Blue Moon
Sunday morning.
Warm and peaceful and quiet by tradition, it’s known to be slow and almost indulgent. Whether a sunny Sunday or a rainy one, the day is a calm respite from whatever chaos or disorder may have been wildly brandished by the days before.
Fitting with any definition of a lazy Sunday morning, you’d woken up in the same position you’d fallen asleep in, Matt’s strong arms curled around you, legs intertwined in the bed.
The position sent heat rocking through you, even in your sleep. Consciousness returned to you slowly, spurned by Matt’s slow, soft breaths against your neck, feathery and peaceful. His face had dipped lower, and you could feel the tip of his nose just brushing your skin. Matt’s chest pressed into your back with every inhale, your shoulders shifting against his pecs with every exhale. His hand was still pressed firmly against your side - though, in sleep, it had slipped up your shirt to curl around the side of your torso without any fabric interfering. The feeling of his skin on yours was welcome and still dizzying, gentle pressure pushing each inch of warmth of his calloused and somehow soft skin all the way through to your bones to buzz around the steady thump of your heart.
He shifted slightly in his sleep as you blinked your eyes, your half-lidded gaze drifting aimlessly around the room. You felt peacefully subdued, serene as calm water - but with Matt’s body curled around yours, it was more than serenity waving and crashing through you.
That warmth within you was still present, but it was rougher than the night before. Coiling in a tight curl within the depths of your body, it stretched up through your chest in a flutter and extended down to pool, blazing and brilliant, between your legs.
As you woke, you became cognizant of every inch of Matt against you. The tip of his nose, soft at your neck, along with the gentle touch of his stubbled chin to your skin, drew a tingling sensation through each cell he touched. One of his legs had drawn up between yours, your upper leg having dipped back to twirl around it. The thickness of his muscle-bound thigh between your legs had your lips parted, your body humming. And that arm was curled around your torso, yes - but his other arm had wrapped around you also.
From between you and the mattress, Matt’s lower arm had slipped around to your front, beneath your shirt, to press his palm and strong fingers against your abdomen.
Technically, it was less just your abdomen and more like the sensitive skin of your lower belly, where his fingertips grazed beneath the waistband of your sweatpants.
Well.
His sweatpants, technically.
And it wasn’t anything particularly scandalous, though it did make your breaths shallow, that slick heat between your legs growing more feverish by the second.
Matt shifted again, sighing behind you, the air of his breath hot and pleasurable at the back of your neck. With the slow cycle of his breaths, you could tell he was still asleep - though his arms remained tight around you, hands pressing skin-to-skin at your side and your increasingly tightening core. His chest was still strong against your back, his own abdomen against your spine, hips locked against the curve of your body.
It could have been entirely innocent, full of needed comfort and the human desire for contact and company, if you hadn’t been growing needier by the second, your tongue dragging over your lips as that space between your thighs only grew wetter.
And if Matt wasn’t headily, achingly, rock-hard against you.
Thoughtlessly, you bit at your lower lip, shifting your jaw. It was as if your mind had leaked out between your legs, and all that space in your head was now dedicated entirely to Matt as his body pressed itself into yours, desperate to feel you, to have you all to itself.
And…
As I noticed before…
…he is the furthest thing from small.
Another sleepy shift and sigh from Matt brought your brain back inside your skull.
Okay.
He’s asleep.
I don’t want to embarrass him.
Clenching your jaw, you first worked to untangle your legs from his. Lifting your top leg off his thigh was easy enough, but the leg beneath this thigh presented more of a challenge. You tensed your core and grit your teeth as, slowly, you slid your leg forward to release it from the weight of Matt’s leg. It worked, but in your careful movements, your hips moved back, accidentally grinding against him. You froze but felt Matt draw in a deep breath at your neck, his nose almost pressing into your skin as those arms tugged tight and secure around your waist and ribcage. His hand at your belly slid an inch or so further, the longer fingers just reaching your hip.
You sucked in a silent breath and moved your hand to Matt’s forearm, where it extended along your torso. Sliding your hand slowly and gently up his skin, you caught his hand and tugged it down toward your front. His hand was easily guided, but he moved again behind you, the tip of his nose dragging up into your hair as his head lifted. With Matt’s upper hand now at your waist, you turned slightly to catch the furrow of his brow, a singular sleepy blink of his eyes before they shut again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, slow and soothing. “Just getting up.”
“Mm,” Matt hummed, his head nodding almost imperceptibly as his eyes remained shut.
Okay, you thought, Now I can slip out.
And you tried - but Matt’s hand at your belly remained taut, holding you to him. No longer pressing into your ribcage, his upper hand dragged slowly from your waist and over the sweatpants to slide down your leg. It landed flush at the side of your thigh, at the tail-end of the thickest part of your hip.
You drew a shaky breath, the tension between your legs entirely throbbing. Every beat of your heart sent another pulse through your clit, electric and all-consuming - and, with wide eyes and a flush over your face, you could almost feel the same pulse in Matt’s cock as it strained up against you. Hard and flushed, the two layers of sweatpants between you two did nothing to lessen its pressure on your ass, and your lip slipped again between your teeth as your mind drifted.
I could…
I could wake him up.
I could help him out, ask him to help me.
Eyes lifting, you let out a long breath as you fought the urge to rock your hips back into Matt, drag your body over his until he pressed his lips into your neck and drove that hand all the way under your sweatpants to get a better sense of what he was doing to you-
-And then do even more.
We could…
No.
You blinked hard. It took all the effort within you to bring your sensibilities back.
We haven’t even kissed.
It has to-
It has to mean more than this.
If it didn’t matter, we would have just done it already.
Another deep, slow breath of air did little to cool your burning insides, but it was the attempt that mattered. Drawing up the few shreds of conviction you had left, you grasped each of Matt’s hands and moved them gently off your body. You turned with the movements, placing the hand from your hip onto his own leg, the hand from your belly back onto the sheets, as you faced him in the bed.
Matt’s expression shifted, lines moving over his forehead as his brows drew together. His eyes fluttered and, guilty for having woken him more than you’d meant to, you drew a hand to his cheek, stroking your thumb from smooth skin to dark stubble. Matt relaxed at your touch, leaning the weight of his head onto your hand, eyelids dropping back to shut. You dipped your head closer to his and moved your lips just over his ear.
“Sleep,” you purred. “I’ll be back.”
Matt nodded. No words came to him - you could tell that although he’d woken somewhat, he was more than still asleep, his conscious mind well within the shadow of his dreams. You breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see him so peaceful for once.
At least he doesn’t know he woke me up with a full fucking hard-on.
Before you lifted yourself up and out of the bed, you slipped your lips down to press a slow, full kiss to his cheek. Matt breathed a contented sigh, his hands lifting up in a languid drift over you again. It took all the whittled-away composure in your body and your soul to lift yourself away from his touch and finally out of the bed.
On shaky legs, you grabbed your phone and tiptoed into his living room, one hand clutching over your parted lips as you worked to ignore the drying slickness between your thighs.
Holy fuck.
That was…
Jesus.
Certainly one way to wake up.
You weren’t averse to sex, not in the slightest. But for you, sex was usually a release of stress, a means to an end. It wasn’t something you could have with a person you shared mutual care, concern, affection with, what with the danger that getting that close could bring to them, along with the emotional risk it would bring to you. Casual sex wasn’t even your real preference when you gave it thought, but in your line of work, it was all you’d really been able to afford.
But… it did work as a sparing stress reliever - and sex itself was fun for you. No denying that. With experience over the years, you found you weren’t half bad at it, either.
Things with Matt had evolved, though. It was one thing to flirt with him in the dark of the night before you really knew each other - the Nightingale and the Devil, Eve and Jack, slick with rain and the temptation of doing things together that you really, really shouldn’t be doing. It was another thing for you to be staying at his place, calling him by his name as he calls you by yours - and slips in a ‘sweetheart’ now and again.
Matt meant something to you, and you meant something to him. You couldn’t just treat him like another hookup. And, as much as you would love to have him, to give yourself to him - you wanted it to mean something.
And with how tender he’d been over the last while, you had a feeling he felt the same way.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you answered it in a panic, desperate not to wake Matt. It was so quick that you didn’t even check the name before picking up the call. As you lifted the phone to your ear, you saw that it was Karen.
“Hey,” you whispered, striding quickly and silently toward Matt’s front door - as far from the bedroom as you could possibly get.
“Hey!” Karen greeted you cheerfully through the phone - though her voice turned a shade more curious, amused at your quiet tone. “Did I wake you up, or are you letting someone else sleep?”
You laughed awkwardly into the phone, the lie slipping off your tongue in an effortless slither. “Just me.” You made a point of yawning into the phone and kept your voice low. “What’s up?”
“Damn,” Karen joked. “I was wondering if there was some secret reason why you curved Tristan.”
Pressing your lips together, you shut your eyes.
“I wish. He was super nice, Karen. I don’t know; I just think I’m enjoying being single right now.”
“Fair enough,” she breathed. “He really liked you. But I totally get it.”
Tension knotted over your brow as you nodded.
As if she can see you right now, dumbass.
“Look,” Karen began, something apprehensive in her tone. “I know it’s short notice, but I was hoping we could grab a coffee - say, at that diner where we ran into each other that time?”
You blinked your eyes open. “Like- like, now?”
“If possible.”
Turning back, you glanced at Matt’s bedroom door, which you’d opened with tedious, painstaking, silent effort. “What’s going on?”
A breath of silence carried over your phone call. Then:
“I think it’s an over-coffee conversation.”
As you frowned to yourself, your pulse picked up, mind twittering over what Karen could need to discuss with you away from phones.
Either it’s something to do with Matt, something she heard, something she noticed…
Or it’s something to do with Ben Urich.
You clenched your jaw, hoping desperately for it to be the latter. Karen was curious, with searching eyes and probing questions - and she was smart. She was the type of person you had to be careful around, simply by virtue of her intelligent, questioning nature, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt about her.
That dinner, those exchanges between you and Matt, they were fuelled by a jealous repression of your want for one another. And, with the night technically being a double date, Karen had been caught in the crossfire.
You didn’t know whether she felt anything for him. Foggy was originally supposed to be in Matt’s place that night, anyway. Still - the way she gazed at Matt was more than enough to make you wonder.
Well, whether it’s about Ben or Matt - there’s only one way to find out.
You grit your teeth.
“I’ll be there in 10.”
The bell to the diner jingled merrily as you pushed the door open.
On a Sunday morning such as this, the place was packed. Patrons engaged in lively, vibrant conversation, every filled booth ringing with laughter and the clinks of silverware against dishes, glasses and mugs clunking over countertops. A family with three young children in one booth had its table peppered in half-filled coloring sheets, and a table of middle-aged women held a smattering of mimosas and latte drinks as it held their semi-hushed gossip.
Eying the food, you were glad you’d ordered Matt breakfast from another diner, closer to his apartment. You’d sent him a text once the order was placed:
YOU: karen asked to meet up. i sent you some breakfast - they’ll call you when it’s downstairs. be back later!
And, after a tug at your lip, another text:
YOU: glad you joined me last night. bed didn’t feel so cold with you in it.
You were still wearing Matt’s clothes from the night before. As the diner was a more relaxed environment, it was perfectly acceptable for you to show up in sweatpants and a baggy shirt, especially with your long jacket mostly covering the outfit and gray sneakers over your sockless feet.
She did request we meet on very short notice, after all.
In your scan of the diner, you caught the glint of Karen’s blonde ringlets from one of the back booths - which, you realized, was the same one you’d seen her in before. Catching your eye, she smiled and waved, and you returned the gesture. As you strode over to the table, your phone buzzed once, then twice:
MATT: I was hoping you’d follow through with your breakfast in bed promise, but the pancakes you sent are actually pretty good. You’re off the hook just this once.
MATT: And yeah, it was this crazy thing called heat transfer. Happy to explain it to you when you get back, but we might need to act it out. Just so I know you really understand.
Chuckling to yourself, you tucked your phone back into your jacket pocket as you reached Karen’s booth. Her bright blue eyes reflected sunlight as she looked up at you, almost quizzically, two mugs of coffee already steaming hot from the table.
“Good morning to you,” Karen noted. You realized you were grinning and brought your expression back under control as you slid into the seat across from her.
“Good morning,” you offered, grabbing a sugar packet for your coffee. You tore it open easily, pouring a rocky flow of golden crystals down to merge with your drink, dissolving swiftly in the coffee’s swirl. Catching your expression in the surface of the drink, you noticed how unmistakably bright your smile still was and tried again to tamp it down. Karen took a sip of her coffee, her probing, entertained eyes meeting yours.
“Someone’s cheery today.”
You nodded, shrugged. “Slept really well.” Karen hummed and placed her mug back on the table.
“Okay, smiley,” she laughed. “Whatever you say.”
You shook your head. Seriousness drew back into your expression and you felt your insides cool, your focus returning to the task at hand. A few stray jitters caught on the edges of your mind and body as you still didn’t know what Karen wanted to discuss.
Please don’t let it be about Matt.
Karen cleared her throat as you stirred your teaspoon through your coffee, pouring a milkette’s creamy flow into the mug. Your eyes went on wide alert, flitting to hers as you drew your mug to your lips.
“So, Selena,” she began cautiously. “I just want to cut to the chase today.”
You nodded. A sip of the coffee graced your lips, and it was almost too hot. Though the taste was there, the liquid almost burned the tip of your tongue, and you stifled a flinch, placing the mug back down.
“Go for it,” you offered. “What’s up?”
Karen bit her lip. She leaned forward, voice lowering. “I will say, though, it’s- it’s complicated. I honestly don’t know how comfortable I am with-“ she paused, nervous eyes flitting over the diner before darting back to you, “-with all these people around.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly, but you leaned toward Karen, shaking your head.
“Don’t worry,” you offered, voice low. “A busy place is the best place. Everyone’s too busy trying to hear their own conversations - they’re not listening to ours.” You tipped your head to the side, lips quirking up. “And, unless you’re sharing some drama on one of the nuclear families or suburban mom-friends here, I’d say we can probably safely avoid any prying ears in the next few booths.”
Though nervous, Karen laughed. You were glad you were able to ease her.
You were also glad that, as far as it seemed, this conversation was about something more sensitive than just Matt.
“Okay,” Karen nodded. “There’s a bit of background to start with. Might take a while.”
You lifted your mug with a smile of unmasked intrigue as you prepared yourself to listen, another long sip of slightly cooler coffee flowing over your tongue.
“Good thing it’s a Sunday.”
Union Allied.
Karen worked for Union Allied.
And she’s the reason they got shut down for good?
So that’s why she knows Ben Urich - she was the tip for his article.
And the Man in Black saved her.
Matt saved her.
Your head was spinning with all the new information Karen offered over coffee in the hustle and bustle of this family diner. In one booth was the charm and joy of young children slurping milkshakes, in another was the snarky, shallow gossip of housewives with too much time on their hands - and in this booth, at the back, was hushed discussion of corrupted companies, murder charges, and vigilantism at its finest.
So, the whole reason she knows Matt and Foggy, the reason she got a job with them-
It was because Union Allied got her set up for murder, and Nelson and Murdock took her case - and when a guard tried to kill her in her jail cell and failed, the cops had to drop her already-bullshit charges.
And Matt and Foggy had the kindness within them to offer her a job?
Of course they did.
Plenty of shocking stories have graced you over the years. You were no stranger to drama, violence, chaos - but as Karen spoke, you just felt your jaw fall farther and farther.
“So,” she continued, “when they presented me with the NDA, I had no idea what to do. It was a slap in the fucking face, to be honest-“
“How are you ladies doing with that menu?”
The cheery-but-tired waitress stood next to your booth, interrupting your conversation for what may have been the third time at this point. Karen’s eyes drew up in a glassy smile at the woman as her lips pressed together, and your brows floated up, eyes darting to the menu to finally choose something so she’d get out of your hair. Patrons had left, with new guests taking their place, and you and Karen still hadn’t ordered anything besides coffee. The lady was just doing her job, of course - but her job wasn’t exactly helping with the flow of this sensitive conversation.
“You know what,” you started in a warm tone, eying Karen, “I think I’ll go with the eggs benny - the smoked salmon one, with home fries. Karen?”
Karen didn’t waste a beat, smiling up at the waitress. “I’ll get the same.”
“Lovely,” the waitress beamed, something of relief twirling through her tone as she wrote down the order on her notepad. “I’ll have that out for you in no time.”
You and Karen offered the lady polite thank-yous as she walked off toward the kitchen. Turning back to Karen, though, you frowned.
Sure, it was shocking information, and your gaze hardened, chest crushing at the realization of how much Karen had been through - but friend therapy could come later.
Like Karen said, this meeting was about cutting to the chase.
“Did you sign it?”
A flash of crumbling regret, cold as ice, brewed bitterly through Karen’s gaze.
“I had to.”
You pressed your lips together. A subtle dip of your head to the side promised you that no, no one was looking or listening, that you could tell. Lowering your voice, you widened your eyes in sharp severity, unsure whether Karen was brave or just… acting uncharacteristically thoughtless.
“We both know how dangerous these people are, Karen. If you signed that thing - you really shouldn’t be talking about this. Especially not with someone who didn’t know about the situation before you signed.”
Like fucking me.
Karen shifted her jaw. The sharp, decisive glint in her eyes was all too set for someone in as precarious of a spot as she. As Karen leaned forward, coffee lifted with her elbows propped atop the table, her voice gained a cautious, certain lilt.
“I’m thinking it’s worth the risk.”
Your frown was quick to draw, brows knitting tight over your forehead in no time at all. After a quick sip of her coffee, a dart of her eyes over the diner, that lilt in Karen’s quiet voice held strikingly steady.
“I can’t talk about it, but Matt and Foggy can. Ben can.” A pause came as Karen set her mug back onto the table with a quiet tap, turning it by its handle before her eyes flitted sharply back to yours. “And I was hoping you could help us.”
Eying her carefully, you tapped your fingers along the side of your mug. “How would I help you?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly - not enough for most people to notice, but it was just enough of a twitch for you to catch the movement’s revelation of her focus, laser-like and deliberate. She spoke with quiet confidence, carefully enunciating each syllable that fell from her lips, as if you’d miss a word in the bustle of the diner if she didn’t make every sound clear.
“You know how dangerous these people are - but you, you specifically, can find out just how dangerous they really might be.”
As Karen spoke, you cocked your head to the side, clear on what she was getting at but letting her finish all the same. She licked her lips, gaze sharpening on you.
“I’m sure you have access to certain- resources, that would be very helpful for the rest of us - with the parameters of your job and all.”
You nodded.
She wants an agent on the inside.
Someone who can access confidential information, who can bring it to the surface.
A whistleblower, if you will.
The mug in your hands remained perfectly still as you shifted in your seat.
“You want to bring this to the public? Discredit them?”
“More or less.” Karen leaned forward, her voice lowering further, gaining strength and conviction as it fell. “But we need someone like you in order to do it.”
You shifted your jaw, otherwise motionless in your seat, as your tongue passed over your lips. Tension knotted through your brow, through your shoulders, and although Karen was a touch tense, too, her tension was different. It seemed to motivate her, draw her posture stronger in the booth, push her adamance in your direction without embarrassment or hesitation.
A twitch in your jaw flitted over your skin as you spoke.
“And Matt and Foggy are in on it?”
Karen nodded, and you nodded back, considering.
This is, respectfully… not the wisest decision.
Especially when they already tried to get her put away for murder.
And, you know, when they tried to have her fucking killed.
But if she has Foggy, if she has Ben Urich-
Christ, I mean, if she already has Matt-
Fucking hell.
“I might be able to help, depending on what I can get access to,” you breathed, unable to mask the hint of reluctance in your voice.
And, really - you didn’t want it masked. Karen had to know the sort of danger she was drawing herself into, word by word, in this booth.
“But, Karen, you have to promise me - you have to promise me that you guys aren’t gonna be fucking around. I know you know, I know you’re smart,” you insisted, “but this stuff - it’s on another level.” Karen’s expression remained stony, her eyes ocean ice as you set your jaw. “I mean, it’s the kind of level that most regular people never even hear of in their lifetime, let alone see.”
“Trust me,” Karen breathed, a sliver of a spark in her oft-cheery voice. “I’ve seen enough to know that.”
She leaned further forward, her tone cloaked entirely in fight.
“I’m more than prepared to light up this city’s dark fucking corners,” Karen declared, her words bitter with reminiscent rage. “Whatever it takes.”
As Karen stared at you, hard determination in her vibrant eyes, something clicked into place in your brain. It was a fuller understanding of the woman before you - an understanding of a different dimension of who she was, maybe who life had shaped her into somehow.
You don’t get that spark of determination from nothing.
You knew this from the sight of your own eyes, that spark only having formed behind them after years of torment and years of running from it. Whatever Karen had run from had brought her here, to sit across from you in a white blouse at the back of a family diner, her smiling blue eyes and prettily-perfect smile the perfect mask for whatever deeper scars zigzagged beneath her skin. And you don’t see past such disguises often in life, hardly ever; those who wear them have learned to craft each inch expertly and intricately, saving no effort in hiding what lies beneath.
Still, Karen’s mask didn’t fool you now - not after this little chat.
Not anymore.
“Okay, ladies! Here we have two eggs bennies, home fries on the side.”
The cheery voice of your waitress quickly snapped you and Karen out of the moment, the severity of it dissipating beneath the booth. The lady placed your plate down, then Karen’s, before thank-yous and enjoy-your-meals were exchanged, and she went on her merry way.
Looking down at the food, you could tell why this place was so popular for Sunday brunch. Hollandaise sauce greeted you in a thick, golden flow over your eggs benedict, the savory scent of it all twirling up to tangle with your tastebuds. Your mouth watered, and you picked up your fork, stabbing into a small group of home fries.
But before you could land it in your mouth, finally satiate your rumbling stomach, Karen spoke once more.
“Alright,” she hummed, reaching for her own silverware. “I have a big question for you.”
“Bigger than the first?”
Karen’s brows lifted, her eyes crossing you with a look of you-have-no-idea. You laughed.
“Hit me.”
And hit you, she did.
“Have you heard of the name Wilson Fisk?”
Your brain was alight.
It seemed to catch into a hotter fire with every stride you took from your cab and into Matt's building, up to his floor, down his hallway. And it wasn't only Karen's experience with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. It wasn't just the way she'd been drawn into Matt and Foggy's lives, the corruption that birthed their relationship.
Karen knew, really knew, about the story behind Fisk - though she hadn't quite pieced together his full connection to everything. Foggy, too - with much of it stemming from harm done to Elena Cardenas and an associated attack on Karen, thwarted miraculously by none other than Foggy himself. They knew some shade of the truth, or at least had a solid presumption of what it was, and they were using whatever means at their disposal to chase whatever hidden truths lay beneath the already-smoky surface.
You'd told Karen that you'd look into Fisk, into Union Allied, Confed Global, the associated subsidiaries. She'd told you that Matt had taken some convincing, so she wasn't quite ready to reveal your involvement just yet - not until you'd found something solid.
Whether you'd tell Matt about the details of your meeting or just let Karen do it, you hadn't decided.
You didn't want him worrying about you. And, besides, he didn't have to know you were helping Karen - for now, at least, especially since she wasn't okay with that just yet. You didn't want to keep secrets from Matt, but you also weren't about to betray Karen's trust. The tote bag hanging off your shoulder should be a solid enough distraction for what your focus was today, anyway.
After you and Karen paid and went your separate ways, you decided to go to your apartment. The thought of going back there unnerved you, but it had been pretty close to a whole week, after all. If your attackers returned to the apartment to see it in the same level of disarray, with no you to be found, they'd likely assume you fled and wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Odds are, they'd already checked, and wouldn't be back.
In any event, you had a knife in your jacket pocket.
Just in case.
The door had creaked open smoothly, and you shut it quickly and silently behind you. Your pulse picked up at the sight of your place in total wreckage. It was different today, seeing it in the all-exposing clarity of daylight, rays of sun cast over every inch - from shattered picture frames to broken vase pieces to cushions and clothes strewn about the floor. This scene constituted the remains of what you'd built for yourself, really. It clicked silent tears down through your heart, having to see it again.
Stifling those tears, you swallowed your suffering and strode into your bedroom.
Because, you thought to yourself, pulling open your closet door, fuck you, James Wesley. Fuck you, Cruz.
I paid good money for this damn dress.
I will be wearing it on Friday night if it's the last thing I do.
Pulling back the first few dresses and sweaters, you finally hit the dress you'd bought for the gala. Its blue silk gleamed at you, pure royalty in its gloss, and you couldn't help but smile as you ran your fingertips along the swirls of darker embroidery that stretched down along the sides. These embroidered, intricate designs were slightly darker than royal blue, tinged with a vibrant purple tone, and still silk.
Grabbing a tote bag from the floor of your closet, you quickly stuffed in the dress, along with a pair of silver heels, a good strapless bra, and a pair of seamless underwear to match. Next was some jewelry grabbed quickly from your desk - and one of your nicer perfumes.
Placing the perfume in your bag drew up more of a smile over your face.
Let's hope he likes it.
And so, after this quick rendezvous at the fragmented shell that was once your safe space, your apartment - you stood once more at Matt's door, drawing a deep breath before you pushed it open and stepped inside, pulling that tote bag off your shoulder and into your hands.
The memory of this morning's… warm rise from sleep crossed your mind. Matt surrounding you, his body all but crying out for yours - it had more of an effect on you than you'd been able to recognize thus far.
Funnily enough, you thought you had recognized Matt's effect on you. Up until this morning, you thought you knew full well just what he did to you, but this morning showed an entire other side, darker and deeper and sharper and… hotter, for lack of a better word. It was almost jarring to consider how easily you might have folded had the circumstances been slightly different - how easy it would have been to wake him, to ask him for what your body wanted with its every throb, ache, pulse, shiver.
It was equally jarring to consider how eager he might have been to provide.
And it wasn't jarring in a bad way. It just wasn't what you were used to - for a man to… well, care about you, and have that be the bottom line. It was refreshing, terrifying, nothing you were used to - and everything that the depths of your soul craved.
Stepping fully into the living room, you saw Matt standing behind his kitchen island. With the haze of the warm morning gone, his hands appeared to be pressed flat to the countertop as his head tilted in apparent focus. He drew his tongue out over his lips in a brief flicker, eyes drifting through lightly narrowed lids. A deep breath did little to prepare you for whatever his reaction may be.
I'd know that look a mile away.
Despite what you knew of Matt's focus, how quickly he could know when something was up, you pasted on a cheery smile, keeping your voice lilting and light.
"Hey!"
"Hey," Matt greeted you, a light smile gracing his lips as they relaxed. "How was Karen?"
You shrugged, the movement a bit over-the-top in its nonchalance. "Pretty good."
A part of you cringed at yourself, but Matt didn't offer any obvious signs yet that he was aware of the falseness of the gesture.
"Good, good," he replied, pulling his hands off the counter. They drew to land on his hips as he took a few cautious, slow steps around the island, his strides growingly quiet until he stood just beside the kitchen table. Matt's eyes, though reasonably soft, were probing, tension in the lines around them. Even before he parted his lips to speak, you knew you were fucked.
"How was your apartment?"
Fuck.
That quick, huh?
You sighed. "Matt-"
"You didn't tell me you were going there."
Matt's voice wasn't quite sharp, but it was stern. He was still wearing that same gray shirt he'd slept in, and it strained as he leaned toward you, pecs and shoulders flexing as those hands remained on his hips. You took a slow, controlled breath, your hand gripping tighter at the handles of your tote bag.
"I don't mean to sound over-the-top, I really don't," Matt continued, eyes apologetic, words soberly severe, "but I can't protect you if you do things like this."
Your eyes flashed, only lightly.
Not your job.
But… I know.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you offered, quiet strength in your low tone. "But I had a good reason to go."
Matt sighed, the lines on his forehead deepening.
"I mean, it's a nice perfume you've got there," he half-laughed, gesturing one hand toward your tote, "but I don't see why perfume is a good reason to put yourself in danger."
You shook your head and stepped back over to the couch, motioning for Matt to follow.
"Come here," you hummed.
Only way out of the severity is with the truth.
As you set your tote on the couch, Matt shifted his jaw - and then dejectedly padded over to meet you at the couch, head shaking slowly, his brows still raised.
"I promise you, this wasn't me being thoughtless," you began, crossing your arms over your chest as you stood across from Matt. "Let me give you a little rundown on my thought process, okay?"
One of Matt's brows cocked up, but he didn't protest. So, you continued.
"So, we don't want anyone to know something's up, right? I mean, people find out that someone broke into my apartment, we have to explain why, we have to explain me staying here - and that invites all sorts of unnecessary questions." Matt didn't nod, but his brow relaxed, head tilting as he listened. "To repeat, we want things to look as normal as possible." You paused, your own brows lifting. "You'd agree that that's reasonable, I'm sure."
Matt let out a short huff of a breath. "Yeah."
Okay, so he's… listening.
At least.
Pressing your lips together, you gave a quick bob of your head before keeping on with your explanation.
"Making things look normal includes participating in all the normal activities and events that I would participate in if nothing abnormal was going on." Shifting your jaw, you sucked in a breath, carefully watching Matt's guarded, stern expression as you drew up the centerpiece of this entire thing. "Naturally, this would include work events."
Matt's head tilted to the other side, his eyelids twitching to narrow. "You have a work event?"
"The work event of the year, actually. On Friday."
As much as you intended to remain fully serious through your arguments, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement as you finally mentioned the gala. Beyond your control, your lips quirked up, face relaxing. Matt seemed to notice; his expression, though still stern, softened slightly.
"It's this gala the Bureau holds every year to celebrate everyone's work. All the agents are there, some political people, people from the NYPD." Uncrossing your arms from your chest, you held out your hands low, their movements just shy of pleading. "And I know, getting all dressed up and all that stuff can be kind of frivolous. But," you dipped your head forward, a sparkle dancing through your gaze, "in all my time with the Bureau, I have not missed a single one of these galas."
Though Matt was still cross, you caught a flit of a smile pass over his face.
"Not one?"
"Not one."
As Matt stood there, jaw flickering while he considered your words, you reached into your tote bag and gently, carefully, drew out the dress. Inch by inch of deep blue silk floated up from the confines of the tote. As you held the top of it up to your chest, the skirt floating down to swirl lightly around your ankles, Matt's face shifted. It was a micro-expression of something soft, light, awed, his lips lightly parting, tongue tasting their edge as a sparkle of his own hit those brown eyes. You smirked.
"And it would be a shame to let this dress go to waste, anyway."
Collecting himself quickly - not wanting the stern image of sweetheart, you are not going to put yourself in danger like this again to lose any of its potency - Matt pursed his lips.
"You're gonna be wearing that?"
Though his tone was still strong, it was rough around the edges. It was twinged with the promise of sensation, of what he knew to be silk flowing over your legs just now - silk that, he couldn't help but imagine, would be wrapped around your body this very Friday night in a soft sleeve all your own.
And maybe, just maybe - all his own.
"Yes - and heels, and jewelry," you continued, a lighthearted slink in your voice both drawing Matt from his thoughts and sinking him even deeper beneath them. "And that perfume."
The perfume, he thought.
You couldn't see it, but Matt's mouth almost watered at the mere thought of that perfume being spritzed out of its bottle. The scent of it was intoxicating to him, even buried in thick glass within your bag. Floral notes of carnation, hints of jasmine and cardamom, all drawn up in a lemony bow, the perfume was nothing short of delicious to Matt. It was a cheaper version of a more expensive product - a Clive Christian knockoff, he thought, similar to a scent I caught on a wealthier woman once - but the notes of yours were all too similar for any minor quality differences to matter.
And it particularly did not matter, because it wasn't just the perfume.
It was the thought that it would be on you - that he would smell it on your skin, mingling with the already-intoxicating nature of your scent as he doubtlessly remained next to you for the overwhelming majority of this upcoming evening.
If I'm even going with her, Matt thought, internally frowning at how easily he'd jumped to that conclusion.
He shook himself out of his brief pause, pulling away from this detour of his train of thought - which you'd noticed at this point, eying him suspiciously.
Matt laughed, breaking the silence as he fought to keep his expression soberly calm.
"And to think you made fun of me for having silk sheets."
"Which leads me to my next point," you continued, half-hesitant. "You have recently argued against me going out into potentially dangerous situations on my own, yes?"
Matt's brows lifted pointedly, though the corners of his lips quirked up.
"…Yes."
"Yes," you lightly huffed, pressing your hands to your chest as they still held the straps of your dress. "Even though I can handle that shit myself, but I digress." With the swish of the fabric, Matt's tongue dipped just onto the edge of his lips again, and your eyes narrowed at the tiny reaction as you continued. "It could also be argued that a big event like this, with all sorts of guests, all sorts of goings-on - that could potentially invite danger, correct?"
Matt tipped his head to the side, hands still on his hips as he took a small, slow step in your direction.
"The odds would be higher, yes."
"Right. So," you tried, but your breath hitched. That gray shirt held excellently to Matt, especially with the position of his arms stretching it taut across his chest and shoulders.
And it wasn't just the way he looked, stern stance relaxing across from you. It was the question you held in your throat - afraid of being heard, but dying to be asked.
You ran your tongue over your lips and took a low, slow breath.
In.
Out.
And…
"Since I can't reasonably miss this event, as that would be out of character - but I also can't just go into such a setting without you…" you attempted, trailing off as you watched light dance over the surface of Matt's eyes, soft but narrow in your direction. He took another step toward you, and you almost had to step back. The pressure, though it wasn't necessarily bad, was all too real.
But if I don't ask… it's absolutely a no.
You set your jaw, though your voice came out soft.
"Would you want to join me?"
Matt's eyes blinked a touch wider. He just stood there across from you for a moment, as if letting you bathe in the anxiety you felt swirling low in your gut. But the beat passed, and his lips curved up, his words rasping through all the layers of warmth his voice could carry.
"I would love to go with you."
Sparks burst through your chest.
"Great!" You beamed excitedly - before internally swatting yourself as Matt's brow lifted, his lips curving even more.
How old are you? Be cool.
"Great. That's- that's great," you repeated, trying to steady your words a touch lower with a mature nod, a respectable smile - even as Matt's grin beamed right back at you, lightly entertained by your rare display of shyness, subsequent girlish excitement, and lackluster attempt at covering it up.
Pressing your lips together, you cleared your throat and drew composure back into your words.
"Especially since you sort of have no choice, as the arguments have established."
Matt shook his head with a grin. "Such a lawyer."
"Learning from the best," you shrugged. As Matt lifted a hand to his chest in false appreciation, you gave him a clueless smile that was equally false. "Foggy, of course."
"Right," Matt breathed, rolling his eyes. You giggled, a thread of giddiness running through you.
Matt.
Matt Murdock.
I'm bringing Matthew Murdock to a gala.
As my goddamn date.
Matt pressed his lips together in a smirking smile, stirring you from your thoughts. "Maybe you can buy me that real drink you promised."
"Won't even have to buy it. As an agent, I get my first drink free."
"And you'd give it to me? I'm honored."
"Please," you purred. "It's purely charity, out of the goodness of my heart, for that awful beer you put up with somehow." He groaned lightly, and you smiled in satisfaction. "We also get dinner. It isn't usually the best of the best, but it's food."
Matt nodded. "Do I need to pay for a ticket?"
"Nope."
Catching the flit in your heartbeat, Matt's brows lifted. He took a teasingly authoritative step toward you, his tone stern. "Do I?"
"No. I've got it," you insisted. You didn't want Matt paying for his ticket, not after everything he'd already done for you. "You're discounted as my plus-one, anyway."
Matt shifted his jaw as if considering whether to fight you on paying for him - but his words carried a different sort of tone, drawing another flirty shift into the conversation.
"Do you do this for all the plus-ones you bring to this special gala?"
A light laugh left you, breathy and almost shy - again.
Only man who can seem to do that to me.
Ridiculous.
"Actually," you began, your hands clasping together. "I've never… brought someone to this before."
"Really?"
Narrowing your eyes, you smiled. "Consider yourself lucky, Murdock."
"Oh, believe me," Matt nodded, his grin lazy and drawn up in mild self-assurance. "I certainly do."
Your smile was almost too strong for you to speak again. With how distracting Matt's grin was, how distracting it was to see him standing there, still in his sweatpants - sweatpants he'd curled around you in last night and was bound to tonight - it took all your might and focus to deep-breath yourself back to speaking capacity.
"So," you lilted, "you're prepared to suffer through putting on your best suit, sitting through a speech or three, hitting the FBI dance floor, and helping me fend off any danger that may or may not arise?"
"Absolutely," Matt affirmed immediately, acceptance strong in his tone, in his smile, stretching from the glow of his grin to the glimmer of his eyes.
And then, another affirmation, one that sent spirals of smoky glitter through your core and an even broader grin over your lips:
"It's a date."