#and sorry for the technical difficulties and for reposting this

[oddthesungod]

Wasn't planning on finishing this one today, but felt like it would be right to get it done for Crit Role's 10th anniversary!

So here's another one for my mock romance novel covers, this time with the Lord and Lady of Whitestone <3

[supplementarysong]

well actually i would like to talk about ivan and the ocean.

the sea and drowning are both brought up in lyrics to songs ivan sings and i didnt initially think much of it. BUT. at some point the marine biology lover in me crawled back out to start screaming about it.

a lot of people would say they love the ocean but when you inquire further you realize theyre talking about the fun part you can swim in, the part we know about, the part you see when you go to the beach. but what about the deep ocean? the place we cant reach? what about the life there? fear. disgust. not always obviously humanity as a whole is going to have varied opinions. but i cannot tell you the amount of times ive seen deep sea discoveries regarded not with interest or fascination or love but just discomfort.

but anyway uh back to ivan

i was thinking about suas association with the snow and till with falling stars and wondering about the other characters. i thought itd be neat if everyone was associated with some part of the universe, you know? and ivan is my favourite so of course i focused on him first and. well.

he is a lot like the ocean, isnt he? in universe at least, people (esp. aliens) love him for what he shows them, even if what he shows them is shallow and meaningless - its fun, its cute, its pretty. but its less than a fraction of who ivan is. if one were to treat that as his whole self they wouldnt know much of anything about him. that isnt representative of ivan at all.

ivan expects people to hate him if he shows them anything more, anything real. it's why he hides from till so much - yes, ivan interacts with till differently but thats just as much of a persona as anything else. he's still holding till at arms length, still not letting him in. because he's sure if till sees how "twisted" he is, he'll hate him (even more). and i doubt that's unfounded, honestly! not in that i think ivans "true self" or however you'd call that is gross and bad and wrong and should be hated, but in that, im sure he's received harsh punishment and social rejection from it before. his self-hatred isnt completely arbitrary, we're social creatures and social rejection fucks a kid up.

it reminds me of how, when you talk about the ocean, most people have no experience with the deeper parts of it and its kinda difficult to study or try to understand - almost like it doesn't want us to understand it! and many people are afraid of it or think its gross because lf that. but theres nothing wrong with the ocean, is there? there are people who love the deep ocean and the life within it, and they're not particularly difficult to find if you go looking.

what im trying to say is, there are people who would love ivan but he's been faced with enough pain he thinks no one will. and, that he reminds me of the ocean.

and also that for some reason ivan is tangentially related to all my special interests. what is up with that

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[crow-crystal]

FOR PART TWO OF THE BATSIS AU

(I had technical difficulties so I had to repost this sorry)

[maukiki1]

SORRY FOR REPOSTING MULTIPLE SOCIAL MEDIA APPS INLCUDING TUMBLR STARTED TWEAKING AND I THOUGHT SUMN WENT WRONG TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES IM SRRYYY GAY PEOPLE AGAIN IM SOO SORRYYYYYYYY (loud noise of me falling down the stairs)

Eough dynamis ina dress or whatever i said in the og post i dont remember sumn about stepping on the fabric and falling

And like the rest yada yada yada

[rinhaler]

you knew this request was coming!!

you got me addicted to dol.

I hate you. (not really i love you so much)

so…

Imagine Cow!hybrid!reader breaking her breast pump so she can’t milk herself, and it gets so bad to the point it just starts to drip out her massive tits, so farmhand!____, has to take you to the barn and fuck you mercilessly while sucking your milk out your tits, because he can’t help but think about fucking you whenever he sees the droplets of your milk and youre pretty little quivering pussy on display :(

(farmhand up to u, bonus points if it’s jjk 🫶)

eeeeep deffo got carried away and made this a fic <333

technical difficulties 😩😩 will repost when i can im sorry girl :(

[mooshroomterrarium]

hellooo everyone, welcome to my twisted minecraft!! <3

i'm a digital artist and occasional writer :}

i mostly post about hermitcraft and the life series, but other SMPs may sneak in here and there

i'm normal about ethoslab 👍

i post untagged shipping! clethubs occupy a permanent space in my brain but i'm also a pathological multishipper with no standards so basically anything goes lol

no explicit NSFW here, but i'd prefer not to be followed by anyone under 16 as i may post nudity or suggestive content occasionally (pinup-style art, for instance)

i love interaction in theory, but sorry in advance if it takes me ages to reply to things OTL i promise it's not personal, just brain machine technical difficulties...

feel free to use my art as headers/icons with credit, but please ask before using it for anything else, and don't repost without my explicit permission! thank you!

tags below for convenience! all posts/post additions by me are tagged #mouseposting, others should be self-explanatory lol

[goth-pod]

Uh Oh

OOC:

Sorry folks, there has been some technical difficulties when I was away. Goth-pods's Youtube channel has been terminated?!

Soooooo ummmmm I'm going to be reposting ep 1 AND posting ep 2 today exclusively here on tumblr, if that works!

I may look into other media sources (sound cloud, spotify, etc) at later dates.

Thank you for your patience!

-Em (creator of goth-pod)

[mysterycharacterbracket]

Character 145 has won with 15 votes!

And character 9 has lost with 14.

BUT...

There was one vote that did not count on here!

That means that...

this poll was a tie at 15 votes!

The tiebreaker will be up as soon as I finish posting the results to the other polls.

EDIT: Sorry if you saw the repost -- technical difficulties there.

Round L8, Poll #1

Remember, this is the losers bracket. We are matching up the winners of round L7. The winners will move on to round L9, and the losers will be revealed and eliminated.

Character 9: He's an emergency room doctor stuck in a time loop having to save this one guy. But also no matter what he does nothing seems to work and the guy's death starts raising more questions than answers and uncovering all of these things he has to fix but also he's still stuck in a time loop that keeps reseting with this guy's death. And also the doctor has gone from hating this guy for trapping him in this loop by dying, to caring about him so much that he's willing to do literally anything to save this man.

Character 145: A genius in every field possible - one would think their life would be handed on a silver platter, but you'd be wrong. Having a parent that just ruins every aspect of your hard work with useless talk about strength is a reason enough. But that doesn't stop them from trying to finally learn of a proper way to "lead" in every field, especially in their class. Not only cool design-wise, but also how the series manages to flesh out this minor villain in only a couple of scenes they are in is baffling.

[jaigeye]

just the two of us.

Chapters: 3/3 Word Count: 15,700 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Characters: Lando Calrissian, Boba Fett, Fennec Shand Additional Tags: Young Boba Fett, POV Boba Fett, Heist, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romance, Undercover as a Couple, Flirting, Romantic Fluff, lando is very nice to boba and boba has to try and be normal about it, Action/Adventure, you have to listen to motown songs while reading this, Mutual Pining

Summary: The prolific young bounty hunter Boba Fett has been quested to recover a stolen set of Kallistan jewels from the high-ranking Black Sun leaders private apartments. In order to get close enough, he'll have to get an invitation to one of his parties as Lando Calrissian's plus-one.

[outofcontextdanandphil]

D: I will find you in any world, Phil!

P: Find me! Find me!

©️

[honeytrappaz]

💗Lil' hawks headcanon💗

Just a lil' headcanon that hawks likes to collect random items that remind him of his s/o. He especially likes to collect anything that is their favorite color. Some of these items even belong to his s/o. Hawks is a busy man, so he can't always be with his s/o, so he carries a few of these colorful items when he misses them dearly while at work.

[nonbinaryluxu]

i’ll watch this world end, then i’ll set off.

[floresdesella]

he’s very good at it too

[lichlover]

a continuation of this delightful concept, featuring double entendres galore, a dark and stormy night, and yet another goddamn ouija board.

“Okay, Krav!” says Taako. “Here’s the dealio!”

The avant-garde clock hanging from their wall displays 12:32—that’s his best guess, anyway, as it consists entirely of two nearly translucent spindles and twelve brightly colored circles. One of the spindles stands nearly upright, and the other is inching tentatively past blue, so 12:32 it is. Its quiet ticking is the only sound that occupies the space, apart from Taako’s own voice. Lup and Barry are still out, wherever they are, which means that for now Taako has their apartment to himself. If they burst in while he’s attempting to summon the manifestation of Death himself, well, it won’t be the strangest thing they’ve walked in on him doing.

Admittedly, their cramped family room isn’t nearly as atmospheric, unless fairy lights and the kitchen’s dim glow count as mood lighting. The storm rages persistently outside, soaking their shallow balcony and lashing against the sliding doors, and he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s propped a broom between the door and the wall, bracing it closed, just to be safe. That’s about as much preparation as he’d done before he had set his sopping wet bag on the sofa, unzipped it with a flourish, and retrieved his prize.

Obtaining this particular ouija board had taken some actual effort on his part. He’d ventured into the thrift shop’s back room with a very reluctant cashier, shoving aside dust-covered boxes and bins full of sequined bodysuits, holding up his Stone of Farspeech to shed light over towering shelves. The one they’d found hadn’t even come in a box. It was draped in spiderwebs and sitting next to a DVD copy of an interpretive jazz workout, which he’d pushed aside with one acrylic to get to the board and its planchette. The cashier had recoiled, surveying it with a wrinkled nose and slightly watery eyes. “Are you—” He’d sneezed and nearly sent his glasses flying. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re all hung up on this spirit-summoning thing, I’m sure we’ve got some haunted dolls or somethin’ around here that would do the trick—”

“Hey,” Taako had interrupted, brandishing the planchette at him. “Who’s the paying customer here? Yes. Correct. I know what I’m about, son. Ring me up.”

The ouija board now sits indolently on the coffee table behind him, looking for all the world like someone’s pathetic idea of a Scrabble game. For all the fanfare surrounding its existence, it isn’t terribly relevant right now. Taako jabs a thumb in its general direction as he taps his foot impatiently, staring down the far wall.

“Been a hot minute, hasn’t it?” he says, smirking at the cracked plaster. “I don’t usually call so soon after a first date, but wouldja just look at that—” This time, he swivels around for dramatic effect and gestures widely to the board. If possible, it’s even more depressing than the last one, with a lengthy crack across one side and dismal, fading letters. “As luck would have it, I found another one ’a these just lyin’ around, gathering dust. Sure looks like it’s lived, a, uh… a full life, but I’d bet it’s got a couple more summons in it.”

Taako turns his gaze back on the wall and reaches out, crooking a finger invitingly. “So, what d’you say, reaper man?” He grins, wide and full of anticipation. “Come ’n get it.”

He waits, propping himself on a heel, for a good several seconds. The rain beats against the windows, and a rush of wind thoroughly rattles the trees below their apartment, but it’s muffled from where he stands at the center of the family room. Otherwise, everything is quiet. If he strains his ears, he can just barely hear the clock ticking.

12:34 by now, surely.

A low, barely-perceptible breeze passes through the room and ruffles the hem of Taako’s skirt. Like a gaping wound in reality itself, the air splits in two, parted by a blade that trails black, gauzy smoke. The space crackles with arcane energy and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. However much of a sucker Death really is, he thinks, there’s some seriously powerful magic at work here.

That is kind of his jam, though.

It takes a moment for the main event to make his appearance, but when he does, Taako isn’t disappointed. If anything, a vaguely irritated Kravitz is even more gorgeous. His gaze snaps to Taako almost straightaway, which to be fair is what most people tend to do in his vicinity, and a tiny frown creases his brow. His smooth, perfect brow. Taako notes with amusement that Kravitz’s cravat is just slightly off-center, and as soon as his lips twitch in a tiny smirk, Kravitz catches his heel on the rift and nearly stumbles. He rights himself as Taako snickers behind one splayed hand.

“Well,” he says. “Didn’t mean to trip you up, handsome, but I gotta say I’m glad I did.”

To his credit, Kravitz covers his surprise with a smooth and extremely impressive eye roll. If that isn’t an attractive quality in a guy, Taako doesn’t know what is. “How long has it been, exactly? An hour? Two?”

“Already counting the hours we’re apart?” Taako clicks his tongue, only half-trying to stifle a grin at his own quip. “I mean, that’s a little whack, my dude, but—but if that’s how you roll.”

“You know that isn’t what I—you know what? Nevermind.” From where it sits in his hand, Kravitz’s scythe dissolves, and the rift phases out of existence behind him. Someone on the outside could have mistaken them for two normal people standing in a living room, having a normal conversation. To be fair, that’s what Taako intends to do, although he isn’t feeling particularly attached to the normal bit. He notes the gold embellishments on Kravitz’s vest as the reaper continues, still looking altogether extremely vexed. “Look, I’ve already made one too many house calls tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll need that ouija board so I can be on my way.”

As he says so, Kravitz steps forward as if to make for the coffee table, but Taako slides easily between them. “Oh, not so fast, fella,” he says. “You and I have got some business to conduct.”

He’s rather proud of how easily his interference forces an Emissary of Actual, Literal Death to stop in his tracks. Kravitz sighs. “Business regarding what, exactly?”

“No need to be so formal,” Taako drawls, and lowers himself to perch on the table’s edge. He crosses ankle over ankle and looks up at Kravitz through dark, heavy lashes. “It was kinda… uh, kinda rude of you, wasn’t it? Just dropping in, scarin’ the shit outta everybody, and swingin’ right back out with no explanation?”

Kravitz arches an eyebrow. The undersides are highlighted faintly with gold, which would have made Taako weak in the knees had he been standing. “You don’t seem terribly intimidated.”

“I,” says Taako, “am an excellent thespian. Now, c’mon.” He shifts and tips his head toward the ottoman adjacent, and Kravitz follows his gaze uneasily. “Y—You said it yourself, right? Tough workday? I’ve got some questions, you got all the answers. Sit down, take a load off, and I promise I’ll go easy.”

He can’t resist a smirk, then, because it’s far too easy to get double entendre with this guy. That’s got to be a good sign of some sort.

Still, rather impressively, Kravitz lets that one roll right off him. He shuffles awkwardly to the ottoman and sits, fluffing his mantle out behind him, and Taako watches the feathers ripple and shudder in response. Now that they have less than a foot of space between them—gods bless this apartment’s tiny floor plan—he can make out their iridescent shine, among other things. Kravitz’s subtly pointed ears, for instance, and the golden cuffs that cling to their tapered edges. Or the way his coat sits a little too snugly around his shoulders, as if it isn’t quite well-tailored enough to contain perfection. Or how briefly but noticeably his eyes flick to the curve of Taako’s lip, then dart away without any indication that he’d been looking to begin with.

Sometimes, Taako decides, actions really do speak louder than words.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, and Taako forces his attention back in line. “You said you had… uh, questions?”

“Well, yeah, no fucking kidding. You’re Death. I—I mean, I think we all confronted our mortality tonight, literally. You can’t expect me to, uh, to just take that in stride.”

But Kravitz is already shaking his head. “Emissary,” he says. “That’s different. There’s no such thing as Death as an entity. It’s more like… like a law of the universe that we, uh, enforce.”

“Law enforcement, huh?” Taako purrs. “Never woulda pegged you for the officer type, but I could see it.” He imagines Kravitz in the polished uniform of the Neverwinter militia, brass buttons and jaunty cap and all, and has to bite down on his lip. “Yeah, I could deffo see it.”

He’s getting off track, but hell if Kravitz doesn’t make it easy. “Anyway. Emissary. Seems a tad too important for making house calls, hm? Don’t—don’t tell me we were something special.”

Kravitz’s mouth twitches. “The only thing you’re special for is using a ouija board. Do you know how outdated those things are? I think they were popular when I was alive.”

Well. That’s new information. “Okay,” says Taako, and lets his gaze dip to Kravitz’s chest, trying to ignore the flattering fit of his vest as he scrutinizes it for a rise and fall. Sure enough, he can’t make anything out. “So that makes you—”

“Immortal,” says Kravitz, at the same time Taako says, “Dead.”

He tips his head. “Well, yeah. That too.”

It says a lot about Taako that he immediately wishes he had paid more attention to Lup and Barry’s Thursday morning is-it-really-necrophilia-if debate. He can’t even recall the consensus, which had been reached with a few contentious glances from nearby professors. Once again, it’s up to him. “Okay, then,” is all he says. “That explains it.”

Kravitz blinks. “Explains what?”

Maybe it’s a little brazen—okay, scratch that, it’s incredibly brazen, but it’s also after midnight and Lup’s residual impulsiveness is starting to rub off on him. Taako shifts forward, and it’s not like there was much space between them to begin with, but now their knees nudge together when he leans in. He swears he hears Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat (which makes this even better, because the dead don’t need air, do they?) as he reaches up and thumbs over Kravitz’s cheek, and sure enough, a chill rockets up his arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“This,” he murmurs, and they’re close enough now that Taako can make out thin, feathery eyelashes and the hint of a shimmer across Kravitz’s upper lip. “You… you’re Arctic, my man.”

“Really?” says Kravitz, faintly. “I—I hadn’t noticed.”

Taako can make out his own heartbeat in his ears, thrumming with want and begging him just to edge a little closer, to kiss the life back into this beautiful man. He swallows, reins it in, and sits back with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s thigh. “Well! Mys—uh, mystery solved, I guess. Def—” He’s never hated his stutter more than he does right now. “Definitely dead as a doornail in there. But that means—I mean, if you die, you don’t just… automatically become an emissary, huh? What is there, some kinda lottery? An internship program? Application process?”

Kravitz stiffens. Taako can tell when he’s touched a nerve, and not the good kind, either. “Ah… no. I was a special case. Still am, I guess.”  

“Seems kinda fucked up that someone would just decide that for you.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. “It might be, but I’m grateful. I get to spend eternity doing work that matters. Barring having to go after the occasional idiots who decide to mess around with a ouija board.”

His tone is so pointed that Taako can’t help but snicker, although he chokes back his amusement before it morphs into full-on laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. That one’s on Taako, ’kay? Totally wasn’t tryin’ to break up your… whatever it is you even do in the astral plane. They got wine and cheese over there? You strike me as a wine and cheese sesh kinda guy.”

A wry smile breaks across Kravitz’s face. “I prefer brandy, actually.”

“Brandy! You’re chock-full of surprises, huh? See, I’m a cocktail man myself, but I’m also—I’m open to experimentation, if you catch my drift.” He grins, and the way Kravitz’s eye twitches suggests that he does, indeed, catch Taako’s drift.

“Anyway,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to keep another smile at bay, “we’ve gotten off track. I have some questions for you, too.”

“Who, moi?”

“Yes, toi,” says Kravitz drily. “I don’t care what you told me, ghost summoning isn’t just a fun Saturday night time-waster. There’s got to be a bigger reason you went to the trouble of digging up a ouija board from gods know where.”

Taako bats his eyelashes. “Can’t a guy summon Death without having any ulterior motives whatsoever?”

With what is apparently a fair bit of effort, Kravitz fixes him with a deadpan—ha—stare. “Honest answer? No. Never. And I already told you, I’m not Death.”

“Yeah, but it rolls so well off the tongue.” He leans back on the heels of his hands, returning the stare in full. “So you seriously wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it was all for shits ’n giggles? Like, it’s gotta be for some nefarious—I mean, c’mon. My dude. Do I look like a necromancer to you?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, evidently with the intent to respond, and stops short as his eyes snag on the folds of Taako’s off-the-shoulder blouse. Entirely impractical for the weather, of course, but all of a sudden Taako is extremely glad he’d worn it. He pulls his shoulder inward and lets one sleeve slip just so, and it must have the desired effect, because Kravitz suddenly purses his lips like they’ve gotten very, very dry. “Well?”

“You—no,” he says, and gives himself a tiny shake. The feathers covering his mantle perk up and cockle as he does so, and weird factor aside, it’s actually one of the most endearing things Taako has ever seen. “No, I’ll admit you don’t. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Taako thinks of his sister’s absolute maniac of a boyfriend, and says, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

That earns him a suspicious glare from Kravitz, and he sighs. “Y’know, I’d give you my word, but we both—we know that means jack shit. So I guess you just gotta be willing to trust ch’boy on this one.”

The speed with which Kravitz’s expression drops is almost hilarious. “I really do, don’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, handsome, I give you full disclosure to keep an eye on me.”

Kravitz starts to reply, trips over the beginning of whatever he’s trying to say, and releases a long sigh instead. “You think you’re very charismatic, don’t you?”

“Just above average,” says Taako. “Wink.”

He chuckles in the way people chuckle at gods-awful jokes, which is to say, more than a little guiltily. Manifestations of Death have no business being this inadvertently charming. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”

Taako scoffs. “When did we start taking turns? Last I checked, th—that isn’t the way an interrogation works.”

Kravitz regards him with lingering amusement in his eyes. There’s a warm but unmistakably sharp glint to them, and he’s reminded of Lup, ready and raring to burn spell slots just to prove somebody wrong. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating here, it’s me. You’re the one with the contraband.”

The universe can’t possibly pin this one on him. Everything about their situation—the setup, the exchange, Kravitz—it’s too good to be true. It’s precisely why Taako can’t bite back a smirk as he says, “Oh, so you prefer to take control, huh?”

“No,” says Kravitz, a little too quickly. To his credit, he doesn’t give much reaction other than that, although Taako notes that his dark complexion makes it near-impossible to discern a blush. Lucky bastard.

“Thought not,” he says. “I’m never wrong about that stuff. Okay, so… you—uh, you mentioned someone decided to make you an emissary. Who was the someone?”

Kravitz’s mantle fluffs around his neck. “Her Majesty the Raven Queen,” he recites. “She who presides over the passage of life and death and all governed by it. She’s my… well, employer, I guess, if you’re putting it in modern terms. And a goddess, of course, but you—I’m sure you already knew that.”

“She give you that?” Taako levels a finger at the mantle.

He glances back at it as if he’s just noticed it on his shoulders. “Oh. Yes, she did. It’s meant to be protective, but it’s also a… a mood detector, of sorts? Evidently it can react to what I’m thinking, but obviously I wouldn’t know… ah, sorry if it’s been distracting you.”

Taako wants to say You’re plenty distracting on your own, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, anyway. Instead he says, “It’s cute, bird boy. Chill. Your turn.”

He sits back, because he doesn’t want to let on exactly how compromised he’s been by Kravitz and his ridiculous feathered cape. There are a thousand more jokes to be made in that vein—something about quoth the raven, among other possibilities—but all he’d been able to manage is It’s cute, bird boy, and the strangest thing is that he means it. This isn’t an off-the-cuff affection like the ones he’s so quick to dole out. No, Taako thinks, with a growing horror in the pit of his stomach, Kravitz is cute. He’s also snarky and dorky and very, very attracted to Taako, if he hasn’t been hallucinating all the cursory glances and small intakes of breath.

And the worst part is that if the flush of heat across Taako’s neck is any indication, he’s very, very attracted to Kravitz, too.

He can just imagine the look on Lup’s face when he tells her. So, he’ll say. Last night the boner squad and I summoned Death, and then I summoned him again to try and seduce him just for the hell of it, and, well, fuck, he’s actually amazing and now I wanna do it for real. How was your night? Knowing her, she’ll probably top his story with some outrageous tale of attempted resurrection and a car chase or two (with a ridiculously sappy rant about how much she loves her boyfriend thrown in for good measure), but not before she loses her entire shit at his expense. Taako’s blush flares hotter at the very thought.

Go big or go home, as the saying goes. He’s already home, which means there’s only one thing left to do.

“Okay,” says Kravitz, startling Taako out of his reverie. “Are you going to give me that ouija board?”

By the grace of whatever god is feeling particularly benevolent towards him tonight, Taako is able to make a seamless recovery. He pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on his hip, looking imperiously down at Kravitz on the ottoman. “Depends,” he lilts. “You willing to work for it?”

To his surprise, Kravitz follows suit, standing up and immediately regaining the height advantage. Taako is halfway tempted to climb up onto the coffee table again, but there’s barely enough room for him to turn around—in fact, the cramped space between the table’s edge and the ottoman has them sandwiched right up against each other. Sure enough, a chill radiates through the fabric of Kravitz’s shirt. The resulting shudder that grips Taako’s body isn’t entirely unpleasant.

As a matter of fact, he realizes, it’s not unpleasant at all.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to the necrophilia debate.

“Make me work for it,” Kravitz hums, and his voice and their godsforsaken closeness sets Taako shivering all over again. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

Taako forces himself to muster every iota of his usual bravado. It’s not much at the moment, but right now he needs every bit he can get. “I dunno if—if you’ve noticed, my man,” he says, and pointedly ignores the break in his voice, “but I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

“Mm. I, uh… I don’t doubt it.” He’s looking about as distracted as Taako feels, all attempts at intimidation forgotten, as some innate gravity coaxes them closer. Taako’s hands meet with Kravitz’s chest, sliding over the fine material and numbing quickly against the cold. He can’t possibly care less.

They’re inches away, and Taako just knows that any minute now, Lup and Barry are going to come stumbling out of the entryway and tell him to keep a lookout for the police. Or it’ll be Magnus and Merle, a little sloshed or a little high or both, begging him to reconsider his incredibly stupid plan. It really is stupid, Taako thinks. The plan, that is. But the plan also has him pressed up against an unfairly gorgeous man who seems just a tad punch-drunk on the moment, and he would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel the same.

Taako is waiting for fate to kick down the door and flip him off when their lips meet. He’s not sure who initiates it and he honestly doesn’t care. All he has the capacity to care about is how incredible the icy thrill of Kravitz’s lips feel against his own, and the way they rock forward into each other in perfect synchronicity. He bares his teeth and tugs lightly because he’s earned it, and everything in him soars and burns with the gasp he gets from Kravitz in return. The moment is dizzying and so absolutely beyond anything he could have asked from a Saturday night—or a Sunday morning, he realizes, because midnight is a distant memory.

Everything seems a little distant, actually, when they part. Kravitz is staring at him, half-lidded and disbelieving, and Taako is sure he’s staring right back. He’s too lightheaded to do anything else.

Eventually he says, “Well, that’s, uh… that’s how we do.”

“I—you’re unbelievable,” says Kravitz, and he clearly doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy and dumbstruck as it does.

“Damn right,” Taako shoots back, and sidles out from between an Emissary of Death and the coffee table. “But I dunno if that was worth one whole ouija board.”

Kravitz’s eyes flare, bright and unnatural under the dim lighting. “You can’t be—oh, for Her sake.”

He cuts himself off and holds out a hand, and from his peripheral Taako catches the ouija board and its planchette disappearing in a plume of black smoke. They appear seconds later in Kravitz’s hand, and he folds them up and tucks them away with a huff.

Taako’s mouth falls open. “You could just—are you telling me—you could just teleport that shit the whole time and you didn’t—you didn’t just do it?”

“I don’t like to just magic my problems away,” says Kravitz, sounding wholeheartedly offended. “I wasn’t about to just—stop smirking, Taako, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taako says, even though he’s never been less sorry in his life. He watches as Kravitz materializes his scythe, mantle tousled hotly around his neck, and only speaks up again as it starts to cut through the air. “H—Hey, hey, one more question?”

“Mm?”

“Just wondering,” Taako chirps, and winds his braid around a finger. “If I were, to, y’know, want to get ahold of some more astral plane contraband—”

“Do you want my frequency?” Kravitz interrupts.

Is he really that transparent? Taako gives a noncommittal shrug, like they haven’t just done something completely worthy of trading frequencies. “Sure, sure. If you’re down.”

Kravitz gives him an awkward smile and ambles over to attune his Stone to Taako’s. Their hands brush, because of course they do, and electricity shoots up Taako’s arm, making his skin tingle. He sucks in a breath and does his best to stay unperturbed. This is not the time to lose his cool. Not now.

No, he’ll save that for his sister’s return, when he tells Lup about how he not only flirted with Death and lived to tell the tale, but got away with Death’s digits and a Sunday morning to remember.

[oscquinn]

𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 || 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤

pairing: college best friend matt x fem reader

summary: things are beginning to change between you and your best friend Matt.

warnings: EXPLICIT 18+, unprotected p in v, virgin reader, soft soft smut, little bit of a marking kink/possessive matt? there’s like 2k of exposition/foreplay 🤭🤭 mostly unedited, sorry for any mistakes

A/N: this is a repost due to technical difficulties, the fic was not showing up in the tags 😧 anyways this is a BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR DEVON EVERYONE DAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEV !!!!! love u to death devvie, thank you so so much for the idea for this fic, im so glad i’m finally posting it !!

wordcount: 5.5k

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Something was changing between you and Matt. You could feel it in the air. His touches were softer, and his arms held you a little tighter. The words that came from his lips fell softer on your ears like he was dipping them in honey.

Now, in the dim light of his dorm, he was so close to you. Strong arms wrapped securely around you, one settled on your shoulders, the other draped across your tummy. The scents of teakwood, cinnamon, and cardamom fill your nose as you breathe, settling closer to him. Your hand rests on his stomach, you shudder at the feeling of his warm skin under your fingertips where his shirt has ridden up. This should feel risky, pushing the border between friendship and something more, yet it doesn't. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You trace little patterns on his skin, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to bask in this comfort. A little sigh falls from his lips. He is as content as you are. Your fingers form hearts, stars, the letters of his name, anything and everything you can think of until you let your hand rest. You don’t feel the need to fidget, to pull away. You only snuggle closer and tune back into the movie playing on his TV.

As the credits begin to roll you resume the movement of your fingertips, waiting for him to suggest the next movie. Instead, he hands the remote over to you, settling his lips against your hair. “Put some music on.”

Your heart begins to race. You wonder if he can hear it. You don’t know it but he can, that’s what prompts the soft smile on his lips. You place the remote down on the bedside table and snuggle closer, opening yourself to whatever may be happening. It’s been a long time coming you think, you’ve had this stupid, growing crush on matt for the past few months. The two of you had always been close but something changed this year. He had a single dorm, you found yourself knocking on his door when you needed an escape from life, from your work, from your roommate- when you needed an escape from the world. He always greeted you with open arms and that trademark grin of his. You started spending nights. You started leaving your things. And before you knew it you were here.

Your name falls from his lips, soft, floating to your ears as light as a feather. “Matty,” you respond. You feel his fingers brush the bottom of your chin, they tilt your head up until the two of you are barely an inch from each other. He is so close. You take in the color of his eyes, the way his lashes brush his cheek. He moves in impossibly closer, closer, closer until his lips are on yours. The taste of the chocolate lingers on his lips. You melt into him, bewildered and excited and more comfortable than you’ve ever been. His hand squeezes your hip and for once you don’t shy away, you don’t feel self-conscious, instead, you feel warm inside.

His arms wrap fully around you, lifting you into his lap with casual ease. You straddle his hips, resting your forehead against his. “This alright?” he asks. You just kiss him in reply. His hand brushes under the hem of your hoodie and you gasp, his tongue slipping past your lips. A soft, subconscious whine escapes you. You feel Matt smile against your lips. Heat pools in your lower belly, and you hold yourself back so you wouldn’t start rutting against him. You don’t want to take things too far.

His hands explore your body as his tongue maps the corners of your mouth. Fingertips brush your hips, dipping town to your tummy then moving up to caress your neck. He settles on cupping your cheek firmly for a moment, his other hand remaining on your hip. Gentle lips begin to stray from your own, first kissing the corner of your lips, then past your chin and onto your neck. The hand on your cheek moves back to your side, brushing under the hem of your shirt and exploring your skin.

Something about this makes you feel unbelievably comfortable. Matt isn’t pressuring you in any way, but rather gently guiding the way. You’re breaching new territory. You’ve never been with someone before. If Matt was your first, fuck, you wouldn’t be opposed. The furthest thing from it. You’ve wanted him for a while now.

His lips reconnect with your own and you begin to grow bolder, tangling your fingers in his soft hair. You feel him smile against your lips, silently encouraging your actions. You kiss him for a moment longer, content to soak in all the sensations you’re experiencing. Then you take your turn to kiss his neck, moving in a slow and calculated manner. You want to go as slow as possible, and savor every second of contact. Matt’s hands roam your back until they brush the hem of your bra and he traces the intricate lace pattern.

He says your name again, a breathless whisper, and you come up to face him. He’s breathless, a star-struck grin spreading across his lips. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs. Your heart speeds at the name and, unbeknownst to you, Matt files that away for later. You lean in to kiss him again, slipping your tongue past his lips to taste him. The two of you move like tides, pushing and pulling in tandem. Your kiss is a wave crashing against the shore, and Matt is the tide that pulls you back. Gently, he pulls away, panting against your lips. “I know you wanna rut against me. Don’t be shy. I’ve gotcha.”

You shift your hips, seeking the friction you so desperately need. Your body courses with warmth, desire thrumming just underneath your skin. Even through the material of your sweats, his jeans are rough, grating against your core. It’s good. You chase the feeling, moving your hips slowly against his as he kisses you. The bulge in his pants rubs deliciously against you. Everything is so warm, so gentle, and easy. You relish the way Matt kisses you, sweet and slow like time doesn’t exist. Like you are the only thing in the world that matters to him. And truthfully, at this moment, you are. He won’t say it now, but eventually, you’ll know. You are his world.

You grow more and more comfortable as the seconds pass, your body taking bolder paths as it moves against him. Your hands push under his shirt, fingers stretching up to his chest before gently scratching back down. His skin is smooth, soft, and flushed. You take a moment to breathe, your hips still pushing against Matt’s. Your lips brush his cheek gently before you bury your face in his neck, relishing the warm feeling of his skin on yours. He shifts his head to lay a sweet kiss on your hairline, whispering in your ear, “you doin’ alright?” His voice is low and gentle. It resonates through your head, filling the last worried corner of your mind with nothing but ease and comfort. You nod, resting your hand on his chest under his shirt. Strong hands squeeze your hips, grounding you. A soft whine escapes your lips as he guides the motion of your bodies together. “C’mere, sit up.”

You do as you’re told, finding you like this angle of friction as you straighten your back. You move your hips, reaching back on Matt’s thighs to steady yourself. You feel the thick muscle tense under your hands, and he must be enjoying it too because he swears under his breath as he tugs at the hem of his shirt. Once he’s gotten it off he sits up a little straighter, meeting you where you are and wrapping his arms around you. The connection feels like electricity, zinging just underneath your skin. He kisses your lips once, his lips then traveling to your neck. He sucks on a spot just below your ear, just enough that it’ll leave a bruise in the morning. The thought of going throughout your day wearing a mark of his need enthralls you. It’s almost as if you’ve been claimed. You trail your nails up and down his spine, trying to slow your brain from jumping to conclusions as he kisses your neck, his strong arms holding you close and moving your body against his own. Warm lips brush the shell of your ear in tandem with nimble fingers tracing the skin just under the hem of your hoodie. “Can I take this off you?”

“Please,” you breathe. He removes the clothing with the utmost care, cupping your cheek and pressing your chests together as he kisses you. Big hands roam your sides, pressing into the soft divots of your back. Worshipful. Matt is worshipping your body with his hands, tracing every stretch mark, every curve, all of it.

“Beautiful girl,” he murmurs, pulling away so his hands can trace the front of your body.

“Matthew,” you scold. You’re being playful, but deep down your words are rooted in insecurity. “How could you know if I’m beautiful or not?”

Matt stills, a soft look coming across his face. “Well, the perception of beauty is a little… different for me. Do you really want me to tell you?”

You feel your cheeks flush as you reply quietly, “yes please.”

“Alright, pretty girl, lay down for me.”

You maneuver off him, smiling at the slightly awkward shuffle around. You prop a few pillows behind your back, settling so that you’re comfortable. Matt sits his weight on your thighs and you take a moment to look up at him. You’re sure if he could see the look on your face he’d tease you for it, star-struck adoration melting into your features.

“You know,” he begins, fingertips skating over your hips. The slow drag feels like fire on your skin. “I wasn’t always blind. I lost my sight when I was a kid, but before that, I loved to sit out on the steps and watch the sky change colors as the sun set.”

He traces lines across your stomach, like the clouds and the layers of a sunset. “When I lost my sight it got a little harder. But after a while, I started to find the beauty in the world again.”

“Where did you find it?” you ask. You cover one of Matt’s hands with your own, wanting to feel more connected to him. He raises it, intertwining your fingers. The warmth of his palm soothes you. The two of you are tangled, not just physically, but in all aspects of the word. Your lines were destined to converge like this, something in you knew it from the start.

He’s quiet for a moment. His eyes unknowingly searching, as if he’s delving into the depths of his memory. You wonder what it’s like inside that beautiful mind of his.

“I found it first in the hymns they would sing at mass. Something about the way it would resonate off the ceilings, it was like I could see the architecture again.” He traces the lace edge of your bra, fingers barely brushing your soft skin. You suck in a breath, in awe of him. Matt has been through a lot, you know this. The fact that he remains so sweet and genuine will never cease to amaze you.

Matt turns your hand and presses a kiss against the back before placing it gently at your side. He traces his finger up your shoulder and towards your chin, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger. “Found it in nature, like the smell that comes after a rainstorm. Or the crisp air as summer turns to fall.” He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing yours. “It’s everywhere. You just gotta know where to find it.” He kisses you firmly, you feel dizzy from it. He’s casing you in, encapsulating you within his presence. You never want to leave.

As his lips move to your neck you become acutely aware of the arousal you’ve been feeling. “There is beauty in being kind,” Matt whispers against your neck, “you are one of the kindest people I have ever met.”

Warm lips trail to your chest, sucking gentle marks into the soft skin. He reaches behind you, fingers grazing the clasp of your bra, waiting for permission. You lean down to kiss him, nodding your go-ahead. He removes it oh so gently, warm hands coming to cup the delicate flesh. “There is beauty in being genuine. You always speak your mind and I admire you for it.” His kisses travel to your stomach, “there is beauty in your voice, it’s always been such a comfort to me.”

His kisses gain more heat, teeth nipping at your skin as he travels lower. “And the noises you’ve been making tonight,” he murmurs, nipping particularly hard at your hip. You whimper before he soothes the skin with his tongue, leaving a gentle kiss over the blossoming mark. “Pretty girl, those noises are the most beautiful of all.”

“Matthew,” you breathe. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses along the waistband of your sweats, each brush of his lips sends heat directly to your core. You want this more than you have wanted anything in your life. You would be fine if Matt had his way with you, not pausing to ask your permission. You would give yourself to him, wholly, without a second thought. But here he is, treating you with as much gentle adoration as possible.

“Please, beautiful girl, can I have you?”

“Yes. Please-” you bite your lip in anticipation as he begins to pull your sweatpants down your legs. You feel so vulnerable, so open, and yet you feel so safe. He traces the lace of your panties with one finger, and you nearly giggle thinking about how you convinced yourself to wear a nice set. Just in case, you had told yourself. You never believed it would happen. Warm lips fall sweet on your skin, littering the area just above your waistband with kisses. You close your eyes and revel in it all.

Matt hooks a finger in the waistband, pulling it down excruciatingly slow. He’s teasing you, you know it. You tighten your grip on his hair, urging him on. He pulls them off and tosses them to the side, standing to remove his jeans. He kisses up your calf to your thigh as he returns, smiling against your skin. His lips find your own and you kiss him hard, grabbing his arms to hold him close. You feel the bulge in his boxers as he grinds against you. Your mind is so quiet, there is nothing but Matt. The taste of chocolate on his lips, the smell of his cologne, and the feel of his body against yours. It’s all-encompassing. His arms cage you in physically, you feel so secure knowing he’s surrounding you.

You pull away to breathe, gasping against his lips and staying close. You don’t want to back off. He rubs your arm with one hand, kissing your cheekbones gently while you breathe. “Can I ask you a question?” he whispers.

“Of course,” you respond, finding his lips to kiss him. “Anything.”

“Is this… am I your first?” There’s not a hint of malice in his voice, he isn’t judging you. You feel nothing but warmth and safety. You nod, no need for words as Matt’s forehead rests against yours. “Are you sure you want this? You can say no and I’ll stop right now. We don’t have to do anything.” You nod again. “You gotta say it,” he urges.

“Yes, Matt, please. I want you.”

He smiles, landing a kiss on your lips that takes your breath away. Nimble fingers slip down your body until they dip between your thighs, finally feeling you. You whimper, gripping his shoulder. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Gonna make this so good for you, you deserve it.”

He’s sweeter than sugar, your Matty. Your Matty. You suppose you can say he’s truly yours, if only for the night. You’ve wanted him for months. Now that he’s here, so close, and touching you like this, you can barely believe it’s real.

“What do you do when you’re alone,” Matt whispers. “Do you go fast? Slow? How do you touch yourself.”

You feel your cheeks flush, this feels dirty, but you love it. “I- I usually start here,” you guide his fingers to your clit, moving them slowly. “Do that for a little while, then I-” you cut yourself off, embarrassed. You feel shy, you had always felt the need to hide when it came to your desires, and your pleasure. Matt was opening you up in ways you never could have imagined.

“Come on sweet girl, say it for me,” he encourages.

“Then I use my fingers,” you say. The butterflies in your stomach increase and you close your eyes, letting yourself feel.

“How many?” he asks. “You’ve got such pretty little fingers. Don’t wanna hurt you with mine.”

“Fuck,” you curse. His words are so dirty. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of his fingers buried inside you. He kisses your lips, urging you on. “Usually two, sometimes three if I really wanna feel it,” you confide.

Matt says nothing but slips one thick finger inside of you. You whimper and buck your hips, his finger reaches further inside than yours ever could. He rests his forehead against yours, fucking his finger into you at a steady pace. “How’re you feeling?”

You moan as he curls his finger, your eyes fluttering open to look up at him. He looks so pretty looming over you, hair falling into his eyes, his lips pointed upward in a little grin. You watch as he licks his lips, awaiting your response.

“Feels so good,” you say, leaning up to kiss him.

“Good, he murmurs against your lips. “That’s what I wanna be hearing.”

You cry out as he eases another finger inside of you. The two curl just perfectly, hitting all the most pleasurable spots inside you. The calloused pads of his fingers brush your walls just so, building the pressure inside you more and more with each stroke. You grip his bicep, nails digging into his skin, and he leans in to kiss you fiercely. He still tastes like chocolate, you lick into the corners of his mouth as your hips buck up into his hands.

He’s fucking you so good with his fingers, steadily increasing his pace. He’s good at this, experienced, his fingers move so fluidly as your orgasm begins to build. It burns white hot in your belly in a way you’ve never felt before. It seems so easy, the way he’s supporting himself with one arm, kissing you occasionally as he fingers you.

You close your eyes again, allowing yourself to soak in the feeling. Pleasure rolls in gentle waves from your core up to the base of your spine. Your thighs are tense, and your calves are too. As you take mental stock of the state of your body you begin to realize how tense your muscles are. You take a deep breath, allowing the tension to melt away, starting with your neck and shoulders. You place one final kiss on Matt’s lips before you relax against the pillow. The feeling spreads down your spine as you let go, handing yourself fully over to the feeling of Matt’s fingers inside you. You relax your hips, your thighs following after as you succumb to the pleasure.

Your eyes snap open as the feeling begins to overtake you. The crest of the wave is rushing towards you, and of course, Matt knows.

“You’re close, I know you are,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to your neck, “You're squeezin’ my fingers so tight. Let go, beautiful girl. I’ve got you.”

You stop trying to hold it back. His fingers are filling you so well, pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace. Every few strokes he curls his fingers into that sweet spot inside of you. The way he knows just how to please you, how to make you fall apart, only adds to the experience.

“Matthew,” you moan, as the wave breaks. Your orgasm washes over you and fills your body with a tingling warmth. Matt presses his forehead to yours, a soft smile gracing his lips. You begin to shake as the motion of his fingers becomes too much, pleasure verging on the edge of pain. You press your lips to Matt’s as he draws his fingers away from your core.

The two of you pant into each other’s mouths as you pull away, Matt coming to rest against you. You can feel him through his boxers, he’s rock-hard. His hips shift against you, you can tell he’s holding back. “You did so well for me,” he whispers. “Was it good for you?”

You giggle, giving him another kiss. “Very.”

“That’s good,” he smiles. He lays back, one arm supporting his head. Your chest is still heaving as you lay by his side, tracing your fingers over his stomach. You bring your hand down his front until your fingers are brushing the hem of his boxers. “Oh- you don’t have to,” Matt says.

“I want to,” you reply against his lips. Tentative fingers break the band of his boxers, nails scratch the coarse hair you find there. You search out the warmth of his cock, taking him in your hand and pumping in soft, languid motions. Your brain goes fuzzy as Matt groans against your lips, kissing you harder. You go slow, not wanting things to end too quickly. You still want to feel him inside you, be as close as possible to him as he stokes the fire in your belly once more.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he praises. You smile at his words, your heart fluttering in your chest at the thought that you are making him feel this good. “You’re a natural.”

His tongue slips past your lips as you keep stroking him, gaining a feel and a rhythm in your actions. “Matty,” you whisper to him. “Want you inside me now, please.”

You feel his smile spread against your lips. “You sure honey?”

“Yes, please,” you answer.

His grin widens and he presses you gently down onto your back. The kiss he gives you is different than the ones before, deeper, something indescribable lingering in the feel of his lips. He makes sure you’re comfortable before he takes his cock in hand and lines it up with your entrance.

There’s a stretch as he pushes into you, your head falls back against the pillow and you breathe a ragged gasp, fingers coming up to grip his biceps. Sure, it hurts, but at the same time it’s warm, and the ache melts away into pleasure as your body adjusts to the new sensation. “Fuck- it feels-” your words catch in your throat as he bottoms out, hips pressing flat against yours.

“Do you need a minute? Want me to pull out?” Matt asks, brushing your hair out of your eyes and cupping your cheek. He cares so deeply for you, to the point it aches in your chest. You are safe here.

“Just- stay still for a second.” You breathe in deeply, allowing the burn to settle into a pleasant, warm feeling. You lean up to press your forehead against Matt’s, kissing his lips softly.

He returns your kiss with gentle lips, whispering as you pull apart, “all good?” You nod your confirmation and he kisses your cheek. “If you want me to stop, just say so, alright?”

“Yes- Matt please, move.”

Matt does as he’s told, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. A whine leaves your lips as he continues at this pace, achingly slow but so good. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, leaning in to press his lips against your own. You close your eyes and become surrounded by Matt. His strong arms holding you close, his lips pressing into yours, and the sweet burn of his cock inside you. He fills every one of your senses, keeping you warm and safe in an all-encompassing embrace.

The way he drags against your walls with each stroke sends electricity through your spine. You find yourself wrapping your legs around his waist in an attempt to draw him deeper, clinging to his arms like he’ll disappear if you let go.

His lips travel towards your ear and he whispers to you, “talk to me sweetheart, tell me how you’re feeling.”

It takes you a moment to find your words, mouth agape as he sucks mark after mark into your skin. You wet your lips, threading your fingers through Matt’s hair and moving him until his lips hover over your own. “Feels so good Matty, fuck.” You let him kiss you, muffling your moans into his mouth.

You never want to let this moment go, you want to keep this feeling forever. The way he’s fucking you, the soft groans leaving his parted lips, the feeling of your skin on his, everything. It’s all too beautiful. You can’t believe this is really happening to you. You’ve loved Matthew Murdock for so long, and now that he’s finally yours you don't want to let him go again. It feels so good, and yet it’s not enough. You want Matt to claim you. You want to feel him long after he’s done.

“Want you to go faster,” you manage to pant into his lips. “Please- want it harder.”

“Fuck,” Matt responds, kissing you softly. He increases the pace of his hips, his thrusts becoming sharper. You feel the red-hot coil in the pit of your stomach begin to build again, Matt’s strokes bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. You attach your lips to his neck, sucking a mark where you know it will be visible. “That’s it babygirl, want ‘em to know im yours.”

You whimper softly at his words. “Fuck, Matty, you’re mine,” you say, pulling his hair gently.

“And you’re mine,” he whispers in your ear. “All mine. Don’t want anyone else to even look at you, sweet thing. I want you all to myself.” His thrusts accentuate his words, claiming you over and over as he fucks into you. His teeth sink into the pretty skin of your neck once more, leaving mark after mark.

You’re racing toward your orgasm at an alarming pace, dissolving into a whimpering mess. “I’m close,” you tell him, bucking your hips against his own. The pleasure you’re experiencing is nothing like you’ve ever felt before, your entire body hot and tingling with the intensity of it. You feel the wave building once more, rushing toward its peak.

“That’s it, let go,” Matt murmurs, his forehead resting on yours.

The movement of his hips becomes more purposeful, each stroke hitting all the right marks, taking just the right amount of time. One of his hands comes to circle your clit, and you’re gone. You arch into him, crying out his name as your orgasm washes over you. Your body sings his praise, thrumming with pleasure, with fire, all at his hand.

He works you through it, praising you as he continues to seek his own pleasure. “You did so good for me baby, you feel so fuckin’ good. Tell me if it’s too much, m’kay?”

You nod, kissing him as his hips start to move erratically. In a moment of pure heat, you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, your fingers tugging on his hair in tandem. Your actions push him over the edge, spilling white hot inside of you. You squeeze his hips with your thighs, bringing him close as he buries himself inside of you.

The two of you pant into each other’s mouths, foreheads resting together as you come down from your high. Matt deflates, pulling out and flopping down beside you with a sigh. You remain on your back, allowing your heart rate to settle down. There’s peace between you, there always is, you never feel awkward around each other.

“That was…” Matt starts, turning back on his side so he can face you. His pretty, unfocused eyes are darting around, almost as if he’s trying to find you. You reach up, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“Yeah?” you say.

Matt just smiles. He leans in, kissing you with a warmth you’re not accustomed to. And yet, something about it is so uniquely Matt that it feels familiar, comfortable even. You stroke his cheek with your thumb, smiling against his lips. You pull away, watching as his lips lift into a sweet smile as well.

“How’re you feelin’ sweet girl?” he asks. His voice is low, nearly a whisper. The moment is intimate, almost more so than your previous activities. His fingers caress the features of your face, tracing the curve of your cheek and tilting your chin up for one more kiss.

You hum in contentment. “Feel good,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

Matt laughs a little, sitting up and pulling the blanket over his lap. You move to rest your head on his thighs, wanting to remain as close to him as possible. “I’m glad we finally did that,” Matt says.

“Finally?” you ask.

“Yeah. Wanted to do that for a long, long time.” He answers. You giggle, feeling giddy. Matt has this effect on you, you blush in his presence, and grin the second you’re away from him. It had been a problem. You suppose maybe you won’t have to hide it anymore, now. “I’ve wanted you, for a long time,” he adds.

You prop yourself up, feeling his arms wrap around your torso as you go in for a kiss. The feeling of his warm skin on yours is one you’d like to remember forever. He is firm and solid underneath your soft form, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you.

“Matty,” you say with a soft voice, peering into those sweet brown eyes of his. “I’ve wanted you for a long time too.”

He cracks a grin that makes your stomach fill with butterflies, shining from ear to ear as he pulls you impossibly closer. “I want to take you out on a date, please. Stay here tonight. We can go for brunch tomorrow.”

You nod, “I’d love that.”

Matt gives you one more kiss, then pulls the blanket off his lap and scoops you into his arms. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up sweet girl.”

He runs a warm shower, holding you under the water, gently washing your back, and placing kisses on your cheek as he does so. You relax into him, leaning your back onto his chest as the warm water relaxes your muscles. You wash his hair for him, the domesticity of it all overtaking you. There is something so comfortable in doing this with your best friend, exploring your relationships, and following where your desires lead. You don’t know when the soap had washed from your body or when the water began to run cold, but at some point, the two of you moved from the bathroom back to the bedroom. Matt folded your discarded clothes and placed them in a neat little pile on the chair in the corner, offering you his softest hoodie and a pair of sweats for you to sleep in. His hair is messy and spiky from the way he ran a towel through it, a pair of gray sweats slung low on his hips. He holds a hand out to you, pulling

You find yourself cozy in Matt’s arms, laying your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His arms keep you safe, one large hand planted on your hip, the other gently petting your hair. You yawn, snuggling further into his chest, and you feel his lips tick up into a smile as he kisses your forehead.

“Tired?” he asks.

You nod. “You tuckered me out, Murdock. Haven’t felt this sleepy in a while.”

“Just relax, I've got you.” He squeezes you tight. “Sleep well sweet girl.”

You feel your body melt into his, comforted by his mere presence as your head moves with the rise and fall of his chest.