I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Jules of Nature
Three Goblin Art
⁂
Kiana Khansmith
Product Placement
izzy's playlists!
Discoholic 🪩
cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Janaina Medeiros
noise dept.
★
Andulka
Peter Solarz
pixel skylines
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Xuebing Du
seen from Bahrain
seen from Spain
seen from India
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Netherlands
seen from France
seen from Indonesia
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seen from United States
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@vvitchesh3x
Everyone stop what you’re doing and go watch Dept.Q on Netflix Matthew Goode does not disappoint 😩 his attitude his voice his beard with graying streaks in the front. Like we said if he ain’t graying I ain’t staying but he was so I stood until I finished the show and omg there needs to be a season 2!!!!! Calling all fanfic Writers this man needs to be studied preferably with an x reader at the end of it☺️.
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The Thirst — Prologue
series masterlist — introduction — next chapter
matt murdock x vampire!reader
warnings: (18+ minors dni) eventual smut. mention of blood and graphic scenes of violence. blasphemy. constant mention of the catholic religion.
attention: mention of the uterus and its loss! mention of motherhood as something expected, taking into account the context of the 1920s.
word count: 5084
clarification: english is not my native language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes.
Owney Madden hadn't been released yet, but the lethal cadence of unparalleled violence born in the shadow of his existence was more than present in Hell's Kitchen. Now that his release was a reality, it meant it was time to rebuild the foundations of an empire that would later be remembered in the city's history.
The idea was to find key locations in Clinton with enough influence to go unnoticed or to intimidate people. Space was also necessary to safeguard what would later become as precious as gold: alcohol.
Clinton Church had an ideal location to pass itself off as something, and at the same time, it had loyal followers who listened to Father Steven's words without question. The church had an attached orphanage, making it an important hub for future smuggling; the children were easy to train and manipulate, and the young women who took refuge there could be used for many other purposes.
The plan was simple. It wouldn't be the first time a church had joined a criminal network.
The convent refused. It said no to the web of death, corruption, and bloodshed woven by Owney Madden's gang.
The Gopher Gang—Madden's gang—decided that if Clinton Church didn't join them, then they would suffer the consequences.
The police would call it an isolated incident.
May 23, 1923
The doors of Clinton Church slammed shut behind you with a thud that echoed through the nave, as if the entire building had breathed its last with you. Your hands trembled so much you barely managed to slide the old iron bolt; the metal squeaked beneath your bloodied fingers as your weight finally collapsed against the wood.
Outside, Hell's Kitchen burned.
Not amidst flames.
It burned with voices.
The gunshots continued to echo through the narrow streets like premature thunder, mingling with shouts that arrived distorted by the distance. You could hear men laughing, boots pounding on the cobblestones, orders shouted with that carefree violence possessed only by those convinced the world belongs to them.
Owney Madden was still in prison.
But his men were already walking the streets as if he had never left the neighborhood.
The Clinton Church had the sacrilege of not bowing to corruption.
It said no to hiding weapons and alcohol. It said no to the corruption of children and to handing over its young novices and girls.
The Church refused to become just another cog in a machine of a city that seemed to have forgotten the difference between faith and fear.
And Madden's men never took no for an answer.
Another gunshot pierced the air.
Then a scream. It was high-pitched. Too young.
You closed your eyes.
You recognized that voice. It had been one of the novices; she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She had arrived just a few months before with a battered suitcase and the hope of finding a place where the world stopped hurting.
On the other side of the wall, separated only by a small stone courtyard, stood Saint Agnes Orphanage. You thought of the children hiding behind the windows, huddled together while the nuns tried to cover their ears so they wouldn't hear the horror unfolding beyond the stained glass.
You prayed they wouldn't come out.
You prayed Madden's men wouldn't cross that courtyard.
You prayed...
and kept crawling.
Each movement left a new scarlet stain on the wooden floor. The trail of blood snaked between the pews as if another, invisible creature were walking behind you, claiming every drop that left your body.
The incense from the morning mass still hung in the air. It mingled with the iron in your blood and the damp scent of the ancient stone, creating a strange, almost solemn perfume, as if the church had begun preparing your funeral long before you crossed those doors.
Inside, the church remained silent, a silence so ancient it seemed to have outlived all the prayers uttered beneath that vault. Only the ragged rustle of a crawling body broke the stillness. You were fortunate that they presumed you dead and tried to eliminate those outside. They wanted those outside first, so no one could escape.
Your hands left a dark trail across the flagstones as you groped your way to the side altar, away from the front door, away from the overturned pews and the stained-glass windows shattered by Owney Madden's men. Each breath was shorter than the last. The iron of your blood mingled with the harsh taste of dust, and for the first time since you'd learned to hold a rosary between your fingers, you understood the true meaning of agony.
You didn't want to die.
Not there. Not like that. Not at the hands of filthy men who only sought to stain the streets of your beloved, damaged home crimson.
Your fingers found the crucifix hanging around your neck. The silver was warm, soaked with your own blood. You gripped it with the desperate strength of someone who has nothing left to offer.
“Please…” the word barely left your lips.
Then came another. And another.
Not a memorized prayer, but a broken babble, a plea born of fear.
“God... please…”
The church didn't answer.
The crucifix remained motionless between your fingers.
Yet… something changed.
It wasn't a sound. It was the complete absence of them all. As if suddenly deafness had engulfed you and the mere presence of despair was all that surrounded you.
The trickle of blood stopped.
The wind ceased to pierce the shattered stained-glass windows.
Even the pain seemed to cease, suspended in a moment that no longer belonged to time.
Then a voice spoke.
It didn't descend from the ceiling.
It didn't emerge from the shadows.
It had no direction.
It simply... existed.
Profound. Immense. Powerful.
So ancient that no human language could have claimed it as its own. You didn't understand its language, yet at the same time, you did. You recognized and didn't recognize the voice. It was a strange sensation that clung to the very core of your being, beyond the physical.
“You ask for salvation.”
Tears streamed down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying.
“Please…”
“There is no salvation without sacrifice.”
The air grew heavy. The cross was still in your hands, but suddenly it felt heavier.
“What protects must first relinquish what it was made to preserve.”
You frowned. Those words echoed in your head, and you turned them over in the brief moment you had, trying to understand them.
It didn't make sense, not entirely.
A dagger lay just inches from you, fallen to the ground where you had left it when you collapsed. That same weapon had repeatedly plunged into your side; violent thrusts that dug into your skin without mercy while your screams of pain adorned the macabre scene of your attacker.
A nobody, a pawn who only followed orders, but at the same time enjoyed the brutality of being the one with power. He plunged his dagger in without a second thought, drove it in so hard that it became embedded in you.
The dagger must have fallen from dragging yourself so much. Or perhaps you pulled it out to try and deny the pain you felt.
You didn't remember it, you didn't remember the movement, but at that precise moment it didn't matter.
The important thing was that it was there.
With an effort that made every muscle in your body tremble, you reached for it; your fingers closed around the dagger's hilt.
“I have nothing, my lord,” you whispered with barely any strength. “I only have this body that is about to perish under your gaze.”
The voice didn't respond right away.
When it did again, it no longer sounded like an order. It sounded like the truth.
“Then offer that from which life begins.”
The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
You looked at your own body, the same one you were about to leave with your last breath. The blood still spreading beneath your legs. You were a pathetic sight, a human being in its final moments.
Then you remembered.
The womb, so often described by priests and mothers as a sanctuary destined to give life.
Since childhood, you had been taught that the greatest gift bestowed upon a woman resided there. That one day that void would be filled by another life. That motherhood was not just a destiny, but a promise.
What if you gave it up?
Who would you be then?
Not a wife.
Not a mother.
Not what the world expected.
Just… you.
A person willing to surrender the future that would never be yours. The future everyone told you you had to achieve.
The tip of the dagger rested on your abdomen.
You closed your eyes. You didn't utter a prayer.
Only a promise.
“Take it.”
The blade descended.
The pain was so immense it ceased to feel like pain. For an instant there was no flesh, no bones, no blood, but a white light that pierced every corner of your consciousness. You felt something leave your body, not torn away by your hands, but claimed by a will infinitely older than your own.
Your womb was empty.
Not empty of organs. Empty of destiny. The destiny imposed or chosen. The destiny implored or cursed.
Empty of possibility. Of all that the world had decided you should be.
The voice spoke for the last time.
“Then rise as that which no longer gives life... but guards it.”
Darkness fell upon you as softly as a blanket.
Your hand went limp, and the dagger struck the floor. The rosary remained trapped between your motionless fingers.
And your heart stopped beating.
For an immeasurable time, the church was deserted once more. The clamor of agony, despair, and violence echoed in the distance, far, far away.
For a few fleeting moments, you were nothing. A being no longer of the living, but one about to ascend to heaven or descend into hell.
You weren't alive; you had left life.
Until, somewhere between death and dawn… a breath broke the silence.
Your lungs filled with air with an unfamiliar force.
Your eyes snapped open.
They were no longer the same.
Nor was it the thirst that awoke with you.
The first heartbeat didn't reach your chest. It reached the church. It was the wood creaking under the weight of centuries, the stained-glass window barely trembling on the eastern wall, the wax melting with impossible slowness.
Then… came the hunger. It wasn't born in your stomach or your body.
It was an ancient, primal need, hidden in a corner of the universe long before churches, men, or the names of God existed. It surged through your veins like a raging river, filling every space the blood had left behind.
The world had changed.
No.
The world has always been this way.
It was you who had never been able to see it.
The darkness ceased to be darkness. The stones breathed centuries. The dampness hidden between the bricks had a scent. The incense still hung over the oratory like a golden cloud, and behind it, you could distinguish each drop of blood that had fallen from your body, each with a different fragrance, a different story.
You sat up with unnatural slowness. Your joints protested for barely an instant before settling as if they had never known the wound that had pierced your abdomen. There was no trace of the pain. Nor of the cold. Nor of the blood that minutes before had left your body to stain the marble red.
Only the rosary remained between your fingers.
You clutched it tightly.
“Thank you,” you whispered with the greatest of thanks.
You called, and He answered. God didn't save you.
He consecrated you.
Protect.
The church remained shrouded in gloom, but your eyes no longer needed the light. The darkness had become a second skin; you could make out every crack in the stone, every grain in the wood, every breath hidden within the centuries-old walls. Beyond the altar, on the other side of the doors, twelve hearts continued to beat.
Twelve.
You heard them with unbearable clarity.
Each heartbeat pierced the temple like a bell.
Each carried the same scent.
Gunpowder.
Sweat.
Blood.
Sin.
Thirst answered before you did.
You didn't walk toward them. You disappeared.
The first scream tore through the silence of Clinton Church with such violence that even the stained-glass windows seemed to tremble. Then came another. And another. The gunfire began almost immediately, hurried, chaotic, fired at an enemy no one could comprehend.
The bullets found columns.
Pews.
Plaster saints.
Never you.
You moved too fast for human eyes to follow. Barely a shadow crossing the space, an icy rustle between the pews, a black figure appearing where just a moment before there had been no one.
The men began to back away.
They weren't fleeing a person, but a revelation.
Fear changed the scent of their blood. It became more intense, warmer, almost intoxicating. Each racing heart fueled the hunger that burned within you like a prayer uttered in reverse.
The entire church seemed to breathe with you.
The crucifix hung suspended above the altar, motionless, observing everything with the serenity of one who has witnessed centuries of human violence. At its base, blood began to spread slowly between the lines of the wooden floor, tracing a dark river that flowed toward the sanctuary as if seeking to reach it.
You didn't look away.
Each life taken was another weight on your shoulders.
Each silenced throat was another prayer that would never be uttered again.
And yet...
the voice did not return.
There was no reproach, no condemnation.
Only the same immense silence that had filled the church when you pleaded for help.
Perhaps that was the answer. Mercy had ended where desecration began. To protect required becoming what men would call a monster.
When the last shot rang out, Clinton Church fell silent once more.
A different kind of silence.
Not the silence of peace.
The silence after judgment.
You stood motionless in the center of the church. Blood trickled slowly down your hands, dripping onto the rosary you still held as if you had never let go. The air smelled of iron, incense, and melted wax. Outside, dawn was breaking.
The first rays pierced the shattered stained-glass windows and illuminated the main altar.
For a moment, the light fell upon your figure. You ignored the pain it caused, which for the moment was minimal, but would soon grow.
The nuns, who were slowly emerging from their hiding places, didn't know what they were seeing.
It wasn't an angel.
It wasn't a demon.
It was a person who had died defending the house of God and had returned transformed into something capable of making hell fear to cross its gates.
The two weeks since your awakening had been a succession of discoveries, as fascinating as they were exhausting.
The world had kept turning without you for ninety-four years, and now it forced you to catch up with it in a single step.
Electric light was commonplace, not something only big cities usually had; the gadgets you once saw as luxurious no longer roamed the streets of Hell's Kitchen, and instead, a ceaseless river of cars roared even into the early hours of the morning.
From the small windows near the basement ceiling, you could see the reflection of the neon signs coloring the centuries-old stone of Clinton Church, and there were still nights when you would spend long minutes gazing at them with the same fascination as a child. Sometimes you forgot you had awakened in another century until Sister Maggie came down with a cell phone in her hand or Father Lantom left you a recent book to help you understand this world to which you no longer belonged and which, nevertheless, remained determined to welcome you.
That day you were resting on an old wooden chair next to a table covered with anatomy books. You had requested everything the church could get its hands on about modern medicine. The illustrations were different, the techniques too, but the human body remained the same. You continued running your fingertips over the pages as if, by memorizing those new names, you could recover the nurse you had been before becoming something else.
It wasn't thirst that frightened you most since you had awakened. It was the possibility of having forgotten how to save a life.
The measured sound of footsteps descending the stairs broke the silence. You recognized Father Lantom before you even looked up. In those two weeks, you had learned the rhythm of his steps, the calm breathing with which he always approached you, and the soft creak of his knees as he stopped in front of the door. You carefully closed your book as he entered the room, still wearing his coat draped over his shoulders.
“I didn’t expect to find you awake”
You barely smiled.
“I still find it hard to get used to sleeping when the city doesn’t,” you admitted. “It’s… very noisy. Everything. Kind of overwhelming, both day and night.”
You weren't lying, not entirely. You were tired, but sleep wasn't what would give you the energy you needed.
Lantom let out a low laugh before glancing at the open books on the table.
“You’re still studying.”
“I need to remember, Father,” you said softly.
He understood immediately what you meant. There was no need to explain. During those two weeks, he had never tried to convince you to leave behind the person you had been before 1923; on the contrary, he seemed determined to bring it back to you little by little, as if he believed it still remained intact beneath the monster.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Silence was never awkward with him. He had this strange ability to wait until the words came on their own. However, that day something was different. You noticed it as soon as your ear focused again on the rest of the church.
An unfamiliar heart.
Its beats were weak, irregular.
The smell arrived just a moment later.
Human blood.
Warm.
Fresh.
Your throat tightened.
You immediately lowered your gaze, ashamed that you had recognized it so easily.
“This is someone who needs help,” Lantom finally said.
You didn't answer. You couldn't. The more you listened, the more clearly you could make out that heart struggling to stay alive. You could hear the blood rushing through exhausted arteries, the breath gasping between lungs, the whole body seemingly clinging desperately to life.
“He is very badly injured. Right now, the sisters are doing everything they can.”
Your hands began to tremble on the edge of the table.
“I’m not the one to… ,” you whispered, shaking your head slightly.
Father Lantom did not answer immediately. He took a step toward you, just enough for the yellowish light of the lamp to fully illuminate his tired face.
“Sister Maggie told me that you bandaged your hand again this morning.”
You glanced absently at the white bandage around your knuckles. It had barely been a tiny cut; it had disappeared in a matter of minutes. Yet you had covered it out of sheer habit, just as you would have done before you died.
“Customs die hard,” you murmured.
“Thank God.”
Those words made you look up.
Lantom smiled with a serenity you had never been able to comprehend.
“Before you became this, you dedicated your life to caring for others. I don’t think that disappears just because you now have fangs.”
Your throat burned again.
“Father… I can smell their blood from here.”
It wasn't a confession. It was a warning.
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“I’m hungry,” you whispered.
You felt ungrateful. They had been prepared for you, in case the demon of Saint Agnes ever awoke again. They fed you, they fed you with the blood of some sacrificed animal.
But it wasn't enough.
“I know that too.”
You clenched your fists until your nails dug into your own palms.
“What if I can’t stop?” you said this time, raising your gaze to face him.
The question hung between them. For a few seconds, only the sound of their hearts beating above their heads existed, slower and slower, weaker and weaker, like a candle silently burning down.
Father Lantom took another step and placed a hand on the back of the chair in front of you.
“Ninety-four years ago you believed that God was asking you to become that which protected this church. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps you weren't. I will never know who answered your prayer that night. But I do know one thing.”
He waited until you looked at him again.
“If you were truly chosen to protect, then it can’t be solely to take lives. It also has to be to save them.”
You felt something slowly breaking inside you.
Because, for the first time since you'd awakened in that unknown century, you understood that Father Lantom wasn't leading you to a dying man to test the monster.
He was trying to give a nurse back the purpose that death had stolen from her.
He had faith in you. You didn't know how he'd been trained to face you if you ever woke up, but you could sense his honesty. Father Lantom saw good in you; he ignored or accepted the monster—you weren't sure.
It scared you, really scared you. What would happen if you let yourself go? What if he or Sister Maggie saw the dark side of you? Would they still accept you as another sheep of God, or would they condemn you as an abomination of the Devil?
“I… can help,” you said slowly. “But… little by little. And I need to know that… that you’re there, that Sister Maggie is there, please.”
Father Lantom said your name. “Of course, you are not alone in this.”
When you returned to the small room with a fresh basin of clean water, you noticed the change even before crossing the threshold. The man's breathing was no longer the same. It had lost the deepness of sleep and now rose and fell with the irregularity of someone struggling to regain consciousness. You carefully placed the basin on the table, trying not to make too much noise, though you doubted it would change anything. His entire body seemed torn between remaining asleep and waking up to a world that, judging by the tense expression on his face, you sensed he never wanted to return to.
For the past few hours, you had cleaned his wounds, changed his bandages, and stayed by his side long enough to learn the sound of his heart. It was a stubborn organ. Even battered, bruised, and exhausted, it clung to life with an almost violent determination.
You could hear it now, throbbing beneath the bandages you yourself had applied, accompanied by the slow flow of blood through exhausted arteries. That, more than anything else, made your throat burn. Human blood still had a scent impossible to ignore; no amount of animal blood had ever managed to silence that call. Yet, you had learned to live with it for a few weeks, to endure it like one endures an old pain that never truly disappears.
The man opened his eyes slowly. It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a cautious one, as if even regaining consciousness required an effort he could barely afford. His pupils remained motionless for a few seconds, lost somewhere on the ceiling, before he began to scan the room with evident bewilderment. He seemed to be searching for something familiar within those stone walls, some explanation for his continued existence.
“Elektra…?” he asked in a voice so raspy it barely seemed his own. “Father Lantom…?”
You had forgotten how grave a throat punished by dust, blood, and smoke could sound.
“Father Lantom will be back shortly,” you replied calmly, trying to maintain a certain distance between you both.
Her head immediately turned toward the exact location from which your voice had come.
Not toward where she thought you were.
Toward where you actually were.
That caught your attention more than you were willing to admit.
“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely, but cautiously.
For a moment you hesitated, unsure what to answer. It was impossible to explain who you were without telling a story that no one in their right mind would accept as true.
“A new novice,” you murmured.
He didn't insist. Perhaps because he was too tired. Perhaps because the pain occupied too much space inside his body to worry about a stranger.
He remained motionless for only a few more seconds before trying to sit up. You saw him tense his abdomen under the blankets, brace his arm against the mattress, and push with a stubbornness that almost brought a smile to your lips. A single movement was enough to realize he was asking too much of a body on the verge of collapse. His muscles gave way immediately, and his balance vanished before he even realized it.
You reacted purely on instinct.
You reached him before he hit the floor.
Your hands found his arms with an ease that forced you to restrain yourself. You barely had to exert any force to support him; had you not been careful, you probably would have lifted him from the ground as if he weighed nothing. You feigned a small effort, just enough to make the movement seem natural, while holding him against you only long enough to restore his balance.
It was then that it happened.
The touch.
It wasn't the first time you had touched him. You had cleaned his unconscious skin for hours, changed his bandages, sutured wounds that anyone else would have considered fatal. But consciousness seemed to open a different door.
The moment your hands held his awake body, a wave of emotions surged through you with the same violence with which thirst demands blood.
Pain.
Not the pain of broken ribs or open wounds.
It was something much deeper.
An old guilt.
A weariness that seemed to have settled in his bones years ago.
Rage.
Fear.
And an immense loneliness, so heavy that for a moment you even forgot hunger. A loneliness that threatened to shut him down completely, mixed with the dread of uncertainty.
He was afraid and felt abandoned.
By whom?
You held your breath.
You had never felt anything like it. You could feel him, literally. You almost felt within yourself the emotions battling inside this man whom Father Lantom called Matt.
A pang of guilt stirred within you, like an intruder entering his inner world, rummaging without permission.
It wasn't your intention; you hadn't even known you were capable of feeling another person in such a way.
Matt also remained motionless. His forehead was just inches from yours, and for a brief moment, neither of you seemed to remember how to break that strange balance. He spoke first.
“You're…” He frowned slightly, as if trying to make sense of a feeling he couldn't quite grasp. “...cold,” he finished, somewhat puzzled. Luckily, he was still a little disoriented.
You lowered your gaze almost reflexively. Of course, you were cold. You'd been dead for ninety-four years.
You helped him lie down more carefully, making the gesture seem more laborious than it actually was, before taking a step back.
“And you’re too stubborn for someone who just woke up,” you muttered.
A barely perceptible exhalation escaped his lips. It wasn't quite a laugh; it was too soon for that. Yet, for a moment, the gesture softened the deep lines of exhaustion etched across his face.
Silence settled between them once more. You remained standing by the bed, watching him with a curiosity you hadn't felt since waking. There was something about this man that defied all logic. Not only because, being blind, he had turned his head precisely toward you. Nor because he had survived injuries that would have killed most men.
It was something else.
Something you couldn't name.
As if suffering had become a second skin for him, just as immortality had become yours. It was strange; for a few moments, you had felt what he had lived through, what he suffered. Just a few moments.
It was terrifying to be able to feel another person in that way.
“Are you still here, sister? I’m not… I can’t…” he murmured, confused. “I need… I need Father Lantom, I need… I need to know if she’s alive,” he said, in a vulnerable tone that you knew didn’t belong to a man like him.
You nodded, but then you remembered he was blind and almost hit yourself for your lack of tact.
“Yes, I’m still here, I…” you salivated. You salivated.
Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over you because you could feel his presence growing stronger.
He was alive. His heart was pumping blood, not with the weakness it had been when he first arrived, no, this time… this time it was stronger, and the sound intoxicated your ears like a siren's song to a lost pirate.
You had managed to restrain yourself during the short time you cared for him, even when, sometimes at night, you found yourself fixated on his heartbeat; perhaps to know if he was still alive, or simply because the rhythm tempted you.
But now… now something had suddenly pierced you to your very core. Your throat felt incredibly dry, and he felt so alive. You could not only hear the blood coursing through his veins, but you also knew with certainty that he was suffering.
What had begun as curiosity was now a different kind of feeling, one you longed to eradicate.
You were thirsty. Thirsty for him. Perhaps you could sink your fangs in for a moment. Perhaps scratch his wrist to lick a few drops. Maybe clean an open wound and be content with the scent of his warm blood?
No.
Father Lantom trusted you. Sister Maggie did too. This man trusted this sacred ground to heal, and you… you were thinking of drinking his blood.
You heard him speak, but you turned a deaf ear.
“I’ll look for Father Lantom,” you said quickly, as your feet began to move on their own.
As you walked away, you clearly heard his confused whisper. One that revealed how disoriented he still was.
“I cannot hear your heart.”
notes: so here's the prologue. it ended up being longer than i expected. but i really needed to lay the groundwork for this story.
there are many things about reader's vampirism that will be explained throughout the story. nothing is accidental or a mistake!
the first encounter between you two is quite confusing for matt, but for you… yeah.
taglist: @lilacmurdock @silentrreader @supremeshrimpy2 @alexandra2345 @oraclecenotaph @perpetualmess @kitkatq05 @uselessnewt @riverjane-d @scarletddevil @myoldblogisdead @unfortunatelyacertifiedcrashout @mooucifer @nerdytrash-panda @energerstar @vvitchesh3x
Girls literally only want one thing
Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty Five
previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter
artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you and Matt spend the morning reconnecting.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.6k
Morning sunlight spilled across the bed in warm stripes. The city beyond the penthouse windows hummed softly somewhere far away, muted beneath blankets and soft breathing and the quiet miracle of being together again.
Matt had already been awake awhile. You knew it before opening your eyes fully, because his hand was in your hair and soft absentminded kisses kept brushing your forehead. Because he was holding you so close it felt almost protective.
Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and Matt was already looking down towards you. God, that face.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. his fingertips brushed gently along your cheek before he leaned down and kissed you softly. Sleepy. Tender.
You melted into it immediately. Another kiss, open mouthed, his tongue slipping into your mouth slow enough that neither of you seemed interested in anything else yet.
Matt’s hand slid carefully beneath the shirt you slept in, fingertips brushing warm skin like he was reacquainting himself inch by inch. You sighed softly against his mouth and his breath hitched. His forehead rested briefly against yours while his breathing turned uneven. Then his lips moved lower.
Your jaw, your throat, and when he reached the delicate gold chain around your neck he paused. The tiny ruby pendant rested against your skin catching morning light. Matt touched it gently with two fingers. You felt the emotion move through him instantly, because you'd come back to him, wearing his gift willingly.
Matt lowered his head slowly and pressed the softest kiss imaginable against the ruby. Your breath caught. Then another kiss just beneath it against your skin. “Matt…” you breathed shakily. His eyes snapped shut for a moment hearing his name like that. Then he tilted his face back up at you with something helpless and unbearably soft in his expression.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like he’d been holding them in all morning. Your smile was immediate, “I love you too.” He leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours for one quiet heartbeat before kissing you once more.
You touched his face gently. And because he was still holding himself back somewhere beneath all this tenderness you pulled him closer yourself. Matt let out the quietest moan against your mouth when you slid your tongue across his bottom lip.
“Please,” you whispered softly against his lips.
That did it. His hands slid beneath the shirt immediately, pushing it slowly higher while his mouth wandered everywhere he could reach as he removed it along with your underwear. Every inch touched like something precious returned to him.
You whimpered softly when he kissed just below your chest, and he exhaled shakily against your skin like he physically couldn’t handle the sound. “There’s my princess,” he murmured roughly.
You reached for him too. Sliding your palms down warm skin. Your fingers curling into his sweatpants and tugging insistently. Matt helped immediately, pulling them off along with his boxers before returning to you at once like he couldn’t stand the distance even for seconds.
He kissed you like he had nowhere else to be for the rest of his life. Every touch felt deliberate this morning. His hands wandered reverently over your body like he was still rediscovering it after weeks apart, fingertips tracing curves and familiar places with quiet adoration while his mouth followed close behind. Your chest. Your shoulder. The inside of your wrist. Everywhere he kissed radiated warmth afterward.
And God, Matt loved your breasts. Always had. Soft kisses first. Then, your fingers slid automatically into his hair when his mouth moved lower to latch onto a nipple, your breath already turning shallow beneath him.
Matt noticed immediately, and a pleased little smile ghosted across his mouth before he moved to the other. “Matt,” you moaned softly, already squirming beneath the attention. His hands settled gently at your hips instantly, holding you still. You felt his teeth bite down gently, and you cried out before he was soothing the sting with gentle sucks.
“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin. But he didn’t speed up, if anything, he slowed down more. He’d clearly already decided this morning belonged entirely to worshipping you and nothing in the world could rush him from it. You sighed quietly when his mouth dragged lower again.
The sound pulled a rough exhale from him while he pressed another lingering kiss against your ribcage. “So pretty like this,” he murmured softly, “So soft for me.”
Heat rushed south immediately, and you shifted beneath him again instinctively searching for more friction, your hand clamping onto his arm. Matt’s hand slid down your side soothingly. “Patience,” he chided gently. You almost laughed at the irony of Matthew Murdock telling anyone to have patience.
His kisses continued their languid pace lower while one of his hands slowly traced down your stomach. The touch alone made your breath hitch again. Matt looked up instantly at the reaction. Then very carefully, his fingers slid between your thighs. Your hips shifted into the touch immediately, a needy whine escaping.
And Matt seemed just as affected by it as you were because his forehead dropped briefly against your stomach while he breathed unevenly at the feeling of you. “God,” he groaned roughly, "So wet, sweetie."
Your fingers tightened on his bicep, and Matt kissed the plush skin of your stomach softly before looking back up at you again. You nodded quickly and that was all he needed. His fingers breached you slowly, drawing a breathy moan from you while his other hand soothed along your waist. Each languid thrust from his fingers made you pant.
His mouth continued trailing soft kisses, pausing occasionally to suck deep marks that bloomed against your skin one by one. Your hip. Your stomach. The curve of your breast beneath his mouth. He groaned quietly when you started whimpering for him. The sound vibrated against your skin and sent heat rushing through you instantly.
“Matt-” His answer was a sharp bite near your ribcage before he soothed the spot gently with his tongue like he couldn’t help himself. Weeks apart had apparently destroyed whatever urgency he usually possessed because Matt looked almost dazed every time you reacted to him.
You could feel him smiling faintly against your skin whenever your fingers tightened in his hair or your body arched instinctively toward him searching for more. “So sensitive this morning,” he murmured softly.
You whined immediately at the teasing warmth in his voice. Then his fingers curled deeper inside you, thumb beginning to draw circles on your clit and every coherent thought disappeared instantly. Your back arched hard against the sheets with a broken little cry while Matt continued to build you up, his free hand gripping your hip once again.
“There you go,” he whispered softly, “That’s it, princess.”
Your legs were shaking, and Matt’s forehead rested briefly against your stomach while he breathed unevenly through your reactions like he was getting just as overwhelmed by this as you were. You were a complete mess for him by then. Squirming helplessly beneath his touch and whining softly every time he slowed even a little. “Matt, please-”
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, “I'll give it to you.” You whined, and his head lifted to your face while his thumb brushed soothingly along your side. “I'll give you anything,” he whispered softly, “My pretty girl.”
Then he leaned down, and his mouth closed softly around one of the marks he’d left on your chest earlier while his fingers curled just right. And suddenly you were finishing hard with his name punched breathlessly from your mouth. You could barely breathe afterward. Boneless. Warm. Still trembling faintly while Matt slowly kissed his way back up your chest and neck again.
Matt's hair was messy beneath your fingers. Chest rising unevenly. You smiled weakly watching him, and then noticed the exact moment his intentions shifted. The slow deliberate way his hands slid down your thighs. The look in his eyes. Oh. You knew that look. Matt was about to put you flat on your back and spend the next hour worshipping you into oblivion. Normally you’d let him, but this morning you wanted him helpless too.
The second he started moving over you, your hands pressed firmly against his chest. He blinked in surprise. Then you pushed gently, and he went willingly, the mattress shifting beneath both of you until suddenly Matt was on his back staring up at you instead.
And the look on his face. Completely stunned. You climbed over him slowly and his hands immediately found your hips. You held onto one wrist gently while settling yourself on your knees over him.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed softly. You smiled. “Thought maybe it was my turn.” You saw his throat move, and his attention was unwavering as you sat fully against him, a soft moan leaving his lips as your cunt settled on his length. Your left hand braced lightly on his chest while the other slid sensually up his defined chest until you reached his throat. Gently touching, just feeling his pulse jump violently beneath your palm.
The reaction you got from him was immediate, a broken little sound escaped his throat while his head tipped back slightly against the pillows. You almost laughed at his reaction. That was interesting.
“You okay?” you murmured softly.
Matt tilted his head forward again instantly. His eyes were blown wide already. “Perfect,” he said immediately. Your chest warmed embarrassingly fast at the need in his voice. Then slowly, you started moving. The slick from your previous release coating his length.
Matt lost composure almost instantly. His breathing turned rough, hands tightening against your hips. His head fell back again with the softest moans slipping from him every few seconds. You stared at him for a moment stunned, he so rarely let himself unravel like this. Not openly. But now he was beneath you completely undone, and apparently incredibly vocal about it too.
“Sweetheart-" The whine in his voice nearly sent you over the edge immediately. You tightened your hand on his throat in response and he whimpered. “Ng- fuck,” Matt actually shuddered beneath you.
“Oh, you like that,” you whispered softly.
Matt laughed breathlessly once like he couldn’t even deny it. A moan escaped him when you rolled your hips slowly again. Your hands moved to both brace against his chest, while Matt stared up at you, eyes landing near your chest. His fingers dragged softly along your thighs. Your waist. Your stomach. You leaned down to kiss him, tongue exploring his mouth while he melted completely beneath you.
The second you finally sank down onto him, Matt’s eyes snapped shut with a groan torn straight from his chest while your own breath caught sharply at the feeling of him stretching you. You stayed there for one moment just adjusting to his cock inside of you while Matt’s hands gripped your hips almost desperately. Every inch of him was tense beneath you.
"You feel so good, baby," you breathed.
And when you moved, Matt genuinely whined. One hand slid up your spine while the other stayed anchored firmly at your waist. You leaned in to kiss him, swallowing his moans, and rolled your hips slowly as you began to set a steady pace.
For a while the only sounds were the lewd squelching of your slick, the slap of skin, and your shared moans of pleasure. Your hands eventually made their way up higher on his chest, fingertips clutching onto his shoulders and pressing your chest against his as you picked up speed.
“Princess,” his voice cracked slightly.
You stared down at him. Matt- Matt, was completely losing it beneath you and it was making your stomach tighten in the most pleasing way. "All that patience earlier,” you teased softly, “and now look at you.”
Matt laughed breathlessly once. “You’re-" a soft grunt, "-enjoying this too much.”
“Mhm." You lifted yourself nearly off of him before dropping down, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you, and Matt’s eyes squeezed shut immediately with a choked out groan. You could tell already, he was getting close embarrassingly fast, and that only made him sweeter to you.
The realization clearly hit him too because suddenly his hands tightened hard at your hips while he looked up at you, almost drunk with it. “Sweetheart,” he groaned, voice pitched a little higher, “You- fuck- might need to slow down or I’m-”
You bottomed out roughly again, thighs smacking and your clit grinding pleasurably against his base. It made your walls clench around his length and he cried out, thighs tensing, "Aah- f-fuck-"
You kissed him before he could finish. Soft despite your quickening pace. Warm. Reassuring. “It’s okay,” you whispered against his mouth. One hand raised and you cupped his cheek gently. “I’m right there with you.”
Matt's lips chased you forward for another kiss immediately after that, desperate and affectionate at the same time while your movements began to lose rhythm, every needy sound he made only pushing you closer too. Little breathless whines. Your name breaking roughly from his mouth.
His hands moved to grip your ass suddenly before he started thrusting up into you instinctively, deep strokes that were fast from the get-go, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him again after weeks apart. “Oh god, princess-”
You could tell his senses were drowning him now. Too much. One of his hands slid shakily up your back pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together fully while he kissed you hard and messy between thrusts that punched the air out of your lungs. “So- So fucking close,” he whimpered, “Sweetheart, I can’t-”
You whined against his mouth, his begging absolutely careening you towards that edge, and Matt physically shook beneath you. Your forehead dropped against his, just chasing each other desperately now through tangled sheets and rising sunlight and overwhelming pleasure.
He moaned loudly as he spilled into you, grip tightening enough that you knew you'd have bruised later, and the feeling made you cry out as your own climax washed over you. His long groan of pleasure cracked into a whine when he felt you rhythmically clenching around him, the both of you meeting each other for several more disjointed thrusts as you drew out your peaks.
His face buried against your throat once you collapsed onto him, breathless and overwhelmed and impossibly close.
Neither of you moved for a long time. Matt simply held you there, one arm wrapped almost too tightly around your waist while the other hand slowly stroked between your shoulder blades. His breathing gradually steadied against your neck, though every so often another tiny kiss found your skin as if he couldn’t quite stop himself.
“You know,” you murmured sleepily after a few minutes, “you can let me breathe.”
“No.”
You smiled against his shoulder. “No?” A soft grunt of disagreement, “Absolutely not.” You giggled, wiggling in his hold enough to be draped over his side, head over his chest, and your legs tangled once again. His hand stroked up and down the soft skin of your arm for a while, eventually trailing along your shoulder until it once again found that ruby pendant. He brushed over it once. Then quietly spoke, voice hoarse. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
Your heart squeezed, and you lifted your head just enough to find his face, your fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead before leaning in to kiss him. It was slow. Sleepy. Full of everything words couldn’t quite hold. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.
Matt’s breath caught. His fingers dug into your waist, like some frightened part of him still needed the reassurance. He nodded once, barely perceptible, before turning his face into your neck again and pressing another lingering kiss there.
notes: and that concludes act 1 of Sugar, Please! i'm excited to get into the final run of the series as matt and reader blend their lives together
how do we feel about the slight switch!matt and reader? of course that little freak likes to be choked.
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Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty Four
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you make your way back home.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.2k
"My darling, there are no walls or secret gardens in me for you. You have the keys to all the doors."
- Albert Camus
The flight home felt different. And the first class cabin no longer surprised you. Neither did the tea waiting at your seat. You smiled faintly to yourself and looked back out the window.
You watched clouds drift past as New York finally appeared beneath them and your stomach tightened immediately. Outside the window, winter had begun to loosen its grip. Snow melted in uneven patches along rooftops and afternoon sunlight gleamed warm against glass skyscrapers. The city looked like it was waking up.
The apartment you shared with Dani was strangely small after everything. Familiar. Warm. You dropped your suitcase just inside the door and stood there for a long moment, staring at it. Dani glanced over from the kitchen, “You gonna unpack?”
You looked down at the suitcase. “...Probably not. A smile tugged at her mouth. “Didn’t think so.” A knowing silence settled between you. Finally you exhaled. “I think I might throw up.” Dani laughed, and you rubbed your palms nervously against your jeans.
“You don’t have to forgive everything today.”
You looked up. “I know.”
“You can love him... and still be angry.”
Your throat tightened immediately and you nodded once. Dani walked over, squeezed your hand gently, and smiled.
“Go home, babe.”
By the time the cab pulled up outside Matt’s building, your heartbeat was pounding in your ears so loudly you could barely think around it.
The doorman looked up as you stepped inside. Recognition softened his expression immediately, “Welcome back, Miss.” Your throat tightened, and you stepped towards the elevator before you could lose your nerve. The doors slid shut softly behind you.
And as the penthouse floor began rising closer your pulse thundered so hard, you were half convinced Matt would hear it before the doors even opened. Then immediately you wanted to laugh at yourself because... well, of course he would. That realization hit you all over again suddenly. Matt. Daredevil. The man could hear your heartbeat from floors away.
Your stomach flipped when the elevator chimed softly. Then the doors slid open, and you stepped inside.
And there he was. Black t shirt. Gray sweatpants. Hair messy like he’d been dragging his hands through it all day. Matt stood frozen near the couch like the world had stopped turning. Behind him, evening light was gleaming through the massive penthouse windows. And for one terribly beautiful second neither of you moved. After weeks apart, after oceans and heartbreak and silence, there he was. There you were.
Then a blur of white fur launched across the apartment. Dilly practically flew toward you at full speed, bell jingling wildly while tiny desperate meows echoed through the penthouse. “Oh my- baby-”
You barely had time to crouch before she climbed directly up your body frantically meowing and crying at the same time. Your eyes burned instantly as she shoved aggressively beneath your chin like she was making sure you were real. You laughed through your watery eyes immediately. “Did your daddy spoil you rotten while I was gone?”
Ahead of you, Matt physically stumbled. Like his coordination abandoned him entirely the second words left your mouth. You looked up slowly, and the expression on Matt’s face nearly shattered you. Relief so overwhelming it looked painful. His throat worked hard once as you stood with Dilly still cradled tightly against your chest.
Matt took another step towards you before stopping. Like he was afraid moving too fast might scare you away again.
“Hi,” you whispered.
That did it. Matt crossed the distance instantly. Desperate. One second there was space between you and the next his arms had wrapped around you so tightly you could barely breathe. Your eyes welled up immediately.
“Oh-” Matt whispered shakily into your hair. “Oh god, sweetheart-” Dilly protested with a dramatic mewl from being pancaked between you two before leaping out of your arms. Neither of you noticed, because Matt was holding your face now like he physically needed to confirm you were real. His hands trembled. You’d certainly never seen that before from him. Not ever.
“You came home,” he whispered.
The raw disbelief in his voice destroyed you instantly. Your eyes overflowed. “I had to,” you whispered back before you could stop yourself, "you were waiting."
Matt made this wounded broken sound low in his throat and suddenly pulled you against him again hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You clung back immediately, weeks of missing him crashing into you all at once. His warmth and the feeling of his heartbeat beneath your cheek instantly soothed you.
Matt buried his face against your neck breathing you in desperately like he’d been starving. “I love you,” he said suddenly. “I love you so much.”
Your knees nearly gave out and you cried harder instantly. Matt’s hand moved shakily through your hair while he pressed desperate kisses against your temple and forehead and cheeks like he couldn’t stop touching you now that you were finally here again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered roughly, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I should’ve told- I should’ve trusted you.”
“I know,” you whispered tearfully.
His eyes closed when you pulled a hand away from its spot on his back to touch his face. He looked exhausted, like the time apart had hollowed him out. Your thumb brushed gently beneath one of his eyes. “I missed you too,” you admitted softly.
His forehead dropped against yours while his hand tightened almost painfully around your waist. For a long moment neither of you spoke.
He refused to let go of you for a long time, like he was afraid if he loosened his grip you might disappear again. Your eyes drifted slowly across the room. Then toward the hallway to the bedroom. You pulled gently from his arms, and he followed immediately behind you while you crossed the apartment silently.
The hidden latch sat tucked into the shelf, where it apparently always had. You stared at it for a moment, then reached forward calmly and pressed it. The shelving shifted open with a soft mechanical sound.
But you didn’t hesitate this time before stepping inside. The room greeted you exactly as you remembered, sleek, dimly lit, utilitarian. Matt hovered near the doorway behind you so quietly he almost disappeared into it.
You walked slowly deeper into the room, and your fingertips brushed across one of the helmets carefully. “God,” you whispered softly. “You were really doing all this while I was memorizing multiplication tables." Matt let out an involuntary huff and you looked back at him.
And suddenly there he was, tired. Human. Fifty two and exhausted. You saw it now, that weariness beneath everything. The careful way he held himself sometimes and how his shoulders carried a certain stiffness. “How often do you even go out anymore?” you asked gently.
Matt answered immediately. “Once a week, oftentimes less.” You nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue. “Mostly recon now. Intel gathering and helping the others coordinate things.”
“I’m not…” he exhaled quietly. “I’m not doing what I used to.” Your eyes softened immediately, eyebrows scrunching together slightly. “You’re tired.” Matt looked at you for a long moment. Then finally, “Yeah.”
You walked closer slowly. “Others? Other heroes I'm assuming.” The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “You make it sound ridiculous.”
“It IS ridiculous. You probably know Spider Man.”
Matt laughed softly through his nose again. Then finally, because you’d asked, because you came back, and because he wanted to give you everything now, he told you. Everything.
Luke.
Jessica.
Frank.
Peter.
You listened quietly while Matt spoke openly for what might’ve been the first time in his life. He didn't seem to be downplaying anything, and you realized something devastating as he talked. Matt had spent decades carrying this alone. No wonder he’d hidden it so fiercely. This room wasn’t secrecy for secrecy’s sake, it was survival.
You moved slowly toward him then until barely inches remained between you. Matt went quiet instantly, head tilting. Your hand lifted gently against his chest. Rapid heartbeat beneath your palm. “I think,” you whispered softly, “you should’ve let me love all of you.”
His face crumpled while emotion flooded through him too fast to hide. And suddenly tears burned your own eyes again too. Matt’s hands slid shakily around your waist. “You still can’t possibly know what you’re agreeing to,” he whispered roughly.
You looked up at him. “I know enough.” His breathing wavered, and then finally, you whispered, “I love you too, Matt.”
He kissed you before his name even fully left your mouth. Desperate. Reverent. One hand cradled your jaw while the other pulled you impossibly close against him like he wanted you fused directly into his chest forever.
Neither of you rushed to leave. The questions kept coming naturally. Some were serious and some were almost absurd, but Matt answered every one.
The conversation drifted with you as you wandered back into the penthouse, never quite finding a stopping point. You spoke while wandering into the kitchen for glasses of water, while leaning comfortably against the counter shoulder to shoulder, while Matt absently reached for your hand whenever there was even an inch of space between you. Neither of you seemed willing to let the other out of arm’s reach for long.
By the time the bedroom door eased shut behind you, the city beyond the windows had long gone dark. Matt’s discarded shirt landed over the back of a chair. You slid it on without asking.
The mattress creaked in that familiar way as you both settled under the covers. After Matt settled on his back, he didn't hesitate before opening one arm. You immediately scooted closer until your head found its place over his heart. His heartbeat greeted you instantly. Steady. Familiar. Home.
His arm settled around you reflexively, fingers drifting slowly along your back beneath the t shirt you’d stolen, tracing absent little circles like he was soothing himself.
Eventually you tipped your chin up to look at him. His face had softened in the quiet, and the lines around his eyes seemed gentler now. Your hand lifted almost without thinking, brushing a few unruly strands away from his forehead. “There’s more gray,” you teased.
Matt huffed, “Thanks.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “I like your grays, Matt.” He tilted his head down slightly toward your voice. “Do you?”
“Mm," your fingers wandered gently through the hair at his temples. “Very distinguished.” You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “My grumpy old lawyer.”
That earned a real laugh. Low and warm. Your chest tightened painfully. God, you’d missed that sound so much.
Matt’s eyes slipped closed almost immediately beneath your touch. Your fingertips continued their languid path through his hair, comforting him. Matt leaned into it so subtly you weren’t even sure he realized he was doing it.
Your thumb brushed lightly over the faint scar near his temple and his eyes opened. His eyes darted around unfocused, almost feeling like he was trying to meet your gaze. You leaned up and kissed him. Matt answered with the smallest broken sound before one hand came up to cradle your cheek. The mattress shifted slightly beneath you both as he moved closer instantly until the two of you were on your sides and there was barely space left between your bodies.
His right arm underneath you was wrapped firmly around your waist while his other hand drifted slowly across your face. Cheek, jaw, the nape of your neck. His fingertips trembled slightly every now and then. You didn’t think he even realized they still were. His thumb brushed beneath your eye gently. “I kept trying to remember your face while you were gone,” he murmured against your lips.
Your breath caught instantly, pulling away to look at him. Matt’s expression shifted slightly like maybe he regretted admitting that much vulnerability. Too late now. “You know what the worst part was?” You shook your head slightly against the pillow. “I couldn’t hear you anymore.” Matt swallowed hard. “No heartbeat, humming in the kitchen. Or even your terrible reality shows at two in the morning.”
You gasped softly, “My reality shows are incredible." But you were giggling before you even finished, and Matt immediately smiled.
“Missed touching you too,” he admitted softly. Your cheeks instantly heated and his soft smile immediately turned smug, apparently picking up on the subtle rise in your body temperature. “That’s not what I meant,” he murmured, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. You narrowed your eyes, and a quiet laugh escaped him. “It wasn’t!" But a moment later he added, “...Maybe a little.” You snorted, swatting lightly at his chest. He caught your hand instead and pressed a kiss into your knuckles before brushing another against your forehead.
He lingered there afterward, forehead resting against yours, and when he finally spoke again, his voice had gone quiet. “I thought maybe if I kept the apartment exactly the same,” His fingers tightened slightly against your back. “maybe you’d still know how to come home.”
You immediately leaned in and kissed him. Slow. Sleepy. Matt sighed against your mouth, and when you pulled back he followed instinctively chasing another tiny kiss, pulling you closer afterwards until your legs tangled fully with his beneath the blankets. He nuzzled his nose with yours, then softly he murmured, “Missed my princess.”
The name settled warm and familiar in your heart instantly. You tucked your face back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, before sleep finally claimed you.
notes: reader was gone for 16 days. and yes, matt counted.
next chapter will be a smutty one, so gird your loins. 🔥
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Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty Three
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you and Dani arrive at your next stop in Greece, but ghosts have a way of crossing oceans.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 3.1k
"Since I have met you, I have felt abandoned without your nearness; your nearness is all I ever dream of, the only thing"
- Franz Kafka
The ferry ride to Hydra felt like that first breath after surfacing. Your grief still existed and followed you quietly like a shadow. But somewhere between Athens and the island, the sharpest edges of it finally began softening into something quieter.
The sea stretched endlessly around you beneath pale sunlight while cold wind whipped through your hair on the upper deck. You stood near the railing with your camera tucked against your chest taking photos almost constantly. Foam trailing behind the ferry, the tiny islands in the distance. Dani half asleep clutching her coffee. Life. You were noticing life again.
Hydra appeared slowly, the stone rising from dark blue water. White buildings stacked against the hillsides with terracotta roofs. Tiny harbors lined with fishing boats lined the coast.
And no cars. That was the strangest part at first. No traffic. No engines. Only waves, footsteps, distant voices, and the wind. The island felt suspended outside time entirely. You fell in love immediately. “Oh my god,” you whispered while the ferry approached the harbor.
Cats wandered freely along the waterfront. Donkeys carried carts up steep stone paths. Locals sat outside tiny cafes drinking coffee beneath the pale sunlight. It felt impossibly intimate, a secret place. Dani looked at you knowingly. “You like it.” You laughed softly. “I love it.”
The hotel somehow got worse. Or better depending on perspective. Because it absolutely was not the little budget stay you thought Dani had booked. The villa sat farther uphill overlooking the harbor with giant windows and white stone terraces wrapped in flowering vines. The interior glowed warm beneath afternoon light, natural light was everywhere. The perfect painting light.
You stood in the middle of the room slowly turning in disbelief. “Dani.” She wouldn’t look at you. “What?”
“This place is insane.”
“It was discounted.”
You stared at her flatly. “Sure.”
Honestly though, the second you stepped onto the terrace, you stopped caring. The sea stretched endlessly below while Hydra curved around the harbor like a painting. The air smelled like salt, sun warmed stone, and the plethora of pine and olive trees.
You closed your eyes briefly letting the wind move through your hair. And for the first time since leaving New York you felt inspired.
After unpacking a little, you and Dani wandered back down toward the harbor for lunch. Hydra in winter felt sleepy and local and completely romantic in a way that almost physically hurt sometimes. Tiny tavernas serving warm, hearty meals lined the water, and cats slept in patches of sunlight. Older Greek men argued over cards near the docks. You picked a small restaurant, half because it smelled unbelievably incredible, and half because the owner smiled warmly at you from the doorway.
Lunch stretched for almost two hours. Fresh bread and crumbled feta. Bright citrus salads. Olive oil so good it felt life changing. And pomegranates, scattered over grilled fish and greens like little jewels. You laughed softly after the first bite. “Oh my god.”
"She's back," Dani pointed dramatically. “That’s the happiest sound you’ve made in a week.” You rolled your eyes while stealing more pomegranate seeds from her plate.
The owner stopped by your table halfway through the meal carrying another small plate you definitely had not ordered. “From my wife,” he explained warmly. “She says beautiful women should not leave hungry.” You both laughed immediately and Dani lifted her glass in agreement. “See? Finally someone appreciates us, thank you sir.” The owner chuckled before adding, “You are very welcome. Young women should travel while they can. The world is very large.” He gestured toward the harbor. “Go anywhere you want.”
Your hand froze halfway to your wine glass , only for a second. Then you smiled politely. “Thank you.” The owner nodded warmly before wandering off toward another table.
Dani immediately resumed talking about a tiny shop she’d spotted farther down the waterfront. Something about handmade journals in the front window. You nodded automatically. Somewhere deep in your mind, Matt’s voice echoed softly.
Anywhere you want, princess.
You missed him. You missed him so much it physically ached, and that realization followed you all the way back up the stone paths toward the villa while the sunlight turned the sea silver below.
By the time you and Dani climbed back up the winding stone paths toward the villa, the sun had begun to sink lower over Hydra, the water glittering despite the winter chill in the air. Everything glowed gold. Fading sunlight cast shadows against the white walls. Distant laughter drifted softly from the harbor below. You felt warm from the wine and sunlight and good food. Lighter than you had in days.
Your bag hung loosely from your shoulder while you unlocked the villa door still talking softly to Dani about a tiny bookstore you’d seen near the docks further down. You discussed going to check it out the next day while setting down your things. Then you stopped in your tracks after walking further into the suite.
There was a package sitting on the low table. Beautifully wrapped in simple brown paper and twine. No note, just your name. You frowned slightly. “Huh.”
Dani froze behind you so subtly you almost missed it. “What?” she asked carefully. You stepped closer slowly. “It’s for me.” Your stomach twisted unexpectedly. You reached for the package carefully and untied the twine, then your heart stopped completely the second the paper opened.
Soft pastels, but not just any soft pastels. Henri Roche. Your breath caught instantly. No. No way. Your hands actually trembled a little as you lifted the wooden lid of the box. Rich colors. Rolled by hand, labels delicately wrapped around each individual pastel.
The impossibly expensive French soft pastels you obsessed over trying one day, the ones that felt like velvet, rarely sold outside Europe. The ones you’d mentioned to Matt exactly one time. Your vision blurred immediately. And suddenly you were back in New York...
Rain drizzled softly beyond giant penthouse windows. Matt was so warm beneath you in bed. Both of you naked, and you were sprawled across his chest while soft yellow lamplight glowed through the room.
His fingers lazily traced circles against your bare spine while you talked affectionately about art the way you always did when relaxed.
“...and so this pastel set, they mostly sell it in Europe,” you’d murmured into his skin. “Artists are insane about them.” Matt’s hand moved slowly through your hair. “Hm?” You smiled softly. “They’re supposed to be unbelievably buttery. Like painting with liquid velvet.”
A kiss was pressed absentmindedly against your shoulder. Matt listening to you like every word mattered. Because to him, they always did. You kept rambling sleepily, “I wanna try them someday, do something ridiculously cliché.” Matt’s breath had shifted faintly beneath your cheek. “What kind of cliché?”
You laughed softly. “Painting topless in some beautiful part of Europe, maybe Greece. Big windows, an ocean view. You know... being dramatic and creative.” Matt had gone suspiciously quiet and you looked up immediately. “What?”
He kissed you instead. Slow, open mouthed, and warm. Dangerously fond. Then against your mouth, "We’ll go.” You smiled, dazed, “To Greece?” Matt brushed some hair gently away from your face.
“Anywhere you want, princess.”
Back in Hydra, your knees nearly gave out.
Because now here you were, beautiful European villa. Huge windows. Ocean outside. And the exact pastels sat in your trembling hands, the physical proof that Matthew Murdock had remembered every silly impossible thing you’d ever whispered to him in bed.
There was more beneath the boxes. A portable easel. Heavy archival paper. Blending stumps. Fixative spray. Everything, everything you’d need. Because of course he hadn’t just bought the pastels. He’d thought- he'd known- you would want to paint immediately. Your throat closed painfully.
Dani called your name softly behind you. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Suddenly all you could see was Matt sleepy and warm beneath winter blankets, holding you like forever was already decided, always listening to your impossible little dreams and treating them like vows.
Your fingers tightened shakily around the pastel box. And then finally you cried. It was no longer the broken devastated crying from New York, nor that debilitating shock you felt then. Love. Pure overwhelming love that had nowhere to go. A sob escaped you loudly while tears spilled down your cheeks.
The tears kept coming steadily. You eventually sat cross legged on the floor of the villa clutching the pastel box against your chest like something fragile. Outside the giant windows, warm light streamed inside from the sinking winter sun. Dani sat beside you silently for a long time, her hand rubbing slowly up and down your back while you cried. Because there was nothing to fix. Not really.
“He remembered,” you whispered finally. Your voice was hoarse. You looked down at the pastels in your lap. “I only mentioned them once.” That oh so specific, detailed way Matt apparently loved you. You laughed weakly through tears. “I was rambling, I-I do that all the time. I say random things constantly.”
Dani smiled faintly. “Yes, you absolutely do.” Another watery laugh escaped you and it was immediately followed by another sob. Your hand covered your mouth instinctively.“Oh my god,” you whispered, “Oh my god.”
Dani moved closer instantly, the hand rubbing your back coming to an abrupt stop. “What?” You looked at her with tears sliding down your cheeks. “I still want him.” Your shoulders shook slightly. “I’m still so upset, and hurt. And I don’t even know what to do with all of this but-” Your voice cracked hard, "but I still want him.”
Dani closed her eyes briefly. Because she’d known. No one cried like this over someone they were done loving. You rubbed hard at your face before speaking again, “It would honestly be easier if he was just an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Dani admitted softly. “Unfortunately your boyfriend seems clinically obsessed with you.” A weak laugh escaped you again. Then a weighted silence settled. Finally Dani asked carefully, “What exactly did you find?”
Your expression changed immediately, involuntarily heavy. You looked down at the pastel box in your lap for several long seconds, before answering quietly, “A hidden room.”
Dani frowned slightly. “…Okay.” You swallowed hard. “It was built into the wall beside the bed.” And then slowly piece by piece, you told her everything. Chasing Dilly through the penthouse laughing. The hidden latch opening accidentally and thinking it was a safe or maybe even something kinky. Your small watery laugh broke halfway through the sentence.
Then, the room. The sleek black surfaces and clearly real and used weapons. The helmets lined carefully against the wall. Your voice shook harder now. “There were multiple masks, with horns. Like…different versions. And then there was another door.”
Dani had gone completely still beside you. You stared blindly ahead now seeing it all again. “The suits were behind glass, red and real. All of them.” A horrible understanding slowly spread across Dani’s face.
Your voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It was him.”
Silence. Absolute silence. Then finally, “…The devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” Dani said faintly. You gave one tiny helpless nod. Dani stared at you, her eyes darting down to glance at the pastels. Then back at you. “…Shut the fuck up.”
You laughed through tears again. A real one this time, although still somewhat disbelieving. “I know.”
“Oh my god.” Dani physically put her head in her hands. “Oh my GOD.”
You kept talking quietly after that. Like once the secret started leaving your chest you couldn’t stop it. The accident, chemicals, and resulting heightened senses. The way suddenly every scar on Matt’s body made horrifying sense to you. Your throat tightened painfully. “He said... He said he didn’t think he’d live long enough for any of this.”
Dani looked up slowly. You wiped your face hard. “He wasn’t retiring because of me. I think…" you swallowed, “I think he was already getting tired. And then suddenly there was me.” Your eyes filled again immediately. “And Dilly, and our- his apartment. And stupid little future things.”
Dani listened silently while you unraveled the rest of it. There were a few details you omitted. Like Matt on his knees in front of you. Begging. Crying. The hidden grief in his voice when he admitted that he needed you too much to risk losing you. “He looked terrified,” you whispered instead. That part still haunted you. Matt. Scared. “I’ve never seen him like that before.”
Dani leaned back slowly against the couch behind you both trying to process the sheer insanity of this situation. Then quietly, “Do you think he would’ve told you eventually?”
You thought about that for a long time. The sea moving softly outside, Hydra breathing quietly around the villa. Finally, you spoke. “I think he wanted to.”
You laughed weakly through your tears. “I think he just… didn’t know how.”
The penthouse was agonizingly quiet, Matt refused to call it empty. Empty implied nothing remained. But you remained everywhere.
In the lavender hair products still lining the shower shelf. In the stack of photography books abandoned on the coffee table. The sweater draped over the dining chair because you always, always forgot to hang it up properly. In the faint trace of perfume and skin, your sweet, intoxicating scent that was still clinging stubbornly to the bedroom.
And most painfully in Dilly. The kitten had become your ghost in miniature. Tiny. Soft. Everywhere. Matt sat on the couch late into the night wearing sweatpants and an old black t shirt while Dilly sprawled across his chest purring loudly enough to vibrate against his ribs. Outside, frost clung softly to the massive windows. New York glowed cold and silver below.
Dilly batted lazily at something in her paws. It was not one of the absurdly expensive toys Matt had bought her. Of course not. No. Her favorite thing in the world was one of your velvet scrunchies. Matt had listened to her drag it around the apartment for over a week now.
He rubbed gently behind her ears. “You know your mom’s gonna yell at both of us if you keep chewing on that.” Dilly blinked slowly up at him and Matt’s mouth curved despite his misery. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly, “I know.”
“I miss her too.”
The kitten climbed higher against his chest afterward curling beneath his chin while her tiny motor like purr filled the apartment. God. You should’ve been here. Matt’s senses still reached for you constantly without permission, at night especially. He’d wake up halfway expecting your heartbeat beside him, your breathing, and your cold feet tangling with his legs. Instead all he heard was silence. Absence.
Dilly stretched suddenly before hopping off his chest and trotting toward the hallway. Matt listened quietly. Tiny paws and bell jingling softly. She stopped beside the bedroom doorway, then beelined to your side of the bed. Always your side.
Matt shut his eyes hard. “She’s coming home,” he said quietly into the silence. The words sounded fragile. Hopeful in a way that terrified him. Dilly meowed softly from the bedroom and Matt swallowed once. “She is.” He didn’t know if he believed it. But he needed to. The alternative felt unsurvivable.
A few minutes later he finally pushed himself off the couch and followed the kitten into the bedroom. The room still smelled like you. He hadn’t changed the sheets yet. Couldn’t. Dilly circled the mattress and collapsed directly in the center of your pillow with the scrunchie trapped beneath her paws.
Matt laughed softly under his breath. The kitten blinked at him slowly and yawned. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed beside her and for a while, he just listened to the city breathing outside.
Distant traffic. Radiators humming. Snow crunching below feet. Then quietly like confession, he murmured, “Your mama’s really mad at me.”
Dilly responded by climbing clumsily into his lap and his throat tightened painfully. His fingers stroked slowly through soft white fur. “I lied to her.” Saying it out loud still felt awful.
He’d spent months telling himself there had been reasons to hold off on telling you. Good reasons. Necessary reasons. But sitting here alone, those reasons felt thinner than they ever had before. Because the truth was that you had never asked him to be less himself, had never asked him to be something palatable, or docile. You had only ever asked him to trust you. And he hadn’t.
Matt lowered his head briefly. The thought hurt more than any beating ever could. You were halfway across the world and somehow he missed you in every room of the apartment. Your warmth in bed next to him. The way the two of you would fight to see who could get up and make coffee for the other first. Even when busy, just having you next to him while the two of you worked independently brought a level of comfort he didn't think was in God's plan for him.
His chest tightened, because he truly couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without any of it. Without you. The realization settled quietly into place. Matt looked down at the kitten curled against his chest. I want to marry her. The thought landed so heavily it almost stole his breath. If she ever forgives me. He rubbed a hand over his face, and Dilly immediately attacked the dangling drawstring of his sweatpants. For the first time in days, he smiled properly.
The knock at the door came a few minutes later, and Dilly reacted instantly. Her head popped up from Matt’s lap before she launched herself off the bed at full speed, little bell jingling wildly as she tore down the hallway. Matt’s chest tightened immediately. Every time the elevator opened. Every knock on the front door. Dilly always thought it might be you.
He followed slowly behind her while the kitten skidded across hardwood floors toward the front door. Her tiny excited chirps echoed through the apartment. Then came that specific disappointed quiet that came after she realized it wasn’t you. Matt physically felt something in his chest cave inward.
By the time he rounded the corner into the entry hallway, Dilly had already stopped, staring upward at the intruder before finally sitting down with obvious betrayal. Foggy stood there holding takeout bags, and he immediately clocked the whole thing. The hopeful sprint and the way Matt looked wounded hearing it happen.
Foggy spoke softly, “…Hey.”
Matt stepped aside quietly, “Hey buddy.” Dilly gave Foggy one deeply unimpressed look before wandering sadly back toward the bedroom. Foggy watched her go. “She does that every time?”
"...Yeah."
Foggy simply reached out and squeezed Matt’s shoulder as he walked past him into the apartment, food in hand. Matt stood there for another moment, listening to the quiet, then he followed him deeper into the apartment.
notes: HE REMEMBERED THE PASTELS- i'm gonna be sick. (says the person putting them through this)
series playlist has also been updated for anyone interested!
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove @bigsloppycrush @akahlisworld @omicore
Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty Two
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: Dani receives an unexpected call during your layover.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
notes: Dani POV yesss
word count: 2.9k
"Dearest, I beg of you, sleep properly and go for walks."
-Franz Kafka
It's entirely possible that Heathrow airport was the physical manifestation of hell, specifically after seven hours stuck in it. Dry air, bad coffee, crying babies, and fluorescent lighting designed specifically to make your eyes twitch.
By hour six, you’d completely crashed. Emotionally. Physically. Everything. You were curled sideways across two airport chairs wearing Matt’s hoodie with your backpack tucked beneath your head while soft snowfall drifted beyond the massive terminal windows outside. Dead asleep.
Dani sat nearby scrolling aimlessly through her phone, one airpod in while guarding both your carry ons like an exhausted raccoon with a crumpled up takeout bag from the trash. She glanced up occasionally to check on you. You looked heartbreaking. Mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, and your hands tucked into the sleeves of the hoodie. Completely dead to the world from emotional exhaustion. Her chest tightened every time she looked at you.
Then her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
She almost ignored it, but paused when she recognized the New York area code. Dani frowned slightly before answering quietly. “Hello?” It was silent on the other end for a minute. Then, "Dani.”
Her eyes widened immediately. Oh, this fucking man. She looked instinctively toward you sleeping nearby before standing quickly and moving farther down the terminal. “You have some nerve calling me,” she hissed quietly. On the other end of the line, Matt absorbed the hit without hesitation. He certainly deserved it, whatever it was that he did. "I know."
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Silence. Dani glanced over her shoulder toward you still sleeping across the chairs. “I don’t know what you did," Matt’s breath caught, “And honestly? I don’t care right now.”
“You know what I can’t figure out?” Matt said nothing. “What exactly you thought was going to happen when you called me," a muscle jumped in her jaw, “Did you think I was gonna help you?” The silence on the other end answered for him and Dani let out a short, humorless laugh. “Seriously. Walk me through the plan.”
“Dani-”
“No. I’m curious," her voice dropped, “You call me. Her best friend. The woman currently sitting next to her while we're stranded in this airport for hours." she swallowed hard. “And then what?” Dani shook her head. “You thought I was gonna be on your side here?”
“No.”
Dani blinked. “No?” His voice was soft when he spoke, almost deferential, "No, I didn’t think you’d be on my side.”
“Then why are you calling?”
It was silent for a moment. Finally, “…Because you’re with her.”
Dani opened her mouth. Then closed it again. Damn it. For the first time since answering the phone, she didn’t have a comeback ready. Because there wasn’t really anything to say to that, he wasn’t asking her to take his side, and hadn't even tried defending himself. Every shot she’d thrown at him he’d taken without argument.
The line stayed quiet as on the other end, Matt seemed to be waiting, possibly anticipating more yelling. She didn't. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rough. “…Is she okay?”
Dani almost rolled her eyes. What a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. She'd cried herself to sleep in the middle of Heathrow wearing his hoodie. But the irritation faded almost as quickly as it appeared. Because geez, he sounded awful.
Dani leaned against one of the walls outside the gate and rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s exhausted,” she admitted finally. “She cried basically the entire flight." The line went quiet again, and she heard him exhale shakily. “She hasn’t really eaten,” Dani continued reluctantly. “She’s mostly just... quiet.”
“She gets that way when she’s overwhelmed,” he said softly.
Dani was silenced for half a second. Because of course he knew that. Of course he did. In that moment she understood something horrifying, these two idiots were catastrophically in love. Great. Fantastic. She shook her head, focusing back on the call, and glanced at the departure board nearby. “And this stupid layover is making everything worse.”
“How long is the layover supposed to be?”
Dani blinked. "Twelve hours.”
Silence. Then Matt muttered a curse. Oh my god. Dani actually laughed once in disbelief. “Matt, are you seriously getting mad about a layover right now?”
“She gets migraines when she’s tired and dehydrated.” Dani shut her eyes slowly. Insane. This man was insane. “And Heathrow’s too loud-,” Matt continued quietly, more to himself now. "must be so uncomfortable. She hates sleeping sitting upright because her neck always hurts afterward.” Dani pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are unbelievably irritating.”
For a moment, all Dani could hear was his breathing. When he spoke again his voice sounded strained, “Please.”
The desperation in that single word softened her despite herself. “What?”
“Don’t tell her I called.”
Dani frowned immediately. “…What?”
“I mean it. I don’t want her thinking I’m trying to pressure her.”
God. She should hang up on him. There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line, and when Matt spoke again, his voice sounded oddly careful. “Can you check your texts?” Dani blinked. "Why?”
“I fixed the Athens flight.”
Oh my GOD. Dani looked down at the phone in her hand and sighed, brows furrowing. “…You already knew about the layover.” It was comically silent on the line. Dani closed her eyes. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am serious. She shouldn’t be in coach for another four hours after a twelve hour layover.” The offense in Matt’s voice at the concept of you being uncomfortable was so genuine Dani almost laughed, “There is something seriously wrong with you.”
“Probably.”
Dani opened her messages. And there it was, two first class boarding passes for the Athens leg. Good lord. “There’s a lounge access code too,” Matt added quietly. “She needs actual sleep.”
Dani stared through the terminal glass at you, still curled up asleep in Matt’s hoodie. And despite every instinct telling her not to, Dani’s annoyance finally cracked just slightly into reluctant sympathy. “She’s really hurt, Matt.” The silence on the other end of the line went uncomfortably heavy. Matt’s voice cracked when he answered, “I know.” Dani looked down at the upgraded tickets again. Then quietly, “What am I supposed to tell her?”
Matt was silent for several seconds. Finally, “Anything, a raffle, your parent's miles. I don’t care.” Then softer, "Just let her rest.”
By the time Dani gently shook your shoulder awake, you felt half dead. Your body ached from sleeping curled awkwardly across airport chairs and your eyes still burned faintly from crying so much on the flight out of New York. For one disorienting second you forgot where you were entirely. Then Heathrow’s fluorescent lights came back into focus. Right. London. Leaving. Matt. Your chest tightened instantly.
Dani must’ve seen it happen on your face because she immediately spoke before the spiral could start. “Hey." Her voice softened. “I got us an upgrade, and lounge access.” You blinked sleepily at her. “What?” Dani waved her hand. “My parents’ loyalty points thing. I think it was some kinda raffle? I don’t know.”
Normally you would’ve questioned that immediately. Tonight, you barely had enough energy to keep your eyes open. “Oh,” you mumbled softly. Dani stared at you for half a second looking almost pensive. Then quickly, “Come on. You need real food.”
You followed her numbly through the terminal wrapped in the warm hoodie with your backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. The lounge doors opened. And immediately everything changed. Quiet. Warm lighting. Soft chairs. Actual calm. You nearly cried on sight.
Dani watched you carefully while you wandered farther inside looking dazed. Then your eyes landed on the refreshments table and immediately lit up for the first time in almost two days. “Dani.” She turned. Your voice sounded small and almost surprised.
“They have my tea.” Chamomile vanilla. Your comfort tea, and you were already moving toward it sleepily. “And look-” You picked up a wrapped chocolate with genuine soft delight. "My favorite." You didn’t notice anything strange about it at all. Why would you? This was your first time in any kind of luxury airport lounge.
You settled heavily into one of the chairs afterward with tea curled between your hands while Dani watched you slowly come back to life. Enough that your shoulders loosened slightly for the first time since leaving New York.
“You okay?” Dani asked quietly.
You nodded after a second, speaking honestly. "I think I forgot human beings need actual sleep.” Dani smiled faintly. “Yeah. You’ve been kind of going through it.” Your eyes drifted tiredly toward the terminal windows. Snow moved softly through the London night outside. For one terrible aching second you wondered what Matt was doing right now. Then immediately pushed the thought away before it could hurt too much.
The boarding announcement for Athens came almost too soon afterward, and somehow things got even more ridiculous from there. You stared blankly at the first class cabin when you boarded. “Dani.” She refused to meet your eyes. “What?”
“This is insane.” They looked less like airplane seats and more like tiny private hotel rooms. You turned slowly in disbelief when a flight attendant immediately offered you both champagne. “People live like this?" Dani snorted, “Apparently.”
You collapsed into the seat in absolute exhausted awe while an attendant whisked your carry on away before you could even process what was happening. “Where did my bag go?” you whispered. “It’ll be under the plane,” Dani assured you quickly.
Eventually more luxuries began appearing. First hot towels, then a blanket softer than your actual bedding. Then came the unbelievable food. “This feels illegal,” you muttered at one point while staring at a dessert tray.
You finished before curling beneath the blanket. And for the first time since finding the hidden room, you relaxed a little. The attendants dimmed the cabin lights while you put on headphones and started one of your comfort movies. After about only twenty minutes in, your eyes drooped heavily. Dani looked over from her seat beside you. “You should sleep.”
You nodded weakly. Then quietly, “This is really nice.” You settled deeper into the blankets after removing the headphones, bundled beneath first-class blankets while soft cabin light glowed around you. You were out in just a few minutes.
Athens greeted you with cold sunlight. The city was spread beneath dull, gray winter skies like something ancient and half asleep, all pale stone and distant hills and soft seafoam colored air. You stared out the taxi window silently the entire drive from the airport. Exhausted. Jetlagged. Heart sore in ways you still didn’t know how to touch directly.
Dani mostly let you be. She occasionally pointed things out quietly, a cafe tucked between buildings, bitter orange trees lining sidewalks, and cats curled in storefront windows. But mostly she just sat beside you while the city passed by around you both.
Then the taxi stopped, and you immediately frowned. “Dani.” She avoided eye contact instantly. “This cannot be our cheap hotel.” The building looked elegant in that understated expensive European way, with cream stone, arched windows, warm lighting glowing behind the glass doors. The kind of place where people honeymooned.
Dani coughed awkwardly. “The website upgraded us." You stared at her. “They upgraded us from what? Our cardboard box?”
“Europe’s weird,” Dani muttered quickly while grabbing her suitcase. You were too tired to fight her on it, so you sighed and grabbed your own luggage. Besides, the second you stepped inside the suite, your brain stopped functioning anyway. “Oh my god.”
The room was stunning. Not gaudy offensive luxury but warm and intentional. Soft neutral fabrics. Tall windows. A balcony that was overlooking the distant Acropolis. The entire suite glowed gold despite the winter early morning clouds. You walked farther inside slowly like you were afraid touching anything would cost extra. “Dani.” She dropped dramatically onto one of the beds. “I know.”
You wandered toward the balcony in a daze. Outside, Athens stretched endlessly beneath the pale winter sky. And there towering above the city was the Acropolis. Ancient. Massive and timeless. Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Suddenly you were picturing Matt kneeling in front of you crying again, and your chest hurt immediately. No. Not now. You pressed your palms against the cold balcony railing and forced yourself to breathe. Behind you, Dani quietly unpacked, thankfully pretending not to notice you trying not to cry again.
The first two days in Athens passed in a thick haze. Like your body needed time to remember how to exist again. You slept. A lot. The jetlag mixed with emotional exhaustion so heavily that sometimes you woke up disoriented, forgetting for a few blissful seconds that your life had cracked open in New York. Then reality would settle back in all over again. Still, the distance helped.
The hotel became a cocoon almost immediately. Mornings were spent wrapped in blankets drinking coffee, beside the enormous windows while winter light spilled across the room. The afternoons required you take long baths, warm and cozy foods from room service, and many half asleep conversations with Dani. Evenings were full of tiny cocktails in the hotel lounge while live musicians played softly.
You'd started wearing your own clothes again instead of Matt’s hoodie by the time you'd arrived on the first day, though at night you still slept in it.
And outside, Athens waited patiently. On the third evening, you finally left the hotel properly. Just a walk, nothing particularly ambitious. The ruins near your hotel glowed pale gold beneath the setting sun while cold air drifted softly through olive trees nearby.
Winter Athens felt strangely intimate. No massive tourist crowds or chaos. Just ancient stone and quiet footsteps echoing through the pathways. You walked beside Dani silently for a long time. Your coat pulled tight around you against the chill. Then finally, “I think I’m still in shock.” Dani glanced toward you gently. “Yeah,” she admitted, “I think you are too.”
You stopped briefly near a crumbling marble column. The Acropolis rose above everything in the distance. Ancient, and watching. Your eyes burned faintly, “I miss him.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it. Raw. Honest.
Dani didn’t answer immediately. Instead she just moved closer beside you and slipped an arm around your shoulders while cold wind stirred through the ruins around you both.
Your best friend watched as you slowly swam your way back up to yourself. The city helped because it demanded your attention. Athens wasn’t delicate, it was loud and layered and and full of life tucked between ruins thousands of years old. And eventually you started participating in it again.
You and Dani wandered everywhere. Tiny cafes tucked into winding streets. Tavernas and flea markets. Stone stairways lined with cats sleeping in sunlight. You took pictures constantly. At first it was mostly absentmindedly. Then with genuine effort. And Dani noticed the shift immediately. Because creating had always been the clearest sign of you returning to yourself.
The first time you stopped dead in the middle of a street to photograph an alley because of the way the shadows hit the buildings Dani nearly cried from relief. You looked up from your camera, “What?” She smiled, “Nothing.”
Athens loved you back. Local shopkeepers flirted with the two of you shamelessly. Old women complimented your hair and cafe owners always gave you both free extra pastries. One bartender called you a 'prinkípissa' and you laughed so hard you nearly choked on your cocktail. It was the first real laugh Dani had heard from you since New York.
Matt didn't bother you or make any attempts to reach out. The restraint was honestly making Dani’s job harder because she wanted to hate him. Instead she kept finding herself watching you heal inside the space he'd quietly arranged for your comfort.
It happened another three days later, when you were asleep again. You’d come back from exploring Plaka late one evening flushed from cold air and carrying an array of tiny shopping bags. Postcards, handmade beaded jewelry, and other random trinkets you absolutely did not need.
After walking almost 20 thousands steps through Athens photographing the cats, olive and eucalyptus trees, and tiny stalls, you’d crashed face first into the hotel bed sometime around sunset. Dani stepped quietly onto the balcony when he called. Athens glittered below beneath the winter night.
“You lasted almost six days,” Dani said by way of greeting. Matt was quiet for a second. “…I was trying not to bother you.”
“Funny. That’s not usually your strongest skill.” Dani could practically hear his embarrassment in the silence that followed. Then he asked, “…Is she asleep?” She glanced through the balcony doors. “Dead to the world.”
Matt hesitated briefly. “…How was today?” It was surprisingly vague. Like he couldn’t bear hearing directly about your emotions quite yet. Dani leaned against the railing. “She’s better when she’s distracted.” Matt went quiet. Then, “Did she eat?” Dani laughed despite the serious tone, “You are such a dad.”
“Well... she forgets when she’s upset.”
Dani closed her eyes briefly. Because again, he knew you too well. “She ate,” Dani admitted. “And she took about four hundred photos today.” He spoke soft enough Dani almost missed it. “Good.”
That single word held devastating relief inside it. Dani glanced back through the balcony doors. You were sprawled diagonally across the massive hotel bed barefoot, still in your clothes, while your camera sat abandoned on the nightstand beside you. For the first time since New York, you looked peaceful.
And suddenly Dani understood something, Matt really wasn’t meddling because he thought luxury would win you back. Loving you had become something instinctive to him. Automatic. He literally did not know how to stop taking care of you. Meanwhile you remained blissfully unaware.
notes: imagining Dani's face when she first realized it was Matt calling sends me into a fit of giggles.
also just picture matt having karen read him the flight number from the selfie/figuring out what airport they're in so that he can meddle 🤭
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove @bigsloppycrush @akahlisworld @omicore
Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty One
previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter
artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: Matt just wants to make sure you're okay.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.2k
"I'm tired, can't think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity."
- Franz Kafka
The apartment was unbearable without you in it. Matt accepted that sleep would not come sometime around 3:17 in the morning.
It was still noisy. Traffic outside. Radiators humming incessantly, the noise only worsening his migraine. Distant sirens. Neighbors arguing three floors down. The problem was that the apartment no longer sounded alive, and your heartbeat wasn’t there.
Even Dilly sounded confused. The kitten had spent most of the night wandering the penthouse looking for you, her tiny bell jingling softly through empty rooms before eventually curling into your side of the bed.
Every time he closed his eyes all he could remember was you sitting on the bed, the hidden room open behind you, and the muscles pulling your face into that pained look when you asked, would you have just retired one day and never told me about any of it?
By noon the next day, Matt finally broke. He told himself he only wanted to know if you were okay. That was all. He wouldn’t corner you. Wouldn’t push or manipulate the situation. He just… Needed to know. So eventually he found himself outside walking to your bar with winter air biting sharply against his face while snow drifted lightly through Hell’s Kitchen. You'd told him the day before that you had the opening shift today.
Matt almost turned around twice. Because what if you got upset? What if you saw him come in and hid? Oh, God, what if you cried again? He didn’t think he could survive that right now. He remained lost in his thoughts the whole walk over, and eventually he stepped inside anyway.
The familiar warmth of the bar hit him immediately along with citrus, alcohol, and polished wood. And underneath all of it was a certain absence. Matt felt it instantly. No heartbeat he knew better than his own. No laugh. No movement towards or even away from him. Nothing. His chest tightened painfully with absolute dread.
The bar itself sounded off without you there. Quieter somehow. Less bright. A couple staff members greeted him with familiarity. Matt answered automatically without really hearing them. He moved toward the bar slowly and sat down in his usual spot like muscle memory dragged him there against his will.
For several seconds no one said anything. Then Luis approached. Matt could hear the hesitation in his footsteps immediately. Concern laced with a careful curiosity. “Hey, man.” Matt swallowed once. “Hey.” God. He sounded terrible. Luis definitely noticed too because his tone softened immediately afterward. “You okay?”
No. Matt almost laughed. Instead he just nodded once automatically even though they both knew it was bullshit. Luis watched him quietly for another second before finally asking, “You want the usual?” Matt stared blankly ahead. “…Please.”
A quiet pause. Then the familiar sounds of Luis building the drink, ice, glass, the liquor pouring, orange peel being twisted. Matt listened to it numbly. You should’ve been here. You should’ve been correcting Luis’s measurements dramatically while making comically large but presumably beautiful garnish pieces and laughing at your own jokes. The grief hit him so hard suddenly that he had to grip the edge of the bar.
Luis set the drink down gently in front of him. Some consolation. Matt’s throat tightened unexpectedly at the presence of it. “Thanks.”
For a while neither of them spoke. Matt didn't touch the drink. Mostly he just listened helplessly to the shape of the room around him trying not to think about how different it sounded without you. Then finally Luis sighed softly. “…Dani took her outta town.”
Matt went perfectly still. His pulse slammed into overdrive. “Look,” Luis added quickly, “I don’t know what happened between you two. And I’m definitely not gonna ask.” Matt swallowed hard. But your name, and the confirmation you were gone, already felt catastrophic. “Is she okay?” he asked quietly. The words slipped out before he could stop them, his tone betraying how desperate he felt.
Luis hesitated. Matt heard the uncertainty immediately. “…She seemed really upset when she called.” That physically hurt. Matt looked down hard at the untouched drink in front of him. Because of course you were. You’d sounded shattered walking out. His chest ached.
“Did... Did she say where she went?” he asked after a moment. Luis leaned against the counter slightly. “I think overseas?”
Overseas.
Jesus.
Not just space, but an entire ocean between you two. Luis must’ve heard something in Matt’s sharp inhale because his voice softened again afterward. “For what it’s worth…”
Matt looked up slightly and Luis sighed. “It's obvious she still loves you.” Matt stopped breathing. Hearing someone else say that after last night felt almost unbearable. Luis rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “She wouldn’t even let anybody imply you cheated. She got so mad at me when i asked,” he chuckled dryly. Matt shut his eyes immediately. God. That hurt worse somehow. Even now, heartbroken, you were still protecting him.
A long silence stretched between them. Then quietly, almost too quietly to be heard Matt admitted, “I think I ruined everything.” Luis didn’t answer immediately. Just slid the drink a little closer toward him.
“Then fix it.”
Matt almost laughed at that. If only it were that simple. Instead he picked up the glass for the first time and stared sightlessly into it , and for one horrible pathetic moment Matt almost started crying again right there at the counter.
~16 HOURS EARLIER~
Dani opened the apartment door about 3 inches, barefoot and the TV droning in the background. At first she just blinked at you. Then her expression changed instantly, “Oh my god.” She swung the door open immediately.
You hadn’t cried this hard in years. Eyes inflamed and red, your chest physically hurting from holding it all in on the cab ride here. Your overnight bag slipped from your shoulder the second Dani pulled you inside.
The apartment smelled like candles and leftover takeout and familiarity. That almost made you cry harder. “Hey, hey-” Dani shut the door quickly behind you. “What the fuck happened?” You shook your head immediately before she could even finish the question. Because you couldn’t answer it. Not yet. Your body felt numb and oversensitive at the same time. You could still hear Matt’s voice in your head.
I love you.
Too late. Too late.
Dani guided you toward the couch carefully like you might collapse. Honestly you might’ve. The second you sat down, exhaustion hit you so hard it made your vision blur and your head spin. You folded in on yourself instinctively and Dani crouched in front of you immediately.
“Are you hurt?... Did he hurt you?”
Your head snapped up fast. “No.” The answer came instantly. Sharply. Dani blinked slightly and you swallowed hard. “No,” you repeated quieter this time. “God, no.”
And despite everything, despite the heartbreak flaying you completely open, you knew that much with absolute certainty. Matt would never hurt you like that. Never.
Dani sat beside you more carefully after that. “Did he cheat?” Again, an instant, "No.” Almost offended. The word left your mouth before you even thought about it. Even destroyed and crying on yours and Dani’s couch your instinct was still to defend him. Dani noticed and her expression softened slightly, her brows furrowed as she seemingly tried to think. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Then what happened?” Silence.
You stared blankly at the floor for several seconds trying to figure out how to answer that. How did you explain, the man I love is Daredevil? How did you explain that you found a hidden room beside your shared bed full of weapons and masks and more than twenty years of secrecy? Your throat tightened painfully.
Finally you whispered, “I found out something about him.” Dani stayed quiet. You rubbed shakily at your face. "Something huge.” The tears came again immediately. “And I can’t stop thinking about how long he kept it from me.”
That got Dani’s full attention. No more assumptions now. No more normal breakup logic because this was clearly something bigger. You could see the realization dawning on her face as pathetic, hiccuped sobs continued to shake your whole body.
“Okay,” she said softly. Then after a beat, “Do you wanna tell me?”
You thought about Matt kneeling in front of you crying. About the hidden room gaping open beside the two of you. Your chest caved inward all over again and you shook your head once.
Dani studied you for another quiet moment. Then abruptly, “Okay. Then we’re getting the hell out of here.” You blinked at her. “What?” Dani was already standing. “I’m serious.” She grabbed her phone immediately. “You look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown- Actually, it's definitely already started. We’re leaving.”
Despite everything, despite the ache swallowing your entire body, a tiny watery laugh escaped you. “Dani-”
“Nope.” She pointed a finger at at you while already scrolling on her phone. “We are not doing the pathetic crying in the apartment thing. Absolutely not. You need distance, fresh air, another country maybe.”
Another country. The words hit strangely. Far away. Far enough that Matt’s absence might finally stop twisting the knife in your gut deeper every second. You stared numbly at the floor while Dani scrolled aggressively through flights beside you.
“Okay let's see," She squinted. "Not a lot of cheap direct flights right now... but I have no problem with a layover. Thank God for mileage points."
That almost made you laugh again. Almost. Suddenly she announced in a near squeal. "Oh! Here's a flight with only one stop." Then your eyes landed on a photo over Dani’s shoulder. White buildings. Dark ocean. Ancient stone.
You should’ve said no. You should’ve picked literally anywhere else. But instead you just sat there exhausted and heartsick while Dani booked two seats on a red eye out of JFK.
Leaving in six hours.
Nelson, Murdock & Page had never felt this tense before. Usually, no matter how stressful things became, Matt remained a careful level of composed. Controlled. Even when he was angry, Matt knew how to wear calmness like another one of his tailored suits.
This afternoon he was a disaster. Foggy noticed it first. Then Karen. Then every poor assistant within a ten foot radius was feeling his wrath. Matt wasn’t completely cruel, every snapped response was followed immediately by visible regret. Every clipped answer sounded like his nerves had been sanded raw.
“Mr. Murdock, Mrs. Alvarez rescheduled-”
“I heard you the first time, Maria.”
Silence. Then immediately, “…Sorry. I apologize.” The receptionist practically ran away fleeing afterward. Foggy stared across the hallway from his office openly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Matt pressed a hand hard against his forehead. Because the truth was everything hurt. The city was too loud today and the apartment too empty last night. Both grated his nerves. You were gone. Every instinct in his body strained constantly toward your absence like a phantom limb.
Karen emerged from her office holding a coffee just in time to hear Matt snap on another phone call. “You can either send the signed paperwork today or stop wasting our time.” Click. Silence.
Foggy and Karen exchanged a look. “…Jesus Christ,” Foggy muttered. “You’re like if seasonal depression became a person.”
Matt exhaled shakily through his nose. Normally he’d have some dry comeback. Today he just felt exhausted. Karen watched him carefully over the rim of her coffee from her space in the doorway. Beneath his apparently visible irritation was something else. Panic. Real panic. Matt was holding himself together by threads.
Karen sighed, eyes then darting down to her phone in her hand. Her breath hitched after scrolling for a few minutes. She glanced up automatically. And froze. “Oh.” Foggy looked up immediately. “What?” Karen stared at the screen again for another second before slowly looking toward Matt. “…I think I know where she went.”
The entire office went silent and Matt’s heartbeat slammed into his rib cage. “Dani posted something.” Karen spoke slowly. “It’s just a selfie with her at the airport.”
Matt stood immediately. Too fast, his chair scraping harshly across the floor. Karen’s expression softened instantly at the sound of sheer desperation in his voice when he asked, “Can you describe it?”
Karen looked back at the phone carefully. “She looks tired,” Karen admitted quietly. “Looks like they're waiting at their gate. Athens is on the display in the background.”
Matt sat back down, his knees suddenly felt weak. Foggy and Karen exchanged another look, both of their heartbeats picking up in concern. Because something about Matt’s face right now was genuinely painful to witness. Karen softened first. “Matt…” He shook his head once. Then quietly, almost to himself he murmured, “She went to Greece.” Like it meant something enormous. Like it broke him. Foggy leaned carefully against the desk. “So what are you gonna do?”
Matt stared sightlessly ahead for several long seconds. Then finally, “Fix it.”
The conviction in his voice startled both of them, pure resolve. Karen studied him carefully. "Do you even know if she wants to hear from you?”
No. He didn’t. And forcing himself into your space right now could destroy whatever fragile thread still existed between you. Matt looked down at his clasped hands. Then after a long silence, "Not her.” Karen frowned slightly as Matt pulled his phone slowly from his pocket. And for the first time all day, a tiny bit of strategic calm returned to his voice.
“I need to call Dani.”
notes: matt povvvv always love these. did anyone else miss Luis a little?
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove @bigsloppycrush @akahlisworld @omicore
Sugar, Please - Chapter Twenty
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you take an unexpected tour of Matt's penthouse.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 4.4k
Her story is not just crimson pomegranates, all of the splendour of spring bends to her will... and before her fury, even Death himself pales.
- Nikita Gill
Small moments were beginning to stitch themselves together into something suspiciously close to a real life. Neither you nor Matt seemed capable of stopping it anymore.
Dilly adjusted obscenely fast to penthouse living. Which honestly felt right. The tiny white Persian immediately established herself as the ruler of the apartment, destroyer of Matt’s discarded ties, and an absolute princess.
Matt pretended to be annoyed every single time she climbed onto him while he worked. Which would’ve been more convincing if he didn’t automatically move any files out of her way when she did.
One morning you walked into the kitchen to find Matt standing barefoot at the espresso machine,still sleepy, while Dilly sat perched on his shoulder like a tiny fluffy parrot. You nearly dropped your coffee. “Oh my god.”
Matt looked offended immediately. “She climbed up there herself.”
“Sure she did.”
Matt scratched gently beneath her chin while pretending this was normal behavior. Your entire chest hurt in the sweetest way.
Another night you ended up tangled together in bed sometime after midnight. You languidly took pleasure in eachother, skin warm beneath the tangled silk sheets while snow drifted silently past the large windows.
You laughed breathlessly into Matt’s shoulder afterward while he pressed lazy kisses along your neck. “So clingy,” you teased softly.
His arms slid securely around your waist beneath the sheets as a comfortable and content silence settled softly afterward.
The apartment felt unusually quiet without Matt in it. Snowflakes clung softly against the windows while pale afternoon light spilled across the bedroom floor in long golden shapes.
You’d spent most of the morning editing and posting promo photos for the bar, curled beneath a blanket with coffee and Dilly draped dramatically across the couch cushion next to you like she paid rent.
Now, though? The little tyrant had entered what you’d started calling 'gremlin hour'. Meaning zoomies. Pure chaos.
You laughed lightly while Dilly launched herself across the bedroom after a feathered toy, skidding wildly across the hardwood before it disappeared beneath the built in shelving along the far wall. “Oh no you don’t,” you called immediately.
Her tiny bell jingled mischievously. You set the other toy in hand down and walked over, crouching in front of the bookshelves while Dilly stared out from within the shadows of the bottom shelf with enormous innocent eyes. “You’re literally rich now,” you informed her. “You have an entire cloud castle and yet you insist on living in a bookcase.” Dilly blinked. No remorse.
You reached beneath the shelving, fingers brushing around for the toy, and braced your other hand on a higher shelf. You unexpectedly felt something tucked into the molded edge. You frowned slightly. “Hm?”
Dilly immediately became fascinated too, tiny paws batting curiously in an attempt to be picked up. You laughed softly. “What in the-?” The latch gave with almost no pressure. Then, a quiet mechanical click echoed somewhere inside the wall.
You froze when the shelving shifted. Only slightly at first. Then slowly, silently, part of the wall slid inward. Your jaw dropped immediately. “Oh my god.”
You actually laughed. A genuine startled laugh. Because of course this dramatic man had a hidden room in his penthouse. Of course he did. “Are you secretly Batman?” you muttered under your breath.
Dilly chirped curiously beside your knee. The hidden doorway continued opening with eerie smoothness as dim light spilled softly from inside. You stood slowly as you waited, still smiling a little in disbelief. At first your brain supplied only ridiculous possibilities:
Secret wine collection
Billionaire style panic room
Some rich person security setup
Maybe something kinky honestly
Especially after the office incident. Your face warmed briefly at the thought.
“Matt,” you mumbled to yourself, amused. “You are so weird.” Still half laughing, you stepped inside. And then the amusement began to fade. Because the room beyond wasn’t what you expected at all.
Not luxurious exactly, or cozy in any way. It was… Sharp. Minimal. Purposeful. The lighting inside was low and cool against dark concrete and steel. Everything inside the room had a place. Everything clean. Precise. Controlled. Utilitarian. But expensive, very expensive.
Your smile faded completely.
Dilly padded curiously past your ankles into the room first, tiny bell jingling softly in the strange silence. You followed automatically. Confused now. The air even smelled different in here. Metal. Leather. Something medicinal underneath it all. Your stomach tightened faintly.
There were cabinets. Medical supplies? Equipment you didn’t immediately recognize. And along one wall, rows of meticulously organized weapons.
You stopped walking entirely as the breath left your lungs slowly. Not toys. Not decorative. Real. Batons. Clubs. Blades.
Your stomach flipped in confusion. What…? The room suddenly felt colder. You stared silently around the space while your brain tried and failed to connect what you were seeing to Matthew Murdock.
Lawyer Matt. Sleepy morning Matt. Matt holding Dilly like a baby and making you coffee barefoot in the kitchen. This room didn’t belong to him, it couldn’t. You took another slow step inward anyway.
Dilly wandered farther inside fearlessly, tiny collar bell jingling softly against the cold stillness while you stood frozen near the entrance trying to make sense of what you were looking at.
Your pulse had started beating faster now. Every instinct told you this was wrong. Private and hidden for a reason. But another part of you needed to know, needed to make it make sense.
Your fingers brushed lightly against one of the metal batons resting on the wall. Heavy. Real. Used. You stared at them for a long moment before looking away quickly. No. No, that didn’t- That couldn’t-
Then your eyes landed on the shelves farther back. And your entire body went cold. Helmets. Red. Not decorative. Not replicas.
There were several of them lined carefully along the shelf. Your heart stopped completely. You stepped closer before you even realized you were moving. And suddenly, violently, memories started colliding in your head.
Teenage you staring at blurry news footage. The devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil. Your stomach twisted so hard it hurt.
“No,” you whispered aloud instantly. Because your brain rejected it immediately. Matt was blind. Matt was honest with you. Matt slept curled around you at night with Dilly tucked at your feet. Matt kissed your forehead while making coffee every morning. He would never hide this from you. This didn’t belong to him. It couldn’t.
You turned sharply away from the helmets like distance alone might make the thought disappear. And that’s when you noticed the small button embedded in the wall near the far side of the room. Your pulse hammered unevenly now. You shouldn’t touch it, you knew that. But your hand moved anyway.
Click.
Another smooth mechanical sound echoed softly through the room, then part of the wall slid open. And behind it were suits. Red. Black. Armored. Different versions arranged meticulously on the wall. Some newer. Some older. Some visibly damaged and one was even torn along the ribs. Bloodstained. Your knees nearly gave out.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
The room tilted violently around you. You stepped closer in disbelief, fingertips brushing shakily against the strange fabric. The suit underneath was unmistakable. Daredevil. Not inspired by. Daredevil. Matt. Your brain finally stopped fighting it.
And suddenly everything crashed into place all at once. The occasional bruises he called “blind man accidents.” The old injuries beneath your fingertips that he’d allow you to touch while never telling you what caused them. Your stomach lurched hard. “Oh my god,” you whispered again, but this time it sounded broken. Because now you could see it. Every scar. Every wound. You suddenly remembered tracing the long pale mark across his ribs one night while half asleep. Matt had gone quiet afterward.
You thought it was intimacy. You knew he'd had a difficult childhood, and knew all about his father who was a boxer. You were certain he'd tell you about the scars in due time.
Your vision blurred suddenly. The realization hit in waves now, not just that Matt was Daredevil, but that he had been Daredevil your entire life. Since you were little. Since before you knew him. Since before you knew what love even was. This wasn’t a phase or some secret hobby, this was him. Half of him. And he never told you.
You stumbled backward hard enough to hit the edge of the leather chair behind you.
The impact startled Dilly, who chirped softly nearby. You barely heard her. Your chest hurt. You sank onto the leather chair automatically, your breathing coming in shallow with every following inhale. Shock. You pressed a trembling hand over your mouth. Matt. Your Matt. Your sweet Matt who held your face like something precious.
Tears blurred your vision immediately now. You looked back toward the suits helplessly. Toward the masks. Toward the life hidden beneath the one he’d built with you.
All the things you’d always known about Matt finally had somewhere to land. The protectiveness. The anger. The scars. The way he often times carried tension in his body like he was anticipating a fight no one else could see. You’d seen those pieces before,. You just hadn’t known what they added up to. All this time, Matt had been offering you only half a story.
By the time you heard the penthouse doors open, the sun had already started setting.
The apartment glowed dim gold beneath the winter evening light spilling through the windows. You hadn’t moved much. At some point you’d made it out of the hidden room and onto the bed. Barely.
Now you sat near the edge of the mattress bundled in one of Matt’s hoodies with Dilly curled in your lap, purring softly against your stomach while your hands rested motionless in her fur. The hidden doorway still stood open beside the bed.
A wound in the wall. A wound in everything.
You’d tried to think, really. But every thought only spiraled into another. Matt laughing against your mouth. Matt bruised and exhausted. Matt refusing to let you go home drunk and alone before he even had the right to worry about you. Matt kissing your forehead before work. Matt standing bloodied in alleyways, while you slept in his bed unaware.
Your chest hurt. Nothing felt real anymore.
You heard Matt come inside. And for one horrible fleeting second, everything in you reacted automatically. Warmth. Relief. Home. Because it was Matt. Then reality crashed back in so violently it made you feel sick.
Down the hallway, you heard the soft rustle of his coat and the muted sound of a paper bag shifting in his hands. Then his voice drifted easily through the apartment. Warm. Happy. Completely unaware. “Sweetheart?”
You closed your eyes immediately. Oh god. The sound of him nearly broke you. Matt moved farther inside the apartment. You could hear him setting his keys down.
“I brought that dumpling place you like.” Your throat tightened painfully. Another pause. Then softer, “Thought maybe we could walk through the park tonight before it gets too cold.” The tears burned immediately behind your eyes again. Because he sounded so normal. So safe. Like the world hadn’t just split open.
Silence stretched through the apartment. At first Matt didn’t react. You knew his rhythms now. You could practically picture him loosening his tie. Taking off his glasses. Waiting for you to answer. Matt had finally reached the hallway.
The apartment became deathly still. Then finally, Matt appeared in the bedroom doorway. And stopped. You looked at him for the first time since finding the room.
The sight hurt so badly it almost stole your breath. He still looked like Matt. Dark shirt. Snow melting faintly against the collar. That silvered hair messy from the brisk winter wind. Hand still gripping the takeout bag. Beautiful.
And behind you, the hidden room stood open. Exposed. Matt went completely still. You watched the exact moment he noticed it. Understood it. His face drained of color instantly, and the takeout bag slipped slightly in his hand. And suddenly something about that detail, those stupid dumplings, made this all feel even worse somehow.
Because he’d come home thinking about dinner. About a walk. About you. Meanwhile you’d spent the last hour in a near catatonic state.
His mouth parted slightly like he wanted to say something. Nothing came out. Then finally, so quietly it almost didn’t sound like him at all, “…You found it.” He didn’t move closer. Didn’t touch you. He just stood frozen in the doorway staring somewhere around your chin, watching his entire life collapse in front of him.
Dilly shifted softly in your lap, tiny paws pressing sleepily against your stomach while Matt stood frozen in the doorway like moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile calm existed in the room.
Your throat hurt when you finally forced yourself to speak. And your voice sounding normal somehow made everything worse. “No." Matt went stiffer somehow. You stared past him instead of directly at him. At the hallway. At the normal apartment outside this room and this lie. Your fingers twitched faintly in Dilly’s fur. “I didn’t find it.” You swallowed once. “Dilly did.”
Silence. The words settled painfully. Because suddenly this wasn’t you digging through his things, suspicion, or distrust. It had been an accident. You trusted him completely.
You laughed once softly then. Not because anything was particularly funny, but because your brain honestly didn’t know what else to do. “We were playing.”
Matt closed his eyes briefly. The takeout bag finally slipped from his fingers onto the floor beside him with a soft crumple. Neither of you paid any attention it. Dilly stirred at the noise and blinked sleepily toward Matt. He tilted his head towards her for half a second before looking back at you.
And oh. That look on his face. You’d never seen Matthew Murdock look so frightened in your life. Terrified. Of you. Of losing you.
Your body moved before your brain caught up. You carefully lifted Dilly from your lap onto the blankets beside you and stood from the bed on shaky legs.
Matt reacted instantly. Desperately. “Wait.” The word cracked slightly.
You froze anyway. Because despite everything, some part of you still responded to him automatically. Matt heard it. You knew he did. His breathing had gone uneven now. Panicked.
“I can explain,” he said quickly. “Please just- please don’t leave yet.”
You stared at the floor. Incapable of looking up because every time you looked directly at Matt now your brain split in half trying to reconcile Matthew asleep beside you, with the room beside your bed. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. And quietly, confused, you asked, “…How?”
Matt went completely still. Then slowly, carefully, he stepped farther into the room. Like approaching a wounded animal. “I was nine,” he said softly. You shut your eyes immediately. Oh my god. Matt’s voice sounded strange now. Raw. Like every wall he normally kept around himself had shattered the second he found that hidden room open. “The accident I told you about,” he continued quietly. “The truck carrying chemicals that blinded me.”
You finally looked at him then. Matt swallowed once. “It did take my sight.” A pause. “And…it gave me everything else.”
Everything else?
Your stomach twisted painfully. Matt unfocused gaze drifted briefly toward the open hidden room before looking back at you. “I can hear heartbeats,” he admitted softly. “Track movement from feeling the air currents.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Can easily map spaces,” a humorless breath, “I can hear most things in the city if I focus hard enough.”
You stared at him in complete silence. And suddenly memories began crashing into place again. Matt saw the realization hit you and his face crumpled slightly. “I wanted to tell you-” the words came fast and jumbled, “I did.”
Your breathing must’ve changed because Matt’s voice went frantic again. “I swear to you,” he said quickly. “Sweetheart, I swear-”
The endearment made you flinch. Matt noticed. And that hurt him visibly. You saw it. His voice dropped lower afterward. “...I’ve been doing this for over twenty years.”
You sat back down onto the edge of the bed because your knees suddenly felt weak again. Matt watched you carefully, seemingly terrified you might disappear if he blinked wrong.
Your gaze flicked involuntarily toward the room again. Matt tracked the movement, and a soft broken laugh escaped you suddenly. You pressed shaking fingers against your forehead. “I don’t understand,” you whispered. Matt moved then. Slowly. Carefully. Until finally, he lowered himself onto his knees in front of you. He didn't touch you, one of his hands settled on the bed next to where you sat, clutching the blanket anxiously. Open and begging without pride now.
Matt Murdock- stubborn, composed, impossible Matt- looked completely shattered. “I was already slowing down.” He swallowed. “Before you.”
“I just…” A weak laugh. “I never had a reason to believe there was anything waiting for me on the other side of it.” Your heart lurched painfully. He looked down briefly before continuing. “And then you happened.” Your eyes widened slightly and Matt gave a tiny nod. “I wanted…” He stopped and cleared his throat. Tried again. “I want a life with you.”
Silence. Pure devastating silence. Matt finally looked up at you fully then. No walls. No charm. No deflection. “I know I should’ve told you.” His voice cracked softly. “I know. But every time I tried-” He stopped again. There wasn’t a good ending to that sentence.
You stared at him kneeling there between your knees while the hidden room stood open next to you both like exposed ribs. Suddenly the shock cracked open enough for the hurt underneath to finally breathe. And once it started, it wouldn’t stop. Your eyes burned instantly.
Matt heard it before you even spoke. You saw the exact moment he realized the silence was ending. “You want a life with me?” you repeated softly. Matt swallowed. “Yes.”
Your laugh came out broken. “You already had one.” The words hit him hard enough that you physically saw it. Matt’s shoulders tightened uncomfortably. You stood abruptly from the bed again because sitting still suddenly felt impossible.
Energy flooded painfully through your body now in waves of hurt, confusion, grief. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself while pacing once across the room.
Matt stayed on his knees, staring in your direction like he was afraid to blink. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with this,” you whispered. Your voice shook harder now. “This whole time I thought-” You stopped abruptly. “I thought there weren’t any walls between us.”
“You know me, ” Matt said immediately. You spun back in his direction so fast he actually flinched.
“Do I?”
Silence. You pointed shakily toward the hidden room behind you in response. Your voice cracked hard when you finally spoke again. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “How many times have you come home after doing that and just… slept beside me like everything was normal?”
Matt’s jaw tightened and he looked away. You could tell what the answer was from his silence alone. Tears finally spilled down your face silently then. Hurt. “You should’ve told me.” Matt closed his eyes briefly. “I know.”
“No,” you snapped suddenly. “No, I don’t think you do.” Matt looked up immediately. Your breathing had gone shaky now. “I’m not upset because you’re Daredevil.” His expression broke slightly at that. “You clearly don't trust me, Matt.”
You watched tears immediately gather in his eyes. Like the words hit some exact vulnerable center in him. He looked down quickly, breathing uneven now. “I do, I-I trusted you with everything else,” he whispered hoarsely.
You huffed through tears. “But not this.”
Matt had no answer. Because you were right. Your chest hurt so badly now it felt hard to stand upright. You wiped angrily at your face. “Were you truly ever going to tell me?”
He went very still. And that silence, that tiny awful hesitation drove a knife into your heart. Your face crumpled immediately. “Oh my god.”
Matt stood abruptly then. "No- Sweetheart, no, listen to me-”
“Would you have just retired one day and never told me about any of it?” The question came out shattered. Matt stopped dead. You stared at him helplessly. “How could you do that to me?”
He looked like you’d physically struck him. “I wanted-”
“You wanted what?” you demanded through tears, “To just bury this?" You gestured to the open panel again, “To let me walk past that every day without knowing what was behind it?”
Matt looked destroyed. “I was trying to protect you.” You shook your head immediately. “No."
"No, don’t do that.” Your voice cracked on every word now. “Don’t make this noble.”
Matt recoiled slightly. You pressed trembling fingers against your mouth before the next words slipped out anyway. “And oh my god-”
You cringed, humiliation suddenly crashing over everything else. “Before the gala.” He froze instantly. You saw the exact second he remembered. Your eyes burned hotter immediately, and now he looked sick as you shook your head in disbelief.
“I was standing there in that fitting room laughing about my stupid crush on Daredevil when I was a kid.” Matt’s eyes shut hard. Like the memory physically hurt now. “And you just LET me!” His face crumpled completely. “You let me stand there and make a complete fool out of myself.”
“You are NOT a fool,” he said immediately.
The raw sincerity in his voice only made tears spill faster down your face. He stepped toward you instinctively. You stepped back immediately and the cold movement made his bottom lip tremble subtly. Your voice only shook harder. “Why?” The question came out tiny this time, wounded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Matt looked at you like he was standing at the edge of something fatal. “Because I need you too much to risk losing you.”
The words left your mouth quickly. Almost too quietly. “I can’t stay here right now.” Matt went completely still. For one terrible second you thought maybe he hadn’t actually heard you. Then, “Princess...” Not angry or defensive in the slightest. Pleading.
You looked away immediately and moved toward the dresser before your body could betray you and run back into his arms. You needed movement. Distance. Your hands shook as you yanked open drawers. Matt stayed frozen behind you for exactly three seconds before panic finally overrode whatever restraint he’d been clinging to. “Where are you going?”
You swallowed hard. “Dani’s. Our place.” Matt exhaled shakily as relief flickered across his face for half a heartbeat knowing you’d be somewhere safe. Then the devastation seemed to crash back over him immediately afterward. Because you were still leaving.
The room had gone deathly quiet as you shoved clothes blindly into a bag without really looking at them. Your hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Matt listened to you for another agonizing few seconds before finally moving closer. “Please,” he said softly. Your eyes squeezed shut immediately. Don’t. Don’t use that voice right now. Matt stopped close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him. “I know you’re hurt.”
You laughed once shakily through tears. Hurt. God. That word felt too small for this. “You should’ve told me,” you whispered again. Matt’s breathing hitched hard. “I know.”
You grabbed a sweater blindly. Then another. None of this felt real. Behind you, Matt finally reached carefully for your wrist. Barely even touching, more asking than anything. When you looked at him, oh. Tears tracked openly down his face now.
“Please don’t go like this,” he whispered.
Your entire body folded in on itself. A sob finally escaped your throat before you could stop it. And Matt moved instantly, his arms wrapping around you carefully at first. Like he thought you might shove him away. But the second you broke enough to lean into him even slightly, he clung. One hand against the back of your head. The other tight around your waist. Forehead pressed into your hair. You cried harder immediately. Because he still felt like home. And that made everything unbearable.
You pulled back slightly, your fists landing weakly against his chest before you could think better of it. Then again. Again. Small helpless hits more than anything else. “You lied to me,” you cried. Matt didn’t even flinch. “I know.”
Another shove. “You lied.”
“I know. Sweetheart I-”
Again. “How could you do this to me?”
Matt’s arms tightened painfully around you. “I’m sorry.” The words sounded wrecked. Destroyed. You finally pushed harder against his chest until Matt let you pull away. The loss of his arms felt immediate and cold.
Dilly chirped softly from the bed. Both of you looked over instinctively as the tiny white kitten blinked up at you innocently from the blankets. Your shared life was almost mocking you at this point. Your throat closed painfully.
You crouched slowly beside the bed and gathered Dilly carefully into your arms. Matt's head turned sharply away as she rubbed sleepily against your chin. You kissed the top of her tiny head softly before setting her back onto the blankets. Then quietly, without looking at Matt, “Take care of her.” When you finally looked up Matt’s face had crumpled completely.
The little kitten immediately hopped off the bed and trotted after you when you picked up your bag. Tiny bell jingling softly. Matt bent quickly and scooped her gently into his arms before she could reach the hallway. The kitten meowed in confusion toward you.
You almost stayed. God, you almost stayed. Matt stood there holding Dilly against his chest while tears slid silently down his face. He didn’t try to physically stop you again. You reached the apartment door before his voice stopped you one final time. Quiet. Broken.
“I love you.”
The words shattered your bleeding heart. You froze as Matt’s breathing shook in a quiet sob. It was obvious he hadn’t meant to say it like this. Not now. Not while losing you. But it was too late.
And after a long horrible silence, you walked out anyway.
notes: i'm sorry...
our poor old man just wanted to share some dumplings with reader and take a walk😭
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove
Sugar, Please - Chapter Nineteen
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: matt is hiding something.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.5k
The week afterward felt strangely domestic. Somewhere along the line, you and Matt had begun to slip into routines without noticing.
You woke up in his bed more often than your own now. Your shampoo sat permanently in his shower. One of your sweaters lived draped over the couch. Most evenings found you curled up somewhere in the penthouse with your laptop meanwhile Matt worked.
One night you fell asleep editing photos in bed and listening to music only to wake briefly sometime later when Matt carefully removed your laptop from your lap. You made a sleepy sound immediately. He laughed softly under his breath. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
You blindly reached for him anyway. And Matt immediately climbed into bed, just because you wanted him there. Hopeless man.
But sometime around midweek he started acting weird.
At first it was subtle. A phone call he took in another room. A package delivery he intercepted suspiciously fast before you could investigate. Then later that evening, Matt disappeared for nearly two hours claiming he had an errand.
You noticed because Matt usually wasn’t secretive with you anymore. Not really. He told you about his day. About cases, or as much as he was allowed to anyways. About the new junior associate who was driving him and Foggy insane.
The sudden weirdness stood out immediately. Especially because he was bad at hiding things from you now. Which was deeply funny considering he’d once seemed so emotionally unreadable to you.
Thursday night you came just in time to catch Matt hanging up from a call and tossing his phone on the kitchen counter the second you walked in.
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “…Matt.” Matt smiled at you. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“What was that?” You started toward him, and Matt sidestepped around the island as your eyes narrowed.
“I’m working.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
He crossed the kitchen, pressed a distracted kiss to your forehead, and headed back toward his office. As if that settled things. You watched him disappear down the hallway suspiciously.
Hmmm. Maybe it really was work-related? A case. Something serious. Matt did get strange and withdrawn sometimes when work overwhelmed him. The last time he’d been buried in a case he’d spent three days pacing the apartment at odd hours and taking calls in a hushed but strained tone. So you stopped pushing.
Mostly.
Still… Every once in a while you caught him 'looking' at you oddly that week. Thoughtful. Distracted. As if he was turning something over in his head, and then the expression would disappear before you could ask about it.
Your shift had run late again.
By the time you finally made it back to Matt’s penthouse, your feet hurt and your hair smelled faintly like smoke and citrus from the bar. All you wanted was a shower, Matt, and sleep. Preferably in that order.
You stepped out of the elevator already talking. “If one more person asks me to make a smoked manhattan five minutes before close, I’m throwing hands.” Silence. You frowned immediately. Usually Matt answered right away, especially when he knew you were coming home.
You slipped your shoes off near the entryway and glanced farther into the penthouse. The lights were low. Soft music drifted quietly from the vinyl console. And Matt... Matt stood near the living room looking composed in a way that meant he was absolutely anything but. Arms crossed. Trying to act casual and failing miserably.
Your eyebrows furrowed instantly. "Matt?"
“Hi sweetheart.”
“Why do you look nervous?”
“I don’t look nervous.” Liar. You took another step into the apartment slowly. Then, somewhere nearby, you heard a tiny little “mrrp?”
You froze, face scrunching up in confusion. Then another tiny meow echoed from the living room. Your head whipped toward the sound so fast you almost got dizzy.
And emerging from beside the couch- Oh. Tiny. Fluffy. White. The smallest Persian kitten you had ever seen toddled unsteadily across the hardwood floors toward you, enormous round eyes blinking sleepily beneath a cloud of impossibly thick fur.
And around her neck was a velvet bow. Your hand flew over your mouth instantly. Oh my god. The kitten let out another tiny chirping meow and stumbled directly toward you like she already knew you. You made the most embarrassing sound of your entire life. The kitten reached your feet and looked up at you with huge eyes. Then sneezed. You actually started tearing up. “Oh my god, Matt.”
Matt was trying SO HARD to play this cool. You could hear it in the careful way he answered, “Surprise?”
You dropped to the floor instantly. The kitten climbed clumsily into your lap like she belonged there. Like she’d chosen you immediately. You gathered the tiny fluffy thing carefully against your chest while staring at her in complete disbelief. “She’s so little,” you whispered. The kitten immediately tucked herself beneath your chin and you nearly died on the spot.
Matt’s entire posture softened listening to you. “You said once you always wanted a cat,” he said quietly. You looked up at him with watery eyes. Then, because the universe clearly wanted to finish you off completely, you noticed the rest of the apartment. Suddenly you were seeing it everywhere. The cat tree near the massive windows. Not some ugly carpeted thing either. No. Of course not. This was Matthew Murdock. The cat tree was absurdly beautiful, sculptural pale wood and cloud-shaped platforms. It looked like modern art.
There was a plush cat bed near the couch that looked softer than your actual mattress. Tiny ceramic bowls sat near the kitchen. Handmade. Obviously expensive. And next to them? A neatly stacked delivery box labeled with some artisanal fresh pet food service. Your jaw dropped slowly. “…You got her a subscription?” Matt looked defensive immediately. “She needs balanced nutrition.” You stared at him and he cleared his throat. “She also has insurance.”
“MATTHEW.”
Matt finally cracked and laughed softly beneath his breath. And yeah... This wasn’t impulsive. This man had planned this, for weeks if his behavior lately was any indication.
You looked back down at the tiny white kitten purring weakly against your chest, velvet bow slightly crooked now. Then back at Matt. “You went completely overboard.” He walked over slowly before crouching beside you on the floor. His hand brushed gently through the kitten’s fur once. “She deserves nice things.” Your chest squeezed painfully. Because he wasn’t just talking about the cat. You knew that. The kitten immediately climbed from your lap directly onto Matt’s knee. Traitor.
Matt looked unbearably pleased about it.
You stayed on the floor for almost twenty minutes. Maybe longer. Time stopped mattering the second the kitten curled up against your chest and started purring.
You sat cross-legged on the rug while the kitten explored your lap and the sleeves of your sweater with tiny clumsy paws. Matt stayed beside you the entire time. Soft eyed in that dangerous way he only got with you. Eventually the kitten attempted to climb your shoulder and immediately got distracted by your hair instead.
You laughed softly. “Oh my god, she’s insane.” Matt’s hand brushed absently along your back. “She takes after somebody.” He smirked faintly.
Before you could feign offense the kitten let out another tiny chirping sound, before curling herself into the center of your lap again like she’d decided she lived there now. “She’s so beautiful,” you whispered. Matt hummed softly beside you. “I'm sure she is.” Then quieter, “Thought you’d like her.”
You looked over at him immediately. That careful tone. Like despite the luxury cat furniture and the apparently preplanned vet appointment and the tiny velvet bow, part of him had still been nervous you wouldn’t love it. Oh. Your expression softened instantly.
“Matt,” you said quietly, “I love her.”
Matt’s shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly. The kitten suddenly flopped dramatically onto her side in your lap. Tiny pink paws in the air. You nearly cried again. “She’s a princess.”
Matt snorted softly. “Yeah, I noticed.”
You glanced around the penthouse again slowly. At the cat tower. The bowls. The bed. “She has a better apartment setup than I do.” Matt looked entirely unashamed. Then the realization finally hit. Your smile faded slightly as you looked back down at the kitten. "Matt, my apartment doesn’t allow cats.” The words came out quieter than you intended. Matt answered instantly. “She can stay here.” You both froze slightly afterward. Matt realized it about half a second too late. You looked up slowly, and he suddenly seemed very interested in petting the kitten. “Matt…”
His hand paused briefly against the kitten’s tiny back. Then he exhaled softly. “You’re here most of the time anyway.” Your chest tightened immediately. Matt still wouldn’t look directly at you. And somehow that made this feel even more vulnerable. “I just…” he started quietly. Then stopped and tried again. “It feels empty when you’re not here.”
Oh. Your entire heart melted. Matt finally looked at you then and there was something almost uncertain in his expression now beneath all the usual confidence. Not fear exactly. Just honesty. Raw honesty. And Matt only ever gave that to a handful of people in the world.
You reached for him immediately. Matt came closer just as fast. Your free hand slid along his jaw while the kitten remained tucked in your lap between you both in a tiny family portrait. “You know,” you whispered softly, “normal people usually ease into the moving in conversation.”
Matt huffed out a quiet laugh. “Technically the cat moved in first.” You burst out laughing immediately. The kitten startled slightly at the sound before climbing directly into Matt’s lap again. Then shecurled up against his stomach like she belonged there too.
Matt looked down at the tiny fluffy thing resting against him and something in his entire expression changed. Softened. Warm. You stared at him helplessly. “That’s your daughter now technically.” Matt looked back up immediately while a grin spread slowly across your face. “Yeah. You’re definitely attached already," you added.
Matt rubbed one careful finger beneath the kitten’s chin while pretending he wasn’t emotional about this at all. “She’s growing on me.”
The kitten let out another tiny sleepy chirp and you melted instantly. "We have to name her.” Matt nodded once. “You got ideas?” You looked down thoughtfully at the tiny white fluffball sprawled across both of your laps. You smiled softly, "Daffodil." The corner of Matt’s mouth lifted immediately.
“And Dilly for short,” you added quietly.
Matt repeated it once under his breath, testing how it felt. “Dilly.”
Sleep was a rare privilege for Matt. One he'd seldom had for most of his life. Not deeply.
Not the way you did beside him now, curled beneath his arm with your face half-hidden against his chest while snow drifted softly against the penthouse windows. The apartment was quiet. Warm. Peaceful in a way his life had almost never been.
And somewhere near the windows, Dilly slept curled in the ridiculous luxury cat tower Matt absolutely had not overspent on. The tiny bell on her collar gave the faintest little jingle every time she shifted in her sleep.
Matt could hear all of it. Your breathing. Your heartbeat. The kitten purring softly even while asleep. Home. The realization hit him suddenly and hard enough to ache. Home. Not the penthouse. You. You asleep against him with one hand still loosely tangled in his shirt. Your things scattered throughout the apartment. The tiny kitten currently living a life of luxury just because he wanted to make you smile.
Matt’s mouth curved faintly in the dark. You stirred slightly beside him with a sleepy little sound, pressing closer unconsciously. He immediately tightened his arm around you.
Then, far below the apartment, glass shattered. Three blocks east. Male voices. Raised and panicked. Someone yelling. Another crash.
For years, this would’ve been automatic. Out of bed. Suit. Mask. Gone. No hesitation. Matt went perfectly still. Beside him, you shifted in your sleep. A soft little sigh escaped you as you burrowed closer, pressing your face into his chest. His hand moved automatically into your hair. Slowly. Carefully. The strands slid between his fingers. Another crash echoed faintly through Hell’s Kitchen as Matt listened.
Three men. Maybe four. Young. Panicked. Smashing their way through a storefront. The old familiar pull tightened inside his chest.
Go.
Move.
Do something.
His fingers continued moving through your hair. You made another sleepy sound. Not even awake, just seeking him. Matt closed his eyes. Something in his chest twisted painfully. He could leave. He could be back before morning. Before you noticed. It wouldn't be the first time.
But another thought came just as fast now. He was exhausted, and he knew he wasn't focused enough tonight. What if something happened? What if he didn’t come back? You’d wake up alone in this bed. For maybe the first time in his life, Matt realized that the suit still only belonged to him, but the consequences did not.
His jaw tightened, and he reached for the phone in his nightstand instead. Three rings. A groggy voice answered. “Matt."
“You’re awake.”
“I wasn’t. What’ve you got?”
Matt listened. “Four guys. East Forty-Eighth. Hitting storefronts.”
Luke didn’t ask for more details. Didn’t ask why Matt was calling. When he finally spoke, his voice was different. Careful. “You calling me means you’re not already halfway out the window.” Matt tilted his head down toward you. Your heartbeat remained slow and steady. “No.”
Silence. A long one. Then, “Huh.” Luke sounded genuinely surprised. Matt huffed quietly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You are.”
“I spent the last five years telling your stubborn ass to call somebody else once in a while.”
Despite himself, Matt smiled. Another pause. Then his voice softened on the other end of the line. “Good.” Luke understood exactly what this call was. A choice.
Matt swallowed. “Can you handle it?”
He barked a laugh. “Handle it?”
“Luke.”
“I got it, Murdock.”
Relief loosened something in Matt’s chest. “Thanks.”
“You can thank me by staying where you are.” The line went dead.
Matt lowered the phone as the city continued moving outside. Sirens in the distance. Traffic. Life. But here, inside the apartment, everything was quiet again. His hand never left your hair. Your heartbeat and the tiny purrs from the cat tower the only sounds remaining.
And for a long moment he just lay there in the dark trying to understand the feeling in his chest. Something stranger than guilt. Like setting down a heavy weight after carrying it for far too long.
Beside him, you stirred lightly. Your eyes barely even opened. Sleepy. Warm. “Matt?” you mumbled. Matt immediately pulled you closer. “I’m here.”
You hummed softly at the sound of his voice before your hand slid lazily across his chest. Satisfied immediately. Then, “Love you.”
Half asleep. Barely conscious. You were already drifting away again before you’d fully finished saying them. But the words hit Matt like a physical blow.
Matt stared down at you in stunned silence as your breathing evened back out almost immediately. Oh. Matt looked away briefly as a smile pulled at his mouth.
Then finally, very carefully, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead. And in the dark, quiet enough that he wouldn't wake you, Matt whispered, “Yeah, sweetheart."
"I love you too.”
notes: i was so excited for you guys to finally meet Daffodil, aka Dilly.
looks like Matt is also finally listening to his vigilante buddies and delegating more
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove
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Sugar, Please - Chapter Eighteen
previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter
artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you visit matt on a busy day at work.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.6k
You’d learned quickly that lunch only happened for Matt under three conditions:
1. Foggy physically handed him food.
2. Karen threatened him.
3. You personally intervened.
Otherwise the man survived exclusively on coffee and spite.
Which was why you found yourself balancing Tupperware containers in a reusable bag on your shoulder while making your way through the familiar offices of Nelson & Murdock on a snowy Thursday afternoon.
Karen spotted you first and her entire face lit up. “Oh thank God.” You laughed immediately. “That bad?” Karen pointed toward Matt’s partly closed office door. “He’s been in lawyer mode since eight this morning.”
Uh oh. Foggy looked up from his desk with the exhausted expression of a man who’d spent hours arguing with Matt professionally and spiritually. “Please save him from himself.”
You grinned while lifting the bag slightly. “I brought lunch.” Foggy clutched his chest dramatically. “An angel among us.”
From behind Matt’s office door, his voice carried clearly. “I can hear all of you.”
You laughed helplessly while pushing the office door open. Matt sat behind his desk surrounded by open files and a braille reader, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark tie loosened slightly from what had clearly been a long day.
And unfortunately, he looked distractingly attractive. Your stomach flipped instantly. Matt’s attention shifted toward the sound of the door opening. Then softened the second he realized it was you. “There’s my sweet girl.”
Every single time. Every. Single. Time.
You smiled despite yourself while removing your coat after setting the food down on the corner of his desk. “Your coworkers told on you.”
Matt sighed. “Traitors.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I had coffee.”
You stared. Matt tilted his head slightly at your silence. “…That was apparently the wrong answer.”
You moved around the desk toward him slowly. Light flurries of snow floated softly past the office windows while the warm smell of food slowly filled the room. Matt leaned back slightly in his chair as you approached. Relaxing already. Like your presence alone eased something in him.
“I made lunch,” you informed him. Matt’s brows lifted slightly. “You cooked?” You shrugged, suddenly shy. “A little.”
Matt felt for your wrist gently the second you got close enough. Then tugged you carefully between his knees. Your breath caught softly. Even exhausted and distracted, he always reached for you.
His hands settled warm against your hips while he tipped his head back slightly toward you. “You’re spoiling me.”
“You spoil me constantly.”
“Correct.”
You laughed softly. Matt smiled faintly at the sound before leaning forward just enough to press a lingering kiss against your stomach through your shirt.
Your entire body warmed instantly. “Hi,” you whispered.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
You smiled helplessly before eventually escaping his grip long enough to unpack lunch across his desk. And Matt, to his credit, actually tried to focus on eating. For approximately six minutes. Then work swallowed him again. Calls. Emails. Case files.
You stayed sprawled comfortably on the office couch nearby while he worked, occasionally stealing glances at him while you quietly scrolled on your phone. Somewhere along the way this became a problem. Because Matt in lawyer mode was deeply sexy.
The kind of composed confidence that made grown men visibly nervous around him. Watched him loosen his tie farther absently while rereading notes. His voice. His hands. The rolled sleeves. The occasional muttered curse beneath his breath. You were in trouble. Or maybe he was.
Matt finally ended a particularly tense phone call with a tired sigh before rubbing a hand across his jaw. He seemed so tense.
Matt seemed to realize how quiet you'd been over the last few minutes. “…Sweetheart?”
Fuck it. You stood before you could think better of it, and crossed the office slowly while he listened to you move with growing confusion. “Are... Are you leaving?”
You didn’t answer. Instead you moved past him entirely toward the office door. Matt frowned slightly. Then listened as you calmly closed the door and locked it. The sharp click echoed loudly through the quiet office. Behind you, Matt inhaled once slowly. You turned back toward him.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Your heart was absolutely pounding. Matt leaned back slowly in his chair while you approached. Like he already knew exactly where this was headed and was trying very hard not to encourage it.
Which would’ve been more convincing if his legs hadn't widened slightly to give you room. You stopped directly in front of him and his hands settled automatically against the arms of his chair. Restrained. Careful.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured again, lower this time, “what’re you doing?”
You reached for his tie slowly. Loosened it farther. Matt’s breathing changed instantly. “I spent the last hour watching you be all… lawyer-y,” you admitted softly.
Matt huffed out the faintest laugh. “Lawyer-y."
“It’s very attractive.” His grip tightened audibly against the chair arms. You leaned down slowly. Kissed him once, and then again. Slower.
Matt kissed you back immediately this time. Deep enough to make your pulse race. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. “You are trouble,” he murmured.
You smiled slightly. “And you’re really hot when you’re lawyering.” You licked your lips, a flush spreading across your cheeks. "I just wanna help you relax, baby." Matt actually closed his eyes for a second. Then your hands slid down his chest.
The second you sank slowly to your knees between Matt’s legs, you caught the sharp inhale he tried to hide. “Sweetheart,” he said carefully. Which was funny, considering he sounded anything but careful now.
You looked up at him through your lashes innocently while your hands slid slowly up his thighs. “Hmm?" You saw his throat move once and the office suddenly felt very small.
You leaned forward slowly, fingers brushing the buckle of his belt. Matt’s jaw flexed immediately, his head tipping back briefly against the chair. Like he was already praying for patience. Poor man.
You took your time undoing his belt deliberately slowly while Matt listened to every movement with growing intensity.
Then your fingers curled into the waistband of his unbuttoned slacks. You eased his pants down enough to free him slowly from his boxers. Matt was already hard, tip flushed and the smallest bead of precum gathering. Already breathing heavier than before.
And the look on his face when you wrapped your hand around him, Jesus Christ. Matt’s head tipped back with a quiet groan that went straight through you. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Heat spiraled violently low in your stomach. You smiled a little. Then decided to be evil about it. So instead of taking him into your mouth immediately, you offered only slow strokes of your hand. Your thumb brushing slowly along him. Above you he was beginning to pant.
The sudden soft drag of your tongue along his length made Matt’s entire body tense visibly beneath you. “Sweetheart,” he whined quietly.
You looked up innocently again. “What?”
Matt stared down at you in disbelief. "You know exactly what.”
Maybe you did. A little. You let your tongue drag along him again slowly just to hear the shaky exhale Matt made in response. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair beside him hard enough that the plastic creaked faintly.
You smiled sweetly before finally taking him into your mouth. The groan that escaped him was low and wrecked and immediately rewarding. “There you go,” he breathed.
Your entire body warmed at the praise automatically. Matt’s hand found your hair carefully a second later. Not pushing. Just holding, like he needed the contact somewhere.
You took your time at first. Slow bobs of your head, tongue cradling his length gently. And Matt tried so hard to keep control. He really did. You could feel it in the way he restrained himself, the forced measured breathing and the tension in his thighs every time you swallowed around him.
But unfortunately for Matt you knew him too well now. Knew exactly what affected him. The gentle laps of your tongue. The soft sounds you made just to feel him react.
And every time he lost composure a little more, you felt warmer. Prouder. Wanted.
You hollowed your cheeks slightly just to hear what sound he’d make. Matt cursed immediately. "Ohh fuu-"
His hand tightened slightly in your hair with a subtle shift of his hips when you took him deeper.
You looked up at him again. Big mistake. Because Matt's head was already tilted down towards you. The sight of those broad shoulders, handsome face covered by the dark lenses, and slightly flushed cheeks made you moan around his cock.
Yeah. That did it. Matt’s control snapped visibly. His hand tightened carefully but firmly in your hair while his head tipped back with a rough groan.
Heat flooded your stomach instantly. And then before you could prepare, he thrust shallowly into your mouth once more. Testing. Your hands tightened on his thighs, a quiet whine in your throat.
His breathing turned ragged immediately afterward. Like even that tiny loss of control satisfied him. "You- You like this, don't you, princess?" You let out a pleased hum around him intentionally. Matt swore again.
After that he was almost mean about it. The rhythm turned rougher. Needier. Every few seconds another broken sound escaped him. Your name, a curse, a rough “such a good girl” that made your entire body ache.
Every shallow thrust into your mouth pulled another rough grunt from him, his breathing fully uneven now while his hand stayed tangled carefully in your hair.
You loved it. Loved seeing him like this. Loved watching polished, terrifyingly competent Matthew Murdock unravel in his office because of you.
You whined softly around him, only half intentional, and Matt’s entire body tensed. His head tipped back against the chair while he thrust deeper again, much harder this time, past the point where he had lost the ability to think clearly.
“That mouth,” he muttered roughly. “Fuck, sweetheart…” His grip flexed in your hair. Desperate.
Heat rushed through you instantly. You moaned quietly again despite yourself. Matt’s eyes closed briefly. “There it is,” he rasped. “Pretty girl likes making me lose my mind?”
Your thighs pressed together automatically. Oh my god.
Matt was absolutely fucking your face at this point, half thrusting into your mouth and half pulling you down his length. “You have any idea what you do to me?” he grunted. You whimpered softly along his length in response and he groaned quietly. “Walk into my office so sweet-" a rough thrust. "Bring me lunch like a damn wife, then- then get on your knees-” He thrusts again, your nose pressing into his abdomen this time. You gagged around him and Matt nearly lost it entirely. “Fuck-"
His other hand slid from the arm of the chair briefly just to grip your throat gently instead, thumb raising to brush your bottom lip that was parted around him. “So pretty for me,” he said roughly. Your heart nearly stopped.
Then he thrust deeper again and his sudden choked whimper was strained enough to make heat flood low in your stomach. And then suddenly, he stopped. Completely.
You blinked up at him in confusion, lips parted slightly while Matt stared down at you breathing hard. Matt’s eyes closed briefly like he was physically forcing himself to think. Then, “C’mere.”
Before you could even react, Matt was already standing, large warm hands guiding you gently but firmly upright. He goes completely still when you complain softly about wanting him to finish in your mouth.
His hands tightened at your hips immediately, breath rough against your cheek while he stared at you like you’ve just said the most vulgar thing imaginable. And before you could laugh properly at that, he turned you toward the desk in one smooth motion.
Papers scattered. His braille reader slid off the desk.
You barely had time to brace yourself against the polished wood before Matt crowded in behind you, broad chest against your back, one hand flattening beside yours on the desk.
The other slid slowly up your thigh beneath your skirt, and stopped. A beat of silence. “...Sweetheart.” You bite back a grin immediately.
Matt exhales sharply through his nose, forehead briefly dropping against your shoulder like he’s physically suffering now. “You came to my office,” he says slowly, voice dangerously calm, “without panties on.”
You’re laughing a little now, flushed and breathless and absolutely unable to help yourself.
The polished lawyer facade finally disappears for good beneath pure need, his hands suddenly bunching your skirt around your waist. And when you make the mistake of whining his name softly, Matt’s hand comes up immediately, covering your mouth gently but firmly. Just enough to remind you: office.
You turn your face just enough to kiss the center of his palm instinctively. Matt goes still again behind you. Then laughs once under his breath. “Don’t start acting cute now,” he warned. “You lost that privilege when you showed up here to tempt me.”
Heat rushed through you instantly. There was no patience left in him at all. He slid home in one thrust, and the choked out cry you let out was muffled by his hand. The pace he set was immediate and needy, every movement pulling another muffled sound from you while the desk shifted faintly against the floor.
Matt swore softly beneath his breath. “Christ,” he muttered. “You feel-” A rough inhale. “Sweetheart-”
Your hands scrambled for purchase against the desk while Matt held you close with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist now, like he physically couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between you. His mouth found your neck immediately, desperately mouthing and nipping along the length of it.
The office felt too small now. Too warm. “So tight, fuck- my sweet girl,” he grunted.
Your entire body reacted to that. You clenched around him and white began to dance across your closed eyelids. Matt noticed instantly. “Oh, there it is,” he murmured softly. “That’s what got you?”
You whined against his palm and Matt nearly lost it again. “Fuck.” A rough thrust. “You like hearing you’re mine that much?”
The sound you made afterward was embarrassingly whiny. Matt buried his face briefly against your shoulder with a quiet groan that sounded almost tortured.
Eventually the pressure finally became too much for you. Your hands tightened hard against the desk as you came apart with a muffled cry against his palm. Matt swore immediately at the feeling of you shaking beneath him.
Then his head dropped to your neck again as he filled you with a muffled, drawn out groan against your skin.
For a long moment afterward, the only sound in the office was the shallow breaths and pants from both of you trying to breathe normally again. Matt stayed folded over you slightly, forehead against the back of your shoulder while his arms held you tight against him. Like he physically couldn’t let go yet.
Your entire body felt warm and heavy and pleasantly useless. Boneless. You made the tiniest weak sound while attempting to push yourself upright.
Matt reacted instantly. “Easy,” he murmured softly. There he was. The shift happened so fast every time. Desperate Matt disappearing, protective Matt rushing back in.
His hands slid carefully along your waist as he helped steady you, movements suddenly gentle again despite the complete loss of control he’d been displaying only seconds earlier.
You leaned back against his chest with another weak little hum. Matt froze. That sound apparently did something catastrophic to him. Because suddenly his hands were everywhere, checking your hips, your thighs, brushing your hair back carefully.
“You okay, princess?” he asked quietly.
You nodded immediately. Another soft hum as you smiled tiredly. “I’m okay.” Matt kissed the side of your head instantly anyway. Your cheek. Then your shoulder, needing to reassure himself physically.
The desk in front of you was an absolute disaster now. Papers everywhere. His phone somehow on the floor across the room. Matt’s braille reader was hanging halfway off the edge by the cord.
You stared at it weakly.
“…Oops.”
Matt tilted his head toward the office door. Then faintly from outside, “I’m just saying,” Foggy’s voice carried through the wall, “there is NO WAY they’re discussing case law in there.”
OH MY GOD.
You slapped a hand over your face instantly. Matt actually looked amused.
“Foggy.”
“Karen, come on. We all heard that desk move.”
notes: (slightly) mean silver fox matt has entered the building and he's sexy.
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove
raw. deep. messy. wet. backwards. against the table. against the wall. against the window, infront of a mirror. on the bed. on the kitchen counter. on the couch. on the floor. in the bath.
sorry you caught me in the middle of thinking about dex being the messiest sloppiest munch i'm talking slurping and sucking and the lower half of his face glistening because he buries his face into it to the point where he's suffocating
Sugar, Please - Chapter Seventeen
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you invite matt to the end of autumn renaissance faire.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 3.7k
The offices of Nelson, Murdock, & Page had started feeling strangely familiar lately. Not intimidating anymore. Warm. Lived in. Foggy’s half finished snacks abandoned on his desk with legal files. Karen’s organized chaos spread across her office. Matt’s office smelling faintly of expensive coffee, paper, and cedar.
You’d spent enough time here now that the people at reception smiled knowingly when you walked in. Which still made your stomach flutter embarrassingly every time. Especially because Matt always reacted the same way when he realized you were there. Immediate softening. Every single time. Today was no different.
The second you stepped into his office and greeted him, Matt looked up from whatever document he’d been reading and his entire expression changed. “There’s my girl.”
Your heart betrayed you immediately. You smiled while setting the coffees you'd brought down on his desk. “Busy?”
“Mm.” Matt leaned back slightly in his chair. “Trying to be.” Which translated roughly to: I would rather pay attention to you. You were becoming dangerously fluent in Matt Murdock.
Karen appeared in the doorway a second later holding folders. “Oh hi, you’re here." Then immediately, “Wait, did you figure out your ren faire outfit yet?” You brightened instantly. “Yes!”
Matt paused mid-sip with his coffee. “Your what?”
Foggy appeared behind Karen like he’d been summoned psychically by the possibility of gossip. “The renaissance fair thing this weekend.” she explained helpfully. Matt turned slowly toward you. “The what thing?” You blinked. “Oh.” You laughed. “I forgot to tell you.”
Matt set his coffee down with suspicious care. That should’ve been your first warning. “The tavern at the renaissance fair hired our bar for a weekend event,” you explained.
“So I’m helping run drinks,” you continued, “It’s themed.” Then excitedly, “Oh wait, I have the outfit pictures guys.” Karen made a noise of delight. Matt’s brows furrowed slightly.
You pulled out your phone while Karen immediately abandoned her paperwork to crowd beside you. “Oh my god,” Karen breathed instantly. Foggy leaned in next. Then loudly, “JESUS CHRIST.”
You burst out laughing, “What?!” Karen looked genuinely impressed. “Babe, this is absurd.”
Matt’s head tilted slightly toward them. Silence. Then, very carefully, “What,” he asked, “does that mean?” Foggy made another strangled sound. Karen tried and failed to sound neutral. “Well.” A pause. “It’s definitely… authentic.”
“Karen.”
“She’s wearing a corset.”
Matt stopped blinking. You looked up innocently. “It’s cute.” Foggy barked out a laugh. Matt’s voice came slower now. “Corset.”
You nodded cheerfully while scrolling through the photos. “It’s like dark green with a brown skirt?” You smiled. “And there’s all these little accessories and jewelry pieces.”
Karen was still staring at the photo. “There’s also basically no top.” You scoffed. “I’m serious.” Karen looked toward Matt sympathetically. “Her boobs are practically airborne.”
Foggy lost it. Matt went terrifyingly quiet and your face burned immediately. “They are not!” Karen turned the phone toward Foggy again. Foggy wheezed. “Buddy, I need you to know she’s one strong gust of wind away from a felony.”
Matt inhaled once through his nose. Slowly. Very slowly. You glanced toward him carefully. Matt sat back in his chair with one hand against his mouth now. Listening. Thinking. Imagining. His jaw flexed once.
You tried to recover. “It’s not even that bad.”
Karen and Foggy immediately, “Yes it is.”
Matt leaned back farther in his chair. Like he needed distance from the conversation for survival. You were trying not to laugh now because his composure was visibly deteriorating in real time. “It’s part of the vibe,” you defended weakly.
“The vibe,” Matt repeated.
You nodded. "And the tavern does this thing where we feed people drinks?” You smiled innocently. “It’s kinda funny.” Silence. Dead silence. Matt turned toward you slowly. “Feed people?"
You realized too late how that sounded. “Well-” You gestured vaguely. “With the tankards?” A laugh escaped you. “And we flirt for tips a little.”
Matt just stared at you. You shifted slightly under the weight of it and your stomach flipped. You tried to act unaffected. “So?” A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You’ll come visit me, right?”
Matt answered instantly. “Obviously.”
Foggy and Karen doubled over laughing. Because Matt hadn't said it casually. He said it like: over my dead body am I letting that happen unsupervised.
You laughed helplessly while Matt rubbed a hand slowly across his jaw. Likely still imagining it. Poor man. Karen finally managed to recover enough to grin at you wickedly. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Matt muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for strength.
The renaissance fair was absolute chaos.
Music echoed from somewhere deeper in the grounds. People shouted over each other in exaggerated accents. Bonfires crackled. Children sprinted past with wooden swords. The entire air smelled like cinnamon, smoke, leather, and ale.
And standing behind the tavern counter in your corset, you were having the time of your life. Your skirt swished around your legs every time you turned. Swooping chains and little charms hanging from your belt chimed softly when you moved. The dark green corset pushed your breasts up so obscenely that you’d stopped being embarrassed about it an hour ago and simply accepted your fate. At this point? Weaponize it.
You’d braided part of your hair back with ribbons and tiny beads, your makeup warmer and smokier than usual beneath the late afternoon light. And every single girl working the tavern had immediately agreed on one thing, the tips were going to be insane.
Unfortunately for Matthew Murdock, they were correct.
You leaned over the bar laughing at something one of the other barmaids said while pouring cider into a tankard, completely unaware of the exact moment Matt arrived. Foggy you heard first. He immediately burst into hysterical laughter. “Oh my GOD.” Karen physically grabbed his arm. “Stop laughing before Matt kills somebody.”
You looked up. And promptly forgot your own name. He’d dressed up. Not fully, but enough. Dark tall boots, a white long sleeve that'd been left unbuttoned at the top, and dark fitted pants. A long charcoal coat was hanging open over broad shoulders. Gorgeous.
His silvered hair was slightly windblown from outside. Light stubble shadowing his jaw. Hands shoved into his coat pockets while he stared in your general direction across the crowded tavern. Like a man witnessing divine punishment. You inhaled sharply. Matt’s head tilted slightly. Then very slowly, his mouth curved.
Foggy leaned toward him immediately. “Buddy, you look like you hunt vampires.” Karen looked delighted as she he glanced between you both. “This is disgusting.” Then to Matt, “You dressed like her dark knight.”
Matt looked entirely unashamed. “She called me her knight first.” Your stomach flipped violently. Oh, he remembered that. Of course he did.
You abandoned the drink station immediately, skirts swishing around your legs while you made your way toward them.
You kissed his cheek immediately and he wrapped an arm around your waist. His voice dropped lower immediately. “Hi, sweetheart.” Your pulse fluttered wildly.
Matt’s hand moved slowly over your waist. Very slowly. Large hand trailing up over the boning in the corset. The neckline. “You,” he said carefully, “appear to be trying to kill me.” You grinned helplessly. “You like it?”
Matt stared at you for one long second. Then quietly, "I’m having a complicated time with it.” You burst out laughing. And Matt’s expression softened instantly at the sound.
One of the tavern workers suddenly shouted your name from behind the bar. “We need another mead run!” You stepped backward dramatically. “Duty calls.”
Matt’s hand caught softly around your wrist before you could leave. The touch alone sent heat spiraling through you instantly. “You’re doing the feeding thing too?” he asked quietly. Oh. Oh he’d been thinking about that.
You smiled innocently. “Maybe.” Matt’s jaw flexed and Karen physically turned away to hide her laughter. You leaned up slightly, lowering your voice. “You jealous, Murdock?”
Matt’s thumb brushed once slowly against your pulse point. “Ask me again in ten minutes.” Your entire stomach flipped.
Then one of the bartenders yelled your name again and you finally escaped before your legs stopped functioning entirely.
Matt stayed. Which unfortunately meant he had a front row seat. To everything.
The tavern was packed now. Crowded shoulder to shoulder with laughing patrons while music and shouting filled the warm air. You slipped effortlessly into performance mode. Flirting. Teasing. Laughing.
Matt listened from a nearby table with Foggy and Karen while nursing a drink he’d barely touched. Or trying not to. Because every few seconds, someone else flirted with you.
A man kissed your hand dramatically while ordering ale. Another tipped extra coins directly into the front of your corset while making you laugh. Matt’s grip tightened audibly around his tankard.
Foggy noticed immediately. “Oh this is incredible.”
“Foggy,” Karen warned through laughter.
“No, no, let him suffer.”
Matt ignored both of them. Completely focused on you. Then it happened. Someone at the bar cheered loudly: “Feed me, barmaid!” Excuse me?
The entire surrounding crowd started chanting immediately. You laughed while grabbing one of the giant tankards. Matt went terrifyingly still.
The man leaned back dramatically while you placed his hands on the shackles hanging from the bar in exaggerated performance. Then, smiling wickedly, you tipped the tankard to his mouth while the crowd cheered around you.
Ale spilled down his chin while you laughed. And then, because the universe hated him, you glanced across the tavern afterward. Still smiling. Still flushed from laughing. And very clearly aware now that he’d been watching the entire thing. He could hear your pulse skip.
He should’ve known better than to sit where he could hear you so clearly. That had been his first mistake. His second mistake was letting Foggy order another round.
Because now you were headed directly toward their table carrying three overflowing tankards while the tavern roared around you. Music. Laughter. Firelight.
And you, God. You were unreal. Your skirts swayed around your legs as you approached, little chains at your waist chiming softly with each step. Matt could hear every detail of you. Your heartbeat, your breathing, the creak of the corset when you leaned over tables. It was psychological warfare.
You stopped beside the table dramatically, slipping fully back into character. “Well, well,” you purred playfully. “What troublemakers have wandered into my tavern?”
Foggy immediately committed to the bit. “M’lady, we seek only drink and refuge.”
“You seek debauchary,” you corrected while setting his ale down. “And could perhaps do with a bath.” Karen burst out laughing. Foggy clutched his chest in mock offense. Then, you turned toward Matt. And your whole expression changed.
Subtly. Not enough for anyone else to fully clock it. But Matt felt it instantly. The softness beneath the teasing. The heat tucked beneath the performance. Your gaze dragged slowly over him beneath your lashes. “My lord,” you murmured.
Matt’s pulse jumped hard enough he physically felt it in his throat. Oh, shit.
You leaned one elbow onto the table near Matt, the neckline of your corset likely becoming an active threat to public safety. Matt very carefully kept his head tilted down. The noise of the tavern seemed to blur strangely around the edges now. You picked up the tankard slowly. Matt realized what was about to happen half a second before everyone else did.
Foggy immediately lost composure. “Oh my GOD she’s doing it.” Karen covered her mouth with both hands.
You smiled sweetly at Matt. “Drink, my lord?”
Matt leaned back slightly in his chair. Not retreating. Bracing. The firelight caught against the dark stubble along his jaw while he looked up at you.
God help him. That smile was trouble. Not because of the corset. Not because of the tavern full of people already watching. Because Matt knew that smile. It was the one you wore whenever you decided to test him.
You stepped closer. Close enough that he caught the familiar scent of your perfume beneath the ale and woodsmoke filling the room. Matt’s hand settled automatically against your hip. Possessive. Steady. Warning.
You ignored it immediately. Of course you did. Your fingers curled beneath his chin. Matt inhaled sharply through his nose. Across the table, Foggy made a sound that suggested he was witnessing a disaster unfold in real time.
Then, without breaking your gaze, you tipped the tankard toward his mouth.
The tavern erupted around you instantly. Cheering. Shouting. Laughter. But Matt barely reacted to any of it. His entire attention stayed fixed on you while he drank.
Ale slid briefly along the corner of his mouth. Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth before you seemed to think better of it. Matt’s grip tightened against your waist. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for you. Enough to feel the tiny hitch in your breath. Christ. You knew exactly what you were doing. Maybe not the full extent of it. But enough to keep leaning into him. Enough to keep smiling that sweet, saccharine, innocent smile.
Across the table, the tavern erupted into cheers and laughter. Matt barely heard any of it. His attention remained fixed on you. On the way your pulse fluttered at your throat and the warmth of your hand.
On the fact that you were standing between his knees in a crowded tavern and somehow seemed completely unaware of how dangerous a game you were playing. Or maybe not unaware. Maybe brave. That possibility was somehow worse. Your fingers lingered after the tankard was empty. And then you murmured, “Good boy.”
Matt went completely still. Jesus. For one long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you. Listened to the sudden hesitation creeping into your breathing. Felt the subtle shift in your confidence. There it is. The realization. A little late, sweetheart.
Matt had to bite back a laugh. You always did this. You’d spend an entire evening poking at him. Teasing him. Seeing how far you could push. And then the second you got a reaction, the moment you succeeded, you’d look at him like you were shocked he’d reacted at all.
Very quietly, Matt tilted his head toward you. “Careful, princess.” His thumb pressed once against your hip.
A warning. A promise. Maybe both. The way you immediately went still made something warm and deeply satisfied unfurl in his chest. Yeah. You understood now.
By the time your shift finally ended, the fairgrounds had transformed completely.
The setting sun had faded into deep blue twilight while lanterns and torchlight flickered across the pathways in warm gold. Music drifted through the cool evening People danced. Laughed. Shouted over mugs of ale.
And the second you slipped out from behind the tavern counter, you found Matt immediately. He stood near one of the wooden posts outside the tavern entrance, broad shoulders framed in torchlight while he waited with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. Like he belonged there.
Like he’d stepped directly out of some fantasy novel written specifically to ruin you.
Foggy spotted you first. “There she is.” Then dramatically to Matt, “Your knight’s been brooding for twenty minutes.”
Matt sighed heavily. “Foggy.”
You burst out laughing. Matt’s head turned instantly toward the sound. And just like earlier, his whole expression softened the second he heard you.
Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly. You gathered your skirts and approached dramatically before dipping into an exaggerated curtsy. “My apologies, my lord,” you teased. “Have I kept you waiting?”
Matt went very still. He stepped closer slowly until you could smell cedar and cold night air clinging to his coat. Then he took your hand gently. And right there in front of everyone, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. Slowly. Your heart stopped.
Matt’s voice came low and warm against your skin. “Worth the wait.” You nearly died on the spot.
“Jesus Christ,” Foggy muttered. “You two are becoming unbearable.” Matt looked deeply unbothered. You tried to recover your dignity while your face burned. “Well.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “My shift is over.”
“Thank God,” Matt muttered under his breath. Karen burst out laughing again. You grinned wickedly. “Missed me that much?” Matt’s hand settled automatically against your waist beneath your cloak. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “you spent the last hour paying attention to everyone but me.” Your face burned. “Matt, I was working.”
“I know.”
Which somehow made it worse. You hid your face in his chest immediately. Karen let out an audible awww. “Don’t encourage him,” you groaned.
Matt’s chest shook beneath your cheek. Laughing. The fake pout had lasted approximately seven seconds. God, that sound would kill you someday.
Eventually Foggy and Karen split off toward another part of the fair after dramatic goodbyes and promises to meet up later. Leaving you and Matt finally alone. Well, as alone as two people could be in a packed renaissance fair.
Matt kept one hand anchored at your lower back while you wandered through the lantern lit pathways together. People brushed past constantly. Music echoed from every direction. Somewhere nearby, horses snorted softly from a stable area.
And through all of it, Matt never stopped touching you. A hand at your waist. Your fingers linked together. His thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles. Like he physically couldn’t help himself tonight.
You were still floating from the tavern tips too. Every few minutes you’d excitedly shake the little pouch tied to your belt so the coins jingled. “I made so much money,” you announced proudly.
Matt hummed beside you. “Mhm.”
“I’m serious.” You grinned up at him. “I’m rich now.”
Matt snorted softly. “Dangerous amount of confidence for someone carrying maybe three hundred dollars.”
“Three hundred dollars is a lot!”
“It shouldn’t be.” You narrowed your eyes immediately. “There it is.” Matt looked innocent. “What?”
“The millionaire lawyer thing.” Matt’s mouth curved slightly. You dramatically untied the pouch and waved it at him. “Well lucky for you, my lord, I can finally afford my own trinkets.”
Matt stopped walking instantly. You blinked. He slowly looked down at the pouch in your hand. Then at you. “Excuse me?” Uh oh. You tried not to laugh. “I said-”
“I heard what you said.” Matt stepped closer slowly, voice lowering. “If you think I’m letting you spend your hard earned tavern money while I’m standing right here, we’re gonna have a problem.”
Your stomach flipped instantly. My god. You grinned. “But they’re my tips.”Matt’s hand slid against your waist again. “Correct.” Then calmly, “Put them away.”
You laughed helplessly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you,” Matt murmured, “feel like a medieval fantasy specifically engineered to bankrupt me.” Your face burned immediately. You tucked the pouch away anyway. Matt looked deeply satisfied afterward. Then he held out his arm toward you with exaggerated formality. “C’mon, princess.” You slipped your arm through his instantly. “Where to, my knight?”
Matt smiled slowly. “Anywhere you want.”
The deeper into the fair you wandered, the more impossible Matt became. At first it was subtle. A little carved trinket you paused to admire for too long suddenly appeared in your hands minutes later. A tiny bottle of perfume oil you’d called pretty was purchased before you’d even fully set it back down.
Eventually you caught on. You stopped abruptly in the middle of a lantern lit pathway and narrowed your eyes at him. Matt immediately smiled.
“You keep buying me things.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Matthew.”
Matt looked entirely unashamed. “You like things.”
“That does not mean you have to buy them.”
Matt’s hand settled automatically against your waist as another crowd passed by. “It does to me.” You burst out laughing. And instantly Matt’s entire expression softened again at the sound. Like it happened against his will every time. Hopeless man.
You kept wandering afterward while musicians played nearby beneath hanging lanterns and torchlight flickered gold against the evening air.
And eventually, you found the crown. It sat near the back of a jewelry stall lined with velvet. Delicate. Not oversized or theatrical. Thin winding metal branches curved together into an almost vine-like shape, tiny garnet stones glinting dark red beneath the lanternlight.
And woven carefully between the metalwork were little dried pomegranate seeds. Your breath caught softly. Matt heard it immediately. “What is it?” You stepped closer slowly. “A crown... It’s beautiful.”
The older woman running the stall smiled knowingly from behind the display. “Ah.” She carefully lifted the piece. “You have a good eye, sweetheart.”
Matt’s hand settled more firmly against your waist as he stepped beside you. You stared at the crown in awe. The garnets glowed crimson in the warm light. Deep red.
The shopkeeper looked between the two of you once. Then smiled slowly. “Persephone’s crown.” The shopkeeper continued warmly, “For the queen of the underworld.”
You glanced at Matt, then looked back toward the crown slowly. Quietly, you murmured, “That would make him Hades.”
Matt inhaled sharply beside you.
The shopkeeper’s smile widened immediately. “Well,” she said gently, “he certainly looks devoted enough.”
You could feel it. Like something deep, primitive, and possessive inside him had just sat up. The old woman carefully held the crown toward him. “Would milord like to place it on her himself?” Your entire body went warm instantly. Matt took the crown, then faced you. And his voice came lower. Softer. “May I?”
You nodded slowly. "Mhm."
Matt took the crown carefully in both hands like something fragile. Precious. Then he stepped closer. The noise of the fair seemed to blur strangely around the edges while he lifted the delicate gold piece toward your head.
His fingers brushed your hair gently. Carefully. One hand settling warm against the side of your neck as he positioned it properly. The garnets caught the lanternlight when he finally lowered his hands. And the look on Matt’s face afterward, like he’d just touched something holy.
The shopkeeper visibly softened. “Perfect fit for his lady.”
Matt just stared at you quietly beneath the lanternlight while his thumb brushed slowly against your jaw. Your face burned hot and you looked away immediately before you combusted. Which only made Matt smile wider.
Naturally he bought the crown immediately. Afterwards, you immediately tucked yourself against his side and kissed his cheek hard enough to make him laugh softly beneath his breath.
Matt reached up to run his fingers over the crown once more, and his fingers lingered briefly in your hair. Eyes dark but soft behind the red lenses. Like some part of him had already decided: mine.
notes: maybe i just wanted an excuse for matt and reader to flirt while dressed in costume? who can say for sure.
i think every time reader implies that matt is the devil without knowing his identity matt dies a little more
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove
Sugar, Please - Chapter Fifteen
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: matt plans a surprise for you.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
notes: we're here. this is the chapter that made me change my mind about never letting this fic see the light of day, so naturally my stomach is churning.
word count: 4.9k
"The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding." - Claude Monet
The garment bag arrived at your apartment at exactly four in the afternoon. Which already told you it was from Matt before you even opened the door. Nobody else in your life operated with billionaire adjacent precision quite like Matthew Murdock.
The delivery man handed over a black garment bag, a smaller cream box, and a single envelope with your name written across the front in delicate script.
Dani, who had returned from visiting family two days earlier, looked between the packages and you slowly from the couch. “…I’m scared to ask.”
You stared at the garment bag. “I think my rich lawyer boyfriend is plotting something.”
Dani blinked. Then gleefully, “Boyfriend?” Heat flooded your face instantly. “Oh my god.”
“You said boyfriend.” She pointed dramatically. “You finally admitted it.” You buried your burning face briefly into the envelope while she cackled from the couch.
Inside the card was one line written in neat handwriting.
Wear this tonight for me, princess.
I’ll pick you up at seven.
Your stomach fluttered. The garment bag revealed a dress that nearly made you pass away on sight. Elegant without being overly formal. Soft dark green chiffon that draped beautifully. Long sleeves and a deep v-neckline. The kind of dress that felt expensive the second you touched it.
The shoes inside the cream box matched perfectly. Of course they did. And underneath those was another smaller velvet box.
Your pulse jumped. Inside sat a delicate gold bracelet. Minimal. Elegant. Warm gold with a tiny emerald stone set into it. That man was impossible.
By six thirty you were fully dressed and trying not to spiral while fixing your hair in the bathroom mirror. Dani leaned against the doorway watching you with narrowed eyes. “You look insane.”
You laughed nervously. “I’m scared.”
“As you should be.” She folded her arms. “That man is obsessed with you.” Heat flooded your face again. Before you could respond your phone rang.
Matt♥️ Calling...
Your stomach flipped so hard it was embarrassing. You answered immediately. “Hi.” The sound of Matt’s voice through the speaker was warm enough to melt bone. “Hi, sweetheart.”
You sat down instantly on the edge of the bed like your knees stopped functioning.
“You got the dress?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
You looked down at the skirt pooled around your legs. “…You’re insane.” Matt laughed softly under his breath. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
The pleased silence on the other end nearly killed you. Then, “Good.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “You ready?”
“I think so.” You laughed softly.
Matt’s tone gentled afterward. “I’m downstairs.”
Your heartbeat immediately sped up. You grabbed your bag while Dani mouthed 'boyfriend' behind you like a menace.
The town car waiting outside your building was sleek and black and entirely too luxurious for your sanity. You watched Matt step out as you stepped out door of your building.
And honestly? You almost turned around. Because he looked devastating. Dark charcoal coat and a black sweater beneath it. Hair slightly windswept from the cold evening air. Elegant. Sharp. Beautiful.
But it was the expression on his face the second he heard you greet him that nearly finished you. Matt stepped closer slowly. Close enough that you immediately caught his cologne beneath the cold night air. His hands slid gently to your waist, thumbs brushing once against the fabric there like he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured.
Heat rushed instantly into your cheeks. Quietly he spoke. “I need you to trust me tonight.”
Your pulse jumped. “…Okay?”
Matt smiled faintly. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a silk blindfold. You stared at it. Then immediately looked back at him. Matt’s mouth twitched.
“Your silence is making this significantly harder to explain.” You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”
“It’s not like that.” A beat. “…Mostly.”
You smacked his chest lightly while laughing harder. Matt caught your wrist easily, smiling properly now. “Sweetheart.” His thumb brushed your pulse point once. “Will you let me surprise you?”
Your chest squeezed painfully. Because somehow beneath the teasing he sounded nervous. Matt Murdock. Nervous. For you.
You softened immediately. “…Okay.”
The relief in his expression was tiny but noticeable. Then gently, carefully, Matt tied the blindfold over your eyes himself. His fingertips brushed your hair back afterward with almost unconscious tenderness. Your stomach somersaulted.
The car ride felt surreal afterward. Matt kept one hand wrapped around yours almost the entire time, thumb stroking lazily across your knuckles while quiet jazz played softly through the speakers.
You had no idea where he was taking you. And somehow that made everything feel even more intimate. At one point you asked, “Are we still in Manhattan?”
Matt laughed quietly. “Yes.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“No.”
“You’re mean.”
“Mm.” You could hear the smile in his voice.
Eventually the car stopped. Matt helped you out carefully afterward, one hand steady at your waist while the cold evening air wrapped around you. You could hear almost nothing around you. No crowds. Light traffic nearby on the street behind you. Quiet.
Your pulse sped up as he directed the two of you up a long set of large stone steps. “Matt…”
“I’ve got you.”
The immediate reassurance in his voice settled something warm in your chest. He guided you slowly forward with rhythmic taps of his cane.
Marble beneath your shoes. Large open space. Faint echoes. Then finally, Matt stepped behind you. His hands settled gently at your waist. And softly against your ear he murmured, “Ready, princess?”
Your heart nearly exploded. Then the blindfold slipped away. And your breath caught instantly. Because standing before you, glowing gold and impossibly beautiful in the evening light, was the lobby of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Empty. Completely empty.
You turned toward Matt slowly in absolute disbelief. “…What did you do?”
Matt looked entirely too calm. “One or two favors.” A beat. “…And a small donation.”
You burst out laughing in shock. “Oh my god. Matt’s hand slid slowly into yours. Then quietly, “I wanted you all to myself tonight.”
The inside of The Met somehow felt even more surreal without crowds. No tourists. No noise. No overlapping conversations bouncing through the marble halls. Just soft lighting and echoing footsteps.
Matt’s hand was warm against the small of your back while he guided you deeper into the museum beside him. You couldn’t stop staring. At the architecture. At the enormous staircases. At the impossible paintings hanging beneath vaulted ceilings. At him.
Matt looked unfair in this environment. The dark turtleneck and expensive coat draped open now. The quiet confidence in the way he walked.
A sharply dressed older woman greeted you near the entrance to the European collections with a warm professional smile. “Mr. Murdock.” Then to you, “And you must be the special guest.” You blinked. Matt’s thumb stroked once against your waist. The curator continued smoothly, “I’m Elaine Foster, head of European collections. Mr. Murdock arranged private access this evening.”
You looked slowly toward Matt. Arranged felt like an understatement. Matt looked entirely too innocent. Your heart physically squeezed. Elaine smiled faintly like she’d already witnessed enough of the two of you in these few seconds to understand the situation completely.
“We’ve arranged access to the Greek and Roman sculpture hall, as well as prepared gallery 131 as requested.” A beat. “And Dr. Moretti is waiting in the wing if you’d like context on the Greek and Roman pieces.”
Matt nodded politely. “Thank you.”
Then once the curator disappeared down another corridor, you looked at him again in disbelief. “Head of European collections?”
Matt shrugged lightly. "I helped out when a few curators were charged with a false repatriation claim a few years back. She was one of them. And you’d be surprised what museums will do for donations.”
“How aggressive was this donation?”
Matt smiled faintly. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Oh my god.”
His laugh echoed softly through the near empty hall. Then gently, “C’mon, princess.”
The sculpture gallery nearly stole your breath. Massive marble figures stood beneath warm golden lighting, shadows stretching long across polished floors. Greek. Roman. Ancient.
Everything felt impossibly still.
The chiffon skirt of your dress shifted softly around your legs while you wandered farther into the gallery, Matt beside you at an easy pace. A younger man with wire-frame glasses approached a moment later.
“Mr. Murdock.” He smiled politely. “Dr. Luca Moretti.” Matt shook his hand easily. “Doctor.”
The specialist turned toward you warmly. “You picked an excellent night to visit.” Then gesturing lightly around the room. “The Greek and Roman collection is usually impossible to experience quietly.”
Dr. Moretti guided you toward a towering marble sculpture near the center of the hall. “Roman copy,” he explained. “Originally based on a Greek bronze.” His hand gestured carefully toward the figure’s torso. “You can still see where the marble imitates muscle tension that would’ve been easier in bronze.”
You looked toward the sculpture more carefully. The body looked almost alive. Powerful. Beautiful. Controlled. And weirdly, it reminded you of Matt. You glanced toward him instinctively, your face heating. Matt’s head tilted slightly.
Dr. Moretti continued leading you slowly through the gallery afterward. He pointed out traces of original paint pigments hidden in cracks, battle damage preserved in stone, and softened features worn down by time.
And the whole time Matt listened so intently. Not to the expert, he couldn't see any of this anyways. He listened to you. Every reaction. Every soft, delighted gasp.
At one point you stopped in front of a marble statue head of Persephone. Soft faced and elegant. Sad. Your voice came quieter when you described it aloud. “She looks lonely.”
Silence settled briefly afterward. Then softly beside you, “You always notice the human part first.”
Your chest tightened immediately. You turned toward Matt slowly. The expression on his face was warm. Focused entirely on you rather than the sculpture he couldn't see.
After another few sculptures, the specialist finally smiled warmly and checked his watch. “I’ll leave the rest of the wing to you both.”
The silence after Dr. Moretti left felt different. More intimate. Like the museum had fully become yours now. No guides. No interruptions. Just the echo of your footsteps through the marble hall while Matt wandered beside you with one hand resting lightly at the small of your back. The touch had become constant lately. Absentminded. Instinctive. Like he simply preferred touching you whenever possible.
You stopped in front of another sculpture slowly, tilting your head while studying the carved marble folds of fabric. “Do you want me to describe this one?”
Matt’s expression softened immediately. “Always.”
So you did. You described the posture and the way the stone looked soft despite being marble. You pointed out the chipped nose from centuries of damage.
And while you spoke, Matt listened like your voice itself was art. Completely focused. It made your stomach flutter every single time. Eventually you noticed his expression and laughed softly. “What?”
Matt’s thumb brushed once against your waist. “You know you gesture while describing things?”
Heat rushed instantly to your face. “I do not.”
“You do.” His mouth twitched. “Your hands move when you’re excited about something. You've accidentally smacked my chest about five times in the last ten minutes.”
“Oh my god.”
“It’s cute.”
You narrowed your eyes at him weakly. Matt only smiled more at your silence. Then before you could recover, he leaned down and kissed you.
Slow. Warm. Completely unfair. The empty museum amplified every tiny sound, your soft inhale, his quiet hum against your mouth, the whisper of chiffon when his hand slid carefully against your hip. You melted instantly into him. Matt made a low satisfied sound the second you did. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. “You have any idea how beautiful you are in this dress?”
Your pulse jumped. “Matt.”
“No, seriously.” His fingers brushed lightly against the chiffon at your waist. “The way this fabric moves when you walk?” A rougher note entered his voice briefly. “It’s distracting.”
Heat flooded everywhere. “You rented out a museum and you’re still horny.” Matt looked genuinely offended.
“I can multitask.”
You burst out laughing loud enough for it to echo through the gallery. Matt’s smile widened instantly at the sound. God. You loved making him smile. The realization hit suddenly enough to startle you a little. Loved.
There was something happening here that felt enormous and impossible to ignore now.
Matt seemed to notice your sudden quietness immediately. “What?” You shook your head softly. But Matt only stepped closer. “Talk to me.”
Your chest tightened. You looked up at him slowly beneath the warm museum lights. Then finally, “I just can't believe you did this for me.”
Matt’s entire expression changed. Softened. Opened. His hand slid gently along your jaw. “You deserve wonderful things,” he said quietly. The sincerity in his voice nearly ruined you.
Before you could respond, Matt pressed another kiss softly against your forehead. Then, “C’mon. I have one more surprise.” You blinked. “There’s more?” Matt looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Always.”
He told you the gallery number so you could guide. The two of you walked through another long corridor afterward, eventually leading you deeper and into the Egyptian wing.
The museum grew quieter somehow. The marble halls opened wider. The ceilings higher. You entered the correct gallery room and then your breath caught. The Temple of Dendur stood towering in the center of the room.
And there ahead of you, beneath towering stone arches and surrounded by ancient Egyptian antiquities, sat a candlelit table for two. Golden light flickered softly across pale sandstone ruins and centuries old sculptures.
The entire court glowed warm against the darkened museum beyond it. It looked unreal. Like something outside of time. Your footsteps slowed automatically as you stared.
“Oh my god.”
Matt sounded very smug beside you. “Good reaction?”
He walked with you farther into the room slowly, one hand warm against your waist while your skirt shifted softly around your legs with every step. “You’re insane.”
The entire space echoed gently. Matt touched the table when you reached it to orient himself, and he pulled your chair out for you beside the candlelit table. “Yes, but now you’re emotionally attached so it’s too late.”
You laughed helplessly while sitting down. The spread itself looked incredible:
whipped feta
warm rosemary flatbread
olives and citrus-marinated cheeses
prosciutto
honey-drizzled figs
tiny pastries filled with ricotta and herbs
dark chocolate tarts dusted with sea salt
And beside your plate, an espresso martini already waiting. You stared at it in disbelief. Matt sat across from you, looking far too pleased with himself beneath the warm candlelight.
“How do you know all my favorite things?”
“You talk.” A beat. “I listen.” Your heart physically hurt.
The soft gold lighting turned the ancient stone around him almost honey colored. And god, Matt looked beautiful here. Dark clothes. Strong hands wrapped loosely around a wine glass. Soft shadows catching along the sharp line of his jaw.
Ancient. That was the terrifying thing. Sitting here surrounded by ruins and statues and history, Matt somehow looked like he belonged among them. Like some tragic old world figure pulled from another century entirely. And the way he looked at you from across the candlelit table? That felt timeless too.
Matt reached for your hand a moment later, thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles while he listened to you talk about the sculptures you'd seen.
And the entire time, he kept looking at you like he still couldn’t believe you were here.
After dinner, you and Matt wandered slowly out of the sculpture court hand in hand. Neither of you seemed in any rush anymore. The entire evening had softened into something quieter now. Less overwhelming. More intimate. Like you’d settled into each other completely.
Matt’s fingers stayed laced through yours while you guided him through another series of silent galleries, your footsteps echoing gently against polished floors.
Eventually the marble statues gave way to paintings. Huge gilded frames and dark velvet benches. Walls glowing with rich, deep colors beneath museum lighting.
You stopped first in front of several Picassos, immediately pulling Matt with you. “Oh my god.” Matt smiled faintly at the pure excitement in your voice. “What am I not looking at?”
You grinned.
“Okay, wait.” You stepped closer to the painting. “So this one’s cubism.” Then immediately, “No, hold on, I need to explain this correctly.”
Matt’s mouth twitched. “You’re adorable when you’re passionate about something.”
“Shut up.” But you were smiling too hard for the insult to land. So you started describing the paintings carefully. The strange angles and fractured faces. The colors layered over each other in impossible ways. And while you spoke Matt listened with complete focus. Not politely. Hungrily. Like hearing you describe beauty was beautiful to him too.
“I used to be obsessed with Picasso when I was little,” you admitted softly while moving toward another painting. “He was my favorite artist in elementary school.” Matt smiled immediately. “You were definitely the kid drawing in the margins of every notebook.”
You looked at him in betrayal.
“How could you know that?”
“Lucky guess.”
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously while he looked entirely too innocent. Then your expression softened again as you turned back toward the paintings. “You would’ve hated my bedroom growing up.” A laugh escaped you. “I had little art prints taped everywhere.”
Matt’s thumb brushed softly against your hand. “No.” His voice gentled. “I think I would’ve loved it.” Your chest tightened painfully.
Everything changed the second you walked into the European gallery. You physically stopped. Matt noticed instantly. “What?”
But you didn’t answer right away. Because suddenly your throat hurt. The room itself felt softer somehow. Dreamlike. Huge impressionist paintings glowed beneath warm golden lighting with water, gardens, sunrise skies, and blurred flowers painted in impossible colors.
Your eyes immediately found it. And your breath caught hard enough that Matt turned fully toward you. Monet's Water Lily Pond. The bridge. Soft greens and blues melting together like a dream. You’d seen prints before. Books. Photos online. But seeing it in person... it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. “Oh,” you whispered.
Matt went completely still beside you. “You okay, sweetheart?”
"Yeah," you breathed quickly. Too quickly. Then laughed weakly because your eyes had suddenly filled with tears and that was objectively embarrassing. Matt’s hand tightened gently around yours immediately. “What is it?"
You stepped a little closer toward the painting. “It’s just…” Your voice caught softly. “Oh my god.”
You couldn’t stop staring. The colors looked alive. The brushstrokes visible up close and impossibly soft from farther away. The water looked like light itself. Matt stayed quiet. Giving you space. Which somehow only made your chest ache harder. You swallowed thickly before finally speaking again. “It’s my favorite.”
Matt’s expression softened instantly. “The painting?”
You nodded. “The bridge water lilies.” A shaky laugh escaped you. “I had a print of it taped next to my bed for like… my whole life.”
Matt listened carefully while you described it. And this time your voice sounded different. Not excited like before. Tender. Reverent.
“The bridge is curved,” you said quietly. “Soft green.” Your eyes stayed fixed on the painting. “And everything kinda… blends together.” A breath. “The flowers don’t even really look real anymore. It looks like a memory instead of a place.”
Silence settled softly afterward. Matt stared at you quietly. Your eyes were glassy beneath the museum lights now. Overwhelmed in the sweetest way. And suddenly Matt realized this was what you sounded like when something genuinely moved you.
You finally looked toward him again, laughing quietly at yourself while wiping beneath one eye. “This is so embarrassing.”
Matt stepped closer immediately. “No, it’s not.”
His hand slid gently along your jaw. Then softer “Describe it to me again.” Your breath caught slightly. Matt’s thumb brushed beneath your eye carefully. “Slowly this time.”
You swallowed softly. God, the way he said it. He was never impatient, never humoring you. It didn't matter if he couldn't see it, he just wanted to understand you. Wanted to experience it through you.
Your eyes drifted back toward the painting. For a moment you just stood there quietly beside him. “The bridge is smaller in person than people think it is."
Matt stayed completely still beside you, listening. “Either way, it’s not really the center.” Your eyes moved slowly across the painting. “The water is." your fingers tightened around his hand while you thought.
“The whole painting kind of… melts together. The flowers and the reflections and the trees.” You smiled faintly. “You just, can’t really tell where one thing ends and another begins.”
His thumb stroked once slowly across your knuckles. You stepped a little closer to the painting unconsciously before you spoke again. “The brushstrokes are messy up close, but when you stand farther back… It becomes beautiful.”
The quiet that followed settled warmly around the two of you. Your reflection faintly shimmered in the protective glass over the painting while Matt stood beside you, listening to your rambling like it mattered more than anything else in the room. Maybe even the world.
You stared at the water lilies for another long moment, then quietly, “I think it feels romantic.” He went still. You didn’t notice. Your eyes stayed fixed on the painting while words slowly started spilling out of you faster than you could stop them.
“It doesn’t look perfect," your throat tightened slightly, “It looks… soft.” You exhaled a shaky breath before adding, “Private.” You smiled faintly.
“Like the whole world disappeared except for this one little place.” Your chest hurt now, the dull twinge registering without you being entirely sure why. “I used to stare at prints of this painting when I was younger and think-,” you laughed weakly, “This is gonna sound ridiculous.”
“Tell me anyway.”
You glanced toward him finally. Matt was already looking at you with an expression so intensely focused it nearly stole your breath.
You swallowed. Then admitted quietly, "I used to think love was supposed to feel like this painting.” You looked back toward the water lilies before you could lose your nerve. “Not dramatic," your voice softened further, “Not loud.” A small helpless smile tugged at your mouth, “Just… peaceful. Like finding somewhere gentle enough to finally rest."
It was completely silent once you'd finished. You were making a total fool out of yourself.
And when you finally looked toward Matt again, his expression nearly destroyed you. Because suddenly he looked emotional. Like something inside him had cracked softly down the middle. Your heart nearly careened itself over a cliff.
“Matt?”
He stared at you for another second before speaking quietly. “There’s a quote from Kafka I’ve always loved.” His gaze drifted slightly past you as if in search of the painting he couldn’t see. Then quietly, he recited, "I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly.”
Your entire body went still. The words settled around you in warm electricity. Matt’s expression remained distant for a moment, thoughtful. Your throat tightened painfully. With no further hesitation you whispered, “And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow…”
Matt’s hand clamped tighter around yours instantly. His jaw shifted once. Then he finished roughly, “…where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps.”
Any semblance of teasing or flirtation in the air between you evaporated, all that remained was something raw and frighteningly intimate. Your chest physically hurt now, because suddenly you understood something terrifying. Matt felt things as deeply as you did. Maybe deeper.
The realization shook through you hard enough to leave you speechless.
Matt head tilted down slowly toward where your hands were joined between you. Then finally admitted quietly, “I used to think that quote was tragic.” Your pulse fluttered painfully, “And now?”
Matt lifted his head. The way he looked at you then nearly stopped your heart entirely. Not lust this time, not even affection. Recognition. Like something inside him had finally found its counterpart. His voice dropped into something warmer, "I think it sounds peaceful.”
Your eyes immediately burned again. You understood exactly what he meant. Not death. Rest. Safety. Belonging. That earnest, desperate human ache to find one person and stay there forever.
The museum suddenly felt impossibly quiet around you. Ancient statues. Paintings. Centuries of people trying to immortalize love and grief and devotion. And somehow this moment between the two of you felt just as permanent.
Matt stepped closer slowly until barely any space remained between your bodies. His hand lifted carefully to your face. You leaned into it immediately without thinking. His thumb brushed beneath your eye softly. “You know what the terrifying part is?”
Your breath caught. “What?"
A faint smile touched his mouth, “I think if you asked me to disappear with you tomorrow, I would.”
Your heart cracked wide open.
The gallery stayed quiet for a long time after that. Neither of you seemed capable of breaking whatever had settled between you.
Matt stood beside you with one arm wrapped loosely around your waist while you continued softly describing little details from the paintings. The layered blues, the blurred reflections, the strange way the water looked alive beneath the brushstrokes.
And the whole time, Matt listened like every word mattered. Because it was you. Eventually he leaned down and kissed you again.
Slow. Unhurried. Almost reverent. The kind of kiss that felt less like desire and more like recognition. Your fingers curled instinctively into the front of his coat while his hand slid carefully along your jaw. Neither of you spoke afterward.
You just stayed close. Like separating suddenly felt impossible. The rest of the museum passed in a soft blur after that. You wandered hand in hand through dim galleries and golden hallways while the city disappeared entirely outside the museum walls.
Eventually you ended up seated together on a velvet bench in another quiet gallery, your legs draped over his while he absentmindedly traced circles into your palm with his thumb.
The museum lights had dimmed slightly lower now. Late. You rested your head against his shoulder while staring out at another enormous painting neither of you had bothered discussing for almost ten minutes. Comfortable silence settled around you easily. Matt finally brushed a kiss against your temple. “You tired, princess?”
“A little.”
“You wanna head home soon?”
Home. The word settled strangely warm in your chest. Because lately home was starting to feel less like a place and more like wherever Matt happened to be.
You tilted your head slightly against his shoulder. “One more room?” Matt smiled immediately against your hair. “Okay.”
The final gallery was quieter than the others somehow. Smaller and darker. Religious paintings lined the walls in massive gold frames, candlelit saints and angels glowing softly beneath museum lighting. You wandered slower here. More thoughtful.
Matt’s hand stayed anchored at your waist while you paused in front of one enormous painting filled with gold halos and dark dramatic shadows.
You felt him studying you again.
You stepped closer to him instinctively. Matt’s hand slid immediately against your lower back, pulling you softly into his chest like he couldn’t help it. And standing there surrounded by centuries of paintings about devotion and grief and faith, he kissed you again.
Your fingers curled into the front of his black sweater while his thumb stroked lazily against your spine beneath the chiffon fabric of your dress. When he finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together while both of you breathed quietly in the dim golden light.
Eventually, though, the museum staff gently reappeared like ghosts returning at the end of a dream. The same curator from earlier approached carefully, warm smile perfectly professional.
“Mr. Murdock.” Her eyes flicked softly between the two of you. “We’re honored you and your wife joined us tonight.”
Your heart stopped. You felt Matt go still beside you. His hand tightened unconsciously at your waist.
You slowly looked up at him. Matt was already facing you. That devastating quiet stare, the one that always felt too intimate to survive. And horrifyingly, he didn’t correct her. Instead Matt simply said softly, “Thank you for having us.”
Your stomach flipped violently. The curator smiled politely before disappearing again into the quiet museum. Leaving the two of you alone with the aftermath.
You stared at Matt. He stared back.
Then finally, weakly teasing because otherwise you might combust, “Your wife?”
Matt’s hands moved to help button your coat slowly. Carefully. Like he needed something steady to do. But when he answered, his voice had gone quieter than before, warmer. “Didn’t hate the sound of it.”
Oh. Oh, you were done for. Completely. Your breath caught hard enough that Matt immediately looked up again. And something changed in his expression, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
The museum suddenly felt unbearably intimate again. Matt finished buttoning your coat slowly before his knuckles brushed once gently against your cheek. Then softly, “C’mon, princess.”
Your heart nearly gave out at the tenderness in his voice, and he took your hand again. Neither of you let go once.
notes: looks like matt has found somewhere gentle enough to finally rest. :)
the amount of research i did on the galleries of the met for this chapter is ridiculous i'm ngl. and yes, gallery 131 (aka the temple) is where the met gala dinner and performances are held. everyone say thank you to matt's wallet.
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Sugar, Please - Chapter Fourteen
previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter
artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you offer to be matt's bartender for a date night in his penthouse.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
notes: you see that 18+ warning up there? i mean it this time.
word count: 6.1k
Tiny glass bottles of homemade syrups lined the marble counter. Dried orange slices. Cinnamon sticks. Star anise. Rosemary sprigs. A portable smoker. Your shaker tins. Specialty ice molds. Even the ridiculous little hand crank shaved ice machine you’d insisted was necessary for texture.
The winter menu for the bar was finally completed, and you'd asked Matt if he'd like to be the first to try it. Of course he'd accepted.
Matt leaned against the opposite side of the island listening to the chaos unfold with growing amusement. “You brought an entire bar.” You looked up from arranging garnishes. “This is called professionalism.”
Matt hummed. “You brought a smoke gun.”
“It’s winter themed.”
“You brought two smoke guns.”
“One is for backup.”
Matt laughed quietly under his breath. God. The sound still did terrible things to your chest. You glanced toward him briefly and immediately regretted it a little. Because Matt looked unfair tonight.
Dark gray henley. Sleeves pushed up his forearms. Hair slightly messy from showering earlier. Bare feet against the hardwood floors. And worst of all was how relaxed he looked. Comfortable. Like having you take over his kitchen for the evening was the most natural thing in the world. Your heart squeezed a little at that.
Matt tilted his head slightly toward the counter. “You’ve been prepping this all day, haven’t you?” You tried for casual. “Maybe.”
“You made homemade syrups.” Matt smiled faintly. Then his expression softened in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “You’re excited.” The observation came so gently you suddenly felt shy about it. Which was ridiculous. You crossed your arms defensively. “I worked hard on these.”
“I know you did.” Matt said it immediately. Certain. No teasing.
You looked away quickly and reached for your citrus peeler to keep your hands busy. You could feel his attention following every movement as you continued setting up your station. Not in a creepy way, in a fascinated way. Like he genuinely loved listening to you work.
The clink of glass.
The rustle of herbs.
The rhythm of your movements around the kitchen.
Eventually Matt pushed away from the counter and wandered closer. Immediately closer than necessary. Your pulse fluttered when his warmth settled at your back. “What’s that one?” he asked quietly.
You glanced down toward the jar in your hand. “Brown sugar cinnamon syrup.” Matt hummed thoughtfully. Then, “You smell like vanilla.”
Heat rose instantly into your face. “That’s not relevant to the menu.”
“Feels relevant to me.”
You snorted softly. Matt’s hand settled lightly at your waist while he leaned closer toward the collection of ingredients spread across the island. The touch felt absentminded now. Automatic. You were becoming frighteningly used to it.
“This one’s smoked maple bourbon,” you explained, pointing toward another bottle. “This is cranberry rosemary. And that one’s black cherry vanilla bitters.”
Matt listened with complete seriousness. Like you were presenting a legal argument instead of cocktail ingredients. “You remember all these measurements off the top of your head?” he asked.
“Obviously.”
“Terrifying.”
You nudged him lightly with your hip. Matt’s hand tightened automatically at your waist in response. The tiny possessive gesture made your stomach flip.
And then, because apparently the universe enjoyed making things difficult, his other hand slid absentmindedly down your side while he shifted beside you. Straight to your hip. Then lower. Until his fingertips brushed lightly against your thigh.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, don’t start,” you warned immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You're touching me.”
“I touch you constantly.”
“That sounds dirty.”
Matt laughed quietly. And because he was evil, his fingers slid slowly once along the curve of your thigh, nearly grazing your ass, before retreating. Your stomach flipped. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.
“Mm.”
You tried to regain composure by focusing on your setup again. “Okay,” you announced firmly. “We are beginning official taste testing.”
Matt straightened immediately. Then this man managed to look genuinely excited. Matt looked delighted. “You are adorable," he mused.
“I’m a professional.”
“You brought garnish tweezers.”
“They’re precise.”
Matt grinned openly now. He moved toward one of the bar stools at the island while you organized your ingredients. You narrowed your eyes immediately while Matt sat there looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The first drink started with fire. Not literal fire- though Matt looked mildly concerned when you pulled out the smoker. “You keep saying that like it’s a normal household appliance.”
“It is normal, Matt.”
“In what household?”
“The fun kind.”
Matt laughed softly under his breath from his stool at the island. The sound warmed your chest while you worked. You moved confidently around the kitchen now, every motion practiced and fluid as you measured bourbon into a mixing glass.
“This one’s called First Frost,” you explained,“Smoked maple bourbon, black walnut bitters, brown sugar cinnamon syrup, and orange peel.”
Matt tilted his head slightly toward the sound of ice clinking into the glass. “You named them too?”
You looked scandalized. “Obviously. I name all of the seasonal drinks.”
“Of course you do.”
You shot him a glare while stirring the drink carefully. It didn’t help that he kept watching- or listening- to every movement with complete focus.
Like this mattered. Like you mattered.
The smoker hissed softly as fragrant wood smoke curled into the glass dome. Matt inhaled slowly. “Applewood?” Your jaw dropped. “What the hell.” Matt smiled faintly. “You underestimate me.”
“You identified wood smoke.”
“I have a sensitive nose, you know that.”
Insane man. You finished the garnish carefully before sliding the drink toward him across the marble. His fingers brushed yours briefly as he accepted the glass.
Matt took the tasting very seriously. Like offensively seriously. You expected 'this is good' or 'yea, I like it.' Instead Matt sat there silently for nearly fifteen seconds after the first sip. Analyzing. Your nervous system immediately began deteriorating. “…Well?”
Matt hummed softly.
“The smoke hits first. Then maple. The cinnamon’s subtle.” A pause. “And you balanced the sweetness correctly.” Another sip. “The orange at the end keeps it from getting heavy.”
Your eyes widened. Matt tilted his head slightly toward you at your lack of response. “What?”
“You’re actually good at this.”
“I’m a Catholic with ridiculous working hours and an expensive liquor cabinet.” A beat. “I was built for alcoholism.”
You burst out laughing. Matt smiled openly this time, clearly pleased he’d gotten the reaction. Then, "This is excellent.” The sincerity in his voice made warmth bloom instantly in your chest. You tried very hard to act normal about it.
The second drink involved shaved ice. Matt looked deeply suspicious when you brought out the machine. “I can't believe you really brought that thing.”
“You doubted me.”
“I continue to doubt you.”
“Rude.”
This drink was lighter. Gin-based. Bright cranberry and rosemary with winter citrus. A mound of delicate shaved ice on top catching the light like fresh snow. Matt listened intently while you explained the layering. “The texture changes as it melts,” you said while packing the ice carefully. “So the drink evolves.”
Matt leaned slightly closer at that. Your pulse fluttered immediately. “You think about cocktails like art.” The observation came quietly. Softly. You suddenly felt embarrassingly shy again.
“It’s just drinks.”
“No,” Matt said immediately. “It isn’t.”
Your heartbeat stumbled hard. He always sounded so certain about you.
Matt took his first sip slowly. Then another immediately after. His brows lifted slightly. “This one’s dangerous.” You grinned instantly. “That means you like it.”
“It means I could accidentally drink six.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
Matt laughed softly. Then his hand slid out automatically, fingers brushing lightly against your bare arm where you stood beside the island. Absentminded. Like he genuinely couldn’t help himself anymore. You tried not to react and failed when his thumb stroked once. His mouth twitched faintly around another sip of the drink.
“You’re very touchy today,” you muttered.
“You’re too far away.”
“That is not my problem.”
“Feels like my problem.”
Heat flooded instantly into your face.
The third drink was the most complicated. A dark espresso and amaro cocktail with homemade vanilla cream floated over the top and star anise resting across the glass. Matt actually sat forward slightly while you built this one. Interested. “This smells incredible.” Pride bloomed warmly in your chest.
You handed him the finished drink carefully. “This one’s called Midnight Market.”
Matt took a sip. Then went completely silent. Oh... Your stomach dropped immediately. “What? You hate it?” Matt shook his head once slowly. "No.” A pause. “I’m trying to understand how this isn’t from a high-end cocktail bar charging forty dollars a glass.” You blinked. Then laughed softly.
Matt stayed serious. “I’m not joking.” Heat rushed warmly through your chest. Matt took another slow sip before setting the glass down carefully. “Have you ever thought about selling your syrups?”
You blinked. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Matt gestured lightly toward the collection of homemade bottles across the counter. “These are good,” he stated. “Like professionally good.”
You stared at him for a second. “No one’s ever said that before.”
“They should.” The certainty in his voice made your stomach flip again. Matt leaned back slightly on the stool, fingers still loosely wrapped around the cocktail glass. “You have branding already, the names, and the presentation too I'm certain. The recipes.”
You laughed softly. “You sound like a venture capitalist.”
“I’m a lawyer dating an artist.” A beat. “I’ve accepted I’ll eventually end up funding something.” Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard at the word dating.
Matt seemed entirely unaware of the damage he’d just done. Or maybe he wasn’t unaware at all. “You really think people would buy them?” you asked quietly.
Matt’s expression softened instantly. “Yes.” No hesitation or fake encouragement. Just complete certainty. And somehow that affected you more than all the praise about the drinks combined.
Matt reached toward you then, fingertips brushing lightly against your wrist before sliding slowly down to your hand. Warm. Grounding. “You’re very talented,” he said quietly.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly. So you did the only reasonable thing possible. You pointed dramatically toward the final unopened ingredients on the counter. “No emotional vulnerability until the last drink.”
Matt laughed softly under his breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
The final ingredients sat untouched at the far end of the counter while the others slowly disappeared between you.
Empty tasting glasses.
Half-burned rosemary.
The lingering smell of smoke and citrus hanging warmly through the penthouse.
And Matt looked devastating now. Relaxed into the stool. Henley stretched slightly across his chest. Velvety soft voice from the alcohol warming his bloodstream just enough to loosen him around the edges. Not drunk. Never sloppy. But softer. Warmer. More openly affectionate.
You moved around the kitchen gathering the final ingredients carefully while Matt listened.
The room had grown quieter over the last hour. Not awkward. Just intimate. Comfortable. Like somewhere between the cocktail tasting and Matt absentmindedly touching you every five minutes, the entire night had shifted into something softer than either of you expected.
Matt tilted his head slightly as he listened to you sort bottles. “This one’s different.” You glanced over your shoulder immediately. “How can you tell?”
“You're quiet. You seem nervous.”
Damn him. You looked away quickly. “I’m not nervous.”
Matt smiled faintly from his stool. Then his expression softened. “What’s different about this one?” Your fingers slowed slightly over the bottle in your hands. “It’s the signature drink.”
Matt hummed quietly. “The important one.”
“Mhm.”
The silence stretched gently afterward while you gathered ingredients:
Bourbon
Black cherry
Espresso
Dark chocolate bitters
Smoked vanilla bean
Orange oil
A cinnamon tincture you’d spent almost two weeks adjusting
Matt listened to every bottle uncapped. Every pour. Every clink of ice. And suddenly you felt strangely shy under the weight of his attention. Especially because this one mattered. And not just because it was the signature drink.
But because- Well. You hadn’t told him yet.
The shaker hissed softly as you sealed it. Matt tilted his head slightly. “You’re thinking too hard again.”
You snorted quietly while shaking the drink hard over ice. “Maybe because you’re intimidating.”
Matt looked genuinely startled. "Me?”
“You’re literally analyzing the undertones.”
“I’m supporting you.”
“You’re aggressively supporting me.”
Matt laughed softly. Then quieter, “You deserve to be taken seriously.”
Your chest tightened immediately. You focused very hard on straining the drink into the glass. Low coupe. Dark liquid. One perfectly clear oversized ice shard resting inside. Then finally, the finishing touch.
You lit the cinnamon carefully.
Flame flickering gold briefly across the dark surface of the drink before dying into fragrant smoke. Matt inhaled slowly. Your pulse fluttered.
You picked up the glass carefully and carried it toward him. But instead of setting it down immediately, you hesitated. Matt noticed instantly. “What?”
You bit your lip once. Then quietly, “It’s inspired by you.”
Silence. Matt went statue still. Your heartbeat immediately started trying to kill you. You almost laughed nervously and took it back. But then Matt spoke. Very softly.
“…Me?”
You nodded once. "Yes." Suddenly unable to look directly at him.
“It’s called Devil’s Winter.”
Matt let out a short breath, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. Your stomach flipped anxiously.
“I know,” you muttered quickly. “It’s stupid-”
“It’s not stupid.”
The interruption came immediate. Firm. You looked up then. And the expression on Matt’s face nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. Gone was the teasing. The playful smugness. Now he looked... overwhelmed.
“You made a drink about me,” he said quietly. Heat flooded your face instantly. “When you phrase it like that it sounds insane.” Matt smiled faintly. “No. It sounds like you.”
Your pulse jumped. You finally handed him the glass. Matt accepted it carefully. Almost reverently.
The penthouse felt impossibly quiet while he took the first sip. You watched his throat move. Watched the tiny shift in his expression afterward. Then silence again. Long enough to make your stomach knot.
“…Matt?”
He exhaled slowly. Then another sip immediately after. And another smaller one. Your anxiety climbed rapidly.
“Oh my god, you hate this one.”
Matt set the glass down carefully. Then directed his gaze toward you.
“No.”
The single word landed heavily. “You made something that tastes like how you look at me.”
Your breath caught completely. Matt leaned back slightly in the stool afterward, fingers still curled around the glass. “It’s warm first... Then sharp, a little dangerous.” A pause. “And sweeter than you expect.”
Your entire face burned. “Matt-”
“The smoke lingers.” Another sip. “And the cinnamon hits afterward.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Like a warning.”
You stared at him helplessly. This man was going to kill you one day. Matt tilted his head slightly. “What inspired it?”
You swallowed hard. And because apparently tonight was dedicated to emotional destruction, you answered honestly. “The bourbon because you always smell like whiskey and cedar. The espresso because you work too much. And the smoke because…” You laughed softly under your breath. “Because you literally dress like a noir detective.”
Matt snorted quietly. But he stayed completely focused on you while you continued.
“The black cherry because it’s darker than people expect at first, but the vanilla because underneath all the intimidating lawyer stuff you’re actually…” Your voice softened slightly. “…really gentle.”
Matt went very still. You looked down quickly afterward before you lost your nerve completely. “And the cinnamon’s there because you make me nervous.”
Silence.
Then suddenly you felt warm fingers beneath your chin. Your breath caught. Matt had stood without you even noticing. Now he stood directly in front of you, one hand gently tilting your face upward.
The intensity in his expression made your pulse stutter hard. Heat flooded instantly through you. Matt’s thumb brushed slowly along your jaw. “You made something beautiful for me,” he murmured.
Your chest ached suddenly.
“You’re important to me,” you admitted quietly.
Matt’s entire expression changed. Softened. Opened. Like the words physically affected him. “You’re important to me too, princess.”
The nickname hit harder tonight for some reason. Maybe because his voice sounded rougher now. Closer.
Matt’s hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck slowly. Carefully. Like he was trying very hard not to scare you with the amount of feeling behind it. But you could feel it anyway.
And suddenly standing here beneath the warm kitchen lights while Matt looked at you like that, the need felt unbearable. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of his henley, the softest hum leaving your lips.
Matt inhaled sharply immediately. “There it is,” he murmured quietly. Your stomach flipped. “You always make that sound when you want something.”
Your pulse skipped wildly. “And what do I want?”
Matt stepped closer. Close enough now that his warmth surrounded you completely.
“You tell me.”
You looked up at him slowly. And maybe it was the softness of the night. Or the way he’d listened to you so carefully while he held a drink that was essentially your affection for him, bared. But suddenly the truth felt very simple.
“You,” you whispered.
His eyes closed briefly, a rough breath leaving him. And then suddenly his forehead rested against yours. Big warm hand settling at your waist. Then his nose brushed lightly against yours.
“You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured.
Matt kissed you before either of you could say another word. The second your hands tightened in his shirt, his restraint finally seemed to snap clean through.
One large hand slid firmly into your hair while the other pulled you flush against his chest, and suddenly you were kissing like both of you had been starving for weeks.
Which, honestly you had. Your back hit the edge of the kitchen island gently. Matt immediately crowded closer. Warm. Solid. Every inch of him overwhelming.
A broken sound escaped your throat when his tongue caressed yours. Matt groaned quietly in response. Like hearing you lose composure affected him just as badly.
“Princess,” he breathed against your lips.
Once he finally allowed himself something, Matthew gave himself over to it fully. And god you could feel it. In the way he controlled the pace. The way he tilted your chin perfectly. The way every kiss somehow pulled another helpless sound from you without effort.
Your pulse was completely out of control. Matt’s hands slid slowly down your body, savoring the curve of your waist before settling firmly beneath your thighs. Then suddenly you were lifted effortlessly onto the island counter.
A startled laugh left you. Your knees spread instinctively around his hips as he stepped closer between them. Matt’s forehead dropped briefly to your shoulder.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he muttered roughly.
The sound alone nearly melted you. Your fingers slipped into his hair. Matt inhaled sharply and pressed a kiss against your jaw. Then your throat. Slow. Open-mouthed. Devastating.
Every interrupted moment felt packed into each touch now. Your breathing turned shaky when Matt’s mouth lingered beneath your ear. “You smell like smoke and vanilla,” he murmured.
Your stomach flipped wildly. Then without breaking contact from your neck, his hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt. Warm palms against bare skin. Your breath caught sharply. Matt froze instantly. Checking. Always checking.
You nodded before he could ask. "Yes, Matt."
That was all it took. His hands moved higher slowly, reverently, fingertips tracing a path along your waist towards your breasts like he was memorizing you. The affection of it nearly undid you more than the heat.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly against your mouth. The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Matt pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
Both of you breathing hard. And despite clearly being just as affected, he still sounded steadier than you when he asked softly, “Bedroom?”
You nodded against him immediately. Then suddenly he was lifting you again. You yelped softly in surprise, arms wrapping automatically around his shoulders while Matt carried you through the penthouse. Strong. Certain. Like he genuinely liked holding your weight.
The bedroom lights stayed dim when he carried you inside. City glow spilling silver across the floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft amber light from the hallway behind him. Everything suddenly quieter. Slower.
Matt set you gently on the edge of the bed.
And then he paused. Not because he wanted to stop. You could feel how badly he didn’t. But because this mattered to him. Your heart fluttered a little at that realization.
Matt stood between your knees, one hand slowly brushing through your hair while he looked down at you with an expression so openly affectionate it almost hurt. “You still okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. "More than okay."
Matt exhaled softly through his nose afterward. Relieved. Then his fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt again. The shirt disappeared carefully over your head before Matt immediately leaned down to kiss you again. Softer now. Almost tender.
Your hands slid instinctively beneath his henley in return, fingertips brushing warm skin and hard muscle beneath. Matt inhaled sharply. A tiny shiver rolled through him when your nails dragged lightly along his stomach. “Sweetheart,” he warned softly. You giggled breathlessly against his mouth. “What?”
Then his hands settled carefully at your thighs, and the look on his face shifted. Hungrier. Focused. Your pulse fluttered wildly under the intensity of it.
His thumbs brushed lightly along your thighs while he kissed slowly down your jaw again. Your neck. Your shoulder. Unhurried. Like he intended to savor every second now that he’d finally allowed himself this.
And somewhere between the warmth of his mouth, and his hands tightening possessively against your thighs, he eased you farther back onto the bed.
Your hands stayed tangled in his shirt while he nipped along your jaw again, then lower to your throat where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath his mouth. Matt made a quiet sound against your skin.
You tipped your head back slightly when his mouth lingered at the base of your throat, sucking gently. “Matt…” The sound came out breathless.
Matt pulled back just enough to face you then. City light caught softly along the wrinkles of his face. Messy dark hair. Henley half bunched now from your hands. Beautiful.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmured quietly.
Your chest tightened painfully. Matt’s fingers brushed slowly along your thigh afterward, tracing lazy soothing paths against your skin while his focus followed every tiny reaction you gave him “You know what’s been driving me crazy?” he asked quietly. Your pulse skipped. “What?”
“The sounds you make.” Heat flooded your face instantly.
Matt smiled faintly. “Sweet little noises every time I touch you.” His thumb dragged slowly higher. “Like you don’t realize what that does to me.”
You swallowed hard. You were going to die.
Then slowly, Matt kissed lower. A slow trail down the center of your chest. His hands smoothed carefully along your legs as he went, grounding and affectionate even while the tension between you climbed impossibly higher.
Your bra disappeared next. His lips gently mouthed at the stiff peaks of your breasts as he popped the button on your jeans. His mouth curved faintly against your skin when you gasped in response.
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
Matt lifted his head slightly at that. The softness in his expression nearly undid you. “Sweetheart,” he murmured quietly. "You know I’m going to take care of you, right?”
Your chest ached at the tenderness in his voice. You nodded once. "Mhm."
Matt kissed the inside of your thigh as he removed your jeans and underwear next. His large hands stroked soothingly along your thighs. “Let me make you feel good, princess.” The low warmth in his voice sent a shiver straight through you.
Then he settled fully between your thighs. And looked entirely too pleased about it. The city lights spilled silver across his shoulders while he looked up at you from between your legs with that same focused intensity he gave everything he cared about.
Your breath caught when his thumbs stroked lightly along the inside of your thighs. “Still okay?” he murmured quietly. You nodded immediately. "Yeah."
Matt smiled softly. “Good.” A beat. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
Heat flooded every inch of you. “Matt-”
The words dissolved into a helpless whine the second his mouth finally touched you properly. Oh. Oh my god. He licked a flat stripe along the length of your slit, and your head tipped back instantly against the pillows with a startled moan.
Matt groaned softly at your reaction like it affected him just as much. He was good at this. Not arrogant or performative. Just devastatingly attentive.
Your fingers tangled helplessly in his hair while Matt’s hands tightened carefully against your thighs, grounding you while he slowly worked you apart with his tongue.
“Sweet girl,” he murmured softly against your folds. “So responsive for me.”
The praise alone nearly killed you. Your hips squirming instinctively. Matt made a low approving sound against your slick folds. Everything about him felt overwhelming now.
And then his fingers joined in, slow and careful, curling gently once he'd reached knuckle deep. A broken cry escaped your throat and Matt groaned quietly at the noise.
“That one.” His voice roughened further. “Keep making that one.” You buried your face briefly in the pillow with a muffled whine, mortified. Matt laughed softly against your skin. “Don’t hide from me now.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being dismantled molecule by molecule. Your thighs trembled harder the moment Matt’s rhythm picked up slightly.
You gasped sharply. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured, pulling away to speak but curling his fingers repeatedly. “So pretty when you let go for me.” The words hit like gasoline on a fire. Your hand tightened hard in his hair and Matt moaned softly at the pull, the sound vibrating warm with his lips latched around your clit. “Oh my god- Matt!”
That did it. Your whole body tightened abruptly as release crashed over you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
Matt worked you through it, steady fingers drawing it out. Soft hums against your skin. Patient and grounding while you shook beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured warmly. "My good, sweet girl.” A quieter, “Beautiful.”
Your face burned even through the haze overtaking your brain. You were still trying to recover when Matt started trailing wet kisses slowly up your thigh again. Your eyes widened weakly. “Matt-”
He smiled against your skin. “You think I’m done with you already?”
Your pulse jumped violently. This man was evil. You were already sensitive. Already shaky. And somehow Matt only seemed more affected now that he’d made you come apart once. His hair was messy beneath your fingers. His voice hoarse.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured quietly. Then his thumb stroked lightly along your thigh again. “Let me do it one more time.”
The pleading softness in his voice somehow ruined you more than confidence would have. Because Matt wanted this. Wanted you. And he wanted to savor you.
Your fingers brushed shakily through his hair again and Matt leaned into the touch immediately with a rough exhale.
And when he flattened his tongue against you again, thumbs parting your folds, you realized very quickly that Matt's self control had finally become a completely lost cause. Because now he knew exactly what unraveled you. And apparently the man took that as a personal challenge to do better the second time.
His hands stroked soothingly over your shaking legs while his tongue thrusted in and out of you. “Matt,” you whined weakly. “I can’t-”
“You can.”
The quiet confidence in his voice should not have been that attractive. Matt began lapping languidly along your slit. Slow. Unhurried. Like he had all night.
Matt looked downright pleased about it. “Sweetheart,” he murmured softly when his fingers began to thrust into you again, “You feel that?” His fingers curled into that spongey part of you and you cried out.
Your fingers tightened helplessly in his hair. “Yes-”
“I know.” A filthy kiss to your clit. “I can feel it too.”
Oh godd.
Matt groaned quietly when your thighs began to tremble around him. You whimpered again when his fingers curled just right, and his mouth curved faintly against your skin. You let out a shuddering moan and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Matt chuckled softly.
“You’re evil.”
“Mm.” A long suck on your clit that made your toes curl. “You like me evil.”
Your entire body felt too warm now. His hands tightened every time your hips shifted helplessly against his mouth. Your brain was too melted to even respond properly. Especially when he started curling his fingers again. Faster this time. Deliberate. Patient enough that the tension built almost unbearably before finally snapping hard through you again.
A stream of breathy whines and pants left you as he worked you through your orgasm. Steady hands against your thighs. Soft praise against your skin while you shook beneath him. You could barely breathe. Could barely think.
Matt kissed slowly up your body afterward while your nervous system attempted to recover from whatever the hell that was.
The sight of him afterward nearly finished the job. Flushed skin. Henley stretched tight across broad shoulders. Mouth and chin slick from you.
Matt climbed over you slowly then, bracing himself above you while his forehead rested briefly against yours. Both of you breathing hard now. "You okay?” he asked softly. You nodded against him immediately.
Then because apparently your mouth had stopped filtering thoughts entirely, you whispered, “You’re such a show off.”
Matt actually laughed. Warm and breathless against your mouth. Heat bloomed through your chest instantly.
Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his henley again. This time more insistently. Matt inhaled sharply. Then finally, he sat back enough to pull the shirt over his head. Your brain stopped functioning. You had obviously already known Matt was built. But seeing him in this context felt catastrophic somehow.
Broad shoulders. Strong chest. Defined muscle beneath softness that came with age and strength and experience. Real. Beautiful. And devastatingly masculine. Your eyes drifted lower involuntarily, chiseled abs that were softened with the slightest bit of plush. You let out a shaky breath.
Matt noticed immediately. The smug bastard. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“See something you like?”
“You’re distracting.”
“Funny.” A beat. “That’s usually my line.”
Matt kissed you briefly again before finally reaching toward the nightstand. Your heart skipped immediately. And before you could fully think through the words you whispered softly, "Please no condom."
Matt froze. One hand still braced beside your head. And when he finally exhaled it was strained. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly. He pulled back just enough to face you. “You sure?” he asked softly.
"Mhm."
Matt closed his eyes briefly like the answer physically hurt him. Then when he looked at you again, whatever remained of his self-control looked dangerously close to gone.
Your hands slid shakily across warm skin and muscle while Matt pressed slow deep kisses against your mouth, only pulling back briefly to remove his pants and boxers. His hands moved carefully over your body like he still couldn’t quite believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this.
His forehead rested briefly against yours while he stroked your thigh slowly. He guided the head of his cock to your entrance, sliding through your folds and coating himself in your slick with a satisfied exhale.
The first stretch of him made your fingers tighten hard against his shoulders. A small gasp escaped you before you could stop it. He was thick, more than you expected. Matt immediately kissed your temple. “There you go,” he murmured softly. “Doing so good for me.”
He let you adjust inch by inch while his hands stroked soothingly over your body the entire time. His breathing turned shaky again when he was finally sheathed fully against you. He groaned quietly into your neck at the feeling. “Oh, fuck.”
You could feel how affected he was. How tightly controlled he still remained despite it. “How’s that?” he asked softly.
“So full,” you whispered.
Matt let out a soft groan against your throat. Then his forehead dropped briefly to your shoulder like he was trying to survive the answer. “You keep saying things that make this harder,” he muttered. You laughed breathlessly despite yourself.
Then he finally started moving. Slow and steady thrusts.
Your fingers stayed clinging to his shoulders while Matt kissed you between quiet praise and soft curses breathed against your skin. Every word made your pulse race harder. Every slow thrust pulled another helpless sound from you.
The moment your nails dragged down his back, his breathing shallowed. And the second your hips began shifting to meet him more eagerly, his hand tightened possessively at your thigh. Your stomach flipped.
Because now you could feel the careful restraint slowly burning away. Not losing control but needing more. The headboard occasionally tapped gently against the wall.
Matt groaned quietly when your legs wrapped tighter around him. “Princess,” he breathed. “You feel unreal.” His eyes were pinched shut, brows furrowed, lips parted as quiet grunts escaped with every thrust.
Heat flooded through you. And maybe it was the praise. Or the months of tension finally snapping. Or the way Matt looked completely gone for you now. But suddenly you wanted more too.
You tugged lightly at his hair. He immediately tilted his head down at you. Your pulse jumped wildly under the intensity in his gaze, sight or no sight.
“S’okay if you’re rougher,” you whispered.
Matt went very still above you, thrusts slowing, and his jaw tightened visibly. He exhaled roughly. You slid your nails lightly down his back in encouragement.
“I mean it.”
Matt closed his eyes briefly like he was fighting for his life. “You’re sure?”
“Please.”
That was all it took. Matt kissed you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs. And suddenly the entire rhythm changed. Harder and deeper than you'd thought possible. His cock absolutely bullied into your cervix. The high pitched whine that escaped you immediately made Matt groan against your mouth as he picked up speed.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “Fuck- there it is.”
Your hands clung desperately to him while Matt buried his face briefly against your throat, grunting loudly now with every movement. And the look on Matt’s face when he lifted his head again was almost pained.
Soft amber light, the city glowing through the windows, and the now steady slam of the headboard against the wall every time Matt drove into you harder.
Your fingers clawed at his shoulders while Matt held your thigh firmly against his hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
He panted roughly. “Ohh God, sweetheart-”
The cry that left you cut him off completely. Matt groaned hard against your mouth at the noise. “You’re so loud for me.”
Heat flooded everywhere. Your eyes flew open and you whimpered at the sight. Dark hair falling into his face. Chest slick with sweat. His broad forearm braced on the side of your head while he buried himself deeper with every movement.
Your legs tightened around him instinctively. “Matt- Baby-”
“I know.” A rough thrust. “I know, sweetheart.”
His hand released its hold on your thigh and slid between your bodies immediately afterward, thumb finding your clit with ease. Your entire body jolted, white dancing across your eyes as you cried out.
Matt moaned when you clenched around him. “That’s it,” he murmured roughly against your mouth. “Come for me.”
The praise shattered something inside you. You clung harder to him as the pressure finally snapped tight through your body all at once, climax hitting hard enough to steal your breath completely.
The feeling of you tightening around him sent him over the edge with you. A low groan from deep in his chest while his entire body tensed hard against yours as he spilled into you.
Your fingers slid into his hair instinctively as he buried his face against your neck, the two of you panting rough and uneven.
The room fell quiet afterward except for both of you trying to catch your breath. Matt stayed draped over you for a minute, one hand still spread possessively on your hip while he slowly came back to earth.
Then finally he lifted his head enough to face you. And the tender expression on his face afterward nearly melted your entire heart.
notes: i proofread this with a hand down my pants.
ok i know our brains are mush from all the smut but i absolutely loved matt's reaction to reader's drink for him. 💗 it is a heavy twist on an old fashioned, the very same drink matt ordered the first time they went out together. you can look up a recipe for an espresso old fashioned if you ever wanted to try something similar
after teasing you guys for so long i hope this chapter did them justice and was satisfying. we're pretty quickly reaching the halfway point of this story
taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @sleepinginstardustwrites
Sugar, Please - Chapter Thirteen
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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: you and matt have an important conversation the morning after the gala.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
word count: 2.5k
Morning arrived slowly.
Soft gray light filtered through the massive windows of Matt’s bedroom, the city outside muted beneath early haze and distant traffic. For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were. Then warmth shifted behind you. A large arm tightened automatically around your waist. And memory hit all at once.
The gala. The red dress. The car ride. The elevator. Matt kissing you like he’d finally lost the battle with himself. Heat bloomed instantly in your chest.
You were still wrapped tightly against him beneath the sheets, wearing his black shirt while Matt slept warm and solid behind you.
Or- you thought he was asleep. Until his voice, rough with sleep, murmured quietly against the back of your neck, “Morning.” Your stomach fluttered immediately. You smiled without meaning to. “Were you awake this whole time?”
Matt’s nose brushed lazily along your hair. “No.” A beat. “Maybe the last five minutes.” You could feel the faint smile against your shoulder. God, everything felt different this morning. Not awkward. Comfortable.
Like somehow one night had shifted the axis of the entire relationship.
Matt’s hand slid slowly beneath the hem of the shirt, warm palm settling against bare skin while he pulled you even closer against his chest. Possessive in the sleepiest softest way imaginable.
“You trying to fuse us together?” you mumbled.
“Yes.”
You laughed quietly. Matt kissed the back of your shoulder once. Then again. Little instinctive sleepy kisses that made your heart ache.
Neither of you moved for a while after that. Just stayed tangled together while Manhattan slowly brightened outside the windows. Eventually you rolled over enough to look at him properly. Messy dark hair. Sleep heavy voice. Bare chest half hidden beneath rumpled sheets. And no glasses. Your chest squeezed painfully.
Matt looked younger like this somehow. Softer. Significantly less guarded. His hand drifted automatically up your arm while he listened to your quiet breathing.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re pretty.”
Matt groaned softly and dropped his forehead briefly against your shoulder. “You cannot say things like that first thing in the morning.”
“You were literally kissing my shoulder five seconds ago.”
“That was strategic.”
You snorted. Matt smiled faintly before lifting his head enough to find your mouth in another slow sleepy kiss. Completely unfair.
The kisses felt different now too. Natural. Easy. Like both of you had unconsciously crossed into a stage where touching each other was simply expected.
When the kiss ended, Matt stayed close enough that his nose brushed yours lightly. You could feel his breathing. Warm and steady. Then quietly, “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good.”
Matt finally climbed out of bed a few minutes later and the sight nearly ruined your morning composure immediately.
Low black sweats hanging loose on his hips. Bare back and shoulders. Sleep-mussed hair. Yummy. You absolutely stared. Matt paused halfway toward the bathroom.
“…Doesn't sound to me like you're getting up."
“You’re shirtless and I’m only human.”
Matt laughed quietly under his breath. Heat rushed immediately into your face. You buried yourself dramatically deeper into the blankets while Matt disappeared toward the bathroom still smiling faintly to himself.
The morning stayed soft after that. Domestic in a way that felt almost concerning. You sat on one of the marble kitchen counters nursing coffee while Matt cooked breakfast barefoot beside you, one hand absently finding your knee every time he passed close enough.
Kisses kept happening accidentally. A kiss to your temple when he'd handed you the coffee. A quick one against your mouth when you stole fruit off the cutting board. Your fingers in his hair while he stood between your knees at the counter.
Everything felt warm and easy. Like you’d been doing this for years instead of a few hours.
Matt plated breakfast for both of you eventually and carried everything toward the couch overlooking the windows. You curled beside him naturally this time. His arm draped automatically along the back of the couch behind you while you both ate. The television murmured quietly in the background.
For a while, neither of you said much. Until eventually your brain unfortunately remembered reality existed. You sighed softly into your coffee. Matt’s head tilted immediately toward you.
“What?”
You hesitated. Then, “My leave’s almost up.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Not ruined. Just quieter now. Matt’s fingers stilled slightly against your leg. “You have to put your shifts in soon?” he asked carefully. You nodded. “Luis texted yesterday asking what days I wanted once I’m cleared.” Matt went very still beside you.
You felt it immediately. His jaw tightened faintly. His other hand flexed once against the couch cushion. Your stomach fluttered uneasily. “…Matt.”
“I know,” he said quietly before you could even continue. “I know I can’t tell you what to do.” Which honestly meant that he desperately wanted to.
You leaned slightly against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” Matt exhaled softly through his nose. Then his hand found yours immediately, thumb rubbing slowly against your knuckles while his sightless gaze drifted out at the skyline. Still tense. Still thinking.
You could practically feel it happening beside you, the lawyer brain turning over logistics and risks and arguments while his thumb continued rubbing slow circles against your hand.
Eventually you set your coffee down softly. “Matt.” His head turned toward you immediately. You hesitated for a second before saying quietly, “We should probably talk about the arrangement.”
Everything in him went still. The shift was immediate enough that your stomach tightened. Matt’s hand remained wrapped around yours, but the movement of his thumb stopped entirely. For a second neither of you spoke.
"Yeah,” he said quietly. Like he’d already been thinking about it long before you brought it up. Your chest squeezed strangely. Matt leaned back further against the couch cushions beside you. You tucked one leg beneath yourself on the couch, turning slightly toward him. “I just…” You exhaled softly. “This doesn’t feel like that anymore.”
Matt’s face softened instantly. The look on his face nearly hurt. “No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Silence settled again. Warm sunlight spilled across the penthouse floors while Manhattan buzzed far below the two of you. Then Matt lifted your joined hands slowly and pressed a soft kiss against your knuckles. The gesture felt devastatingly intimate now.
“I don’t want a contract between us anymore,” he admitted quietly.
Your heart stumbled hard in your chest. There it was. Not arrangement. Not terms. Not expectations. Us.
Something emotional twisted painfully warm beneath your ribs. You swallowed softly. “Okay.”
Matt exhaled slowly afterward like he’d been bracing for resistance. Then his fingers tightened around yours slightly. “But,” he added immediately. You blinked. Matt’s expression shifted into something firmer now. Certain. Oh no. You already knew that tone. “Matt-”
“The contract ends,” he said calmly. “The support does not.” There we go. You stared at him for a second.
“…You already thought this through.”
“Yes.”
You groaned softly and dropped your forehead dramatically against his shoulder. Matt actually smiled this time. His hand slid automatically into your hair. “You’re not going back to pulling doubles because you’re afraid to let me help you.”
You lifted your head immediately. “I was never afraid-”
“Princess.”
The interruption was gentle. But firm. Matt turned slightly toward you now, one arm stretching along the back of the couch behind you while the other reached back for your hand.
“You got crushed under thirty bottles of liquor a month ago,” he said quietly. “You still have stitches healing. And you’re already talking about picking up extra shifts to make sure your rent gets paid.”
Heat rose immediately into your face and you looked away.
Matt’s fingers found your chin carefully and turned you back toward him. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he said softly. The words hit harder than expected. Because he meant them. There was no condescension in his voice. No pity or humoring. “That’s not the point," he continued.
Matt brushed his thumb slowly along your jaw. “I love taking care of you.” The honesty in his voice nearly ruined you. No games. No pretending otherwise. Just raw truth. You stared at him helplessly.
“And before you argue with me,” he continued calmly, “understand that if I had my way, you’d never worry about another bill for the rest of your life.”
You actually laughed softly in disbelief. “Matt.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are, that’s the problem.”
Matt’s mouth twitched faintly again. Then quieter, “You think I enjoy the idea of you exhausting yourself at a job you almost got killed at?” Your chest ached immediately. He leaned closer slightly, voice lowering. “You’re important to me.”
Your eyes burned unexpectedly. Matt must’ve heard your sharp inhale because his entire expression softened instantly. His hand slid fully against your cheek now.
“If you never touched me again,” he said quietly, “I’d still want you taken care of.”
Your breath caught painfully. Oh. Oh that was unfair. Matt exhaled softly afterward like admitting that out loud cost him something. Then his tone shifted slightly lighter again, though the firmness underneath remained.
“The contract is done.”
You nodded slowly. “But,” Matt continued immediately, “I am still helping you.” You opened your mouth.
“No,” he said at once. You blinked. Matt's thumb stroked your cheek, somehow still looking infuriatingly composed. “I know you. You’re about to tell me you don’t need anything.”
“I don’t-"
“There it is.”
You glared weakly. Matt kissed your forehead before you could continue arguing. “You’re keeping the allowance.” Your eyes widened slightly.
“Matt-”
“And before you say something stubborn,” he continued smoothly, “understand that I’m already considering increasing it now that I no longer have to pretend it’s tied to a contract.” You actually choked on air.
“WHAT?”
Matt looked deeply unimpressed with your reaction. “You heard me.”
“That is insane.”
“What the hell else is this money for?” he replied calmly. “Let me have hobbies.”
You stared at him in disbelief. Matt stayed completely serious for exactly three seconds before the corner of his mouth betrayed him again. "Oh my god,” you laughed. Matt leaned in then, forehead brushing yours lightly. His voice softened. “It’s different now.”
Your heartbeat fluttered hard. Different now. Not bought. Not arranged. Not temporary. His. And he was yours too.
Matt kissed you softly once before murmuring against your mouth, “You really think I’m gonna stop taking care of my girl now?” Your breath caught softly against Matt’s mouth and he immediately noticed. Of course he did.
One of his hands slid warm against your waist while the other remained cupping your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.
“You can’t just say things like that.”
Matt’s mouth twitched faintly. “Seems like I can.”
You groaned softly and kissed him before he could get worse. Matt kissed you back instantly, like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The kiss deepened almost immediately, all the softness from earlier melting into something warmer and hungrier now that the emotional conversation had cracked both of you open again.
Your hand slid into his hair automatically. Matt inhaled sharply against your mouth. Ugh. The reaction he had every single time you touched his hair was becoming dangerous information.
His tongue slid across your lip, one hand slipping fully around your waist now as he pulled you closer across the couch cushions. You ended up half sprawled against him before you fully realized what was happening.
Matt kissed you slower this time though. Thoroughly. Like he genuinely enjoyed kissing you too much to rush through it anymore. Your heartbeat fluttered harder when his hand slid lower, and then settled firmly against your ass. Oh.
You made a startled soft sound into his mouth and Matt’s grip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make your stomach flip. You kissed him again immediately to stop your brain from malfunctioning. That was a mistake. Because Matt apparently had only so much self control left this morning.
One strong arm wrapped fully around your waist and suddenly you were being pulled directly into his lap. A squeak escaped you as you landed against him. He groaned softly the second your hips settled over his.
The sound dragged heat straight down your spine. Oh my god. Your hands clutched his shoulders automatically while Matt tipped his head back briefly against the couch like he was already regretting every decision he’d made.
“You are trouble,” he muttered.
“You’re the one who pulled me over here.”
“Terrible judgment on my part.”
You laughed breathlessly and kissed him again. Matt’s hands became shameless fast once you were in his lap. One stayed planted firmly on your hip while the other continued its assault on the plush fat of your ass. Your face was burning. “Matt,” you whined softly against his mouth.
A rough breath left him immediately. You were pretty sure neither of you were being careful anymore. Especially not once your hips shifted instinctively against his growing erection.
Matt went completely still beneath you with a choked grunt. Heat flooded every inch of you. You moved again experimentally before you could think better of it. He groaned low in his throat and dropped his forehead briefly against your shoulder. "Mh- Hmm." Okay. Okay wow.
Then his hands slid more firmly against your hips and suddenly he was guiding the movement himself. Your breath punched out of you softly. “Oh, god.” The friction was just enough to make both of you lose composure frighteningly fast. You could feel the slick that was steadily gathering in your panties.
Matt’s head tipped back against the couch cushions again while you trailed wet kisses along his jaw, both of you breathing uneven now. His jaw was slack, eyes pinched shut.
One of his hands buried itself in your hair. The other remained possessively spread across your ass like he’d forgotten all shame entirely. “You're going to kill me,” he muttered roughly.
Your pulse was going wild now. The soft sounds escaping both of you only made it worse. Little gasps. Breathless sighs. Whines every time Matt’s hands tightened on you. Matt sounded really affected.... Really affected. He kept making these low grunts every time your hips shifted against him that made your entire body burn hotter.
“Aah, Matt-” another soft whine escaped you involuntarily when his mouth found your neck. The second you whined his name like that he moaned against your skin. "Ohh, fuck-" he gritted out with a whimper. A whimper.
Then suddenly both his hands gripped your hips firmly. Still gentle, but stopping you completely. You panted breathlessly. He stayed buried against your neck for a second longer, trying very obviously to regain control of himself. Then finally he lifted his head enough to look vaguely toward your face again. His breathing was still uneven. His cheeks flushed. Wow.
And somehow he still sounded maddeningly calm when he said, “We are not having sex for the first time on my couch at ten in the morning.” You burst into helpless laughter immediately.
Matt kissed you again before you could get too smug about it. Deep enough to steal your breath all over again. But when your hips instinctively tried to move again, his grip tightened warningly. “Absolutely not,” he murmured against your mouth.
You whined dramatically. Matt actually chuckled this time, although it was admittedly strained.
“You keep making that sound and I’m throwing both of us into cold water.”
notes: short chapter, but it was a necessary conversation! matt's provider kink coming in full swing now that he and reader are together for real.
also not matt almost creaming his pants just from reader moaning his name 🤭 pathetic old man
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