Work Text:
You didn’t stir as Matt dropped through the skylight in the living room; your heartbeat gave a bare indication that you detected his presence, it’s sure beating slow and steady — with comfort and the safety of home — only interrupted by a slight jump.
You were eating cereal by the kitchen island, its lukewarm milk indicating that you’d been sitting there for a while as you chewed slowly, distracted by a show on your phone where it was propped on the bowl of fruit in the centre of the slab of marble. Tearing your eyes away from the screen, you took another spoon full of cheerios, the honey and dairy milk mixing to fill the air with a scent that reminded Matt of Saturday mornings when he was younger — waking up to his father watching reruns of football games or boxing matches he’d missed while out that week, migrating to the kitchen when Matt would ask him to pour his cereal for him.
Your feet swayed back and forth under the stool, an absent habit stirring up air currents and hints of your ‘scentless’ body wash, a strange manufactured smell, wafted towards him. You’d showered not too long before you’d grabbed your bowl of cereal and he smiled thinking of what songs you would’ve sang in there, another habit he’d grown to love. He almost chuckled thinking about how annoying he thought it was at first before you’d gotten a song stuck in his head and he’d found himself (read: foggy pointed it out) humming it at work. It was like having a little piece of you there with him and suddenly it wasn’t so annoying anymore.
Coming up behind you, his left hand kneading a sore muscle in his abdomen, you made a noise of acknowledgement, raising the spoonful of cheerios to his face. He went to eat it, his mask rubbing against his cheek strangely as he stuck his head out to take the milk and soggy hoops of cereal into his mouth. He bumped his face against the side of your forehead as you went to take another spoonful, a clumsy attempt at a kiss with a mouthful of food that had you murmuring, “Yuck, you’re sweaty. Go take a shower.”
He swallowed and chuckled, giving you a proper kiss on your forehead and trailing down your face, branding your skin with his lips. Your left eye closed when he made his way past it and you licked at bits of milk in the corner of your mouth before he could kiss there.
“Can’t hang out with you first?” he asked, his voice intentionally dropping an octave, intentionally low and enticing where his lips remained by your ear. Seasoned Matt-sitter, you shook your head, chewing on your cheerios as you erected a hand over your full mouth and spoke anyway.
“Nuh-uh- I showered and I don’t wanna shower again,” your voice was muffled by cereal but a small smile played on your lips. He groaned, the sound full of sarcastic pain and layered over a whispered, “ Damn ,” before he walked backwards towards the counter where you’d left the box of cereal out. Going back to your show, you tapped the left side of the screen a few times for the bits you missed while dealing with Matt’s tomfoolery. He opened the fridge for some milk, bathing the otherwise dark room in a harsh white light that had you squinting.
“What’re you watching?” he enquired, his back still turned as he poured milk into his cereal.
“I dunno, some random show Jessica ‘n Luke recommended,” you mumbled, not looking up, “Never trusting their taste again. I think being parents has ruined it.”
Matt let out a sudden little ha , “I’ll be sure to let them know.”
“Don’t! Jessica’ll kill me,” you put all the sarcastic fear you could into your voice, earning yourself one of his larger laughs, his head thrown backwards.
Putting the milk back in the fridge he joined you at the only other stool at the kitchen island. You watched as he sat beside you; with the apartment dark — save for the lights that came with living in New York, flooding through the glass walls of this borderline penthouse along with the light from your phone, dimmed by a white light filter — you could understand how people could be afraid of daredevil, his silhouette large and looming. Despite your realisation, your body didn’t skip a beat, affection running so deeply you smiled when you caught a strand of fiery hair peeking out the top of the mask.
Going to poke him in the abdomen as he passed you, he swatted at your finger before you could even unhinge your elbow to reach out to him.
“Not when I’m holding my dinner, thank you very much,” he said a-matter-of-a-factly.
“You need a better diet,” you shot back.
“And risk comfortable nights like this? No chance.” he said, sitting down and scooching over closer to you before wiggling atop the stool, getting comfortable. Once situated, you pinched the edge of his mask and pulled it off, setting it on the counter in front of you — not missing the way his shoulder muscles tensed up slightly at the contact. His hair was a mess , it’d grown long enough to push behind his ears but he didn’t make any attempt to in the moment, the larger amount of it hanging down in his face. He went to take a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, using the back of his palm to toss it over his head and when it laid there so perfectly, almost styling itself, you rolled your eyes.
He was still listening to the show you had on, his eyebrows raising as it got to its climax and it was only when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it, that you noticed you were staring and looked away.
“Had your fill, hm?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you grumbled, setting your chin in your palm, your elbow planted on the counter top, “Your nose is crooked, y’know.”
“And yet you still call me pretty everyday,” he hummed, taking another spoonful into his mouth. You leaned forward and took his chin between your fingers, kissing the side of his nose, right beneath his eye. It was clumsy but he smiled, his cheeks full of cheerios. He’s adorable .
“Those facts can coexist,” you spoke against his skin, “I love your crooked nose.”
He swallowed, humming. “and I love you.”
You raised your eyebrows and nodded before sarcastically adding, “You tell me everyday.”