a burnt meal. Who’s still alive because he’s too stubborn to die, living off the roots of the great tree on the edge of Takigakure.

“I’ll never be like my father.” He promises you, again. You press a kiss to the back of his hand like you did when you met for the first time. It’s the only answer you give him. 

-

Kakuzu is eighteen when his comrades make jokes about his wife.

They call her the beauty of Takigakure, say she’s even prettier because she never opens her mouth.

He gets cut from the mission roster for two weeks because he breaks one guys chin, and stabs the other guy in the thigh.

If you mind the blow to your wallet, you don’t show it. You’ve always been good at making a decent meal with the least amount of money spent.

But you sit him down when it happens again, a few months later.

“Stop it,” you tell him. “You’re becoming like your father.”

Fear engulfs him. He feels like he’s drowning, like that time he was six and his father threw him into the big cave, told him to swim or sink. 

Warm lips press onto his, breathe oxygen into his lungs. He holds onto your waist to keep himself from going under once again. 

As long as you’re there, as long as he has you, he will be able to keep afloat.

-

20.

Kakuzu turns twenty just two days before his daughter is born.

She’s got his eyes and your hair, his voice and your eerie stare.

You take one look at her and shake your head, sorrow washing over your features.

“What?” He asks, scared for his life. He’s never seen anything as precious as this little thing in your arms, that’s living and breathing and depending on him. 

“She hasn’t got my Kekkai Genkai.” You say, the words like a knife to his heart.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

The nurse, an old woman that helps with births and the like for a few scraps of meat and a few coins on the side, pats your head.

“What a beautiful healthy thing you’ve got. Cherish it, will you?”

He can see the light dim in your eyes. He makes a promise to himself that even though it might flicker, he will make sure that it does not go out. Ever.

-

Kakuzu likes this little life of his.

He likes waking up to his daughter on his chest, gurgling and garbling, grabbing everything her little hands can get. He likes the sight of you feeding her, how her cheeks are plump and warm, her belly full of milk. He likes seeing you in the village unexpectedly, knowing that the bundle tied to your front is the living, breathing proof that you like him enough, that he might even love you. 

It makes everything seem a little less burdensome. Passing his father in the streets, pretending not to hear the insults. Gong on missions that aren’t paid nearly enough for the danger they bring. The lack of good meat on the market, the hunger of the people in the streets. 

Being able to come home to you, to your soft smiles and his daughters quiet mumbles.

He could live like this, he thinks. Forever, if necessary.

But his daughter is named Fū, after the soft winds that come and go. 

When she’s just two, a sickness falls over the village. You do everything you can but just as the wind does not stay, neither does Fū.

-

Silence has fallen over his home.

Silence has fallen over Takigakure.

There are mornings when he hardly gets out of bed. There’s barely enough money in his pocket to afford the few scraps of meat that are offered at the market. But the beer is cheap.

If he drinks one, he can almost forget the way Fū looked in his arms. If he drinks five, he can almost forget she ever existed.

-

There’s a sharp pain in his left leg.

Kakuzu blinks himself awake and tries to pull away. 

“Stop it.” Your voice is hard and cold.

“What-”

“You stepped into broken glass.” You tell him. “I’m sewing you back together.”

“Don’t.” He mutters meekly. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t-” He stops. He doesn’t know.

“You promised, remember? You wouldn’t become like your father.”

“I’m not-”

“Kakuzu.” You move, your face now above his. You’ve turned younger again. Have you taken all his misery? 

“You should just leave me.”

“I will never, ever leave you.” From you, it sounds more like a threat than a promise. He closes his eyes for a second. Fū blinks back at him. He opens his eyes again.

“What do you want?”

“For you to stop drinking.”

“Granted. What else?”

You falter. “I-”

He sits up and grabs your arms. You’re so close now he can taste your breath. It’s a good thing Fū never got your eyes. There’s a truth in them he will probably never get used to.

“I’ll tell you.” You promise. “Not today. But I will tell you.”

-

He does not touch a drop of alcohol ever again.

Six months later he’s one of the most renowned Shinobi of his village, not that it pays much.

Konoha is a steadily rising threat in the distance but at least the crop is good this year, leaving everyone well fed.

When he returns home from yet another mission, bruised and bloodied, loneliness hanging off him like a second skin, you take his hands and press it to your belly.

“I want to be a mother.” You tell him, eyes alight. “Again and again and again.”

Kakuzu almost shatters at the prospect.

He’s barely survived losing Fū. How can he go through that again?

But he owes you. For keeping him alive. For giving him Fū. For liking him enough.

He watches your belly grow and wishes for a way to know if this one will inherit your Kekkai Genkai or the lack of his.

Two days after his second child kicks for the first time, he’s called to the village leader.

The mission is as simple as it’s deadly. Kill Hashirama Senju. 

He will not survive. He will not see his child grow up. But he will also not have to see it die.

Still, there’s something he can do about this. Milk the opportunities he’s got. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asks, his nose lifted to the sky. “I have a family to feed.”

You’ve never clung to him as tightly as you do the day he leaves.

When you kiss him goodbye he can taste the words you’ll never say.

Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind. I love you.

He bends down and presses a kiss to the swell of your belly.

“Take care of your mother for me.”

-

You must have bewitched him. Cursed him in his sleep.

That’s the only reason he can find why he survives. It had been a suicide mission after all.

He returns home, glad to be alive. He’s stopped at the village entrance, dragged through different caves than those who’d lead him home. To you. To the child that’s about to be born.

Kakuzu misses all of it. 

Instead, he’s sentenced to life in prison. And for what? For not dying on a mission that was meant to kill him?

He’s too proud to beg for forgiveness. But he asks for word on you. 

They refuse him even that.

All that’s left is Fū, who visits him in his sleep. And you, whose voice he can hear in every waking hour. It’s the only thing keeping him from going insane. 

-

The gurgling laughter alerts him.

It’s a sound that doesn’t belong in a prison.

“Shhhh….” A voice whispers. He knows that voice.

He calls your name, desperate to prove to himself that he hasn’t lost his mind.

You step out of the shadows into a lone ray of sunshine breaking through the cave walls. You’ve gotten a little older. Life up there must have been treating you well.

There’s a bundle tied to your front. You step closer, lift the bundle through the bars that have been made to keep out grown men, not a newborn baby.

“Her name is Mito,” you tell him quietly. “She’s got my Kekkai Genkai.”

Mito. To hope, to wish, to desire. It’s a fitting name for the little girl that’s peering up at him. She’s got your eyes, too. 

“I’ve not been a good husband to you.” He tells you. “You should leave me. Find someone who’s a better fit for you.”

His words say one thing. His arms cradling Mito close another.

You reach one hand through the bars, cradle his cheek. 

“I’m bound to you.” You state. “I will go nowhere without you.”

Kakuzu looks down at Mito, how she fits into his arms just as perfectly as Fū did.

“What life can I give you?” He asks the little girl. Her chubby fingers try to grab the marks on his hands. Prison tattoos. 

Your thumb presses against his cheekbone. His eyes flicker up to yours. There’s a determination in them he’s never seen before.

“I’m bound to you.” You repeat. “Not to this village.”

-

Kakuzu feels strangely nostalgic as he leaves the city, four beating hearts and a forbidden Jutsu in his possession.

In a way, it’s just like when you fled his fathers house, took everything with you what you could use. 

This time he’s not holding your hand through it.

This time you’re waiting on the other side of the cave system, the little ox wagon hidden from sight.

Mito sleeps soundly when he arrives, bloodied and proud.

She sleeps through everything. Her parents departure from the only place they ever called home. Her father's transformation through Earth Grudge Fear. 

He briefly wonders if she notices a difference when she looks at him. If his little girl can tell the difference between the man he was before and the man he is now.

Because he can tell that it has changed you.

You grow older outside of Takigakure. There’s not enough Misery to sustain you. One morning he wakes up to crowfeet around your eyes. He finds a grey hair on your head a week later.

It brings a new fear to his life.

And fear brings out demons he didn’t know he carried.

The little house he built for you lies in ruins over a fit of anger.

Mito hides behind you, fear in her eyes that look so much like you. 

He’s breathing hard, doesn’t even know why he flipped in the first place.

You rake a hand through his hair, pull him close until your heads touch.

He can taste your breath, can feel the misery lift off him.

“Tomorrow,” you tell him calmly, “You will leave. Go on a mission. Bring me back a son.”

-

50.

He’s fifty now. 

Mito got married last year. He barely sees her anymore.

There’s a clear distaste in her voice when she speaks to him.

She looks at him like he looked at his father.

Does she promise her husband that she will never be like her father?

Does he believe her?

Because Kakuzu has seen what her temper can do. 

She’s his daughter after all.

Yet, he believes in the power of names. He believes that she can be what she desires.

His youngest daughter is two months old. You named her Rin in his absence.

He’s missed her birth, Han’s too. But he held your hand through Yagura’s birth, pretended not to shatter on the inside when you took one look at the little boy.

“He’s not got the Kekkai Genkai.” 

Still. Yagura might be his favorite child.

He’s a quiet boy. Likes to hide behind Utakata when no one’s looking for him. 

Utakata is his oldest living child, found on that first mission that you sent him on.

“Bring me back a son,” you had said and he’d thought it nonsense until he stumbles over him, starving on the side of the road.

-

Kakuzu doesn’t mind coming home now. He doesn’t mind staying away either.

It’s a fragile thing, this thing between the two of you.

Should he call it love? He doesn’t have anything to compare it to.

He knows you’re never lonely, not with the gaggle of kids that run around your feet all day. He knows you won’t age, not when there’s almost always a kid that cries because it got hurt in one way or another. Not when there’s a growing village nearby, of farmers and their women, with a baker and a monk, all of them looking for someone to tell their sorrows to.

He knows his temper is better left outside his home, directed at people who have the misfortune of crossing him at the wrong time in the wrong place.

Yet he longs to be by your side just as much as you long to have him with you.

He can tell by the way you pull him close when he’s home. How there’s no one allowed to sleep in your bed but him. 

When you kiss him, he feels like everything will turn out all right, eventually.

When you hold him close he can almost forget the way Fū looked the day she died.

When he’s got his arms around you, nose buried in your hair he can pretend he won’t die the day Yagura dies.

-

67.

Long before he turns seventy, Kakuzu understands how you feel.

He still looks barely past thirty. It might be Earth Grudge Fear or a Kekkai Genkai his Clan never bothered to explore, but you and he both have lived too many years on this cruel earth to still be this young.

He’s so tired. 

Mito lost her first child to a famine.

Yagura lost an arm trying to save Utakata from a mob. So what if his son was born in the land of water? That does not take away his right to live!

There will never be an end to this madness, this sorrow.

There will never be an end to your life if you don’t make sure of it.

“Don’t die.” He tells you at night.

“Don’t die.” You tell him when you see him off.

There’s but a thin line separating the two of you from death and it’s the other's presence.

He cannot leave you behind. He will not leave you behind.

If this isn’t love, what is?

-

81.

Kakuzu’s barely over eighty when he meets Pain.

Bright orange hair and eyes as cold and determined as yours.

He pretends he’s not interested. But he is.

He’s long grown impatient of this world. Of its neverending cycle of pain and misery and sorrow. Why must his children die? Why must you suffer to stay alive? Why must he stay away from you to keep you safe yet come back to make sure you keep on living?

Mito barely looks at him now. 

She’s learned by now that she can never outrun his temper. It’s etched into her bones.

Yagura has grown almost silent after the loss of yet another of his siblings.

He’s a grown man, hair turning grey, yet he still crawls into his father's lap when he’s home. 

He wants to go back to the simple days. 

If only he could turn back time. 

If only he could hold Fū one more time. 

-

91.

Hidan trails behind him.

There’s movement in the bushes. 

Hidan reacts immediately, draws his scythe, curses loudly.

“Shut up.” Kakuzu gnarls. His hand shoots out, catches the perpetrator around the neck.

It’s a little girl, Kunai drawn. His mouth turns dry at the sight. Her eyes remind him of his little Rin, never mind the fact that Rin’s already got three kids of her own.

“Let me down!” She screams bloody murder at him. He drops her like she asked for. She runs away with bloody knees.

“Aw, why did you let her get away?” Hidan asks. “I could have sacrificed her.”

“Take grown-ups for that.” He huffs. 

They rest in an inn that night.

Kakuzu thinks of you like he always does when he counts his money. He should check in with you soon, to make sure you’ve got enough for the next months. Winter has been hard this year and you’ve picked up another stray. He got a beetle plush at a fair last month, won it in one of those rare moments when Hidan’s occupied with something stupid. He knows Yagura is going to love it.

“We do offer some special fun if you’re interested.” The innkeeper's grin speaks volumes.

“What do you have in mind?” Kakuzu asks. He’ll kill the guy if he gives him a reason to.

And the guy is stupid enough to do so, dragging a filthy little girl out of the kitchen.

It’s the girl that tried to trap them in the woods earlier, clothes filthy from crawling around the kitchen.

“How much for her?” Kakuzu asks before he can stop himself. The girls' eyes remind him of Fū in this low light. The price is low, telling of the man’s desperation. Or maybe he’s just not a good businessman.

“I’ll take her.” He pays upfront and demands another serving of food, pushing it toward the girl who’s now sitting next to him, trying to crawl into herself. 

“Eat.” He demands roughly. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

“I’ll let you have your fun then.” The innkeeper moves backward, a slimy grin distorting his face.

“Hidan,” Kakuzu’s tone lacks any emotion. “Take care of him. But be quiet about it.”

-

They leave the next morning a little richer - dead innkeepers don’t need any live savings - and with a child slowing them down.

“What’s that all about? You a pedophile?” Hidan eyes the kid curiously.

“Shut up.” 

They turn away from the main road.

It’s less than two days over the mountains if they keep moving at this pace. Most of the time he’s got to carry the kid anyway.

“What’s your name?” Hidan asks the first night when they’re sharing a rabbit Kakuzu caught.

“Kushina.” The girl says before directing her eyes at Kakuzu. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Why should I?” He asks roughly. “There’s no meat on you.”

-

A rustling in the bushes gives him away.

Kakuzu stops short, hand outstretched to keep Hidan back.

“Yagura.” He calls. “I’ve already spotted you.”

Yagura steps out with a smile. His hair has turned almost completely grey yet his eyes are that of a child.

“Have you got me a present?” He asks.

“Why would I get you one? You still suck at hiding.”

Yagura just laughs, stills when he spots Kushina.

“Oh! You brought me a friend!” He crouches down in front of the girl, his remaining hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Yagura. Do you want to meet my Mom? She likes children.”

Kushina looks up at Kakuzu as if asking for directions. He jerks his head, telling her to go.

Yagura whisks her away, never as quick on his feet as when he’s presented with a new sibling.

Hidan’s muttering something behind him.

Right. He shouldn’t have brought him here.

“Listen.” He mutters darkly. “You can turn around and go back to the village we came from. I’m going to meet you there in a week.”

“No way.” Hidan grins. “I want to see what you’ve got hidden in the woods. Some secret family?”

“So what?” Kakuzu gnarls. “If you dare to threaten them-”

Hidan falls silent, face strangely void of any emotion. 

“Fine.” He huffs eventually. “But if you’re late, I’ll leave without you.” He turns back, coat swishing behind him as he moves quickly.

Kakuzu’s not sure what he did to be granted such a favor, but he’s not going to second guess it.

He rarely gets time off as it is.

-

Kushina’s already laughing freely with Yagura by the time he has to leave again.

All those years of misery forgotten in just a few days.

You pull him close, hug him tight.

You barely look older than thirty. 

Most people tell you that life must have treated you well.

Kakuzu knows the truth.

“What’s your next target?” You ask.

“The main one in the land of fire.” He recalls. “The nine tails.”

“That’s the worst one, right?” You ask. There’s something scratching at the back of your throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired.” You tell him. “I’m so tired, Kakuzu. I want to go home.”

“I know.”

He kisses you, tries to tell you through touch what he cannot say with words.

I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m with you till the end.

“This is the last one.” You tell him when he pulls away. “You hear me? No more kids. No more missions.”

He nods. “I promise.” He says but he knows just as well as you do that his promises don’t mean much.

“I love you.” You whisper, for the first time in over eighty years.

You’ve never had to say it before.

Later, when it’s much too late for it, he’ll wonder why you said it.

Pain/Nagato

• Due to him being the leader of Amegakure and the Akatsuki (and a God), he's busy most of the time. But that doesn't mean he's unaware of the things you're up to

• He uses his rain to track your every move whenever you're out and about in the village and tasks Konan with keeping watch over you. And in case she is away on a mission, he will use one of the other Pains' to make sure you "Stay out of trouble"

• Despite his usually cold and distant demeanor, he can be surprisingly attentive and even affectionate. Not overly of course, but every once in a while, a small remnant of the old Nagato shines through

• Not that big on pet names and actually prefers calling you by your real name. Might relent and call you something like "Treasure" or "Little one"

Konan

• Very sweet and caring girlfriend who tends to be a bit overprotective (can't blame her though *cough* Yahiko *cough*)

• Can be quite possessive too and, although she does give you a lot of freedom, uses her mere presence to intimidate anyone who even thinks of trying to woo, or worse, harm you

• Only you are blessed to see her attentive and loving side. But the thing is: Konan, being a victim of many losses throughout her life, also tends to love bomb you every chance she gets. Means her affection can sometimes be suffocating, even if she genuinely means well

• "Honey", "Sweetie", and "Gorgeous" are her top three favourite pet names for you

Itachi

• One of the few Akatsuki members who actually treats you right and doesn't throw insults at you, threatens to kill you, manipulates you or straight up ignores you

• Attentive and caring. He'll notice and remember the smallest things about you and will try to surprise you with your favourite things as much as he can

• You, along with Sasuke, are his top priority

• Calls you "Dear" and "Love"

• Only calls you by your pet name when the two of you are alone. Not out of embarrassment, but calling you by your pet name is something intimate to him and he'd like to keep such things private

Kisame

• Like Itachi, Kisame is one of the few who treats his partner with respect and sees them as equals and not some annoying baggage that he somehow ended up carrying with him and can do with as he pleases

• Considering his strength, enormous size and past, he's surprisingly gentle with his significant other. Both physically and emotionally, although he will be blunt if something bothers him

• Pretty chill dude who literally never gets jealous and lets you do whatever you want and hang out with whoever you want. Not because he doesn't care, but because he actually got some healthy self-esteem and also has faith in your abilities

• Likes to call you "Shortie" and "Smartass" when he feels mischievous and "Sugar" when he's being genuinely affectionate

Tobi/Obito

• Actually very possessive of you (but in subtle, almost "innocent" way) and makes sure you never stray out of his sight, or, Jashin forbid, get 'too comfy' with others

• He's as shameless as he is chaotic and will flirt with you and even make some inappropriate jokes in front of everyone just to see you get embarrassed and blush

• Teases you a lot in a playful way and always makes up for it by giving you lots and lots of cuddles afterwards

• Whenever he doesn't get his way, he will manipulate and guilt trip you by whining and fake sobbing while making himself look like a kicked puppy until you give in to his demands

• His pet names for you are "Dearie" and "Sweetheart"

Sasori

• If there's even a smidge of humanity left in him, you're definitely the only one who gets to see it

• He understands the concept of love and physical affection. But since he's a literal puppet, he doesn't need either of those. Lucky for you though, he will at least try to meet your physical and emotional needs. Don't expect too much though

• While Sasori is usually good with words and knows how to get his message across flawlessly most of the time, he sometimes says the weirdest and most unsettling shit that he perceives as a genuine compliment, but others find... strange. On several occasions, Sasori has complimented your appearance, comparing it to a true work of art, while in the same sentence expressing his desire to preserve that beauty by turning you into a puppet

• Don't even try your luck with asking him to be intimate with you. The answer will always be a firm "No"

• Doesn't bother with cutesy names and will just call you by your real name. Although, if he feels like it, he'll be calling you "Darling"

Deidara

• Deidara, as we all know, is quite impulsive and often lets his frustrations out on you, either by lashing out on you verbally, or during sex. Though he definitely prefers the latter

• He has a sketchbook full of drawings of you which he's too embarrassed of to admit its existence to you

• Just like Tobi, he's pretty shameless when it comes to flirting with you when others are around. Loves to make sexual jokes and comments and if you wear something he really likes, he'll make sure that everyone knows his honest opinion about it

• "Beautiful" and "Babe" are his go to pet names for you

Hidan

• This man is a walking red flag and dull as a rock when it comes to romance and feelings (and the fact that he's a sadistic psychopath doesn't really help here)

• Doesn't care about anniversaries, mainly because he forgets them. But he's also not big on things like cuddling or hand holding

• Threatens to sacrifice you to Jashin quite regularly whenever he's annoyed by something you did or said

• He's by far the worst when it comes to decency, because that's one of the many things he lacks. When he's horny, the entirety of the Akatsuki will know about it. Whether it be with his inappropriate comments and suggestive choice of words, or the fact that he's raw dogging you somewhere less private

• Doesn't really care much about pet names. When he feels like calling you something 'sweet', it'll be something like "Doll", "Babe" or "Cunt"

Kakuzu

• That old cheapskate doesn't even remember how he ended up with you, or why he even bothers with keeping you around. To him, you're loud, annoying and worst of all, expensive

• Has threatened to kill you on multiple occasions, yet for some reason, he can't really bring himself to. As annoying and bothersome as you are, there's something about you that makes him want to keep you around (Probably the fact that you're good at roasting Hidan, which he finds even more annoying. Either that, or one of his hearts is defect)

• Will spend as little money on you as humanly possible. You want flowers? Go pluck them off a field or something. You want new clothes, like that new jacket you saw the other day? Just walk into the store and take it. What's stopping you? The law? The shop owner? Screw the law and kill the owner

• Mostly just calls you "Brat" or simply refers to you by your real name

Zetsu

• Nobody knows how Zetsu managed to get a s/o, not even Zetsu himself. But he doesn't really mind and enjoys your company regardless

• He's more the quiet type and rather listens to you rambling about your day and will occasionally respond with a few words to show that he's actually listening and interested

• He startles you quite a lot when he suddenly appears in a wall or right in front of you. He always apologizes for it, but deep down he loves to hear your startled yelps

• Since he's technically two people in one body, they both share the duty of being your boyfriend. With black Zetsu being the more serious but also more distant one, who, when he feels like it, plans dates and puts serious thought into the gifts he gets you. Meanwhile white Zetsu is the laid back one, who cracks jokes (mostly inappropriate ones) all the time and initiates physical contact

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”