#professor!matt murdock | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldenlikedayl1ght · 1 month

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wildest dreams - m. murdock

a/n: i have literally not been inspired for two weeks then i was STRUCK with the urge to write this. guys. i am so proud of this one i am not even going to lie. this one is dedicated to @bunmurdock because i am literally always thinking about professor murdock.... i really hope you guys enjoy this one, because i enjoyed writing it :) warnings: SMUT! inappropriate dynamic, P in V smut, so much cursing, lots of inappropriate thoughts and pining, power dynamics, dirty talk, reader does an edible and is high for a small part of this fic, reader isn't stupid in this one! she is just horny! she is also deaf, and there is yapping of readers daddy issues word count: 6.3k likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 summary: you have a huge crush on your professor and spend many days desperate for him. pairing: professor!matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: wildest dreams - taylor swift (taylor's version) "i said, "no one has to know what we do"/his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room"

You could treat him better than any of these other horny grad students.

Seriously, that is your only conscious thought watching this man move around the front of this lecture center. You’re not dumb, you know everyone sitting here wants him—Those who are attracted to men want to fuck him and those who aren’t seek his approval. But you are built different, you’re also lacking a major sense, besides, your brain runs ramped with disgusting thoughts about the man.

Today’s focus is on the man’s outfit. It’s his last class of the day, and it shows. His clothes are a bit more wrinkled, and his hair is messier than it had been when he started the day. But most importantly, his jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, meaning you have a phenomenal view of his torso.

He wears a white button down, with the cuffs of the arms rolled up to just below his elbows, the bottom of the shirt tucked into the waistline of his pants. The shirt is tight, maybe a little too tight, especially around the arms. Maybe it’s because he works out. Or at least, you assume he works out.

That brings us to his tie. Oh, his tie. It’s nothing special—a pure black tie, just hanging from his neck. Your mind wanders. It starts at the dissection of a key court case in the subject of minimum wage, but from there, it starts drifting to his tie.

You think about the tie moving back and forth above you as he thrusts into you, brushing against your face, pulling on it to bring him closer. You think about that soft half chuckle he does, before he says something dirty like—

“Did you have something to add?” His voice right in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Fuck. You were not paying attention.

“Uh, No, Professor..” Your face is a deep red, embarrassed. You wish you could take off your hearing aids to stop listening to all the giggling from around you, from peers who are thrilled that Professor Murdock’s little (not-so) secret admirer got called out for her staring.

“Hm,” he taps the table in front of you, “Then I want you paying attention.” He says, before going back to his lecture. You could die right there. Everyone is laughing at you. He embarrassed you.

Okay, so you have no proof that he’s ever wanted you in the way that you’ve been so god damn desperate for him, but it’s still crushing that he’d single you out in that way. That maybe while you were increasingly needy for him, he found you fucking annoying, in such a way that he felt the need to embarrass you in front of your peers.

You want to melt—Melt into a puddle with just your boots and your hearing aids left behind so you never have to face him ever again. That’s why you’re so relieved when he dismisses class right on time (Well, right on time for him. He always ends class five minutes early to leave room for questions) and you quickly gather your things.

Because of the sheer level of embarrassment he has caused you, the other students in the class who want him try to flock to him, sensing that you no longer have the confidence to engage with him—But your desire is still there, as you messily shove your things into your backpack. You turn when you’re finished, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Your face is still flushed, part because you’re embarrassed, part because you are out of breath from rushing. But you are faced with the view of your professor, all alone. Your breath hitches when his hand moves up to the top of his tie, as he smooths it out, running his fingers down the fabric.

“I read your essay on the expectations of the courts and law versus the realities of it. I loved it. The argument using Gideon versus Wainwright to justify the existence of the right to counsel as a civil right and not a liberty was fascinating, especially considering your other arguments about how race, class and gender play into those realities. Well done. I thought it was some of your best work.”

Your face is flushed for a new reason now. Wasn’t this the same man who was mad at you for not paying attention?

“I thought so too.” You confess, and he just smiles. He loves that you’re confident in your work. You’ll make a great lawyer one day.

“Oh, and,” He digs through his leather satchel to pull out some notes, running his finger over the folder tab to make sure he has the right folder, “Here are the printed copy of our notes from the last few lectures.” It’s part of your accommodations that professors give you a copy.

“Thanks, Professor.” You smile gently, reaching out to take the papers. Your hands meet and as you grip the notes, the tips of your fingers just barely brush against his. Neither of you say anything. Neither of you let go.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.” He starts, “But you’re bright—Smarter than most of your professors, I bet. And I don’t want you to fall behind.” He says softly, and without saying it, you know he’s worried because of your hearing. He was disabled in law school once upon a time, and he recognizes your potential.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, softer than your voice usually is. “I get it, really. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He says gently, letting go of the papers now. As you clutch them close to your chest, his hand goes back up to mess with his tie again. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know how wild it drives you? He must. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you on Thursday.” You agree, and that’s when you leave the classroom.

As the door closes behind you, he listens intently. He hears your nervous heartbeat, could practically feel the heat radiating off you. But he knows your routine by now. You’re about to start playing music, and he likes knowing what sort of mood you’re in as you leave his class.

A smile spreads across his face when he hears the opening notes of that new Hozier song, ‘Too Sweet’.

• • •

You are a straight A student. You study days in advance for exams, you write elaborate study guides and most of all, you do not miss class, unless you are dying (no, seriously, the last time you missed class you were rushed to the hospital, sick with pneumonia after a big exam, which you aced). So, when you’re not in Matt’s class on Thursday, he tries not to panic.

You’re a grown woman, he tells himself, and he doesn’t have an attendance policy, having told the class on syllabus day that he trusted them to know when to come to class and when they should go lay in the sun or stay home with a bad cold.

But you once came to class doped up on cold medicine with a mask on, just because you didn’t want to miss any important information. He heard it before you got to class, so he faked a family emergency to cancel class early that day. He could hear your rattled sigh of relief as the other students flooded out.

And he knows for a fact you didn’t show up today because of how fucking loud you are; You don’t mean to be, but he can hear the light buzzing of your hearing aids, and you wear these big work boots that stomp even when you’re trying to step lightly. And he heard neither buzzing nor stomps today.

Oh, your boots. He’s spent years with everything being too loud, but he just can’t help but think about the boots—What color were they? What were their texture? He has this fantasy that lives at the very back of his mind of putting you in heels, heels too big for anyone let alone a girl who only wears clunky work boots, that way he would have to help you, take care of you, and it is a fantasy that will probably live at the back of his mind until he dies.

Sure, he’d probably get married, settle down with someone his age and never worry if she might be dissatisfied with an older man, and she’ll be quiet. No hearing aids, no big boots. They’ll have kids, they’ll be happy together. He’ll still go to you when he can’t sleep, and no one will ever know.

Wait, what was he doing? Oh, right. You weren’t in class today.

His fingers move over the keyboard to look you up in the system. He clicks on the audio assistant to read him your information. It reads out your first and last name, middle initial, then your grade in his class (A+), your accommodations (Notes, time and a half, things like that), your birthday, and—

Wait, he takes a moment, and his fingers go over to his braille calendar, realizing that you’re taking a day off because it’s your birthday. A laugh escapes his lips, because how silly was he being?

His fingers move again to find your email address. He debates for a moment before adding the subject line, “Absence Today.” Then, he erases it and changes it to, “Class Today”, hoping you wouldn’t freak out before reading the email.

And just for a moment, he lets himself dream. He writes the following email to you,

“Hey, sweetheart—

Happy Birthday. I’m so happy you’re taking a break, you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. Are you doing something fun for it? Going out and getting wasted? Hooking up with some college guy who couldn’t fuck you properly?

If I could, my birthday gift to you would be a day spent with my face buried between your pretty thighs, although that might be a birthday gift to me and not to you. I’ve always been a selfish man, and you seem to be something I am entirely selfish about. I want your hands tangled in my hair, tugging on it as I taste you. I want you all to myself. I didn’t hear the buzzing of your hearing aids or the clunking of your boots, and I felt this striking yearning.

I can’t stand being around you without having you. It’s torture.

Happy Birthday,

Matthew.’

He thinks about it for a minute, before completely erasing the email, and sending you this one instead:

‘Missed you in class today! We went over the reading for Chapter Seven. Happy Birthday! Professor M’

He sends it, and then rubs his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. He is completely enamored by you, and it is so unfair. You’d be in class on Monday, he told himself. He’d see you then, and it would be like getting his fix of you.

Then, he turns to the distraction of trying to grade papers. It won’t work. He’ll still have you on his mind all day, and there will be no relief in sleeping. Hopefully he’ll dream of that long day between your thighs.

• • •

Truth be told, you were not drinking and fucking some random guy when Matt emails you. You were cuddled up in bed, giggling and eating snacks, so many snacks, because, well, you took an edible with a bunch of your friends and now are high out of your mind.

Some animated shows are on in the background, and when your phone buzzes, you pick it up and almost melt when you see the email from your favorite professor. You start giggling like a kid, your fingers clutching your phone as you read the email over and over again.

One friend looks up to you from her place on your floor and asks, “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer at first, but then you nod, and pull your blanket close, imagining Matt’s arms around you. Your brain paints you a picture of him holding you against his chest and gently playing with your hair.

It’s a nice fantasy.

• • •

For being a law student, you really fucking hate it sometimes. Okay, that’s not true. You love being a law student and are so excited to go out into the world and make that difference. But you’d be lying if you don’t sort of contemplate dropping out and getting a sugar daddy over certain assignments.

Maybe Matt is in the market. Then you shake your head to get the thought out of there, before opening your laptop to check your professor’s office hours. The one that assigned this assignment is an old bat who does not have office hours except for during your other classes on Fridays.

Then, you look at Matt’s office hours. He has office hours right now. You click the pen in your hand a few times, thinking. Contemplating. Would he want to see you at this point? Would you be able to control yourself?

You give the question you’re working on one more time before you lean down and grab your boots, starting to lace them up. Then, you pack up your bag, heart beating nervously over what—Asking him for help with an assignment?

You make it all the way across campus, the whole time worried about if you’ll walk in on your professor with some other girl. You almost laugh at that thought, because you think you’re silly for how dramatic you are about the man.

You stand down the hallway from his office for a few minutes, just contemplating. You could just turn around and not at all open the possibility of being around him, and everything stays the same. Nothing changes, and your relationship with your professor maintains it’s strictly professional relationship.

You walk towards the door, knocking on it before holding your breath.

“Come on in,” He calls from behind the door. Now or never. You open the door, and smile in his direction.

“Hey, professor,” You greet, a soft smile on your face. His tie is loose around his neck. You blink away whatever daydream your brain wants to dive headfirst into.

“Hey,” He greets, “I don’t think you have any assignments due, so what’s up?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction. As you think about it, you realize that you do not need help with an assignment.

“This is going to sound like a lie. But I had trouble with this assignment earlier, and suddenly I walked in here and realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You explain, but you make no attempt to turn around and leave.

“Let me guess,” He starts, gauging by what year and academic proficiency you’re at, “Professor Reid’s estate planning class? That assignment about the will and testament of an old lady with a marriage less than 90 days and estranged kids?”

You groan and take a seat in one of the chairs in his office. He laughs in response, shaking his head.

“That old bat.” You roll your eyes. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to cheat on your final.” He tells you, and you give him a perplexed look.

“What?”

“Well, for the final, there’ll be a question about a super niche argument on inheritance. Just cheat on it.”

“You’re a professor, telling me to cheat?”

“I cheated on it,” He shrugs. You suddenly remember that he used to go to school here and has taken all the classes you’re struggling with right now.

“You’re being unprofessional.” You tell him, and he smiles again. Your heart skips a beat, and somehow, his smile grows. As if he knows exactly what sort of effect he has on you. As if this is all a game he likes to play with you, his eager and willing participant.

“Okay, forget that I told you to cheat on Reid’s exam. We have to talk about something, it would be awkward to just sit here in silence. Uh, what did you major in in undergrad?”

“English. I minored in Disability studies.”

“So why Law?” He asks curiously, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, before resting them on his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I’m tired of being poor.” The answer slips out before you can really stop yourself. He laughs again, and something in you stirs. As if making him laugh is the newest way you feel good about yourself. How twisted is that? “I’m being serious!” You laugh too, unable to contain it.

“I’m sure,” he promises, “I grew up poor too, I was sick of it too. But if you’re going to be a lawyer—”

“You need to have respect for the law and the people taken advantage by it,” You finish, “I get that, really, I do. And I want to help people. I want to go into divorce law and help all the poor and battered women like—” You’re forgetting yourself. You’re forgetting that this isn’t a date and that this man is your professor.

“Like..?” He prods you to finish, curious. He is on the edge of his seat about you. This is more than he has gotten of you in the past few weeks you’ve been taking his class.

“Like my mom.” You finish suddenly looking for something to do with your hands. Anything, really. “But the check that comes with it isn’t exactly deterring me, you know?”

“I get that,” he says earnestly, “I was an orphan, one of those dirty scrappy ones you feel bad for,” he does that half chuckle that makes you want to go over there and kiss him. “Never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was young. So, I get it. Being poor and wanting to do better for yourself. For your parent who sacrificed for you.”

But it clicks for him, the hidden meaning behind your ambitions. You have daddy issues, and he can tell that’s part of your crush on him. Though, he’ll never say it to you. He’ll let it be something unspoken between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you do get it.” You smile softly. But this is dangerous. So so dangerous. The two of you are dancing this dangerous line—Well, more like you’re damn well dancing clear over the line and ignoring it. But you don’t know how to stop it. Maybe you don’t want to stop it.

“Well, uh, maybe you could finish that assignment while we’re here.” He clears his throat, straightening his tie and you try to connect the wires in your brain to focus on the assignment. You pull it out of your bag and place it on his desk, smoothing it out a bit. Matt gets up and starts to wander around the office, and you look at him curiously. “I think better when I can move around.”

You should’ve known that much, you have stared at him doing lectures, wandering from end to end of the rows and rows in the classroom.

“Yeah, totally,” You nod, focusing on the assignment. It’s on paper, the old bat refuses to use online assignments. You’re practically flying through the assignment, and it’s at the point where you are forgetting your company. In fact, you really don’t notice him.. Until you lean back and stretch, jumping when you realize that Matt has taken a spot right behind you, his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward. You’re practically leant up against him.

“See? Was that so hard?” Your face flushes, his voice right next to your ear. He has to know; he has to know how you’re affecting him. You tilt your head a bit, and your eyes are level with his chin. His stubble moves as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t smell much like anything… except the faintest hint of clean sheets and this slight scent of mahogany. It would go perfect with a whiff of whiskey.

“No,” you say quietly, and he almost shudders at the feeling of your warm breath against his cheek. “Not at all, Prof—”

“Call me Matt.” It’s almost begging. You’re kind of into it, but that’s not surprising given how incredibly attractive you find him.

“Okay.” You say quietly. He has reduced you to one-word answers. The two of you stay quiet for a while. You’re unsure what to say. Matt is contemplating his options. Anyone could walk in on the two of you like this. The door isn’t locked, and you want to bring this up, but the words die out in your throat. His head tilts a bit towards you, and you get a glimpse at those perfect lips of his.

“You know—” He starts, but before he can get any farther, you lean in and kiss him. You kiss him intensely, your hand on his cheek, and for once, you are not filled with regret at a bad decision. He doesn’t react at first, and for just a second, you’re nervous.

Then, He kisses you back, letting out this deep hum as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head to get deeper into your mouth, and his hands make their way down to your hips. He focuses for a second, before wrapping his arms around you to pick you up and sitting you on his desk.

His hands trail down as the pair of you kiss, landing on your thighs. His fingers rub back and forth, and you gasp when he squeezes your thighs. He grins and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your clunky boots hit against his desk and he practically growls at the sound. He pulls away, his teeth biting your bottom lip as he does.

You’re completely out of breath, and so is he. He stumbles back a bit, his lips swollen and bright pink from kissing you. He wipes his mouth as he pants, and inhales deeply. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing the hair that has fallen onto your face.

“We..” he mumbled gently, running his hand over his chin. “Holy shit, kid—”

“Don’t call me kid—”

“Listen,” he goes over to you and brushes the hair from your face, “That was.. it was phenomenal, but someone could’ve walked in on that, and.. Fuck, if we do that again, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” he confesses, his hands on your cheeks.

“When I was staring off into space last week, I was thinking about your tie.” You tell him, your hands are finding the base of it now. He tilts his head, curiously.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Was daydreaming about it brushing against my face as you fuck me.” You could swear his face is red. You grin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking the tie from you and bringing the tie up to brush against your cheeks, “Like that?” he teases, and you laugh back. Dick.

“Mhm,” You giggle, and your hands find his, wrangling the tie out of his hands, and tugging on it, before bringing him in for another kiss. He inhales deeply as he kisses you, taking the taste of you in for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m serious, sweetheart, this is dangerous.”

“Sweetheart?” You grin. He takes your chin and grips it between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey. Pay attention.” He says, and you want to argue that saying things in that low gravely tone will not help you pay attention, but you can tell he’s serious. That he wants your attention focused on him, this is important. “Listen. I like you. I like you a lot, but we have to be careful if we want any of this to go further. We have to be subtle and watch our steps.” He says softly.

“Okay.” You promise, “Okay, we should be careful.” He smiles gently and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Good pup.” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I like ‘pup’.” You like sweetheart too, but your stomach flips when he calls you pup.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He grins. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you said we have to be careful.”

“Okay, then I’ll give you my address and you can come over.” He shrugs. “I know how badly I need you, I can only imagine how you feel.” He hums, and you grin.

“Okay, Here, give me your phone.” Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. You put your number in with your name, sending yourself a quick text before handing the phone back to him. “There. Send it to me.” He steps back so you can hop off the desk, before putting your homework back in your bag.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you close, just to kiss you again.

• • •

Your hands are shaking as you drive over to Matt’s apartment. You’re so full of desire for him, and you take a second after parking the car to adjust your hair and makeup. Luckily you had no plans with your friends so it’s not like you’re hiding anything from anyone.

Are you about to sleep with the professor you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester? Hopefully. You take a quick glance down to the apartment number he sent you before climbing out of the car, locking it behind you.

Then, you manage your way through the building, finding yourself in front of his door for the second time tonight. You hesitate. Though, you’re not sure why. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you’re terrified that this is going to be bad. Or maybe that you’re scared you’ll be bad, and he’ll hate you.

Maybe you just need to get over yourself. Although, you can’t really do much more convincing because Matt swings open the door and grins at you. You almost die at the sight of him. His tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned by three buttons.

“You’re so hot,” You blurt out as you hand him a cheap bottle of wine you picked up on the way here.

“You’re cute,” he hums, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the apartment, leaving you giggling as he closes the door behind you. You look around his apartment, your eyes catching on the giant billboard. You’re standing in front of the window when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips gently kiss your neck, up and down, biting your shoulder gently. “Enamored by the billboard, sweetheart?”

“Your windows are so big, probably a lot of light in here during the day.” You say softly, and he smiles against your neck.

“Mhm, one day, I’ll fuck you against those windows—”

“Matt,” You groan, but he just shushes you and kisses your neck again.

“I know, pup,” He hums, “But don’t worry, I’ll show you a very nice time, hear all those pretty noises you can make for me.” You blush, turning to say something to him but he wraps his arms around your waist again, before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to his room. You’re laughing all the way there, before throwing you onto the bed.

“Mean.” You accuse, but he shrugs.

“You’ll get over it, sweetheart, I promise.” He hums, and you sit up on his bed. He stands between your legs, leaning down to kiss you gently, his hands finding your cheeks again. He kisses you like this for a few minutes, before slowly kneeling in front of you, never breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss. You pull away from the kiss to study him. He tilts his head, his hands finding your thighs to rub them again as he did in the office. “What?” he asks gently.

“I spent all those lectures only being able to study you from a far.. Just let me really look at you for a while..” You request. He grins gently as your fingers run over his stubble again. Your hands move up to his glasses. “Can I take these off?” You request, tilting your head.

Matt hesitates, just for a second. He’s not really used to it, to someone truly wanting to see him, every part of him. But he trusts you, wants you to see him. So he nods, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ as you pull off those circular red glasses, gently folding them and setting them down somewhere safe.

Then, you take a good, long look at his eyes. They’re this deep brown, almost black, irises that are drop dead gorgeous. The skin around his eyes is scarred, but the scars are old, yet, you rub your thumb gently against that scarred skin. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his eyes, first the left one, then the right one.

He leans up and kisses you after that, his hands slowly making their way down your legs. Your hands find his buttons of his shirt starting to undo them. He pulls away from the kiss, before slipping off his button up, throwing it away somewhere in the room. Your eyes drift down to these scars on his collarbones, and your fingers run over them. Then, you notice other scars on his skin, and your hands find those too.

“Your boots are so loud,” he hums, and you’re taken back by it.

“What?”

“Your boots.” He hums, “I hear you stomping around with these things on, they’re.. Like a bell, you know? I like knowing you’re around.” His fingers go down to the laces of your left boot, slowly untying them. Then, he does the same with the right boot.

He pulls off your boots, before running his fingers over your socks.

“They’re multicolored. Bright and patterned.” You confess, and he grins, before pulling them off. Then, he stops, realizing you have another pair of socks on. He blinks, before starting to laugh.

“You have two pairs of socks on?” he chuckles, your face flushing.

“My boots are just a little too big!” You tell him, and he laughs, resting his head against your thigh. He finishes taking your socks off, before working on the buttons of your jeans. When he finally gets those undone, he pulls off your pants, throwing them somewhere close to his now abandoned shirt. His hand comes up to rub you through your panties, and he lets out a scoff as he does.

“So wet for me, pup..” He mumbles, coming up to gently kiss your cheeks and then your jaw, as you whine. “I know, baby, I know,” he says softly, rubbing your clit gently. You whine gently at the feeling, gripping his wrist. He chuckles softly, kissing you to shut you up a bit.

He pulls his hand away from your throbbing cunt to pull off your tee shirt, throwing it wherever. He starts to kiss you as you fiddle with the buttons of his pants and pull them off, letting him step out of the before he casts them away.

You grin into the kiss, before he pulls away.

“What? What’s got you so giddy, pup?” he asks, a grin on his face too.

“Briefs,” You hum, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Thinking about your professor’s underwear?” He teases, leaning in to bite your neck. “Dirty, dirty girl.” He grins, and you swat at his shoulder, which causes him to laugh. He likes having fun with you, even if it’s not inherently sexual.

His hands come up to run gently over your skin, trailing from your hands up to your shoulders, and then all the way to your ears, where his fingers gently run over your hearing aids. It’s a nice gesture, really, but as soon as his fingers brush over your hearing aids, you immediately retract, the feedback shooting through your skull, uncomfortably.

“Ow—” You cringe, leaning your head back to try and get away from his fingers. He cringes, hearing the feedback, not as badly as you do but knowing it’s there and that you’re in pain pains him.

“I’m sorry,” he coos softly, his fingers moving down to cup your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t realized—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You hum, tilting your head to kiss his palm gently. “It happens, It’s why you should never touch them while I have them on.” You shrug. He leans down and kisses your stomach a bit, before going back to kiss you again, deepening the kiss a bit before roughly shoving you back on the bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, caging you in between his legs, as he slips his tongue into your mouth again. He kisses you with passion and need, and it drives you entirely too wild. As he pulls away, one hand comes up to grip your chin, before he leans down with his head against yours.

“Want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” He asks gently, his voice sweet as honey as he talks so obscenely to you. You whine, finally getting what you want after weeks and months of waiting. He just smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, puppy, you gotta say it to me.” He requests.

“Yes, I want you..” You groan, bucking your hips a bit at the thought of him finally fucking you.

“Want me to do what?” he asks, innocently.

“Want you to fuck me, please..” You request, and this finally seems to satisfy him. His hand comes down to unhook your bra, throwing it behind him with the rest of your clothes, before his lips begin to travel downwards, kissing down your jaw and neck, before he’s kissing the valley of your breasts, his hand going down to rub your clit again.

He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wetness soaking through your underwear and listening to your moans. His hands begin to work to take off your panties, and as soon as those are gone, your hands come up to his briefs, wanting them gone.

“Off, off, off—” You huff, and he laughs as he slips them off. Then, he reaches over and grabs a condom from the bedside table, but you grab his hand, shaking your head, “No, no—I’m on the pill, promise.”

“You sure?” He asks gently, and you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sure.” You nod, and then you’re kissing him again, your hand going down to stroke his cock, and he gasps into the kiss, before chuckling. He pulls away to mutter out to you--

“Needy girl,” he purrs, before moving to kiss you again. As you’re kissing, he slips his cock into you, and you moan into the kiss, tensing at the feeling, “Relax for me, pup.. So fucking tight for me.” He groans, his hand coming down to swat your thigh. “Relax.” He tells you, his voice sterner this time.

You nod, trying to form a more conscious thought than the pure bliss you feel, your hands wrapping around his neck, scratching down his back a bit. He groans softly, as he starts to slowly thrust into you. He is using every ounce of self-control he has, resisting the urge to absolutely violate you.

But he’s trying to be gentle, be nice.

“Faster,” You gasp out, your fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He does that half chuckle, and it makes you whine as he begins to speed up.

“Beautiful little pup..” he says lowly, “Been staring at me.. Wanting your professor so badly these past few weeks, dirty little thing,” he hums, “Fuck, so.. fuck..” Your legs are beginning to shake the longer and harder he thrusts into you. “So fucking good for me..” You whine into his lips as they crash into yours, one hand going down to rub your clit gently, the stimulation too much for someone who hasn’t had sex this good, ever, but especially because you haven’t had sex at all in the past.. well, six or more months.

“Matty, ‘m..” You can barely get the words out as he fucks you harder,

“I know baby, come on, cum for me, pup,” he coos, his thrusts nor rubbing slowing down, maintaining his pace. Within a minute, you’re coming with loud moans into his ears, and he’s following suit shortly after, coming deep inside you.

But for the few minutes after the two of you finish, he continues his thrusting, relishing in the pretty moans and the sound of his deep thrusts into you. Eventually, he slows down, remaining deep inside of you. He pulls you close, kissing you deeply before flipping the pair of you over, and holding your legs close to stay buried deep inside of you.

For a few minutes, there are no words spoken, just deep, frantic pants and sweaty skin against each other.

“You know, that was as good as I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.” You pant, “Better, even..” He laughs and nods.

“Me too..” he kisses you softly. “Let me take you out somewhere.”

“I thought we had to be careful..”

“We’ll go away somewhere then. Just the two of us for the weekend. I need to be with you, I can’t get enough of you now that I’ve had a taste.. Besides, I haven’t even eaten you out. Now that, that is going to be fun.” He grins, and you swat his arm.

“Evil, mean man!” You gasp, and he just laughs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, pup, let me make it up to you,” he hums.

“How?”

“Calling you pup a few times, ordering Thai food and teaching you how to suck me off?”

“I know how to suck you off,” You scoff.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, leaning in to kiss him. Then, lips still against yours, he whispers, “Prove it, pretty puppy.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x hoh!reader #professor!matt murdock #daredevil smut #matthew murdock #smut

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cellophaine · 1 year

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Can i request a Professor Matt x Student Reader (she's like 21) where he tutors her and they spend so much time together he ends up falling in love with her but doesn't say anything bc he doesn't wanna scare her away one night he's walking her to her place it starts to rain they share a moment and he ends up kissing her she feels the same way its sweet and innocent (no smut plz i just want some fluff)🥺

Lost & Found

Pairing: Professor!Matt Murdock x GN!Student!Reader

Warning: professor x student relationship (nothing shady), troubled family matters, fluff, bad writing.

Author's Note: Happy exactly one year and two months since I received this request! I'm sorry for taking too long to answer, and I hope you will still enjoy it. If not, that's okay too!

Share and feedback are greatly appreciated!

GIF Credit

"Are you … listening?"

As if the fog was lifted, the curtains were drawn, and the stupor evaporated, you found yourself in Professor Murdock's office once more. Only then did you realize that you never left it in the first place. You ran your hands over your face as if to physically remove the protective film wrapping around your skin so tight you couldn't breathe. All you wanted to do was to sink into the softness of your bed and stare at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep.

"Sorry, professor. I'm here. I was just– I've just remembered something I need to do, uhm … after this."

You forced your tired eyes to focus on the man sitting on the other side of the dark wooden desk. Your vision roamed over the pair of red-lensed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the slightly tousled but well-kept hair, the harbour grey dress shirt on his proper posture opposing your slouching. Everything about him was a contrasting reflection of you, and the realization made you sit straighter in your chair.

"Are you okay? You were quiet for a little bit there. You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I'm great! I'm sorry, what was the question?"

You attempted a smile, not that it mattered, but you hoped it would somehow weave into your voice, casting a guise of genuine interest on top of the fact that you didn't pay attention.

"Is everything okay at home?"

You cast a tentative glance at him, taking in the slight frown on his lips. The question sounded foreign, slightly out of place, as if it had no right to be so ambiguous and unintentionally intrusive at the same time. You did not doubt that he was annoyed with your inattentiveness, which was what landed you in his office to begin with. You hoped that was all to it.

"No– I mean, yes! Everything is fine. Why do you ask?"

The words rushed out in one breath as if they were strung together and tugged hard by the defensive pull of your voice. If your abrupt outburst offended Professor Murdock, he didn't show it. His face didn't give anything away, and certainly not his body language, which stayed hard to decipher. But you tried anyway and drew to the conclusion of nothing.

"I received your midterm report, and it wasn't something I expected from you, especially after the excellent research you handed in a month ago. You've missed deadlines on recent assignments, and, on top of that, Connor has told me you haven't been paying much attention in class."

An icy shroud of dread settled over you. You knew you didn't do too well on midterm since you were sidetracked by a family matter on top of a busy schedule that left you no room to breathe, but to get snitched on by your professor's teaching assistant? That was the new low you didn't expect to hit. You tried to go for just enough to pass, but even then, it was proven that the bare minimum was out of your reach.

"What did you expect from me, then?"

The question was harsh, like a bitter retaliation that didn't come out right. In all truthfulness, the indignant remark was weak, just like how you felt at the moment. The unwelcoming feeling of inadequacy brought you back to the years of living under your mother's roof. You felt like you could lose it at the mere mention of expectations, of something you could only chase after, never able to fulfill. You released a shuddering sigh. The recent incident with your mother really messed with your head.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat; his body angled toward you in a careful manner as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

"You're a bright student, and … forgive me if I overstep, but I feel like there is something else going on outside of class that affected your performance."

His carefully chosen words manifested in an acute assessment pierced through your guarded exterior. The last sliver of resolve held onto its fleeting moments by the frown on your lips before fading away.

"Nothing I can't handle, professor."

The futile attempt sounded hollow even in your own ears, and you had a creeping suspicion that it didn't escape your perceptive teacher.

"I'm here to listen if you want to talk. My doors are always open."

Your frown deepened. How many times have you heard that sentence? One too many times, from one too many people. School counsellors, friends that didn't really mean what they said, and even your own mother. At this point, they sounded like a remix of each other, preaching the same words for the moral satisfaction of those who said it to you rather than your own good. What was the difference between them and what your Criminal Law professor had to say?

"Thank you. But like I said, everything is great."

You kept your tone light, letting the brusqueness mark the finality of this discussion.

"Is that all you wanted to discuss with me? Can I go now?"

You couldn't wait to leave this room and its confined undertone, but your professor motioned for you to stay. He opened the drawer on his right; his hand rifled over the Braille-labeled files until he eventually stopped and pulled out a slim folder. He pushed it towards you, gesturing you to open the file. You were met with your report, littered in red ink and Connor's neat handwriting, and on top of the page was a pitiful capital F.

"You failed midterm. For this reason and the fact that you have not handed in your last few assignments, I have to assign mandatory tutor sessions for you with two hours a week at the minimum. You are required to check-in with me every other Thursday during my office hours. I will reserve a time slot just for you, and I don't take absence of any reason lightly, unless it's absolutely necessary."

His stern tone sobered you, and you realized how serious your situation was. This meeting wasn't a gentle reminder but a warning of what was at risk.

"I'm sorry, but I can't afford to do that. Between school and work, I really can't."

Being one of the core staff at Sugar & Spice, your schedule was filled with classes and long hours at the bakery. The manager was too stubborn to accept that the shop needed more people, which made the job that was once easy and nice turn into a test of your patience and limit on a weekly basis. You lived close to campus, but the shop was so out of the way, making the convenient location wasn't worth it. You stayed for the above minimum wage, free food and drinks, and the hours that helped you stay afloat in this expensive city.

"Retaking classes will only cost you more financially as the faculty stated at the beginning of the semester. You will have to take summer classes if you want to catch up with your program in September, and that will only slow down your progress at Columbia."

You had to admit it; your professor was right. You dug yourself into a hole, even though it was involuntary. As much as you wanted to blame it on your circumstances, there was no point. After a few moments to calm your frantic mind and racing heart, you sighed, knowing you had no choice.

"Alright. I'll take your advice. I'll do it."

You closed the file before you, finding the red ink overwhelming your anxious state.

"Do you have any recommendation for tutors? I don't really … know anyone here."

It was hard to admit and even harder to say it out loud, but it was already out there.

"There's no need for that. I'll personally see to your progress. I willl be your tutor."

The library was crowded, a rarity for a late Friday afternoon. You eyed uneasily at the textbooks, laptops, and water bottles strewn on the tables, taking up more space than they needed to. It wasn't worth fighting for a spot with study groups that seemed to spawn nonstop. You turned to your professor, asking if he wanted to move to another area, and he was almost too eager to agree.

You took professor Murdock to the second floor, finding your familiar way to a small spot overlooking the courtyard, away from the buzzing of rustling paper and whispering people. You looked at your professor, taking in the way his body language seemed more relaxed than it was downstairs. He reached to feel the table before setting his messenger bag on it.

"It's quieter here."

The easy smile on his face made the casual assessment feel like a compliment. You nodded, getting yourself situated beside him.

"I know. I usually come here to slee– study. Study. Between classes."

Your face heated up at the terrible save. To your relief, professor Murdock didn't seem to find fault in your slip-up if the small smile and the quick raise of his brows were any indications. He simply suggested you start with your textbook alongside your failed report. Your study session began.

You worked in comfortable silence between questions and explanations. You appreciated how professor Murdock allowed you to re-explore the concepts and lectures mostly on your own with his help. The sky outside darkened as the time moved with the number of notes you had taken, which was a lot. The only reminder of time was a rumble in your stomach, which felt like thunder in the small, quiet space. You checked your phone to see that you still had about a half hour left. You would have ignored it if it wasn't for the gurgling sound, louder this time, once again reminding you that you missed lunch. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you attempted to cover the aftermath by clearing your throat. You hastily wrapped an arm around your midriff, hoping the thick layer of your sweater would muffle any impending noise. You were about to go back to your notes when your professor spoke.

"Shall we take a break?"

You shook your head, then immediately chastised yourself for being a forgetful, inconsiderate fool.

"No, sir. I'm alright. I'm on a roll right now, and I want to keep that going."

His head slightly tilted to the side, and from the new position, the dull light above and the fleeting sunset outside the window cast its dying rays over his face like a moody painting. It sharpened the angles on his face, sculpting a grimness in his features — a beautiful contrast to his softness, his kindness.

"Are you sure?"

The concern and warmth in his voice only fueled your determination to keep going. You wouldn't dare inconvenience him in the smallest way.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Turning to your notebook, you quickly picked up your train of thought and proceeded from where you had left off. Professor Murdock took that as a sign for him to go back to his papers. And you continued to work in silence.

Some time passed until a small beep sounded beside you and pulled you out of your head. Professor Murdock touched his watch and turned to you.

"Your two hours of this week are done."

You blew out a sigh. The session went by quicker than you thought and was not half as bad as expected.

"When will you be free next week?"

You flipped through your journal, disturbing some grocery and drugstore receipts until you reached the page for next week.

"Oh, shoot."

You muttered to yourself, your eyes flitting over all the reds, greens and blues filling up the week like an intense game of territory, except for one little spot after an eight-hour shift at Sugar & Spice and your check-in with him. You wanted to have the rest of the precious half of the afternoon and all night to yourself, doing nothing and maybe watching mindless content while tuning them out simultaneously. But then, the thought of the expensive and unignorable fee of retaking his class appealed to your logical side, and you grimaced, knowing that it won.

"Uhm … I have some time to spare after my office hours with you on Thursday."

You glanced at him, watching a strand of hair artfully fall on his forehead as he quickly tapped through his device.

"Is that okay?"

After a moment, he gave you a nod.

"That will do. I can give do a quick check-in, then tutor you afterwards."

"That sounds good."

You added the date to your schedule, already mentally mapping out the quickest bus route from the university to your apartment. Professor Murdock gathered his stuff, and you made no move to do the same. His hand searched for the last of his document, which sat next to your notes. You gently slid the file into his path, and he acknowledged your assistance with a small smile. When he had gathered everything, his blazer in the crook of his arm, the chair tucked neatly back to where it was, only then he realized you weren't coming. You looked at him at his lack of movement and cleared your throat.

"I'm just going to stay here a little while longer. I think I can get this part done."

His mouth opened, then closed again at the absence of an answer. He gave you an understanding nod.

"See you in class tomorrow, professor."

"I will see you. Have a good night."

You returned to your notes, tracing back to where you left off. The gentle taps of professor Murdock's cane melted into the wooden floor in soft echoes as he made his way out. Soon, it was just the rapid scratches of your pen on paper.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't pay attention to the presence of another person entering the room. When they stopped before your table and lingered within the peripheral of your vision, only then you looked up and was greeted by the unexpected sight of your Criminal Law professor.

You straightened up, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Professor! Did you forget something?"

He shook his head, and you noticed his flustered face and the tousled hair, which looked like it was gently run through by the wispy hands of the wind.

"No! No, I didn't. I'm just here to give you this."

He held out a brown paper bag and only let go once you had a hold of it. With a peek inside the bag, you recognized the logo-patterned wax paper from the sandwich and soup shop just a little distance beyond the campus' ground. You hesitated, taken aback by the oddness of the situation.

"Is it … for me?"

He bobbed his head, confirming the obvious.

"Take a break. You've done enough for today."

Speechless and still confused, your mind scrambled for something to fill in the silence.

"Isn't food … not allowed in here?"

From the lower angle, his face tilted towards you, and the red glasses slid lower on his nose, exposing a part of his eyes. He flashed you a cheeky smile and what resembled a wink from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

You couldn't help a cheesy smile from breaking out, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Uhm … thank you, professor Murdock."

He flicked his hand as if to say it wasn't anything.

"There's no need to thank me. And, please, call me Matt."

You swallowed, stammering to oblige his request.

"Thank you … Matt."

The soft chuckle was endearing and unexpected, like almost everything else that happened tonight.

"Have a good night. Don't stay out too late."

"I promise I won't."

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, leaving you to the brown bag and quietude once more. You rested your face in your hands before giving your flushed cheeks a few taps as if doing so could take away the embarrassment. You took out the wrapped sandwich and a small bottle of water. He must have heard the noise your stomach made. You exhaled deeply before placing the water on the table, taking out the sandwich and unwrapping it. You took a bite of the sandwich, feeling it warming you up from the inside even though the food itself was gradually getting cold.

You thought of professor Murdock while you ate, of his kindness and thoughtfulness for someone like you who was a stranger to him at the very core once you had stripped down all the social niceties. You couldn't remember the last time someone bought you food, much less take care of you like this. Maybe he felt pity for you, a failing student who couldn't look after herself, the logical part of you screamed. But a smaller yet just as persistent part of your heart whispered otherwise. He helped you because he cared about you. Maybe … you deserved that. Your eyes swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You aggressively wiped it off, feeling foolish for crying over a little sandwich. You took a deep breath through your damp nose, trying to control your emotions by playing with the brown bag to distract yourself. When you piqued inside, a decent amount of napkins was at the bottom, and that, somehow, was the final stroke. He included napkins for you. You put the sandwich down and put the heels of your palms against your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of tears coming. You allowed yourself to cry a little more before finishing the sandwich and leaving for the night, your belly full and your heart warm.

Less than a week later, you found yourself, surprisingly, not spacing out during professor's Murdock lecture. Instead, you just felt sleepy. You shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before. You went from being unable to sleep to working on the homework to falling asleep at your desk just to wake up three hours later, groggy and late for class. You would have a closing shift at the bakery later today, only to return at 7 AM the next day, leaving you only an hour to travel to Columbia afterwards. You were exhausted already, and you didn't know how you would survive tomorrow through a full shift on top of your check-in and tutor session. You thought of injecting yourself with the crappy coffee they sell at the cafeteria that always made your stomach rumble in the most unpleasant way. But it worked. Perhaps all the stir from the coffee kept you bright-eyed and wide awake.

You rubbed at your eyes, hoping to clear the drowsiness that had started closing in at your waterlines. Bracing a hand on your chin, you stared your watery eyes at the big screen projector, willing your mind to read the words. But the room was warm, Matt's voice was soothing, and the boring slides with uniformed font served as visual comfort. If you were a little more awake, you would have been startled at the ease of thinking of your teacher by his first name. But for now, a little shut-eye wouldn't hurt, would it?

…

You jolted awake in your chair to a friendly face. So friendly that it alarmed you, making you jump in your seat. Your professor held his hands up, showing that he sensed, or felt, or rather, heard the screech of your chair.

"Are you alright?"

You cleared your eyes, blinking a few times to confirm that your teacher was crouching at your table, a look of concern in his expression. As a reflex, your hand shot up to touch your mouth, touching the moisture gathered at the corner. Even though you knew your professor couldn't see that, you still felt conscious enough to wipe the drool off with your sleeve.

"Class ended about ten minutes ago. Are you okay?"

Class ended. Class ended. It meant you had wasted your precious time you could have used to run to the subway to catch the train going to Greenwich Village, where your cursed job was. You looked at the time on your phone just to panic even more before hastily gathering all the contents on your desk.

"Thank you for … uhm … letting me know! I'm so sorry but I have to leave right now I'm so so late for work."

You were on the wind, and you couldn't stop, not even for a breather. Your notes and pen were shoved untidily in your bag as you hoisted the tote bag over your shoulder. You shot an apologetic tone towards your confused and concerned teacher.

"See you tomorrow, professor Murdock!"

Just like that, you took off from the awkward situation, leaving the consequences to be dealt with later.

You felt like you were already dead, arriving at your check-in with five minutes to spare. You sat on the bench outside professor Murdock's office with your head on your folded knees. You could still smell the sugar cookies woven into your hair, cinnamon hugged your clothes, and the sweet scent of everything else clung to your body. Your nail beds were decorated with flour, and you tried to pick them off. You had to stay late at the bakery for the time you missed. You barely slept before coming back to open the shop. And now, you anxiously waited in suspense about what was coming and another two hours of studying with your professor, who had been nothing but kind to you, and you had been nothing but a nuisance to him.

Speaking of which, the door opened slightly, and you could hear the tail end of a conversation that seemed to hang onto the more awkward end. A woman's voice, closer to where you were sitting, profusely thanked professor Murdock for his help, to which his smaller reply said he was only doing his job. The woman's voice increasingly affirmed that her breakthrough in last week's assignment was solely his doing. The conversation went back and forth and nowhere else until it finally settled on an overenthusiastic goodbye and "see you in class." The door finally opened fully, and a girl your age walked out. You recognized her being in the same classes as you, always sitting in the front row. Her cheeks were flushed as she walked away without paying attention to you. You were glad. Things didn't have to get even more awkward had she known you were eavesdropping, even though you weren't trying to.

You distanced yourself from the uncomfortable seat and announced your presence. Professor Murdock, standing at his desk, beckoned you to come in.

"How are you?"

He asked with genuine curiosity, making a part of you swell with delight. Your heart pounded in your chest, eager to swallow the attention he gave you whole, like a dying plant at the first drop of water after days of being abandoned.

"I'm… I'm fine. Just a little tired."

You lingered at the back of the chair, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

"I'm very sorry about falling asleep in your class yesterday. It was not my intention to do that."

He chuckled softly, dismissively waving a hand, almost as if he had already forgotten about it.

"Hey, it's okay. I know that my class can be boring. I should switch it up if I want my students to actually learn something."

Your face burned bright red with embarrassment. It burned so deep and hot that you missed the mild and casual sarcastic note in his tone. You lowered your head, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes.

"No, it's my fault. I'm very sorry. I will try not to do that again."

You willed your voice to stay steady and hoped it would fool your professor. The thought of every humiliating moment you had accumulated throughout the entirety of your relationship with him nagged at the back of your head, too stubborn to let go. Oblivious to the conflict being played repeatedly in your head, professor Murdock assured you it was okay and gestured for you to take a seat.

The check-in went better than you thought. He noted your improvements and gave you pointers on how you could improve. As you were left working on your assignment, the sound of the Braille keyboard, rustling papers, and gentle hums of air conditioning drew a small yawn from you. It seemed like you had been trapped in a misty, never-ending fatigue and functioned solely based on will and just enough sleep to make it by.

You were beyond exhausted, but you couldn't fall asleep again after the spectacle you made of yourself yesterday. Your eyes watered and blurred the sentences before you. None of the words followed the ruled lines. They were a scrawling mess of half-nonsense and whatever you could draw from your cluttered mind. You pressed a silent yawn into the palm of your hand before tapping your cheeks, making muted pats on your skin. When that didn't work, you reached for your travel mug of lukewarm coffee and welcomed the burned liquid on your tongue. You grimaced, wishing you had smelled it before taking a sip.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat from across the table, and you shot up straight like an arrow, nervously looking at him like a student who was caught playing hooky in the washroom. He pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes behind the red lenses.

"We can call it a day here."

You looked at your phone, seeing you still had another fifty minutes left. He fixed you with a gaze in your direction, his hands linked on the table, almost as if expecting you to comply. You translated it into displease, even though he hadn't explicitly expressed so.

"But we are not done yet. There's almost an hour left."

"I know. I thought you could use a break. You've done enough already."

How could he tell that you were tired? Was it because you were quieter? Was it because you didn't ask as many questions as last week? Did he think you were a nuisance, and that your presence was grating and unbearable? Didn't he want you around? Of course, who would? Not even your own family wanted to be around you. At that thought, you felt the familiar sting of rejection, reminding you of your past. You didn't want to relive it at this moment, so you focused on getting out of there as soon as possible. You closed your notebook harder than necessary and hastily gathered your stuff on his desk. You hated how you felt so helpless, so emotional so quickly at the most mundane thing. His gentle calls for your attention were ignored and brushed aside as if his words were only dust. You had gotten all of your stuff in, but before you could leave the way you did last week, his hand shot out to hold you in place, startling you. His touch was warm on your wrist, firm yet gentle.

"I hope you are not offended by what I suggested."

You dismissed him with a light scoff.

"Offended? No! You're right, I am a little tired, and I don't want to be a burden. I'm sure you have better things to do."

His hold on you tightened, not to the point of hurting. It was to accentuate what he had to say next, and he hoped the true meaning of his concern would get to your senses before the irrational part of you would.

"No, that's not what I meant. I thought we could stop here since you seem tired."

He took a brief pause, considering his next words.

"Did you come here after your job? At a bake shop or a cafe, perhaps?"

How did he know? You repeated your thought to him, and seeing your professor gradually turn pink was an odd sight. He scratched the back of his neck, drawing your attention to the flushed skin there.

"This, uhm, might sound creepy, but … I smelled baked goods on you. Cinnamon, sugar cookies, and coffee, too. I took a wild guess."

You blinked, surprised at his astute observation.

"You're … right. I work at a bakery. How can you tell?"

He tapped his nose with the other hand.

"I just … I have a sensitive nose. Works better than my eyes. My friend compares me to a dog, all the time."

You weren't sure if you could laugh. The broad smile and soft chuckle that brightened his feature told you it was okay. So you did, feeling the tension slowly retreat until it disappeared completely. You shook your head.

"That is … impressive. Wow! I work at Sugar & Spice in Greenwich."

"Oh! Frank raves about how fresh your bread is all the time."

"We use an actual flour mill to make our flour! It's huge, and it takes up so much space in the shop, but that's how we get fresh flour, so …"

You felt yourself inching deeper into a tangent, so you stopped yourself. Why did you have to ruin a perfectly fine moment with unnecessary comments? At the very least, your professor didn't seem to mind your rambling.

"I thought you could use some time to yourself. You seem tired, and I don't want to force you to work more than you already have."

His reason seemed rational now that you had stopped overthinking. His hold on your wrist made you want to open up, something you hadn't done in a long time.

"Can I tell you something?"

He nodded.

"I'm … it's … really embarrassing that I need one-on-one tutoring. I've always been a slow learner, and it seems like nothing has changed after … all these years."

You quickly added.

"And I do appreciate that you're doing this for me. This, all of this overthinking, is just … something I have to work on."

His hand gave another firm press.

"I mean this with all of my heart. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone needs help every once in a while. I want you to know there is strength in accepting that you need the help."

Your eyes widened, feeling the weight of his words seep into that part of your mind that had always craved the empathy you rarely allowed yourself. You sniffed dryly, suppressing the wave of emotion that threatened to break. A whisper of gratitude was all you could manage. Your professor nodded and let your wrist go, and the absence of his hand took you by surprise. You found yourself yearning for more of his warmth.

"Go home, and get some rest. Don't worry too much about the lesson."

You thanked him again, said your goodbye, and left without the weight on your shoulders when you first came in. That night, when you settled in bed with an audiobook on your headphones, your mind tuned it out. But it wasn't wandering anywhere like it usually would. You followed the path your mind was on, finding yourself lost in the memories of Matt and what happened that afternoon.

You wanted to do something nice for him, and what would be better than surprise cupcakes on no special occasion at all? Your heart pounded against its cage, and when you passed the decorated paper box to him, your hands touched. His fingers lingered on yours, and before you could truly revel in the sensation, it went away in a blink of an eye.

"Thank you for this. I can't bake to save my life, so a treat like this is rare."

"Maybe I can change that. I can bake for you."

You didn't think much of what you had just said, but your overthinking mind would agonize about that later. What exactly did you offer? It's not only baked goods, and he certainly doesn't need your companionship, you thought. You wanted to extend a part of yourself to him and the entirety of your affection that seemed to slowly but gradually get harder to ignore the more time you spent with him. It had grown so large that your mortal body could barely contain it.

"This is great! You didn't have to do this."

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me."

His hands searched for the rim along the handle, tugging the box open, revealing the sweets inside.

"They smell heavenly."

His face brightened, and you felt your own warmed at his praise. He took one in his hand and offered it to you.

"No! They're all for you!"

"Come on. Don't let me enjoy these delicious cupcakes by myself."

He was playful, but his intention was nothing short of sincerity. How could you say no to a face like that?

You gave in, accepting it timidly, and waited until he had one in his hand. You peeled back the paper and took a bite. The softness enveloped your tongue in a warm embrace; the sweetness crashed on your taste bud like a gentle caress. You looked at your professor, whose brows shot up at the first bite. His soft moan of bliss was endearing, and you found yourself wanting to drink the sound in, hoping the resonance would stay and echo in your mind so it could keep your heart beating just a little faster like how it was now. It was the tiniest fragment of joy that warmed you, making you want to keep it close to your chest and cherish it to the best of your limited capability.

A smear of frosting lingered at the corner of his lips. With a casual passing thought of how adorable he looked, you reached across the desk, and the pad of your thumb swiped at the cream before you were fully aware of what you were doing. You slowly retreated your hand, feeling the mortification of your forwardness. You weren't the only one affected by the gesture. Matt was, too, judging by the way he swallowed hard, his lips parted to take a deep breath as if he had forgotten how to breathe. None of you dared to speak, not wanting the moment to end, but eventually, it must. Matt cleared his throat softly, and you braced yourself for the inevitable "that wasn't appropriate," but to your relief, he only smiled.

"Thank you. It would be embarrassing and unprofessional of me to walk around with frosting on my face."

"You're very welcome, Matthew."

You continued to eat your cupcake, bashful with the praises he lavished you with. The creamy frosting still lingered on your finger, and after a brief hesitation, you brought it to your lips before licking it off your thumb. You revelled in the exhilaration of your boldness. You felt like you crossed a line you weren't supposed to, but at this point, it was too late for you to turn around.

And when you tossed and turned later that night, when you couldn't deny yourself the truth any longer, you would come to the hopeless realization that you were in love with your professor. All that was left was to tell him as you so selfishly wanted him to know of your fondness for him, but you wouldn't dare shatter the fragile attachment to adhere to your selfish want.

The study sessions started not to feel like a torture device designed specifically for you as you found rhythm within each other. They had become the place where you enjoyed your time the most. Matt brought coffee to fuel you for later days that turned to nights. You bonded over the occasional pastries you brought in. It was an inconsequential thing, which quickly became an unspoken tradition. You found he particularly enjoyed the red velvet cupcakes smeared with buttercream frosting. Nevertheless, he loved whatever you brought in and never failed to show you how much he appreciated it.

It felt like the invisible veil between you was removed. Neither of you dared to take that first step forward into the other side out of respect and the delicacy your positions held. Still, it felt nice. You didn't have to put your guard up all the time, and you were weirdly okay with it — everything was within your comfort zone. There was little pressure to be someone else, no expectations you couldn't meet. Within the four walls that his presence occupied, the expectation to do well was there, but at your own pace. You didn't have to struggle. While things with Matt had been good, the other part of your life had started turning its head, gearing full speed toward a fatal end.

Your mother had stopped all types of communication. It'd been three weeks since her last request asking you to stop contacting her and many messages and emails from your end begging her for a talk. Your whole life had been a preparation for this, yet, when it came, you were left in shock, in the pain that never eased or went away. For as long as you could remember, familial love was something you never had, and you envied those who had it. Sometimes, the absence of love and care from someone you were close to dulled you, but the smallest acts of kindness hurt much worse in return. It cut you deeper than indifference did, grappling with your heart. The way Matt treated you with patience, tenderness and support filled the empty space in your chest with an ache that grew over time. To think that he was once a stranger, yet, he cared more about your well-being than your mother ever did. Matt showed you that despite your fatal flaws, you were still worthy of love.

The year came to an end, and you were relieved to see that you passed all of your classes. Your final office hour with Matt was on a rainy afternoon, the type of weather that made everything moody and drenched in sorrow, fitting for your state of mind. The meeting was a fruitless use of time since the semester was already over, but you wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. You didn't want to say goodbye yet.

The sky poured in fine droplets by the time you were done. You waited as professor Murdock locked the door and walked out together. Neither of you said anything as you stood at the edge of the building, listening to the rainfall. You didn't bring an umbrella. You turned to him, and farewell words left a bitter taste on your lips.

"I guess this is it. I'll … see you around campus."

The forced smile on your face dropped as you placed your bag over your head. You hastily took half a step before his hand shot out, stopping you before you could walk out of his reach.

"Do you have anything for the rain?"

"No, I don't. But my apartment is not too far from here."

"I'll walk you home."

He didn't even hesitate.

"No no no no, you don't have to."

"I insist. I can't let you walk home by yourself in this weather."

He pulled out a well-loved umbrella from his messenger bag. It seemed like he wouldn't take no for an answer. You sighed, nothing of annoyance, only a little breathless.

"Can I at least carry it, please?"

The soothing sound of the rain was secondary to the thunderous beat of your own heart. The walk home was quiet since you couldn't find it in yourself to properly engage in a conversation when all you could think of was the feeling of his left hand resting in the crook of your right arm, which was holding up the umbrella. His hold was delicate, and you relished in the way it made you feel. Matt didn't seem to mind the quiet as you walked through the busy streets, occasionally talking about nothing in particular.

Eventually, the familiar build of your apartment complex loomed close, but you didn't want this to end. So you walked past the building and continued onward aimlessly for what felt like a little while. Matt leaned his head close to yours; his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Your apartment is quite far away. Good thing I'm going with you, or else you would be soaking wet by now."

His casual comment made you slow to a stop, pulling him with you. A look of concern touched his slightly furrowed brows.

"Are you okay?"

You shook your head, unable to look at him. You looked down at your boot-clad feet and his worn Oxford shoes as if you could find courage on the ground you stepped on.

"No … I'm not. I'm so sorry for lying, but we walked by my place … five minutes ago."

You needed to explain yourself as the look of concern on his face deepened.

"I didn't say anything because …."

He was quiet and so still, hanging onto every single word you said.

"Because … I … I like you."

Three simple words, yet the relief of their weight was immeasurable. Now that Matt knew, you felt the rush of regret start to pour in.

"I like you. And I'm sorry I'm so selfish that I made you walk with me even though my apartment is back there. I want to make my last few minutes with you last as long as possible. I'm sorry for even saying all of this–"

Your words were cut off by the touch of his lips on yours. Matt pulled you in by the small of your back, and your heart soared on its timid wings. Your hands hovered on either side of him, unsure of their limit on the newfound territory. As if Matt could sense your hesitation, he pulled back, and all you could think of was how much you would regret it if you let him go. You tugged him back to you by the lapel of his coat with more force than you anticipated, his body crashed clumsily into yours, and you found him again with more certainty this time. His lips were soft, brushing against yours in firm strokes, affirming the reality you hadn't grasped yet. His reciprocation was real and tangible, like the touch of his fingers caressing the bare skin on your neck, holding you against him.

All of his and your emotions were poured into the kiss, albeit slightly clumsy at first, until you found your rhythm, for actions were the only thing that allowed you to express yourselves fully at this moment. Words would be saved for later, as there was only him and you and the all-consuming kiss. Your hand lowered as you dropped the umbrella to the ground so you could hold onto him. Your hand found its way to rest at the back of his head; your fingers carded through the damp, slightly curled hair. Neither of you cared about the rain or the people walking around you as you were lost in the ardent embrace, letting the intensity pull loose at the thread of your longing for each other.

You broke away first, letting out a soft gasp for air. Your eyes were wide open, taking in Matt's swollen lips as you caught your breath. He looked as dishevelled as how you felt, and the small smile on his lips only made your already frantic heart beat faster.

"I like you too—more than you could possibly know. I didn't want to say anything because I thought you wouldn't reciprocate."

Hearing those words from him gave you an immense sense of relief.

"Besides, it's hardly appropriate."

You chuckled at the irony that was your situation. You absentmindedly brushed away the droplets on Matt's face despite the rain still descending upon you.

"Was. I'm not your student anymore, remember?"

His smile broadened at your reminder. His head dipped slightly, and you could see his eyes crinkled in the corners in the most endearing way through the rims of his glasses. He leaned into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm before gently pulling you in by your jaw for another kiss. This time, it was softer, with all the sense of indulgence the two of you had. After all, you had all the time in the world for each other.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!*

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hailey-murdock · 7 months

Text

Extra Credit

Co-written with: @little-miss-dilf-lover

Paring: Professor!Matt Murdock x female student!reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+ - Extreme explicit content

Summary: you’re a struggling law student at columbia and seek out help from your temporary professor, matt murdock

WC: 4.1k

A.N: Thank you all for reading this work that me and @little-miss-dilf-lover have been working on for awhile. Hope you all enjoy. (Reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated)

Students often find themselves in need of that extra boost to achieve their desired grades or attain additional credit towards their coursework.

And that was the case for you - never did you think you would end up at Columbia trying to earn your law degree.

Now in your senior year, you needed extra credit, and none of your other professors wanted to help.

So you went with your last chance, Professor Murdock. He just started teaching a couple of months ago. But you quickly grew fond of him. Based on what you knew - he took on the Frank Castle case alongside his partner Nelson but lost the case. Maybe the case downshadowed their firm and made everything fall apart.

Who knew? But that made no difference to you. You knew what you wanted and needed. The way to his office made you dizzy, and you didn't know what to expect. You needed him -no, that was wrong- you needed his help.

The moment you stood outside his office, you saw him standing over his desk with his sleeves rolled up. His muscular forearms displayed in front of you. The tie loosely hung around his neck.

His red-tinted glasses cover his soft, beautiful eyes that you've only ever seen once before. He looked almost angelic - and you finally understood the saying 'sight for sore eyes.' Matthew Murdock was truly a sight for sore eyes.

The way his fingers ran over the braille on the paper on the table made you have many unholy thoughts about the man that could change your life. It made you think how his hand would feel around your throat while thrusting inside you from behind. Or if he could feel how tight your wet cunt was around his fingers. No, snap out of it. It was a sin to think such a thing of a man 15 years older than you.

But Matt sensed you there at his door. He had actually heard you when you walked inside the building. The sweet scent of your perfume hit his nostrils stronger than a punch he would take at night on his nightly activities.

Matt thought you already smelled sweet until he noticed a change of scent. It was more of an intoxicating fragrance - seeping into his skin and staining his memory with your powerful smell, immersed in your essence.

The way you wet your lips was just like beauty drops from the shyness of your lips. Nectar flows of desire with your heartbeat. Matt was hypnotized by the smell of your arousal in the air, making his pants feel tighter.

He was snapped out of that trance when he heard the sweetest sound he could ever hear: your voice. He stood there for a good minute, thinking of all those times he had heard your extremely short skirts rustle against the soft breeze, how the fabric would rub against your skin every time you were near him.

The smile on your face or the light scent of your orgasm from the night before still lingered on your skin, and it drove him mad. Did you have any idea of what you were doing to him? All those times your voice would change around him, the slightly whiney pitch making him want you more.

The soft touch of your hand on him when you would help him through the university campus, guiding him through the buildings, even though he had a cane and memory of the directions. Matt desired your touch on his skin, not on his suit. He couldn't corrupt a sweet, innocent thing like you. Or at least he thought so before.

After you managed to calm yourself down, you walked inside his office. Matt looked like he was about to explode. He was red, flustered, and sweating, and you grew concerned. "Professor? Are you okay?"

"W-what? Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just thinking. Is there anything I can do for you?" Matt sat in his chair and moved himself to hide his growing erection under the desk. It was so wrong and unprofessional for him to act like this around you, his student.

Your eyes ran down to his lap, and if Matt wasn't blind, he could see how your pupils grew wide. Matt Murdock wasn't small. No, he was big - bigger than you had imagined before.

It was disgusting and perverted to think of your professor when you would seek pleasure late at night, hand rubbing your clit and moaning out his name as you came.

You cleared your throat before continuing. "I've had a hard time understanding torts. I've tried and tried, but I just don't get it. I've been to everyone else, and you're kinda my last resort." You awkwardly chuckle, scuffling your feet.

"And you didn't come to me first?" he playfully questions, stroking over his stubble as if he's trying to assess you.

"No-- well, I didn't want to bother you, you know? You're only here temporarily and--" you trail off.

"I was just messing," he interrupts, a soft smile lining his lips. "Sit," he nods, gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. "I'd love to help one of my favourite students."

"One of them?" you snicker, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. "That's disappointing. I thought I was your favourite," you smile, your tone sweet as you lay your textbooks on the oak desk.

Your eyes remain fixed on him, and you notice an expression you can't quite place - a face that's unreadable.

You sighed dramatically, "Please, Professor, I need your help-- badly. I need you".

The small noise ran a chill down Matt's spine. It made it cock twitch underneath his slacks. He made a fist to bite onto it, to make sure the moan that was about to escape from his throat wasn't heard.

The way you begged for his help made him feel pride in his chest, his famous smirk surfacing onto his face. Would you sound this desperate in the bedroom? Matt thought to himself, and his thoughts carried on.

"Professor?" you repeat, your ask falling upon deaf ears.

"Yes, sorry, forgive me, sweetheart. But back to the topic, I might have something that can help. Let me quickly look for it." He opened one of the drawers and ran his fingers over the braille to know the assignment.

But while he was so concentrated on the paper, you were a flustered mess. Matt Murdock, your professor, had called you 'sweetheart.' It was like honey the way the word rolled off his tongue. Your thighs pressed together to try to calm the ache between your legs.

The way your scent hit Matt's nostrils was like a hard punch he'd receive on his nightly patrols. A groan left his throat, and he tried to mask it with a cough.

"Sorry, I had this assignment planned for the class but never gave it out. You have a week to do it. When you pass, you'll have your extra credit." Matt handed you your assignment.

"'When,' I think you mean if. But thank you so much for your help professor. I don't know what I would do without you." You knew you could count on him, although you were nervous about the outcome.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're smart and talented. You have a long way ahead of yourself. I know you can do this. If you need help, please come to me. I'll be at your disposal."

Matt would have given you the extra credit without hesitation, but he wanted you to have a valid excuse to see him. He needed to see you again.

"Thank you again. And I won't sell myself short." You gently smiled at him even though he couldn't see your beautiful smile.

"Good girl. The sooner you start, the better."

If you weren't blushing earlier, then you certainly would be now. The praise made your knees weak. Your panties are soaked and uncomfortable. The sensation needed to be taken care of once you got back to your dorm.

"I- uh. Yes, sir," you nodded quickly.

It made you even redder that you couldn't make out a coherent sentence. Matt, that cheeky bastard was enjoying every single moment of this. It fueled his pride and ego, his smirk wider by the second. His erection was starting to become painful. The way you called him sir had him over the edge.

He felt himself about to cum in his pants like a teenager. Matt needed to desperately do something about it and he couldn't with you there in his office, not yet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you"?

Yeah, you can fuck me on your desk, you thought. You let out a sigh as you released your bitten lip and responded "No professor, thank you so much. I'll do good, I promise." And with that, you left his office.

Your scent lingered in Matt's office, he could taste it on his tastebuds. Once he knew for sure you were far away from his office, he closed the door and locked it. He sat back down in his chair, quickly fumbling with his belt to take it off and pull down his pants just enough to take out his cock.

He rolls over his swollen cock with his roughened palm, stroking himself to you, sinful and utterly shameful thoughts of you. Thoughts and notions that made him question his moral code. He knew he shouldn’t be touching himself to you – a student, his student, but he was on the brink, too far gone to stop now. He imagined the noises you’d make, the way you felt wrapped around him, he anticipated the way you would come undone beneath him.

But the overwhelming pleasure made Matt forget everything about his moral code. He knew he would go to hell for his double life and all his sins. But you? Oh, you were his greatest sin, you were the cherry on top of his ticket to hell. His lust and desires wanted him to feel ashamed but Matt did not care.

The small whimpers Matt knew he could pull out of you only made him harder. Matt wished it was your soft and delicate hands around his cock instead of his calloused hands. He knew he could treat you better than any of those stupid college guys. Only looking for their own release. Pathetic and selfish were the two things guys at college are. After three thrusts, they'd be done, but Matt? Oh, the stamina he has is way beyond what you could ever imagine.

He was a real man who knew how to make you fall apart for him within seconds. The amount of times he could bring you to reach your release. You poor small thing, probably haven't had your sweet cunt eaten out. Maybe even hadn't been given an orgasm.

Matt wanted to ruin you for any other person who would have you. No - you're his. You belong to him. Corrupting you would only add another sin to his list. The more he thought of you, the more he grew closer to coming. Matt's lip was bleeding due to how hard he had been trying to keep his moans and groans quiet.

Matt squeezed his cock tightly imagining that it would be your cunt squeezing him while you come for him, screaming his name. And just with that he came all over his hand and shirt, the sensation was making his senses go overload. A small whimper escapes his mouth.

Matt reaches out for something to ground himself back again, but he's found with nothing. He needs you- Matt needs you there to comfort him. What? No- he made a deal to cut all forms of relationships. No friends, no love interests, no nothing. What about you then? That was a different situation and he would use you for his own pleasure. There's a difference, Matt thought to himself.

He felt confused, humiliated, even. His mind slowly started to clear, and then he began to round up the pros and cons, weighing what would do more harm. But you were still consuming the logical part of his brain, and all he could muster was an exasperated sigh, dropping his face in his palms like he was soothing himself. He just had to make it through the week.

You've been doing everything you could to get that extra credit - staying up late, turning down every party invitation, just doing everything you could to get a good grade. All you wanted was for your efforts to be noted and appreciated. You just hoped your professor could notice how hard you were trying and give you something to prove your efforts.

You haven't seen him all week, practically counting down the days to his handsome face again, and today was finally the day.

He had a relatively busy schedule, so instead, he asked you to see him at the end, just before hometime -when he knew it would be empty-

All day you had an anxious pit in your stomach - wild butterflies fluttering around your throat from how nervous you were. You just had to make it until 5 pm, that was all.

The time finally rolled around, and you began to make your way to Matt's office, uneasy footing carrying you to his door. You collect yourself briefly before knocking, tapping in a rhythmic tune.

"Come in," the voice called from behind the door.

"Hi," you smile, stepping into the small closet-like room. "You said to come back at 5."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Take a seat," he smiles, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat when you realise just how close you would be sitting to him, much closer than you were expecting, though you weren't complaining. But you do as told and take a seat.

"How did you find it?" he breaks the momentary silence, crossing his leg towards you.

"Eh," you sigh, sweetly laughing. "Wasn't awful. But I did it, so that must count, right?"

He lightly chuckles, adjusting himself in the chair almost like he was leaning into you - his body language very much interested. "That's good. How do you think you did?"

"I'd like to think I did good."

His pretty smile resurfaces at your reassuring words, and your thighs instinctively clamp together, your body having a mind of its own.

"That's great to hear, sweetheart," he nods. "Oh, while I have you here. This computer has been making a weird sound. Can you take a look for me?"

"Of course," you smile and scooch closer on your chair, perking yourself up as you lean over, accidentally knocking him in the way. "Sorry," you mutter, patting his arm apologetically.

Matt exhales, your delicate touch sending him into a frenzy. "Sorry about the mess-- books everywhere. I really should clean it," he murmurs, shaking his head like he was trying to redirect his blood flow. He continues to blabber, feeling the strain in his boxers once more. "I'll get around to it."

"It's okay," you whisper, breath catching in your throat again when you feel his knee brush over the back of your leg. "It's no problem." This time, you sounded more desperate than you would've liked - pathetic almost.

He abruptly adjusts his seating position, his hardened crotch hitting against the cheeks of your ass causing you to stumble forward, splaying over his desk for a brief moment before spinning back around to face him.

He's big, you think to yourself. Your eyes widen when you realize the position you are in. Matt wanted to do more by assuming that you were excited or maybe nervous as he heard the hammering beat of your heart.

Besides, it wasn't like you were pushing him away. Maybe you did want this after all, the sweet nectar scent between your legs confirmed his theory. Matt leans in closer towards you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, "Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?"

You couldn't form any words, it was embarrassing. The need to have Matt's hand between your thighs to ease the ache was starting to fill your mind. A pathetic whimper fell from your soft lips as you nodded your head 'yes.'

His calloused fingers run over your knee, up your thigh, "Oh you sweet thing, I haven't even done a single thing and you already can't speak. Use your big girl words. Is this okay?"

"Y-yes,” it was barely audible. The shade of crimson grew darker on your cheeks the more Matt touched you. His left hand gripping your thigh, while his right hand was on your hip, slowly creeping up your chest to your neck. It only made your arousal leak through your panties how his large hand covered your entire neck.

Matt's body heat radiated onto your skin with how he had you caged against his desk. He couldn’t get enough of how soft your skin was, even softer than the silk sheets on his bed. You were like a drug, his addiction.

His hand moved to grip your jaw to look at him, he leaned in to kiss the soft lips of yours that he's craved to kiss, to have wrapped around his cock. Sucking him while he'd grip your hair, guiding you, being his good girl. Matt's cock twitches painfully under his slacks.

"W-what if someone sees us?" You wanted to kiss Matt, badly, but that didn't mean you wanted to get caught.

"Nobody's here sweetheart, don't worry that pretty little head of yours."

Before closing your eyes, you saw the smirk that Matt had grown to flash at you lately. God, how you wanted to make this man feel so good.

His thumb brushes over your chin, tilting you up to face him once again, his smirk slowly faltering as he closes the distance, angling you to meet his lips. He kisses you with more vigour - more passionately than before, like he was desperate, finally kissing you like those times he's dreamt of.

His palm around your jaw slips behind and into a loose fist of hair at the back of your neck, holding you still and deepening the kiss as he presses his chest into yours, pushing you back into his desk.

You hop onto the edge of the desk and slip your hands around his waist, finicking with his belt as you eagerly try to undress his lower half.

He parts from the kiss breathlessly, chuckling as he shakes his head. "Not about me, sweetheart," he smiles, removing your hands from his waistband. He brings your hands to his lips and places a delicate kiss on the back of each. "It's about you."

Matt hastily clears the desk surrounding you, emptying the space for you to lean back. You do as asked, falling back and resting on your elbows as you gaze up at the handsome man standing between your spread legs.

His hands trail your bare thighs, grazing up the goosebumped skin until his fingertips reach the frilled edging of your underwear. A gentle smile lines his lips as he brushes over the small wet patch of fabric, his thumb tracing your folds through the dampened material. His grin widens as he outlines the mound of your clit, teasing at the nub with small, soft circles.

On any other occasion, Matt would've taken the time to work you up, to appreciate you - to coax out a couple of orgasms beforehand, but time was not on your side, and what you had was limited. He just wanted to give you a small taste of what he had to offer you, hoping you'd want to come back for more. All he wanted today was to satisfy a slither of his hunger while making you feel good - all while going uncaught.

He returns his attention to you and slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly dragging them over your hips and down your thighs. He balls the damp, slinky fabric and shoves it in his desk drawer for "safekeeping," as Matt lightly put it.

"If we had more time, sweetheart..." he trails off, shaking his head at the thought.

"I don't really understand law-- I'll be back again soon," you reply, tone flirty and breathless as you shimmy down on the oak desk, adjusting to accompany him. "Might need some more extra credit."

"That's good-- I can do that," his voice hoarse as he urgently unbuckles his belt, unzipping his fly. "I've got plenty more. Anything you need."

He pulls his cock out over the waistband of his boxers, keeping most of himself covered in the off and unfortunate chance of getting caught.

You perk yourself up higher on your elbows and glance down at him, eyes bugging out your head when you see his thick, swollen dick twitching in his tight grasp. He wasn't your first, but his size certainly was.

Matt lazily rolls over his cock, massaging in a few beads of precum as he situates closer, standing between your legs with his thighs pressed into the back-side of yours. He pushes his dick through your folds, collecting your wetness on his head, slick lips parting around his girth.

"If it's too much, let me know," Matt reassures, stroking your thigh with his spare hand.

"I will," you eagerly nod, wrapping your hand around his cock, slowly guiding him into you.

He stills, allowing you to take what you want, letting you take it little by little til you're full solely of him. His thick cock stuffed into your perfect, pretty pussy - warm walls melting around him as you twitch and whine on the table.

"That's it-- doin' so good," he coos, brushing comforting circles over your tummy, the action as if to soothe you. "Feel so perfect."

Matt slowly drags out a few inches and pushes back in, doing it repetitively as if to stretch you out, slowly fucking and filling you. One of his hands trails back to your waist, gripping your skin and gently tugging your body to meet his lazy, uneven jabs. The other placed calculatedly over your pubic bone, thumb swirling over your clit in a movement that juxtaposed his sloppy thrusts.

The dingy room is full of stifled moans and muttering praises - wet, squelching noises accompanying the lewd sounds.

It all began to feel like too much, as if Matt was pressing all your buttons at once - doing everything to get you off as fast and hard as possible.

"Quiet, sweetheart. I can't be giving everyone extra credit," he hushes, continuing to leisurely wind his cock into you, going nice and slow. "That's only for you, sweet girl."

He leans over your body, swallowing your whimpers with rough kisses as if he knew you were close - like he was taking precautions, not wanting others to hear.

His thrusts never falter in motion, giving you what you want, not changing a thing as he brings you to your ever-longing high.

"Cum on my dick," he murmurs against your lips, resting his forehead on yours, softly panting. "That's it, that's it, that's it, that's it."

The internal balloon in your stomach wears thin, and you do as instructed - cumming around his thick cock as you entrap him to your body, caging him in a bear hug. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling moans and cries as you let go.

"Sound so pretty," he whispers, peeling himself from your grasp. "So, so pretty."

Once you come back down, he stands upright and yanks his cock from the perfect warmth between your legs, rolling over his reddened head as he spills his release on your inner thigh, mumbling curses and praises about how good you make him feel.

Matt quickly tucks himself away, and his cheeks flush a light pink as he slips his hands into yours, pulling you up and helping you up. He sits in his chair and rolls it closer to you, pulling out one of his desk drawers and collecting a pack of tissues.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, wiping the tissue over your thigh, cleaning the cum.

"No," you reply immediately, shaking your head. "Not at all."

"Good," he grins, throwing the tissue in the can by the window. "We'll keep this as our little secret?"

"Absolutely," you sweetly laugh. "But, I should be going. My roommate's waiting on me."

"Of course, sweetheart," his grin widens, nodding understandingly.

He helps you to your feet and adjusts your skirt, smoothing over the fabric. As he does that, you sort out your upper half - straightening your top and fixing your hair.

"Oh-- my underwear," you giggle, feeling a slight breeze.

He playfully tuts, clicking his tongue as he buckles his belt. "I'm keeping them for a few days. Will you give you a reason to come back."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and reach for the door handle. "I don't need another reason."

#professor!matt murdock #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #daredevil smut #fic collab

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peterman-spideyparker · 7 months

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Earlier this week, I mentioned that I have 21 story ideas sitting in a notebook I keep at my desk so I can write down ideas as they come to me and they don't get lost in the electronic shuffle. That number has increased by a few, and tumblr polls max out at 12, so this will be a two-parter. To keep it fun and suspenseful, I'm not gonna put a blurb or short description or Big Three Fic Genre (fluff, smut, angst) for any of them. Whichever 5 have the highest vote poll are the first five I'll write.

(yes I know I skipped 2 but it's because I wrote it and will post it soon-ish)

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 18 days

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Moodboard - Professor Murdock

#professor murdock #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #charlie cox #netflix daredevil #moodboard

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

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hello! I hope ur having a good day! I have a request if you’re up to it! we’ve always had Professor matt so to spice things up can we have a college!matt x professor!reader? he’s actively trying to gain the pretty professor’s attention and she’s slowly falling for it. you can make it fluffy or spicy or smutty. its all up to you!

hi nonnie!

I hope you're having a good day as well! I genuinely loved this idea bc we all know matty is a flirt but I feel like college!matty is a HUGE flirt and would totally go after the pretty professor. and honestly, she would eat that shit up, let's be real. but who wouldn't???

thank you so much for the request! ❤️

warning: contains mentions of sexual content (minors please dni), swearing word count: 3k

office hours.

When Matt was reminded by his advisor that he needed to take a literature course to satisfy his degree plan, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. He had been continuously putting it off, but with one final semester left of undergrad, he couldn’t graduate without it. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t enjoy reading, he simply just wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t have to do with his program. He’d read enough “classic literature” and written enough analysis essays in high school, and he wasn’t looking forward to going through that agonizing process again. Reluctantly, he signed up for the last course available.

Taking a seat in the very back of the small classroom, Matt set up his laptop and plugged an earbud into his ear, prepared to appear engaged while he got started on a project for another class. All around him seats filled up with other students, but it wasn’t until he caught the sweet scent of pink grapefruit and blue wisteria that his fingers stilled over his keyboard. He turned his head slightly to the side towards the wall as the scent rushed down the hall, accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Matt’s head snapped towards the front when you walked through the classroom door slightly out of breath, heat in your cheeks from the run, and also a twinge of embarrassment.

“Probably not the best first impression to be late on the first day of class, but in my defense, I’m still learning how to navigate New York. I can’t promise I won’t be late again, so we won’t be counting tardies in this class, to a reasonable limit.”

An anxious giggle left your lips, and luckily everyone seemed to find the humor in your admission. Matt’s lips parted slightly at the sound, and he quickly ripped the earbud out of his ear as you introduced yourself.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please call me Y/N. This is my first year teaching, and you guys are my second class, so we’re figuring this all out together.”

Another timid giggle left your lips, and Matt clenched his fist tightly as the sound settled in his ears.

“I don’t expect perfection, I just want you guys to do your best. We aren’t reading things some arrogant ‘expert’ decided was a classic, or writing mind numbing papers identifying every literary device to prove you know what they are. I want to show you works that move you and make you think…make you feel. And I want to know what they make you think, and how they make you feel. The only way to fail this class is to not try.”

God your voice. It was as sweet as your perfume and had a velvet cadence that stuck to Matt’s ears like honey. He wanted to listen to you talk for hours, about anything. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest throughout the duration of class, and you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you paced slowly around. You were incredibly nervous. Matt could feel it in the tremble of your fingers, hear it in the slight shake of your voice, and feel it in the rush of blood that never left your cheeks. He found it endearing that you were so anxious, and could hear how passionate you were in the way you spoke. Everything about you drew him in, and before he could stop himself, he was marching up to your desk once everyone filed out of the room to introduce himself.

“Excuse me? Hi, my name is-”

“Matthew Murdock, right?”

Matt abruptly paused, and he swallowed the sound that threatened to come out of his mouth at the way you said his name.

“J-just Matt, uh…yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Y/N.”

Your hand was so soft and small clasped in his own, and he could faintly smell the scent of blackberry from a lotion you’d smoothed over your body the previous evening.

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You have perfect timing, I was actually just about to come to you.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter, already missing your touch as you slowly let go of his hand.

“You were?”

“Yeah, this is for you.”

You lightly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, carefully guiding his hand to a folder that you had outstretched in your hand. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly as he let his fingers glide over the folder, pausing as they ran over a braille label that had his name on it. Taking the folder into his hands, he opened it to find stacks of paper in braille on the inside.

“It’s the syllabus, a list of the works we’re studying, and the first section of notes we’re going to go over. I wasn’t sure if you were able to access the digital copies. I’m still trying to figure out how the portal works, honestly.”

There was a timid smile that stretched across your mouth, and Matt could hear a slight bit of nerves in your confession. For a moment he was stunned silent by the kind gesture, swallowing thickly as he closed the folder and offered you a small smile in return.

“I-uh…yeah, I was able to. But um…I-thank you. For this, I uh…I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I like to have tangible copies of things, myself. Helps keep me organized. Or, at least I think it does. Maybe it’s a sensory thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking it’s making me more productive.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle as you giggled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“I can understand that.”

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, any help or accommodations at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me. All my information is on the syllabus, and I practically live here since I never go home, so my office is always open.”

“Good to know.”

From that day forward, Matt sat in the front row for every single class. He blitzed through every single text on the syllabus, always prepared to participate in the discussions, and approached every assignment early. He wanted so badly to impress you, and his chest swelled with pride every time you complimented one of his thoughts or ideas, or stayed behind after class to offer your positive verbal feedback on one of his assignments.

Matt knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted the pretty, young professor’s attention. He could hear the way the other students in class talked about you, which caused a tide of possessiveness to rise in his chest. Matt could also feel your affect on them as you smiled in their direction, or offered a compliment to one of their remarks, and it made jealousy simmer in his bloodstream. He was determined to be your favorite.

He found himself constantly stopping by your office hours to feign needing help or a second opinion on his approach to a paper, mainly as an excuse to talk to you alone, but also to scratch that itch of praise when you confirmed he was on the right track. Matt knew he was smart, and he knew he wrote incredible papers, but he liked hearing that come from you.

He loved when you complimented his intelligence. Was it wrong to fake being unsure just to hear you say, “That’s exactly right, Matt” or “I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but I love that idea”? Probably. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt good.

Matt had to be careful playing dumb. You both knew he was smart, so he had to switch his tactics up. He found himself asking for other recommendations for reading material from you, wanting to know what your favorite works were, going out to buy them and consume them just to get a glimpse into your head, and then listen to the passion in your voice as you explained why they meant so much to you. He liked that you asked him questions too, questions he didn’t hear you ask any of the others when they stopped by. You asked him about how his other classes were going, how his day had been, about himself and his friends, and he could tell you genuinely cared about the answers. Every second he spent with you, he felt the crush he had on you getting stronger and stronger. He knew the way he felt about you was wrong. You were his professor, and he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about you that he did.

He shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time you smiled in his direction and showered his mind in praise. He shouldn’t feel the spark of something more when you let him hold your arm as you guided him towards your office, reveling in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He shouldn’t stroke his cock to the sound of your voice from a recorded lecture, waiting to let himself come until it got to the part of the recording where you said his name so sweetly. He shouldn’t be waking up with a wet patch on his sweats after yet another wet dream about fucking you over your desk. All of this was wrong, and the good Catholic boy in him knew that.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Because every time he started to feel guilty about what he was doing, he reminded himself of the way your body reacted to him.

Matt was careful with his flirting, crafting his sentences in a way that could be played off as casual conversation or banter, but riddled with undertones that could only be understood by the person given the cipher. The blood that rushed into your cheeks when Matt complimented you back or said something teasing that made you giggle only fueled his confidence to get bolder and bolder as the weeks went by.

He heard the uptick in your heart rate when he mentioned how soothing he found your voice, and the way it pounded beneath your ribs when he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your exposed thigh to reach for his backpack. He felt the warmth that pooled in your cheeks when he stopped by with your favorite coffee, and when he confessed that you were one of the best professor’s he’d ever had; definitely “his favorite”, he had said. He should’ve felt bad that he could possibly ruin a career that you were clearly very passionate about, but the selfish part of his brain was screaming that you felt it too.

With spring break approaching soon, and the thought of going a whole week without being around you, Matt devised a plan to finally make you his.

The building was empty considering most professors and students had left the previous day to get a head start on vacation plans, but Matt smiled to himself hearing your familiar heartbeat coming from your office. You had made class today optional, in case anyone was traveling or needed the break, and Matt had hoped that he would’ve been the only one to show up. To his disappointment, about half the class was there, but he knew he would get you alone soon enough. Matt waited until your office hours were just about to end, in case any other student had some last minute question, and when he was certain that it was just the two of you alone, he raised his knuckles to knock softly on the worn wood of your open door.

A quiet gasp left your lips, clearly surprised by the company, and Matt had to stop the cocky smirk that threatened to take over his mouth at the way your heart started to beat faster noticing his presence.

“Matt, hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t miss your office hours, did I?”

“Uh…nope. You have exactly a minute.”

Matt’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin at the playful tone in your voice, chuckling as he followed the familiar path from the door to the chair that was directly in front of your desk.

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. I know you have very important spring break plans to get to.”

“Oh yeah. Super important. I mean, my takeout isn’t gonna order itself.”

Matt dropped his backpack on the right side of the chair, folding up his cane as he sank back into the plush cushion and tossed it down by his feet. He pulled off his glasses and set them on your desk, a habit he had gotten into since you’d let it slip that you preferred it when he didn’t wear them.

I feel like you hide behind those, sometimes. It’s nice to get to see all of you, Matt.

His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips as he fixed his gaze in your direction, a timid smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I actually need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Matt. Whatever you need. What can I do?”

Matt gripped onto his own thigh to steady himself, your immediate response and sweet voice hitting his cock before they even reached his ears. His lips parted slightly when you sat up a little straighter in your chair, leaning in closer over your desk with a warm smile on your lips.

“I need a letter of recommendation for the law program.”

“And you’re asking me?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised tone of your voice, shaking his head slowly as he leaned in closer to your desk and rested his elbows on the surface.

“I already have a few from my other professors, but my advisor mentioned having one from a professor outside of my main area of study would make me seem more…well rounded.”

Matt should’ve felt horrible about lying. He didn’t actually need a letter of recommendation from you. He’d applied to the law program months ago, and had already gotten in, but he would confess that later.

“Mm, so I’m next in line to make you look good?”

“Well, you are my favorite, and you have a way of making everything sound beautiful. If I’d taken your class a long time ago like I was supposed to, I probably would’ve asked you first before anyone else.”

Matt didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath you took, or the way your face instantly became a few degrees warmer.

“You wouldn’t have been able to take my class earlier, Matt. This is my first year, remember? You would’ve been stuck with someone else.”

“I guess I forget sometimes because you’re so good at this. But, that’s true. I don’t think I would’ve liked who I got stuck with as much as I like you. I’m glad I waited for you.”

Matt did his best to stay calm as he heard you swallow thickly, your breathing becoming a little more shallow as your heart rate drummed loudly in his ears.

“That’s…really nice of you to say, Matt-”

“I mean it.”

A blanket of tension suddenly surrounded the two of you, and his lips parted slightly as he caught a faint shudder course through you. Your fingers clutched the hem of your dress where it settled high on your thighs, digging your nails lightly into your palms through the fabric. Matt was waiting for your body to give him a signal, indisputable proof that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, before he crossed that line the two of you had been dancing around.

“Um…when do you need it by?”

“The earlier the better, I’m a little behind. But, take your time. I’d like this to be as…real and honest as possible.”

“I…um…I can have it ready for you by the time we come back from spring break.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate everything that you do for me, truly.”

“O-of course. It’s my job, Matt.”

Matt’s voice dropped an octave lower as he cocked his head to the side slightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip before the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a devilish smirk.

“No. I think it’s more than that.”

Bingo.

The second he felt you press your thighs together under the desk and the enticing scent of your arousal hit his nose, Matt knew he had you. He rose from the chair steadily, gliding around the side of your desk slowly like a predator circling in on its prey, grabbing onto the sides of your chair as he bent over so that your faces were merely an inch apart.

“I think you know that too, sweetheart.”

“Matt-”

“I think if I put my hand between these pretty thighs, you’d be just as wet for me as I am hard for you.”

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you sank back further into your chair, fighting the urge to spread your thighs to let Matt test his own theory, and averting your gaze from the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“We can’t-”

Matt lightly grasped your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. He delicately traced his thumb along your bottom lip, leaning in ever so slightly to bump his nose against yours as he inhaled your scent deeply.

“You’ve done so much for me. Been so good to me, sweetheart. Shown me so much kindness. I’d like to repay that kindness, and show you how much I appreciate you. You gonna let me do that?”

A soft whine of desperation sounded in your throat, and a huge grin split across Matt’s mouth as you leaned further into his touch. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Yes you are. Because you’re my girl. My good girl.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #college!matt murdock #college!matt x professor!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock request #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request #daredevil smut

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kendallsroyco · 10 months

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Charlie's hot professor look >>>>>

This look + his British accent....peak sexiness 🥵

#charlie cox #fueling my need for professor matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock smut

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yourbucky084 · 2 years

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good girl

a professor matt murdock x reader fanfiction

description: professor murdock is the most attractive professor at your school. with his charm, cockiness, and sweet nature, you couldn't help but fall for him along with the rest of your classmates. what happens when he falls for you, too?

word count: 9.9k

a/n: HI HI SO SORRY LONG TIME NO SEE AGAIN. this took me so long to get up, but it's one of my all time faves. I re-edited a bunch of it, just adding some more details and juicy smut. the ending is a bit abrupt, I apologize! but I hope you all love it. any likes/comments/reblogs are much appreciated, more soon babes. enjoy whores - shannon <3

“So, with that evidence, he would be….” Matt paused, waiting for someone in the class to chime in with the answer. They’d been working on this all week, someone had to know the answer.

But all he heard was silence.

“Anyone? C’mon guys, you know this.”

Matt hounded the class as he paced around the front of the lecture hall, waiting for someone to speak up. He listened for signs of people at least trying to figure out the answer. An uptick in heart rate, the fluttering of notes, anything. But he came up with nothing; just steady heartbeats and constant breaths. Just his luck to get the late lecture slot on Friday night. Half the class didn’t even bother to show up. The half that did was usually either on their phones, or half asleep.

Except for you, of course.

You were chewing on the end of your pen, something you tended to do when you were focused. He had gotten to know your little tics pretty well over the past few weeks. You fiddled with your rings when nervous, bounced your leg when taking notes, and, his personal favorite, you smiled when he said your name.

“Y/N?”

Matt heard the small intake of breath, the drop of a pen. Then, his favorite sound in the world: the slow rise of the muscles in your cheeks, the flush of blood to your face. Smiling and blushing; all for him. He bit his lip, slightly, in an attempt to hide his own smile.

He just couldn’t help it. Not when it came to you.

Matt was no stranger to the effect he had on people, particularly his students. He had been teaching a law class at Columbia for a few years now, and he was used to the way his students talked about him. He knew he was considered attractive, being dubbed the ‘hot professor’ a few years ago. By now he had come to expect the flirty comments and attempts to ‘earn a better grade.’ It was part of his job, at this point. He’d give them a small smile, and tell them he wasn’t interested in the nicest way possible. And he was telling the truth: he never was interested, especially not in a student.

Until it came to you.

The first day of class, you stumbled a few minutes late, muttering apologies under your breath as you found a seat in the front of the class. Matt was immediately enamored by your voice, the way you said his name that first day sent shivers down his spine. The sweet, soft spoken, “Professor Murdock” made him ache, ache for you. Which was something he was not expecting. He hadn’t been this attracted to someone at first ‘sight’ since Elektra, and he hadn’t even spoken to you yet. Yet your scent had already become one of his favorites, sweet and soft, just like you. This kind of attraction was… rare. Matt knew that. Over the coming weeks of class, he had become absolutely enamored by you: with your intellect, your kindness, your temperament, your habits, your… everything.

And he absolutely hated it.

University rules clearly stated students and professors could not engage in any type of relationship that wasn’t strictly professional. Until the student left the professor’s roster officially, anything was extremely off limits. Engaging in a relationship with a student, especially a sexual one, would cost him his job. It would cost him everything, his reputation, his tenure, everything. He’d have to wait until you weren’t in his class to tell you how he felt. And that was torture. There was still a month left in the semester, a month till he could do anything. It was a twisted form of purgatory, designed to make him suffer. He loved having you in class, loved hearing your voice, but absolutely hated that he couldn’t have more.

And God, forgive him, but he wanted more.

As much as he hated to admit it, he often found himself most nights in his office alone, thinking of you. With his hand down his pants, he’d picture you beneath him, writhing in pleasure. Pleasure he would create. He often regretted it right after he finished, the shame creeping in almost immediately. Having these thoughts for someone who was his student was wrong. He knew that, knew that his feelings for you were wrong. Not being able to get off unless he was thinking of you was wrong.

But at the same time, something about it felt oh so right.

The sound of flickering papers brought him back to the present. You were flustered while searching for the answer; he heard the uptick in rhythm of your heartbeat. Whatever you were focused on before had really captured your attention, probably the case you guys were studying. You always got so invested in class, it was one of the things he loved about you.

Little did he know, you hadn’t been paying attention all class. At least not to his words, or his content.

You were focused on him.

Before enrolling in Mr. Murdock’s class, you had heard whispers about the defense lawyer turned professor. All the rumors were about his good looks and charm, called by most by the most attractive faculty member yet. Someone had even told you on a whim that “the blind thing makes only him sexier,” which one, was offensive, and two, made no sense. Everyone seemed to be obsessed with him, and you didn’t understand why. You even heard your advisor make a comment about his charm when you registered for the class, and hell, your friend was taking the class just to stare at him. But you truly didn’t understand the appeal. He was just a professor, right? What could be so special about him?

You soon found that the answer was everything.

Professor Murdock was, by far, the most enchanting man you had ever met. The way he spoke, the cock of his head when he really got into an argument. That cocky, wide grinned smile, dimples constantly on full display. His rolled up sleeves, god, the way those muscles looked through those too tight shirts. His intellect; the way he lectured made your head spin. He brought up ideas you’d never thought of before, he really made you think. And of course, the way he said your name. Sweet and slow off his tongue, no expectation, simply admiration. You hadn’t been this enamored with a guy since… well, ever. And you weren’t alone in that feeling: almost every girl in your class was in love with him. How could they not be? Just one class with him and you were hooked. He didn’t pay any attention to anyone, though, curving every flirtatious comment or any attempt to get him alone.

It was clear to everyone: he wasn’t interested in any of his students.

The way he treated you, however, said otherwise.

Professor Murdock, for whatever reason, seemed to have a soft spot for you. At first, you thought it was all in your head. There was no way the hottest professor on campus had a soft spot for you. But as the weeks went by, the evidence was too much to deny. He always spoke to you in a slightly softer tone than the one he used with his classmates. He was never stern with you, only sweet. He smiled at you more, more than anyone else. He always said your name with a smile, making you feel things you definitely shouldn’t be feeling in the middle of class. He left the sweetest comments on all your papers, sent you the kindest email replies. You lingered after class most days with some stupid question, eager to spend more time with you. And he always obliged, always changed the conversation towards you; your other classes, your weekend plans, anything.

It was almost as if he wanted more time with you, too.

And that thought sent shivers down your spine.

“Y/N?”

He said your name again, calling you back to the present. You looked up from your notes to find him standing in front of you, smiling down at you. He leaned on his cane, head tilted, awaiting your answer.

Fuck, the answer!

“Guilty, professor. Definitely guilty.”

“Good! Good girl.”

He said the last part softly, only you could hear. He didn’t mean to, he swore he really didn’t mean to. It just… it slipped out. Maybe it was the fact your hair was down today, your scent engulfing him when he was this close. Maybe it was the fact you were wearing a skirt, a little fluffy cotton number that left your legs on full display. Images of soft, smooth skin flooded his brain, overpowered any restraint. He didn’t know what it was that made him say it, all he knew was that couldn’t resist. Not when it came to you. Not when he suspected it would turn you on. He was grateful at that moment, though the rest of the class was barely paying any attention.

Something like that could have cost him his job.

But, fuck, did your reaction make it worth that risk.

Goosebumps flooded across your entire body. He felt the blood rush to your cheeks of course, and to somewhere else. Somewhere lower. Your breath caught in your throat, caught off guard by the nickname, which could have been a negative response. But the growing arousal between your thighs told him you liked it. You really liked it. And you wanted more. You were so sensitive, so responsive just to two little words, his two little words. He turned you on, he was the one making you feel this way.

He could only imagine how he’d make you feel with his tongue…

Or his cock-

A small shuffle from somewhere in the room broke his concentration, someone readjusting in their seat. It was meaningless, sure, but it was enough to make him snap back to reality. What was he doing? You were his student, he was your professor. This was wrong, you were young, innocent, whole life ahead of you. He really shouldn’t be flirting like this. He didn’t even know if you’d been in relationships before, for all he knew, you could have been a virgin. So why did that turn him on? Why was he feeling this way? Why were you so encaptivating? Matt heard the familiar shift of your facial muscles, the sure sign your lips were creeping into a smile, and then he remembered. It was you. Everything you did, everything you said, everything you were that made him act this way. You were driving him crazy, it seemed like nearly every thought these days was of you. It was wrong, sure, but what he felt was real.

Screw the rules.

He wanted you.

He got back to his lecture quickly, picking up right where he left off. That was the best way to avoid suspicion, he supposed. And to let you stew in the moment. He heard the signature scribble of a few pens as he described what comes after a verdict, one of those pens being yours. To unsuspecting eyes, you were simply listening to the lecture, taking notes, being a good student.

But Matt knew your heart was still racing.

You got back to your notes quickly, trying to ignore your rapidly beating heart. He didn’t mean it like that, right? He just wanted to commend you for getting the answer right. Right? Surely he didn’t mean to get you all hot and bothered; you could already feel the arousal pooling between your thighs. You tried to follow Mr. Murdock’s lecture, but you couldn’t focus on anything he was saying. Not when he had said that, and walked away like it was nothing. It was too intentional, too hushed, too on the nose for it to be a mistake, you decided. He meant to say it. He wanted to see how you’d react, he wanted to see if you wanted him too.

And, God, did you.

You just had to decide what you’d do next. He’d left the ball in your court, you got to decide where you wanted this to go. Ever the gentleman of him.You could do the obvious, and probably the most sensible: pretend it never happened and leave class as soon as it ended. That way, you’d keep your scholarship and Professor Murdock would keep his job. But, the riskier option would be to linger behind as you usually did, to wait until your classmates left. You’d get to see what Mr. Murdock meant by his little comment, to see if he wanted to say anything more.

Or do anything more.

It was a no brainer in your eyes. You’d be risking everything: your scholarship, your enrollment, his job, his tenure, ect. But you couldn’t take it anymore. How were you supposed to focus on anything when Matt was teasing you in the middle of class? You couldn’t take much more of the constant flirting, the never ending tension. You simply couldn’t stand another day of watching him walk across the classroom, sleeves folded up, chest hair peeking out of his dress shirt. You couldn’t take it anymore; knowing you could have him, but still holding yourself back. You wanted to, needed to see where he’d take it next, if he wanted to risk it too.

And you were almost certain that he did.

“Alright, everyone, I think that’s it for today. Check the syllabus for your homework, and have a great…weekend.”

Before Matt even finished his sentence, the majority of the class was already out of the room, on their way to their friday night plans. There were a few stragglers of course, as there always was. It didn’t slip his mind that one of those stragglers was you. You tended to linger back after class most days, more often than not in the last few weeks. It had started at first as just questions about class, but soon morphed into you two just chatting. You’d talk about your other classes and your career plans, he’d give you advice when needed, but mostly just listened. Every little thing you shared about yourself, about your life, Matt relished. It was domestic, like a date without the formality; he felt like he already knew everything about you. Tonight though, something told him your conversation would be different.

“Y/N, hang back a sec?” He asked, even though he knew you would stay. He just wanted to get rid of that last little bit of doubt in his mind.

He listened intently as your teeth caught on your bottom lip; your attempt at holding back a smile. These are some of the only times he wished he could see, to see your reaction, to see the happiness creep up on your face. He was lucky he had his abilities, otherwise he wouldn’t be so confident that you wanted him too. The blood rushing to your face, smile wide, alleviated all his doubts.

“Sure Professor,” Your joy was clear in your tone, and Matt felt no shame in the smile that crept up his own cheeks. He knew there were a few students left still packing up, but he wasn’t concerned. It was a well known fact you were his favorite student, you were the only one passionate about the class. Your dedication to law and his class only added to his attraction to you, Matt loved getting in debates with you about the day’s material. He was in awe of how invested you were, how much you believed that in the end, law would prevail. It was incredible, your unwavering belief. You wanted to do good, knew you could do good through the courts, just like him.

And god, was that attractive.

“You’re staying again to fuck him, aren’t you,” your friend blurted out, breaking his train of thought. Matt had to hold back a laugh as he sensed your face flushing red at your friend’s remark, your embarrassment clear. Normally, he’d be a little concerned at that comment. But he knew it was your friend, and had heard her encouraging you to fuck him openly at the end of every class.

Maybe tonight, you’d finally take her advice.

“For the last time, we aren’t fucking. I just like to talk to him.”

Matt listened closely to your body as you spoke. Your heart rate was steady, indicating you were telling the truth. You did like talking to him, and you guys weren’t fucking.

Not yet, at least.

“Talk. Mhm, sureeeee. Whatever you say. Text me when you’re done talking,” she said as she threw a wink your way.

She grabbed her bag and left immediately, not giving you a chance to respond. Now that she was gone, you and Matt were the only people left in the classroom. Completely alone. Tension filled the room like a thick fog, goosebumps covered your skin in anticipation of what was to come. Matt hated making you nervous, making you wait. He wanted you to break the silence, to have you decide where you wanted the evening to go. But you weren’t saying anything, Matt could hear you fiddling with your skirt. It was clear you wanted him to take the lead.

So lead he would.

“Y/N, that’s you right?” He knew it was you, of course, but you didn’t know about his abilities. He had to keep up appearances, of course. You wouldn't know that side of him. Not now. Not ever.

“Yes, Professor. Just me.”

God forgive him, but the way you said his title…

It made him feel things he shouldn’t be feeling. It was downright sinful, the way the word rolled off your tongue. He wanted to know what you would sound like begging for him, pleading for your professor to fuck you harder. He was half hard in his pants already at the thought. Hard in his classroom, who was he?

You emphasized those last two words, making it clear to him that you two were alone.

That he could do whatever he wanted.

His mind scrambled for an excuse to get you out of here, to his office. It was smaller, more intimate, and he had a couch there. A couch he hoped you two would get some use out of tonight. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, of course. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way, didn’t want to force you into doing something you’d regret. But the smell of your pheromones in the air, arousal very present, told him you were thinking about the same thing.

You shifted on your feet again, shuffling, reminding him you were waiting for him to make the next move.

“W-would you mind helping me move these books back to my office? It’s just a few doors down, I-I also have a paper of yours to give back. Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

His tone was slightly panicked, nervous. Like he didn’t know if you’d say yes. Professor Murdock was giving you an out, one last chance to stop whatever was going to happen. How sweet. You appreciated the gesture, sure, but your mind was made up. You knew what you wanted: you wanted him.

“I’d love to, Professor,” you said with a smile, relishing the way your words made him smile in response.

“Matt. My name’s Matt.”

Matt. A simple thing, just his name. But it felt like the final step into something larger. You had spent time with him outside of class for weeks now, but he had never told you his name. It was like he had been holding himself back, his true self, and he was finally ready to let go.

To give himself to you.

“Matt,” you said his name once, taking in the way the name tasted on your tongue.

You liked it.

You wanted more.

“Matt. Matthew, I presume? Maybe even Matty? I like it,” you’d adopted a teasing tone, not dissimilar to the one Matt had taken with you earlier, when those two little words slipped out. You figured if he wanted to tease, so would you.

You watched as Matt’s cheeks flushed pink, his jaw twitching ever so slightly. You imagined this was how he felt earlier, seeing you all hot and bothered. A fan of nicknames, you thought.

You’d keep that in mind for later.

“Either’s perfect, coming from you,” he said with a smile. Now it was your turn to blush again. Matt had made nice comments before in class, sure, even the occasional compliment. But now that he was openly flirting?

You didn’t know how to handle it.

“Umm… where are the books?” You decided it was best to just move on, ignore his outright flirting for now. If you flirted back right now, you were pretty sure you’d jump his bones right here in the middle of the classroom. And as much as you’d love to act out your late night fantasies, you knew that the building wasn’t empty.

And with Matt, you didn’t want to have to contain your moans.

“Oh! Yeah, right here,” he said as he felt around his desk, finding the edge and leaning down. He picked up two books, two he could easily carry himself, but it was clear the books were just an excuse to get you in his office. To get you alone. You grabbed your bag and walked down the lecture hall ramp, meeting Matt at his desk. You walked over to him, trailing your hands down his arms, before grabbing the books out of his hands.

“Ready?” You asked, as he grabbed his briefcase and cane from atop his desk. He balanced both items in one hand, stretching out the other to find your arm, wrapping his arm around it. He leaned in close, close enough so you could hear the contented hum he let out once you were flush against his side. His head turned toward you, as he smiled and said:

“Lead the way.”

You two spent the majority of the walk in silence, the only words between you two were Matt’s directions on how to get to his office. It consistently amazed you how Matt knew where you two were after every turn, effortlessly guiding you to his office door. You used the downtime to relish in Matt’s warmth at your side, how close he kept himself to you despite not needing a guide. You’d seen him get around the building plenty of times with just his cane, using the braille on the various door signs to navigate himself. So he was clearly just using the excuse of needing a guide to be close to you.

And that sent shivers down your spine.

“The door on your left. That’s my office. I just gotta get my keys,” he broke his grasp around your forearm, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his trousers. He unlocked the door, grabbing the books out of your arm and placing them on his desk. While he got settled, putting down his briefcase and collapsing his cane, you admired his office. There weren't many decorations, but you didn’t know why you’d thought he’d have any. The only decoration, of sorts, was a small metal sign hung above his desk, “Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law.” Must have been his practice before he started teaching, you thought. Other than the sign, he had a bookshelf in one corner, filled to the brim with various textbooks in braille. Against one wall was a couch, a smaller, love seat type deal, pillow and blanket stacked neatly in the corner. You smirked at the thought of Matt, typically all tough and no bullshit, cuddled up under a little penguin blanket.

“You sleep here?” You said with a chuckle, putting your own bag down on the floor.

“Sometimes. I like the occasional nap or two between classes,” Matt said as he fished something out of his briefcase, closing it with a snap. The room fell into silence for a second, and you didn’t know how to break it. Matt began to walk over, piece of paper in hand. Upon a closer look, you realized it was your paper, and your heart dropped. Did he really call you in here just to talk about your paper? Did you read everything wrong?

But then Matt took a seat on the almost-too-small-for-two-people couch, patting the cushion right next to him, and all your fears disappeared.

“Sit, please, sit.”

He heard your heart begin to race in your chest as you sat down next to him, close enough so that your legs were touching. It took everything in him to not pull you down atop him and bring your lips to his,to have you right now. But he knew he needed to take this slow. He didn’t know if this was going to be a one time thing, whatever it was. Regardless, you were young. He needed to be sure, to be confident you wanted him too. Taking things slow was part of that. But he also had selfish reasons. He wanted to be able to take his time, make sure you were enjoying it, to savor your reactions.

To savor you.

“I-Is that my paper?” You stuttered, Matt could hear the tension in your voice. You were fiddling with your rings as you always did when nervous, though this time, Matt could smell your arousal in the air. You weren’t anxious; you were anticipating what was to come, same as him. It was turning you on, this build up. So he decided to tease you a little more.

“Oh, yeah, here,” he held the paper out, letting his fingers brush yours as he handed it to you.

“Great job as always. You really nailed the final commentary piece, too. I’ll be using it as an example for the rest of the class, if that’s ok.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as he spoke. Matt knew you liked to hear how well you were doing, to be praised in the classroom setting. He had heard the steady uptick in your heart whenever he complimented your phrasing, or commended you for getting the answer right. But, due to his little slip up earlier, he knew that desire to be praised carried over into other parts of your life. More intimate settings. He couldn’t help himself as he continued to speak, eager to dive deeper into this part of you.

“You really like to hear how good you’re doing, huh?”

Matt heard the breath catch in your throat, sensed the way you clenched your thighs for some type of relief. His words had had the exact reaction he’d hoped for, going straight to your core. He knew he had you pegged, but it still felt good to see your reaction. He took another bold move, placing his hand atop your thigh, right where the skirt ended and your skin began to show. You physically shuttered, but didn’t move his hand away. In fact, he felt you move just a little closer, until you were flush against his side. If someone walked in and found you two like this, he’d lose his job. A small part of him kept reminding him you were his student, this was wrong. It wasn’t just taboo, it was illegal. He’d lose his job.

But he just couldn’t pull himself away from you.

“I-I just… I really like to please, Professor.”

Now it was his turn to shiver. He definitely wasn’t expecting that in response. You clearly had caught on to his little game, the teasing banter back and forth. Your tone was light, innocent, and unpresuming. But you knew exactly what you were doing, using his title like that. He adjusted in his seat a bit, trying to hide his growing erection beneath his pants. He had never gotten this turned on, this fast, but you had a hold on him he couldn’t explain. Just your words, the contact of your body heat against his, was enough to get him going.

And he wanted more.

“Matt, sweetheart. You can call me Matt.”

Sweetheart. You liked that. You really liked that. There was a whole new wave of arousal in the air, he could smell it. You must have been practically dripping, the way your scent crowded his senses. You shifted next to him, rubbing against the couch just the slightest bit, seeking some relief. He wouldn’t be able to keep composure, to tease you much longer. His hand had already started sliding up your thigh on instinct, sliding under the fabric of your skirt. He was seeking out your wanting arousal, seeking more of you.

He needed more of you.

“Matt…” You said, his name a breathy sigh on your lips. He leaned in ever so slightly in expectation, waiting for you to do the same. But you didn’t. You stood up abruptly, leaving Matt alone on the couch. What were you doing? He had never been more confused, he hadn’t sensed any indication that you didn’t want this as much as him. If anything, you were more aroused than before.

So what was going on?

“Why’d you call me in here?”

You asked with your hands on your hips, holding yourself steady. He searched your tone for any hint of hesitation, anything saying you didn’t want this. But your words were strong, clear, and concise. You knew what you were asking. You knew what he was going to say in response, and hell, you wanted him too. You were simply looking for confirmation, something to tell you that this was real, that it was happening. That it wasn’t a dream.And Matt could give you that.

After a little more teasing, of course.

He stood up from his spot on the couch, walking over to where you stood in the middle of the room. He took a bold move, placing both hands on your hips, keeping you both in place.c He pulled you flush against him, close enough so that he knew you could feel him rock hard against your stomach. He wanted you to know, to realize how much you turned him on. He leaned in, close, biting back a grin when he felt you lean in too. He paused before you two were touching, wanted to tease you just a little bit more, keep you on the edge.

“Oh I think you know, sweet girl,” Matt whispered, relishing in the feeling of your hips against his. The fabric of your skirt was soft, fluffy, and he was pretty sure pink; all he wanted to do was bury his head in it. Your hands moved from your side to Matt’s neck, one raking itself in his hair. He couldn’t help the small whine that escaped his lips, not when your fingers felt so good. You were so gentle, scratching ever so slightly, the tension disappearing from his shoulders almost entirely. You leaned in close as Matt licked his lips in anticipation, but you stopped just before you two connected.

“Wanna hear you say it, Matty,” you whispered in the darkness. He could feel your breath on your lips, could taste you in the air. You were teasing him back, giving him a taste of his own medicine. You weren’t as innocent as he originally thought, not as fragile as he had surmised. You could handle yourself.

And he loved it.

Without missing a beat, he whispered back.

“How about I show you instead?”

Matt’s lips finally connected with yours. A bit softer than you were expecting, but you weren’t one to complain. Not when you were finally here, kissing the man you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks. You grabbed onto the back of Matt’s neck tighter, trying to ground yourself in the moment. This was real, this wasn’t a dream.

You were kissing Professor Murdock.

Matt’s tongue slipped inside your mouth, eager to deepen the kiss. You obliged, eager to take as much as Matt wanted to give. He kissed you deeply, hands moving up your back to push you flush against him. His lips moved slowly, taking his time in devouring you. And devour he did. His lips against yours made you weak at the knees, your composure slipping. But you only leaned into it, leaned into him, eager for more you knew you wouldn’t get. You suspected that this moment wouldn’t last long, there was only so much you could do in his office without getting caught. You wanted to savor it for as long as the kiss lasted, for however long Matt was willing to risk it.

Almost as if he had read your mind, Matt broke the kiss. He rested his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. Keeping your eyes closed, you let out a breathy sigh, reveling in the moment. You waited for him to speak, to break the contact and address the situation. Instead, Matt’s hands found your hips, gripping tight, and beginning to walk you backwards. Backwards until your back was against the door.

“Matt, what are you doing?” You giggled slightly, taken aback by the movement.

And then his mouth found your neck.

“Matt… not in t-the office…they’ll hear us, you’ll…oh fuck-” Your words faltered as he pressed you against the door. His fingers had somehow already found their way under your skirt, moving your underwear aside immediately as kissed down your neck. His touch was full of passion, fingertips already skimming your folds. Like he was getting ready to fuck you right here, against the door.

You were not expecting this.

You’d always found Matt to be a particularly level headed teacher, one fond of the rules. He turned down every advancement from his students, he never kept the class a minute past the end time. Assignments were organized, the syllabus was a word for word plan of the year. He was… put together, in every sense. You thought he liked his rules, liked to obey. But here you were: his mouth leaving marks on your neck, his fingers teasing your slick.

You were the exception to his rule, you guessed.

You couldn’t help but moan as his thumb brushed your clit, fingers already teasing your entrance. He was still kissing your neck, teeth scraping the soft skin every so often. And god, was it turning you on. What was happening? You certainly weren’t surprised when Matt leaned in for the kiss, but that’s all you thought it was going to be: a kiss. You didn’t think Matt was going to finger you in his office, or fuck you on his desk.

But right now, those seemed to be his only two intentions.

“Oh, they’ll hear us, huh? You think they’ll hear how wet you are for me? How desperate?”

Matt’s tone was rich against your neck, a low growl in your ear. He was teasing you; testing your limits to see how far you’d go right here. The building was mostly empty, as it was nine o’clock at night on a friday. But you were certain there’d be a few stragglers, just like Matt. And as much as you wanted, needed him, you didn’t want to risk him losing the job he loved so much.

Especially not for you.

“We’re gonna get c-cau-auh… ohhhhh.”

Matt cut you off by pushing two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that one spot on the first try. He kept pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, hitting that spot again and again and again. You couldn’t do anything but throw your head back in pleasure and wrap your hands around Matt’s neck to keep you afloat. Deep down, you knew this was wrong. He was your professor, you were his student, you couldn’t be doing this, especially not in his office.

But if this was so wrong, why did it feel so right?

Your mind was blank, covered in a fog of pleasure at Matt’s hand. His fingers felt divine, a godly gift from above. And hell, with the way he looked, maybe he was a god himself. Gone were your protests from seconds ago, long gone in fact. His hair was messy, glasses low on his face so you could see his eyes. A permanent smirk was etched on his face, telling you he was enjoying this just as much as you were. All you wanted to do, all you could do was moan and beg for more. Your hands clawed at his back, shoulders, desperate for something to ground you.

Because Matt was taking you higher than you’d ever been before.

You’d been fingered before, sure, but nothing could compare to this. Matt wasn’t just doing this for your pleasure, it was clear he was enjoying it too. Soft sighs against your skin, licking his lips every so often as if he was tasting you in the air. He leaned into your body; one hand holding the small of your back while the other worked its magic. His fingers were moving at a furious pace, but something about it felt oh so gentle. Matt was in charge, dominance clear. But he treated you as a treasure, each touch was intentional. No one had ever treated you with such kindness. His lips moved from their place on your neck, leaving small kisses along your jaw, stopping when he reached your ear.

“You’re being so good for me baby, so good. Wanna cum? I wanna make you cum. C’mon, wanna make you cum.”

You couldn’t form words to answer Matt’s question, only nod slightly while your head was thrown back in ecstasy. This was all too much, Matt’s fingers, his lips against your neck, the realization that it was him, your professor, bringing you this pleasure. He kept hitting that spot inside you again and again, curling his fingers just right with every thrust. With the feeling of his fingers, and the fact that it was his fingers, Matt’s fingers, you were going to cum faster than you ever had before.

“Matt, I’m g-gonna, I’m-” You began, trying to warn him of your impending release. Before you could reach your peak, however, he pulled away from you entirely. You whined in protest, upset at the lack of stimulation without any warning. But before you could chastise him, he grabbed your hips, moving you away from the door and guiding you to sit on his desk. He pushed your skirt up to your waist, leaving you and your underwear on full display. You expected him to fumble with his belt, to fuck you right then and there.

But he did something unexpected.

He dropped to his knees.

“Changed my mind, sweetheart. Wanna taste you.”

You watched through hooded eyes as he removed his tie and glasses, allowing you to finally get a good look at those beautiful brown eyes. He always kept his glasses on in class, only taking them off once and a while to rub his eyes. He had told you once after class that people typically found his eyes uncomfortable. The unfocused stare, the lack of blinking turned people away. You had told him that wasn’t true, that you’d love to see his eyes. He had told you maybe someday he’d take his glasses off so you could see them for yourself.

You never would have guessed that moment would be now, with Matt kneeling beneath you like a man at the altar.

Ready to worship.

He tilted his face up towards you and smiled, giving you another glimpse of those sinfully warm eyes. He placed small kisses along your thighs, teasing you yet again. If you had learned anything about Matt Murdock today, it was that he liked to tease. It was becoming clear that was his favorite part of all this, he lived for the chase. The taboo nature of your positions was hot to you, sure, and you were only now realizing it must have been hot to him too. The praise, the nicknames, the desire to get caught. Matt Murdock was dirty, and you were loving it.

Despite your earlier fears, all you wanted now was to cum. You knew it was wrong, knew you could be caught at any moment. But you didn’t care. Matt clearly wanted this, to have you in this way. And you’d do anything he asked. He wanted to take his time, however, and you certainly did not. After your first ruined orgasm, you weren’t too keen on the idea of him drawing this out any longer. You huffed out loud in protest, causing Matt to chuckle against the soft skin of your thigh.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m getting there.”

His tone was soft, but he said everything with a shit eating grin. It was clear he was enjoying drawing this out, leaving one last hickey on your thigh. He licked his lips before moving in between your thighs, licking a broad stripe up your folds. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips when his tongue first made contact with your clit, raking your hands through his hair without thinking. You didn’t intend to tug as hard as you did, but you couldn’t help it. He felt too good, and you needed more, more, more.

And he was more than eager to oblige.

Matt had decided heaven wasn’t possible for him after everything he’d done. He had accepted his fate, faced the fact he’d never reach eternal pleasure.

Yet here he was, in heaven between your thighs.

He had never tasted something so sweet. Your taste was addicting; the more he got, the more he wanted. He couldn’t hold back his own moans, you were bringing him pleasure he’d never felt before. The way you used your hands to bring his face closer to you, grinding down on him, turned him on more than he’d care to admit. He was already close, just by tasting you. He loved the way you were taking what you wanted from him, and he was more than willing to give whatever you needed.

With another groan from his own mouth, he shifted up a little bit on his knees, just high enough so that his nose rubbed against your clit. You practically yelped at the contact, raking your hands in his hair even harder, hips grinding down on him. Matt tried to ignore his own arousal, his cock was painfully hard straining against the fabric of his pants. He wanted, needed to make you cum.

Before he came in his pants like a teenager.

“C’mon, sweetheart, need you to cum. Need you to cum, please.”

He mumbled between your folds, the vibration of his voice adding another level of pleasure. He could tell his words did something to you, your fingers gripping his hair even harder. He could feel your walls begin to contract, could hear the uptick in your heartbeat as you approached your end. You were close, almost over that wall.

And Matt was gonna give you one final push.

He took your clit between his lips and sucked, intent on bringing you to your end. You chanted his name, his real name, not his title. This was real, not some fantasy. Like a silent, soft prayer, “Matt, Matt, Matt,” left your lips over and over again. Finally, with another swirl of his tongue, your muscles contracted, and a new wave of your arousal coated his tongue. You had a death grip on his hair, pushing his face between your thighs and riding out your high. He could sense the relief in your body as your heart rate slowed and your thighs relaxed. He smiled to himself, still between your thighs. He listened as you shifted yourself up on your elbows, still panting slightly. He moved out from his place between your thighs, trying his best to meet your eyes. Your hands found his shoulders, then his face, as you spoke.

“Get the fuck up here and kiss me.”

You both chuckled at your words, but Matt obeyed, standing up and finding your lips once again. He heard you groan into the kiss, overwhelmed at his taste on your tongue. If it was up to him, he’d stay like this all day, his hands on your hips, your lips against his. This was what he had been waiting for all semester, all he had ever wanted.

To be with you.

Your hands shifted down to his belt, reminding him of his more pressing problem. He’d been so focused on your pleasure, so invested in you, he hadn’t realized how much he’d been hurting. He was painfully hard, the fabric of his boxers all too rough against his skin. But it seemed like you were intent on alleviating that. You fiddled with his belt, struggling, but he wasn’t keen on helping you just yet.

He wanted to feel you.

He moved his hands up to find the bottom of your shirt, teasing the soft skin of your stomach underneath. You huffed impatiently, lips pursed together in what he imagined was the cutest little pout. You broke the kiss, quickly removing your t-shirt and flinging it across the room.You went right back to his mouth wordlessly, and your attempt to remove his belt. He traced his fingers up your lower back, trying to memorize every little dip and curve he could find. He finally found the fabric of your bra, running his fingers under the elastic as he broke the kiss.

“Can I-” He began, intent on asking consent, but you cut him off.

“For God sakes, Matthew, pleaseee,” You whined, finally undoing his belt. He twisted the hooks of your bra, undoing them all at once, the fabric falling along your shoulders. You removed your hand from the button of his pants, shrugging the soft fabric off your chest, before returning to your original position. He slowly, carefully, traced his fingers from your back to your upper ribs, finally coming into contact with your breasts. Before he could explore them, savor them as you deserved, your hand began to palm his cock through the fabric.

“S-shit,” Matt exclaimed, and you bit your lip at his reaction, unable to hide your satisfaction at finally having him in your clutches. This whole night, you’d been at his mercy, under his spell.

But now it was his turn.

You undid the last button on his pants, tugging them down past his ass, as they fell to the floor. You found the waistband of his briefs, tugging those down too, letting his cock spring from its confines. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips at his size; he was huge. You’d expected big, sure. He carried himself with too much confidence to say otherwise. But this? You never would have thought. He was long, sure, probably around eight inches. But god, he was thick. You could barely wrap your hand around his as you moved to pump him, using the precum at his tip as lubricant. One flick of your wrist had him moaning, bucking up into your hand. You looked up to find his eyes closed, head thrown back in pleasure, mouth agape in ecstasy. He was beautiful like this: vulnerable, relaxed, finally letting go. You didn’t know what this was with Matt, whether it was a one time thing or something more. All you knew is you wanted to keep bringing him pleasure for as long as you got the chance.

Abruptly, he grabbed your wrist, pausing your movements. You pouted, frustrated at the fact he cut you off. You were intent on sucking him off, bringing him the same pleasure he brought you. But he clearly had other plans. He brought your hand up to his lips, giving it a small peck before dropping it entirely.

“Wanna fuck you now. Turn over.”

His tone was firm, low. Sure. Not unlike the tone he used in the classroom, when giving the class directions, orders on what to do next. He expected to be listened to in the bedroom, the same way he was listened to in the classroom. He expected to be in charge.

And god, did that turn you on.

You obliged, standing up to remove your skirt before leaning over on his desk. The scene was utterly pornographic, something out of your deepest, darkest fantasies come to life. You were about to fuck your professor, over his desk. You couldn’t believe it. Matt started unbuttoning the buttons on his dress shirt, slowly, muttering praises and promises as he went.

“Thought about this for weeks, you know. You, spread out over my desk. So fucking beautiful, so fucking good for me. You gonna be good for me now, huh? Let me make you cum on my cock?”

Matt was definitely dirtier than you were expecting, and you were loving it. He was a rule follower in the classroom to the utmost extent, but here was where his wild side was let loose. You didn’t expect him to be so vocal in the bedroom, so filthy, but it was more than welcome. You nodded in response to his question, to his praises, turning your head back to face him as you spoke.

“Please, Matty. Please fuck me.”

He growled in response, throwing his shirt somewhere on the floor. He grabbed your hips from behind, pressing his cock against the curve of your ass. The contact caused you to arch back up into him, silently begging for more.

And you knew Matt was gonna give you more.

He guided his erection to your folds, rubbing up and down a few times, coating himself in your slick. After a minute, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing just the tip in slowly. You yelped at the sudden intrusion, taken aback by the stretch despite Matt’s fingers earlier. He placed a kind hand on your lower back, rubbing his thumb across his skin. Comforting you to the utmost extent, encouraging you.

“I got you, sweetheart. I got you,” he said as he slowly pushed himself in, taking his time as he stretched you out. It had been a while since you’d had sex, and with Matt’s size, it was more than a little stretch. After a minute or so, he bottomed out entirely, causing you both to groan. He pulled back again slowly, causing you to groan loudly, not out of pain, but of pleasure. He brushed up against your g-spot as he thrusted out, already bringing you immense satisfaction on the first move. You cried out, loud and sudden, taken aback by the pleasure. He began to pull out all the way again, afraid he’d hurt you. But you reached your hands back, grasping for him.

For more.

“More, god, Matt please-” you began, but he cut you off with another thrust. He continuously hit that spot inside you with each thrust, grabbing your hips to help ensure he was getting the angle right. You grabbed the edge of his desk for support, desperate for some support as he began to thrust harder, now finally seeking out his own pleasure.

Finally taking you how he wanted.

“Fuck, Matt, sooo good,” You moaned, words slurring, unable to hold back your sounds of pleasure. Your moans were barely discernible from your words, but you had to let Matt know how good he was making you feel. How good he felt. You’d never had sex this good, fumblings in the backseat or lackluster frat men could never compare. Matt filling you, splitting you was overwhelming. You’d reach your peak soon.

Your words went straight to Matt’s cock, twitching inside of you. Fuck, you were hot. He’d know that before, of course. But having you writhing underneath him, pushing your hips back with each thrust to fill you even more… It may have been the most attractive thing Matt had ever experienced. You were tight, way tighter than he had expected. Between that, and the filthy fact of you being his student strewn out naked across his desk, he wasn’t going to last long.

He needed to make what he had left count.

“Turn over,” He ordered, slipping himself out and stepping back entirely. He listened as your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, but you listened anyway, laying back down on the desk. He grabbed your legs, placing them on his shoulders as he again found your entrance, and pushed inside. He didn’t give you any lead up, any grace period as he resumed his rapid pace, thrusting in and out of you. You lifted your hips up in pleasure as his thumb found your clit, rubbing it rapidly, with the intent of bringing you to orgasm as soon as possible. He leaned over, pressing a kiss against your collarbone, then your neck, as he finally reached your ear.

“You gotta cum for me, sweetheart. C’mon, baby, soak my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me. I know you can do it. Please, wanna feel you, need to feel you.”

He whispered softly against your neck, voice faltering as he continued to work your clit. As soon as he spoke, he heard the signature uptick in your heart rate, the tightening of your muscles around his cock. You tightened tenfold when you were about to cum; he couldn’t last much longer.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as you came to your end, a desperate attempt to ground yourself as you went up. You moaned his name as you came, a high pitched “Matty” that claimed your orgasm as his. Something snapped within him as you came, something dark. He’d been holding himself back, afraid he’d hurt you, scare you away. He wanted to be sweet with you, to take care of you as you deserved. But his name on your lips as you came was too much to bear.

He needed to let the devil out.

As you began coming down from your orgasm haze, you heard Matt growl. His hand left your clit to immediately find your throat, wrapping his hands around the vulnerable skin. Your eyes widened, taken aback at the sudden gesture. He had been dominant before, sure, but never rough or too kinky. Choking? This was a new level. Despite the surprise, you weren’t scared. You should have been, though. The sight of Matt, teeth bared, hand around your neck, eyes dark as he thrusted, should have been terrifying.

But it wasn’t.

It was hot.

“Y-you’re fucking mine,” Matt mumbled as his thursts increased, chasing his own end at a rapid pace. You couldn’t do anything but lay there and take it, and you liked that. Matt was in control, Matt was taking control. If you hadn’t just come, you were sure those words would have made you reach your end on the spot.

“S-say it. Say you’re m-mine,” He ordered, his hand squeezing tighter around your throat.

“I’m yours, Matt. I’m yours.”

You whispered in the darkness, and that’s what did it. Hearing you claim yourself as his, after he’d wanted you for so long, was too much. He removed his hand from your throat, grabbing your hips rougher than he intended. But he couldn’t control himself when it came to you, the Devil was in charge. He thrusted himself deep inside as he came, coating your walls with his release.Your words brought him over the edge, the fact that you were telling the truth when you said it was too much to bear. He thrusted one more time, before forgoing his grip, and collapsing on top of you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, one of your hands raking your way into his hair, as he came down from his own high. Without warning, Matt stood up fully, scoping you up from where you two laid and bringing you both to the couch. You sat on his lap as he pressed you against his chest, one of his hands finding its way to the top of your head. He seemed panicked, an expression of fear etched across his face as he spoke.

“ I’m so sorry, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean,I don’t… I’m so sorry,” He stuttered out, raking his way through your hair as he held you close. His heart was beating rapidly, eyes flickering back and forth like he was scanning the room. You were confused by his apology and panic; couldn’t he tell that that was the best sex of your life?

“Why are you sorry?”

You whispered back, wrapping your hands around his neck to bring you closer to him. He shook his head in response, flinching slightly at the contact. He seemed scared to touch you, his hand around your shoulders all too soft. He’d gone a bit rough, sure, but nothing insane. But it was almost like you could hear his mind racing, his silence said enough. You finally figured it out: he was scared he hurt you. Matt Murdock, the man with the heart of gold, was terrified he’d been too much. He’d been vulnerable with you, using you as he wanted to reach his end. But he thought he’d been too much; he’d probably been told that before. You had to calm his fears, let him know it was the best you’d ever had. He needed reassurance, just like you always did in class.

And you’d be more than happy to oblige.

“Matthew,” you sighed, raking your fingers into the hair on the back of his neck. He softened slightly, but was still extremely tense to your touch. You kissed up his neck slowly, leaving a trail of red marks as you went. He still stayed silent, but relaxed just a bit more. Perfect.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had. Really. I loved every second, ok? I would have told you if something wasn’t right, I promise. ” You pressed a small kiss to his temple, an added layer of reassurance. He sighed, deeply, pressing you tighter into his chest.

“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t mean to, I just snapped, and-”

“I liked it, Matt. All of it. I like you. A lot, actually.”

You didn’t mean for that last part to slip out, to confess your deep feelings so soon. But Matt smiled in response, using his arms to squeeze you against him again. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your cheek, causing you to giggle. He kissed his way down all the way to your lips, giving you a quick peck before responding.

“I like you too. I’ve liked you for a while, actually. If you want, if you want, I’d like to take you out on a real date. Show you your worth more than a quick fuck. You’re… you’re incredible sweetheart. Let me show you how much.”

Your lips were on his in a heartbeat, trying to put all your happiness into one kiss. Your professor liked you. He liked you. He wanted to date you.

When did you fall asleep and wake up in a dream?

You broke the kiss, smiling against his lips as he smiled against yours. You didn’t break contact as you spoke, your forehead still against his in pure bliss.

“I’d love nothing more.”

FIN

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#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x you #professor matt murdock #professor matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil fanfiction

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peachyxreads · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Line || M.M.

Pairing: professor!Matt Murdock x college!reader (afab)

Summary: You’ve developed a close friendship with Professor Murdock over the years, hiding your true feelings militantly. A few months prior to graduation, you come to him in distress and finally find out how he feels about you.

Includes: fluff, smut, teacher/student relationship, no gendered language, no y/n, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, nondescript hormonal birth control, professor murdock

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: Thank you so so much to the lovely folks who offered to beta and proof my first fic, including @thegreengoop and @scarletsloveletter!! And please feel free to hit me up with comments or feedback, even prompts! Likes and reblogs also let me know you like my work :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: MINORS DNI. I do not condone the theft of content I create and share.

Warmth, strength, a certain crispness of his pressed shirt or his fading cologne—you're not sure which—and tenderness. That is all you can feel, all you can take in from the world as he holds you in a gentle hug.

This hug, this warmth, with your arms under his, his left arm wrapped around your back and other hand squeezing your neck, this has come after years of wondering if he knew how you felt about him, if he felt the same way. You've also spent these years wondering if your feelings are real or if they're childish—some immaturity, some need for attention and validation you never grew out of. But looking into his brightening face and lifted posture every time you meet, seeing the wildness in him and yourself throughout all of your excited discussions, you know it's real. Whether or not he thinks about you in bed at night the way you do him, it's real. It's friendship, at least. Companionship probably not unlike what he's had with other students before. Or so you thought.

You've known Professor Murdock for a little over two years, taking his classes every other semester or so, visiting his office hours to chat when you aren't his student. The two of you have developed an easy relationship; you respect each other, delight in each other, never get too close but enjoy a comfortable distance—or rather an appropriate closeness—you found after a while. He knows your work and you know his instruction. Each of you knows the other's passions well, each of you knows the other's fears and holds them softly in your heart.

Matt's a young professor and a great one at that. Other than his obvious, somehow humble charm, the way he instantly connects with his students enchanted you from the day you met. He has the sharpness you and your peers strive for and hope is only a few years away, and he encourages you all, giving you the support and inspiration you need to get there. Though, he likes to tell you that you're sharp, that you're years ahead of him. Any compliment hinting at an equality between the two of you births a thousand butterflies in your stomach, and elsewhere. When you explain your latest research project or what you think of the last novel you read and he looks utterly captivated, you can't help but want him to get up, close the door, and lock it before returning to you in a passionate fever. Just the idea of the sound of the lock clicking, the shift in the air it represents, makes you swoon inside, drool like Pavlov's dog. Tick.

You went to him in need today, catching him after his smallest class as the room would be next in coziness and remoteness after his office. No office hours today. Today, the day you received a response from your dream grad school. Your application was denied. You applied to others, of course, but you can't help the tears begging to spring forward with defeat. You feel as though you've failed. How could you really be as sharp as he says you are? As sharp as he repeatedly praised you for being throughout the application process? You shared it all with him. And now it's ruined.

You walk through the door as the last few students part. He's gathering his things and readying to leave. He doesn't notice you right away, your steps gentle and voice paralyzed. When he turns to the door you break the silence.

"Professor Murdock…" you struggle to sigh, choked up. He recognizes your voice instantly, his frame rupturing in a small jolt and face taking a delighted, curious expression. This fades a little once he realizes the pain he heard in your speech.

"Hey, are you alright?" He sets his briefcase down and removes his glasses—he knows it's just the two of you now—before moving toward you with urgency.

"Yeah, n-no…I didn't get in. I was rejected. The others, I don't know, I'll probably get into one, but—"

He presses a hand to your shoulder, holding for a moment before moving for the door. He gently guides you away from the frame as he reaches to close it. You hear a tick, the lock. Nerves, arousal, fear, sadness, lust all rip through you and mix together. You're shaking and melting at the same time.

"It's alright, it's okay," he offers as he turns back to you, "I'm so sorry."

He hears your quiet sniffle and realizes tears must be coming down. He can sense that you're completely frozen. He steps even closer and wraps himself around you. A hug to thaw. You feel a hand on your neck, comforting, an arm around you, strong, his chest on yours and your face to his collar. You breathe him in and begin to release into it.

Fuck.

Years without this. Years without touch. Years without a hand to the arm or a playful shoulder nudge. You even skipped handshakes, too cordial. You would never have brought yourself to make contact. You didn't want to cross a boundary, you wanted to show respect, thought it should be on his terms. Or maybe you were just worried initiating a single touch would let him onto you, would make him wonder how you felt, pity you for your schoolyard crush and become cold. Now you're questioning whether that was the right choice. Fuck it all if this is how intoxicating his body feels.

With a final squeeze, he lets you go. He doesn't shift back or away from you, instead brings a hand to your chest. What is he doing? The flat of his hand is large, larger than yours. Looking down you see just how much of your chest it covers.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he almost whispers, bringing your attention to his voice, "your breathing is quick."

You bring your gaze up, it's been too long since you looked into his face. The confrontation makes you release and look down again.

"Am I making you nervous?" He gently suggests.

You nod, releasing a small "yes."

"What can I do?" You feel his body tense a little, likely in fear of making the wrong move. He begins to move away, but you bring your hand to his wrist, keeping his hand pressed to your heart.

The two of you spend a moment like this, close but far apart, both unsure. As the seconds pass you bring your attention back to your hand on his wrist and start to rub his skin with your thumb, holding him just a bit tighter. He shifts forward again, an inch closer to you, and you look up to examine his face. Another moment.

"Do you want me," he pauses before finishing and lowers his voice, "to touch you?"

You nod and lean into him a bit, earlier tears making it hard to speak again. He smiles softly at the silence.

"You have to say it, yes or no. I need to hear you tell me."

You swallow, trying to break through your nervousness and arousal, out of your body, to talk.

"I want you to touch me," you produce with some mustered up confidence. It's one of the only things you're truly certain of right now.

With your approval he moves both hands to grip your waist. The pressure draws a sigh from you, encouraging him to rub your sides with his thumbs. You're completely submerged in his presence. The small movements send electric waves to your core. The feeling is so intense, he might be all you'll ever need.

Then you realize what's really happening. You place your hands on his chest to balance the contact between you. He's touching you. He wants to touch you. He locked the door. There is something in this. There is something in him.

"You…do you like this?" you ask, needing now to hear it from him. He furrows his eyebrows just slightly, stressing your nerves again. What if he doesn't?

"Yes," he starts with a timidity you're not used to hearing in his voice, "I do. I want to…I've wanted to. It's not- I couldn't…touch you."

You can't help but smile. There's total peace, total clarity. He's nervous too. He wants you. He wants to touch you. Not only that, he has wanted to touch you all the while you wanted to touch him. Neither of you could do it, could break the boundary, cross the line, show yourselves. The intimacy is more intense in the conversation between you than in the physical connection. The potential energy in the room has reached its height now that you know he feels the same way about you. You know the drop is about to come. You're prepared now. You're confident.

"I've wanted you since we met." You admit softly.

He recites with sincerity, "I've wanted you since we met. It's only grown."

You step an inch toward him, closing what miniscule gap there was. The two of you join in a kiss, linking perfectly. A soft, warm, inspired kiss, mouths like puzzle pieces, instantly wanting more. He wraps an arm around your lower back to lift your waist to his before bringing a hand up to rest on your jaw. You're deepening the kiss together into a slow, sloppy mess, well-choreographed and intoxicating. It's all either of you need for a few minutes, quickening the pace and moving together, pushing and pulling, feeling each other, flowing with intuition.

You break from each other and he guides the two of you behind his desk. Resisting the magnetic force drawing you together, he slides the desk chair out and motions for you to sit. He kneels with a shining smile, using the arm of the chair to guide himself before you.

"Do you know what you want?" He asks, wanting to establish a serious level of understanding.

"I…don't know. I like what we have. I liked that," you grab his hand for more touch, "I like this. I want to be…us. It feels natural," the truth charms you as you speak it.

"It does. It feels natural. I love being with you, talking to you. The closer we got, the closer I wanted to be. I couldn't let myself reach out. I was afraid of doing something you didn't want, even if it seemed like you did want it."

Seeing him be so vulnerable, it's huge. You've always felt quicker to show that side of yourself. It's harder to draw out from him. He's the professional, after all. You want to show him he's safe, reassure him.

"I understand. I felt the same way. It's not something we could really talk about or…try. I couldn't touch your arm or reach for your hand like I would with any coffee date that's going well," that earned a chuckle from him, and subsequently you, before continuing, "I'm graduating in a few months. What if we saw each other off campus? I'm not taking any more of your classes this year."

"Yeah. I'd love that," he answers with a bittersweet smile, "but what do we do, now?"

His expression is disappointed despite the excitement, almost pained. It's hell to see a face that sad on him. You want to make it better for both of you, you know he'll only respond to your initiative. Maybe you should wait, give it a few days at least, but you can't. Not with him kneeling before you. You've been aching this whole time, trying to suppress the bubbling desire, but you can't. It doesn't have to be perfect, but you want to feel him. You just want to do it, save the slow and sensual for other times, create something out of the passion between you right now.

You slide the chair back out from under you and meet him on the floor. Wrapping a hand around his neck, you decide to pop the bubble.

"I want you, now."

With that you crash into each other, fiending for friction in a new kiss, pressing lips and bodies close together, both on your knees like sinners. You push against him but he wins out, pinning you to the floor. He begins to slide kisses along your jaw, down your neck, retiring at your collarbones. It almost tickles, his soft lips to such thin skin. As a hand of his feverishly traces your body, gripping around your side and rubbing down to your pelvis, you bring one of yours to the nape of his neck with the other around his body to hold him close. His thumb rubs the crease of your hip, the line that leads to your core, causing you to tug on his smooth brown locks.

"Matt…" you call softly.

"Mm?" he questions, lips still connected to your body.

"Come up here," you command, nearly breathless.

He complies, bringing his head up to meet your face. You lift yourself to connect and bring him down with you in another kiss, letting a hand search his trousers.

"Christ," he moans as you graze the strained fabric. His voice in such ecstasy is like music. No, something more than music. It's a heavenly sound that wraps you up in the same pleasure it expresses. You need to hear more.

"Need you, please," you whine, adding pressure to his crotch with your hand.

"Okay, fuck," he responds with a low, almost cracking voice.

The two of you begin to rise, him standing easily as you prop yourself up on your hands. "Matt," you call, prompting him to lean down, wrap an arm around your back, and lift you with surprising strength. You had noticed his build before, the toned shape of his arms through his shirts, but you had no idea he had such power. Realizing what that means for the moments to come has your legs fluttery and core aching.

"On the desk," you tell him.

His face lights with a ravenous grin. You sense an animalistic hunger in his voice despite the questioning tone when he asks if you're sure.

"Please," you add, and he reaches a hand out to find the desk before lifting you up onto it, again with a surprising, arousing ease. The second your ass reaches the wood you push off your bottoms and he helps pull them down and release them from you. Going in for another kiss he allows his hands to rub your thighs, inching closer and closer to your dripping center.

You bring him into a deep kiss, pulling on his lip as you part. You want him to know how starved you are for him, all of him. He begins to circle your folds, lavishly spreading your juices. As he circles your clit, you plead, out of breath. He gets the message and plunges in, working you with a rhythmic pace that draws blissful gasps unlike any you've made before. He uses his fingers masterfully, applying pressure where you need it and letting you bask in the pleasure for what feels like hours.

"Let me hear you," he moans into your ear, "tell me how it feels…being fucked by my fingers."

"Shit, Matt, so good…it feels so good," you answer him, reaching a pornographic tone.

It goes on, bringing you close but not there. You know what you need. You try to return your attention to the man in front of you through half-lidded eyes: you want him to feel the pleasure you do. You want to feel him fill you up.

"Need…" you gasp in reaction to his thrusting fingers and bring a hand to fumble with his belt, "more, please."

He grunts against your hand, losing reservation. You can tell he's about to snap, and you want nothing more than to see that side of him. To be on the receiving end of his crushing lust, to be desired and taken.

He digs his head into your shoulder as he urgently reaches for his belt, swatting your hands away. His belt is undone, his zip down, everything off in mere seconds. You can't do anything but sit there and watch as he moves frantically, clearly falling apart. You're drooling at the sight, your stomach turning with lust, your cunt throbbing uselessly against the cool surrounding air.

Taking his cock in his fist before you, he brings the fingers once inside you to your lips. He presses them into your willing mouth as he begins to pump himself. You swirl your tongue, taking in your own sweetness, and look down to see his tip already leaking precum. He removes his fingers, you brace against him, and he lifts and spreads your thighs. You whisper a sultry "fuck me, Matty" into his ear, and he finally snaps, pushing into you ruthlessly with a groan. You feel split in half, feeling his full length against your walls, filling every inch of you.

The thrusts are hard, fast, needy, sloppy. He's rutting into you and you're taking it perfectly. You can hear everything, so much you don't know what's what, whose moans are whose. The sounds engulf you, and you can only imagine what it's like for him. He's panting, grunting, breathing against your neck and jaw, attempting every so often to aim a kiss to your lips despite the crude pace of your bodies.

You lose a string of expletives in the ecstasy, responding to each thrust, "fuck, Matt, god…Matt."

He gives you praise between his grunts, moaning by your ear, "shit…you feel so good…you're so good…taking me…made for me…"

His movements lose even more rhythm, panting becoming strained as your own whines heighten. He's close. You reach for your wet, aching clit. Swirling effortlessly, you make hurried circles. The dual pleasure is beyond: you would see stars if the moaning man before you weren't a prettier sight.

"Fuck!" He shocks you with the exclamation, slowing his movements in frustration. Breathless, he struggles to blurt out "b-birth control?"

"Yes, Matty, please, keep going," you urge him to continue, assuaging his fear.

With that he slams into you hard, making you cry out against each thrust.

"I'm…" he fruitlessly tries to let the declaration escape.

"Me too, me too," you cry over him, digging your heels into his hips and working your clit fast.

Your orgasm hits. Warmth spreads from your core to your toes, ecstasy bursting through your body with such force you might break. In the delicious throes of your orgasm you feel Matt spill inside you, thrusting loosely through his own release. Hearing muted, you don't know what sounds either of you let loose at the height of pleasure, but you're sure you were practically screaming.

The two of you come down, panting and leaning against each other. Your heels keep him inside you, not ready to lose contact. Your exhales deepen and calm. Tucking in his chin, he presses a kiss to your neck before meeting your lips.

"Professor Mur-" you catch yourself, issuing the correction with some embarrassment, "Matt." You just want to feel his name in your mouth once more.

He smiles, but it quickly bursts into a grin, earning a satisfied giggle from you.

"That was…" he cracks through an uncontrollable smile.

"Amazing," you finish for him, adding, "thank you." You release him and hop down as he shifts back. He brings his hands to your waist once more, and you clutch his arms to rest in the warmth of his skin.

"Call me Matty again, please," he surprises you with the request, squeezing your waist.

"Thank you, Matty," you coo through a smile.

He nods softly. After a pause, he says, "you're going to be okay. You're going to be just fine. You'll be amazing at any program. It's you who makes it good, not the school."

You tear up quick at the consolation, overcome with adoration for the man before you. You slide your hand down his arm, pulling his fingers to your wet cheek and allowing him to swipe a streak with his thumb.

"Thank you, for everything, Matt."

"You're welcome. Thank you."

You give his hand a squeeze and release it so the two of you can re-dress yourselves.

"Would you like a ride home? I’ll call us a cab," he offers, grabbing his briefcase and replacing his glasses.

"That would be wonderful," you answer, buttoning your pants.

Matt moves forward and you approach him, stopping him with a hand to his chest. He leans down and meets your lips with his, connecting deeply like you both need it more than air. You part slowly and bring your lips to his ear.

"You're still dripping into my panties, Professor Murdock," you whisper, grasping onto the fleeting sense of lust.

Matt brings a free hand to grab your ass, replying, "would you like a ride to my home?"

"Yes, please, Matty!" You return with a playful cheekiness, as if all he offered were a homemade sweet or extra credit opportunity.

He snorts at your quip, muttering "you're too sharp. Let's go."

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