Keeping Notes

Privacy is a concept other couples get to have. You? No. Your body betrays you for sport, and unfortunately Matt has the hearing, smell, and nerve to know every single time.

You didn't realise how often you get turned on until you started dating a man who can hear your pulse do a backflip because he rolled his sleeves up while making pasta. He was COOKING. That's all he did. Garlic, sauce, shirt slightly tight on his back, forearms out. Suddenly you're sitting there like a pervert with a glass of water.

The worst part? He doesn't even turn around at first. He'll keep stirring the sauce, head tilted, smiling to himself like an absolute bastard. Then he'll go, "you alright over there?" Like he doesn't already know. 

You'll say, "fine." Obviously, because you can't simply show your cards (even though he knows all your cards)

He'll hum. Just hum. Like he's heard enough.

Sometimes he lets it sit there too. He'll plate the food, pour wine, sit across from you like a normal boyfriend. But his ankle? It hooks around yours under the table. And you're already thinking, Matthew, don't do this near carbohydrates. 

And the cooking thing became a Thing, by the way. He'll be next to you on bed, hand between your legs because let's face it, that man cannot keep his hands to himself. When he feels how soaked you are around him, he'll press his mouth to your jaw and go, "this all from watching me cook?" You'd want to die. But his hand is between your legs and his cock is hard against your thigh, so death can wait.

Fighting is somehow worse, which is like betrayal from your own body.

Because you'll be genuinely mad. Like fully correct, in your opinion. Pacing around, saying things with evidence, maybe even pointing at him a little because sometimes a finger needs to be involved. And then his jaw gets tight and his voice goes low, and your body immediately forgets the cause.

Feminism? Where?

He'll notice mid-fight too. You'll be halfway through a sentence, something very valid about how he cannot just disappear into Hell's Kitchen bleeding and expect you to be normal about it. Then he'll stop listening. Like not stop stop, he's listening to something else. He's compartmentalising listening. Your pulse. Your breath. The way your thighs shifted. Whatever. Disgusting surveillance state of a man.

Then he'll come closer, and say, "you can keep arguing with me," while his fingers slip under your waistband like he isn't the worst person alive, "but this is making it very hard to believe you."

Sometimes you still try to argue, which is embarrassing for everyone involved. Mostly you. You'd be stuttering, trying to finish a point while he has two fingers sliding through your folds, and mouth near your ear, like he's waiting for you to confess. Absolute lawyer behavior.

Sometimes he makes you say it too. That's the thing. He'll have you right there, hips lifting into his hand, your whole argument dead on the floor, and he'll ask, "what got you like this?" Like he needs it entered into record. And when you refuse, he'll slow down. You wish he'd stop. But no, he's just slowing down. Enough to get you you desperate. Leaving all dignity on the floor along with your skirt, you'll mutter, "your stupid voice," and he kisses your temple like he's comforting you through a problem he caused.

The court thing was the worst one though. You still haven't emotionally recovered from that. 

You went to watch him because it seemed cute. Supportive girlfriend behavior. Very adult. You had coffee, you wore something decent, you sat there thinking this would be sweet, like look at him doing his job, look at my boyfriend being smart and competent.

No.

Bad idea.

He stood there in that suit, calm as anything, voice sharp but polite, sounding gentle while absolutely ruining someone's argument, and your body decided this was porn. Porn you hear me? You didn't even realise you were squeezing your thighs together, but he did. 

Like the perfect boyfriend, he kissed you outside the courthouse, and then paused like a maniac. "During closing arguments?" He asked so softly, like he was trying not to laugh. 

Traffic was right fucking there. You could have walked into it. 

He brought it up for three days. Three full days. "I thought my opening statement was stronger." "Was it the objection?" "Should I wear that tie more often?" Shut up, Matthew. Shut up before you make it worse.

Because he can tell when you're lying, surprises are nearly impossible. You once tried to hide a birthday gift in your closet and he walked in, paused, smiled a little, and said, "is that for me?" You nearly threw the gift at his head.

And he had the nerve to act innocent after. "What?" Like he hadn't just ruined the whole operation. You had wrapped it. You had hidden it under sweaters. There was a tote bag involved. Effort had been made. And he’d just sniffed wrapping paper.

Dating Matt is basically losing every normal human advantage. You can't lie. Can't hide gifts. Can't be horny in peace. Can't even fight without your body betraying the cause.

And the really annoying part is he's sweet about it after. Which almost makes it worse. He'll kiss your forehead after being unbearable. He'll pull you close after making you admit you got wet because he made pasta. He'll plant a soft kiss to your mouth like he didn't just read you fully. 

So yeah, dating a lawyer is bad. But dating Matt Murdock is worse.

There's space though, at least. Regarding the mattress in question, the two twin beds—Foggy's and Matt's—have been shoved together since April, a dubious project held in place by the wall on one side and dogged hope on the other. Even the sheets don't match—one's navy and one's a truly tragic shade of beige.

Right now, you're sprawled out and sweating across the seam where they meet, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt of Foggy's.

"Aw," Matt remarks from his desk. He's got his earbuds around his neck, one of them plugged in, listening to what you're pretty sure is a contracts textbook. In this heat. For fun. The angle with which he's leaning back in his chair makes you nervous. "Maybe the RA'll put a little memorial up. 'Here she melted. She was okay.'"

"Okay?!"

"Ah, I didn't wanna oversell it."

Oh, Matt.

Even after months of dating Foggy, you can't seem to parse Matt completely. Your boyfriend's best friend has never been fully hostile to you, and you know these little jokes are supposed to be just him teasing, but in actuality—you can never tell with Matt. One moment he's okay, one moment he's provoking you again: joking that you're stealing Foggy from him, teasing you, ignoring you. Bumping into you and crowding you. You're not even sure what you've done to him.

It's not like you can bring it up to Foggy, though. Just thinking of all the little things that've made you come to this conclusion is enough to know that you're going to sound crazy and delusional if you do.

Right now though: if you tease Matt back hard enough, you can ignore the fact that his shirt is off. Not that you're trying hard to not notice too much about his unclothed body. It's just— his skin's faintly sheened in the syrupy light coming through the window.

You'd grumbled about it: how guys always seemed to lose that battle so easily just because they had the option.

But it's okay—you can be normal, right? It's just bodies. It's just bodies.

"Hey," Foggy grunts from beside you. He's shirtless, too, clad only in basketball shorts. "She's more than okay, thank you very much. She's the love of my life and she'll be remembered as such."

You bat your eyes at him exaggeratedly. "Aw, Fog."

"'Here she melted. She was pretty hot.'" He turns his head back to grin at you, eyes crinkling. "Matt's just dramatic."

"You're both dramatic," Matt says.

"Says the man who pointed the single fan at himself," you shoot back.

The oscillating fan has indeed been hogged, rotating by the corner of Matt's desk in agreement. It ruffles the dark hair at his forehead before swiveling away again.

"I'm studying," he says mildly. As if that has anything to do with anything.

"You're hogging the breeze is what you are, Murdock."

Under the thick, stifling comforter of heat, though, it only just then occurs to you that Foggy's hand has been on your thigh, rubbing along the inside of it.

"Hey," he says to you, rolling onto his side to face you. His eyes are half-lidded.

You know this look. You know exactly what it means. It's the one that usually precedes him kissing your neck hotly and talking you out of whatever you were doing.

And the thing is, there's actually nothing you'd want more than to pull Foggy's shorts down now and ride him, but fuck. Matt's right there.

"Foggy. No."

"I didn't say anything."

"Your hand's saying plenty." You grab his wrist and lift it off your leg, depositing it back on his own chest. "It's a thousand degrees," you say, and then lower your voice in warning, "Matt's right there."

Foggy makes a sound like a deflating balloon. "Matt doesn't care. He's basically furniture right now. He's a lamp." And louder, he calls, "No offense, buddy."

"None taken." And then lighter, "I've endured worse from him."

"See?" Foggy's hand migrates back, and this time it lands on your hip, squeezing through the fabric of your shorts. "Lamp says it's fine."

"Yeah. You deal with the wandering hands for a few hours. I've had years of this."

Ignoring Matt, you swat at Foggy again, harder, trying for propriety, and he retreats with a dramatic wince.

"You are so— it's too hot, Fog. I'll literally melt. Do you wanna lose your girlfriend to, um— entropy?"

"Thermodynamics," Matt contributes from the distance, needling.

"Thank you, Lamp."

He shrugs. Foggy flops onto his back with a theatrical groan, arms thrown wide.

For a while, there's nothing but the faint whirring off the fan, and the muffled sounds of the dormitory drifting through the open window. Someone's playing Ke$ha downstairs.

You close your eyes. It's so, so hot. Your thoughts go slow and syrupy, circling into the ever-perilous drain of sleep.

"...anyway," Foggy's saying. And you realize that you missed the start of some conversation he and Matt have drifted into. "I'm just saying, you can't cite that for that proposition."

"But you're thinking of the Seventh Circuit dissent, not the—"

"Oh, the dissent, he says—"

"It's a famous one, Foggy."

"Famous doesn't mean right."

"Neither does loud."

You crack one eye open and find that they're grinning at each other. Jesus. It's your favorite thing about them, at least: the way they bicker like an old married couple that secretly enjoy it. Foggy catches you looking and winks.

"Back me up here, babe."

You shudder at the name. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Planting a kiss on his cheek, you say, "And I refuse to learn."

Matt barks a laugh at that. "Good, you know Foggy's a worse influence than he lets on."

"Oh, I'm the bad influence? That's rich coming from—" Foggy cuts himself off, waving a hand. "You know what, no. I'm not taking that bait."

"What bait?" you ask.

"Matt-bait. He does this thing where, you know, he says something provocative then he sits back and lets you—"

"Oh, come on, man. I don't do 'a thing.'"

"—crash and burn and flail. You know what this reminds me of?" Foggy rolls his head toward you, conspiratorial. "There was a time sophomore year— wait, was it sophomore year? Matt, was it sophomore year when the power went out in Carman the whole heatwave?"

"Yeah, uh," Matt taps his fingers on the table, licking his lips, "freshman year, I think?"

"Right, right. And we had to sleep with the door open and there was this guy from down the hall who kept walking by in his boxers—"

"I don't think he was even wearing boxers."

"Wow, I blocked that part out, thanks for that." Foggy waves a hand. "Anyway, we drank endless shots because Matt kept saying, you know, I don't even think you can handle it, over and over, so I kept doing it and he kept doing it, over and over, and then we ended up—" Foggy stops. "Uh. Anyway, it was a weird night."

Matt's fingers have stopped drumming on the desk.

"Ended up what?" you ask lazily, only half-listening.

"Nothing. Just— just talking. We stayed up talking."

You look between them, and find Matt grinning, like the cat who ate the canary.

"What?" you say, and now you're propping up on your elbow, curious. "What happened?"

"Nothing! Matt's just being— Man, you're being weird."

"I'm not being anything!" Matt leans back in his chair and tips it back onto two legs. His mouth's curled at the corners. "I'm just saying. It was a good night."

"It was a normal night—"

Matt scoffs.

"—that we don't need to—"

"Wait," you say. Something's assembling itself in your head, puzzle pieces slowly clicking into place. Foggy's blush. Matt's smirk. Even the conspicuous way Foggy derailed his own anecdote. Ended up—? "Wait. Hold on. Matt. What happened freshman year?"

Matt turns to face you. Without his glasses, those unfocused eyes are warm and brown, with flecks of pretty amber.

"We kissed," he says simply.

The fan clicks. Clicks. Clicks.

"You—" You sit up fully. "What?"

"MATT." Foggy jackknifes upright on the bed beside you, so fast the whole mattress-island wobbles, as if he's only just woken up from some dreamlike trance. "We had a pact!"

"That was two years ago!"

"What— When was—" You can't even gather your thoughts up quick enough to substantiate anything you're saying. Matt's kissed Foggy? Foggy's kissed Matt? "Sorry, what happened exactly?"

"It was— It was before you," Matt says, all quickly, like he's had that at the ready. "Obviously."

"Obviously," you echo, looking at Foggy. He's rubbing the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes. The flush is spreading from his cheeks down to his freckled chest.

"We were drunk," Foggy says. He drags both hands down his face. "It was one time— It was stupid, it didn't mean— I mean, it meant something, but not like— not like you mean something—"

"It was more than one time," Matt says pleasantly.

Foggy falters, losing his words. Meanwhile, something's happening in your chest. It's a mix of intrigue and jealousy, though decidedly not betrayal, not any of the things you should probably be feeling upon learning your boyfriend's kissed his best friend. What it is is more like a door opening, a window thrown wide in a room already hot, flushed with heat. Electric.

"More than once," you say.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes are so, so wide and worried, brow crumpled, looking so guilty. You can practically see the gears grinding behind his eyes.

"Was it good?"

Matt's eyebrows lift and Foggy's mouth opens, closes, and opens again.

"I—" He blinks. "What?"

"Was it good?" You cross your legs on the bed, your shorts riding up. "The kiss. Was it good?"

There's only silence.

And then Matt says, "It wasn't bad."

Foggy makes an indignant noise. "Wasn't bad? I'll have you know—" He sighs, giving up, and turns back to you. "Why aren't you mad?"

You consider this honestly. "I don't know. I don't know," you say. Your voice sounds different. "I think it's... It's actually kind of hot?"

Matt's chair comes down on all four legs with a soft thud.

Foggy's staring at you. "You— I, uh, what?"

"I get it. Matt's not hard on the eyes," you say. You drag your thumb along the ridge of his knuckles, feeling each soft dip and indentation. "So how many times? Three? Four?"

Foggy glances at Matt, then back at you. "I— Yeah? Why are you asking me this...?"

"Because I want you to do again."

Matt hasn't moved, but you can see the shift in his posture.

"Do it again," Foggy repeats.

"Yeah. Kiss him again. If you want."

"In front of—"

"Yeah."

He rubs his face again with both hands. "This is— Okay, this is insane. Matt?"

"I mean," Matt's tongue darts across his lower lip, quick and unconscious, "I'm not opposed."

"Oh, you're not opposed? Come on, back me up here—"

"Come on, Fog." Matt stands from the desk. He pads across the tiny room barefoot, and the orange-white sun from the window catches the planes of his stomach, the dark trail of hair below his navel. He stops at the edge of the pushed-together beds, standing over both of you. "She did ask nicely."

For a second, there's a beat where Foggy just looks up at him. You see something pass between them, some well-worn frequency that predates you. A contemplative look of shared history. Then Foggy exhales, long and slow, and tilts his chin up.

"If this is weird after," he warns, pointing a finger at Matt, "that's on you."

"Everything's on me," Matt says, and he leans down and kisses him.

It's careful at first. Almost... Chaste? Respectful. Matt's hand finds the curve of Foggy's jaw, and they press their mouths together so softly, so easily that it makes you stomach flip. Very clearly having done this before.

Then Matt makes a sound—quiet, like a suppressed groan—and kisses deeper, and Foggy's lips part, and suddenly it isn't chaste at all.

Your breath catches. Watching them from inches away, it's all close enough to see the way Matt's hand comes down to caress Foggy's neck. Foggy, in seeming retaliation, reaches up to grip the back of Matt's neck, pulling him closer.

Matt's on one knee on the mattress now, half-bracing himself over Foggy. The way their mouths are moving together makes you feel like you can't breathe. Foggy kisses the way you know, the way he does everything. Warm and generous, open-mouthed and giving. Matt's rougher, though. Like he's taking.

You press your thighs together. It's as if the heat in the room has narrowed to a single, pulsing point low in your belly.

Matt pulls back just enough to breathe, and his lower lip drags against Foggy's. And then he's kissing him again, much deeper this time. His tongue slides into Foggy's mouth. Your boyfriend makes a muffled sound, and from Matt's neck, his hand slides up into his hair, gripping. Matt shivers, and you watch the muscles in his shoulders flex.

"Don't stop," you breathe.

Matt smiles smugly against Foggy's mouth, and you suddenly know it for what it is: he's performing at least a little, and you don't mind at all. His hand plants itself on Foggy's bare chest, fingers spread wide over his pecs. Then it slides lower, palm dragging through the sheen of sweat, the downy blond hair of Foggy's soft stomach—

"Okay," Foggy breathes. He breaks the kiss and turns his head, eyes finding yours. They're dark. Heavy-lidded. Unmistakably turned on. "You— Come here."

You're lost in the daze, though, and Foggy knows you enough to not wait for you to obey. As Matt makes room for you, Foggy reaches out to hook the back of your neck and pull you in, and then his mouth's on yours. Hot and slick and tastes faintly of lemonade, of salty spit. Matt's spit, you think hazily. His tongue pushes past your lips and you make a sound into his mouth, only for him to deepen it. Kissing you like he's claiming you back. Like he needs to know the difference.

You slide your own hands up your boyfriend's chest, over his nipples and his stomach. His skin's so sticky under your palms and you love it, how alive he feels between the two of you.

But even as Foggy's tongue slides against yours, you feel Matt. His hands are on your hips from behind, chest pressing against your back, palms skimming up your sides beneath the oversized t-shirt. His fingers are long, longer than Foggy's, and they leave trails of heat across your ribs. He's so warm. Skin-on-skin where your top's ridden up, and you can feel his cock pressing against your ass through the thin layers between you.

"Easy, easy," Foggy mumbles into your mouth, directed past you. But Matt doesn't listen: his hands coast up higher, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts, and you jolt, gasping against Foggy's mouth.

"Not fair," Matt mutters behind you. His mouth finds the curve of your neck, open and hot, teeth dragging, and you shudder between them. "Share."

You break from Foggy—who chases your mouth with a lazy, half-lidded look to him—and turn your head. Matt must sense the movement, because he stops his groping and fondling, and tilts his head toward you.

"Hi," Matt says hoarsely, close enough that you feel the word on your mouth.

"Hi."

"You wanna?"

You do. Fuck, you do.

You tip your head and kiss Matt Murdock for the first time. It's absolutely nothing like kissing your boyfriend. Matt is teeth and tongue immediately, sharp and searching. Hot. Hypnotizing. A little mean about it, too. He bites your bottom lip and you make a startled sound, and feel Foggy laugh weakly between you.

"Yeah," Foggy says. "Yeah, he's like that."

"Mm-hmm," you mumble, having lost all language, and then Matt's back to kissing you.

When you break apart, you're panting. Foggy's turned his face to you and you kiss him again. It's easier. Home. He sighs into your mouth the way he does when you're alone. But even as he kisses you his hips are rocking forward into Matt's hand, which has snaked around from behind you.

Matt's other hand slides up your stomach again, and between the two of them your shirt gets tugged up over your head. And like that, you're bare from the waist up, sweaty and breathless. The feeling of being freed from your clothes is almost as good as the feeling of Foggy's eyes on you.

"Jesus Christ," Foggy breathes, so clearly ogling your tits.

Matt's hands drag across your nipples, pinching firmly just to see what noise you make. From the front, Foggy's mouth drops to your chest, tongue darting out to lick at one peaked bud. You cry out, hand fisting in his long hair.

Everything's slippery. Matt's chest against your bare back. Foggy's mouth on your skin. Hands, everywhere—you lose track of whose is whose.

You slide one hand down the front of Foggy's body—down, past the trail of hair at his navel—until your fingers bump the back of Matt's wrist where it's still under the waistband of Foggy's shorts. Matt stills. You can feel Foggy's thick cock under his hand, hot and heavy and straining, and the angle's awkward but you slip your fingers under alongside Matt's and feel your boyfriend twitch hard against both of you at once.

"Oh God," Foggy says hoarsely.

Matt pulls his hand out first, fingers bumping yours as he goes. You get off Foggy, and then Matt's hooking both thumbs into the waistband of Foggy's shorts and tugging.

"Up," he says. "C'mon. C'mon."

"Fuck, I can't believe this is happening," Foggy mutters, but he plants his hands on the mattress and lifts his hips anyway. Matt drags the shorts down his thighs in one pull, and Foggy's cock springs up against his stomach. Leaking already at the tip.

Matt's hand goes right back to where it was, working Foggy's cock so loosely, slick with precome and sweat, pulling pained groans from your boyfriend's pretty, pretty mouth. He turns his face toward yours and grins.

"You want a turn?" he asks you sweetly. Insufferably smug.

"Don't be rude," you spit at him, even as you're reaching.

Your hand closes over Matt's, closes over Foggy, who's making these tiny helpless hitches of breath, eyes squeezed shut. And when you grip him a little harder, he whimpers.

"See," Matt says to you, "he likes this sound."

"I know, Matt."

"Yeah? Do you know how to get five of 'em in a row?"

"Matt, stop— Stop being mean," Foggy says through gritted teeth. You laugh, and you can't help the little squirm you do. You're so turned on you're lightheaded. You want out of your shorts, out of your panties, now.

You wriggle out of them in an undignified sort of shimmy, and your bare thighs stick instantly to the beige sheet. God, it's so hot in here you're going to combust. Seeing you're naked, Foggy reaches back and shoves Matt aside, grabbing your thigh and hauling it over his hip. Hooking you around him, and making you fit yourself against his hardness. You grind down once and cry out.

"Matt," you rasp. "Come back."

He crawls back in, a long lean creature stalking up the seam of the sheets, and when he gets close enough, you grab the waistband of his shorts yourself and tug. Like a cat being lifted out of a lap, he lifts up obligingly and you drag down his hips and he kicks out of them and then he's bare too, all three of you bare. The head of Matt's cock is flushed an angry pink. He's leaking onto himself.

"What a mess," you say teasingly. "All for us, huh?"

But your teasing's barely potent: Matt's smirking, and you kind of want to slap him and also kind of want to climb him.

"Here," Foggy says, pushing you off again to gentle you down against the mattress. "I'm gonna move you, okay?"

You go where he puts you—with him behind you, cradling your body. Another round of kisses with your face turned to him: deep and slow, the way he kisses you when he's about to fuck you.

You expect Matt to crawl up in front of you, ostensibly to fuck you, or kiss you too. Instead, he's between your thighs and nudges your legs open with his shoulders. You suck in a breath so hard you make yourself dizzy.

"Wait, wait, wait..."

"Mm?" Matt tips his head up, all puppy-like. "I can stop."

You look down your body and there he is. His cheek almost on your thigh, and he's waiting. For you; your permission.

"Don't stop," you say. Twice now you've said that—you're starting to think it might be your permanent answer from here on out.

Matt smiles and drops his face to you.

You don't get much more than one swipe of his tongue, though, before Foggy's mouth is back on yours, catching all your noise. Your hand flies out to grab Matt's hair and hold him there.

"Mm, oh my God," you gasp. "Foggy, he's—"

"I know, I know. He's showing off, huh?"

"A little, a little..." Matt keeps at it, and he's good at it. The worst part, you think, is that he knows he's good at it. You can feel him smiling smugly against your cunt every time your thighs twitch around his ears. Foggy's got his hand in your hair, petting you, stroking you, whispering sweet, dumb things in your face—that's it, no, I know, he's being such a show-off, isn't he? you're doing so, so good, sweetheart—and you don't even feel real anymore. Swimming in heat.

Matt pulls off, and you make a noise in protest.

"Don't be selfish," he says. Mouth slick and eyes glassy. "Save some for Foggy."

"Matt, don't be an asshole."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Come here."

Matt obeys. He crawls up your body, heavy over you, and Foggy drags him into a kiss so filthy right from the jump. You lie there with your chest heaving and watch two men who have known each other longer than they've known you eat each other's mouths above your face. Matt's tongue flicks out and there's a smear of you on his chin. Foggy licks it off him.

"Jesus," you breathe.

They break apart and Matt sinks back on his heels. Foggy leans down and gives you a peck, almost apologetically, and then he's sliding back. Adjusting you until you're on all fours on wrinkled sheets. And just like that, he's lining himself up with you and you're so wet it's embarrassing. He slides against you twice just to coat himself, and you whimper.

"Please, Foggy..."

"I got you, baby." He pushes himself in, one slow slide and you push yourself back onto him, feeling him stretch you out. "Jesus fuck," he curses loudly, as he starts to move. "You're so wet, babe."

"S'Matt..." you mumble. "S'all Matt..."

Kneeling by your hip, Matt's still there, stroking himself slowly to the sound of Foggy fucking you. Little wet catches of sound, your panting, Foggy's groaning. The bed squeaks under you, creaking every time Foggy thrusts into you, and you don't even care if the whole thing collapses, as long as Foggy's using you to feel good.

"Matt," Foggy pants, not looking away from you. "Get up there."

"Hmm?"

"Her— Her mouth." He palms your ass, gripping it as he fucks you. "Okay, right, baby? You want—?"

You nod so fast, and drop your head against the pillow. "Yes, yes please—!"

"Mm, I don't know," Matt says, tugging at your hair to lift your head back up. He's fucking smiling. "Should I? Do you want it?"

"Uhuh, uhuh, please..."

"Say it, then. 'Matt, I want you to fuck my mouth.'"

Behind you, Foggy groans, his rhythm faltering for half a second before recovering. You swallow, peering up at Matt with big, wet eyes. "I— I want you t— Please..." Matt laughs as you falter and stutter, smiling at you so coyly. "I want you to fuck my mouth—!" you finally yelp, as Foggy drives into you especially deep.

Matt doesn't say anything more, though. He kneels in front of you, cock bobbing above your mouth. You open for him immediately. Tongue out, hungry—and you must look wild. Must look half-gone already. Matt breathes out hard above you, and slaps his cock on your lips once, twice, before feeding himself into your mouth.

"Open up," he grunts. "Suck. Yeah, just like that—"

Your eyes sting at the stretch of him. He's big, but not as thick as Foggy. Still, he's long, and doesn't give you a lot of warning before he's nudging the back of your throat. You breathe through your nose and fist the sheets, letting him set the pace, and his hand comes down to cup your cheek.

"Taking me so well, Jesus," Matt hisses. "So good at this, huh?"

Foggy's fucking you harder now, like Matt's praise has him wound up. The angle changes and he hits that place inside you that makes your throat close up, and you try to moan around Matt's cock and end up just making a gurgled sound that's got Matt swearing above you.

"Do it again," he pants.

"Working on it."

Foggy does it again. And again. And Matt rocks down to meet your mouth and the three of you find a rhythm for about thirty seconds before it devolves into something messier. More animal and desperate. With Foggy's hips slapping against your thighs, and Matt's balls brushing your chin, your hands grope blindly for any purchase you can find: Matt's hip, the bunched-up sheet beneath you.

And Matt— Matt who's been holding himself in careful check, at least, loses it. His hand tightens in your hair and his thrusts go shorter, sharper. He stops pulling back far enough for you to catch your breath.

"Matt," Foggy warns. "Hey. Easy."

"I'm being easy," he lies, voice ragged, and rocks forward again so deep your eyes water. Your fingers scratch at his thighs and you gag, and instead of pulling back he shudders and pushes deeper.

Your eyes sting and you're making sounds you can't control—high, broken things—and you feel yourself starting to slip, the world going hazy at the edges, too much heat and too much Matt and—

Foggy snaps at him. "Matt. Hey. Off."

"I'm fine, she's fine—"

"Off. Now." It's the voice Foggy uses when he means it. Not Foggy being silly or Foggy being sweet, but the one who'll go to the mat for you without thinking twice. Matt goes still above you, breath heaving, and then reluctantly pulls out of your mouth.

You gasp, spluttering. Coughing. Your jaw aches and there's spit all down your chin. Matt sits back on his heels, his cock bobbing wet against his stomach, and he looks—chastened. Pouting, like a kid who's had his favorite toy taken away.

"She was fine," he mutters.

"She was crying."

"She liked it." You did.

"Not for you to decide, buddy." Foggy's slowed inside you but he hasn't pulled out, and his hand comes to your back, stroking affectionately. So gentle that it's at odds with the filthy state of you. "Hey. You okay, baby?"

You nod, still catching your breath. "M'okay. M'good. Really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Fog, I promise."

Foggy looks down at you so tenderly, and he pulls out and the sudden emptiness makes you whine.

"C'mere," he says, shifting onto his back. "Come up here, baby. You ride me."

Yes. God, yes.

You crawl over him on shaky limbs—your knees are shot, thighs trembling—and Foggy's hands find your hips and guide you down. You sink down onto him and oh, oh— you always forget how thick he is until you're taking him from this angle, feeling yourself stretch and spread around the fat head of him.

"There you go," Foggy murmurs, stroking your sides lovingly. "You set the pace, okay? There you go, that's it. Take your time."

You don't though. With an impulsiveness you realize is more aligned with Matt, actually— you bottom out in one slow slide and Foggy groans beneath you, hands clamping down. You plant your palms on his chest and start to move.

The pace you set is filthy, almost punishing. You roll your hips and lift up until he almost slips out, before slamming back down. The two beds are definitely drifting apart beneath you, the gap at the seam widening with every bounce, and Foggy's hands are everywhere. Waist, your tits, your thighs.

"Fuck!" he says. "Fuck, baby, you feel so—"

Foggy's eyes are so dark they're almost black, and his hips start to rock up into you, hard.

You glance over your shoulder and find Matt where you left him—and he's got one hand wrapped around himself, working himself fast and rough. His lips are parted, brows drawn up, and he's making these soft little whimpers, as if he can't stand being excluded.

"Fog," he says, and his voice cracks.

So that's what Matt sounds like when he's desperate.

"Matt," Foggy says, not unkindly. Watching him.

Matt's hand drops from himself, shifting forward on his knees until he's pressing up against Foggy's leg, straddling it. Cock dragging against the sweaty muscle of Foggy's calf, and he starts to rut. Grinding himself into Foggy's leg like a dog, whining so reedily. You clench so hard around Foggy that he chokes.

"Jesus," Foggy breathes, watching Matt rub himself off on his leg. "Matt. Matt, hey, come here—"

"Wanna—" Matt's voice is barely there. He's flushed from his ears down to his strong stomach, and there's precome smeared all along Foggy's leg. "Foggy, I wanna—"

"I know you do, puppy. C'mere. Come up here."

Matt crawls up behind you again, and you feel his chest against your back. Bare and scorching skin. His cock presses into the curve of your ass, and he's so hard it must hurt. His mouth finds the crook of your neck and he whimpers against your pulse point.

And then he shifts, adjusting his angle. His cock slides down and nudges against where Foggy's already inside you.

You freeze.

"—Oh," you whimper.

"Mm," Matt mumbles against your throat, rubbing his cock along your entrance, right alongside Foggy's shaft.

"Matt, mm!"

"Please." It doesn't even sound like Matt anymore. "Please, I need—"

Foggy's looking up at you, and then past you, at Matt's face over your shoulder.

"Baby," he groans, "You could— You could let him in too."

Your heart's pounding in your chest. You can barely even think. "Both of— both of you?"

"Mm-hmm. Both of us."

"At the same... time...?"

"We'll—" Foggy's chest heaves. "We'll go slow. I promise. We'll go so slow, baby. What do you think?" He glances at Matt again. "I think you can take it. Can you take it for me, baby?"

You should say no. You're already stretched around Foggy and he's thick, and Matt isn't small—

"Yes," you say.

"Yeah?" His voice drops, so sweetly. "Okay?"

"Mm-hmm. Okay."

"Good girl." Foggy licks at his lips, and turns to Matt. "Okay, Matt. Slow, okay? You hear me? Slow and easy."

"I know, I know."

"She tells you to stop, stop."

"I'll stop. I'll stop." Matt's forehead drops to the back of your neck. You feel his breath shuddering out. "I promise, Foggy. I promise."

"Good boy."

Feeling him twitch hard against you, the blunt head of his cock nudges insistently at where you're already full. You breathe out. Trying to relax, to let yourself go soft— but it's hard. Every instinct's telling you there isn't room, there can't possibly.

Matt pushes in anyway.

Just the head, just the very tip of him. Pressing in alongside Foggy.

"Oh God—" Your nails dig into Foggy's shoulders. "Oh my God, oh fuck!"

"Breathe, baby. Breathe for me. It's a lot, huh?"

"Mmm..."

"Mmm. I know. I know it is, you're doing so good, huh? So brave."

Matt's hips push forward another inch and you cry out. Almost pained.

"Sorry, sorry—" Matt grits out, trembling against your back. You can feel the effort it takes him to not rut the way he was rutting before. "Sorry. I'll wait. I'm waiting."

You breathe. In, out, in, out. Foggy's still whispering to you, so good, Jesus, I'm so proud of you, baby—and you feel yourself softening. The stretch going from painfully full to something warm. You press your forehead against Foggy's collarbone and nod.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay, I can take more."

Slowly, Matt slides all the way in, and all three of you stop breathing.

Full. You're so full it's like you can feel them everywhere. Foggy's cock and Matt's cock and the way they're pressed together inside you. Separated by nothing. Skin on skin through the slick squeezing of your body, feeling them against each other. They're so close together inside you that every movement's shared.

"Fog," Matt breathes into your shoulder. "Can feel you."

"I know, man. Can feel you too."

Matt presses a kiss into your cheek, more into your hair, really. "Can I move?"

You nod.

They don't coordinate, and they can't, you think—it feels too new and strange and overwhelmingly good. So what happens instead is a kind of stuttered rhythm. Matt pulls back and Foggy pushes up; Foggy drops, Matt thrusts forward—so that you're never empty. Never not full. One of them's always bottomed out inside you while the other slides against him.

The friction of them moving against each other in your cunt is—

You can't think anymore.

You're dripping. Around them, between them, all over Foggy's thighs. Every thrust pushes more out of you, slick and warm and running down your skin. They're both losing it. Foggy's hands bruise at your hips, pulling you down onto them both, and Matt's arms are locked around your waist from behind, his face buried in your hair.

"You're so good," Foggy pants up at you. This awful sticking melting heat's turned you fully stupid, and sweat is dripping from your chin onto Foggy's chest and he doesn't care. "You're so good, baby, you're taking both of us, you're perfect, you're—"

"Harder," you cry.

Matt answers; it seems he always answers when you tell him to be worse. His hips snap forward and Foggy's eyes fly wide because he can feel it—Matt's cock shoving alongside his own, the friction and the pressure doubling—and both of them groan in unison.

They find it, then. The rhythm. Not staggered anymore but together, both of them thrusting up into you at the same time, splitting you open on every upstroke, and you're not bouncing anymore, you're being fucked, held in place between their bodies and fucked open by two cocks that slide and press and rub against each other inside you with every stroke.

"I'm—" Matt's voice is wrecked, bitten-off. "Foggy, I'm close, I'm gonna—"

"Me too, buddy. Hold on. Baby—" Foggy grabs your chin and makes you look at him and his eyes are blown wide and desperate. "You close? Can you come for us?"

"Yeah—yes—please, Fog, please—"

"Come on, then. Let go for me. Let go."

So you do.

Like a wave. A wall. Like the floor dropping out from under you. It's these you feel, clenching so hard around both of them that Matt groans and Foggy's hips bow off the mattress as your cunt spasms around them, milking them, squeezing them together inside you.

"Fuck—fuck, baby, I'm—"

You can't tell anymore who comes first. At once, they're both pulsing inside you at almost the same time, filling you up from both sides. There's so much of it, and you sob against Foggy's chest and feel them throb as they empty into you.

And then it's very quiet after.

Quiet except for breathing.

Matt pulls out first, and you feel a rush of warmth follow him out. It drips down over Foggy where he's still inside you. Matt collapses beside you both like a marionette with its strings cut, spent arms splayed out, chest heaving.

"Holy shit," he pants to the ceiling.

Foggy lifts you gently, so gently and slips out of you himself, and another gush of warmth follows. It's running out of you in thick, lazy rivulets of white, pooling on the sheets and on Foggy's thighs.

"Oh my God," you mumble into the pillow. You genuinely can't move. Ruined and leaking cum onto the tragic beige sheet; you're never getting up again.

Maybe you were right; this is where they'll find your body after all.

Foggy tucks you against his side, his hand strokes up and down your arm. Your eyelids are already dragging shut.

"Hey, Matt?" Foggy says, after a minute. Matt lifts his head. "Wanna clean her up?"

There's a pause. A long one. Matt blinks, and wordlessly—he shifts down the bed.

You feel his hands on your thighs, parting them carefully. You shiver; you're so oversensitive you think a strong breeze could finish you off. He settles between your legs and you feel his hot breath ghost over you and you twitch.

"It's okay," Foggy murmurs into your hair. "Just let him. He's gonna take care of you."

Matt's mouth starts on you and you whimper. He's gentle this time, at least. There's none of the earlier show-off bravado, only slow, careful licks, cleaning you up, lapping at the mess of cum leaking out of your swollen, fucked-open cunt. His tongue dips inside you and you jerk, and Foggy's arm tightens around your shoulders. Holding you still.

"Good boy," Foggy says quietly, and it's directed at Matt.

You lie there and shake. Matt eats you out until there's nothing left to clean, and then he keeps going, just enough that a second orgasm catches you by surprise. It's just a soft, warming thing that barely makes you gasp, a slow tightening and release. Foggy presses a kiss to your forehead as you come down from it.

Matt crawls back up the mattress and collapses on Foggy's other side. He throws an arm across Foggy's chest and his fingertips brush your shoulder. The three of you lie there in the terrible heat, sweating and sticky and wrecked, breathing together.

"I can't believe," Foggy says slowly, staring at the ceiling, "that we just did that."

Matt grins, loose and lazy and entirely too pleased with himself, and you watch his hand find Foggy's on the mattress. Their fingers lace together. You drape your arm over Foggy's stomach and let your hand rest on top of theirs and nobody says anything about it.

"Hey, Matt," you say, drowsy.

"Hm."

"You're more than okay, you know."

A pause. Matt's fingers twitch against yours. He barks a laugh and says, "Yeah, you too."

a/n: average college dorm activities be like...

it's his vice, how with you there is no need for distinction. he doesn't need to draw a line to split himself in half. the part that cares and the part that loathes. it's so distractingly good to slap you around and let his voice get deeper and rough. how you struggle with him and when he says enough you'll bare your stomach to him like an obedient dog.

there's hot white pleasure thrumming across him as you let him treat you like a ragdoll. how you cry for him, how you cry when he doles out pain. and isn't the way you twitch and shake in his hands delicious? he eats it all up, no guilt and no shame.

You were still a little behind Matt and Foggy, caught up watching the admittedly-adorable harbor seals splash and swim around but you quickly moved on, meandering towards Foggy and Matt. Matt suddenly pulled away from Foggy, and that's when he knew the devious bastard was up to something. The few other zoo guests passing by shifted wider, giving Matt a surprisingly polite amount of space as he tapped his cane. And just like that he put on his best 'innocent, no-super-senses blind man' face—the one with the puppy dog eyes you could feel behind the glasses, the mouth tilted just so, not a smirk or a smile to be found. Foggy narrowed his eyes.

Matt called you over as Foggy hissed out a quiet, "What are you up to, Murdock?!"

Matt shifted his stance a little, the glass of the exhibit now at his back. Foggy still hadn't quite figured out what was in the enclosure but there was a lot of water. Once you were close enough to hear him, Matt reached into his pocket. "I just remembered. I almost tripped on this earlier," he told you, borderline angelic, as if he wasn't in fact a metric ton of audacity in human form. "Too much noise, threw me off. I picked it up but I'm still not quite sure what it is. I just know I didn't want it out where anyone could step on it."

Je-sus, the good Samaritan ploy. Foggy rolled his eyes, muttering a prayer to the heavens. Matt's hand had closed entirely around whatever object it was that he passed to you, scarred knuckles and callused fingers blocking Foggy's view. You carefully took it, your head dropping as you glanced down at it. As you did, Matt lifted his head and directed a quick smirk in Foggy's direction. Behind him, briefly glimpsed through glass and cold water, a black and white shape swooped by.

Holy shit, he wouldn't!

No, no. Not even Matt was this ballsy, this blatant, and Foggy nodded to himself, lifting his giraffe cup to drink from.

"Wow," you murmured, turning whatever it was over in your hand. "I mean, it's a rock, but it's really pretty. Where did you say you found this?"

Foggy spat back into the giraffe's plastic face, choking and coughing. He waved off the passersby who'd paused even as he continued to hack, because holy shit—

"Found it up towards the front," Matt said innocently, which he absolutely was not, not one bit, the bastard—

"Some kid probably dropped it after picking it up in the gift shop. God, it's pretty." You let out a quiet hum, still seemingly entranced by the stone in your hands. Foggy took a step to the right, just enough to get a glance at the rock. And then he had to turn away, wheezing in disbelief because how did Matt pick a red geode?!

"Nothing we can do about it now, kid's probably long gone," you said thoughtfully, and Foggy whirled back around, not willing to miss even a second despite himself.

"You're probably right," Matt said, as another penguin drifted by. This one paused, however, posing behind Matt. Aaand now even the penguin was staring at Foggy mockingly, those fucking macaroni penguins with their sarcastic, dastardly eyebrows.

You tried to hand the rock back, but then Matt shook his head, throwing you a warm smile. "I can't really appreciate it as much as you since I can't see it. Why don't you keep it?"

Foggy made a strangled noise, choking on air as he swallowed down a shriek and oh god, this was it, this was how he died, because Matt Murdock was literally giving you a devilishly-red rock in front of the fucking penguin exhibit. You tentatively drew your hand back, staring down at the stone and turning it over in your hands, and how could you not know?!

And there was a moment, a moment, as your head lifted and you caught sight of the penguin swimming by, that Foggy thought, Aha! Yes, you've got it! You'd realize, wouldn't you? You had to, and then-then Foggy wouldn't be alone seeing the sheer shamelessness in Matt offering you an actual rock in front of penguins when penguins courted with rocks, right?! You tilted your head, eyes flicking between Matt and the penguins as you considered them both. "Do you know where we are right now?" you asked slowly.

Matt shrugged, giving you a baffled look. "The... grizzly exhibit hit me a little hard, and there's a lot of noise. I can smell water at least. Are we near the seals?"

No, no, Foggy did not buy that for a goddamned second, but apparently you did because you gave a little snort and shoved the geode into your pocket before holding out an arm to Matt. He gently took hold and then his face turned towards Foggy over your head, and his smirk turned absolutely shit-eating.

"Fuck you, Murdock!" Foggy whispered as emphatically as he could, resisting the urge to flip Matt off when there were children present. "You insane, rock-gifting, hellspawn of a penguin!"

"Language, sir!"

Riddle Me by magie_05 (LJ) R (I would say Teen+) 12,300 House loves puzzles. Wilson…doesn’t. When House starts asking his friend seemingly pointless questions that get progressively more confusing, Wilson’s left to wonder what (if anything) it means.

i loved the way they communicated in this fic and it was fun to try to figure out the riddles with wilson

fifteen minutes by eating_custardinbed (ao3) Mature 11,907 When James Wilson came to work this morning, he was expecting a normal day. That is, he has been expecting to tell a few people they were dying, getting bullied into buying his grumpy best friend lunch, maybe flirting with the new nurse in radiology to make him feel just a little better about his third divorce. What he has not been expecting is to be locked in his office with a madman, staring down the barrel of a gun. or, wilson gets shot and locked in his office. he and house have a conversation

oh, my beloved trope of one character thinking the other is about to die but not wanting to show how scared they are. hurt/comfort and wilson is hurt - right up my alley.

Defensive Strategies by m_butterfly (Wayback) NC-17 (Explicit) 14398 In which Wilson has a problem, House has a cunning plan, girls hunt in packs, chocolate cake has unexpected dangers, furniture is unintentionally ordered, several conversations occur, and dinner is repeatedly served.

this was a cute getting together fic that was funny and heavily recommended back in the say - at least from my sleuthing.

House-opathy Series: Diagnosis: Wilson, Patient Write Up: Cameron, Chase Foreman, Treatment: House by Commodoresexual (LJ) PG13 (Teen+) 14498 Wilson gets more than he bargained for when he lets the ducklings diagnose him - Cameron, Chase and Foreman delve into the healing process for Wilson - You can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.

these were cute fics that were admittedly written prior to my conception. i enjoyed reading them - it follows the ducklings as they diagnose wilson with being in love with house and how the two get together.

Lost Causes by Eos (Wayback) PG13 (Teen+) 17164 An unguarded comment from Wilson proves to be quite unsettling for House's state of mind. Has three sequels, Same as It Ever Was, Reverse Psychology, and Foolish Hearts

this fic is older than me by almost half a month... that being said it can only be found in the deep recesses of the wayback machine. i enjoyed this fic and its sequels when i read them - it is mostly house coming to terms with his feelings for wilson following an accident in the first fic

Things That Go Bump by peg22 (ao3) Explicit 18,381 Wilson has nightmares. House gets a headache. Everyone tries to diagnose just what's going on between them. This story is set in Season 2, before House got shot, before the first ducklings left us, before Amber, before House/Cuddy . . . those halcyon days where House and Wilson were just . . . House and Wilson. Wilson is sleeping on House's sofa, after moving out from cancer patient, Grace. "Wilson just shook his head and limped back into the kitchen. He unloaded a sack of fresh produce. Good produce. Endives and garlic and tomatoes and asparagus. He moved on to the next sack. Beef. Good beef. Brisket and rump roast and ribeyes . . . he was halfway through the third sack of spices and imported cheeses, whistling and daydreaming about braised salmon with fresh asparagus when it hit him. He was being seduced. Through groceries. By groceries. By House through groceries. And he was falling for it. Hard. Lox, stock pot, and basil."

was actually reminded of this fic while digging through the recesses of old livejournal fic recs for house. i thought "hey wait.. wasn't that also on ao3?" it is! which saves you all the formatting of chapters that aren't linked and are spread across the original livejournal page it was uploaded on. but this fic is sweet and is a hurt/comfort nightmare fic done well. very dialogue heavy but very much in character.

R.I.C.E in Reverse by Phate Pheonix (FF.Net) Teen+ 22,000 An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.

i remember this fic being longer than it was but i also remember really enjoying this fic. cuddy is a bit of a bitch in this but i don't find it to be bashing or anything - they (house & cuddy) are the same as they are in the show they just don't end up together like they do in the episode this is based on. also wilson coming to terms with his feelings for house. the writing is great and feels like it could be out of an episode of house.

buy some time, it's on my dime by ORiley42 (ao3) Explicit 27,034 Well, this took a longer time to write than I expected! Probably because it's five times longer than I intended lmao Wanted to try my hand at something more AU-ish. Though, because House is an ornery bastard and won’t do what I say at all, the setting is still broadly the same. The main difference being that House and Wilson have never met… I’d say this has season 1 vibes, but no actual timeline or plot refs. Also, AU idea sparked by I57371’s lovely “Phoning It In.” Also-also, title from "Nothing New" by Fly By Midnight.

this is not the only time you will see this author on this list - for good reason. i'm traditionally not one for au's or for strangers to lovers fics... but this one pulled it off. very smutty but the plot is still fun.

Witness, Witness by SkyeBean (ao3) Teen+ 29,111 It was past midnight when Wilson arrived, and House’s team had all left hours before. Cameron was the last to go, shooting House a pitying look as she pulled her coat on, but House had ignored her. A Wilson who’s been dating House for years doesn’t work at Princeton-Plainsboro. It takes House’s team years to find out that their boss is dating someone, let alone who, but they see more of the relationship than they know.

cute! what-if house and wilson did not work together but were together prior to season one. its a fun secret relationship fic.

Something to Prove by orphan_account (ao3) Teen+ 30,700 When House suddenly wants to initiate a relationship with Wilson, Wilson is overjoyed. The feelings he'd held for years are finally mutual. Or are they?

if you don't like angst this one isn't for you. house is kind of a massive dick in this one and spends the rest of the fic trying to make it up to wilson and win him over. has sequels that i did not read.

little glass vial by SupposedToBeWriting (ao3) Mature 39,093 House and Wilson have a peculiar friendship - though if you asked Wilson, sleeping together once while one man was reeling from a traumatic surgery slash breakup and the other was in a failing marriage isn't all that unusual between friends. They manage to make it work, mostly by never bringing it up again. While out, a patient's grieving brother approaches Wilson and injects him with an unknown compound. Wilson is rushed to the hospital. Though initially fine, he begins to exhibit strange and deadly symptoms. House is swept into a case that he cannot emotionally distance himself from, with a patient that he has exceptionally complex feelings for. Wilson clings to life as House hits brick wall after brick wall, desperate to save the one person he can't lose.

hurt/comfort with sick!wilson. Its also a case fic with a race against time that i enjoyed.

A Patient's Guide to Living with ICS by ORiley42 Explicit 40,071 House and Wilson share a hotel room at a medical conference. Read on for goofy acronyms, endless banter, horny middle-aged men, and more!

smutty work conference + friends with benefits to lovers fic. also!!! this author is generally just great with house fics.

A Modest Proposal by ignaz (ao3) Explicit 55,649 Tritter's case against House still depends on subpoenaed testimony from Wilson. To save House from losing everything, the doctors of PPTH decide on an unusual solution, which in turn leads to unexpected consequences. This is a story about the sacrifices we make that turn out not to be such great sacrifices after all. (Contains spoilers for everything up to and including "Merry Little Christmas.")

its on everyone's rec list - i know. but this is my rec list and i enjoyed it so its going on here. marriage of convenience trope my beloved. it has a sequel that everyone says is great but i haven't gotten around to it... yet.

Gaseous Nebula by TheFandomLesbian (ao3) Teen+ 77,372 After a hard day at work, House and Wilson intend to spend their evening watching the Princeton Philharmonic Orchestra. Instead, the building collapses, leaving one of them trapped in peril and the other desperate for answers. The chaos drives them to revelations about themselves and each other, but it may be too late.

another hurt/comfort fic that i absolutely adored. also, the second time this author is on the list! god i enjoyed reading this one - it had me on the edge of my seat despite how fantastical it is sometimes. felt like quality television surrealism with how bizarre some of the coincidences are but it tied everything together and had a happy ending.

there is a sequel but I have never read it and it is incomplete.

either love is a shrine (or else, a scar) by jamesevanwilson (ao3) Mature 79,985 House has a brilliant plan, and he needs Wilson's help. Wilson is a chronic enabler. Getting married for the fourth time should be relatively easy.

fake marriage in order to get money from house's dads will with a heafty dose of miscommunication and mutual pining between these morons.

It Will Find You in the End by junkyard_angel Mature 146,954 Gregory House is a misanthropic bastard with trust issues, who doesn't do feelings. But he's pretty sure he's in love -- or lust -- or something anyway -- with his best friend. Life is funny, in a not-funny way.  *UPDATE* -- Here's a link to the Spotify playlist of all songs referenced in this fic to date. Happy reading/listening! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/76B4n4UUncNYJG8scmKqVc?si=e5cd5de147924fb5 Thanks as always for reading, and feedback and comments are welcomed.

god this fic was long (not that thats a bad thing). they finally get together but then they also break up and then get back together so if angst isn't your cup of tea...

Here is a link to a great fic on ao3 with links to old house fic recs https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826263

I will update this as I read more/comb back through the LJ and FF.net archives that I slouthed through. I didn't keep track of most of those before i decided to make this list :/ sorry

You looked in the mirror, hands smoothing the burnt red fabric of your dress over your hips one final time. You smiled, a giddy ball of excitement building in you as you turned from the mirror. The soft corner lamp of your and Bucky’s bedroom cast everything in a warm glow as you finished getting ready for your evening together. The soft sounds of music outside your room had been flowing through the door since you’d left Bucky to get ready. You grabbed your purse from the bed, a white clutch full of the essentials: lip gloss, phone, keys, card, and emergency bag. If there was one thing dating Bucky Barnes had taught you, it was that, with that man, anything could happen. 

So, you’d taken to carrying a little bag everywhere, holding plasters, butterfly stitches, paracetamol and ibuprofen, antihistamine, mints, and your EpiPen, a spare lip balm. Anything you could think of, really. Your meds lived in there along with the stuff you always kept for Bucky. It was mostly out of convenience; you needed to take your meds every day and bring your epi-pen everywhere, and you always wanted to have whatever Bucky would need on you. Just in case. Bucky had a crazy enough life as it was, and if you carrying a few extra things could help him? You were more than happy to do it. 

You slung the white bag over your shoulder as you sat down on the bed, doing up the buckles on your matching white heels. Nothing too high to make sure that if your goofy Labrador of a boyfriend decided you guys were gonna go for a walk in the park or a random run in the rain, you still could. You stood up, one last time checking your reflection in the mirror. ‘You ready, Barnes?’ You called out, excited to step out with your beautiful man. 

‘For you, doll?’ his sultry voice responded from the hallway, ‘Always.’

‘It’s your lucky day then, soldier,’ you called back, moving to the door and pulling it open, ‘I’m not even gonna make you wait tonight.’ Bucky was standing, black suit, white shirt, arm hanging off the top of the door frame. His eyes widened, his pupils blown, as he exhaled in a gentle gasp, something somewhere between adoration and lust. His eyes scanned your form up and down like you were an object in a holy temple, something to be worshipped. 

‘My god, baby,’ his low voice growled out, ‘you’re gonna kill me looking like that.’ He stepped forward, closing the gap between your bodies. One hand snaked around your waist, while the other settled under your chin, gently lifting your face up to his as he kissed you, hot, slightly desperate. 

You melted into the kiss, a soft moan pulling its way from your lips. After a second, you pulled back from him. ‘Come on, Barnes,’ you laughed, stepping away from him and looking back over your shoulder at him, ‘we’ve got a date to make, don’t we?’

‘I will cancel this very second,’ he replied, no hint of a joke in his voice. 

‘Uh-uh, birthday boy,’ you shook your head, ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day. If you’re good,’ you said, smirking at the sight of your slightly dazed boyfriend behind you, lips swollen and eyes locked on you, ‘you can have something sweeter than dessert when we get home.’

Bucky was at your side in an instant, hand slipping where it belonged against your lower back, like you and he were an extension of each other. ‘Seriously,’ he said, as he guided you into the kitchen, ‘you look incredible.’ 

‘So do you, baby,’ you replied, gasping softly as he suddenly broke away from you to pick up the dozen red roses he’d left sitting on the counter. ‘Bucky,’ you whispered out, looking up at him with a warm smile pulling at your face, ‘I thought it was supposed to be your special day’. 

‘Nothing more special to me than you.’ He said it so simply, like it was obvious, like you should have known already. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before placing the flowers in some water, and letting him walk you out the door. Bucky opened your car door before you had a chance to even think about reaching to open it, giving you a hand in, and setting the heating to the temperature you liked best. 

The ride to the restaurant was one spent in quiet, comfortable conversation. Bucky talked to you about old birthdays he’d had back in the 40s, smiling with a distant fondness as he talked about Becca trying and failing to make him breakfast the year his Ma was sick, or when they all went to Coney Island for his 15th birthday, Steve in tow. Before you knew it, you were sitting in a slightly separate corner of the candlelit restaurant you and Bucky had been to for your first date, and every major event since. 

Mains came and went quickly as you and Bucky spoke softly over glasses of red wine. You told him about the new job you were interviewing for, and he thought his heart might burst with pride as you spoke animatedly and with so much passion. Bucky told you about the time he’d kidnapped Sam’s little drone, Redwing, and tried to sabotage it, before finding it spraying pepper spray and glitter all over him. Sam called it the ‘defence protocols’, but Bucky was sure he’d set it up just for him.

You were so enraptured with Bucky that you didn’t think twice as your desserts were brought out. The warmth flooding through your veins, your full heart, and blissful state of being with the man you loved took everything else away. 

You took a bite. You froze. All the warmth, all the happiness in you was suddenly replaced with ice-cold panic seconds after you swallowed a mouthful of rich chocolate poison. 

Your fork clattered against your plate. You didn’t remember dropping it. Your ears were ringing, and your eyes stopped registering the sights in front of you. 

‘Fuck, Bucky, I -’

He was already kneeling in front of your chair, his warm hands on your arms and eyes flickering over you, trying to figure out what was wrong with a desperate intensity, while a fiery itching sensation blazed in the back of your mouth and your throat began to swell. Tears were beginning to form in your eyes, not so much from fear as sheer panic. You were having an allergic reaction. 

Your body moved on autopilot before you could think about what you were doing. You stood up, chair scraping backwards as your feet took you out the front door of the restaurant in a blind movement. Your back connected with the brick wall next to the door, and you slid down it, your body basically crumbling and folding in half. 

Panicked commotion was happening all around you, but the second Bucky crouched down in front of you, looking more scared than you’d ever seen him before, you focused on him. Your breaths were raspy, and a dull headache was forming. His hands came up to cradle your face, wild panic in his eyes. 

‘Baby, can you hear me?’ You nodded. ‘Okay, good, that’s so good baby. You’re having an allergic reaction. I need to use your epi-pen on you, alright? It might sting a bit, but I promise it’s gonna make you feel better.’ You nodded your head again, hair falling in your face now and sticking to the wet track marks running down your face. Bucky moved with the kind of quick efficiency that gave him away as a supersoldier. He said something about water over his shoulder to one of the waiters who’d followed you outside, never once taking his eyes off yours. 

Despite the now stinging itchiness and swelling in your throat and your bubbling lips, you felt calmer knowing Bucky knew what was happening. Bucky shook his jacket off while his gentle but quick hands pulled your dress up to expose your thigh. His jacket came to rest over your legs. He took the pen out of its case, before pulling the blue cap off, placing a quick kiss to your forehead and whispering ‘I’m sorry baby’ into your hair, before stabbing the pen into your leg. 

You couldn’t help but flinch at the sting, but the effects of the adrenaline worked quickly, pulling you out of the haze you’d entered, and back into the world around you. You could hear Bucky, counting above you under his breath the ten seconds he needed to hold the injector to your thigh for. Tension you hadn’t known was in your shoulders dropped as your head fell back against the brick in quiet relief. At once you could feel the itching and swelling that was raging like a storm in your throat and mouth calm begin to subside. 

Bucky finished counting, placing another scared kiss to your forehead before gingerly pulling the injector away, frowning at the line of blood that ran in a single line down your thigh from the tiny puncture wound in your leg. Your hands started shaking as a new kind of sensation began to roll through your body. You could feel your heart hammering against your chest, and a dizziness pulling at your mind. Someone you didn’t recognise tried to press a glass of water into your shaking hand, but before you could even open your mouth to say something, Bucky’s warm hand enclosed yours. 

You looked up at him, your own panic now feeling more like a memory of the past as you saw just how scared he still looked. Wet tracks glistened on his cheeks, betraying the fact that he had been crying. You brought a shaky hand up to his face, cradling his jaw, as you whispered out, your scratchy voice now hoarse, ‘’m okay Buck, promise.’ 

He stopped at the sound of your voice, it stilling something in him that had been running wild since the second he’d realised what was going on. You shifted slightly, hand pulling on his wrist to get him to sit next to you. The chaos around you had now stilled a little. Someone told you an ambulance was on its way. You just nodded as Bucky started to stroke your hair. You curled up into his side, the after effects of the adrenaline, the shakiness, the nausea, now settling in. 

‘Need you to have some of this,’ Bucky gently said, not wanting to ask too much from you in that moment, slowly raising the glass of water to your lips, ‘don’t swallow. You need to rinse out any nuts that might be in your teeth.’ You hummed in agreement, knowing you needed to do it too. While spitting out the water onto the pavement next to you may not have been your most elegant moment, it was necessary. People were trying to talk to you, to apologise and ask if you needed anything, but the last thing you wanted to do was reply. 

You shuffled closer into Bucky’s side, the movement almost imperceptible to anyone else as your arms tightened around him. But Bucky knew, he always knew, exactly what you needed. ‘Could you just give us a moment please?’ He asked firmly, not unkind, but leaving no room for argument. The staff from the restaurant quickly scampered back inside. 

Sat on the concrete, with your head resting on Bucky’s shoulder, you whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, James.’ Bucky turned to look down at you, a soft, sad smile on his lips. ‘You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, doll. None of this is your fault.’ You shuffled to sit up, pulling his jacket over your now curled-up body, ‘but your birthday-’ Bucky cut you off. ‘I don’t give two shits about my birthday. All I need is you to be okay.’ You smiled up at him, a soft, fleeting thing, as you promised ‘I am. I promise. You saved me, Barnes.’ 

‘I always will,’ he replied immediately. Automatically. He didn’t even need to think about it anymore. It was a vow. A promise he’d made to himself years ago. He would be there for you, always. Wherever. Whenever. ‘Let’s just not do this again next year, yeah?’ 

You laughed a little, but before you could say anything else, an ambulance pulled up in front of the restaurant and two paramedics jumped out of the van, making a beeline for the pair of you. A paramedic crouched down in front of you, a kind smile and calm air of confidence helping you feel safer. She asked you a couple of questions about what had happened, asked when the epi-pen was administered - which Bucky immediately answered with military precision - and the symptoms you were experiencing. Bucky held you close as you answered, his warm hand running up and down your back in comfort and support. He grimaced when you showed them the injection site - you could see the guilt in his eyes. 

The paramedics told you that the protocol after the use of an epi-pen was observation for a few hours in case of a secondary reaction. ‘Do I have to? I feel okay enough now, I just wanna go home and sleep.’ You made the mistake of looking at Bucky as you were speaking, immediately knowing you had no chance of him agreeing when you saw his outraged expression. ‘You’re going to the hospital.’ He said. No room for argument. You knew better than when Bucky looked like that. The other paramedic offered you her hand to help you up and into the rig, but before you could reach out of your cocoon of Bucky-based comfort, your boyfriend had scooped you into his arms. Despite feeling as grim as you did, you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you as you saw his protectiveness shine through layers of concern. 

He set you down softly onto the seat in the ambulance, strapping your seatbelt across you as he sat next to you, his hand clamped around yours the whole ride, drawing unconscious circles against your hand. You couldn’t tell if he even knew who he was trying to comfort. The nausea was getting worse as the effects of the epi-pen wore off, and exhaustion kept pulling at your eyelids. ‘Just stay awake a little bit longer for me doll,’ came Bucky’s voice next to you, his hand now cradling your face, gently stroking at your cheek. You nodded into his hand, resting your head on him and existing somewhere between consciousness and sleep for the drive. You were alert enough to answer the remaining questions from the paramedics and to move your arm and hand as they needed to take your blood pressure and oxygen levels, but mostly, you just wanted to curl up into Bucky and never move again. 

You were pulled from your drowsiness as the ambulance pulled into a bay at the hospital. Once again, before you could move, Bucky had shifted you into your arms, lifting you up like you were weightless, and holding you close to his chest. He sat you down in the chair he was directed to, keeping a constant point of contact with you the whole time, as though he was afraid you’d disappear if he let you go. Once again, you moved to lean on Bucky as he wrapped an arm around you, murmuring out ‘M so tired,’ as he held you. He pressed a kiss into your hair, gently telling you ‘it’s okay baby. You sleep, I’ll wake you up if they need you.’ You barely even responded before you were out like a light. You spent the next five hours dipping in and out of sleep as and when the nurses came to check on you. 

It was 5am before a nurse came to you for a final check-up. She gave you a handful of steroids alongside a new epipen, before letting you know that, finally, you’d been discharged. You thanked her for all her help, the side effects now completely gone, and you feeling simply exhausted. You signed the papers, before Bucky pulled you into his side as you walked out of the fluorescent white building and noisy waiting froom together. 

The cab ride back to your apartment was almost silent, but as it pulled up, Bucky had paid and was out the door before you could react. He pulled open your door and gathered you in his arms. 

‘I can walk Barnes. It was an allergic reaction, not a concussion.’ 

‘Shh,’ he hushed above you, the noise vibrating through his chest as he did so, carring you up the stairs and into your bedroom. He deposited you onto your bed, helping you pull off your dress and shoes before walking over to his side of the bed, slipping into it, and pulling you over to him, so you were resting against his chest, one arm slung over his waist as you cuddled into him. The pair of you stayed like that for a while, before eventually, you whispered out in the smallest voice, ‘that was really scary.’ 

Bucky didn’t rush to respond, but let the words settle in the air around you. The truth was, you’d both been terrified. ‘Yeah, doll, yeah it was,’ Bucky spoke softly above you. That was the first time you’d ever had to use your epi-pen, and you never wanted to have to do it again. ‘But you’re okay. I got you. I always got you.’ You looked up at him, ‘How’d you know to do that?’ You asked. ‘Do what?’ He replied. ‘My epi-pen - I never told you.’ Bucky hummed, the sound rumbling through the both of you. ‘I looked it up. Right after our first date when you said you had a nut allergy. Wanted to make sure I could help you if anything ever went wrong.’

For some reason, Bucky saying that stirred something deep inside you. Never, in your life, had any other partner cared enough to know. You were always casual about the whole thing anyway, never having had a reaction before. But Bucky had listened, had cared enough to look it up himself. A stray tear fell down your face as you whispered out a slightly broken ‘thank you.’ Bucky didn’t say anything, but pressed another kiss to your hair, arms tightening around you slightly. 

‘You should sleep doll, you’re exhausted. I’m not going anywhere. Called out for the rest of the day. Rest, I’ll be right here.’ You hummed in agreement, nodding into his chest as you let the feeling of tiredness finally consume you. You fell, almost instantly, into a deep sleep, feeling safe and loved in Bucky’s arms. 

Full Fics

✞ “The Red Thread” [AO3] (F!Reader)🔥🌧️🌻⚡

It's said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may tangle or stretch, will never break. That's not your experience, lucky or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you've worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever lost people or items you're hired to sniff out. Then the Devil of Hell's Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart. 

✞ "Moan For Me" [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!reader)🔥⚡

You wanted every last bit of him, whether his body wanted to give it or not, and he’s just as eager to share.

✞ "Ode to a Coat” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again set shots. Matt wears his new coat to Josie’s and your thoughts turn to pure sin.

✞ "Do I Need to Beg?” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again's leaked trailer showing Matt with a beard. After a long trip away, you come home to Matt sporting a new beard. Fortunately, he's been missing you, too...

✞ “This is a Code-F” [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

Matt gets the flu, and it’s up to you to look after him. How hard could it be?

✞ “Heat Wave” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻

Unfortunately for you, Matt likes to cuddle, even in disgusting heat waves.

✞ “It’s Really... Yellow?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt the new red and yellow suit is terrible. Unfortunately for Foggy, you find Matt just as attractive in red and yellow.

✞ “A Brief Existential Crisis” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

After the events of She-Hulk, Matt requires a little pep talk... and maybe some head scratches while you’re at it.

✞ “Love Leaves A Mark” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it. Set just before Born Again.

✞ “I’m Sending A Raven” [AO3] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

After you're kidnapped by The Man in the White Coat, Matt and his allies are in a race against time to save you. But will he make it before all hope is lost? (Now with fanart. Click with caution, it's dark)

✞ “Hubris” [AO3] [Tumblr] (Vague MM x F!Reader)🌻

Bucky Barnes and Matt Murdock are human disasters without a lick of sense. At least Sam and you are there to keep things under control.

✞ “I’ll Be Better, I Promise” [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌧️⚡

You get insecure and think Matt deserves better, so you try to leave him.

✞ “Appreciation” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻⚡

You show your appreciation for Matt’s chest by planting your face in it while he teases you about it.

✞ “Poor Thing”  [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Somnophilia' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ “Sharing is Caring”  [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Are you blushing?' and '69' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ “Waking Nightmare” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌧️

Matt hurts you badly during a nightmare, and you're both left to deal with the aftermath. Based on the prompt 'Nightmare' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ "Memory” [Tumblr] (F!Reader) 🌧️🐧

Amnesia angst in which The Red Thread’s Reader loses her memories of her romance with Matt just before she comes back from her 3 months away.

✞ “Haunted” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

A sequel to the above. You give yourself one month to see if your memories return, but Matt finds himself in a depressive spiral over the loss of what he had with you.

✞ "We’re Not Keeping Him” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

You bring home a kitten and Matt is resistant... at first.

✞ “What Was That?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt and you have to stop into a haunted house and things get spooky, at least until Matt’s catholicism saves the day.

✞ “The Biggest Tree In All The Kitchen” [AO3] [Tumblr] ( F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt figures out you want a big Christmas tree, and the two of you attempt to drag an 18-footer into your apartment. It goes as well as expected.

✞ “And The Holly Cookies, Too” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt is determined to be your Christmas cookie taste tester, even if it kills him.

✞ “Hold On Tight” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

There's nothing you can do to change what happened. But at least you're there to hold Matt through one of the worst losses in his life. Spoilers for DDBA, includes major character death.

✞ “Deep Beneath The Water” [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌧️

Based on the prompts 'therapy' and 'kissing old scars' for Tuna-Tober 2025

Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ What If: Matt presents you with a courtship rock in front of the penguin’s zoo exhibit, and Foggy loses it. (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ What If: You and Matt develop a tradition of hiding the rock for each other to find when either of you has a bad day. (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ What If: Matt is marrying you and gets a penguin cake topper (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ How on earth did Matt get his new red and gold Daredevil suit through airport security? (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Matt is basically a big cat, which means you have to cup, smoosh, and kiss his face at least once. (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ A peaceful start to Valentines for you and Matt (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Art-inspired drabble of you topping Matt (art included) (F!Reader)🔥

✞ To contrast above: Devil!Matt topping and biting you (F!Reader)🔥⚡

✞ Matt Murdock and his sensitive thighs (F!Reader)🔥

✞ Melting Matt Murdock with some head scratches (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ Matt Murdock hearing you sing under your breath in Josie’s (F!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ Ask response drabble: “What would Jane and Matt get each other for Christmas?” (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Tuna-Tober 2024 prompt: flower crowns (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Crying (GN!Reader)🌧️

✞ Headcanon drabble: Hands 

✞ Headcanon drabble: Romance (GN!Reader)🌻 

✞ Headcanon drabble: Affection (GN!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Scars (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Sex  (F!Reader)🔥

✞ “Do you think Matt’s skin is more or less sensitive when he’s drunk?” (GN!Reader)🌻🔥⚡

Flufftober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Winning A Teddy For The Other (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Lazy Sunday (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Pillow Fight (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Love Notes (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Sleepy Kiss (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Silly Traditions (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Costumes (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Flirting At Work (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Caught In The Rain (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Cuddling and Snuggling (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Up Against The Wall Kiss (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Fall Asleep In My Lap (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Holiday Traditions (F!reader)🌻🐧

For other characters and prompts, see my Flufftober '21 list!

Kinktober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Telepathic Sex (F!reader)🔥🐧

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Sensory Deprivation (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Temperature Play (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Praise Kink (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Biting (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Bondage (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: In Public/Stealth (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Edging (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Masturbation (F!reader)🔥⚡

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Gags (F!reader)🔥

For other characters and prompts, see my Kinktober 2021 list!

Headcanons

✞ Request: some strange or unhinged Matt Murdock headcanons

✞ Headcanon: Four random headcanons for Matt Murdock and You🌻

✞ Headcanon: Matt is a great cook, he’s just a little unconventional about it.🌻⚡

✞ Headcanon: Does Matt Murdock like getting pegged? 🔥

✞ Headcanon: How Matt hugs you🌻

✞ Ask: “Thoughts on Dominant Reader with Matt?” AKA: Why Matt Murdock is a switch. 🔥

✞ Ask: “What kinks do you think Matt has?” AKA: answer followed by a fic-list of ten of Matt Murdock’s kinks with you. 🔥  

✞ Ask: “What are some other pet names Matt might use for F!Reader?”🌻

he catches it immediately, the way you’ve gone quiet. “what’s wrong, baby?” his voice is softer now, curious but with an edge of dominance that makes your stomach flutter. a hand comes under your chin, trying to tilt your face up, but you keep your eyes down, biting your lip, feeling small. your knees pull in tighter as your cheeks puff out adorably.

matt sighs, half amused, half exasperated. “oh, baby… oh, baby,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and then he opens his arms wide, the gesture commanding in its tenderness. “come here.”

you hesitate, still embarrassed, but he gently pries your arms open, pulling you against him, your burning cheek tucked into his neck. “you know how much i love hearing you say my name like that,” he whispers, lips brushing the top of your head, apologizing in his own way as he kisses your hair. his hand smooths over your back as your face grows impossibly hotter against him.

even after he pulls back, you’re too shy to look up at him, your toes curling against the sheets as the heat of your blush refuses to fade. but matt’s not done with you. no, he’s going to make sure you face him. “sweet girl,” he whispers, his voice a low command, “you’re gonna look at me when you cum next time.”

and he does—he makes you fall apart three more times, each time praising you for looking up at him and being as vocal as you can for him. his sweet, shy girl. <3

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window. 

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

Matt

I think Matt would understand this pretty immediately.

I headcanon him as AuDHD but he has definitely caused himself to get shot/stabbed/whatever bc he had that Urge™️ so I don’t think he’d be scared or disgusted or anything.

He definitely wouldn’t love that you were causing physical damage to your body, but I think he’d be much more concerned about what was causing it and helping you in the aftermath.

If he came home and noticed the heat of blood pooling beneath your skin in a bruise or two, he’d make sure to clean them up, bandage your skin if needed, and ask you if something had triggered the need to stim.

Personally, my need to stim in a not positive way gets worse when I’m overwhelmed or upset. So I think he’d be much more concerned about what had upset you and taking that out of the equation if possible.

Frank

Frank would be much less educated on this in my opinion. I think the first few times he sees you hit your head, or bite your arm, I think he’d try to stop you. Which wouldn’t help anyone.

After you’ve taken some time to think things through, you could explain stimming to him. I think he’d listen and accept it, even if he didn’t understand.

That doesn’t mean he’d like it though. I think he’d try his hardest to let you take out the frustration/emotion on an inanimate object or even on him! Giving you his arm instead of yours to bite, taking you to the gym to hit a punching bag.