#request fulfillment

Your dorm's mattress creaked as you and Matt settled on top. He sat to your left, braille script clutched in his hand, with his sunglasses tucked into his shirt collar and his hair ruffled after a long day. An easy smile settled over his full lips.

"What's the play, again?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked as a large hand swept over the front page of his script. Long fingers traced the raised bumps on the solid white pages.

"The Tempest," you replied with a sighed chuckle, "It's about a woman, Miranda, who's lived on an island her whole life, knowing only her father and their slave, Caliban. Ferdinand shipwrecks on their island, then he and Miranda fall in love. Typical Shakespeare stuff."

Matt laughed at your synopsis, shaking his head, "And you're auditioning for Miranda, I'm guessing?"

"Nope, Caliban," you snarked in return. Matt rolled his eyes as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Alright, Caliban. Which scene are we reading?"

"The last part of Act Three, Scene One," you said, flipping your script to the correct page, "Should be page ten in your booklet."

Crinkling pages filled the comfortable silence between you. It was quick work to find the correct page, considering the section you'd be reading from was labeled "MIRANDA AUDITION." The booklet lay open in your palms as you scanned briefly through the lines. You could almost feel the adoration formed by the prose, the pure affection woven into the words. Shakespeare truly was a genius.

"Okay, page ten," Matt announced, breaking your silent reverence of The Bard. You cleared your throat.

"Right. Ready?" you asked as you straightened your posture. Matt nodded, gesturing for you to start. A deep breath filled your lungs, chest expanding like a balloon, as you tamped down your nerves.

"Do you love me?" you read from the script. You glanced at Matt out of the corner of your eye. His lips ticked up in the corners as he read his part.

"Oh heaven, oh earth, bear witness to this sound," he began, fingers rapidly skimming over the pages, "And crown what I profess with kind event if I speak true. If hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief. I, beyond all limit of what else in the world, do love, prize and honor you."

You couldn't breathe. Not when Matt's sightless gaze was fixed right between your eyes. Not when this profession of love came from him so earnestly. Not when your years of pining after him had finally bubbled to the surface.

"I-I am a fool," you stuttered. You shook your head, clearing the distracting thoughts, then tried again, "I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of."

Matt placed his free hand on your knee. Your heart pounded against your ribs, anticipation leaking into your blood like ink in water.

"Wherefore weep you?" he read softly. His dark eyes traced the space around your head. Almost searching, scouring for your answer in the planes of your face.

"At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer what I desire to give, and much less take what I shall die to want. But this is trifling. And all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, and prompt me, plain and holy innocence. I am your wife, if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow you may deny me, but I'll be your servant. Whether you will or no."

A tense silence fell over the two of you like a sudden burst of snow. Your pulse coursed rapidly under your heated skin. The weight of the line you'd read felt world-encompassing. Would he understand that it wasn't just you reading words? That the meaning behind them is what you felt?

"My mistress, dearest, and I thus humble ever," Matt whispered, a faint glance of understanding passing behind his eyes. You swallowed a lump the size of a baseball.

"My husband then?"

The hand nearly burning a hole in your knee wrapped its fingers around your own.

"Ay, with a heart as willing as bondage ever of freedom. Here's my hand," Matt breathed, fingers tangling with yours. Your breath caught behind your lips. This is happening.

"And mine, with my heart in it," you said shakily.

That same silence. Charged like the static before a lightning strike. Nearly choking you with how intense the moment felt. The pad of Matt's thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand.

“Does Ferdinand get to kiss Miranda in this scene?” he asked, gaze landing on your lips. Your heart leapt like a horse over a hurdle. Swirls of anxiety and finally! chased each other through your mind.

“It-it’s not in the script, but I think ad-libbing is more than okay,” you said as your heartbeat roared in your ears. Matt’s signature, cocky smirk pulled at his lips.

His hand seemed to move in slow motion as it lifted from his braille script and cradled your jaw. Palm warm, almost searing, and calloused like you could barely believe. Yet you’d never felt anything softer. His thumb passed over your flushed cheek slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before it caught on your bottom lip.

“Is this okay?” Matt asked, voice barely above a whisper, as his thumb pulled gently on your lip. A shudder rolled over your spine like rumbling thunder.

“Yes,” you uttered with a quick nod.

Before you could blink, his lips were pressed against yours. Lightning struck your mind and rendered you breathless. Shocks coursed through your veins. Your heart nearly stopped beating.

He was kissing you.

Matthew Michael fucking Murdock was kissing you.

You quickly reached out and clung to him like he was your lifeline. You didn’t want this moment to end. This singularity that felt impossible, your whole life building to this one kiss. 

Warm fingers carded through your hair and tangled in the strands. Matt pulled you closer, your chests pressed together. He swiped his tongue along your lips to silently ask permission. You more than welcomed the intrusion as an involuntary moan kicked up your throat, opening your mouth to grant him entrance. A groan of his own matched yours in kind. He licked into you like you were the first drop of water after a month in the desert. Drinking from you, clinging to you, almost desperate.

Your head was spinning. You could barely breathe. Your hands shook where they clung to Matt’s t-shirt.

And just like that, it was over. Matt parted from you like separating two strong magnets. His forehead rested against yours, heaving breaths puffing along your cheeks. You screwed your eyes shut at the loss of his lips on yours.

“I could… I could do that forever,” Matt laughed breathlessly. You grinned as you opened your eyes. His sightless gaze was fixed on you. Pure adoration flowed from his joyful expression, how his eyes crinkled in the corners and how his dimples dug into his cheeks. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“Me too,” was your clever response. You inwardly groaned at your quick wit. Matt chuckled, placing a chaste kiss to your hairline.

“When’s your audition?” he asked, like how close he was didn’t render your mind completely useless. You took a moment to gather your deteriorating thoughts.

“Tonight. At eight,” you said. Matt hummed.

“And what time is it now?”

You glanced at the digital clock that sat on your nightstand. In bold, red letters, the clock displayed “4:48 pm.”

“Almost five,” you replied. Matt ran the tips of his nails over your scalp. Pulses of pleasure coursed through you, your head tipping back in his hands, as your eyes fluttered shut.

“I think that’s plenty of time to run the scene some more, don’t you think?” he suggested, voice a low rumble deep in his chest. All you could do was nod.

And if rehearsal ran long, who were you to object?

all images/gifs are from pinterest !!

You snort. “Ugh. That line was so cheesy.”

“Nah, I got a cheesier one.” He clears his throat. “Baby, you taste better than mozzarella.”

You burst into laughter. “You are such a dork. But you’re my dork.” You turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jacob smiles at you. “I wasn’t kidding, though, you look really pretty tonight.”

“How, though?” You’re wearing fuzzy socks, sweatpants, and one of Jacob’s hoodies; your hair is pulled up into a messy topknot.

“You always look really pretty,” Jacob explains, “but standing next to that fireplace, the glow that’s coming off of it. You just look so, so beautiful.”

“Why, Mr. Batalon, are you trying to get into my pants?”

“Yep. Is it working?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” He leans over to kiss you. Softly at first. The kiss soon deepens into your favorite kind of kiss - the one where the rest of the world seems to melt away and all you know is you and Jacob and how he makes you feel.

Jacob’s hand rests on the small of your back; as the kiss deepens he slides it under your shirt and underneath your bra. He’s pretty ticklish, so you let him do all the touching.

“You are absolutely perfect,” he breathes between kisses as he slips the sweatshirt up and over your head. He undoes your bra, letting it fall to the floor; his hands gently slide over your breasts and you let out a low moan.

“Oh, Jacob,” you sigh, “that feels amazing.”

Jacob laughs. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know. But you’re just so good at this.” You slowly pull down your sweatpants, letting them and your panties hit the floor. As Jacob slides his hands over your stomach, you toe off your socks.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you’re fucking gorgeous.”

You giggle softly. “And you’re wearing too many damn clothes.”

“I guess I should do something about that.” He quickly strips off his shirt, then his pants; once he’s undressed he pulls you closer to him again. He tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear as he bends down to kiss you again.

Jacob walks the two of you over to the couch; the edge hits the back of your knees, causing them to buckle slightly as you sit down. You lay back onto the cushions as he crawls over the top of you, mouths never breaking apart.

He loves this kind of sex, because he knows he doesn’t have to do much in the way of foreplay. Slow, sensual sex is your favorite kind and just the thought of it has you soaking wet.

Jacob breaks the kiss, looks you in the eyes, and pushes himself into you.

You let out another low moan as he slowly slides himself in and out. You savor the sensations around you.

The main lights are off; the only illumination in the room is the white lights of the Christmas tree and the orange flames of the fire in the fireplace. It lights Jacob’s face up just so; you swear he’s never looked more beautiful.

The only sounds filling the room are the crackling of the fire, the sound of skin touching skin, and the occasional moan.

The room smells slightly of firewood, the cinnamon candle you had burning awhile ago, and Jacob’s cologne.

You bite your lower lip as he thrusts into you and can taste your peppermint lip balm and the tea you were drinking.

Jacob feels so good inside you - his long, thick, hard member hits you in all the right spots. His hands are warm, gliding over your skin. The warmth from the fire and from being so close to Jacob makes a rivulet of sweat drip down your forehead; it tickles slightly as it runs down your face.

The rest of the world has long since dissolved; it’s just the two of you, making love on the couch in front of the fireplace on Christmas Eve.

You couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

“Oh, God, baby. I’m going to-” You arch your back as your orgasm washes over you and you let out a loud moan.

“That’s my girl,” Jacob coos. “Let it all out. I’m so close.”

You sit up and kiss him deeply. “That’s it, baby, come for me.”

You feel him pulsing inside you as he comes with a loud grunt. He lingers inside of you for a moment, pausing to catch his breath before pulling out slowly and collapsing onto the couch next to you.

“That was so good,” you say. “You’re so good.”

“Thanks.” Jacob smiles and kisses you softly. “Hey, look at that. It’s after midnight. That means it’s officially Christmas.”

You smile as Jacob grabs a blanket off the back of the couch and covers you both with it. “Merry Christmas, Jacob,” you whisper.

“Merry Christmas, (y/n). You’re the best present.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Again with the cheesy lines? Didn’t we just have sex?”

Jacob laughs shortly. “I mean it! You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I look at you and I wonder exactly what cards I played to win you.”

You just smile brightly at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

"I made this for you..."

You looked up from where you sat at your desk, research essays on Pablo Picasso stacked on top of the paint-stained surface. The last bits of sunlight leaked through the drawn curtains in your art classroom. Streaks of oranges and pinks illuminated the drying pottery your students had worked on that morning.

Logan stood next to your desk. Flannel sleeves rolled up around his elbows, white tank top splotched in red clay, jeans dusty around the hems. An apprehensive, almost nervous, frown stretched at his face. You glanced down at what he held in his hands.

A small, rough-around-the-edges, clay whale sat in his outstretched palm. It was a little uneven in its proportions, the flippers too big for its head, but it was absolutely adorable.

"Oh my God, Logan!" you gasped. You gingerly plucked the thumb-size figurine from him and cradled it in your palms. This was the most perfect gift you had ever received from anybody.

"You don't gotta lie if you don't like it," Logan grumbled, hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

"Shut up, grump," you breathed. You gently set the whale on your desk, on top of the papers you needed to grade, and threw your arms around Logan's shoulders. The sudden movement was met with an "oof!" and Logan tentatively placing his hands on your hips. You pulled back to look him in his hazel eyes, "I fucking love it. You're gonna need to make me more. I want a whole pod!"

Logan groaned, shrugging your arms off and stepping away from you as you giggled. You leaned back on your desk.

"I ain't making more. One and done," Logan groused. You laughed at his reluctance, taking one of his large hands in both of yours.

"At least one more? So this one isn't so lonely?" you pleaded, sticking out your bottom lip to really sell it. Logan groaned again while rolling his eyes. You kept up the puppy-dog face until he looked back to you.

He sighed, "Fine. One more. That's it."

Matt's desk rattled loudly. Computer, pencil cup, notebooks, picture frames full of either you or Foggy and Karen. None were safe in Matthew's wake.

He had you pinned to the desk, your front pressed into the secondhand wood, as he pounded into you from behind. His back and arms caged you in, heavy breaths panting into your ear, as he leaned over you. It was hard to breathe with how relentless he was.

Quick, brutal thrusts inside you. Over and over and over again until you were left gasping and seeing stars. His cock brushing deep on every push inside of you. You swore you could feel him hit the back of your throat.

Matt grunted, "Shit, sweetheart. Doing so well for me."

All you could do was moan breathlessly in reply. Your mind was thoroughly fucked-out. A misty haze had settled over your thoughts like a warm blanket. He nipped under your ear, grazing the spot that made you whimper.

You weren't sure what you'd done to warrant this reaction. When he'd greeted you at the office door, things seemed perfectly normal. You'd brought lunch so you could spend time together on his break. Then Matt had his door locked and you bent over his desk. It was hard to connect the pieces. It was hard to even keep your eyes open.

Matt's hand trailed down your body, brushing over your overheated skin and rumpled clothes, before he brought his fingers to where you needed him most. He started stroking and teasing. A loud moan choked out of your mouth.

His other hand clamped down over your lips. You could feel his breath fan over your ear and neck where he leaned over you.

"Don't want anyone else hearing you. You're mine, understand?" he uttered through gritted teeth. You gave him a shaky nod.