#mcu characters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incorrectmarvelquotesss · 1 year

Text

— night’s kisses —

Warnings: strong language, slight mentions of bullying / rape / death / car crash / suicide / pregnancy (nothing graphic), talks of PTSD (Bucky's mostly), fluff, angst, sexual themes/innuendos

Summary: Steve and you are working on a project together: Project Restore.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: ~9.2k

A/N: SECOND ONESHOT IN A WEEK AND THE LONGEST ONESHOT I’VE EVER WRITTEN. Honestly, I don’t know when I started this (oops) and where I was supposed to go with it. Halfway through I decided to become like Shakespeare or something and it ended up a lot longer than it should’ve been. Anyway, I hope you guys like this! ( Also I feel like a genius for coming up with a good title and then the ending <3 )

You knew how the world worked and how people treated each other from a young age. Your parents had told you everything from the beginning, not believing in sugarcoating anything. You knew that people could pass a crime scene with zero emotion and spread rumours that could end in serious consequences. You knew that people lurked in the dark, waiting to prey on innocent souls. You weren’t stupid and knew how the world worked.

You saw everything unfold in front of you as you got older. The way students would gossip about the younger and more vulnerable kids while their friends laughed with them. You heard the whispers pass among the halls about the boy who peed his bed in grade four. You saw him leave the school in tears, trying and failing to stop the rumours from spreading in the school. You heard the whispers in high school about the girl who slept with the jock and ended up pregnant. You saw her casket lower to the ground and the police announced it was suicide.

You left your home to live in Manhattan, hoping to make the world a better place by working with Stark Industries and the Avengers. Your parents always told you that you had an eye on everything good in the world. They told you it was what made you a good person. But you always kept an eye on the bad, thinking of what could be done to make it disappear. It wasn’t that you didn’t see the bad, you just saw everything more clearly than others.

The boy who peed his pants had been in a car accident, resulting in a concussion in his brain. That concussion deprived him of doing regular, day-to-day activities. You knew because you had talked to him after everything that had happened and he was glad that someone was listening. He moved, but you were happy to get his side of the story.

The girl who committed suicide was raped and that ended in her getting pregnant. Her parents had told you everything about her; her excellent grade, her hobbies, her friends and family. They were glad that you listened to them and trusted them. When you asked about what the police did to the jock, they told you that they didn’t have the proof. The jock was arrested a few days later and the parents were glad their daughter got justice. They didn’t need to know that it was you who got evidence against him.

“Miss Y/S?” FRIDAY spoke into the room. You hummed, burning two wires together and turning to face the computer again. “Captain Rogers is waiting for you in the lounge to discuss Project Restore.”

“Tell him I’m a bit busy right now,” you said absentmindedly, the response almost automatic now. You and Steve were trying to restore Bucky’s memories—Shuri got rid of the trigger words and Steve had told her that that was enough. In an attempt to restore Bucky’s past memories, you had told Steve you had to recreate the chair.

There was no other way the conversation was going to end. Steve argued and argued, throwing everything right at your face while you listened with a stoic face. You knew Bucky would be petrified of the chair, but you were hoping he would associate it with something better. Something like getting his past life back. Maybe Bucky would look back at the chair and smile slightly because it gave him the old memories back. But Steve was having none of it, even if Bucky had given the green.

“Captain Rogers insists that you come up now,” FRIDAY said after a few seconds. You shook your head, typing in codes and glancing at the robot you were working on. It was supposed to help with young children’s mental health by listening and analyzing their behaviour and giving the reports to doctors.

“Tell him I insist I’m busy.” You started retyping the code, seeing that the robot had knocked a few things down.

“Captain Rogers is persistent.” FRIDAY seemed tired of passing messages among messages between the two of you. You shrugged and didn’t reply back, focusing on the codes rather than the captain. He had to get his head out of his ass if he wanted to talk to you. “Captain Rogers has requested access to Project Restore files.”

“Access denied,” you deadpanned, hearing the loud swearing and footsteps coming down to your lab. You held back the smirk as you turned your chair around and watched Steve punch in the code you had given him all those months back, stalking in with a scowl on his face. “Need something, Rogers?”

“You know exactly why I’m here,” he hissed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat at a table full of prototypes. You hummed and crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair as you studied his posture. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, sinking down in the chair more. “I wanna say sorry for how I acted. I just—I really want to protect him and giving him back to the chair…” Steve shook his head and sunk further down, making himself look smaller. Something tugged in your heart.

“I know,” you whispered, getting up and starting to organize some things. You looked at him again, patting his head as you moved past him to put some files on the shelf. You saw him glance at you in surprise at the gesture, but you ignored it because you did that to almost everyone in the compound. He just wasn’t ever at the receiving end.

“If you knew, why did you suggest it?” Steve asked when you sat back down at the computer and started to save and delete things.

“I want him to remember just as much as you do, Rogers,” you replied, swinging your legs so that the chair faced him again. “He’s a friend. And a human, like the rest of us. I know he’s been through a lot and that includes the chair. I’ve seen him here with cuts and bruises, telling me that the medical wing reminds him too much of that time. He hates the white coats, the needles, the tubes, and the smell of medications. I know what you know, Rogers. Maybe, just maybe, a bit more.”

“So,” Steve started, taking a bit of a calculated breath, “you mean that you did that on purpose?” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Sometimes the best way to get rid of your fears is to be exposed to them,” you said, intertwining your hands and placing them on your lap. “It might not always work, but Barnes wants to try. So who are we to say no?”

“He’s stubborn, Y/N,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s so stubborn that he’ll have a panic attack instead of asking you to stop.”

“I never said we need to tell him everything about the procedure.” You shrugged innocently, a glint in your eyes. Steve raised an eyebrow. “It’s unethical, but it’ll keep him safe.”

Steve thought about it for a second before he said, “Fine. What’re you thinking?”

“We’ll monitor his heart rate and anytime it seems like he’s going to have a panic attack, we stop.”

“Won’t he figure it out? He’s not stupid.”

“Not if we tell him it could overpower and fry his brain.” Steve started laughing at your mischievous tone. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing as well.

“Thought you were a doctor.”

“Unethical, but practical. At least I think so. After all, I am a human first.”

“I’d hope so.” Your eyes narrowed at the response, making him chuckle and shake his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, doc.” You only hummed in response, shrugging and turning around to continue working on the robot. You cut a few wires apart and connected them with one another and then checked your coding, trying to figure out why it was swinging its arms. You felt Steve’s warm breath on your neck, a tickling sensation making you want to sigh.

“What’s this?” He pointed at the robot, an amused tone coming into your hearing. You turned to look at him, feigning an offended look.

“It’s you! Doesn’t it look like you?” You started pointing at the bug-like cameras for eyes and the O-shaped speaker for a mouth. “Look, it has your eyes and mouth. And the rectangle-shaped face too!” You turned your head to look at him with an innocent expression etched on your face.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he said sarcastically, an unamused face that would make anyone think that he didn’t find it funny. But the glint in his eyes told you that he absolutely loved your sense of humour.

“It’s for all the kids' hospitals. Designed to keep an eye on their vitals and performance so if there’s even the slightest change in anything, the doctors will be notified right away with an app or this watch.” You picked up the watch, waving it slightly, and shrugged. “Hopefully it’ll save some lives.”

“It will.” He said that statement as if it was a fact. It wasn’t. Logically speaking, the robot prototype would take another year or so to be finished and then another year or so to manufacture more if this one worked properly. But you decided to keep his hope up by nodding.

“It’ll work eventually, but until I figure this out,” you started, closing the window and opening up Project Restore, “we can work on this.” You grinned when a groaned fuck escaped his lips.

“I mean, this is crazy,” his voice came out breathy and a hint of something like pride was intertwined with it. You ignored your heart for the moment being.

“If it gets you to swear, Cap,” you teased, flicking through the blueprints and mechanism that you still needed to get. Hopefully, you could call in a favour with Okoye. She owed you from the one time you upgraded her spear—Shuri seemed like she was about to kill you for giving Okoye a reason to poke fun at her.

“I swear,” he said, licking his lips when you turned your head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, fine, I swear sometimes only. But, jeez, can ya blame me? You’ve really got an eye for these types of things.” He shrugged, a pink tinge blossoming on his cheeks as he averted his eyes from you.

“If that’s what—” you opened up a file with the power source blueprints— “floats your boat, Cap.”

“Please,” Steve started, “call me Steve. I’m not technically a captain if you really think about it.”

“What d’you mean?” You opened up a software and started on the 3-D model of the chair. You honestly didn’t think that Steve would agree to throw Bucky back on the chair, even if it meant that his memories would be restored. The tragedy of James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t unknown in your world, you knew exactly what had happened on the chair from the beginning. Because of that, you hadn’t made a model yet.

“I just went around punching things until they called me captain because of the dumb mascot I was before that.”

“And now that dumb mascot symbolizes America,” you added nonchalantly, earning you a funny look from him. You shrugged again. “I say things the way they are, Steve.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re real, y’know?”

“I’m a ghost,” you deadpanned, head-butting him lightly, almost affectionately, when he scoffed at your statement and rolled his eyes.

“You might be a vampire,” he retorted, yawning as he checked the time on the corner of your computer screen. It was nearly three in the morning and he wondered if you ever got a full night’s rest in the last couple of days. By the looks of you, you didn’t. The way dark circles were forming around your eyes and the way your shoulders slumped, he knew you didn’t. He was determined to get you to sleep before sunrise.

“You saying I suck the life outta you?” You didn’t falter with your quips and he found delight in it, but his mind didn’t sway. Not when it came to your health.

“I think you might be suckin’ the life outta yourself, darlin’.” Your hands stopped ever so slightly before going on to the coding you were working on. “Get some sleep.”

“How about no?” You kept going.

“How ‘bout I just lift ya up ‘n carry ya to your room, huh?” He twisted your chair so that you had no choice but to stop and look at him. “‘S nearing three in the morning.”

“So?” You crossed your arms and moved back, leaning against the chair as your eyes drooped shut for a moment too long now that your eyes weren’t focused on the computer screen. He smirked. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Nah, darlin’.” Something about the way darling was rolling off of his tongue made you look at the man in front of you, trying to force you to go rest for your own good. Surely he wasn’t really looking out for you, he was just making sure your mind was in the best place when figuring out the chair for his best friend. It had nothing to do with your health. It was just coming in the way of his best friend’s progress so he had to care for you. Right?

“I’m fine,” you seethed, a gut-churning feeling making you want to scream at Steve, but it wasn’t his fault you didn’t know how to accept help. Especially when it was staring right back at you in the face with baby blues that could melt your heart in mere seconds.

“No, you’re not,” he whispered gently, placing his hands on the armrests and trapping you between his body and the chair. “You need to rest, Y/N. Your body is literally begging for you to sleep and rest, but you keep working. I get that you’re doing amazing things for others, the robot design is awesome, but you need to look after yourself. And, like I said before, I’m ready to carry ya, darlin’.”

“I don’t think so—” You squealed when Steve effortlessly picked you up bridal style. You instinctively wrapped your hands around his arms before swatting at his chest when he grinned smugly. Then you yawned and he stifled his laughter. “You’re not getting away with this, Rogers.”

“Thought you were gonna call me Steve.” Now if you knew better, which you did, you would say he downright pouted at hearing his last name escape your lips.

“You’ve lost the privilege,” you huffed as he started for the stairs. He grinned boyishly and you ignored the slight skip of your heart. Emphasis on the slight. He looked down at you once more, giving you just enough time to fall into his eyes. Maybe it was the green army jacket you were wearing, but his eyes never looked this green to you. Maybe you just never noticed it. You had never noticed the flecks of green that littered the inside of his irises, making his eyes look a light shade of green when there was more green around.

“Do you always stay up so late?” His eyes were back in front of him as he reached the top of the stairs, walking down the hall to get to your rooms. You cleared your throat and mind before you spoke again.

“Maybe. Maybe I just wanted a ride,” you replied easily, the remarks being the only reason you survived through high school and university. “And what’s a better ride than Captain America himself?” Your unintended innuendo slipped past him and you were glad for that for once. You hadn’t thought about it fast enough to catch your slip-up until you said it out loud. Even if Steve caught onto it—which you kind of doubted since he was a man from the 40s—he didn’t let on.

“You’re a menace.” He shook his head, corners of his lips curling to form a soft smile. He knew you were lying. Sort of. You hadn’t answered him completely, but your maybe meant that you hadn’t been getting too much sleep and your little joke there meant you wanted to avoid the conversation. Steve was happy to oblige, leaving the topic and moving on to the other.

“The chair might be ready in a week or two,” you started, eyes darting down to his neck where your hands were. He could feel them moving nervously, a tick that he had noticed before this moment, back when you were new to the facility. “We need a few things. I’ll order them tomorrow since you insist I sleep before working. I’ll also need to talk to Barnes about the machinery, see what he’s comfortable with and not. I think that the chair doesn’t need to look exactly the same, but the similarity between the sketches I’ve made and the sketches of Hydra’s chair are too similar. I need him to be sure that he could handle it.

“Then I might need to get Shuri’s opinion on the amplifier on the power source and check some routing issues that might occur. She also has this AI that allows her to create artificial trails and using that we’ll find out if the machine would work or not. And if so, what the percentage rate of this working is. Then I also need Stark’s to help with the technical building part of it. Not that I’d mess up that badly, but it’s good to have a second pair of eyes. Plus, he’d get a kick out of it. And he’s good at what he does.”

Abrupt silence made his stomach drop slightly, missing the sound of your voice and the vibrations running down his arms at each syllable you spoke.

“Anything else I should know?” Steve asked once you went quiet. You almost looked sheepish when you glanced back up at him, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“No, I’ve blabbered too much already,” you whispered, your bedroom door and his coming into view. His eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown appeared on his lips as he slowed his pace a few metres away from your bedrooms. You raised an eyebrow at his sudden gestures.

“There’s probably more I need to know,” he said, shaking his head in what seemed like dismay. “I know there’s more, Y/N. Tell me what I’m missin’. Please.”

“You don’t wanna hear me rambling about the boring technical stuff,” you mumbled, tapping your thumb against the hollow of his throat. The gesture made tighten his grip on you, one you could feel through the rough material of the jacket.

“Darlin’, nothing about it was boring,” he reassured you, coming to a stop in front of your bedroom. He didn’t let you down just yet, even when you squirmed as a hint. “I’m serious, Y/N. You do amazing things, and helping Bucky is just one of many, so if I get the chance to hear you talk about it, I’ll hear it. I hear you.”

He slowly lowered you down when you evidently had nothing to say to him. You, for the first time, didn’t know what to say and he was okay with that. A bit surprised, but okay. He realized that his words might have meant nothing to you or maybe, just maybe, meant more than he knew.

With your feet on the ground, you had no reason to have your arms slung around his shoulders. There was no reason his hands should have stayed around your waist to keep you close enough to smell each other’s scent. There was absolutely no reason for you both to stare at each other as his last words lingered in the air and echoed in your head over and over and over again. There was no reason for your hearts to be beating this fast and no reason for your head to spin as you both drew in a deep breath.

But it all happened, all at once in that one moment of time. Everything felt like a fever dream and you both could pretend that it was normal. Normal for you both to be holding onto each other, this close, and having your head spinning and heart beating fast. You both let it happen for that moment.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you breathed out, breaking the second’s silence and letting your hands slide down, lingering slightly as they came down to your sides. His hands lifted off as soon as yours did, but he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm on your cheek. You shivered ever so slightly and watched him move back, a slight smirk on his face as he nodded at you, walking backwards to lean against his door. You blindly reached for your doorknob and twisted it before turning and swiftly entering, breaking your eye contact with the blond who had left you this flustered. You locked the door out of habit and lifted a hand to your chest, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

It wasn’t like you were the only one with a heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

Steve was still out in the hallway, watching your door close with a click and another click following, indicating that your door was now locked. His eyes dropped to the ground, staring at the scruff on his left shoe and wondering about how he had the confidence to go ahead and kiss you goodnight. Sure it wasn’t on the lips, but it was still a kiss and, back in his time, it meant a whole lot more. You did look surprised or shocked, but you didn’t look like you hated him for it or didn’t want him to do it again.

He didn’t plan on doing it anytime soon again, confidence having left him immediately after the unintended kiss on the cheek. He was sure that the confidence wasn’t coming back for a while.

———

A few days passed after that impromptu kiss and your dynamic with Steve was the same as always. It had changed, but not enough for you two to notice. It was tiny changes that led to the noticeable ones—to the team at least; you two were basically in your world.

It started with the excuse of Project Restore. Steve would bring up that anywhere he didn’t want to be. Usually, it was at those meetings that Tony called for the team for team building exercises, which consist of regular activities like Jenga and Monopoly. Those games were intense and, more likely than not, were the reason the team fought. Steve absolutely loathed Monopoly with a burning passion. Anytime Tony brought up the meetings, Steve would run off to meet you in your lab with the excuse of the project. Needless to say, Tony tried to get you involved, but you beat him at Monopoly so he stopped.

Then he would start spending more time with you in your lab than at training with the excuse of lifting heavy parts that you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the extra help and he could use the lifting as his training. He started teasing you when you couldn’t lift something and he could. You would roll your eyes at him, say something snarky with a glint in your eyes, and smirk as he fumbled with his retort. The glint in your eyes always had him fumbling and flustered. Some days Bucky would drop in to help with the parts and Steve would have to put his teasing on a halt.

The one time he teased you with Bucky around, you pouted and it just about knocked the breath out of him. He knew he was falling for you then, but knew that you couldn’t feel the same. Not with the way you shook your head at him when he did something wrong and told him he was an idiot. Sure, there was a smile on your face, but there was no way you liked him back. You were way out of his league and he was sure that you knew that. That’s why you swatted his hand when he touched your shoulder when you seemed frustrated or gave him a look when he placed a hand on your back while walking upstairs.

Despite all that, he still wanted to be at least your friend. So he started spending even more time around your lab as the process of building the chair came to. He made up the excuse of wanting to be around in case something went wrong or still helping with the larger parts. He had the excuses built up and he was spouting them off whenever someone asked why. He noticed the little ticks that he hadn’t already noticed while you were working. The way you pressed your tongue to your cheek when you wanted your hands to be steady. Or the way you wrinkled your nose when something went wrong or when you laughed too hard.

Your laugh was one of his top three noises. Along with your giggles and voice. You liked to ramble when you didn’t know what to do. Sometimes the answer would be hidden inside your rambles and you would light up when you found the solution. Sometimes you smacked your head with your palm and giggled at your own stupidity, still mumbling about whatever. He always smiled and shook his head, assuring you that you aren’t stupid, far from stupid.

When Shuri gave you back the results, you beamed so brightly and giggled when you flipped the page and showed Steve, starting to ramble about the percentage being 96.87% and way higher than what you thought it would be.

“I knew you could do it, darlin’,” he said, watching you grin widely at him and pull the paper down from his face. He knew he would never get used to the way his heart skipped a beat at your smile. Happiness was literally bursting out of you, seeing the way you glowed at his compliments. You were taking his compliments better now too.

The first time he had complimented you on your work, you had shrugged and said something along the lines of it could’ve been better if it were someone else, maybe at least. He shook his head and insisted that you were amazing at what you were doing, gesturing to the robot and blueprints of the chair along with the new AI you had started. You had merely shrugged again and went back to sketching another model of the chair. You had made three models of the chair before, each carrying the same sort of foundation and structure. You had shown Steve each model, but you wanted him to be the one to show Bucky them.

When Steve had asked why, you simply told him that he was basically Bucky’s brother. He would trust him a bit more than you. Just a tad bit more, but more you had added with a quirky smirk and the same mischievous glint in your eyes. Steve almost leaned down to kiss your smirk away, but caught himself when you turned away with a shake of your head. There was no way you wanted him, not with the way you acted.

“I wonder if I can recalibrate—” You went ahead and started telling him of what you could do to one of your abandoned projects for it to be recycled. That’s something else that he liked about you. You always tried to give something that was thrown away another chance at working for something else. It could be some wires, some boards, or even a giant metal piece, but you always looked through those bins to find something. He liked that a lot about you.

“And can you ask Barnes if this model seems fine?” You finished ranting and turned to look at him with slight disarray and a bit breathless. You licked your dry lips like you always did after talking for a while and shoved a rolled-up blueprint towards him. “It seems the most different out of all the ones we designed.”

We? he wanted to ask. You were the one who did all the work. He merely listened to your carefully instructed orders and made sure to complete them with the highest amount of efficiency he could achieve, which wasn’t as high as he expected you would be able to achieve. He really wanted to stop you from putting yourself down, reaching for what seemed to be the littlest and least important and trivial things and picking them apart for your own negativity. He suspected it was so that you didn’t get too high over your head and stayed more humble than not. Even when you said you were the best in the world or universe at this stuff, anyone could catch onto the joking tone you reserved for statements like those.

Before he could protest against your self-depreciation or even reply to your question, you had moved on to another topic. A topic he didn’t know about really, something to do with your coding and wires and electricity watts. He could have helped you if he was Tony or Shuri, but he was a man out of this time and information. His knowledge of electricity and technology only had advanced so far. You kept going on your little ramble, lips moving at a rapid speed and hands gesturing in the air, emphasizing on a few things on the computer screen. Even though he heard everything you said, and appreciated your voice, it didn’t necessarily mean he understood it. But he made sure to listen and try.

“What do you think?” You asked, looking up at him with eager eyes. He gave you a look because you had asked him this exact question before and it had ended in him red in the face and you falling off your chair in hysterics. You smirked and turned back to the screen, seemingly knowing exactly what he was giving you the look for.

He sighed and nodded, replying, “I actually think you’re the smartest person I know.” And that was true. You had corrected Tony over twenty times while he was working, evidently getting on his nerves when he gave you a glare the twenty-first time you decided to chime in and correct him. Even Shuri seemed to be duller next to you, having declared you extreme success with Bucky’s new chair and obsessively discussing gadgets together before you helped her finetune her new electromagnetic claws with some of your own ideas. She told Steve that he had to bring you to Wakanda the next time he came to visit.

“Oh, I know I’m smart,” you quipped, the teasing tone in your voice not going unnoticed by the blond.

“You’re also the nicest, kindest, and most genuine person I know,” he added, making you whip around and smack a hand over his lips, effectively sealing his mouth. His lips grazed the inside of your palm and he felt his neck heat up, no doubt a red hue had seeped into his cheeks.

“Hey! The walls have ears and I have a reputation to maintain,” you scolded playfully, looking around as if someone would pop out of the wall—Vision was the most likely to do that. Steve rolled his eyes overdramatically so that anyone in a mile radius could see the action as it happened. You giggled and pulled your hand away, only to pinch his cheek so that it would turn a brighter shade of red. He happened to find out you showed physical affection to anyone you really liked, and learned it after that night in the lab, and now wondered how he lived without having your hand graze his arm and pat his head while walking by.

“Seriously?” He deadpanned, watching you light up as he grinned when your hand dropped from his face. He unconsciously leaned towards you, something he became aware of when your eyes flickered around his face. He cleared his throat and moved back subtly, watching you carefully so that he could decipher some sort of emotion or reaction to his closeness, but you were a hard one to read. Your face was almost always stoic, save for when someone talked to you or caught you off-guard.

“I think that you should go show those to Barnes—” You stopped, eyes trailing over his shoulder and watching some movement. Steve looked over his shoulder too, seeing Bucky punch in the code and walk into the lab, holding a bag of take-out. “Speak of the devil.” You gave Bucky a smile, but showed more interest in the take-out bag when you held out your hand for it. Bucky rolled his eyes, smirking and handing it over to you.

“There’s enough for the two of you,” Bucky said, giving Steve a friendly pat on the shoulder as a greeting. You had taken out some burgers—one for you and three for Steve, mumbling about his metabolism and super-soldier serum—and a basket of large fries—you didn’t eat too many as Steve had noted.

“How much do you two even spend on groceries? With both your metabolisms and appetites, you guys have to spend at least a thousand a week just on groceries.” Steve knew you weren’t looking for a response, but Bucky answered before Steve could give you a proper sass-filled comeback.

“Around there, yeah.” Bucky proceeded to shrug and pull out a chair so that he could level with the two of you. “Lucky for us, Tony’s fucking loaded.” You let out a snort, unwrapping your burger and fixing some of the strands of lettuce that had fallen out. Steve grabbed one and unwrapped it a bit at the top before biting into it. You let out a moan at your first bite and Steve found himself choking on his bite, making Bucky hit his back a few times and you to hold out a can of soda. He took the soda with a mumbled thanks, still coughing and clearing his throat as he tried to get that moan echoing through his head to leave him alone. It seemed impossible when the echo grew louder.

“You good?” You asked, gently rubbing his bicep and leaning towards him just as he had done before. You had leaned closer though, face mere inches away from his when you scooted your stool closer to his, a leg between his.

“Yeah,” he whispered out, taking a large gulp of his soda and cringing when it burned his throat slightly. “What the fuck is this?”

“Root Beer, punk,” Bucky replied with a shake of his head, looking between him and you. He was trying to figure out what was happening and Steve had never despised the fact that his best friend was a trained spy and assassin more than in that moment. “That shit was worth like two or three bucks back in the 40s.”

“That’s about seventy bucks now,” you mumbled, calculations already finished in your head. Steve had once complained about some costages and you had quickly searched up how much one dollar back in the 40s was worth now. He reckoned that you remembered the numbers from that quick search just so you could convert the numbers to understand him. He pondered on the fact that he could do some searching of his own to understand you.

“Shit.” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, looking down at the blueprint that Steve had placed down when taking his burger. It had opened up, revealing the white lines that made up the chair’s outlining. Bucky winced at the sight of the chair and your face fell ever so slightly. Steve knew you were hoping that you wouldn’t have to let Bucky deal with a chair that looked exactly like the other one.

“Is—is this one okay?” You looked at Bucky with expectant eyes, flitting over to glance at Steve. He would have been surprised to see the worry building in your eyes if your stutter hadn’t outed you to him. Every little tick of yours was known to him now, even the way you drummed your fingers on your thigh when you were nervous.

“Yeah,” Bucky choked out, getting up suddenly, startling you. “I’m gonna—I’ve got to get to bed. I’ll see you two later.” You and Steve watched him leave the lab, stiff shoulders and posture too straight giving everything he thought about the chair away.

“On that happy note,” you started, turning to him with a smile on your face that looked more like a grimace, “we need to construct another model.” Steve finished his last burger as you opened up another file, not bothering to look at the time. Steve, nevertheless, caught the time and he shook his head. It was nearing nine at night—no wonder Bucky had brought them food—and you had been up before him, before five in the morning.

He didn’t know how you managed to get up earlier than him and he wasn’t going to question it either. You would probably reply with something like mad I beat you, old man?. He didn’t want to test his theory either, not wanting to be wrong and get another smartass comment from you instead. One that would make him hold back a proud grin and maybe even a fit of laughter. He leaned over you, grabbing the garbage and pouring it into the take-out bag before dumping that into the bin near the entrance.

“Come on, darling,” Steve said, the endearment becoming something like a habit now. Not a forced habit, not one bit, but a habit, nonetheless. When you refused to turn to at least acknowledge him, he strode over and put his hands on your shoulders, making you groan and throw your head back to look at him. He stifled his chuckles.

“No,” was your only retaliation to his pointed look. He smirked and let his hands trail down, earning a harsh glare from you before you shivered when his fingers brushed a speck of skin between your shirt and sweatpants.

“I’ll just carry you again, Y/N,” he stated with a shrug. You seemed to glare at him harder then, eyes narrowing slightly and bottom lip jutting out slightly. God, you were pouting at him. Although he would do anything if you asked with that pout on your face, your health wasn’t something he was going to negotiate, even with that adorable pout on your face. “It’s up to you: you walk or I carry.”

You sighed and leaned into his chest, making his heart flutter in a way that it hadn’t in a long time and it was all because you leaned back into his chest. You pressed your back into his chest and rested your head on his shoulder, groaning softly when you stretched your arms and legs in front of you. Your elbows and knees cracked and Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You giggled slightly, poking Steve’s cheek as he looked down at you to see you grinning mischievously.

“Carry me, peasant,” you teased, arms flying backwards to hold onto his neck as your body shook with fits of laughter. Steve couldn’t help but laugh along with you, a voice deep inside of him telling him that you didn’t laugh as much as he wanted you to. He liked it when you laughed, nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the sides. He had to admit though, he didn’t laugh as much as he should either, except when he was with you. Even the smallest jokes or quips from you sent him into fits of laughter that took almost always an hour to reduce to snickers. His record, as you liked to call it, was three hours, falling into this loop of chuckles and full belly laughs because of a stupid joke you had muttered under your breath.

Coming back to the present, Steve realized that you were absolutely exhausted as he gripped your hip to help you stabilize yourself when you almost toppled over on the stool. Your eyes were trying to close on their own, shutting for a few moments too long for his liking. He knew that everyone on the team had trouble sleeping, but he didn’t expect you to have trouble too. It wasn’t nightmares that plagued you in the middle of the night; it was your own thoughts, the ones that would never leave your head. You had told him so with a shrug and dark circles forming under your eyes. It was why you kept working through the night.

“Turn around, brainiac,” Steve ordered softly, making you drop your arms from his neck and twist around so that he could see your face clearly. Lifeless skin and pale lips were just about tearing his heart into pieces as he cleared his throat. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin as you pretended to think over it for a second before nodding and saying, “‘Kay.” Steve grinned, pleased by your little fuss and helped you tidy up a bit before extending a hand for you to take. You ignored it and opened the door for the two of you, letting him go through first, even though all his instincts were telling him that it was just wrong to not be holding the door for the lady. His gentlemanly manners were screaming at him as the two of you ascended the stairs, telling him that he was wrong for not holding the door for you.

Before he could dive more further into it, you swayed and stumbled backwards right into his chest. His reflexes were fast enough to wrap an arm around your waist and make sure you weren’t going tumbling down the stairs. When you twisted around and gave him a slightly sheepish smile, he realized that his heart had dropped to his stomach and stayed there as you started mumbling an apology to him for crashing into him.

“No, it’s okay,” he started, hands still gripping your waist. “I’m just glad I was here to break your fall.” He glanced down the stairs, trying so hard not to imagine you laying at the bottom with your limbs sprawled around at odd angles like he had seen one too many times. You seemed to notice his panic and placed your hands on his chest, smiling up at him with a mischievous glint back in your eyes—something Steve was not expecting.

“I think that’s interference, Rogers,” you slurred, not really your best retort, but he could see the drowsiness on your face and your whole body was basically sagging against him the longer you both stood there on the stairs.

“I’m gonna carry you now, darlin’,” he said eventually. He had felt your hands slide down his chest slowly, stopping on his stomach when he finally spoke up and snapped your attention back to reality. Before you could protest—he knew you were going to—he bent down and slipped an arm behind your knees and across the middle of your back to pick you up. You seemed to decide not to argue with him, squirming just a tad bit and then relaxing as he started to walk.

At some point during the pathway from your lab to your rooms, your head lolled to the side and rested against his shoulder, deep and regulated breaths making your chest rise and fall. He tried not to stare at your peaceful face for too long, feeling like he could probably get lost in your beauty and lose his focus on his surroundings and crash into the wall or something. That would be embarrassing and he would probably hear it for the rest of his life from you, non-relenting from teasing him for it. He could hear your voice in his head, poking fun at him for running into a wall.

He chuckled underneath his breath as he rounded the corner into the hallway where both of your rooms were situated. When he reached your room, he debated on waking you up and leaving you to find your way in and get set for bed, but something didn’t let him do that. He carefully opened the door with the hand under your knees and went in, leaving it slightly open behind him. You hadn’t stirred so Steve whispered your name.

“Y/N? Hey, darlin’. Wake up.” Your head left his shoulder, letting cool air hit the warm spot as you blinked and recognized your room. His hands tightened on you as he lowered you down and let you keep an arm on him to steady yourself when you swayed in fatigue.

“You should’ve woken me up the second I fell asleep, Rogers,” you mumbled, eyes trained on the unmade bed and rumpled papers on it. He hadn’t had the chance to look around properly, taking a quick glance around. The room was neat and tidy, omitting your bed. Everything seemed to be in their respective places and you seemed to have a place for every little thing, from the tiniest eraser to the biggest 3-D model. The layout of the room was similar to his, with slight differences in the placement of the furniture.

“You could use all the rest you can get,” he replied with a shrug, walking backwards to the door. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“No kiss tonight?” You teased quietly, eyes still on the bed as if you had never seen it before. The question made him pause and ponder on your actions from the last few weeks. You had shrugged him off each time he tried to come close to you, ignoring his hand or shoving it off every single time, so why did you want a kiss from him? Sure, you had that teasing tone in your voice, but he had heard the slightest frustration behind it. As if you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t made another move for another kiss on you.

And it irked him. Not because you had withdrawn yourself from him—he knew how to take a hint—but because it was getting confusing.

He scoffed and said, “Feels like you don’t want anything to do with me, to be honest, Y/N.”

“What?” You turned around to face him clearly, eyes telling him that you were just as confused as him. You crossed your arms over your torso and tilted your head in that cute way of yours, eyes trailing over his figure to examine his body language. It wasn’t the first time you had tried to figure his emotions out with his body gesture. You had done it multiple times with his reactions to models and drawings of the chair, along with some inappropriate jokes you had dared to pull off in front of him.

“I mean you hate when I touch you—”

“I don’t hate it when you touch me,” you whispered, not even caring to hear the rest of the sentence. His eyes darted to yours, trying to catch a trace of a lie in them and seeing if you were telling him the truth. Even if you didn’t hate it, you had to dislike it, right? There was no other reason for you to pull away as if he had burned you every time he found the courage to graze your hand with his.

“Then why—”

“Because I don’t need the help,” you huffed, letting your arms drop to your sides and fist your hands when they shook a bit. Steve knew that little tick of yours; your hands would shake when you were trying to find the right words. Maybe you just needed the right question for the right answer.

“What if I want to help you?” He asked, taking a step closer to you when you refused to look at him and instead stared at the wall behind him. His guts were telling him to abort the mission and run the other way as they had that day in Germany and the day in Wakanda, but those had turned out okay. He still had Bucky and half of the universe was safe.

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden on you, Steve.”

You called him Steve. That had to mean something since you outright ignored everyone’s first names and went straight for their last names. Maybe it was out of habit now, calling him Steve as he called you darling, but there was still a chance that you meant something by it and Steve was going for that chance. No matter how small or big it was, he was going to push luck like he had never before.

“You could never be a burden on me, Y/N,” he murmured gently, stepping closer until you were within arm’s length. He extended a hand to you and you hesitantly slipped yours into his, soft skin against a calloused palm. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear with his other hand, pulling on your hand to make you step a bit closer to him.

“You might not think so now, but later, when you get bored of this, of me, you’ll be running the other way,” you said, quietening down so much that he had to strain all of his focus on hearing you. He was going to hear you no matter what.

“I wouldn’t.” His heart was beating in his chest and just about had started to hurt his ribs. “I wouldn’t be able to, darlin’. I’m either all in or all out, you should know that by now.” That dragged an airy chuckle out of your pretty lips he had been eyeing without realizing it and his heart started to calm down before it broke his bones.

“You say that now—”

“I’d do anything to prove it.” And he was ready to get down on his knees to beg for you to hear him. You studied him for a few moments, silence ringing in the air as he squeezed your hand for his own grounding. The next few seconds were the longest seconds he had spent looking at you—though the view was as pretty as it could get. He let you take a step back, heart skipping a beat or two, and then two steps forward so that your bodies had mere inches left between them.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, “properly or I won’t believe you.” You already did believe him. He knew you believed him with the way you had stepped forward twice, the kiss was just a formality. You closed your eyes when his hand came to your chin to tip your face up slightly to relish the moment just as he wanted to, watching your body shiver when his hand slipped behind your neck and the other came to the small of your back to pull your body to press on his.

Then he slotted his lips against yours and let out a groan at the taste of you. Your hands moved on their own, sliding up his chest to entangle in his hair and thumb grazing the small hairs on the nape of his neck. His lips moved slowly and gently, not wanting to chase you away with a wrong move, but once you dragged your tongue on his bottom lip and nipped at it, he let you be the one to deepen the kiss. You had initiated it, but Steve had no problem taking over, both of you fighting for domination before you submitted and let Steve run the show. Once the breath in the two of you had run out, you both pulled away, panting and resting your foreheads against each other.

You let out a small giggle as Steve grinned and tugged you impossibly close to him.

“You’re, uh you’re good at that for an old man,” you teased, making him roll his eyes playfully and nip at your bottom lip as you had to his. You bit down on your lip when he dragged his face away to look at you clearly, preventing the smile that was trying to break out on your face. Steve let his thumb pull out from between your teeth and grinned when he noticed the flustered state that little action left you in.

“I’m a lot better at other things, too, darlin’,” he mumbled, feeling the adrenaline that was keeping you awake start to drain out quickly. You were holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders now, leaning against him as your eyes darted to the door in front of yours. “But I don’t think now’s the right time to show you.” You snorted and flitted your eyes back to him.

“I’ve still got a few moves on you,” you retorted, putting your forehead on his chest and yawning. Steve rubbed your back and kissed your forehead, embracing you tightly.

“Get some sleep and we’ll argue about it tomorrow,” he suggested, a lightness to his tone that made you look up at him and smile sleepily.

“Sure.” You pressed your hands to his chest, pushing slightly to nudge yourself straight. “Then you can admit I’m the best.” Still, that teasing tone remained in your words as you glanced towards his door again and, this time, he caught the hidden message.

“Want me to come back?” He asked, making sure he had read everything right this time. He was wishing and praying to whatever god there was that he had read your eyes right this time, that he was hearing you right this time. When you looked at him, eyes shining a bit brighter and lips tugging a bit higher, he knew he had read you right.

“I can’t ask—”

“Ask me,” he cut in, raising an eyebrow and smirking softly. “Ask me to come back.” You observed him for a second, hesitancy was clear in your eyes, but he knew it wasn’t that you didn’t want him now. It was hesitancy to ask him for more than you usually received. You licked your lips and sucked in a breath.

“Come back to me,” you blurted, hands fisting the fabric stretched across his chest. “You make it quiet.” Steve was caught slightly off-guard by that statement, not realizing what you were referring to until a few seconds later. His hands tightened on your hip and he let a soft smile grace his face.

“You make it quiet for me, too.” He squeezed your hip once before adding, “I’ll come back tonight as long as I get woken up with kisses.”

“You’d be crazy to think I’m not kissing you again.”

There were murmured whispers that night again, but these ones lulled you both to sleep, having your fair share of the night’s kisses. It was safe to say that this wasn’t the last night this routine happened, but that’s a different story. A story for another night.

80 notes · View notes

chasingmidnights · 6 months

Text

13 Nights of Halloween: Campfire Stories; Story Six

Title: Madame Francesca

Storyteller: Natasha Romanoff

Summary: A murderous madame and her famous pot pies.

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI! Oh geeze, where do I begin? Umm, angst; implied cannibalism; murder; mild language; missing people; mentions of vomiting; someone being arrested; police; mentions of skeletal remains; and I think that’s about everything. I apologize if I’ve missed anything but you are responsible for what you read and for what you consume on the internet. By clicking keep reading you accept these warnings and any ones that I may have missed. I do not claim to be a professional writer, any and all mistakes are my own. Nothing is beta read.

Wordcount: 843

When the following night rolled around and everyone was gathered around the fire once more, Natasha couldn’t help but feel a bit excited to tell her story, even if it was a little messed up.

“So, is everyone ready for a story?” Natasha inquired as she glanced around her group of friends. She smiled as she felt Bucky had started to rub her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m down for another story.” Kate answered as she leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable.

“Oh yeah, I’m ready to see what you’ve come up with.” You chirped, excitement in your voice.

“Great! So, if everyone is ready, I’ll get started.” Natasha beamed, she cleared her throat before she started her story.

“Alright, so growing up, there was this sweet neighbor of ours. Lena, I don’t know if you remember her, but this neighbor was Madame Francesca.”

“I think I vaguely remember her, didn’t she move?” Yelena asked, her brow arched.

“I’m getting there, I just wanted to see if you remembered. So, like I was saying, our neighbor, Madame Francesca, was this sweet, older lady and throughout the years she would supply her neighbors with these delicious pot pies. Everyone loved them and whenever someone would ask for her recipe, she would simply smile and say it was a family secret. I remember that my mom would constantly ask for the old lady’s recipe and she was always disappointed when she was told no. Another thing that I remember is that my mom always tried to recreate those pot pies and she would try everything. She tried chicken, turkey, pork, venison; you name it, she tried it. But it was never the same as how Madame Francesca made them. They were always just slightly off.

“It was hard telling how long she had been making those pot pies for, as far as I knew it, it had only been a year; two years at the most. But when she did make them, and was handing them out, the neighbors flocked to her house. People couldn’t believe that she was just giving these delicious pot pies out for free and never asked for anything in return. She was happy just to be doing something for her neighborhood, or so it seemed. One day, there was a buzz in the neighborhood, somebody had gone missing. The family was devastated and months later the gentleman still hadn’t been found; and at that point, I think everyone had assumed the worst. Shortly after that, Madame Francesca had a new batch of pot pies ready to share with her neighbors. Rumors started to spread on why Madame Francesca wouldn’t release her ‘secret recipe’. The neighbors were whispering that Madame Francesca used human meat in her famous pot pies. This rumor spread so quickly that it reached the ears of the police officers and they had to check it out. Especially when the family of the missing man pleaded with them to do so. A few days later and the neighbors were all gathered outside and they were shocked at the scene before them. I remember my mom ushering me inside but that didn’t stop me from watching from the window.

“Along with my fellow neighbors, I was shocked to see Madame Francesca being brought out in handcuffs. I could see people whispering and even saw a couple of them throwing up. Later, we found out that the police had found the missing gentleman with several missing limbs and deceased. It turns out that her secret ingredient had in fact been human meat. The police found several skeletal remains in her backyard as well. The whole community was outraged and wanted to see Madame Francesca burn for her crimes. Eventually, after a long trial, she was and was sentenced to spend the rest of her life in prison. Community cookouts and gatherings were never the same and eventually, they were just canceled. Even though Madame Francesca was caught, the neighborhood never fully healed from her evilness.”

“Damn, that’s fucked up, Nat.” Johnny said bluntly, but he looked like he was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

Yelena’s mouth was agape and all she could do was stare at her sister. After a moment, she shook out of her state and spoke. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Do you know how many of those I ate?!”

“Mom and dad thought it was better you didn’t know.” Natasha answered, turning to look at her sister.

“No way did that happen.” Andy countered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why do you think I’m a vegetarian?” Natasha quipped back.

“I think I’m gonna join you.” You chimed in, your stomach feeling queasy suddenly.

A cold breeze blew through the camp, giving goosebumps to everyone in the group. You scooched closer to Steve as the fire flickered and popped. But you found yourself wondering which of your friends would tell the next story.

“I’ve got one.” Air spoke up after a while. “Not quite as dark as cannibalism, but I still think it’s pretty good.

#13 nights of halloween #campfire stories #story six #october 2023 #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fandom #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff storyteller #marvel characters #mcu characters #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans fandom #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #courtney writes

20 notes · View notes

giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 2 years

Text

So my girlfriend, who absolutely hates horror, had no interest in seeing “Werewolf by Night” when I told her about it. But when I said, “Gael García Bernal plays the werewolf,” she immediately flipped and said she was down to watch lol.

#gael garcia bernal #werewolf by night #jack russell #MCU #marvel #werewolf movies #personal life #posts about myself #mcu characters #marvel characters #wbn #mcu cast #marvel cast #horror movies #elsa bloodstone #man thing #ted sallis #ulysses bloodstone

202 notes · View notes

blogparanormal · 6 months

Text

Imagineering for Loki on Disney+. A group of 31 people got together and made up scenarios we would enjoy to watch that could lead to Marvel and Disney + to gain executive level outcome.

31 out of 31 people wanted a "Miss Minutes" show on Disney+

31 out of 31 people want the "Kablooie" candy to make it into an episode in season 3.

31/31 want a Loki season 3.

31/31 want Miss Minutes variants.

28 out of 31 wanted Mobius to become a variant of Loki.

26 out of 31 want Mobius variants.

25 out of 31 want new added characters to season 3 if it comes out.

17/31 want TVA (The Facility) variants added to the story.

15/31 want TVA (The people waking in the TVA) to have variants.

8/31 want return of Loki alligator.

#loki #loki season 2 #marvel #mcu #mcuchallenge #mcu characters #thor #disney+#disney #mastermind #think tank #statistics #loki fans #fiction #time travel #time travel fiction #loki season 3

7 notes · View notes

featheredstorms · 1 year

Text

Ever see a male character and just go, “he’s so baby girl oh my god” because I sure do. Especially for Chase Davenport and Bucky Barnes. Those two are my baby girls forever, I don’t care if you disagree.

#they are so babygirl #i love these two #they are perfect #lab rats #chase davenport #mcu characters #bucky barnes

20 notes · View notes

luwe21 · 11 months

Text

Most wholesome Characters in the MCU

#mcu #mcu characters #spiderman #moonlight #doctor strange #avengers

14 notes · View notes

auryn-l-moony · 1 year

Text

My Comfort Characters

26 notes · View notes

rainbowskittle · 10 months

Text

#marvel characters #marvel blog #marvel love #marvel #marvel cast #mcu #mcu characters #mcu fandom #marvel fandom #wolverine #deadpool #spider man #venom

10 notes · View notes

cleabellanov · 2 months

Text

Jet-Skiing Through Identity: A deep dive into Mobius M. Mobius (part 3) 🛥️

But why am I doing this? What is it that's so calling about Mobius's character?

Simple short answer: a lot of things. Simple but slightly longer aswer:

- His relationship with Loki being the only constant in the show, the only things we as viewers knew we can actually follow through the episodes. Being the one to treat "the villain" differently, Mobius already wins some ground from Loki's fans.

- He is relatable. Now of course, relatibility differs from viewer to viewer. But Mobius just has the charm of getting closer to you without really doing anything special.

-He is comforting, and I don't really need to bring arguments when that's his way of being. Also, we all know that if Loki can be comforted hy this character, so can we. Little variants of their own, these broken hearts... :))

Now, we got to the part where Mobius doesn't just give up when the hard thing to do is the thing that has to be done (just wait until I get to season 2. It'll get crazy).

The last episodes of season 1 are the ones in which this choice and internal conflict reach the climax.

After he gets pruned and ends up in The Void, Mobius doesn't let go without a fight. Actually, he quickly finds a car to get him away from Alioth and helps Sylvie along too. But why is he doing this?

The rush of adrenaline, the resolution that Renslayer: his friend for eons, just ordered his pruning, and the obvious life or death situation he is in. They all call the survival instinct - but also the adventurous side of Mobius - to action. I would like to insist on the second one, though. You can wipe a man's memory thousands of times, but that doesn't mean you wipe him the way he is. Those memories still exist, even though not in Mobius's present consciousness.

Then, his line in "Journey Into Mystery" is one I will never forget:

He has known so many timelines that got pruned, traveled in time and apocalypses, yet when it comes to change, it's never too late.

<<It's never too late to be what you might have been>> (George Eliot)

And again, why? Where does this strenght of character come from?

This willingness to change, this spark also has a lot to do with Loki. When he was saying that, he was talking to the other Loki variants. A simple man among them, yet one they seemingly trust. Seeing how his Loki was able to change and looking at these variants of him, he probably believes he can do the same, be an example for others that might need it. If the God of Mischief was able of "the word of a friend", Mobius is able of turning away from the very thing he diverted his life to. And that's because he know the truth now.

However, where Loki is an external factor, Mobius's strength and courage are an internal one. None of this wouldn't happened without him. Actually, things would've ended pretty quickly without the 1, that person to give Loki a chance. And, as I said before, the rest is history.

In the beloved miraculous historical scene where they hug, Mobius first gives out his hand. A signal that he's not very familiar with touch, and I imagine they don't often give hugs at the TVA.

So it has to be Loki that makes it into a hug. Mobius accepts that wholeheartedly, and I am so very grateful we got to see it on screen. The characters needed it as much as we did. And still do.

I had to put that in here, you can never get enough of them.

So here we are, at the end of the season. This character has come a long way, from the analyst that plays the comic relief at times - to the trusting, rebellious and loving companion, working with the opposite side to bring down the front on which he used to be fighting. More than ever, he is ready to fight for free will.

But there is still a longer way to go, because good characters never just stop playing with our hearts and evolving into someone new.

Therefore, see you for parts 4 and 5, because we're getting to SEASON 2 MUAHAHA

#mobius m mobius #mobius my beloved #if you liked this reblog so it can reach more people?#marvel #loki #lokius #owen wilson #tom hiddleston #character analysis #writing #writers and poets #mcu characters #comics #variants #mcu

27 notes · View notes

shambelle97 · 4 months

Text

LOKI - TV SERIES / SEASON 2 | BREAKING BRAD | MY GIFS (2023)

74 notes · View notes

meep-meep-richie · 1 year

Photo

𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩; 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣?

16 notes · View notes

incorrectmarvelquotesss · 1 year

Text

— bad guys —

Warnings: strong language, mentions of infertility (not reader or Bucky), mentions of death, uterine cancer-related topics, robbery, sexual themes, child abuse mentions, trafficking mentions

Summary: Bucky spies you at his team’s next strike after five months. || Thief!AU + Modern!AU

Pairing: Thief!Bucky Barnes x Thief!Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

A/N: ⚠️PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER IF ANY GIVEN WARNINGS MAY TRIGGER YOU⚠️ Even if you want to read my work please do not engage if you might be hurt or triggered. I appreciate you guys all the same. Anyway, on a more happier note, I think that we might see more of this duo/team.

Bucky waved at a lady dressed in a blood red dress, watching her giggle and turn away in mock shyness before sending him a wink. He would have rolled his eyes at the gestures a few years ago, but now his lips remained in the signature smirk he had mastered in a few months time—turned out he was a better charmer than he thought he was. He didn’t think about her too much, already knowing how the story would start and end with her, but—although he might have whisked her away from the party last year or so ago—he wasn’t here for that. Not tonight or ever again, Bucky thought, both bitterly and sweetly.

He bent forward and leaned his elbows against the surface of the counter, calling for the bartender to pour him another drink at another bittersweet memory resurfacing. Bucky knew, somewhere in the rational part of his brain, that he shouldn’t have been drinking, being the leader and all, but those memories tormented him now and drowned him under sweet whispers and kisses that he could still feel on every inch of his skin. They burned him now, searing hot over his skin like they were getting branded on him. His head was muddled as the bartender gave him a glass of whiskey, taking his last glass away and glancing over his shoulder when someone else called him over for a drink.

Bucky raised his glass to his lip, hands a bit shaky, and turned away from the lady, ultimately putting a stop on any chance she thought she might have with him. He stared ahead before turning around to look over the crowd. The banquet hall was a bit much, he thought, for celebrating someone’s—someone who could leave you in despair—31st birthday. Bucky scanned the crowd with an intense gaze to see if he could find his team in this packed hall. He tipped his glass back, finally catching the eye of a certain blue-eyed blond.

Steve was sitting in the far back and on the other side of the hall, already looking bored with the gala—that’s what everyone was calling it; not a birthday party, but a gala. His tie was loosened immensely with the knot reaching the middle of his stomach and his blazer was nowhere to be seen. Bucky knew it was probably on the ground somewhere in the bathrooms or storage rooms. His hair was ruffled up as if he, most likely someone else had run their hands through it multiple times. He sent Bucky a mischievous grin that Bucky knew meant he was up to nothing called good, and glanced around once. Then he pulled out a bright diamond necklace out of his pocket.

Bucky’s smirk grew and he took another sip of his drink, examining the crowd for another figure of his team.

He saw Natasha next and was glad—not surprised, mind—to see her ahead in her game by brushing up against the host, Brock Rumlow, the slow music her excuse. She was playing with danger, being that close to the guy, but Bucky wasn’t too worried about her. She knew how to disguise herself well enough, black hair and blue eyes doing the trick with a bit of makeup, and she knew how to hit better than Bucky. Rumlow, even though he was celebrating his girlfriend’s birthday, didn’t notice her slip a microchip into his breast pocket when she was rubbing her hands on his chest. She caught Bucky’s eye, a venomous grin on her face as she tugged Rumlow closer to her and swayed her hips against him.

Bucky looked away immediately and sighed against his glass, not needing to see any of that. His eyes trailed about, attempting to find a few others.

His eyes landed on Clint, watching him gaze at the crowd on the dance floor like a hawk. Clint was an interesting one, reserved although quite loud and obnoxious when he wanted to be. He knew how to scope out an area and get the details of all security measures before they hit the place. Tony was on stage with his laptop open and shouting into the mic as a DJ, secretly hacking into the systems as the gala went on as usual. He was weirdly social, going against all stereotypes of introverted hackers in movies and TV shows. Bucky and him had started off on the wrong foot, but slowly became friends as Bucky liked to say. Then there was Wanda, the newest addition to the group. No matter how innocent she looked and behaved, they all knew she was cunning and manipulative. She knew how to get into people’s heads, even Bucky’s and that was one difficult thing to do.

Bucky knew he was fortunate enough to have this team, his team, on his side. These people could rob and steal under everyone’s noses, right in front of them, without getting caught. Bucky knew that nothing was ever written in stone, that some things were meant to change and drift off. He didn’t see it happening with his team any time soon, but he would knock on wood to make sure he didn’t jinx it. He knew plans could change to adapt to certain situations, being the strategist of the group, and he was always ready for plans to adjust. He was the one who watched his teammates’ backs and kept them alert and on their toes for any issues. He was the one who lurked in the shadows and stayed close enough to be able to reach for his friends as needed. He was the leader of this team.

“Hey,” chimed a feminine voice from behind him, snapping his attention to the gala once more. Bucky quickly changed his brooding expression on his face and placed his boyish charm on display; a grin with his bright blue eyes and a dimple or two always seemed to make him look innocently devilish.

“Hey,” he mimicked, turning around to be met with the most beautiful pair of E/C eyes staring right at him a moment too late. He swore under his breath, noting the smirk plastered on your red-stained lips before you raised a glass to those lips. He wanted to punch himself when he caught his eyes following the motion of your glass and the slight drip of liquid on your lip before you swiped it away with your tongue. He wasn’t expecting you to be here—or anywhere near him—and didn’t notice you in the crowd. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out and somehow you slipped his awareness.

“Bad Guys doing something tonight?” You asked, eyes twinkling in a way that meant you knew the answer to that question. You sat down on the stool next to his, eyes raking over the crowd once to spot his team members of course and you did it fairly quickly. Your grin wasn’t as unsettling as he thought it would be, but it made his heart jump to his heart in pain. “Didn’t see any of your names on the guest list. So, before you lie to me, what is it that you guys are doing here?”

Bucky gave you nothing in return, sighing inwardly as he took another sip of his drink. This was probably the worst thing that could have happened to him—or any other member of his team—tonight. If you were here for the same reasons as them, they could be heading into what could be the longest night of their lives and most difficult steal of their lives. Bucky couldn’t have that with the hit they were supposed to make tonight with the event going on and the biggest diamond in the country in a safe underneath the hall. This could help all of their families and set them for life, if they got their hands on it.

You, however, were the obstacle that neither of them were expecting. As an ex member of his beloved team, you knew everyone’s strengths and weaknesses and presumably even what they were supposed to be doing tonight. When he captured your eyes again, he momentarily was caught off-guard when he realised exactly how much he missed you. He missed the way you nibbled at your bottom lip in anticipation, or ran your hands through his hair to calm him down, or giggled when he some stupid joke about the event, or the way you felt pressed up against him with whispers and endearments lingering in the air and spending the night in each other’s embrace. He would deny it if someone asked him at that moment, but he still happened to love you more than life itself.

His team used to be and was his only family, but you had another family, a biological family, and other friends he had never met. Despite not having that much information about you, he was able to trust you. He had never doubted your loyalty and ability to watch his back. He had never thought that you would betray him or his makeshift family. The way you carried yourself with ease and cheeriness had all of them mesmerized. You were easy-going and effortlessly the ball of sunshine in the group, being hopelessly optimistic about their plans, even with your line of work.

He never expected you to leave in the middle of the strike, apologising over the comms before disappearing for five months. You didn’t contact him or anyone else, which he had found all too painful enough—Natasha hadn’t taken it well either, setting up a picture of you on the dart board and aiming for your heart and head each time she threw. Bucky had only winced whenever Natasha hit her targeted areas, shaking his head and clearing his mind to keep strong for his team members. He had thought about the nights you two had spent wrapped in each other’s warmth before pushing those thoughts to the back of his head and hoping they would stay hidden away from his heart.

He was so damn wrong. As if his heart could ever forget the way you touched his scars and traced his tattoos, lying next to him with your back pressed against his naked chest. He would have rather encountered Pierce—the one who had shoved him under the bus and gotten him stuck in jail for three years—than come face-to-face with you after that betrayal.

He wasn’t expecting to see you ever again, never really thinking about what he would say or how he would react to seeing you again. It didn’t help that you decided to reappear at one of their strikes a few weeks ago, a party being hosted by Obadiah Stane for his girlfriend’s birthday, and interfere with their mission; stealing the necklace his girlfriend was wearing proudly and showing off to whoever looked towards her. Wanda had been the one trying to loosen the clasp as she adjusted it for her so that Steve could take it off with swift hands when he found the time to sweep her away from the crowd.

Just as everything was going according to his plan, you had dragged Steve by his elbow to a secluded hallway when he was about to approach Stane’s girlfriend. Bucky had seen red as he watched you sneak out with his best friend, striding over to hear the exchange of heated words between the two of you, Steve being the louder one since you refused to raise your voice at anyone. He probably should have taken that into account before he sent Steve away with a glare and yelled at you to remind you that you weren’t working with them anymore. He probably shouldn’t have continued to tell you that you didn’t mean anything to them anymore, that you didn’t mean anything to him anymore.

The hurt that flashed across your face and flared in your eyes as you took a few steps away from him, realising that he had been mere inches away from you, hurt him more than he cared to admit.

“What’re you doing here?” He countered, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion. You would rather spend the night at some food truck with overly greasy food and a couple of friends to keep you company than attend a gala. Bucky knew that so he could come up with a few conclusions and he was sure that you were here for the same thing as them.

“Same thing you are, I guess,” you mumbled out, tilting the glass back with your head and draining the last of your drink with an audible gulp. He could tell that it burned making its way down your throat by the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly and your nose scrunched up in the most adorable way. This, these thoughts of you, were why he couldn’t ever forget you. You glanced around and cleared your throat, no doubt the burn still stinging. When you looked back at him, you managed to pull out a smile for him, but he knew it wasn’t your normal cheery smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes and he started noticing every little detail.

“How’re you doing?” He finally asked, the dark circles that you had tried to cover up with makeup coming into his view when you shook your head and the light hit them just right. He knew something was wrong, that something was bothering you. Even when you had left the team, he knew something was contributing to your health, but at that time he had been too angry, too hurt, to think about it. Now that his head was mostly clear and sort of somber, he took quick notes of the little ticks of yours that he had come to make a list of during your time together.

The slightest pull of your lips downwards, the worry dancing behind the veil of your eyes, the way you bothered on your bottom lip with your teeth, and how you seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. You were worried about something and he cursed himself for not knowing what it was.

“I’m fine,” you replied after a moment, meeting his eye for a split second before shrugging and looking away to gaze at your glass as if it was the most interesting thing. “It’s a bit harder working by yourself, but—” You stopped abruptly, twirling your empty glass on the counter slowly and staying quiet as the seconds ticked by slower than usual.

“But?” Bucky nudged you with his elbow, glasses clinking as his touched yours on the counter. He twisted in his seat so that he could face you properly when you didn’t elaborate more. “Come on, Y/N. Tell me what’s going on. Why did you leave us?” He tried his best to keep his tone leveled and keep the frustration out of it.

When you refused to regard him or speak to him, he sighed and whispered, “Why'd you leave me?” Even with his efforts to stay neutral, his voice slipped from him, cracking as he ended the sentence. He didn’t look away from you though, eyes trained on your reaction.

“I had to, James,” you answered simply, keeping your voice as gentle and soft as he remembered it to be during your late night encounters. The answer, however, left Bucky even more curious than before.

“Why?” He asked, voice now desperate for an answer that gave him some more insight on your problems and maybe gave him more closure. You kept your gaze on the glass in front of you, your silence making him worry for you. He glared at the glass and pushed it out of your hands, grasping them and pulling them so that you would look at him. He was successful, but he was sure he could have done without his heart cracking when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Why?”

“I needed more money, James.” Your voice cracked and he was almost certain his heart had shattered in his chest. “My mom, she, uh she was—hasn’t ever been well since, well, since me. You know I’m an only child, but that was only because when she had me, she, uh, she developed some scarring. She became—she wasn’t able to carry another child. My father, he, uh, he blamed me for the rest of his life for not having another child, even on his deathbed.”

“It wasn’t your fault and neither will it ever be,” Bucky said, tears being blinked away as they formed in his eyes staring at yours. Your hurt seemed to pain him more than his own. You smiled at him, the real smile he missed so much, nodding and squeezing his hands to ground yourself.

“I know. After his death, my mom told me so, telling me that—that I was everything to her. She still had a lot of issues because of the scarring. It hurt a lot for her to move around and lift heavy weights, especially when she got older. Sometimes there would be slight bleeding, but the spotting was considered normal for scarring so we didn’t think much of it. Then, uh, then when things were finally okay—okay as they could have been, we discovered that she had uterine cancer too and it hadn’t been picked up because of the scarring. At first we were adjusting, but then there was a shortage of her medicine and they fucking increased the damn price of it, of course.”

You took a deep breath, the topic becoming a bit too heavy to continue, and looked around, stopping at one particular spot. Bucky followed your trail of sight and spotted Steve still sitting on the chair with ruffled clothes and hair. Bucky nodded at him to execute the plan without him and Steve merely nodded back, glancing at you once before getting up and getting the plan in order.

“You could’ve told us,” Bucky mumbled. “We would’ve given you all you needed.” He realised that that was it, wasn’t it? You could have said all that and that was all he needed to hear. That you could have said something about your mom’s health and that was all it would take for the team to give up some of their shares for you. They always made sure to split the goods fairly, having an equal share for each of the members. None of them asked for more or less, or even took more or less. If there was anything that didn’t split evenly, they donated the money on your doing.

You let out a laugh despite the tears in your eyes and said, “That’s exactly what I never told any of you. All of you would’ve given me what I needed in a split second and I never doubted that, James.”

“Then why—”

“Because you need the money, too,” you cut in gently, those kind eyes of yours watching him carefully. “All of us need the money, James.” Damn you and your compassion.

Bucky scowled in dismay, knowing you were right. They wouldn’t be stealing if they didn’t need the money so badly. It wasn’t as if they weren’t educated enough to have well-paying jobs, but money was tight for all of their families—except Tony, but he had cut ties with his father a long time ago. Wanda was an orphan, trying to raise enough money to keep her head above water and help her brother float with her too. Steve was raised in an abusive home so he had run away to get away from his father, leaving his mom behind only to find out she had died two nights after he left. Natasha had escaped some sort of trafficking that she refused to speak about and Clint was raised in a circus for a bit before running away as well.

“How’s your mom now?” He should have known better to ask. It was obvious from the way your face dropped, bottom lip trembled, and eyes hardened immensely. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, sunshine.” The endearment seemed to pull you closer to him like an unsaid claim he had over you. When you leaned closer to him, he tugged you closer to him and kissed you, later realising that you had taken residency on his lap and tangled your hands in his hair when he gripped your hips.

“So what were you here for really? Us?” He mumbled against your lips and resisted the urge to groan when you rolled your hips against him. The familiar action sent shivers down his spine and made him grip your hips more firmly.

“Depends,” you started, moving away slightly to brush his hair out of his face, “if I'm allowed to call us the Bad Guys now?”

“No,” Bucky groaned, bringing his lips back to yours.

“But—”

“Shut up.” You giggled as he brought your lips back to his, savouring this one moment, the moment he had wanted all along without knowing it. He knew there was a lot left unsaid between the two of you and the others would definitely have a field day when they find out what happened—or first kill both of you for leaving them to fend for themselves. But he let the two of you enjoy the moment.

The Bad Guys could wait—he groaned, knowing you were hundred percent going to get the rest of the team on this too.

A/N: TRIGGER WARNINGS: INFERTILITY I wanna go ahead and talk about infertility for a second. It’s a sensitive topic so I try not to touch upon it in my fics because of possible triggers, but not talking about it and its effects on individuals and families can be taken as ignorance. Given that it’s not always something they would want to talk about but taking the time to discuss treatments and other plans with your significant other or family is important. Support groups and therapy are good places to start and I speak from experience (not me but one of my very close friends and his wife which is why I cannot discuss further). There are treatments open to those who cannot carry or conceive, such as IVF, surrogacy, or adoption (and more). The point of this little message is that not being able to conceive or being infertile doesn’t make you any less and make anyone else less. In fact, it makes you stronger.

42 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 1 year

Text

Foreigner's God: Chapter 20

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Chapter Summary: Nothing tastes better than a little corporate espionage with a side of Matt Murdock in a tuxedo, and a glass of violence to swallow down the aftertaste.

Warnings: Sexual tension, SMUT, shower sex, oral sex (f!receiving), exhibitionism (does the supply closet count? or the elevator?), pantie snatcher Matt Murdock, anxiety attack, creepy men, sexual harassment, canon typical violence, mentions of drug use and addiction, basically made-up legal talk, illegal activities

A/n: This is the sexy spy chapter in which Matt and Eliza are sexy spies and they actually get some stuff done - like each other. In more ways than one. I have no regrets. (I lied to you, there is gonna be smut. A lot of it.)

Read Chapter 20: Innocent here on AO3!

18+ MINORS DNI

Matt expected a lot when he woke up, but Eliza asking him if he owned a tuxedo wasn’t one of them.

“What?” he asked groggily.

“Do you own a tux? Like, a fancy suit with a bowtie?”

“Jesus, can’t you wake me up like a normal person without screaming in my ear?” Groaning as he rolled onto his back, he shifted to pull the comforter over his bare torso.

“Screaming?” she leaned in. “THIS IS SCREAMING!”

The pillow hit her right in the face. “Okay, I deserved that. But anyway, do you or do you not own a tuxedo?”

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

“We’re going to a party.”

Suddenly, he was wide awake. And very aware of the fact that Foggy was no longer in bed with him. In his head, that sounded wrong. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He surely hadn’t heard correctly. She didn’t just say that.

“Well, a gala to be exact,” she said. She sounded way too excited.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Remember what we told you yesterday about Luke Harrington and his ties to Larson Inc, who just happens to also be connected to Fisk? You know, ugly bald guy who smacked the shit out of you a couple of times now?”

“Can we rewind to the part where you said we’re going to a party? You’re a fugitive, Eliza! Do you want me to serve you on a silver platter to the police?”

She sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Of course not. Why would I want that? I’m not an idiot, but this is an important party.”

“Oh, right, because the last one turned out so great.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

“Why are you even suggesting this in the first place?” He took her hand. “Why do you want to do this knowing it could end badly for you, hm?”

“Because we have to. Well, I do. You just have to tag along ‘cause I want you there. No, I need you there with me. You make this a lot easier with your stupid gift.”

“Urgh. Eliza, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“Let me finish! It’s not just any gala, it’s a masquerade ball, which is convenient. Really convenient. Our faces will be hidden, almost like your Daredevil suit or the black mask. If anything, you should be the one doing backflips right now. Falls right into your territory. Not in mine, obviously. I don’t do masquerade balls. Your entire life is a masquerade ball.”

“A masquerade ball, seriously?” he frowned. “Why do we need to do this? Can’t we just break into the building when there’s no one there to catch us? I will wear my Daredevil mask and the suit – no one gets hurt.”

“And risk getting caught with all the security they have?” she said. “No hacking in the world could disarm it all. No. We need to do this my way. It’s the only way.”

She was right. Her plan was foolproof. The fact that their faces would be covered was convenient, almost suspiciously so, but it made sense. Luke was about to auction exotic animals. The security had to be higher so none of his clients would get caught.

He moved the blanket to get up. “Do you have a dress?” he asked.

“Do I have a-” she gasped dramatically, “What do you take me for? Of course, I have a dress, Matthew.”

“Well, do you have a mask? A fancy one you can wear?”

“Me? You’re wearing one, too.”

“No,” he whined. “Not if it’s plastic. It’s uncomfortable.”

“I’ve got it covered, Matt. Have a little faith.”

“The only thing I have is a headache. Hey, maybe lay off the caffeine for a while. You’re jumping over your words. I think you’re about to fly through the ceiling.”

“I’m not. This is how I talk. I’m a fast talker. See? High speed. Right through the sound barrier. Did you know the fastest talker in the world is some guy named Sean Shannon, who spoke 655 words per minute?”

“I-“

“As of 1995, that is. Considering I was pretty much a baby back then, I obviously wasn’t there, but if I had been older, like you, I would have loved that guy. Now he’s just an article in the book of world records.”

“Are you planning to break that record?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“Just… you’re hyperactive. It’s annoying.”

“Pff. You’re annoying.”

“What are you, a middle schooler? No, no more caffeine for you. You’ve had enough. I mean, how many cups of coffee have you had?”

“At least one. At most, like, seven or so. Wait, eight. No, ten. I honestly don’t remember. But at least I’m awake. Awake enough to have conjured up this perfect plan, so you better not ruin it.”

He sighed deeply. “We need to decaffeinate you.”

“Shower?” she suggested. “I like a good shower, but I might need someone to wash my hair since I’m so fatally injured.” The back of her hand landed on her forehead. “I might pass out.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “You could just ask me to join you, you know. Like a normal person?”

“If I ask, would you join me?”

“I don’t need a shower. It’s only gonna make my hair greasy.”

“Oh, well, I’m just gonna leave the door open… now I’m taking my shirt off… oh no, it’s on the floor, how unfortunate, and I’m not wearing a bra… oop, there goes my underwear.”

“I’m coming!” Matt stumbled over his blanket in an attempt to get out of bed. He pulled his boxer briefs back up and sprinted after her.

Eliza was leaning against the sink with her legs crossed, naked as one could be. “You sure will be,” she purred.

“Where’s Foggy?” his voice took on a darker tone.

“Karen called him in,” she explained. “Didn’t want to wake you, so he left. But he’s gonna be back just in time to drive the getaway car tonight.”

“Hm, so we’re alone?”

“No one here to catch us. Just you, me, and the shower. Have I mentioned that I’m naked?”

“Shower, now.” There was the animal she had been waiting for. He pulled her under the warm stream, pressing her against the wall. She gasped softly, his lips on her as soon as the cold tiles dug into her back. The last time they showered together they had been way more intimate, without the sex and the desperation, just touching. That wasn’t Matt’s intention, and she didn’t want it to be. She had planned this perfectly.

He broke the kiss, panting into her mouth. “How much time do we have?” he asked.

“Couple of hours, minus getting ready,” she said, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him back in.

He parted her lips with his tongue. “Good, enough time to add foreplay.” Two fingers started to toy with her clit. She moaned into his half-open mouth.

“Or you could just fuck me.”

“We both know that’s just gonna hurt you. No, we’re doing this properly.”

“God, please.”

“God isn’t here, sweetheart.” He kept rubbing his fingers over her sensitive clit, using the wetness of the shower and her own arousal as lube.

“Matthew, I can’t wait,” she moaned.

“That’s too bad.” He slipped his ring finger into her tight cunt. The palm of his hand kept rubbing against her sensitive nerve endings.

“I need you inside of me.”

“I am inside of you. In fact, I am very deep inside of you.”

She gasped.

“Ah, there it is.”

“That’s just two inches into my- fuck!”

His finger curled against her G-spot, massaging the velvety wall in all the right places. She clenched around him.

“You’re right,” he murmured, “two inches is barely enough.” So he added another finger, shoving them inside of her as far as they would go.

She suddenly felt so full. “Fucking hell!” Her hips started rocking against his hand, enjoying the way he varied from rubbing her clit to curling his fingers again and again and again and- “Matthew, I’m gonna… oh, God!”

The man was way too good at what he was doing.

“You’re gonna what?” he asked innocently.

“I’m…”

“You can say it. C’mon. I won’t let you until you tell me.”

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum.”

Matt chuckled against her neck. “Good.” He removed his fingers, leaving her tumbling on the edge of the cliff, but she fell in the wrong direction.

“You-“ she grunted. “Why did you do that?”

He pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth, kissing her passionately. “Leg around my waist, now.”

Eliza did as she was told. He used his already wet hand to give his cock a few good pumps.

“Can you angle your hips a bit further up?”

She nodded, arching her back. “You got it?” she asked.

He made sure to shield her head from the wall as he pushed his cock inside of her. “Yeah, got it. Oh, fuck!” She was so tight, so wet, so perfect.

She held her breath. The burning reached up to her cheeks, but she reminded herself to breathe. He stilled, waiting for her to permit him to move.

“Okay,” she eventually exhaled.

He picked up the pace, moving her hips against him in time with his thrusts. His bicep tensed as he braced himself against the tiles. She watched the veins pop, the perfect outline of his muscles, his hands so beautiful on her body, all hers for the taking. She had a thing for his hands. She couldn’t explain it.

Her tongue licked over his perfect arms. She had always wanted to do that, trace the bulging veins with her tongue and feel his pulse jump. She moaned at the salty taste of his skin. His muscles tensed even more.

Matt made love to her right there in the shower, taking his time with every smooth move of his hips. He wanted to savor the moment. His pelvis brushed against her clit. Their nipples brushed together, chest to chest, the friction getting too much to bear.

“I want you to cum with me, can you do that?”

She pulled him into a bruising kiss. “Yeah.”

“C’mon.” His thrusts turned brutal. The moans got trapped in her throat, the sounds coming from him though, were loud against her neck. She reveled in it. She wanted to record them and take them anywhere to listen to him moan so sweetly for her. It was for her, all just for her. Her chest swelled with pride. She turned the usually so stoic Matt Murdock into a whimpering mess with only the power of her cunt, which caused her to feel the most powerful she had in a while.

He nibbled at her earlobe. “Now,” he said.

Her thigh clenched around his waist. His name left her lips in a shout, his cum spurting into her, painting them white and making a home there. Her eyes rolled back. She was on cloud nine.

“Fuck.”

He slowly set her back down on her wobbly feet. “You good?”

“Just fine,” she sighed against his chest. He engulfed her in a hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Agreed.”

They didn’t talk much more after that. Eliza cleaned the apartment, he did the dishes, then she disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. Matt sat in the living room, fingers running over the files printed in Braille. He might have screwed up during the meeting with Fisk, but they had a point to start. They had at least something to go on.

She called his name.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Coming.”

Eliza stood in front of his bedroom mirror. The skin on her back was uncovered. He could hear the fabric sliding against her skin, stopping just above her ankles. The zipper dangled off the bottom, touching her butt.

“Can you zip me up?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate. He slid the zipper up until the part of her back just below her shoulder blades was covered. It was a low-cut dress, both front and back. His fingers ghosted over the fabric.

He passed away right then and there.

She was wearing a fucking silk dress. Her cleavage was more than visible, the tightness pushing her breasts up enough to get a good picture. There was a slit in the front, revealing her leg. Her skin sounded smooth. She smelled like him, yet the dress carried her scent and it mixed so perfectly together, his eyes rolled back. The dress felt like heaven under his fingers.

Eliza watched him nervously in the mirror.

“What color?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“The dress. What color is it?”

“Oh,” she shifted her weight to the other foot. “Green.”

He bit back the silent ‘fuck!’ that bubbled up in his throat. She was toying with the necklace in her hands. It was the same crystal she always wore. He offered his hand. She gave it to him. He felt the silver chain and the small pendant, searching for the clasp. Finally, he found it. He placed it around her neck, fixing it so the necklace would lie perfectly between her breasts, and then closed the clasp again.

She could tell he was questioning the nature of the piece of jewelry, considering it didn’t look rich and she always had it with her.

“Natasha gave it to me,” she told him. She turned around, letting him touch the crystal. “I’m a strong believer in the power of crystals, and you can laugh at me for that if you want, I don’t care. She gave it to me after Fury cleared me for duty. She taught me everything I know. She helped me adjust. She’s the only one who remotely understands what I’ve been through. So, one day she just came up to me and gave me this, as a good luck charm. I’ve been wearing it every day ever since.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m not gonna laugh at you. Not when I believe in the power of crystals, too.”

“You do?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I thought that was obvious.”

“You’re catholic. I thought that doesn’t extend to witchcraft.”

“Are crystals witchcraft?”

“Technically, if you infuse them with spells.”

“Hm. Did Natasha infuse it with a spell?”

“No. She’s not that gay.”

He let go of the necklace.

“I haven’t had a drink since that night at Josie’s,” she silently admitted. “Which is the longest I have gone without drinking in a long time.”

Matt’s hand rested on her shoulder, massaging the tense muscles underneath. “Is there a reason?” he asked. “I mean, I’m proud of you, but is there a reason?”

She smiled at him in the mirror. “You.”

“What?”

“I just…” Eliza turned around, wanting to face him properly. “Ever since that night, ever since we first, you know, had sex, I’ve been feeling like I don’t need it anymore. But I also know that once we walk into that gala, I will drink, and that makes me feel guilty ‘cause I will only disappoint you.”

He touched her cheek with his knuckles. “Sweetheart, you could never disappoint me. It’s not my choice to make. You want to drink, fine. I don’t have to like it.“

“But I’m an addict who’s definitely not sober.”

“No, but you explained it to me. You explained why you do it, why you’re drinking even after overcoming your drug addiction. Your circumstances are different. You can’t compare to the average addict.”

“That’s why I don’t go to meetings,” another silent admission. “I can’t go because I’m a hypocrite. I can’t keep collecting chips when I’m not sober. The longest I have kept one of them was nine months, then I started drinking again and stopped going to meetings. I just felt so guilty, y’know. I couldn’t face the people there, the hardworking ones, the ones willing to stand through the process of sobriety instead of succumbing to other drugs instead.”

Eliza moved over to the bed, sitting down on the soft mattress. Matt followed. He was willing to listen. She hardly opened herself up. With him, it was easy, and he was eager to learn.

“I used to go to every meeting in New York. I didn’t share, but I went. I mean, it was required after rehab, and I had a sponsor. But that was years ago.”

“So why did you start drinking again?” he asked.

“I realized… my powers make it almost impossible for me to bear this pain without relief. I can’t use them on myself. I’m useless when it comes to dealing with my trauma. Therapy can’t fix this. I tried. And I can’t take Oxy or heroin or any other opioid, really, because I want to stay sober, so alcohol it is. Turns out, that stuff is just as addictive as pills or shooting up. That’s why drinking is extremely frowned upon. Alcohol is a drug. I just… I don’t know. I hate myself because of that.”

“Mh-hm. I understand.”

“Every time I breathe, I itch for a fix, but I saw what happened last time.”

“What exactly happened last time?”

“Oxy overdose. Took one too many pills. It wasn’t just Oxy though. I stopped counting what opioids I took. Didn’t end well.”

“So it’s just painkillers?”

“I used cocaine a couple of times if that counts. Speed, too. Only while partying though. I took Oxy and Morphine regularly.”

Matt hummed. “What does it feel like?” he was asking out of pure curiosity. He had never taken anything other than aspirin and the occasional joint, but that was it. He didn’t have much experience with drugs because with his senses, everything felt a lot more intense and he hated that.

“I would lie if I said it’s terrible,” Eliza said. “I can’t say ‘don’t do drugs’ because that’s not my choice to make. These pills were the best and yet the worst thing I’ve ever done. The high was great. For a moment you just feel nothing. Your head gets dizzy. You just exist without having to think about anything. They’re painkillers for a reason. They numb your nerves, numb your senses. God, I miss it.”

“Hey…”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll start taking drugs again.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Matt. I won’t relapse, I refuse to. Right now it’s just hard, you know. All these memories, the flashbacks, the being thrown into cold water, I… I’m trying to stay sane, but it’s hard. You made me forget, which is great, but once I walk into that gala, everything will come back and I’m gonna drink ‘cause that’s the only way for me to stay in control of myself.”

“You never show just how much you’re struggling,” he said.

Eliza scoffed. “Why should I? For the pity glances? No, thank you.”

“But you’re talking to me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I feel like I can talk to you. You don’t judge me. You actually listen. Others don’t. They only see the addict and distance themselves.”

“I would never,” he said.

“I know.”

“I mean it. I could never judge you for having a disease that you’re trying your hardest to fight. Sure, you’re not a good example, but you’ve got your reasons and they make sense. So I believe you. I don’t see an addict, I see Eliza. She is an addict, but she isn’t defined by that.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He bumped his shoulder into hers. “Hey, anytime you need to talk, I’m here.”

“I just needed to get that off my chest before we go in there and everything comes crashing down on me.”

“Did it help?”

“A lot. Thank you. I’ll give you the space to get ready.”

He grabbed her wrist. “Hey,” and kissed her. “I’m proud of you.”

“I think, after all of this is over,” Eliza turned around, “I will try to get clean. Completely clean.”

“And I will support you.”

She nodded. “You’re a good man, Matthew.” With a smile, she disappeared behind the milky door.

She made him believe that maybe, it was true. Maybe he was a good man, after all.

Eliza looked dashing. While he was jealous, he couldn’t blame the heads she would turn. All the men and women who would chase her tail. He willed himself not to think about it too hard. If he looked particularly good, perhaps they could tell she belonged to him. Aesthetically speaking, he was sure they made an attractive couple. Even though he couldn’t see, he only had to listen to other people’s heartbeats to know how attractive someone was, and Eliza always earned fast heartbeats and changes in breathing, faint hints of arousal in the air. It was the same for him, though with her, he found himself watching out for the women around them, too.

She grew impatient with every passing minute. Her eyes stayed glued to the clock on her phone. They needed to get going soon.

“Hey, diva!” she called out for him. “Are you almost done?”

The door opened. She sighed in relief.

“Finally! What the hell took you so long? In the time you took to get ready, I could have had at least two orgasms. You are such a div-“

There was a reason he took his sweet time.

Literally, fuck me.

“Fuck.”

She could hear her panties drop, the pulse between her legs growing stronger, the wetness pooling in her lace underwear, and her nipples strained against the silk of her dress. Her jaw dropped open. This was even better than the tux he wore to the Stark party. It was perfectly tailored to fit his every curve.

He opened his arms, turning, showing off the tuxedo in all its glory, and what was hiding underneath. “How do I look?” This an honest, insecure question.

“You look… I… it’s… um… yeah.”

Ass. Ass. Ass. Ass. The words flickered across her vision like the billboard outside.

“That bad?”

“No!” she waved around frantically. “Not bad at all. Can you just twirl one more time?”

He turned.

“Slowly. Very slowly. Actually, just let me check the, uh, back.”

A bit confused, he followed her demand. She hummed.

“Thank you.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing, you just look so incredibly hot in that suit. Fuck. I can’t think. I just have your ass in my mind and the way that jacket hugs your slutty little waist. You look so handsome, Matt. It’s so not fair how beautiful you are.” She realized she was rambling. “I’m sorry, that was a lot. And it was weird.”

He opened his mouth. “No,” he sounded genuinely surprised, not quite able to form a proper sentence. “That’s… No one’s ever said that to me before, that’s all. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. Although, I think I’d rather have you wear a trash bag right now. Oh, no, wait! That would make me an objectophile. Being attracted to trash and all. You’d absolutely rock that too, which is quite frankly, a little unsettling.”

“There is no pleasing you sometimes.”

“Oh, I am pleased, which is precisely the problem.”

He turned around, ready to get changed into one of his basic work suits, but she grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “Don’t,” she said, way too quick for her liking. “I mean, we need to fit the picture.” She hoped she managed to turn the ship around.

He only grinned down at her, eyes covered by his red glasses. The lights of the billboard danced in the shades.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” he said, breath fanning across her face hot and desperately, “Your dress turns me on, too.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Did you think wearing silk was a good idea?”

“It’s the only dress that’s gonna get me the attention I need,” she stated.

“Any dress you wear is gonna get you the attention you need. Don’t be ridiculous now, sweetheart. You know what you’re doing. You know you look good. And you know it’s killing me that you look like that and I can’t even touch you.”

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“I won’t unless you want to cave and jump me right now.”

She scoffed. “You wish.”

“Oh, we both know you’re desperate,” he purred into her ear, hovering but not touching her. His fingers moved up the length of her body; she could only feel him on the small hairs where goosebumps adorned her skin.

“Oh, yeah? What gave it away?” The heels gave her enough leverage to stand eye-to-eye with him. She stepped closer, still not touching him, but close enough for their lips to brush.

Finally, he pulled her flush against him, chest to chest, lips pressed together in a fiery battle for dominance. His hand slid underneath the green dress - the silk was sweet temptation - and squeezed the flesh of her hips. She had nowhere to go.

Matt chuckled darkly. “You know what gave it away,” he rasped.

“Do I?”

“Jesus, do you ever shut up?”

“I don’t think so. You don’t seem to deserve my silence right now, seeing how you’re groping me, again, and trying to blame it on me being desperate.”

“Oh, I don’t deserve your silence?” A darkness fell over his beautiful face just as the billboard turned red. “Nah, sweetheart, I don’t think so.”

His head suddenly snapped in the direction of the door.

“Foggy’s here. He’s in front of the building, talking to Karen on the phone.” A pause. “They’re arguing.”

Not about him this time, thankfully. He felt too dizzy to focus on the contents of their conversation.

“That’s unfortunate. How are you gonna explain that?” She peeked down at the obvious bulge in his pants.

He groaned, biting his lip. Of course, this had to happen. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. He’s not gonna believe we’re just friends when he sees you with an obvious tent in your pants.”

“Would you just…” He was trying to focus, but the blood remained between his legs and not where it was supposed to be. Her voice wasn’t helping, either. If anything, she just made it worse.

Eliza leaned back. “Is it me?” she asked. “Is it my voice, is that why…”

“Fuck! Just shut up. I’m trying to focus.”

“I’ll be damned. Do you have a voice kin-” His hand covered her mouth. She gawked at him. His palm felt rough against her lips. The lipstick was going to suffer, she was sure of that. It was waterproof and survived the kissing, which was surprising, but it surely wouldn’t survive all the saliva that would collect behind his hand.

He let out a prolonged breath. “Sorry,” he admitted quietly.

He mumbled behind the makeshift gag.

“If I let go, will you stop teasing me?”

She nodded. The question was nice enough. She chose to have mercy on him. She didn’t want Foggy to catch them. It was their little secret, one she wanted to cherish. Who knew how much time they had left to be like this? She wanted him all to herself before it was too late.

“Thank you.”

She touched her lips. The lipstick was still there. Matt seemed to have calmed himself enough so that his boner was less obvious. It appeared as if his pants were simply sitting wrong.

“Can I get my purse now?” she asked.

He nodded, although flinching at the sound of her voice. “Go.”

“Okay.”

The ride was mostly filled with Foggy breaking down their battle strategy and Eliza arguing every little bullet point until he caved and agreed with her.

Matt was somewhere else. He wasn’t sure what happened, but his mind suddenly shut off. He had a bad feeling. Not about this mission in particular but about the whole thing. And that feeling was so strong, it consumed him whole, making it impossible to listen to what his friends had to say. He nodded when he found it necessary, but the voices came through a thick layer of cotton. The alarms in his head blared. His heart was beating faster. The bowtie felt suffocating. He tucked at it, opening the first button of his shirt. They still had time. He couldn’t fucking breathe and it was pathetic, really, because the last time he had had a panic attack was a long time ago. He couldn’t make out any triggers. One second he was fine, the next he felt like he was going to die, and he was drowning in the sounds like the endless pit of the pacific ocean.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked him. She knew he wasn’t. She could sense it.

He nodded. Lie.

“Do you need anything?” She wanted to squeeze his hand, but he pushed her away.

“Yeah, can you not-” he swallowed, “Don’t touch me. Let me sit it out.”

He had gotten so used to masking, sitting it out was a valid option. He fought this battle all by himself, he learned how to survive on his own, never ask for help and just move on, not show any weakness along the way, so he sat back and let the panic wreak havoc. He didn’t make a single sound. He wanted to cry or scream or perhaps both. The cage was too small for him.

After what felt like an eternity, the tide changed. Air filled his lungs. The ringing in his ears subsided. He could make out her faint heartbeat, Foggy in the driver’s seat, and the cars driving by. He pursed his lips, exhaling loudly.

Eliza looked at him. “You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said.

“You just had an anxiety attack, I don’t think you’re okay.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She shook her head. He wasn’t going to admit that he needed help. Instead, she reached for the water bottle in the center console. She opened the cap and handed it to him. “Here,” she said. “Drink.”

His hand was shaking. He could smell the worry radiating off of her. Once he was done, he handed the bottle back to her. She gave him as good of a smile as she could.

“Can I touch you now?”

He nodded. Her hand found its way to his thigh.

“You okay back there?” Foggy asked. Despite his preference for using the subway, he was actually a good driver. He borrowed the car from his dad, he told them. Courtesy of Mister Nelson. He thought his son was taking a field trip with Matt and some more friends. Or perhaps he thought he was going on a date. Foggy would have told him anything to keep their disguise up to date.

Eliza reassured him that they were fine, even though Matt was fighting tears behind his glasses. She wanted to ask what brought this on, but he didn’t want to talk, so she wouldn’t force him. She wouldn’t have wanted him to ask her stupid questions if it had been her. Sometimes the world just gets too much, too loud, all at once. For him especially. She could support him, but talking about it was on him. He had to come to her. Anything else would have been tactless.

He dropped them off in front of the venue. The building was huge. Too many floors to count them. They put their masks on. The cardboard dug into their skin. The lace that covered it was irritating and scratchy. Rhinestones transferred glitter onto their cheeks.

Matt huffed at the feeling of the object covering the upper part of his face. It wasn’t hard plastic or a blindfold. The mask was a pathetic excuse for a disguise. Everyone was wearing them. He never understood the thrill of masquerade balls. Not only did he feel restricted by his suit but the mask only multiplied the feeling of being trapped in his skin.

Eliza was next to him, squeezing his hand, and she eased his anxiety enough to breathe. If it hadn’t been for her, he would have made a run for it already. He wasn’t cut out for this.

“Have fun with corporate espionage, kids,” Foggy told them. “Try not to kill anyone and don’t drink too much, I don’t need you throwing up in my dad’s truck. Other than that, knock yourselves out!”

“Thank you,” Matt smiled sourly. “But when you say fun, I imagine something entirely different.”

“We can still switch. I’d love to go to a gala.”

“I would, but I think it’s illegal to drive under the influence of blindness.”

“Okay, stop it!” Eliza interrupted them. “No one is switching, no one is having fun. This is work. We have to make the best out of it. “

“Someone’s cranky,” the blond said.

She deadpanned at him. “Do you want me to dig my heel into your aorta and make you choke on your blood?”

Matt whipped around. The words flowed effortlessly. Foggy raised his eyebrows, watching her through the rearview mirror. They held eye contact for a little while.

“Wow,” he breathed out eventually. “You are intense, my friend. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“No, but unlike you guys, I don’t have a choice.” She opened the car door and stepped into the chilly night. It closed with a loud bang behind her.

Foggy shot Matt a look he knew he could sense. He shook his head in response. “She’s on edge, you can’t blame her,” he said.

“I’m not, I’m trying to tell you that you have to look out for her, or she hurts someone.”

“She won’t.”

“Dude, I know you can’t see, but that look in her eyes was wild.”

“She’s not like that anymore,” he assured him. “But thanks for worrying, Foggy. Appreciate it.”

He felt the door in search of the handle.

“Matt,” Foggy called out for him.

One foot on the asphalt of the curb they had pulled up to, he turned back to his friend.

“Did you tell her?”

“Good night, Foggy.” His cane clicked.

The lights inside the car shut off once both doors were closed and he was left alone in the vehicle, questioning what exactly these two were hiding from him.

On their way inside, he clutched her elbow tightly. The number of people streaming in was insane. Different scents, and different volumes, but they all seemed to be filthy rich. Heels clicked against the floor, dress shoes following suit. Dresses slid against smooth skin and fell to the floor. Heartbeats were elevated, alcohol was flowing, and conversations were loud and cheerful. None of them seemed to worry about the nature of the gala. There was so much evil, he couldn’t sniff anything out. They were all the same, stuck-up group of folks waiting to gain something that would lift their status even higher.

The criminal underworld is a dangerous place.

Matt leaned into her. “You’re not planning to pull anything stupid, are you?” he dared to ask.

“No,” Eliza answered.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Matt. I am sure. I won’t kill anyone, I promise.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

Too many people had crossed her lines lately. She was done bending to the rules, the rules had to bend to her. They could. She was in control now. Blind faith wasn’t something she would continue having. Obedience is just a construct, after all. And being evil sounds so much more fun.

She rolled her eyes. As if he hadn’t touched her already, she placed his free hand on her right thigh, then moved over to the left one. “Feel that?” she said. “No weapons.” She moved it to her forehead. “And I’m not using my powers, either.” Her veins weren’t burning, and her eyes were still the same color they were before.

Matt exhaled audibly. “Okay,” he said.

“Can we go in now?”

He adjusted his mask. “Yeah, we can go in now.”

The crowd was even worse on the inside. He couldn’t see the pompous decoration, everything lulled in gold and white and brown marble. He couldn’t see the glass chandelier and the spotlight pointing to the Dj in the corner. He couldn’t see the bar littered with alcohol of all kinds and the beautifully dressed people sitting there, chatting and pouring one glass after the other down their throats.

Eliza started analyzing the scene the second they stepped in. She could tell who was just pretending to be rich, who really had the money, who had an affair with whom, and who was just there to enjoy the thrill of it all. There was an animal rights activist disguised as a rich businessman and he had his girlfriend with him, so that could cause trouble. They were the type of activists to throw demos and destroy artwork, not the type to call the cops. They didn’t believe in the law.

She didn’t support the auction, not at all, but Hydra mattered more to her. She could stop the trade of exotic animals another time, and kick the fire out for good, but only after she destroyed the people who ruined her.

The security was high at the entrance. They had metal detectors, and security guards that felt every guest down to check for weapons, and they even owned a bug detector that recognized listening devices and cameras on a person. Everything to keep the law outside of the venue.

She gave them the name of her alias and Matt as her plus one. He could use his real name. They checked her ID, his, too, and then body-checked them completely, head to toe. When it came to feeling for weapons, the man who was in charge of her (they couldn’t even find a woman to do it) inched dangerously close to the upper part of her body. Before he could touch her boobs, she bared her teeth.

“Don’t,” she said. “They’re just boobs.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” he said, dark and unbothered.

“If you don’t want a sexual harassment suit, I’d stop right there. My boyfriend’s a lawyer.”

That seemed to scare him off. He raised his arms, stepping away. She nodded, proud of herself. She forgot that Matt could hear her. He wasn’t sure if this was part of the fake identity, if it were she would have called him her husband instead of her boyfriend, but perhaps he was interpreting too much into it.

“You good to go?” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded. He took her hand this time, not her elbow. Their fingers intertwined. She smiled at him, reserved but it was a genuine smile, he could tell by the steady sound of her heartbeat.

They stepped into the hall. He felt instantly overwhelmed by the different smells and the volume in the room. It was deafening. She squeezed his hand. She must have felt his hesitation, the sudden burst of anxiety that returned at the vulnerability of it all. He was a blind man in a crowded room, the only one. Not even his heightened senses could protect him from the sensory overload. In his current state, tuning everything out was hard, almost impossible.

Eliza led them to a table that wasn’t yet occupied. On the way, she reached for two glasses of champagne from the tray one of the servers was carrying. His heartbeat picked up. Matt tightened his grip around the edge of the table. About half of the people inside took a closer look at her, and they couldn’t help but be attracted to the beautiful stranger with the black mask. They tuned him out completely.

“You must look very hot,” he said.

“How would you know?” she asked.

“Half of the heartbeats in this room picked up when we walked in.”

“Oh.”

He waited for her to hand him the second glass of champagne. Instead, she emptied them both in one gulp.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Thirsty?”

“No, I just really need the liquor.” She placed the empty glasses on the tray of the next server, once again stealing two. This time, he got one. “Cheers.”

He clinked his glass to hers.

Another server walked by. “I will take these,” she said, picking another two glasses off the tray. “Thank you. Oh, and these.” She stole one of the crackers he was carrying, dousing it in sour cream. “Thanks. Delicious. You can continue now.”

Matt stood there, chuckling. She was something else.

“You want one?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Knock yourself out.”

“I’m trying.”

“You need a clear head, you know.”

“I know, I don’t get drunk that easily, just slightly buzzed. These babies will do.” She downed the champagne as if it were a row of shots. “Yup, much better.”

“So, how do you suggest we start this?” he threw the long-awaited question into the room. “How do we know where to go, what to even look for?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” she said.

He raised his hand. Matt knew what to do. He just wasn’t sure how to concentrate in a room full of people. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “I can’t…” he swallowed. “I can’t concentrate. I know I can listen to what we’re looking for, but I can’t…” this was frustrating. The one time he needed his senses to work for him, they didn’t.

“Okay, what helps you?” Eliza stepped closer to him. “Do you need me to go, am I distracting you?” She meant that seriously. “Do you need a drink, a blowjob, I-“

He shook his head. “It’s not you, it’s my head.” His thoughts were too loud.

“Okay, so we find a way to get rid of the anxiety. You need to tune out everything else, right?” She checked to see if anyone was around. Gently, she took his hand. “So, focus. Tune them out.” With them, she meant the guests of the gala.

His body warmed up. The thread that was connecting them came in handy. She let him in. He was a part of her. Her powers worked a certain way for him. They took away whatever anxiety was causing his mind to reel and instead replaced it with quiet, with calmness.

Matt tilted his head in the direction of the elevators that were behind the wall the table was standing at. There were thirteen floors in the building. The first four floors were unoccupied. On the fifth floor, he could hear soft footsteps, and the clinking of metal due to guns sliding against belt buckles. The static rushing of walkie-talkies filled his sensitive ears.

“Fifth floor, security guards,” he said.

Eliza smiled. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that. You can only use the elevator with a keycard, I can hear the electricity behind the wall. And the offices are locked the same way, but only on the fifth floor, everything else is unoccupied. They’re circulating one spot, in particular, I just can’t tell what it is.“

“Can you tell how many?”

It took him a second. “Six.”

“Okay, that’s not a lot. We can handle six.”

“We need to get the keycards.”

“We’re probably dealing with two kinds. We need to find the owners. What’s on the fifth floor?”

“I don’t know. I can’t hear that.”

“Right. So, we’re only slightly smarter.”

“Not really. See the guy at the bar, two o’clock,” he said.

She turned as casually as possible. The grey-haired man stood with his wife, a blonde woman, though he was ogling every young passerby.

“When he moves, I can hear the plastic in his backpocket. Now, it could be a credit card, but I doubt it, considering he favors his other leg and his hand keeps brushing his pocket.”

“I know him,” Eliza blurted out.

“What?”

“I saw him on the owner’s log for this building.”

“Suspect number one,” Matt took a sip of his champagne, “This guy.”

“You hear any more keycards in here?”

“Woman, nine o’clock, also at the bar.”

Eliza eyed her. “She was also on the owner’s log.”

“Makes sense.”

“Where do you suspect she keeps the card?”

“I hope it’s not where I think it is.”

“Dude!” She gaped at him. “I did not need that picture in my head.”

He laughed for the first time that night. She smiled. Finally, she thought. She was starting to get worried about him.

“So, do you want him or her?” she asked him then.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Do you want to seduce him or her?”

“I think I’ll have more luck with her.”

“You may be right. He doesn’t look like the type of guy to be attracted to anyone other than himself, not even Ryan Reynolds.”

“What?” he frowned.

“To you men, Ryan Reynolds is the gay exception. Don’t say you didn’t know that.”

“Who’s Ryan Reynolds?”

She stuttered. “You’re weird.”

“I mean, I’m blind. Can’t really see him. What’s the female equivalent then, anyway?”

“Our gay exception is every woman because women are superior to men. I don’t make the rules.”

“Right. You’re a bisexual goddess, got it.”

“Haven’t been called that yet. I’ll take it.”

“Alright, time to put that to use,” said Matt. “I take her, you take him. We get the keycard, then figure out which is which and what office we’re even looking for. It must be printed on the card. Deal?”

“That’s a deal.”

They emptied their champagne glasses. He could smell the liquor on her tongue, the adrenaline exhilarating her heartbeat.

“Mister Murdock,” she said, “Do you, by any chance, know how to dance?”

He chuckled. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m kindly asking you to accompany me to the dance floor.”

“We’re not here to dance,” he said.

“No, we’re here to get the job done, which means we need to look like a couple who fits in, not just gossip. We’ve been getting suspicious glances left and right.”

Matt offered his hand, palm facing the ceiling. “I would like to ask you myself. Miss Bennett, may I have this dance?”

She smirked. “You may, Mister Murdock.”

He folded his cane, leaving it behind on the table. He led her to the dance floor, barely occupied with people, but they fit right in. No more suspicious glances, only curiosity. With the mask, he looked like a seeing person, though they had caught sight of the cane when they first entered.

“Blind men can dance, right?” she asked suddenly. “That’s not suspicious.”

“It’s not,” he assured her with a soft smile. “There are a lot of blind people who are dancers. Musicians, even. We have a deeper understanding of music.”

“Impressive.”

He pulled her closer, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand tightly in his. They stood there for a moment, not daring to use their feet.

“Are you gonna let me lead?” he said. She wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

“I don’t want to,” Eliza clarified with her whole chest, “But we need to look normal, so you can lead.”

“What, you won’t put feminism before looking like a normal couple?”

“Letting you lead this dance is not putting feminism second place. It’s dancing.”

“Are we just gonna argue or are we doing this? ‘Cause now we’re getting suspicious glances.”

She straightened her back. Her chest pressed against his, the thin fabric of her dress did little to conceal the stiffness of her nipples, although he was certain it came from the temperature in the room, not from him this time. He could feel her body against his. It was just them on the dance floor. The world didn’t exist. There was no mission, just him dancing with the woman he cared about. Like a normal couple.

But they weren’t a normal couple, they could never be. Not in this life, not ever.

“Is this a waltz?” he asked.

“No, it’s a tango,” she deadpanned. “Of course, it’s a waltz. This is Taylor Swift we’re talking about.”

“Shake it off wouldn’t be a waltz.”

“Matt, are you a Taylor Swift fan?”

He pouted his lips. “Shhh, we’re dancing.”

“Right now, we’re swaying.”

“Swaying is still dancing.”

“No, it’s an excuse for people who can’t dance to stand on the dancefloor and look like they belong.”

“I love your optimism.” In an instant, he had pushed her back, lifting the arm that was holding her hand so he could twirl her around and pull her right back into his chest.

She gasped. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Her hand rested on his bicep; she had nowhere to go, he was caging her in with his strong arms and the magnetic pull he had on her.

“Oh, so you do know how to dance,” she said.

“Of course, I do.”

He started to lead. His right foot stepped forward, she took a step back with the same foot. What followed was an easy side step and the same movements followed in the opposite direction. Four steps, it wasn’t all too hard. She had learned to dance the tango for one of her missions, the waltz was a walk in the park in comparison.

As they danced, Eliza began to think. The song was too fitting to have been a coincidence. The lyrics spoke to her soul or out of her soul, either way, she felt her heart drop at how beautiful yet tragic the whole thing was.

She could feel his thumb move ever so slightly over the silk on her back. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

That stupid song, she thought.

“I guess you really did it this time

Left yourself in your warpath

Lost your balance on a tightrope

Lost your mind trying to get it back.”

She felt ridiculous, feeling the tears collect in her eyesockets just because a song hit her hard. Perhaps it was the weight of the situation that got her this emotional, his gentle touches and the way his heart beat against her chest.

“Did some things you can't speak of

But at night you live it all again

You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now

If only you had seen what you know now then.”

She figured if they were going to dance and enjoy a few minutes of quiet before the big showdown, she might as well make it worthwhile. The desperate need to be close to him overwhelmed her. She wasn’t in control of her actions. She leaned her forehead against his temple, closing her eyes to breathe him in.

“What are you doing?” he whispered in her ear.

Eliza squeezed his hand. “Enjoying this while we still can,” she said.

“Oh, who you are is not what you've been

You're still an innocent

It's okay, life is a tough crowd

32, and still growin' up now

Who you are is not what you did.”

She could tell Matt was listening to something by the way his attention diverted and he almost stepped on her foot. They slowed their pace. “Heads up,” he said. She prepared for whatever he had planned.

The arm around her waist tightened while the other grabbed her thigh and angled it, and dipped her without any issues.

“Tilt your head back.” She did. The picture was upside-down, though she coordinated it easily. “The woman he’s talking to is his wife. She just excused herself to go to the bathroom. There’s this server in the corner that’s got the same idea. I suspect you have about twenty minutes to make a move on him until she’s back.”

“Just twenty minutes?” her voice was only audible to his ears.

“He’s too young, too nervous to last longer.”

Matt pulled her back up. Her leg stayed angled against his hip, knee digging into his small waist. He had a strong hold on the limb. Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck. The position was unstable so she needed to hold onto something - it wasn’t because her lower half was way too close to his crotch or he was holding her so gently with just the slightest touch of dominance that would make every man in a ten-mile radius run for their lives. It was just because she was standing on one leg, and the heels were incredibly uncomfortable to walk in, let alone use to dance.

“Time turns flames to embers

You'll have new Septembers

Every one of us has messed up too

Lives change like the weather

I hope you remember

Today is never too late to be brand new.”

Their lips ghosted over each other, heartbeats aligned, breathing getting significantly harder. His nose brushed against her. He leaned in, not her. It was a public setting but foolish Matt couldn’t help himself. She smelled too damn good.

“Lost your balance on a tightrope

It's never too late to get it back.”

“We should,” she prompted. Her voice had turned into a pathetic hoarse grumble, like gravel almost.

He nodded. His hair fell into his face. “Yeah.” He let go of her.

Eliza stepped back. She bowed. “Thank you for this dance, Mister Murdock,” she said, loud enough for people around to hear.

“It was nice dancing with you, Miss Bennett,” Matt said.

“If you would excuse me, I would like to get myself a drink.”

“Please,” he extended his arm, “After you.”

“Alone,” she clarified. It was all part of their pretense. “Surely, you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I will be at the table if you need me.”

She made her way over to the bar. The wife of her target was gone. He looked right at her when she stopped to ask the barkeeper for a drink. She pretended not to notice. Her laugh was a little too loud and her hair twirled a little too teasingly around her finger. He was intrigued.

“Would you mind getting that gentleman over there another of what he’s having?” she asked the nice guy behind the counter. He nodded, pouring a concoction of different liquors into a glass and sliding it over at the older man she pointed out.

She counted the seconds. One, two, three…

“So, you bought me a drink,” his voice was dark, but in a creepy, disgusting way. The goosebumps weren’t ones of pleasure either. She felt filthy already. He was about thirty years her elder. The last time she ignored a significant age gap she ended up losing her virginity in a dirty bathroom. She hoped he wasn’t expecting her to go in the same direction his wife did. Not that Matt would let that happen.

Eliza chuckled into her vodka martini. “Indeed I did,” she said. “I thought such a handsome man shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

“I have a wife, you know.”

“And I have a husband.”

“The one you were just dancing with?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then why buy me a drink?”

“I don’t know,” she finally turned to look at him, “I guess I was just bored.”

“With the situation?” he questioned.

“Sure, that, but also with my husband.”

His eyes lit up. The brown was just as disgusting as him. Dark intentions were more than visible in his irises, the things he would do to her. “You’re looking for a more experienced man,” he concluded.

She hummed. “Way more experienced. Between us?” she reduced her voice to a whisper. “He told me he was rich before we married, but as it turns out, his parents have all the money and they disowned him years ago. Not much in it for me. And he’s young, too young, he doesn’t understand what I need.”

“Aren’t you a little young yourself?”

“Age is just a number,” she said.

“But it seems to bother you with your husband. That doesn’t add up.” She was glad he stayed curious. “Tell me, is it because he’s blind? Do you get the disability checks?”

Her fist tightened around the glass. She wanted to punch him.

“That’s an offensive thing to say, good sir.” Yet, she forced herself to smile. He needed to see the mischief in her eyes to fall into her trap. Fake mischief. She hated that she had to play along. She hated that he was talking about Matt that way. He deserved to have bad things happen to him.

“John,” he said. “My name is John Larson.”

It always has to be the fucking John’s.

“Larson as in the owner of the building?”

“I wouldn’t say it so loud, but yes. I’m the CEO.”

“Huh,” she took a sip of her drink. “This is oddly interesting. I thought Wilson Fisk was-“

“Oh, you haven’t been following the news, have you?”

“That’s not exactly what I do.”

“Fisk doesn’t work here, I do,” he said. “And I own this place, so it’s my money, too.”

“What is it that you do exactly?”

He only chuckled into his glass. He wasn’t scared, not yet. He didn’t know that she knew. To him, she was just a curious wife bored of her poor husband, in need of a sugar daddy, and he wanted to use that to his advantage. “May I know your name?”

“Alina,” she introduced herself. “My name is Alina.”

“Do you have a last name?”

She was taken aback. That wasn’t planned. She already used a different name than what was on her fake ID to get in, how was she supposed to keep this going?

Pepper has an eccentric uncle. “Morgan,” she said. “Alina Morgan.”

He took the hand he was offered and kissed the back. “Pleasure,” he said.

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir.”

He sipped his drink, whatever it was. “So, you know how to dance a good waltz.” The change of subject made her smirk. She knew where this was going. She planned it. “Any other hidden talents?”

She shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Behind her back, she started to move her fingers to the tune of Beethoven’s moon shine sonata. She could feel the power dancing in her veins, excited to come out. She flicked her wrist in the direction of the Dj and the speakers next to him. The song skipped. Everyone on the dancefloor stopped suddenly, realizing slow dancing was no longer required. Instead, the beat of the song picked up, no longer sad but thrilled.

“Oh,” John turned around, “Looks like someone has requested a tango.”

Eliza opened her mouth. “Oh, did they?”

“Hmm. Do you know how to dance the tango?”

“John,” she gasped, “Are you asking me to dance?”

“Maybe, if you want.”

“In front of my husband?”

She wasn’t surprised to see Matt conversing with his target at another table. The woman was touching his arm repeatedly. She felt the sudden need to puke.

John chuckled. “He seems pretty occupied.” he pointed out, but she was already looking his way.

“I suppose he is,” she said.

“I guess now’s the best time to show off your skills, Alina.”

The name sounded strange to hear, but not particularly bad.

She took his hand. “After you.”

Matt was paying attention, only listening with half an ear to what the woman in front of him was saying. He heard the patter of her heels, her elevated heartbeat. Her laugh filled the air like sweet poison. His hands were on her, he could feel them. They were touching where no one was supposed to touch her but him. Too low on her waist, the other holding her hand in a vice grip. She was uncomfortable, but she was great at not showing it. His jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up, not with the man’s eyes all over her. His.

“Matthew,” the woman, Kara, called out for him.

He tilted his head. “Sorry?”

“I was asking if you wanted to continue this conversation over a glass of wine at the bar. I’d be glad to lead you.”

“Sure,” he said.

“If you could see, I would tell you about the woman my colleague just walked to the dance floor with. I don’t know who I’d rather be, him or her. I must say, she is very beautiful.”

“Is she now?”

She was onto something when she said every woman has some attraction left over for other women.

“Oh, yes, but she’s young. Too young. His poor wife,” Kara sipped her drink, shaking her head repeatedly. She loved to gossip. The next words came as no surprise to him. “Then again, that woman sleeps with every guy she sees, as long as he’s young and fit. She would sleep with you, too,” she said.

‘It’s not like you aren’t jumping on younger men the first chance you get.’ Matt guessed her age around early to mid-forties, so the age gap wasn’t much more significant than his and Eliza’s, but still, Kara was a born hypocrite.

“They both constantly cheat on each other. It’s ridiculous. And they keep telling me I have to stop ogling other people just because my husband cares more about business than anything else.”

“What are you working on, exactly?” he stirred the conversation around.

“Oh, Matthew, wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I mean, aren’t we all here because we have a little too much money? This isn’t some gala, let’s face it. We’re all here for the afterparty.” The afterparty was the auction. “And what might come after the afterparty? But that’s entirely up to your imagination, Kara.”

Her breathing pattern changed and she downed her glass of gin in one gulp. “How much time do you have?” she asked. He didn’t misjudge her. That woman was ready to spill her life story to him. She had no one else, and she loved the drama.

Matt hated drama, but in this case, he was more than eager to listen.

“I have some time to spare, I suppose,” he said. “Why, what’s your offer?”

“A drink and a good story.”

“Are you sure you want to tell me?”

“Please, a friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine. Besides, the affairs in this place are exciting. I know all about them.”

“Alright then.”

Eliza stood across from John on the dancefloor. This was the moment she had been waiting for. John was a terrible person, but he knew how to dance. He lead her to the intense rhythm, the beat pulsating through their veins. Tango was a sensual, intimate dance, and it was intense. Standing close came with the dance. She could slip her hands all over him without him getting suspicious, it was all part of the choreography, although her touch seemed a little more desperate than what was normal for a tango. He didn’t mind. His grip was strong on her waist, easily dragging her across the dance floor.

“You’re good at this,” she commented.

“Likewise,” he said. His hand on the small of her back forced her into an arch. “You have incredible muscle memory.”

Her foot slid between his, then back out. “Likewise.”

During the dip, the keycard loosened and she managed to slide it upwards with her knee. She grabbed it. He didn’t notice. It lay in the palm of her hands when he spun her, back to chest; the keycard glided into her cleavage, between her breasts. She pressed her ass into his crotch, the perfect distraction.

“What a tease you are, Alina,” he breathed into her neck.

John gave her a push and she twirled back to stand face-to-face with him. The song came to a sudden halt - it was over. People clapped. Sweat danced on the back of her neck. Her heart started beating faster. The card felt cold on her heated skin.

“Say, you wouldn’t want to head back to the VIP area with me?”

Eliza smirked. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking?”

“That depends, what are you thinking?”

She was about to answer, some pathetic excuse as to why she had to get back to her fake husband when one of the security guards walked up to him. Perhaps it was his bodyguard, judging by his looks. He said something into John’s ear and his demeanor changed. Something about business, she read from his lips, not about her or her identity. That was a good thing.

He turned to her. “Actually, something has just come up,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I would like to continue what we started.”

“Is there a problem?” she couldn’t help but question out of curiosity.

“Nothing that concerns you.” John walked up to her, brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and said, “I would like to buy you another drink, find out who the woman behind the mask is, and maybe chat a little more. Or perhaps, when your husband is gone…”

Eliza looked over her shoulder to find the bar void of Matt’s handsome face.

“Which he is, apparently,” that seemed to play into his filthy plans. “My point is, I would like for you to wait for me, Alina. I will only be gone for like fifteen minutes.”

“How about I freshen up then?” she said.

“That sounds fantastic.”

His bodyguard dragged him away. Finally, she could breathe again. His disgusting hands left ghosts branded into her skin. She needed another drink. The trays of champagne were heaven on earth for any alcoholic or nervous spy with high blood pressure. She emptied another glass, scanning the room for Matt. The server almost fell over his own feet when he saw her.

She caught him standing in the hallway that started the descent towards the elevator, protected by a wall from the ballroom itself. The bathrooms had to be there, too. She said she wanted to freshen up. One of his men was watching her, she could tell. If she somehow got lost in th crowd, she could shake him off. She just had to get to the bathroom, which Matt was standing in front of, but being seen with him after making out with John felt too suspicious.

Eliza started to make her way to her destination. She bumped into someone, it wasn’t a server. “Oh, sorry,” she said.

“No worries,” the man said. The voice sounded familiar and the lower part of his face appeared like something she was supposed to recognize but didn’t, not really, it just felt that way. Her stomach churned. She wanted to pull the mask off, only to satisfy her curiosity.

The bodyguard was still following her. The one she bumped into passed by her, walking right into her line of sight. She grunted. “C’mon.”

The sound of glass breaking sucked all the air out of the room. People stopped talking. The mountain of champagne glasses that were used as decoration in the middle of the room completely shattered. Her eyes widened. Her follower stood right next to it, covered in champagne and glass shards, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed.

Karma is a goddess. But was it Karma?

“I am so sorry!” There was this voice again. “I don’t know how this happened, I must have stumbled…”

The clumsiness of the stranger might have saved the whole operation. She quickly checked for the keycard, then made a beeline for the bathroom. Making sure no one was watching, she took a sharp right before entering.

Matt was leaning against the wall, cane between his legs. “Don’t tell me that was you,” he said.

“It wasn’t me,” she told him. “Some guy ran into the table and caused the whole thing to fall. Come on.” She waved for him to follow her, heels clicking against the marble floor.

“Convenient.” He folded his cane.

“If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I swear to God, that guy was about to pull me in the same direction his wife went with the server.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“I hope not.”

“Hey,” he hooked his index finger around her pinky, “You have it?”

“Yeah, I do.” Eliza reached into her dress. “You have yours?” she asked.

Matt nodded. “It’s the one for the elevator. You have the one for the office.”

“Yeah, I figured. I just danced the tango with the guy who owns the building. Your senses knocked the ball right out of the park.”

“If he figures out who you are, we’re toast.”

“He told me I should wait for him.”

“How long?” he asked.

“Fifteen minutes. I told him I was gonna head to the bathroom.”

“So that means we have about thirty minutes until someone will come looking for you,” he concluded. “Great.”

“That’s the thrill of being a spy. You never know how it ends. Isn’t it fun?”

He bit his cheek. “I’m not having fun.” His lip twitched. He was lying.

The elevator doors opened. He handed her the card. She scanned it, pressing the button for the fifth floor. Static beeping suggested that the space was closing, leaving them alone in the dimly lit, mahogany inside of the elevator.

“You’re lying,” she sang. “Come on, Matt, admit it. You like being a spy, being able to flirt with people, and getting something in return that doesn’t have to do with sex but is better. It’s exciting, the adrenaline, the unpredictability, the…”

Matt pushed her flush against the wall. Any sound of disapproval got swallowed by his mouth as he pressed his lips against hers. She wasn’t sure if it was the pull of the elevator that had her feeling light-headed or the intensity and passion with which he kissed her. She was right about the adrenaline. It was higher than ever, especially for him, his veins pumping with the treacherous hormones.

She moaned into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside. His hands grabbed at her hips desperately. He squeezed the flesh, hands sliding under her dress, using the slit to his advantage.

“Take off your underwear,” he said.

“What?”

“Take. Them. Off.”

She shivered at his dark tone. Still, the thought of running around without her panties wasn’t all that attractive. He smacked her ass. She didn’t have a choice. She slid her fingers under the waistband of her underwear and let them fall to her ankles.

“You gotta pick them up yourself,” she breathed.

He instantly got on his knees, untangling the black lace from her heels. He did it so painfully slowly, even though it only took him a few seconds until he had pulled them off and his hands began to travel up her body again. She felt his tongue on her leg, licking his way up and up and right over cunt.

“Jesus, Matt!”

He chuckled. Just how fast he had been on her, he was gone. He got back on his feet, sliding her panties into his backpocket.

“You have no idea what that did to me, do you?” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t like the way he was touching you, and now you smell of him and it’s driving me nuts.”

“Is that why you took my panties?” she asked, taking in the way his hips pressed against her in need of friction. “Kissing me, marking me… you want me to smell like you, not him.”

Matt pressed another kiss to her lips. “When we’re done here, I will take you home and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Sweetheart, it’s a promise.”

He stepped away from her, straightening out his suit and bowtie, while Eliza stood pressed against the wall like a wet piece of paper. They were on the fourth floor. She fixed her mask, pulling down her dress and fixing the slit so it wouldn’t show that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Matt was so kind as to fix her dress in the front so she wouldn’t flash anyone. When the doors opened, everything looked normal, except for the shit-eating grin on their faces.

The pair stalked down the hallway carefully. Thanks to the carpet, the sound of her heels was nonexistent to the human ear. Matt took the lead, he was the one with the heightened senses after all. He pointed them in the right direction, judging by the sound of the security detail on the floor.

“They’re doing rotations,” he told her. “We have about a two-minute window to get into the office before they come back around.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Eliza retorted.

“Trust me.”

“You’re lucky that I do.”

He shoved her around the closest corner when he heard the sound of heavy boots coming closer. Backs pressed flat against the surface, they waited for the storm to pass.

“They’re gone,” he said.

She nodded. “Let’s not waste time.”

He agreed with her. His hands touched the wall until they reached the wooden door. He could feel the vibrations from the automatic lock, the magnetic sensors screaming for the keycard in Eliza’s cleavage. He didn’t ask, he simply reached into her dress and pulled it out.

“Excuse me?” she stammered. “You could have just asked!”

He pressed a finger to his lips. The lock clicked. “You’re welcome,” he said. He knew exactly what he was doing, the smirk growing wider by the second.

He let her go first. She headed straight for the desk.

The office was decorated in a rather dull manner. Books on the shelves, plants in the corner, paintings on the wall. He didn’t own any picture, just the woody atmosphere and the desk in the middle of the room.

“I need to check the computer,” she said.

“No one’s stopping you.”

Matt let himself fall into the chair while Eliza tried to hack into the computer without blowing her cover. His desk was held neutral, but there seemed to be a recurring theme with John - he liked cars. It was basic, stupid almost, but he had one model he liked the most, which just happened to be his password. Not his wife, his car.

She giggled.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just… why do some men have to be so stereotypical and have their cars as their computer passwords?”

“John just loves his car. He loves everything he can ride, apparently.”

Eliza peeked over her shoulder. “You’re jealous,” she stated. “It’s not a good look on you.” Her fingers kept brushing over the keyboard fast and methodically. The skip in her heartbeat when the desktop appeared didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m in. Now I just gotta find what we’re looking for.”

Matt rolled the chair a little to the right, allowing her more space. “What are you looking for, exactly?” he tossed back at her. He appeared so unbothered, sitting in the chair with one leg crossed over the other and his cane placed in his lap.

“I don’t know, I guess something relating to Hydra, but… I don’t know. Damn it!” She tore the mask off her face. Even though the plastic only covered her eyes, she couldn’t breathe.

“What about a name search?”

“Can’t do that, they wouldn’t use Hydra’s actual name to file any information. We’re searching for something that’s hidden deep inside this server. I just don’t know how to find it, if there is even something to find. I’m… I’m way in over my head here, Matt.”

She didn’t admit that often.

“No you’re not,” he said. “You just need to focus.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Focus,” he repeated, voice stern. “What do you need?”

“Um, I don’t know. I need to know what we’re looking for, I guess.”

“And what’s that?”

“Proof that Fisk and Hydra are working together.”

“Right. How do we do that?”

“I don’t know!”

“Sweetheart,” she was suddenly very aware of the fact that he had gotten up to tower over her, “Look at me!” he said.

She looked up at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to focus. You’re smart, probably the smartest person I know. I’m pretty certain you are a genius, even though you don’t want to admit it, so you know what you have to do. I need you,” his hands found her face, “to use that stupidly big brain of yours.”

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind was reeling with all the possibilities. It wasn’t working. She realized soon why.

“Matt, I need you to be a lot harsher with me.”

“Excuse me?” he said.

“I need you to make me follow your orders. I’m used to being told what to do during these missions. I need you to stop with the praises and turn into a soldier.”

“You being told what to do?” He raised his eyebrows. “Is that even possible?”

“At work, I’m a lot more compliant, trust me. But that’s the only way I know how to do this. It’s not… my brain doesn’t work without permission. Please, right now, be dominant. And I don’t mean your bedroom voice, I mean your lawyer voice. Be a dominant asshole and push me.”

“Oh, you want me to push you? Okay then. Imagine this is cross-examination.”

“Alright.”

“What did you see on the files regarding Fisk and Larson Inc?”

“I don’t remember-”

“May I remind you that this is not some random conversation in the office, this is real life. We’re having a real issue here that is time-sensitive and needs solving. I asked you a question, one you are required to answer with honesty. You lied. You do remember. So, tell me.”

She was surprised at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a little shocking.

“I’m not lying. I don’t remember.”

“No, you are. You’re constricting your mind from rising to its true potential. That’s foolish. You saw the name on one of Fisk’s bank statements, correct?”

“Yes,” she said.

Matt wasn’t used to her sounding so small. Even during sex, she had the occasional snarky remark to hide how submissive she was. This was different. This was blind obedience. She fell into a role she tried to hide when she wasn’t working.

“Well, what was it doing there?”

“He made a donation.”

“Why?”

“Because he owned half of this place before he went to jail.”

“But that’s not all, is it?“

“Hush money.”

“Speculation.”

“Overruled.”

He chuckled. “You’re not in charge here.”

“It’s not speculation!” she insisted. “Fisk channeled half of his business through here and Red Lion Bank. The latter was in charge of his money. Larson Inc is listed as a business, a business completely dependent on the money coming from donations, but there is no telling what they do. They have files here.”

“Give me evidence to support that.”

Files. Fisk. Bank statements. “Papertrail,” she whispered.

Matt’s lip twitched. He wanted to hug her, but that would destroy the process, so instead, he placed his hands on his hips and waited for her to be done. The keyboard clicked loudly. She was typing something even he couldn’t make out.

“Papertrail!” the confidence exceeded even her expectations. She turned the computer to face him, realizing her mistake too late.

“You need to be a lot more specific than that,” he said. “Imagine you’re standing in front of a jury. They know nothing about this case. What do you do?”

“Deliver the evidence and phrase it in a way they’d understand?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“Statement, sir. I need to explain the delivered evidence to the judge and the jury so the intention behind the exhibits is cleared up before anyone can object.”

The way she called him sir made his dick swell.

“Correct. Now, you entered a paper trail into evidence, is that also correct?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of paper trail?”

“A paper trail of Fisk’s money flowing into Larson Inc through Red Lion Bank.”

“That’s not enough.”

“What else do you want me to-” she grunted, “Okay, what about personnel files?”

“Are you asking or telling me? Again, this is a jury that judges based on evidence and witness statements. You’re both in this scenario.” Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“I did.”

“Am I boring you?”

“No, you’re just not making any sense!”

That would earn her a strike later.

“Nuh-uh,” Matt clicked his tongue, “You don’t roll your eyes at me, and you don’t talk back. This is hostile behavior. I would’ve asked the judge to treat you as such if we were in court. Apologize, right now.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“I can’t hear you. Do you want me to throw you out? Because at this point, I’d probably do a much better job than you at answering these questions and I can’t even read them.”

“I’m sorry, sir!”

“Good girl. Now, personnel files. Tell me. How does that work? How are they important for us?”

“Okay, we know Fisk is involved in Larson Inc. We know Luke throws these parties and he also worked for Fisk. We know all of that. John probably has files on them, but that doesn’t prove Hydra is involved. It’s just a thought, not a fact. I need- fuck!”

“Something you want to share with the class?”

“He wouldn’t use his real name, would he?”

“Eliza, use your words and not with yourself. Talk to me!”

“Ivan,” she said.

“What about him?”

She typed again. “Damn it!” Nothing came up. She tried again, this time with a different name. “I’m just trying out Hail Marys here. I don’t think they’re gonna,” she halted when the computer chimed, “Work…”

“Speak,” he demanded.

“It’s Robert Pfeiffer. He has a file on the Larson Inc server. He worked for them, which means he worked for Fisk, which means-”

“Are you saying he lied to us?”

“No, I’m saying he didn’t know Hydra was selling him out to Fisk. He wouldn’t have survived either way.” He could feel the heat in her cheeks, the tears of relief in her eyes, and her heart slowed down. “It’s not my fault,” she whispered. “It’s not my fault, Matt. I didn’t kill him. Fisk did.”

He bit his bottom lip. “I’m gonna break character now,” he told her, “just to tell you that I knew from the start that he didn’t get hurt because of you. I told you to have faith.”

“I didn’t think… well, it doesn’t matter. Pfeiffer is our proof that Fisk and Hydra are a package deal. Hydra uses Larson Inc, too, so that means we might find something in here that will help us get ahead.”

Matt pointed behind him. “Electrical current.”

“Are you kidding me?” She scoffed. “Another one of those?”

His hand moved back to his hip.

“Okay, would you stop doing that?”

“Do what?” he cocked his head to the side.

“That stance. The soccer mom stance. It’s irritating.”

“I don’t have a stance.”

“Yes, you do. I need you to stop it. Roleplay is over.”

“Of course it is,” he chuckled. “Hey.”

She stopped when she felt his hand take hers.

“You did good.”

Eliza wanted to fall for it. He warmed her heart. She couldn’t let him. “We’re not done,” she stated.

“I know.”

“I need to get into this door.”

“Try the left side.” Matt’s fingers barely brushed the wooden surface. “Here.” His knuckle clicked against it.

Show off, she thought. She placed her palms flat against the wall, searching for leverage. She doubted it was a book or a plant or anything like Tony’s lock on his secret door, it had to be embedded in the wall.

“Please be a secret door, please be a secret door,” she chanted. Her fingers brushed an indentation. She pressed down on it. The wall gave in, sliding to the side. “Yay!”

He giggled at her excitement. God, I love you.

“Sorry, what?”

Had he said that out loud? The roaring of the door affected her hearing, thank God. He stammered, suddenly insecure. He could just… “Nothing, just said I’m proud of you.”

“Right, you keep saying that.”

“I think you need to hear it more often.”

“Thank you.” She sounded distant.

She stepped into the room behind the secret door. It was small, with golf clubs in one corner, pictures of cars littering the wall on the other, and a small cabinet in between. “There’s a safe,” she stated. “I have no idea how to crack a safe. Hey, human lie detector, do your abilities exceed to-”

He was already on it before she could ask.

“Of course, they do. Who would have thought? I certainly didn’t.”

He tilted his head towards the metal door, one hand on the lock, the other feeling for the clicks - she had no idea how that worked. Usually, she would blow it up and call it a day.

“Yes, Eliza, I’m gonna crack this safe for you with my superhearing, you don’t have to worry. I can do this. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Would you just shut up for a second?” he said.

“I’m just answering my question,” she bit back.

The safe clicked. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Eliza rummaged through the small space. There was a huge stack of money, a book, and, “A gun.” She checked the clip. “A loaded gun,” she corrected herself. “This is a fancy model. John has good taste.”

“He flirted with you, of course, he has great taste.”

“Matt, stop it. I’m trying to focus.”

“Sorry.”

“Here, take this,” she handed him the gun, “While I check this book. Looks like a ledger.”

“I don’t want to take the gun,” he said.

“That’s too bad, you don’t have a choice. I’m not wearing a garter belt or underwear, so I have nowhere to put it other than places where a gun shouldn’t be stuck.”

Matt offered his hand. “On second thought, I’ll take it.”

“Good,” she said. “Put it in the back of your dress pants. I might need it later.”

“No, no guns.”

She rolled her eyes. “Altar boy.”

The ledger was filled with Russian letters. The many languages they taught her at Hydra came in handy. Russian was her mother tongue, sure, but she lived most of her life not speaking or learning how to fake being native in another country.

Her fingers ran over the paper. It was old, slightly tinted brown from the confinement and the darkness of the safe. The cover was red, made out of leather. It was fancy, somehow appearing more familiar than it should have.

“Sales, donations, all from sources they don’t want out there. I don’t recognize half of these names. They could be important though, so we’ll take it.”

Eliza placed the ledger on top of the safe followed by the stacks of money, closing the metal box again.

“You taking the money?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I? I just need to find a bag where I can put this. Purses are not helpful at all.”

He seemed to have his plan. He put the gun aside to check the cabinet. His hands brushed the wood, giving it a soft shake. “Papers. Top drawer. I can hear them shuffling around.”

She stared at him. He made it look so effortless. To him, it was, anyway. “That’s so hot,” she blurted out before she could rethink.

“It’s only hot if we find something.” He still couldn’t help the smirk from spreading on his lips. “I think you might need to pick the lock,” he pulled at the piece of metal hanging from the side, “It’s pretty tight.”

“Nothing’s too tight for me.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Some risky finger slid up her thigh. She gasped at his attempt to get into her metaphorical pants. He had already stolen her panties, what else could he take other than her mind? He already had that one, too. Every time he fucked her, he took her mind.

Eliza slapped his hand away. “Stop it, right now.”

“Alright,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I was just trying to make this easier for you.”

“You’re only making this harder.”

Matt smirked, his signature look. “Let me state for the record that you said that not me.”

“Oh, get your head out of the gutter, Matt! This isn’t funny.”

“Is that why you’re biting back a laugh?” he said. “Because I can hear it.”

Eliza snorted. “I hate you.” She pulled at the metal lock. It detached almost instantly, breaking the drawer open. “There, the lock is picked,” she said.

“You mean destroyed.”

“Picked, destroyed, it’s all the same to me.”

“It’s vandalism.”

“We stole two keycards from very rich people and broke into someone’s office. I hacked into John Larson’s computer, you cracked his safe. We are stealing from said safe. Theft, Matt. We are committing identity and standard theft. There is a lot of illegal activity we have done today and we will continue doing it because if we don’t, we die.”

He pouted. “Fair point.”

“I know, that’s why I said it.” She sighed. She rummaged through the papers inside. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, she just waved her hands around in hopes of finding something important. “Damn it!” she cursed. “There is nothing here, I-”

Matt stopped her with a swift motion of his fingers, flipping the wooden floor of the drawer open. He could feel her glaring holes into his skull. “You don’t have a clear mind right now,” he simply stated. “That’s why I was trying to fing-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Matthew Murdock.”

There was a rolled-up paper in the secret compartment. Blue paper. She pulled it out.

“Matt, you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now.”

“I…”

“Come on, I want to take a look at this.”

“Didn’t you just say you wanted to kiss me?”

“How horny could you possibly be while we’re literally in a crisis right now?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

The artificial light in the room made it easier to place the blueprint on a flat surface and take a closer look at the white lines adorning the paper. As soon as she saw the layout, she stopped breathing. Matt’s senses picked up on the lack of oxygen, the sudden jump of her heartbeat before it began racing.

“What is it?” he asked. Her hand found the front of his suit jacket, clutching the edges in a tight fist. Her knuckles turned white. The blood in her veins rushed hotter and much louder than before, trying to keep her heart from collapsing. The muscles in her legs seemed to give out, he could tell by the slight buckle of her knees as she held onto him.

Eliza breathed out shakily. “Am I alive?” she breathed. “Like, can you feel my heartbeat? Am I alive?”

“You’re alive,” he said. He searched for her pulse, thudding hard against her skin. “You’re more than alive.”

“This is… I’m looking at a blueprint…”

“I can tell that, what I can’t tell-”

“A blueprint for the White Room. Not- not just any blueprint, it’s the White Room, but not the old one, I remember that. I remember the old White Room. It wasn’t as… this is so much bigger, it’s… oh, my God.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Liz, are you sure?”

“I recognize this place because I dream about it every night. Everywhere I go, it’s there, in my head. I grew up there, I would know what the fucking blueprint looks like. They just made some modifications. This is… we just opened Pandora’s box.”

Matt turned his head in the direction of the door so suddenly, she thought his neck would snap. “They caught wind someone’s on the floor,” he said.

“Oh, no.” Eliza shut the drawer. “This is not happening. How much time do we have?” she asked him.

“I give us two minutes to get out of here, tops.”

She pulled the slightly too big hair clip out of her hair, pointing it at the blueprint. A bright light came out, even Matt could tell.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A flash drive with a scan function.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She shoved the roll back into the drawer, taking Matt’s hand in hers and pulling him out of the secret room. “You take the ledger,” she told him, “Shove it into your suit pocket because your chest is already buff as it is, so no one’s gonna suspect. And you know, the money too, while we’re at it. I’m not gonna go out of here as broke as I came in.”

“Eliza,” he started.

“Do it!” she bared her teeth. He followed her instructions. “Thank you,” she said before shoving the flash drive back into the computer.

“Sweetheart, we have to go.”

“Just wait a second. I need these files. I’m almost done.”

“Ninety seconds and then we’re out of here.”

“Then I hope for your sake you’re praying because if this doesn’t work, I’m gonna need that gun. And don’t tell me no, this isn’t gonna end well, and with this, I mean you and me. We’re gonna end up dead. Now, I know I said I want to die, but not like this. This isn’t a cool way to die, so stop sulking and get it together!”

Matt cocked his hip to the side. “I am so gonna bend you over my knee when we’re done here,” he said.

Eliza smirked up at him. “I’m counting on it.”

About seventy seconds later, the computer pinged. The screen showed a confirmation that the transfer was 100% completed, so she pulled it out and slipped it right back into her hair.

“Okay, I’m done. Let’s go.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Hey, I did that!” she pinched him. “Don’t thank God, thank me.”

“I’m not thanking you.”

“Okay, fine. Don’t thank me. Whatever.” She snatched the letter opener from the desk. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed her wrist. “What do you want with that?” he pointed to the sharp object.

“Eat dinner,” she deadpanned. “Of fucking course it’s to stab someone, you idiot!”

“We’re not-”

“Oh, we are. Screw being an altar boy. And give me back my underwear so I can kick some ass without bearing my whole vagina to these people.”

This was a life-or-death situation. He couldn’t keep her panties from her, so he handed them back.

“Thank you.” She slipped them on quickly. “You can have them back in the car.”

He growled, “I’m counting on it.”

Matt held the door open for her. She was cute like this and incredibly hot, too. She made him feel all kinds of things he shouldn’t have felt in such a dire situation.

He led them down in the opposite direction they had come from, away from the sound of steel boots against the carpeted hallway floor. His hold on her hand was strong, she didn’t have much of a choice but to follow him.

“You still got that letter opener?” he asked, running slowing down into a step. “‘Cause we’re gonna need it.”

“I told you!” she said.

“Okay, you can yell at me later. Get ready to fight. We have four coming around the corner to our right.”

“You take two, I take two?”

“Deal.”

As foretold, the four security guards came around the corner. The title was for lack of a better word - they were too far armed to just be security guards. Eliza raised her hand. The air sizzled. The fuse box blew, shutting down all electricity on the floor.

“Left side, dibs,” she called. Without light, they wandered, allowing her to punch the first one while kicking the other in the balls. She drop-kicked him to the floor, forcing his partner into a chokehold until he fell to the floor, unconscious.

By the time she got back up, Matt had just knocked his target against the wall, splitting his skull open. He sighed. She knew what the motion meant.

“How many more?”

“Two in the front, three in the back,” he said.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You know, we could have used that gun right about now.”

“Can we fight about this later, Eliza?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Saint Matthew.”

She took the two in the front. The letter opener slid across his forehead, causing him to drop the gun. A shot rang out. It barely grazed her, hitting the wall behind her. She grabbed the man’s hand, jumped over the arm, and kicked him straight in the face. Landing on her back, she jumped right back up to her knees.

Matt was struggling. She pulled the letter opener from her first victim and threw it across the dark hallway. She held her breath. A scream, followed by the sound of bodies dropping. She had landed the weapon somewhere, she just wasn’t sure where.

Eliza almost punched him when he grabbed her. “It’s me,” his voice sounded low in her ear. “We need to go.”

She took his hand. “This is your territory. You lead.”

“We can take the stairs, come on.” They sprinted down the hallway together. The elevators were shut down but the emergency stairwell was still open. He dragged her through the door and down the stairs.

“Slow down, I’m wearing heels.”

“I’m not carrying you.”

“Wasn’t what I meant.”

The commotion continued on the ground floor. Even she could hear the footsteps loud and clear, her name being called and all the attention being directed towards her while the party was still ongoing, still as cheerful as ever. “We’re not gonna make it out of here,” she told him. “They’re gonna send back-up, you know that. Might as well just succumb to our fate and di- WOAH!”

He pushed open the door to the supply closet and shoved her inside. She found herself squashed between Matt and the door, the space way too small to even breathe. She opened her mouth to make a snarky remark, but his hand stopped her before she could.

Minutes felt like hours. The sound of several footsteps running along the hallway, shouting orders, and guns cocking reached through the thin wall of the closet. Eliza held her breath. Matt tilted his head towards the noise. His hand lay on the door, feeling whatever it was he could feel. She was more distracted by the way his knee fit between her thighs to care about anything else.

He exhaled loudly. “Okay, they’re gone.”

His palm tasted slightly salty from the sweat seeping out of his pores while at the same time, she could taste the faintest hints of liquor.

“Did you just lick my hand?” he asked, voice more of a hiss.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“You creep me out sometimes.” He finally let go. His hand slipped from her lips down to her neck.

Time stopped.

There was nothing innocent about the kiss. Much like their heated make-out session in the elevator, Matt used his entire body to press her against the door. The wood rattled slightly. He pulled her away from it, turning them in the small space until she hit the wall on the opposite side. He held her head in one of his hands, guiding her against him, the other wrapping around her waist, and pulled her flat against his chest. The strap of her dress slid down her shoulder, exposing her aching nipple to the cold of the room. His hand wandered to her tit almost like the reveal called him personally. He cupped the tender flesh, pinching her nipple between his rough fingers.

Her lips started to tingle from the rough attack. He followed a path down her neck, then back up again. She chased him, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He groaned.

“For your information,” she managed to say between heavy breathing and gentle touches, “This is the adrenaline talking. I would never jump you in a supply closet.”

“Of course not,” he breathed.

“I mean it. This is the last place we should be doing this.”

“We can’t go out now. They’ll catch you.”

“I…” he shut her up with another bruising kiss. Her mind was reeling. The fear of getting caught only made the adrenaline high better, and the arousal between her legs was starting to become unbearable. She was sure she would make a mess if he didn’t do anything about it. She was completely exposed.

Just like that, he got on his knees. How could one possibly string together a coherent thought with Matt Murdock kneeling at their feet, ready to get his fill in whatever way he wanted to?

Eliza tried to stop him. She did. She was sure she did, but he was determined and she didn’t feel like fighting the inevitable. His hands were splayed out on her hips, bunching her dress up only enough to allow his head to dive between her thighs. He threw one leg over his shoulder. Kisses trailed from her calf to her upper thigh, then back down again. He caressed the outside first before he decided to move his mouth to the inside of her thigh, the beard burns from before still very much present. He sucked in a deep breath, smelling her skin, painting a mental picture of the lewd situation that had his cock threatening to break his pants apart.

“Matt, I don’t think- oh.”

He sucked her clit between his lips.

“Fuck!” She searched for support on the wall behind her, palm pressed flat against it. Her other hand tangled in his hair. She rocked steadily against his face, tongue varying from licking over her folds to thrusting into her, only for his lips to return to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. A loud, unrestrained moan broke out of her.

He paused momentarily. “Shhh,” he shushed her. “You need to stay quiet.”

She nodded. She didn’t want him to stop. It felt too good but at the same time, it felt so incredibly wrong, she wanted to push him away. Matt, on the other hand, seemed to be having a blast.

She bit down on her bottom lip so hard, she tasted the copper on her tongue. The sounds rested in the back of her throat, almost choking her. It was torture, not being able to open her mouth and let herself go. Only days ago, she wouldn’t have thought that possible. Being loud during sex had never been her favorite. She hated exposing herself like that, but with the man between her legs at that moment, staying quiet was a new impossibility. It was torture, to say the least. The adrenaline intensified the pleasure, adding to the rising waves threatening to crash into her shore.

He liked her like that, head thrown back in bliss, eyes shut and rolled into the back of her head while the rest of her body was chasing the ultimate high right on his lips. He was eager to give, eager to please. The end of her heel dug into his back, sending sharp shocks of pain through his body, and the whole situation was sinful enough to taint his dreams for weeks to come.

Her hand pushed down on his head. “You close?” he whispered against her cunt.

She nodded, eyes still squeezed shut. “Mh-hm.”

“Good.” And he stopped.

The whine she let out was pathetic, the loss of his mouth making her want to pull him back in to finish what he started. He wasn’t going to. “No,” she cried.

Matt kissed her again. She tasted herself on his tongue. “Someone’s coming,” he breathed into her mouth.

“No one’s coming,” she bit back.

“You can come later, promise. Right now, we have to seem like we’re very busy.” He opened his belt. “Jump.”

Eliza wrapped her legs around his waist. It was an easy distraction. Most people were uncomfortable at the display of PDA, especially seeing sex and physical intimacy. The feel of his erection against her bare cunt made it hard to compose herself. She could have come like this, just from the thrill and the unintentional friction of his pants.

He tucked at her dress, sliding the strap back up her shoulder. “I’m gonna give you my suit jacket to cover the color of your dress. Close the button. Bunch your dress up so it looks like you’re not wearing one. There you go.” His care was stupidly attractive, the praise even more so.

“Thanks,” she said.

The kisses were sloppy. It felt nothing like before, lacking passion and emotion. The door bust open. Matt was forced to set her down, instantly standing in front of her. “Oh, my God. We’re so sorry,” he stammered. “We were just looking for a quiet place to, you know.”

They tore the mask from his face. His sightless eyes didn’t react to the light, pupils the same size they were before. The story appeared obvious - he was blind, she was drunk, and they were just trying to have sex in the supply closet. Technically, that wasn’t a wrong assessment. Still, they were a bit suspicious.

“We want to look at her,” one of the men said.

Matt lifted his arms, his broad back almost covering her completely. “She’s very naked under my jacket and very drunk. If you do this, she’ll be humiliated. And my wife, I… she can’t know. She’s a generous donor and if she finds out… your boss isn’t gonna be pleased and if she finds out, I’m broke. Don’t make me bankrupt, please!”

Eliza decided to take a risk. She could tell they weren’t going to back down just to preserve her dignity and fighting in such a small space seemed too risky, so she did the first thing that came to her mind. “Иди в баню,” she said.

He blinked. Not sure what she said, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to understand or not. Judging by their heartbeats, they had no translation for the words that came out of her mouth. They sounded slurred, and incoherent, and they took a step back.

“Чтоб тебе дети в суп срали.” Her hands slipped around his waist, being bold and grabbing his crotch.

One of them watched the scene with knowing eyes. “We get it, man,” he caved. “Russian hooker. We’ve all been there. Our bad.”

Matt let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Continue.” They closed the door.

The room went quiet for a moment. Then, she started laughing.

“What did you say to them?” he asked.

“I was just throwing random Russian insults into the room,” she stated. “I didn’t think it would work.” She bit back her giggle, but the adrenaline high was still going strong. She felt so euphoric, she couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

The last thing she expected was for him to laugh, too. He lowered his head, chest rumbling with the sweet sound. She slapped his shoulder. This was crazy, the whole situation. One second, they were infiltrating a gala, the next they were making out in the elevator, breaking into an office, finding blueprints, fighting bad guys, and in another weak moment, he went down on her in a supply closet only to get caught like stupid teenagers.

“What did you say?” he choked out.

“Иди в баню! roughly translates to ‘go to the bat house, which might as well be translated to ‘fuck off!’”

“Oh, my God.”

“And the second one says ‘May your children shit in your soup’. I think you can guess what that means.”

“And you just…”

“If they had spoken Russian, we would’ve had a problem.”

“They would not have been happy.”

“No,” she wheezed, “Definitely not.”

Matt grabbed her face and pressed another heavy kiss to her lips. “Have I ever told you that it’s hot when you speak other languages?” he said.

“Lo siento. I don’t think so.”

“Mh-hm.” He gently bit down on her bottom lip. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Please,” she said.

He offered his hand to her and she took it gladly.

“If anyone asks, this never happened. And with anyone, I mean Foggy. Everything went smoothly and the lipstick on your collar was just a necessary distraction. Okay?”

He laughed, “Okay.”

#matt murdock #foreigner's god #matt murdock x female!oc #matt murdock smut #daredevil #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x original character #human disaster matt murdock #smut #foggy nelson #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #mcu characters #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #marvel #original female character #charlie cox

33 notes · View notes