flightsoffandom

[flightsoffandom]

This imagery came out of nowhere I’m sorry. 😂

[flightsoffandom]

Hugh Dancy as Will Graham Hannibal Season 1 / April 4, 2013 - June 20, 2013

[flightsoffandom]

hydraulic pressure | matt murdock x reader

summary: matt murdock breaks in your new shared apartment the best way he knows how: by breaking you in it first.

tags: shower sex, slightly mean!matt, piv, spanking, impact play, matt spits in your mouth, light manhandling, overstimulation, degradation, praise.

a/n: dedicated to @sweetdolliam, @violet--aether, and @ddprivate! thank you for sharing written works on this platform through reblogs recently <3 you are every author's dream. may you have many matt murdock wet dreams. gif by @matttmurdock.

the new apartment is perfect.

it has big windows, high ceilings, a little reading nook in the corner that’s all yours—but most importantly, it has a rainfall shower. and you can’t shut up about it.

matt laughs as you dart ahead of him, shedding clothes in an excitable, frantic trail toward the bathroom. you’re practically vibrating with excitement, clumsy in your eagerness as you spin on your heel, pulling him in behind you, fingers tight around his wrist.

“matt—matt, you have to feel this! rainfall shower!”

he humors you, as he always does, stepping in after you.

his mouth tugs at one corner, amused and patient as you twist the knobs, giggling as warm water cascades from above, still half-dressed, the water soaking your underwear and his dress shirt.

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hair damp with your little trick, voice thick with amusement, “you’re not really expecting me to say no now, are you?”

that makes you giggle, and you step out. before he can do it himself, you’re fumbling with his belt, struggling to tug it loose.

“easy,” he clicks his tongue, catching both your wrists in one large, warm palm. “look at you, shaking like a leaf.”

—

the second you both step naked into the shower, he’s already got plans.

his hands find your waist, grip sure and steady, and just as you’re about to remark on the strong water pressure, he pulls you in, presses you flush against his chest, cock half-hard and growing against the fat of your thighs.

his mouth dips to your ear, lips brushing the shell as his stubble scrapes along your skin, his breath hot. “oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, low. “we’re gonna break this place in right.”

he tilts your chin up, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw—sloppy, his tongue pushing into your mouth. he pulls away, your chin in hand.

“open,” he says, and when you do, he spits into it, and then captures your tongue with his, swirling your saliva with his and the water all around you.

then he slowly guides you onto him, the stretch making you lightheaded.

“silly thing,” he chuckles low against your mouth. “so excited about our new shower. think you’ll still like it when you can’t stand in it anymore?”

his hand splays at the small of your back, the other sliding under one of your thighs to lift your leg he can pull you closer onto him.

you whimper his name, already losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“mm?” he hums, pretending to consider, a finger pinching your bottom lightly. “think i’ll fuck you right here. get you nice and wet—” his lips brush your jaw, the rasp of his stubble making you shudder, “—and then take you in every other room in this place. against the counter. the wall. new bed…”

you whimper, fingers digging into his broad shoulders. he’s impossibly strong, holding you up. he chuckles—low, indulgent—before shifting, increasing his pace.

“gonna make good on what i said,” he grunts. “fuck you in every inch of this place.”

his cross swings between you, catching the light. your half-lidded gaze locks on it, dazed with pleasure.

as with everything, he notices.

“here,” he murmurs, reaching up to press the cool metal between your lips. “in your mouth, baby. there we go.”

your lips part automatically, letting him slide it between your teeth. the cool metal rests heavy on your tongue—a reminder, an anchor.

“keep it in there, baby.” a hand slides down your hip, gripping, grounding. 

then he moves again.

slow, devastating thrusts, rolling his hips just enough to have you gasping, struggling to hold onto the pendant between your lips. his pace is deliberate, teasing, enjoying the way your lips tremble around the gold, drool slipping down your chin along with rainfall.

“—move with me,” he rasps.

the force of his thrusts sends wet slaps echoing through the shower, water cascading down your bodies, making everything slick, making his cock glide into you, obscene and easy.

you almost sob, your forehead pressing against the muscle of his clavicle, water blurring your vision.

“ach. drop it,” he warns, teeth grazing your ear, “and i’ll make sure your little cunt pays for it.”

and you try—you really do—but your body has other plans, trembling, clutching at him desperately as pleasure builds thick and heavy in your core. your whimpers are muffled by his skin, little broken noises that only seem to spur him on.

but then—it slips.

it clatters against his chest, breaking the spell for half a second. the sound he makes is soft, chiding, and then he pulls out.

before you can even plead, he's turning you around and his palm is between your legs, fingers pressing into your swollen clit, teasing before—

slap.

sharp, searing, pleasure-pain that makes your whole body jolt, makes you cry out, makes your cunt clench around nothing.

“—come here. nowhere to run in here,” he chuckles, voice thick with fondness and something much filthier.

his palm finds your clit, delivering a sharp slap that making you jolt. the sting lingers, sharp, electric, and he soothes it with teasing fingers, circling your clit before landing another strike.

but then—you slip.

your feet skid out from under you with a startled yelp, and in an instant, his arms are locking around you, holding you upright. he laughs—a real, genuine chuckle, vibrating against your back.

“stay still for me,” he murmurs, a little quieter, fond. 

“here. stand on the other leg.” he lifts you, one arm hooked under a thigh, keeping you spread open while his free hand goes right back to work, spanking your pussy raw, angling you so the rainfall hits you just so, letting the water hit your clit as his fingers never stop, never slow.

his fingers tease, slap, coax, until you’re writhing—shuddering out between broken sobs of pleasure.

“yeah?” he chuckles, breath warm against your temple. “you like that?”

“that’s it, baby.” he swirls a thumb hard against you. “thaaat’s it.” 

“cum it out, silly girl.”

when the pleasure makes one of your legs kick on their own, he grunts, keeping you in his hold.

“come on.” he grits. “niiice big one for me.”

“cum—it—out.”

and you do—you shatter in his arms, a broken sob of pleasure leaving you as the stimulation overwhelms, pleasure crashing through you so hard you can barely breathe. your head drops to his shoulder, his breath hot against your wet skin as he holds you through it, body trembling in his arms.

but he’s not done.

he sets you down only briefly—long enough for you to slide onto your knees, long enough for him to fist his cock, guiding it between your parted lips. you don’t even think—you just open, eager and dazed, tongue darting out to taste him.

“good—girl,” he groans, fisting his fingers into your hair, holding you steady as he thrusts deep, fucking your mouth the same way he fucked your pussy—slow at first, then rougher, deeper, until your eyes water, until spit drips down your chin, until he’s groaning—wrecked—pulling you flush against him as he spills down your throat.

by the time you’re done, the water’s turned lukewarm, your limbs weak, your body spent. matt chuckles, hauling you up against his chest, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“we need another shower,” you pant, voice hoarse.

matt chuckles.

“hmm,” he says, thoughtful, dry. “maybe a new water bill.”

masterlist

[flightsoffandom]

watching a movie with matt but relationship’s early and he still tells you he can’t see anything at all asking you to explain a sex scene in a movie on tv PLSSS LMAOOO

-🪱

“what else is happening?”

you squint watching matt’s lips curve further into his smirk as you describe the scene in front of the two of you. you don’t miss his hand rubbing soft circles against your inner thigh, but then again, you’re shameless in having your legs this open for him to explore.

“he… he’s turned her onto her stomach and his hand’s moving up her skirt,” you mutter back. for a moment, you think matt’s fingers are going to slide their way up to your sleep shorts from his brief pause, but instead, he changes the direction of his circles. now counterclockwise on your skin.

“sounds like it,” he confirms as he listens to the moans beginning to fill the room.

“she’s… she’s grinding against his hand, cheek on the floor. he keeps watching her with… fascination, i guess?” you try. this is making you so dizzy to think about. as she whines and pleads, closer to her actress orgasm, you can’t help but think been there, girl.

“she’s close,” he adds, and it makes you squirm when he merely moves his fingers an inch up, just at the edge of your shorts.

“matt,” you say suddenly, no longer preoccupied with the movie as you lean your chest against his arm. he lets out a long sigh hearing the louder moan, signifying climax. he’s too familiar with it.

“she’s a good actress,” he murmurs, his fingers finally trailing up your shorts, pressing to the wet patch of your panties. he doesn’t have to gloat out loud. his face says it all. that amusement he has written there constantly.

“shh… keep talkin’ to me.” matt moves your panties aside as you breathlessly describe the aftermath between the on screen couple. he’s one digit, knuckle deep before the second act. of course he purposely chose a movie full of sex scenes off foggy’s recommendation.

he’ll have to thank him later.

[flightsoffandom]

Neighbor!Frank is a MAJOR Daddy When When You Come Home Drunk (part 2)

This is the much-requested second part of this and when I tell you that this is literally my favorite thing that I've written, I ain't kiddin'. Like this is pure protector, daddy, comfort, HOT, sdjfnsdkjnfdsklj.

Neighbor!Frank x {drunk}Reader

Word Count: 1320 (6 min read)

----------------------------

Uh oh, you were definitely gonna throw up.

"Use the bucket sweetheart," Frank shouts from the kitchen where he's preparing you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Had you said that out loud?

"Yes," responds back, setting the peanut butter and jelly in front of you and handing you the bucket he had placed there after plopping you on his couch five minutes ago.

And so you do, throwing up in a bucket in Frank's living room, him expertly gathering back your hair and ready with a napkin to clean your face.

"Sorry," you mumble, tears in your eyes (throwing up always made you cry for some reason). Frank dabs gently at your chin while his eyes find yours, those tiny crinkles forming in the corner when he smiles just a bit.

"Eh it's alright doll, seen a lot worse," he responds, standing to flush the contents of the bucket down the toilet.

He walks back into the living room and reaches to gently lift and guide you by the shoulders, eventually looping an arm around your waist. He starts walking you down his hall when you ask "where we goin'? I liked the couch."

"I bet you did but you got some on your pretty dress there so we gotta get ya' cleaned up sweetheart," he replies, guiding you to his bedroom where he seats you on his bed and rummages through his dresser to fish out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

He places them on the bed beside you and lands his hands on his hips, assessing your inebriation with squinted eyes before asking "You alright to get yourself changed honey?"

Your eyes are heavy-lidded and now The Tiredness™️ has set in but you give Frank a slow nod and a thumbs up. He waits a beat to ensure you are, in fact, capable and you use the moment to slump sideways on Frank's warm bed and close your eyes with a smile.

"Sweetheart," he gently nudges.

"Ssshhhhhhh," you tell him, your finger landing on your pursed lips like a librarian.

"Ok, come on honey, up up. Can't sleep in that dress," he says while his hands scoop into the pit of your arms and he sits you upright. Your head lolls forward while you let out a indecipherable whine.

"Need you to look at me doll" he says, his hands on either side of your face while he squats low in front of the bed so he's eye-level with you. You will your eyes to open and concentrate on Frank's molten brown ones with every ounce of concentration you have. You take a moment to boop Frank's broad nose while he's inches in front of your face.

Stifling a laugh he explains, "I'm gonna help, alright, but ya' gotta listen." You again give him an understanding nod as you feel him put his hands on your hips and gently tug you to a standing position. "Alright, arms up honey," he instructs you. You comply and feel Frank gently grab the fabric of your dress skimming your thighs to shimmy it up your body, past your shoulders, and slowly over your head. His fingers are respectful but the tips tickle the underside of your arms and you jolt your arm down at the sensation.

"Eh eh, arms up," he reminds you again before finishing the task. Even intoxicated you can sense Frank's respectful restraint, his eyes never landing long on any one spot of your body and instead almost always on your face, a small smile at his lips. Standing before him in your bra and underwear, Frank reaches past you for the pants folded on the bed.

"Hands on my shoulders sweetheart," he murmurs a little quieter this time, squatting low in front of you, arms outstretched with the pants. And again you comply, your hands landing on the broad, warm expanse of his shoulders, feeling the shift of his taut muscles beneath your palms as you steady yourself. He holds the pants out just in front of you and you know to step in, the way a five year might when getting dressed with a parent. He tugs the pants up your body, his hands running the length of your silhouette before the pants land on the curve of your hips. He tugs the drawstrings to tie a quick knot, his deft fingers tickling the skin of your stomach before he lets his hands land briefly on your hips.

"Doin' ok?" he rumbles, and suddenly the air in the room is warm and all you hear is your own breathing. You nod in confirmation, afraid if you speak the moment will evaporate into a poof of air.

He takes the T-shirt from the bed and his hands find the hole for the head as he tugs it over your head, his hands guiding each arm into the holes of the shirt. The rest of the shirt pools over your body, landing nearly at mid-thigh. His hands find your face again, gently brushing the hair out of your eyes.

"All better sweetheart?" he asks with his brows furrowed, like the clothes were a balm to a wound and he was a paramedic. Again you nod, your eyes locked to his in a way that felt critical to keep breathing.

"M'gonna get you a glass of water ok? Want you to drink some before bed," he says, his eyes boring into yours over his low brows, awaiting a confirmation from you. You offer a meek "ok," before he walks out of the room and you still find it spinning in front of you.

While Frank putters in the kitchen you fumble to reach the clasp of your bra, desperate for the unmatched comfort of removing it before you plan to faceplant in Frank's bed. You find the clasp impossible to navigate in your current state, your fingers uncooperative as sleep claimed to take you entirely.

Frank returns and places the water on the small bedside table before turning to you, confusion crossing his face at your hunched position, arms wound behind your back. "you alright honey?" he says gently, rounding his way to you.

"Um.. can you... sorry," you mumble, sleep so fucking close, so desperate to just get in the fucking bed. "Nevermind," you mumble, exasperated and ready to melt into the bed, bra or not.

"Uh, yeah, c'mere honey," he offers, sheepishness barely detectible in his tone as he steps behind you. His fingers are barely a whisper on your back as his hands slip up into the T-shirt and deftly unclasp your bra. He tugs the item gently down the length of your arms, his wrist just grazing the side of your breast as you let out a small huff of air from your lungs. With the bra off, he gently tugs the T-shirt back down your from and runs a smooth hand down your back. "That better?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like rocks tumbling, as he turns you to find your eyes again.

You nod and offer a "thank you," more air than sound. He waits a beat, looking you over once to make sure he didn't overstep and when he knows you're ok he says, "Alright, let's get you in bed."

You dutifully climb into the bed and collapse onto the pillow, inhaling deeply and smelling laundry detergent and "Frank." You let out a small mmmmm before your eyes close of their own accord. Frank flips off the lights and rustles on the ground below, arranging a makeshift bed on the ground beside you, staying close by in case you were sick in the night.

You muster just enough remaining energy to open one eye, your face smashed into his pillow, and mumble "not the floor, please Frankie." Your eyes close and the last thing you hear is "I'm here sweetheart," as the bed dips beside you and sleep takes you completely.

[flightsoffandom]

Now That We Don't Talk | Frank Castle x F!Reader

BONUS FIC

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Read Is It Over Now? for better clarity.

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader (past Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Summary: You go home with the guy from the bar, and he makes you forget about your ex.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "attagirl", slight Dom!Frank, song references, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: You wanted a part 2, so you're getting a part 2! Anyway, I don't write Frank often, so I hope it isn't too bad. It's also not as spicy as you probably expected, but I wanted this to fit the vibe of the previous fic (link above). You don't need to have read it to understand this, but it is highly recommended because some references might confuse you. Thank you all for taking part in this event!

You believed that your life had ended when you lost him. He painted your world in the brightest colors, but by breaking your heart, he took them away. All that was left to see was a boring shade of gray in a sea of sadness. 

Matt told you from the start that being with him wouldn’t be easy. You were willing to try. He needed someone, and you wanted to be that someone to him. You accepted him unconditionally. 

In the end, giving everything wasn’t enough. He chose her over you, and the castle you two had built came crashing down on you while he stood idly by. 

You’re not a bitter person, you have never been, but he made you fall for him; he made you believe that there was hope for the future and that you would grow old together. He stole years of your life in which you were trying to save him from himself. In return, he took the best care of you, but that doesn’t matter much now that he has taken your heart and shattered it like a glass of red wine on a white cloth. 

When you left him, you thought the distance would kill you. You truly believed that this was the end of everything, not just your relationship with the man you thought was the one but yourself as well. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he said the day you found out the ugly truth.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. The pain burned brighter than the sun, and it dried your eyes before they could even shed a tear.  

He argued with you that, “It was just a kiss,” but you not once believed him. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No.”

It was at that moment you lost all of your trust in him—in what could have been or should have been the two of you, forever—and it was also the moment that Matt realized he had lost you. 

You believed that he took everything you ever were that day because your life revolved around him, and only him. 

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said, begging you not to leave. 

“Fuck you!” you had never sworn at him until that day.

You still remember the way the necklace with his initial felt when you tore it off your neck and tossed it at his feet. He knew you better than anyone, and you felt like you finally belonged somewhere. That necklace was a symbol of your undying love, or so you thought, anyway. Now you know that he may have known you to some extent, but you didn’t matter enough for him not to climb into bed with his ex-girlfriend.

You couldn’t even look at the necklace. He told you, “This is a piece of my heart,” when he gave it to you on a snowy Christmas Day three years ago. You cherished it the same way you cherished his soul. He was broken, but he was your broken man. He was everything to you. 

Matt Murdock was your moon, your son, and your entire universe. It all seemed far away that you could ever feel about anyone this way again. 

You saw a future with him. Married, a house in the suburbs, and working with Foggy and Karen in their new law office after everything they’ve been through. You were a hopeful person back then.

Karen told you that he went to a party a couple of weeks after you separated. He didn’t look like himself. You wonder if he felt anxious, knowing his only source of comfort was no longer there. You wouldn’t know until you asked him, but you refused to answer his calls.

Part of you felt euphoric, knowing that he was broken too, but you also felt angry because he was the reason you found your heart beyond repair as he stepped on it like a burning cigarette, and in your mind, he had no right to feel this way.

You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock! I wish we’d never met.

“Another one for the lady,” a voice says beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears and a full one slides in its place. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He gets up from his seat and sits down on the empty bar stool next to you. “You look miserable,” he says.

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand. You introduce yourself. 

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

You thought nothing and no one could pull you out of the dark hole your breakup tossed you into. You believed yourself dead and long beyond the point of redemption. You accepted it. You swallowed in your misery, giving up on finding a new purpose in your life because the one great thing you had was no longer yours. He fell into a grave that he dug for himself, and he dragged your relationship down with him.

Looking into Frank’s eyes now though, you no longer feel like a corpse. And you realize that you are not dead, not at all—you are very much alive. 

The door almost breaks off its hinges when Frank shoves you into his apartment and back against it. The decision to come back to his place was fueled by a lot of alcohol and the way he looked at you. You were desperate to feel something other than the hollow ache that has consumed you every day for months. His eyes told you that he may be able to give you just what you need, no strings attached.

The way he kisses you breathes new life into your mangled soul. He swallows your mouth and your needy moans with his own, and his tongue forces itself down your throat as your teeth clash in a fight for dominance. You’re both tipsy, but he seems to know just what he’s doing.

His calloused fingers burn against your skin. In the back of your mind, Matt is still so present. His hands are the ones you can’t help but compare him to. 

The way he used to kiss you before fucking you into the mattress for hours on end, switching between tasting and fingering you until you were whimpering and begging him for release might have screwed you up forever. He told you one night that he wanted to ruin you for any other man. Back then, you both still believed that you would grow old together.

It is truly ironic how fast things change when you are truly happy and believe that nothing can burst your bubble.

Frank’s large hands brace against the door on either side of your head. His lips disappear from yours. “Who is he?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel.

You meet his eyes, unsure of what to say. Your mind is everywhere but here, and yet it is right with him. Whether it is alcohol or self-loathing, you’re not sure. 

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re trynna forget someone. Who is it?”

He is a lot more perceptive than you thought.

You swallow, blood rushing to your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you didn’t what? Think? You feel utterly pathetic.

Instead of throwing you out though, like you expected he would, he reaches out to caress your cheek. His eyes soften as they gaze at you. “Whoever he is, he obviously didn’t treat you right,” he says. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppin’ you, but if you wanna forget whoever is fuckin’ with your head, I’ll make damn sure you forget his name by the end of tonight.”

There is something excitingly terrifying about the look in his eyes. A shiver runs down your spine, and your thighs clench at the thought of feeling his hands somewhere other than your face. Somewhere other than your hips and thighs. His kisses knocked the air out of your lungs. You want more, you need more, but you don’t know if you can take it. Not him—even though you’re also not quite sure if you can take him—but also the offer he is presenting to you. As lucrative as it sounds, fuck, you are not over Matt. And you’re not sure if you can ever forget him.

You want to though. You have to. And you want to be thoroughly fucked into the next day and forget the name of the man that makes you so fucking angry.  

“Talk to me,” Frank coaxes your head toward him. “Do you wanna forget the useless bastard that made you feel this way?”

“Yes,” you manage a breathless whisper.

“Did he hurt you? Break your heart?”

You nod.

“You deserve better.” His grip tightens, and his hand slowly slides to your neck. “I’m not, but I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget his name and scream mine loud enough for this fuckin’ city to know who’s making you feel good. ‘s that what you want, hm?”

He’s dangerous, but that has never turned you off, even when it should have.

And when you finally open your mouth and tell him, “Yes, please. Make me forget,” the switch inside of him flicks completely.

He takes his time to worship between your thighs. His tongue buried in your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit without mercy. He eats you out roughly but sensually, keeping you spread wide open for him with both of his hands and a force unmatched—like a five-course meal, and he has all the time in the world for you. 

You’re lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to buck your hips against his mouth because no matter what he does, you’re on fire and you just can’t get enough, but he is so powerful that you can’t fight him. He has you at his mercy, your body in his hands, and all the control in the world over you. 

You pull at his hair, moaning helplessly as he feasts on your pussy. You’re going mad, you’re sure. He’s doing this on purpose, driving you to the edge before stopping the wave. Frank waits until your orgasm is just far enough for you to last a little longer, kissing the inside of your thighs, and then he dives right back into your wet folds. He thrusts his tongue into your hole, licks up to your clit, and then sucks on the swollen bundle until your legs are shaking in his hands. 

“Jesus, Frank!” you moan out. A trail of sweat runs from your temple down to your breasts. 

Your hands search for something to hold onto, tangling in the sheets and the pillow behind your head before pulling at the fabric. You tried pulling at his hair, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a desperate shout as your orgasm crashes into you. 

“Attagirl.”

Your brain is hulled into an endless fog, but Frank doesn’t stop. 

Soon, you’re on your stomach, gripping the headboard as he pounds into you from behind. He is long and thick, and with every thrust, he forces your face deeper into the pillows. Your eyes have rolled back into your head. He hits that spongy spot inside of you whenever he pleases, and the gurgled moans from the pit of your throat spur him on to speed up, change the angle and thrust even deeper. 

He pulls out all the way, thrusting back into you with full force until he is completely sheathed in your pussy. Your heat consumes him, and he sees red. But so do you. He has reduced you to a few incoherent thoughts, babbling his name in the wake of the drool that is dripping from the corner of your mouth. 

And when you come this time, it is pulled back straight against his chest with his fingers rubbing circles over your already abused clit. You come with a scream of his name, and nothing else matters but his cum in your cunt and the unbelievable depth of the feelings he is eliciting within you. 

You drop to the mattress like a wet towel, covered in his and your cum, and your sweat that has mingled with his. His smell lingers in the sheets as you bury your nose in it. He collapses on top of you. The crushing weight of him offers a sense of comfort that almost makes you cry. And he holds you as though you mean more to him than a One-Night stand he picked up to help forget a man who broke her heart. 

“What’d he do?” Frank asks into the silence later that night.

You are lying on his bed, covered by only his thin sheets. He’s sitting on the other side, nursing a glass of Bourbon. He held you, he cleaned you up, and he offered you some clothes, which you denied. He is kinder to you than you thought he would be, and it warms your heart in a way you can only deem utterly dangerous with how vulnerable you are. Broken people make dumb decisions, and you do not ever want to go through the same pain again. 

At least you know that you are still desired. That you’re not dead. Perhaps, there is still hope for a better future. You made Matt Murdock your life for the longest time, and maybe, as you realize now, that was a mistake. There is more to life than him, and you can live without him. That it took fucking a stranger after weeks of being miserable baffles you, but some things are just meant to happen. Maybe it was destiny, after all. 

You look at him when Frank repeats his question. “What’d the bastard do, hm?” he asks.

Where do you even start? 

When you last checked in on him through your mutual friends—you know it wasn’t the best choice, but you couldn’t help it—they told you that grew his beard, and he last had a haircut when you were still together. It suits him, apparently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at a picture of him.

Foggy told you that he isn’t taking home girls when they go to a bar, even though he could have all of them. He’s sad. He drowns himself at work and beats his fist bloody every night. The old you would have jumped up to help him. And it is true that you will probably always love him, in a way, but you refuse to crawl back to him.

The more you gave, the more he took, and at the first chance at getting a woman he claimed to no longer love when she came back into your lives, he took her. He couldn’t have wanted you as badly as he claimed if that was enough for him to flush years of loving each other and going through hell together down the drain, knowing it would break your heart into a million pieces. That is probably the worst part about all of it.

You take a deep breath. Frank is still staring at you intently, waiting for an answer. “He fucked his ex,” you finally confess. “Four years of being together and it still wasn’t enough.”

His grip tightens around his glass. “Want me to pay him a visit?”

You chuckle, but you know that he would. “No. But thank you.”

Matt was fading long before you left. Even if you did choose to forgive him, you couldn’t be his friend, so things are better the way they are now. You paid the ultimate price for sacrificing your heart to a man who had too many struggles to deal with himself.

In the silence, you find a little light. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like Jazz anymore,” you say. 

Frank takes another sip, asking, “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Jazz. He loves it. He…He’s special. Well, he was to me, anyway.”

“Special? Fuck, the guy did a number on you, huh?”

You scoff. “You have no idea.”

The only way back to your dignity is to learn how to be without him. You have to turn yourself back into a mystery and learn how to trust someone again before your fragile heart breaks again.

“You still talk?” Frank asks.

You shake your head. “No. It’s over now,” you say. “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Told ya. You deserve better.”

“Nah.” You reach for his glass, taking a sip of the bitter liquor that you used to despise. Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stretch his leg toward him. 

You need to keep forgetting Matt’s name, no matter what it takes or the reminiscing will surely kill you.

“Right now,” you murmur with an irresistible smirk that makes him leap at you as soon as the words pass your lips, “I just need to forget he ever existed by screaming someone else’s name.” 

Frank captures your lips in a bruising kiss, leaving you speechless and breathless all the same. 

Matt chased you, he caught you, and then he lost you. And now that Frank has you, you never want to look back. 

Now that you don't talk.

I don't have a tag list for Frank, so I'm just leaving this here.

[flightsoffandom]

Is It Over Now? | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader ; (hinted) Frank Castle x Reader ; Elektra Natchios x Matt Murdock

Summary: Matt cheated on you, and you are trying to navigate through it.

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending, break-up, mention of cheating, song references (Taylor Swift), inspired by 'Is It Over Now?', (some) Matt "slander", (somewhat) suicidal thoughts, alcohol consumptions, hint at smut

Word Count: 1.7k

A/n: 1989 TV came out and I am losing my shit. Is It Over Now? Is my new favorite song and I just had a brain fart that made this. You can read this if you're a Swiftie and catch the references or just read it without listening to the song. It works either way.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

To be fair, there was a time when you thought it would never end. The thought of ever having a last kiss with him would have killed you back then. 

He told you that you were the love of his life. You believed him. He was yours, certainly. You can’t deny that.

You were happy, you laughed and cried together, and part of you figured that if you ever broke up, you would find a way to work through it somehow. 

Maybe in another universe, you are still together. Maybe in another universe, you two are still friends. Maybe in another universe, you never had to lose each other.

In this reality though—in this brutal, unforgivable reality—everything changed in a matter of a day. And there is nothing you can do about it now.

Your flower was withering in secret, and you didn’t realize what it was doing to you. Every time you woke up alone, every canceled date, every time he called you and told you he wouldn’t make it home tonight, it was sure to build up to this. 

But this, whatever the hell this is, it hurts beyond compare. 

He said you were a rose, but now that you look in the mirror, you only see a rotten mess.

The past few months have done this to you. He has done this to you. The paper airplanes crashed and burned. There is nothing left but pure bitterness and this hatred you have toward yourself and him; you just want to land your fist in his face, and then maybe your own because how could he hurt you like that after making you love him so very much? 

You loved him so much, but now you doubt he ever loved you back. 

Date after date, coffee after coffee, nights spent together on his couch and in his bed, sharing laughter, sharing tears, it all feels like a hoax now. 

You held him when he was unconscious, stitched him up and told him he was going to be okay. Where was he when you were bleeding out from your own battles? You wonder.

His smile used to be your safe haven, the epitome of innocence and strength, but now it only makes you angry. It makes you resent him. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but you still do.

So much has changed, and all it took was one day. 

One day. 

Three hundred days, all wasted in one. 

If you think about it, you spent almost an entire year attached to each other’s side. You moved in together. You kissed, you had sex, you shared secrets you wouldn’t have told anyone else. You helped him hide away from the world, from his enemies, made the world go quiet, and comforted him while he cried. You waited up, you worried, and you almost lost him more times than you can count, and you still stayed.

When no one else would take a chance on him, when he felt everyone was against him and going to leave him, you acted as his rock. You stayed.

You thought he was the one. 

And then it just… ended. 

You gave him the benefit of the doubt when you found her in his dress shirt on his leather couch. The very same couch you two often shared passionate nights on, but at the same time it used to be a symbol of so much more than that.

You let him explain. He explained that she got seriously hurt after showing up out of nowhere, and he just wanted to help without putting you at risk. You believed him because that is the kind of man he was in your head. He was going through some things, things you couldn’t possibly understand, and she was the connection. You tried to understand. In the process of understanding him though, you lost yourself. 

That is something you will never forgive him for. Making you care, making you love him, and unintentionally making you give up on yourself while he continued to break your heart.

You never wanted this to end, never wanted him to go, but in the end, it was the only way. Sticking around wasn’t an option anymore, you have to remind yourself.

He did the one thing he promised he would never do. He broke your heart and your trust into a million pieces that you are now left to pick up on your own. 

You didn’t want to see it before. You were too in love to open your eyes.

He wouldn’t do such a thing, right? You remember repeating that to yourself, to your friends, to Foggy and Karen, but Karen saw him with her, too, and she gave you little hope.

Still, you believed in him. You believed in his morale and his faith. You had faith in him, not even in God but in him and the man he pretended to be—and somehow, he still picked up the knife when you weren’t looking and buried it in your back. 

There were so many signs, but you were blind. So many flashing lights. Red flags. Screaming voices in the back of your head begging you to think. You were in a forest full of trees, yet you saw nothing.

When you came home to find his lips on hers, that’s when you knew. Too little, too late.

He called your name. He told you, “This isn’t what it looks like!” But you lost count of the times he used the same line in relation to her.

To anything, really. He always knew how to talk his way out of something when you were together, although back then, it was mostly harmless.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. “And you turned right back around and fucked her!”

“It was just a kiss,” he argued. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No,” Matt was adamant because he could hear your heart breaking.

The way you spoke to him was so eerily quiet. That was how he knew he lost you, and he tried to fix it with nothing but his hands. 

But that is not how you fix a broken vase. That’s how you make it worse and hurt yourself in the process.

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“No. Fuck you, Matt!”

You tore the necklace with his initial off your neck and tossed it at his feet. You couldn’t even look at it. You wonder what happened to it after he picked it up. 

“I trusted you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I was there when no one else was, and this is how you repay me?” you said.

You should have never let him fool you.

At least you had the decency to keep your lonely nights to yourself.

“Sweetheart, please,” Matt tried to beg again. 

You wouldn’t let him. Thank God you were strong enough to withstand the tears in his eyes. 

“You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock,” was one of the last things you said to him. “I wish we’d never met.”

Three hundred days. You fell in love. You finally knew what love felt like, and then…then he turned around and fucked it all up. 

“We’re done.”

Some days, you still regret it, but if it was so easy for him to toss all this time together down the drain, he probably wasn’t worth it. 

But God, you were so in love. 

Sweet nothings whispered in your ear are gone now. You’re all alone in your bed. No one to cuddle, no one to touch. It has been a while since you heard someone say, “I love you,” and mean it. You felt loved until you didn’t. Until the life he led ate him up. 

Instead of talking, instead of fighting with you, he drove you into a tree. A car that didn’t need sight, and still he crashed. It was winter then, the snow painted red by the blood of your broken heart. Your favorite dress torn up as you tried to escape. He reached for you the same way you reached for him, but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

Part of you feels bad. You could have worked through this if he hadn’t kissed her. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. In the end, it killed you. It killed him. 

You killed each other. 

Though there are still days when you think about jumping off of very high somethings just to get his attention. Just for him to see you. To come to rescue you. It is a hurtful and selfish thought. Yet, you can’t help it. 

He was your first true love. 

Your mind keeps repeating the same sentence: It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told you once. 

He searched for something greater in the bed of someone he loved before. You weren’t his first love. You should have known he would say that and not mean it.

But when exactly did you go wrong?

Was it over when he stopped coming home at night? Was it over when he forgot your anniversary? Was it over when he canceled your birthday dinner? Or was it over when he shoved his throat down his ex-girlfriend’s throat in front of you and acted as if it didn’t matter? Was it over then?

“Another one for the lady,” a voice pipes up beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears, now replaced by a full one. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He sits down next to you. “You look miserable.”

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand with a mention of your name.

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

Broken people make bad decisions, but whether it was over when he took her right there on his couch, or it was over when you told him it was doesn’t matter. 

It is over now, and all you want to do is forget. 

You need to forget Matt Murdock. 

And if this stranger called Frank needs to unbutton your blouse to help you do so, you will gladly follow him home. 

Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @ravenclaw617

(also, I keep tagging you in stuff, but I also think you might like this @blackshadowswriter)

[flightsoffandom]

Heyyy! I cannot stop thinking about Matt and Foggy losing an unbelievably easy case to some dipshit nepotism baby lawyer who is good friends with the judge. Obsessed with the thought of secretary reader coddle and suck off Foggy while Matt lets out his anger in doggy! Please please please do.this and my soul is yours🙌🏾🙌🏾🙌🏾

An Outlet.

A/N: Anon. You have awoken something in me that I didn’t know what laying dormant until now with this request. It’s a short one but enjoyy

Warning/contains: Threesome, ‘Eiffel Tower’ type beat, face fucking, praise kink (kinda), use of ‘good girl’, angry sex, unprotected P in V, cum swallowing, multiple orgasms, NOT BETA READ we die like foggy might in DDBA. LMK if I missed anything <3

Word count: 542

You genuinely had no idea how you ended up here, the last thing you remember was Matt and Foggy coming back into the office pissed after losing- what seemed like a very straight forward -case to a “stupid fucking nepo baby of a lawyer” (Foggy’s words, not yours.) And next thing you know you’re on all fours, with Matt behind you and Foggy in-front.

“H-holy shit-…” The blonde groaned as he practically face-fucked you, his hands tangled in your hair as he looked down at you through half lidded eyes, his breath heavy as he felt you gasp, almost struggling for air.

“That’s it sweetheart,” Matt coaxed from behind, thrusting into you at an almost punishing pace, one of his hands resting on your hip as the other grasped at your shoulder to hold you in place, “Good girl, takin’ us so well…” he continued,

his praise sending a surge of warmth through your body, causing you to let out an almost guttural moan, muffled against Foggy’s cock, the vibrations sending a surge of pleasure through him, causing his grip to tighten on your messy locks as his breath catches.

“Fuck princess you’re gonna kill me…” Foggy panted, his movements not halting for a second as he continues his movements, a mix of spit and cum cascading down your chin, painting a lewd picture as it stains your once pristine blouse.

By this point you’re barely coherent, you’ve never felt so fucked out and overstimulated. Your body is in complete autopilot as Matt’s cock drags against the walls of your overused cunt and Foggy your mouth. You had no idea how many times you’d came- maybe a vague memory of Matt filling you as you struggled to swallow down the load Foggy left you with. You weren’t complaining though, you could stay like this forever. They both needed an outlet, and god did they get one.

Between the two of them, they could barely get enough of you. Not just using you, but feeling you. From Matt’s perspective- though he couldn’t see you, he could sense you. He could feel every little reaction he got out of you, every jolt of pleasure he sent through you with every thrust. He could relish in these feelings for the rest of time, knowing what he’s going to you, the effect he has on you- god it’s addicting.

From Foggy’s perspective it was almost twice as lewd. Your fucked out expression, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, looking up at him through thick lashes, tears pricking at the corner of your lust-filled eyes- everything. Just everything. From the way you looked to the way your mouth fit perfectly around his cock, it awoke something in him. Everything about you was so angelic, it left him with an almost carnal lust for you. Every gasp, every moan, every noise that attempted to escape your mouth sent vibrations through him he didn’t know possible.

You were so fucking perfect in that moment. Every thing they needed. Right fucking there. The perfect pretty little doll for them to use. And god how you loved it. Fucked so dumb and stuck between both your employers. Getting angrily ploughed and practically face-fucked at once. Maybe you’d hope they’d lose again some time soon..

[flightsoffandom]

May I request Matt Murdock x reader. Reader is insecure about their voice since they don't think it's attractive or sounds feminine.

A Voice Like No Other

Matt Murdock x reader

Words: 803

Author’s note: Omg yes yes yes, thank you! I’ve literally been twiddling my thumbs waiting for a request while also trying to think of my own fics ofc. But yay so happy you requested 😊 Okay also this ask is so real because I’ve been told sort of bad things about my voice and I hate hearing how my voice sounds, soooo this is reallllll! Anyways thanks for requesting 😂😂😂

“Your phone’s ringing!” You shouted towards the open doorway that led to Matt’s bedroom. 

You had spent the night at his, (finding the walk to your own place much too far), and you were currently helping with the remaining dishes from breakfast while he was just finishing up his shower. 

“Can you see who it is?” His voice rang back, not recognizing any of the specific ringtones he had saved for any of his usual contacts. 

You glanced back at your hands that were wet, “yeah, just one sec.” 

You tried your best to quickly rinse your hands and dry them but as you dried them the sound came to a stop. 

“Too late.”

“Did they leave a voicemail?”

“Let me check.”

Easily opening Matt’s cell you press the telephone icon before clicking his voicemail list. You were about to reply that the unknown caller did in fact leave a voicemail when something stopped you. 

On the screen you noticed a list of old voicemails with your name attached to every one. 

The fact that there was a list made you slightly nervous but still you hit the most recent one. 

“Hey Matt, it’s me,” immediately your shoulders hunched together as you physically cringed at your own voice before clicking the next one. 

“Hey Matt—“ 

Before that one can continue you click a third one. “Hey—“ you don’t even get past the first word on that one. 

You clicked on a final one that was actually labeled with your name and the words sleepy beside it. 

“Matty Matt Matt,” Jesus, your nose scrunched at the utter disgust you felt before pressing back. 

Matt, finally dressed but hair still not completely dry, comes out from his room. 

You waste no time in asking him the important question.

“Blegh, why do you have like a hundred voicemails from me?”

“A hundred? I don’t have a hundred voicemails, I just have a few.”

Your eyes shift back to the phone in your hand as you start selecting each voicemail. 

“I’m going to delete them real quick.” Matt was quick in grabbing the phone, practically giving you no time to react. “Now why would you even do that?”

“Are you kidding me? I sound terrible. I just listened to the first few and I sound like a scratchy conductor who doesn’t know how to open their mouth right. It’s gross, let me delete them.”

You hold your hand out waiting for the phone, which of course never makes it there. 

“What are you talking about? Your voice isn’t scratchy, and I can understand you perfectly fine.”

“I sound disgusting Matt. Please?”

Right now you probably knew you sounded possibly like the biggest brat in the world but you were honestly getting desperate. Imagining him hearing your annoying voice never hit you before but now you realize it’s probably mostly how he recognizes you. 

“Matt I’m serious, I sound infuriating and loud.” You repeated the words you’ve heard directed at you and your voice in the past. Your voice must’ve sounded desperate as his tone finally matched the seriousness of yours. 

“Woah hey,” his voice was calm now, much more enticing than yours, at least that’s what you thought. “Your voice is not infuriating, alright. It’s not annoying or loud. Do you want to know what I picture when I hear your voice?”

It didn’t matter if you said yes or no, you knew he was going to tell you anyway. 

“When you talk I picture a walk along the beach...the waves sweeping in and out against the land but never is it annoying. And when you’re excited it’s like the sounds of an arcade at the boardwalk nearby. You want to go near that sound. It sounds exciting and fun. Your voice is just like that, so stop discarding it as something unloved. Because I love it.”

You wanted to fight against his praise, tell him what people have said in the past that’s now been ingrained in your head for years but how could you when his words were that sweet. 

“You can keep the voicemails. Just don’t play them around me please.”

“We’ll unpack that later.”

You frowned and he set the phone down, reaching for your arm and pulling you into his warm, loving embrace. 

“Every single part of you, from your voice, to your brains, to your appearance, is remarkable.”

“If you say so,” you reply, a slightly forced smile spreading on your lips. 

“Not just if I say so. There is no question about it.”

You let out a little sigh, letting some of your stress get carried out with it as your head rested against his chest. It was warm, comforting

Who knows, maybe with time and reminders you could learn to dislike your voice just a little bit less. 

[flightsoffandom]

The fact that Hannibal wants to dominate Will and to be dominated by Will at the same time must be confusing for him too. Like he can't decide if he wants to choke that man or if he wants to be choked by him. And he lives with that dilemma every single day.

[flightsoffandom]

[flightsoffandom]

[flightsoffandom]

Actually, I don't want hannibal season 4 because i know it's not gonna be 13 episodes of them fucking raw so what's even the point

[flightsoffandom]

Had my meeting with my advisors. It was, indeed, very depressing. So I finished this to force out a trickle of serotonin in my brain.

It's not a cure, but it certainly helps.

PS yes, it's quite blurry, sorry about that. I literally just drew it in one long strip and didn't think about the consequences.

[flightsoffandom]

abel gideon's BOMBASTIC side eye during will and hannibal's conversation in 1x11 is so fucking funny

he's like "damn this is weird even for me. i wanna see where this goes though"

[flightsoffandom]

clingy demon

[flightsoffandom]

[ Chase: Part 2 ]

dom!matt murdock x f!sub!reader

about this fic: you broke the rules. now it's time to pay the price.

content/warnings: established power dynamic, punishment, primal play, hint of dark!matt, the black suit being sexy (what's new), consent, face-fucking, choking, PIV sex, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise, aftercare, matt calls reader "angel," jake lockley appearance if you squint, I promise it's comic canon

words: 5.4k

part 1 | part 2 (part 1 is not required reading)

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to put your clothes back on, grab your coat, grab your shoes... and run. You're going to run as far from me as you can with a fifteen-minute head start."

Matt leans into your ear and whispers the rest of his instructions. "But it doesn't matter how far you run. Because I will find you. And when I do, I am going to systematically fuck every thought of ever disobeying me again out of your head. Do I make myself clear?"  

Crystal. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your heart pounds with fear, but you're ready to do whatever it takes to atone. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now..." 

Matt drops your wrists and leans back.

"Run."

X

You don't think. 

As soon as he told you to run, you got out the door as fast as you could. You threw your clothes on haphazardly. Matt stood completely still- just listening- as you gathered yourself as much as possible. You had enough forethought to pick your sneakers instead of your boots, and you remembered your coat too, but that was the extent of your conscious movement.

Your breaths come heavy and strained as your sprinting feet pound on the concrete. You're not sure where to go as you round the corner of the block. Maybe you can get some distance and then make a plan. Fuck. Fuck.

It doesn't matter. He'll find you anyway. 

A traffic light stops you for a few seconds, and you turn in the direction of your apartment, now out of your view.

"Go easy on me," you heave. You can almost see Matt smirk. 

You wait for the light and sprint across the street, continuing down the empty sidewalk of closed businesses. Thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. It's foreboding, but it fills you with a sense of adventure.

The last time you ran this fast had to have been sometime in high school. Your calves are already burning. There's a stretch of bars down the next block, so you take a left and slow your pace to take a break.

There are a few people of varying levels of intoxication on the street. A couple of them side-eye you while you catch your breath. Of course, there's no way they know the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is stalking you through the neighborhood so he can fuck you senseless, but it still makes your heart quicken. 

Scattered laughter and muted music seeps out of the bar as you make it past everyone. As soon as you're out of sight, you start running again. A flash of lightning skates across the horizon as the first thin drops of rain fall onto the pavement.

Has it been fifteen minutes already? You forgot your phone in your panicked haze and you took off your watch long ago. How far behind is Matt? Maybe he's still waiting at home, or just leaving. Maybe he's already far ahead of you. Or just behind you. Every shadow looks like him.

Time blurs block by block, and you're exhausted by the time you reach the next familiar location. It's a park about a mile away from the apartment. That helps you get your bearings a bit. Your fifteen minutes are probably up. You have to be careful since you're likely still in the range of Matt's keen senses. Now, you have a decision to make: how long do you want this chase to go?

Matt's going to find you. There's no doubt about that. The adrenaline coursing through your system isn't dulling your arousal in the slightest, and Matt's the only one who can fix that at this point. You're never breaking the rules again. You're not sure what's going to happen when you're caught, but maybe you can choose where you are. 

You want to get as far from people as you can. Whatever happens, you don't want anyone around to hear it. You decide to head for the docks. There are tons of abandoned buildings and very few people milling around after dark over there. It's not a safe area for a lone woman to be walking at any time of day, but you're not exactly alone, are you?

You run along the water, evading as many streetlights as you can. The rain picks up, drizzling onto your coat as you throw the hood over your head. You look out onto the river. It's quite peaceful in the brewing storm, and the scenery is fresher than the brick buildings and signage you're accustomed to, but it's still a part of Hell's Kitchen. Matt would know it like the back of his hand. 

You know there's an empty storehouse on the north side. You do a quick scan of the area, proceeding when you hear nothing but your own breaths and heavy droplets of rain on the metal roof.

The storehouse is padlocked shut, but there are a couple half-smashed windows next to the door. You could get in if you broke the rest of the glass, but you're trying not to make more noise than necessary. 

You search for another entrance. It's taking too long. You feel like someone's standing over your shoulder.

A gust of wind blows through you, and the air hisses by your feet. You look for the source of the sound and find a couple loose boards. If you pull them back, you can fit through the gap. It's looking like a better idea than standing out in the rain or risking cutting yourself on shards of glass. It's a tight squeeze, but you manage to crawl through the space. 

Once you're inside, you look around. The storehouse was probably built in the eighties and abandoned in the last few years. There's not much but leftover lumber, rotting from age and moisture. A thin layer of sawdust covers the floor. There's a staircase in the back corner, and you run for it. A couple levels would buy you some time. The storehouse only has three floors, but that's good enough for you. 

You look around. On a cursory glance, you're just thankful there are no wild animals or snakes present. There are crates lining the walls and a makeshift office space in the corner. The rain beats on the roof. It's getting cold, but you're too riled up to care.

You finally have a moment to catch your breath, but your anxiety doesn't fade. You know it won't until Matt finds you. And he can't be far behind- you've been in one place for far too long. You picture him leaping across rooftops and stalking through alleys, much like you imagine when he's out on patrol searching for criminals. It's the same, in a way. You've broken a law- even if Matt's the only one who wrote it- and that demands punishment. 

You decide to sit down, finding a place on a stack of crates. You hug your knees into your chest and pull your jacket around them. Counting the seconds and listening to the rain helps you calm down, but it doesn't take your mind off Matt and the wetness between your legs. Your stationary alone-time gives you a chance to ponder exactly how fucked you are.

There’s not much that can stop Matt Murdock when he’s made up his mind. He’s a force of nature when he finds a cause. You really shouldn’t have touched yourself without his permission, but it was far too fun to tease. You wonder now if it was actually worth it. The anxiety coursing through your body curses your impatience, but the arousal is overpowering. Feeling hunted like this- wanted in whatever way Matt wants you now- is undeniably sexy. You try to talk yourself out of how turned on you are, but it’s nearly impossible. 

You hear glass shatter below you.

You almost miss it, but the sudden sound snaps you out of your thoughts. An eerie silence follows, and you hear blood rush through your ears as your heart pounds. If you can hear it over the rain, so can Matt.

He found you.

Standing slowly, you look for a place to hide. There’s not really a use for it, but you’re panicking, and you have no idea how long you have. There’s another stack of crates you can hide behind, and you’ll be able to see Matt when he comes up the stairs.

Keeping your feet as quiet as possible, you book it to the back corner. 

You crouch, and as soon as you stop moving, you hear heavy boots making their way across the floor below you. As much as you try to stay calm, your body betrays you. You’re sure Matt can hear every heaving breath and racing heartbeat. 

The bottom of the stairs creak. Shit. You watch the opening, peering around the crates. 

He takes every step slowly. When he reaches the top and turns into the room, you see him in all his glory: the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Matt nearly blends into the dark walls of the storehouse in the black suit. The fabric is soaked from the rain, allowing what light peaks in from the cracks to reflect off of it. He’s left the batons, but his hands rest in fists at his sides. 

He lets out a dark chuckle. “Are you going to come out, angel?”

You shiver, then your whole body freezes up. You couldn’t move if you tried. 

He must sense your reaction, because he laughs at you again. “What? Are you scared of the Devil, sweetheart?” Matt taunts. He takes a couple steps forward. 

You stand slowly and press your back against the wall- obscuring Matt from view- and pray you melt straight through it. The suit. He wore the suit to come find you. Matt knows it riles you up to see him like that, and he loves to make you an embarrassed mess. Your whole body is burning up. You wish he’d just take you already, but it’s clear he’s going to draw this out.

“You were easy to find,” Matt says, continuing to stalk forward slowly, making sure you hear every tread of his boots. “I never lost that little heart.”

You swallow and squeeze your eyes shut. He’s getting closer with every word. 

“But you knew I’d find you. Huh, baby? Even if I couldn’t hear that heartbeat…” Matt sighs.

He whips around the crates to face you, wrapping a hand around your throat and pressing his body against yours. 

“...I could still smell this pussy for miles.”

First, you gasp, choking on your own breath as Matt’s hand clasps firmly around your neck. And then, you burst into tears. You hadn’t expected yourself to cry, but the feeling of finally being found is overwhelming.

“Please! Matty, I’m so, so sorry, honey. I-I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done it, I’m so sorry…” you babble, squirming against his grip, unsure if you want to lean in or escape. 

With you still pressed against the wall, Matt reaches up and pulls the mask off. It drops to the ground and his hand comes to your cheek. He brushes a damp strand of hair behind your ear and gathers the rest into a loose ponytail in his hand. 

You could still safeword. Matt doesn’t remind you that you could. He knows you trust him, and you know he’d never hurt you. Even if he’s going to push that limit tonight, you feel more safe and protected now that he’s here. 

His touch is gentle at first, but his voice is firm. “Show me how sorry you are.”

With that, Matt tugs you down by your hair and pushes your shoulder with his other hand, knocking you to your knees. You grunt when you hit the floor as Matt plants his feet shoulder-width apart. He wipes away a few stray tears from your cheeks, still able to control the movement of your head.

"Take my cock out," he orders, and your hands fly to his belt. Wasting time is not in the cards. You decided to be on your best behavior the minute you left the apartment. 

And he’s already hard as you free him from his boxers- the tip red and leaking from your earlier denial. You start to wrap your hand around the base, but Matt swats you away harshly. 

“Did I tell you to do that?” he spits, making you shudder as you pull your hands to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No. You answer me properly,” Matt says with a sharp tug at your hair. “Say: ‘No, sir.’”

“No, sir,” you correct, embarrassed that you forgot your manners already. 

Matt swallows. “Good. But we can put this mouth to better use.” With that, Matt guides you against the wall, caging you in with his legs. He releases your hair and lets your head hit the wall. Sensing where he’s going with this, you open your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes your bottom lip, and Matt smirks at your willingness to please. “I think I’ve been teased long enough.”

At first, he guides his cock into your mouth gently, letting you feel every curve and vein against your tongue. Matt groans, setting his jaw when the relief hits him. You know he’s probably been hard since you tied him up and it’ll take a lot of restraint for him to hold back. But if there’s anything Matt’s good at, it’s denying himself pleasure to prove a point. 

It takes all your strength to control your gag reflex, but you can't move an inch like this. Matt's got you right where he wants you.

He pushes in a little more, then quickly leaves your mouth empty. You cough with the sudden movement. He laughs. He actually fucking laughs.

"Can't take it?" Matt teases, his thumb reaching down to swipe the spit from your bottom lip. "This is gonna be tough for you."

He taps the side of your cheek and you open your mouth wider on instinct. Before you can register what either of you have done, Matt's cock is down your throat again. 

Holding the top of your head for leverage, Matt thrusts in and out of your mouth roughly, drawing obscene noises from your place below him. It's filthy, and you whimper around him as hot tears fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

“That’s it, baby. You can take it…” Matt groans as he uses your mouth. He bends slightly, pressing two fingers against your throat to feel where he fills it. “Tell me you can take it.”

You whine around him, weakly protesting your inability to speak. He growls, slowing his pace so you can focus on his request.

“Come on, tell me. Tell me with my cock in your mouth.”

You’re sure your whole face is already red, but a new wave of heat flashes across your face. You try to repeat what he said- I can take it, sir- but it comes out strained and muffled… no more than syllables with your mouth stuffed full. 

Matt sighs, clicking his tongue at you. A smirk curls at his lips and he shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Can’t talk with your mouth full, can you, angel?”

Mm-mnn, you whine again, shaking your head the couple inches that you can. The teasing is unbearable. All the attention is on you; it’s suffocating. In more ways than one.

Matt pulls out, leaving you gasping for as much air as he’ll allow. “Say it.”

“I can take it, sir,” you breathe. It’s automatic now that your freedom of speech has returned, however hoarse you are.

“Atta girl.”

Matt kneels then, grabbing your chin to keep your eyes focused on him. “You’ll take whatever I give you?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.” Built-up tears slide down your cheeks and onto Matt’s fingers. You sniffle, trying to keep as much composure as you can for him. “Wanna be good…”

“I know you do, honey. And you will be good for me. Do you understand?”

You nod again, squeezing your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling. “Yes- yes, sir, I’ll be good, I promise…”

Matt huffs. “That’s more like it. Take your coat off.”

You do as he says and gather it in your arms. 

“Good. Stand up.”

You start to rise on shaky legs, but Matt hauls you up when you move too slowly for him. You almost drop your coat in the process, but Matt catches it before it falls to the ground.

He drags you to an open space on the floor, dropping your coat and unfolding it with his foot. Matt grabs your shoulders and whips you around to face him again.

“Arms up.”

You lift your arms, and Matt pulls off your shirt. He traces your bare skin with his fingertips, stopping to pinch your nipples when he realizes you left your bra at home. “Dirty girl…” He pinches them harder and you whimper.

Matt laughs at your desperation. “Shoes off.”

You step on the heel of one shoe, lifting your foot out, then repeat the motion again. Your legs are shaking, and you struggle to kick them to the side. 

With a grunt of impatience, Matt helps, shoving them away with his boot. Before you can get your footing again, he has you pinned to the ground. The sudden takedown knocks the wind out of you.

“Lift your hips.”

You obey as he shifts backward, unzipping your jeans and tugging them down your legs. He takes your underwear with them, and suddenly, you’re fully exposed.

He stays low once he has your clothes off, crawling forward a bit so his breath ghosts over your cunt. He adjusts your coat so your hips rest comfortably- and off of the dirty floor. Even when he’s ruining you, Matt’s thoughtful.

His lips are achingly close to your untouched clit. “Do you remember what I said I’d do when I found you?”

Of course you do:“I am going to systematically fuck every thought of ever disobeying me again out of your head.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” Fuck, you could lift your hips an inch and he’d be touching you.

Matt presses a kiss above your pussy. “Are you going to behave?”

“Yes, sir, please…” Your words come out rushed. You need him- now- however he’ll take you.

He sits up instead, resting on his heels and cocking an eyebrow at you. Matt stills for a moment, listening to your ragged breathing and your hips shifting against the fabric of your coat. As he observes, you try to calm down, but your head is spinning with thoughts of what he’ll do to you.

“You want it.” It’s not a question. He smirks. “Not much of a punishment if you’re so desperate to be fucked.”

You let out a dry sob. “Please,” you whine.

“Please, what? I’m running out of patience, angel,” he spits, ignoring your vague request. He knows you feel bad. Of course, it couldn’t stop him from taunting you. 

“Please, I need- I need to be punished, Matty…” 

You mean it- mostly. About 20% of you is blinded by desire, but the other eighty actually feels quite guilty. You’d write lines. You’d get on your knees and beg. You’d do chastity for weeks. You’d make dinner every night for a month. It wouldn’t matter; the guilt just needs to go somewhere. And right now, Matt’s the only person who can take it away.

“Sir, please, I’m sorry.” The tears are back. It’s all too much. “Please forgive me… Please punish me…”

Matt inhales slowly above you, and you can feel it softening him, if only for a moment. 

“Remember you asked for it.”

You’re hauled forward by your thighs before you can even process what he said. You yelp at the sudden movement as Matt presses the head of his cock to your entrance.

His hand wraps around your throat, pinning you to the floor as he slides into you. Matt groans, staying still until you can both catch your breath.

You gasp, reaching around to dig your nails into his back.

He hisses, then wrenches your arms down by your biceps. "I didn't say you could touch." 

You allow yourself to whine in frustration, which Matt isn't a fan of. He squeezes your throat tighter and his cock twitches inside you. 

"I'll let you touch if you're good for me, okay?" he says. It's a generous offer, but he still says it like a warning. You twist your fingers into your jacket. "Stay still. Stay still, pretty girl…"

Matt begins pounding into you, and a wrecked moan throws itself from your mouth. Your noises echo off the walls, finding a way back to your ears. Your face heats up. You're sure anyone from outside could hear if it wasn't for the rain. 

"So fucking wet, angel. Can't get this wet by yourself, can you?" Matt slides his thumb over your clit, and you stumble over your answer.

"N-No, sir…" It takes everything in you not to come right then. You can barely tell him how close you are, but you’re sure he knows. "Please, slow… slow down!"

"This isn't about you," Matt spits, nearly growling into your ear. "Come. I don't fucking care how much. But you're not stopping until I'm done with you."

He lets go of your neck and stops his assault on your clit, grabbing your hips with both hands for more leverage. He's so deep like this, your head is spinning.

You try to fight it, but Matt’s hitting you at just the right pace. You’re both too riled up, and he looks absolutely heavenly like this. His tousled hair is soaked with rain and sweat. His muscles flex under the black compression shirt as he rails you into the floorboards. 

Matt’s pace ticks up as your legs start to tremble against him. He chases his own pleasure, forcing you to keep up and fight off the pleasure as long as you can.

After keeping yourself on the edge, delaying the inevitable, for about thirty seconds, you can’t stand it anymore. You have to come. You're going to. Holding onto your jacket for dear life, you let go. 

You’re sure you’d hurt your head with the way you threw it back, but the white-hot pleasure blinds you to any pain that may have come from losing control of your body. You can barely breathe, let alone think, as you regain some self-control, but Matt’s still got you when you come back to reality. 

He leans down, growling against your throat as he presses his lips to your sensitive skin. “Such a pretty slut…”

He’s slowed his pace considerably, but the force of his thrusts still send shocks through your system. You’re shaking like a leaf, barely able to make a sound over a hoarse whimper. Matt pulls your hands from where they’re twisted in your coat, which you take as permission to wrap your arms around him. 

As soon as you have a good grip on him, Matt snaps his hips against yours, resuming his punishing pace. You pull yourself into his chest. It’s already too much with his arms caging you in and his pants rubbing against your thighs.

“T-Too sensitive…” You know he doesn’t care. But you know he hears you when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“I know. I can feel you,” Matt says, reaching down to tease your clit again. You choke on a moan when his fingers make contact, but he continues touching you, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’m glad you’re too sensitive. Reminds you that I’m the one making you feel so good…”

You’re already close again. Maybe you never really came down. Whatever the case, Matt’s teasing always does wonders. 

You feel like you’ll float into space if you let go of him. You want his skin on yours. You want to kiss him… But you know you’ll get nothing if you aren’t good. 

It’s some kind of begging- holding onto him like this. You need him, and it shows. Every heartbeat, every pulse around his cock, every desperate moan against his shoulder… put it all together, and he knows you’re close. 

“Come on, angel,” Matt groans. “Show me how good you feel.”

And you wouldn’t deny him that. 

You try not to scream- you really try- but you’re too overwhelmed to hold back. As cold as Matt’s punishments can be, he’s tucked against you too intimately. 

It’s intense, and Matt talks you through every wave. You can barely make out what he’s saying, but the ebb and flow of his voice is enough to keep you tethered to the ground. The tears are back, practically leaking from your eyes on their own when you find yourself too tired to sob. 

Matt pulls out and tries to sit up, but you come with him, too fucked out to let him go. You sniffle, knowing he’s not done with you. 

He stops to rub your back, and it releases a bit of the tension in your upper body. You’re not sure anything below your waist is under your control anymore. 

“You’re taking it so well…” Matt praises, trying to keep the rough edge in his voice. He’s weak for your touch as much as you are for his. That’s why you’re here in the first place. “Can you be a good girl and turn around for me?”

You nod into the side of his neck, and Matt maneuvers you onto your knees. He holds your hands together behind your back, lining up at your entrance again and pushing in before you can really keep steady. 

You can barely hold yourself up, but it doesn’t matter. Matt keeps a tight grip on your wrists with one hand and reaches for your hair with the other, holding you up effortlessly as he fucks you from behind.

“So good, letting me use you…” Matt mumbles. “I’m gonna come inside you now, pretty girl…”

Your eyelids flutter, but you need it as much as he does. “Please…” you manage to whisper, barely audible to your own ears.

“You want it?” Matt teases, his own breath ragged as he reaches the edge.

You feel yourself squeeze around him. Are you really going to come again? “Please, sir…”

Your voice is so small. It’s barely begging, but it draws the most beautiful groan from behind you. “Fuck, angel, I’m so close for you…”

You repeat yourself, chanting please, please, Matty over and over when you find yourself at a loss for any other words. It spurs him on like nothing else, and he finds a pace that has you echoing each other’s moans. You fall over the edge one last time, just before Matt, clenching around him as he empties himself inside you.

“Good girl, fuck… That’s my good girl…” 

He pulls you against his chest, kissing the tops of your shoulder blades and pulling your sweaty hair to one side. You can barely stay upright on your knees, even with Matt’s help, so he helps you sit on your jacket as he finds your clothes. He hushes you softly when he pulls away, trying to keep at least one point of contact on you at all times.  

Matt works quickly, trying to make you comfortable despite the circumstances. Everything feels far away. Strangely, the closest thing feels like the rain outside. 

“Can you put your arms up, baby?” Matt asks softly, holding your shirt. You hum, putting them above your head. It’s a two person job to get the rest of your clothes back on, but Matt rewards your efforts and helps you lay down with your head in his lap.

He strokes your hair, praising you with every motion of his hand. His tone is somewhat apologetic, but he doesn’t say anything outright. It’s like he can feel how floaty you are, how enamored by his sudden softness you feel… Everything is right again. Maybe it was never wrong. You’re too tired to remember. 

“I love you,” you whisper. You’re not sure what else would feel right.

Matt’s hands stop for a split second. “I love you too, angel.”

You lay on the floor until Matt notices that you’re cold. You barely notice it yourself, but he makes you put your coat on anyway. By that time, you’re able to fully sit up, but you still prefer to rest against him. 

“It’s late, sweetheart,” he says quietly. You nod. It could be morning and you’d still believe him. “I don’t want you to sleep here, and I don’t want you to walk.”

Neither sound like good options to you either. “How do we get home then?” you ask, a yawn infiltrating your sentence. 

Matt laughs. “I know a driver,” he explains, finding your hand and interlocking your fingers. “He’s… an old client. Discrete. You rest and I’ll call him.”

Matt helps you lay back down again. You rest your face on the sleeves of your coat, and it’s not long before sleep takes over.

X

You don’t wake again until the movement of Matt carrying you down the stairs rouses you. 

“It’s okay, angel. I have you,” he whispers. “I’ll get you in the car…”

You vaguely register the sound of someone busting the lock on the front door. If Matt’s arms weren’t so comfortable, you might have been afraid. Matt pulls his forearm in, turning your face to his chest as he crosses the threshold. Rain pelts both of you, but you hear an idling car not far ahead. The door opens and Matt helps you in, shutting it and walking to the other side. 

You lean against the door and close your eyes again. The rain against the roof is like a lullaby, and it smells warm- like clean leather and cedarwood. 

Matt gets inside and the driver follows. Matt places a hand on your thigh, letting you know he’s there as he says something in Spanish to the driver. The engine turns over and you fully drift off again.

X

The earliest rays of sunlight guide your eyes open. You’re still in your clothes, but you’re on the couch again with a blanket draped over your legs. 

Matt’s resting in the chair across from you- the one with broken rope scattered around the base. He shifts when he notices you’re awake, then gets up so he can give you a once-over. 

“Hi, Matty,” you whisper. Your voice is cracked, so you clear your throat, coughing when it’s not enough to suppress the hoarseness. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says, a hint of worry behind his voice. “Do you feel alright?”

You’re exhausted- that’s for sure- but you stretch a little and find a new, equally comfortable position on the couch in the process. Your back is tight and your knees are probably a little scraped, but aside from the usual side-effects of sex with Matt Murdock, you’re doing fine.

“I’m okay,” you answer. “Maybe a little sore.”

Matt hums. “Do you want a bath? Maybe some food?”

Both sound good, and you know he’ll force both upon you later, but you can’t fathom sitting up right now. “I’m so tired…”

“I know, angel…” He takes a long inhale through his nose, eyes darting nervously. “You need to tell me if I hurt you.”

You’re a bit surprised, but you don’t want to leave him in distress while you sleep. “I really do feel alright… Can we talk in a couple hours?”

“Of course,” Matt says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Oh, before you fall asleep…” He reaches behind him, feeling along the edge of the coffee table. He brings a glass of water with a straw to your lips. You groan, but Matt just clicks his tongue at you and helps tilt your head up so you can swallow easily. 

“There you go,” he says, satisfied after you’ve taken a few sips. “Get some sleep. I love you, angel.”

“Love you too…”

Matt leaves you on the couch. You hear his feet pass into the kitchen as you close your eyes. Images of the last few hours shuffle through your head as he rifles through the fridge, probably searching for something you can eat later. You shift on the couch as arousal ignites in you. The blanket finds its way between your legs and you roll your hips forward, indulging a bit of the ache.

“Angel.”

Matt’s voice chastises you from the kitchen. “Rest.”

thanks for reading! this took a long time but I'm pretty proud of it. I've got a couple moon knight fics in the works (and maybe a din djarin one? idk) feel free to follow me if you'd like to see those! replies and reblogs are always appreciated :) thx! -claire

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