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The warm pink light of daybreak creeps in through Matt’s fogged up dorm window, the air smelling of cheap coffee and sex.

Distantly, you register the sound of your phone alarm buzzing against your pile of abandoned textbooks, neither of you bothering to switch it off.

You were both already late anyway.

“We need to go”, you mumble hotly against him, your bodies flushed together and slick with sweat as he ruts up into you.

From beneath you Matt lets out a groan, his voice blissed out, and still thick with sleep.

“We have eight minutes”, he huffs, a playful smirk on his lips as he burrows his face into your neck, dragging in the scent of your skin.

“No we don’t”, you retort, a breathless giggle tumbling from your lips as you kiss and nip at his earlobe.

Your hips roll down onto his, his soft moans like heaven in your ears, this feeling of coming home that you wanted to chase forever. As your limbs tangle together in the sheets, he shushes you gently with a press of his lips to yours, the sounds of the rest of the dorm rising, shuffling footsteps and thuds peeling in through the thinness of the walls.

You could dissolve into him entirely; his warmth, his gentleness, the heat of him, the rest of the world feeling distant and unnecessary so long as you were in his arms.

Underneath you, Matt is absolutely wrecked.

His face goes slack with pleasure, any and all fight utterly drained out of him as he pants hot and heavy into your mouth, his hazel eyes burning and lost in the overwhelming sensation of your walls fluttering around him.

“God, you feel incredible”, he chokes out, his voice gravelly and desperate as he fucks up into you and god, the way he gives himself over to you never fails to encourage a fresh wave of want to flood through you.

Matt Murdock had this way of making you feel like you are the only person in the world for him.

Despite his lack of sight, his awareness of you was uncanny, always searching, always gravitating in your direction, like listening to a familiar song that you haven’t heard in years but still know all the words to.

You were convinced that if you were a needle in a haystack, he would find you somehow.

He made you feel like that always, safe in the assertion that you were his.

And you were determined to make him to feel the same way.

Your body moves against its own will, still hazy with sleep and overtaken suddenly by an overwhelming desire to brand, to mark, to claim him entirely.

Matt feels your heartbeat change before the sting of your teeth even has time to register. It skips and flutters inside your chest, giving your excitement away as he feels a bruise bloom instantly underneath the delicate skin of his neck. His breath hitches on a startled gasp, his own pulse betraying him as it stutters beneath your lips, wild and traitorous and if your smirk is anything to go by, he swears you must have felt it.

As you lick and soothe over the mark, dark and pulsing, he feels a surge of molten heat pass through him on a shiver, this single act of possession from you driving him up and up and up, your breath fanning hot over his neck, your hair cascading like silk over his shoulder, the smell of your shampoo soft and sweet and too much, too much too-

“Oh god- oh god!”, he stammers out, his hands flying to your back, to your hair, anything to grip onto as he spills into you on a barely muffled howl, burying his face deep into your neck before sagging into you, utterly spent.

You card your hands through his tangled hair, using your fingers to brush it out a little, a soft, pleased hum leaving his lips.

“I love you”, you whisper, kissing into his hair.

“Love you too”, he slurs out, practically drooling onto your shoulder as he leans into the drag of your nails against his scalp, nuzzling into you sleepily.

“You were right though, I really have to go”, he concedes on a petulant grumble, his mouth drawn into a pout.

You cup his face into your hands, plopping a big, theatrical mwah over his lips, dissolving the pout into a soft, mischievous smile before rolling off of him, and passing him his sweater, when-

“Oh, shit”, you gasp out, your hands flying to your mouth in shock at the extreme purple mark you’d left high on Matt’s neck.

“What is it?”, he asks, his head tilting to the side, making the bruise look even more prominent.

“I- uh”, you stammer before burying your face in your hands, feeling the heat radiate from your cheeks.

“Oh Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

A wry smirk dances across Matt’s face, his head dipping low on a short chuckle.

“That bad, huh?”, he quips, his voice smug and casual, careful not to allow his giddiness to spill free.

Your face twists into a grimace, feeling suddenly very guilty, a shamed flush creeping up your neck.

“No!”, you blurt out, not wanting him to feel self conscious because you couldn’t keep your weird, possessive urges to yourself.

“No, not at all. I’m sure no one will even notice it.”

——————

“Jesus, fuck!”, Foggy hisses out, utterly horrified as Matt slides wordlessly into the seat next to him.

Matt cocks his head quizzically, his face the picture of innocence.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

He didn’t fool Foggy for a second.

“Did you get mauled on the way here? Is there a lion on campus I don’t know about?”

Matt’s pretend confusion morphs into a face splitting grin, smug and cocky and so entirely him.

“Ah. That.”

Foggy makes a strangled sound from the back of his throat that, if they’d been anywhere other than a lecture hall, would definitely have been a scream.

“Don’t tell me it was in our dorm, man”, he whines, and Matt face betrays him, a guilty blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Dude!”

“You were at Marci’s!”, Matt answers innocently, his hands raised in surrender and sporting that classic ‘it’s not my fault’ look.

He was an expert at that look.

“You two are insatiable”, Foggy grumbles, a playful smile on his face, paying no attention to the way Matt’s fingers ghost over his neck.

——————

He tried really hard to ignore it.

To ignore the stares, the quick, shifting glances from all angles of the lecture theatre.

To ignore the whispers.

“… the size of it!”,

“Someone had fun last night…”,

“… really cute for a blind guy.”

More than anything, Matt tried to ignore the fact that he liked it.

As his fingers run over the bruise, he feels the way it throbs against his touch, his blood so close to the surface, brought there by you. He recalls the scorching heat of your lips lingering over his neck, the sinking of your teeth in his flesh as you bit him, the way his body stuttered and jolted, helpless against the pleasure.

He shouldn’t like it.

But he did.

He likes that you had done this to him, that you had wanted him enough to leave a mark.

He recalls the way you held him close, your voice in his ear, light and teasing as you engulfed him in you, your scent, coffee and vanilla and sex pouring into his body like warmth settling into icy hands.

He’d always loved claiming you as his, his arm looped around yours, allowing you to guide him around campus, dragging himself along the slopes and curves of your body until you smelled of him, leaving his own marks on you that you’d try to cover with makeup, but he’d just do it again, over and over until you gave up with a resigned huff into his skin, a knowing, curving smile that never failed to make him melt.

He just never imagined you’d want to claim him in turn.

The thought shoots a nervous thrill up his spine, his body thrumming with the energy of a live wire, shifting restlessly, utterly unable to concentrate on whatever his professor was talking about.

He feels at his watch, his usually calm fingers now fumbling for the time, suddenly aware of the faint, foreboding tightening of his jeans.

He needed to get out.

He needed to get to you.

He needed you to do it again.

When Professor Fenway thanks the class for their attention and advises the reading for next week, Foggy doesn’t even get a word in before Matt Murdock takes off like a shot.

——————

Matt is completely breathless when you open the door to him.

You take in his appearance, flushed and wild, his hair tangled from the wind, his nose turned pink in the chilly air, his shoulders heaving beneath his sweater.

“Hey, what are you-“

You are cut off by Matt’s hands grabbing your face and pulling you into him for a desperate kiss.

You don’t question it, and you certainly don’t fight it, your hands shooting up into his hair as he presses you against the wall with a soft thump.

“What’s gotten into you?”, you breathe out, your head tilting upwards to the ceiling as he kisses and sucks at your neck.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you”, he murmurs hotly into your skin, his hands everywhere, fervent and needy, pulling at your shirt in a silent demand of removal.

You begin to pull it off over your head, and Matt drops to his knees, following your shirt as it drags up your body, kissing and nuzzling at your skin bit by bit as it becomes exposed to him. The sight of him like this, hungry and molten sent sparks of warmth to your core, spreading over you deliciously as he mouthed at your breasts, moaning softly around them as you drag your nails down the back of his neck. Unable to wait any longer, he lifts you in his arms, your body braced between the wall and his torso as you mouth hungrily again at his neck.

You don’t miss the way his body jolts under you, and for a moment you think you’ve done something wrong.

“Matt?”

“S-sorry”, he stammers out, shaking his head quickly, trying to force his nerves back down.

Why the hell was he so nervous anyway?

“What is it, baby?”, you coo at him and he fights against the whimper that threatens to escape from the back of his throat at your term of endearment.

“Nothing, it’s nothing”, he breathes out, surging forward to kiss you again, gripping you tighter, holding you closer as he moves you both towards your bed.

He sits back against your pillows with you still in his lap, your bodies practically moulded together as you tangle your limbs with his. He places his glasses on your bedside drawer and you don’t miss the way he tilts his neck out, almost expectantly, a tiny shiver sparking through him.

You pass your lips over his pulse softly…

And he jolts again.

Only this time you are able to feel him, rock hard and straining against the fabric of his jeans.

That’s… interesting.

Knowing he has been caught, he darts his tongue out, wetting his lips nervously.

“When I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you…”, he begins, exhaling a short huff of awkward laughter before continuing.

“I meant earlier. When you left… well, you know.”

You stay silent, your mouth parted ever so slightly in surprise, something darker winding its way into your thoughts and down between your thighs.

“I was wondering…”, he tries again, and he looks so vulnerable in your arms, so unsure and nervous that it makes you ache a little.

It also makes you unbearably wet.

“Ask me, Matty”, you whisper to him, your voice a teasing lilt in his ear and the confines of his jeans are bordering on agony now, as he shifts helplessly beneath you.

“I, uh…”

He lets out a frustrated huff just once, before finally asking for what he needs.

“Please can I have another?”, he murmurs hopefully, his eyes entirely vulnerable and unguarded, his adoring gaze resting on your cheekbone.

And who are you to deny him when he asks so nicely?

“Oh baby…”, you murmur tenderly, as you draw his neck out, your hand guiding the back of his neck, and your heart flutters slightly as he breathes a hushed sigh of relief, knowing he is about to receive what he so desperately craves.

When your teeth graze over his pulse point once more, it takes all of his strength to not come then and there, a soft whine passing his lips as you roll your hips down onto his, licking and biting at his neck at the same time.

You deftly work to unbutton his jeans, a sharp hiss flying from between his teeth as the pressure lifts slightly, his cock swollen and throbbing beneath the material. You pull away from him just for a moment, ignoring his soft noise of protest as you tug his jeans off, your own strewn across the floor with them, the pair of you now in only your underwear.

“Is this what you wanted?”, you taunt into his ear, your breath fanning over the two fresh marks you’d made, revelling in the way he trembles under your touch.

“Wanted me to mark you up so everyone knows you’re all mine?”

A startled gasp flies from his lips, a high, unstoppable thing, the kind of sound that he would normally be embarrassed about, but with you he didn’t care what he sounded like, what he looked like.

He only cared about how you made him feel.

“Say- say that again”, he pleads, and your whole body swells with pride having reduced him to a begging, whiny mess.

Your grip in his hair tightens ever so slightly, your breath fanning hot against him as you bring him in close.

“You’re all mine, Matty”, you purr into his ear, his breath coming out in wild pants as he slams up into you desperately, aching for contact, for friction, for sweet sweet release.

“God!”, he moans out, reckless and uncaring of anyone who may hear him, because he wanted them to hear, hear the way you were unravelling him piece by piece, hear how badly you wanted him, hear that you loved him so much that you wanted to claim him loud and proud as yours.

And he was, god he was.

He comes untouched, heightened and still sensitive from this morning, a patch of wetness smearing against his boxers from only the heat of your mouth, the sting of your teeth, and the thought of himself covered in your marks for all the world to see.

——————

The Next Day:

Foggy Nelson was a happy person.

A patient person.

But as he sits once more in Professor Fenway’s class, the lecture monotonous, and his goddamn sinner of a roommate next to him sporting a far too amused smile, he feels his will to live drain slowly but certainly with every new hickey he counts track of.

Four.

Five.

Six-