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The Library of Pastaxandria has documented for its shelves: "Waking Nightmare"!
"Waking Nightmare" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)đ§ď¸
Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 7. Took an extra day to work on it cause this is a very angsty one, since our prompt was 'Nightmare' and I went with the classic, 'he accidently swings at you while asleep' trope (many thanks to @sunflowersandsapphires and @shouldbestudying41 for helping me with our chats on this one!). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Wordcount: 5.2k
Warnings for this chapter: BIG angst warning on this one, along with a warning for being hit (not intentional), nightmares, guilt, blood, Matt's convinced he committed DV so that is discussed.
It began, like so many disasters did, with a series of small fractures.Â
What started as a horrible week turned out to be the harbinger of a truly terrible month for Matt. Despite near-constant, frantic late nights of casework at Nelson and Murdock, the firm lost two important cases in short order. Both cases had been a long shot when it came to success, but that had done little to soften the blow to Foggy, Karen, and Mattâespecially Matt, whoâd made promises to client families that heâd been unable to keep.
Mattâs work as Daredevil hadnât gone much better. A new gang had moved into the Kitchen and set up shop, staking out a territory drenched in blood, ash, and terror. Matt had thrown himself into that fight with the same determination that he always did, and while heâd made serious progress breaking down their operation, there had still been losses. As far as he was concerned, the lives lost in the past monthâthe three targeted victims in the burning apartment complex heâd been unable to reach in time, and the two store clerks shot and killed in their shops before he could make it to themâwere caused by his own personal failings. Despite your best attempts to convince him otherwise, the perceived blood on his hands had only driven him to devote himself even more ferociously to his work at night and during the day.
That devotion snowballed rapidly into a lack of sleep, often the first casualty in Mattâs life when things got stressful or busy. The exhaustion only sent him spiraling further into bouts of anger and a retreat behind his emotional walls. He snapped at you whenever you tried to talk to him about it, shying away from the kind touches he felt he didnât deserve. While a quiet apology almost always came later in the night, soft and full of regret, it didnât change the fact that you could see him beginning to splinter and crumble beneath the pressure heâd placed on himself, your Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. Youâd gone through this with him before, the periods in which it all seemed to go wrong and he refused to strap on the lifevests you stubbornly threw to him over and over again. As best you could tell, when these storms came there was no other option but to simply plant your roots deep and ride it out with him, ensure he knew he wasnât alone. And when he finally fell to pieces, giving beneath the weight, youâd make sure he had a loving hand to help him glue his bloody, broken pieces back together.Â
Youâd thought that fracturing would come from something on the streets. Another death, maybe, or sheer exhaustion.Â
Youâd never expected it to happen here.
Not at home.Â
âYouâre going out?â You watched him dig through his fatherâs trunk for his suit, his back to you. Heâd only just returned from another late night at the office. The only reason you were seeing him at all was because youâd woken up thirsty, heading out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The distance between you both abruptly felt so much farther than a meager ten feet, so much harder to cross. Still, you tried. âItâs almost two. Some rest mightââ âDonât,â he said tightly, yanking his mask out and tossing it back onto the couch. He pulled out the rest of his suit next along with his billy clubs. His movements were unnaturally stiff, almost robotic. âI need toâŚâ He sucked in an uneven breath, reaching up to run an exhausted hand through his dark hair. After a moment, he dropped his hand, going back to what heâd been doing. If anything, your implication had only made him more determined, his voice now resolute and closed off. âOur appeals arenât going well. The cityâs quiet for the first time in a month, but that might not last. I need to go out. Just for an hour or two. Go back to bed.â
You gnawed on your lower lip in thought as he stalked over to the couch. Without his shirt, it was so much easier to see the lines of stress and tension cutting their way through him like winding roads, his muscles drawn up tight and hard. The bruising along the canvas of his back and ribs stood out with every neon flash of the billboard beyond the windows, adding a layer of blood red to the spiraling waves of deep blue and sullen indigo painted on his skin. That heâd been hurt even with the protection of the suit told you just how bad it had gotten out there. He needed rest, desperately. You both knew it. But you couldnât bear the thought of trying to keep him here, forcing him to listen to the sounds of the city without being able to do anything about it. It was a promise youâd made to yourself, once, and you intended to keep it.
âOk, D.â You kept your tone gentle. Heâd hear you even across the room. âOk. Come back safe.â
Some of his tension eased at your agreement, and he slowed where heâd been opening up his suit, preparing to step into it. Had he really thought youâd fight him?Â
âIâŚâ He shook his head after a moment. He turned until you could see him in profile, that same red light now highlighting the dark, bruised shadows beneath his eyes. But for just a moment, there was the barest softening in his expression, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. You knew this look, this hand stretched out through the bars of the darkened prison cell heâd found himself trapped within. âI love you,â he said softly. âSo much. I shouldnât have snapped. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âI know. Donât worry about me for now. Weâll work it out. Just be careful tonight.â You tilted your head as he took a few tentative steps towards you. You took your own small step, cautious like you were approaching a stray who might run if you moved too quickly. He lifted his hand once you were within reach, the back of his fingers stroking lightly, tenderly against your cheek. You turned and brushed your lips fondly against his fingers, your eyes fluttering shut as you soaked in the warmth of his skin. It was the most intentional touch youâd gotten from him in a week, outside those moments in his sleep when he held you close, and god, were you grateful for it, something in you easing at the return of his affection. It meant he was coming out of this, swimming back up to the light and out of the void heâd been lost in. Sometimes you wondered if him denying himself your touch wasnât just another way he punished himself when his darker thoughts seized hold of him. âI love you, too.â
âGo back to bed, sweetheart.â He tipped your chin up so he could place a tired kiss on your forehead before he let you go and returned to his suit. His motions, at least, seemed more settled now. âIâll be back in an hour if itâs quiet, I promise. Iâll find a way to make it up to you this weekend.â
You left him there in the living area, more content than youâd felt in weeks. Sure, the past month had been shit for you both, but you were coming out of it now just like always. You fell asleep comfortably with that knowledge, cradling it inside you against your heart as you drifted off.Â
You werenât sure what it was that woke you later. Not at first, anyway. The bedroom was dark and quiet, save for the usual sounds of the city at night that leaked in through the closed windows. Mattâs arms werenât around you, but it was possible he hadnât gotten back yet. Without any other signs of danger, you gave a soft huff of irritation. Figures. Waking up over nothing. You shifted your head around on the pillow until you found a nice cold spot, closed your eyes, and began to drift back off.Â
Then you heard it again behind you. Â
Your brow furrowed, eyes blinking back open.
Right, now you knew it wasnât just a dream.Â
The sound youâd heard wasnât quite a moan. It wasnât a word, either. Hell, you didnât know what to call it, exactly, but it definitely wasnât a happy noise, that much you knew. This sounded⌠almost pained, hitched and edged with something like panic. You blearily rolled over to get a better look, still half-asleep.
Apparently Matt had gotten back while you were asleep, the shadowy outline of him curled up on the opposite side of the bed. He was also facing away from you, which was⌠odd. Most nights, he slept with you in his armsâor him in yours on particularly bad nights. That heâd either consciously or unconsciously placed this much distance between you would have stirred the smoldering embers of worry if youâd been more awake. It wasnât right that he was over ther, curled in on himself, small and isolated, a lonely island in the sea of silk sheets. As you watched, he twitched restlessly, before making that same small, pained noise youâd heard before. Or was it scared?Â
Nightmare, you thought sleepily. That explained the distance. Heâd probably just rolled away in his sleep. You yawned, untangling yourself enough from your cocoon of blankets that you start crawling over towards him. Clearly this was one of those nights when he was the one that needed to be held. You werenât entirely sure why your presence helped to soothe his nightmares, but for whatever reason, your arms around him and your breathing against his back, your heartbeat pressed against his back, was often all he needed. Even if he woke up when you got over to him, heâd have an easier time falling back asleep with you holding him. He always did. Especially after such a terrible month.Â
You yawned again when you finally settled down behind him, throwing one arm over his waist and spooning affectionately up against his back. He stirred slightly at that, his body going tense and hard, his chest resonating with a soft growl. But he quickly quieted, soothed at the sound of your voice.
âItâs ok, Matt,â you said sleepily, breathing slowly, intentionally against the hard line of his back. âYouâre ok, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.â You tucked your legs up behind his, nuzzling over onto his pillow, hunting for him even as your eyes fell shut again. Youâd kick yourself later, for what you did next.Â
Without thinking, you leaned in⌠and brushed a firm kiss against the back of his neck.Â
Just like that, the peace, the calm was shattered.Â
A wild snarl filled the air, followed by a sudden, blinding explosion of pain across your face that lit up the black behind your eyes like a skyline of fireworks. Before you could even cry out, youâd been thrown clear of the bed. You only just avoiding cracking your temple on the corner of Mattâs nightstand. But what your head missed, the rest of your body didnât. As you slid across the nightstand and came crashing to the ground, you brought down every last object on the nightstand with you, glass and metal shattering somewhere far away from where you were, the whole of the world gone thick and quiet.Â
Things got fuzzy then, a sickening carnival maze of light spinning in your vision every time you blinked. Your dazed thoughts were thick, slow to come together. But, still, you tried, because something was very, very wrong.Â
Matt.Â
Yes. You needed to find Matt. He was probably out on the streets still. It was the only way someone could have broken in just to hit you like an asshole. You werenât sure where you were crawling too exactly, but away from the threat felt like a good start. As you moved, something hot and wet began to pour down your face in steady streams, irritating and coppery whenever it made it into your mouth. Fortunately, that was a distant problem. You could worry about whatever was on your face later. Your only concern at the moment was holding your attacker off until Matt could get here and kick some fucking ass.Â
A pair of feet slammed against the floor, someone calling out, panicked and frantic. The sound was far too garbled for you to understand it immediately, but what it did tell you was that your attacker was still close by. There wasnât anything around you that you could easily use to defend yourself, or at least, there wasnât until your hand bumped into something long and metallic. You snatched it up, ignoring the sudden appearance of pain in your palm as you did so. You dragged it with you, metal squealing across the floorboards as you scrambled on your hands and knees. In seconds, youâd made it out of the bedroom and into the living area.Â
Good. When Matt came through the rooftop door, heâd have less distance to cross to get to you. Youâd also be able to see your attacker better in the flash of the billboard lights, though the flashing sea of red light made your eyes water and burn. But you could also feel your vision clearing, which was great. Youâd need it.Â
A shaking, trembling hand brushed against your shoulder.Â
You rose up swiftly on your knees, metal rod clutched tight in both hands. âGet away from me!â you snarled, putting every last ounce of strength you had into your motion as you twisted and swung.Â
And Mattâ
What?
âsnapped his hand up, catching the lamp rod just before it could hit him in the face.Â
â...Matt?â you asked shakily, unable to hide your confusion. âIt was you?â
âThis canât be happening, no, no no no,â he choked out tearfully, his breath coming panicked and wild. His tone was so ragged you almost didnât recognize the voice as his. âOh, sweetheart, youâre bleeding, I-Iâm sorry, Iâm soââ
The lamp rod fell from your paired grips. Hands shaking, he brought them up tentatively towards your face. He stopped just before he could touch you, hovering them a breath away from your skin. The first of his tears began to trail down his cheeks, his expression twisting in what you alarmingly recognized as grief. Youâd seen him cry before, but never like this. âGod, I-I didnât know it was you, Iâm sorry, I thought you wereâŚâ
He was⌠apologizing. But that didnât make sense, no matter how much you tried to force the idea to settle into your dazed mind. It couldnât have been Matt. You werenât afraid of Matt. Matt didnât hurt you. He didnât hit you. Those were facts, as irrefutable as gravity, as reliable as the rise and the fall of the sun. You didnât understand, just like you didnât understand why he wasnât holding you. He always did when you were hurt. âYou⌠you hit me?â
The low, agonized noise he made was inhuman. It was the sound of a wounded animal, of someone whoâd just been carved open. His hands drew back from your face, dropping down towards your hands where theyâd settled on your thighs, though he seemed just as hesitant to touch you there. Tears dripped down from his face, joining the droplets of thick, deep red now scattered across the floor. Had you left all fo that there? You really⌠were bleeding, werenât you?
âI-I⌠I didnât mean to, I swear I didnât,â he whispered brokenly, his breath hitching with what was almost a whimper. He grabbed one of the blankets off the chair next to him, the one you loved to curl up under with him. He slid it as gently as he could around one of your handsâoh, you were bleeding there, too, just a little, goddamn cheap lampâthough he avoided allowing his skin to brush against yours. âI was⌠having a nightmare, and I thought-I thought you were someone else, they had you and I was trying to-to get to you but someone grabbed me and IâGod, you have a concussion, your nose is-is bleeding. I have to call Claire, get away from you b-before I⌠Iâm sorry, sweetheart, Iâm sorry, Iâm so, so sorryââ
Finally, the idea settled into your mind, the world abruptly righting itself.Â
The nightmare.
Well, that made sense.
You still werenât quite thinking right, thoughts thick and fuzzy like wisps of cotton, a massive, throbbing ache in your head and face that only got worse every time the billboard lit up. But you youâd been right. Matt didnât hit you. He hadnât hit you, because he hadnât known it was you. Hell, heâd even apparently been trying to save you, at least in his nightmare. It seemed simple enough to you, an obvious accident. But it didnât seem quite so simple to Matt. You reached for his cheek. âMatt,â you soothed, your words only a tiny bit slurred as he sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around your hand, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. âItâs ok, Matt. You didnât mean it.â
But the second your fingertips brushed against his skin, he threw himself backwards and out of your reach, his dark eyes wild. âDonât!â he spat. You faltered just a little, suddenly unsure. But you quickly shook it off, shakily climbing to your feet to follow after him. Your own injuries felt secondary in that moment, because this⌠this was the wound, the disaster that might do you both in if you didnât find some way to stop it. Your bloody nose and hand could wait. âYou didnât mean it, Matt. It was an accident.âÂ
For every step you took forward, he took one back, the two of you performing some twisted, heartbreaking sort of dance across the floor. Eventually you cornered him against the wall, hemming him in. He was almost shaking as you stepped in close. Your hand rose and this time around, you successfully managed to cup his jaw, trying to press your affection, your calm into his skin. âEasy, Devil-Man. Iâm ok,â you murmured. You swiped one thumb over the trail of tears sliding down his cheek, a new one appearing each time youâd cleared away the last, an endless stream of them falling from his grief-stricken eyes as they darted sightlessly around you. âThis wasnât your fault. Help me get cleaned up and then weâll talk about it, ok?âÂ
He hitched a soft, quiet breath when you tugged his head down, his forehead pressed to yours like heâd done for you so many times before. You breathed with him for a moment, trying to ease him down. He swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed as you stroked your thumb against his cheek, and for a moment, you almost thought youâd managed to fix it.Â
A breath.Â
His jaw clenched, and your heart sank.
This time when his eyes opened, all traces of warmth in them were gone. Whatever door youâd once pried open was now shut, slammed resoundingly in your face. âNo. Itâs not ok.â He brushed your hand away, sliding out from between you and the wall without so much as a pause. He reached up to wipe away his tears, the motion sharp and edged with tension. âWhere are you going?â âI need to call Claire to come look you over,â he said flatly, heading for the kitchen. âIâll use my burner. Mine was on the⌠the nightstand.â The brief crack in his voice, a brittle chip in the armor heâd just tried to throw up around himself, only confirmed what youâd hoped you could avoid.
âMatt,â you said softly. âDonât lock me out like this.â
He may have been aiming for calm but he couldnât hide what he was feeling, not entirely anyway. Not when his hands were still trembling as he felt around on the kitchen counter, acting like he hadnât heard you. âIâll call Foggy, too. Once theyâre here, Iâll go.âÂ
âWhat?â You watched in disbelief as he kept hunting along the counter. With every second that passed and he failed to find it, he grew more frustrated, more angry. He quickly turned his back to you, body stiff like he was expecting a sudden blow. âYouâre youâre leaving me?â âI hit you,â he spat viciously, another seething wave of emotion bubbling up through the cracks of his voice like acid, bitter and toxic and just as liable to burn. Here it was, here it was: the self-loathing, the disgust, the burning hatred. He drew in a sharp breath, shivering as he did. And on the exhale, he seemed to have regained control. His voice rapidly returned to that same cold, emotionless monotone, though he kept his face out of your view. Whatever expression he had would give him away, you were certain of it. âI almost broke your nose. You have a concussion. You cut yourself trying to get away from me. Iâve put men in the hospital for a lot less. Youâre not safe with meââ
âThatâs horseshit,â you huffed, starting towards him on wobbly legs. You had to stop and grab one of the chairs just to keep your balance and halt you from pitching over onto the floor. Not that it was a concern; no matter how upset Matt was, heâd catch you. But still, you falling would only make things worse. You forced yourself to breathe through the roiling in your stomach, unsure if it was the concussion that was making you nauseous or simply the knowledge that he was trying to leave you. But you wouldnât let those fucking voices in his mindâones that probably sounded like Stickâdrive him away from you. Not without a fight. At least your nose seemed to have stopped bleeding. That was a good sign. âIt was an accident. We both know it. This justâit happens something with nightmares, including non-vigilantes, Matt. Iâve woken up scared and smacked you in the face more than once, and you know it.âÂ
âYou didnât throw me across a nightstand or give me a concussion.â He barked out a bitter laugh. The hateful sound filled you with dread, as did the heartbreaking resolve beneath it. Heâd already made up his mind, convinced himself of what heâd done. âI always knew. Thatâs what they all said. That I was cursed. That I had the Devil inside me. That all I wanted was to hit someone. This is who I am. I wanted to believe it wasnât true, but deep down, I knew. And now I hurt you. I canât let that happen again, even if it means I have to leave to keep you safe.âÂ
âMatt,â you said desperately, managing to make it to the couch, bracing yourself against the arm of it. If you could just get to him, you could fix this. You knew that. âThatâs not true. Letâs just talk about this.â
Matt ignored you again, snatching up his keys and starting towards the hall. âI canât find my burner,â he said. That tone, flat and empty of all feeling, was so much worse than anger. Youâd take anger any dayâyouâd take grief, or hurt. Emotion meant you had a way in, that heâd opened himself to you, baring all the parts of him left vulnerable and raw. This tone, thoughâŚYou couldnât help but feel like you were banging your bloodied fists against a door abruptly chained shut. âKeep pressure on your hand. Iâm going next door to ask for their phone so I can call Claire. Iâll only be gone for a minute, then Iâll be back. Iâll find somewhere else to stay once sheâs here to take care of you.â
No.Â
No, he couldnât leave you over an accident. Your heart rate shot up, rattling against the lump in your throat. You almost felt like you couldnât breathe, panic crushing your lungs in their grip, something that made him him stiffen. And you-you couldnât let him leave, not like this, not when he might not come back. There had to be something, some way to reach him and keep him from destroying, burning down the best thing in both of your lives. And there was only one method that might work in a moment like this. Â
Holding up a mirror.
âIâm sorry,â you breathed.Â
And Matt⌠froze in the hall, a mere three steps from the front door.Â
âIâm sorry,â you repeated, more firmly now. You didnât bother to hide the waver in your voice. You drew in a slow breath, exhaling just as slowly. It wasnât blood running down your face, now, and heâd know it. âIâm sorry for scaring you. For touching your neck in your sleep. I know how vulnerable it is, and how you feel about it being touched by anyone other than me. I didnât think about what touching that might feel like during a nightmare.âÂ
âStop apologizing,â he growled, his shoulders drawing up tight. âTheyâre not the same thing, and you know it.â
But despite his objections, he hadnât moved. He hadnât left yet. Hell, maybe heâd found he couldnât. Not when you were injured. Youâd take it if it meant you had a chance.
âArenât they the same?â You reached up with your good hand, sniffling a little as you wiped some of the blood off your face. âAccording to you, they are. It doesnât matter what I meant to do, right? Just that I did something that led to me hurting you. And this is hurting you. I can tell.â You choked out a wobbly laugh when he flinched. You used that break in his armor to edge closer, praying you didnât stumble and fall, losing the ground youâd just gained. âDo you remember when I slipped and dropped that bowl last month and it shattered and cut your feet?âÂ
âThatâs notââ
âI had to pick shards of porcelain out of your poor bare feet. I felt horrible.â Another step. Then another. âRemember when I smacked you in the face during my nightmare last January? Split your lip and everything.â You caught one hand against the shelving unit by the hall, taking a split second to breathe, more tired than you wanted to admit. âYou told me those werenât my fault. You even fucking laughed about your lip. But if this accident is your fault, then all those times are my fault, and so is this one, if you think about it. So Iâm sorry, Matt.â Â
âI hit you,â came his voice, trembling and uneven. You had a feeling those three small words were your target, spiraling on loop in his mind, their sharp edges tearing into him over and over again. His head slowly dropped, his body curling in on itself as you stopped a few feet away. He shuddered then, and without being able to see his face, you couldnât tell if it was shame or just⌠hurt. âDonât apologize when I hit you. I threw you across the room. I-I hurt you.âÂ
âOh, Matt,â you whispered. You took another step, at last coming within touching distance where you might be able to reach him. âIt was an accident, sweetheart. You didnât mean it. You didnât know it was me. But⌠but if you want to talk about hurting me, letâs talk about this here.â He stilled when he felt the first gentle touch of your hand against his back. Warm, unafraid, tender.Â
âIf youâre worried about hurting me, this is how youâd do it,â you said softly, trailing your fingers down the line of his spine with all the love you had in you. âBy leaving, Matt. By leaving me here without you when I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world. Donât do that to me. Please.â This time the sound he made was a broken sob, one hand rising up to fist in his hair. He sank slowly to the ground. You sank with him, winding your arms tight around him as he finally broke, shattering beneath the weight of his guilt. When he didnât reject your touch, you quickly shifted around him, climbing into his lap. His arms found their way home around your waist, clinging to you tight as you rocked him in your arms, his face buried against your neck, tears flowing hot to join the blood still clinging to your skin. âIâm sorry.â His voice was thick with sorrow, each breath one he had to fight for. âIâm so sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, I donât want to hurt you, Iâm sorryââ âListen to me. This was not your fault. I promise, baby,â you whispered, lifting his head to press your forehead to his like you had before. His eyes were shut, but they fluttered open just for you, as he finally, finally let you back in. You could almost see the torment swirling in them, the guilt, but that was alright. If you could see those shadows, you could fight them. âYou were asleep, Matt. You were dreaming. You canât control what your brain does then. If it thinks thereâs a threat, itâs going to react without your input. Do you know how I can be so sure you wonât hurt me? How this all just proved Iâm safe with you?â His blank gaze shifted around you, one shaking hand coming up to trace your smile in open disbelief.Â
âBecause the second you woke up, you were horrified.â You leaned into him, running the fingers of your good hand through his hair as he let out another shaky, breathless sob. âThe second you woke up and realized it was me, it just broke you. You would never choose to hurt me, Matt. You're not a violent person, even if you've been taught to use it out there. A bad man doesnât react like you did. A good man does. You are a good man, do you hear me? And if you leave?â You found his hand with your good one to lace your fingers together and squeeze, his eyes fluttering closed, as did yours. âI swear to God Iâll go stand in an alley in my pajamas and scream that until you have to come protect me from every mugger in the Kitchen. Which will only prove my point that youâd never let anything or anyone hurt me.â He choked out a quiet, watery laugh, letting you bring his head back down to your throat. His tearful groan at the affection just made you cling to you tighter. âI love you,â he hitched out. âI love you. Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to⌠Iâm so sorry. God forgive me, Iâm so, so sorry.âÂ
âI love you, too, Matt,â you whispered, burying your face in his hair. âItâs not your fault. Donât let your nightmare knock us out this easily. Get back up. Stay, and fight for me, for us. Can you do that for me?â
You felt his eyes fall closed, and for the first time since heâd woken up, you heard a different kind of resolve in his voice: one that was far more familiar, far more welcome, solid and warm and steadfast, a strength youâd happily build your life upon, as he let your love seep in through the cracks to at last chase away some of the dark.
His breath eased out against your skin, soft and familiar. âI⌠ok. I can do that.â
âGood.â
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil#matt murdock#fanfic#fic#reader#reader insert#x reader#angst#sad matt fic#tw: violence#tw: blood
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The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: "Don't Let Go"!
"Don't Let Go" (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, Fic)
Time for Day Six of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! I chose the angst prompt, "Shh, I've got you now. I'm here." with Michael Kinsella! I originally planned to use all three prompts (the above plus 'love bites' and 'spread your legs for me') but this one just sorta worked beautifully focusing on the angst prompt alone, despite my plan. May come back and do a sequel with the other two prompts eventually. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 1.1k
Warnings for this chapter: angst, blood, injury care, mention of reader briefly held hostage, language, mention of domestic violence, some shouting and breaking things (Michael is very angry here, just not at you).
His hands shaking, Michael cleaned you up in the bathroom.
You werenât sure if that tremor was due to fear, or⌠or exhaustion, maybe. He probably hadnât gotten much sleep the past two nights while youâd been missing, held captive in an abandoned building by a group of men whoâd been looking to blackmail the Kinsella family. It hadnât worked out well for them based on the dead bodies youâd seen when Michael had grimly carried you out past his brothers, his hands stained heavily with blood and smelling of fresh gunpowder.Â
It was those handsâthe very same hands that had so recently dealt out death and destructionâthat now tended gently to your wounds. With barely a word save a soothing murmur whenever you winced, he washed away the crusted grime and dried blood from your body in the shower before settling you down on the side of the porcelain tub. Once you were comfortable, he set about cleaning out and bandaging the bloody cuts on your hands and face, the torn skin on your wrists left by the handcuffs, and the burns along your forearm from the cigarettes one man had decided to put out against your skin when youâd spat in his face.
With every injury Michael cared for, however, the more his hands shook, his breathing growing sharper, hissing out from between his clenched teeth.Â
No. This wasnât fear or exhaustion making his hands shake, you realized. This wasâŚÂ
He rose from where heâd been kneeling in front of you. He stared down at you for a moment with those dark eyes of his, taking all of you in for the first time since bringing you back homeâtaking in every last swollen bruise and vicious cut, every bandage and mark of pain left behind by those who had wanted to harm his family by using you against him.
âŚThis was rage.
He snatched up the first aid kit, turned, and hurled it with a furious scream. It shattered against the wall in the hall, its impact leaving a crumbling hole in the drywall. Gauze and ointment, bottles of pills and splinters of plastic scattered left and right.
âMichael,â you said weakly. âIâm ok now.â
It was as if he hadnât even heard you. âIâm goinâ ta find the rest of âem and kill 'em for this!â he snarled savagely, his accent even thicker in his fury. Gone was the gentle lilt, the familiar softness he always seemed to gain in his voice when he spoke to you or about you. Now he was every inch the dangerous Kinsella that so many feared, though not you. Never you. Even now you werenât afraid, despite the way he whirled and paced wildly in front of you, as if looking for the very same ones whoâd so recently hurt you. This was rage in your defense, and that made all the difference.Â
âMichaelââ
âThey think I canât find âem?â he spat. âThey really think I canât? Iâll hunt down every last fuckinâ oneâa them filthy little cunts fer puttinâ their hands on ya! By the time Iâm done witâ em, there wonât be enoughâa their fuckinâ bodies left for their mams to bloody bury!â
This time it was the drinking glass on the counter that paid the price. It flew out into the hall to shatter violently against the wall just beside the mark left by the first aid kit. Glittering shards of glass, some pieces still damp, joined the rest of the debris on the floor. Â
âMichael.â You heaved yourself upright on shaky legs, wobbly as a newborn fawn. And it hurt, it hurt to move, cuts tugging, body aching. You tried to blink the dampness away in your eyes, not now, come on. âItâs alrightââ âDonât tell me itâs alright when they hurt ya!â he roared. But the moment he swung back around to face you and saw you on your feet, he spat out a curse. He stormed across the bathroom before you could take more than a step. âDaft woman, sit your arse back down before ya fall over!â
One hand still braced against the wall, you lifted your other arm quickly towards him. He lurched to a stop before he could touch you, an expression of horror twisting across his face, all furrowed brow and parted lips. Only then did you realize what that must have looked like to himâyour arm held up to fend him off, trying to stop him from coming towards you, tears in your eyes as if you were⌠as if you were terrified of him and what he had been doing.Â
Gone in a breath was the rage, the fury, replaced by a gutted, heartbroken grief. If you hadnât known any better, youâd have said he was about to cry, too. âYa didnât think I was goinâ toâŚâ he whispered, swallowing hard and taking a cautious step back. âI⌠I swear, pet, I would neverââÂ
âGod, no, Mikey. I know you werenât going to hit me,â you croaked, trying to put your arm out again in a more welcoming way, and if your breath started to hitch, tears now beginning to roll down your cheeks despite your best efforts, well, surely you were entitled to that, because it had been a horrible few days and the longer you stood here, the more you began to shiver and hurt. It had only been a few minutes since youâd been in his arms, but your body clearly wasnât ready yet for even that much separation. Emotion welled up inside you like a dark wave, endless, bottomless. You were terrified youâd drown beneath it without him to help you keep your head above water. âI was trying to⌠could you come over here and⌠and hold me? I just needâŚâ
He caught you just as the first choked sob tore its way out of your throat, the strength of the sound so violent, so raw it almost frightened you. One of his arms quickly wound around your waist, pulling you in against the comforting, familiar warmth and strength of his chest. His other hand rose to gently cradle the back of your head, bringing your head down so you could bury it against his neck. He rumbled low, soothing notes into your ear, tender words of comfort as you desperately tried to breathe in the scent of whiskey and leather, gun oil and rain between your heaving breaths and broken sobs.
âThere ya go. Shh, Iâve got ya now, pet,â he whispered, laying his cheek against your hair. He shifted the two of you carefully across the floor until he could ease himself down on top of the toilet seat, pulling you slowly into his lap. You went without a fight, clinging to him, the fabric of his shirt held tight between your fists as if it were your lifeline. âIâve got ya now. Let it all out. Iâm here, darlinâ. Yer safe with me.âÂ
âDonât let go,â you choked out, âPlease.â âNever. I promise.â
#michael kinsella x reader#michael kinsella x f!reader#michael kinsella#kin#kin amc#kin bbc#fanfic#fic#reader#reader fic#x reader#f!reader#angst#tw: blood#tw: mention of dv#prompt fic#prompt challenge
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The library of Pastaxandria has documented for its archives: From A Squirtgun, With Love!
"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)
Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!
Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Wordcount: 1.5k
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo
You couldnât afford another mistake.Â
Heâd been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. Heâd already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because heâd somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. Youâd done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps youâd managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadnât done you as much good as youâd hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, heâd cornered you in the garage. Youâd been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exitâone currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend.Â
You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in.Â
âI know youâre in here, doll,â came his low chuckle. âCome on out, and Iâll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.â
Not a chance.Â
You werenât going down without a fight.Â
You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical displayâyou hadnât even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. âIf my girl wants a water gun fight, weâre gettinâ a water gun fight.âÂ
And what you saw wasnât good.Â
Shit.Â
You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets youâd both scattered around, but youâd forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didnât get him with your next shot, you were done.Â
âThe fact that youâre not out here shootinâ at me like before tells me youâre low.â His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he⌠climbed on top of the cars? âYou need more practice. Iâll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ainât happeninâ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlinâ. You gonna give me whatâs mine?â
You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasnât easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didnât have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. Youâd need to get close.
One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasnât bothering to be silent was⌠unusual.
âHere, kitty kitty,â he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. âWhereâs my pretty girl gone?â
On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. Heâd grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time youâd known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth.Â
But you also couldnât help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something.Â
You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a soundâyouâd been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didnât dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it.Â
But heâd taught you better than that.Â
There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel.Â
Shit, shit, shitâ
He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw youâ
Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.
Speaking of wish, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots youâd managed to him with. Sure, heâd shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it.Â
He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only⌠his hand didnât appear to be going for you like youâd expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete.Â
Fresh droplets.Â
From you.Â
Crap.Â
His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. âHi doll,â he said smugly. âHi Bucky. I love you,â you said fondly, and shot him in the face.Â
His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldnât keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload.Â
Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you werenât even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or elseâ
Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head.Â
His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.
âYou shot me,â he rumbled hungrily. âI should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.â âHot enough to stop you from shooting me back?â you asked hopefully.
âNot a chance,â he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you.Â
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes#fanfic#fic#falcon and the winter soldier#falcon and the winter soldier bucky#james buchanan barnes#fluff#reader#x reader#f!reader#reader fic#marvel fic
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The Library of Pastaxandria has documented for its shelves: "Sharing is Caring"
"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, đĽ)
Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE
LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT
Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew.Â
No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasnât unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. Heâd bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that youâd have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess.Â
In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. Youâd never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was⌠too giving.
Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth.Â
âOh, but sweetheart, Iâm so hungry,â he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. âIâve been thinking about tasting you all day. Itâs the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. Iâll make it good for you, you know I will. Donât you want that?â
It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted.Â
âNo,â you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. âI donât want that.â âLie,â he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze droping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. âMm, big lie.â â...Alright, so maybe I always want that,â you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. âBut right now I want to suck you off more.âÂ
And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after heâd already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. Heâd been a melted, purring, barely-coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldnât do it again.Â
His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful youâd been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. âYouâŚâ His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. âYou want that? Over me going down on you?â âWhy is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?â You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. âCome on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.âÂ
He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him now. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a flush on his cheeks now, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. âPlease?â Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You werenât above begging if you needed to. âI need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, canât you?â âOrâŚâ He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go, his mouth parted and wet. âOr we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.â Oh.Â
Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. âWhy, sweetheart,â he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didnât feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. âAre you blushing?â âNo,â you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldnât deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. âOr⌠yes, I⌠Would that be⌠too much? Your sensesââ
âIâll be fine. I may haveâŚâ He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. âI may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and⌠taken care of myself. Iâd been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.â
The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because heâd spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what youâd done to him. âFuck,â he breathed. âI can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell meââ âGod yes, please, please, Matt.â
You didnât bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Mattâs mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.
The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Mattâs fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name.Â
âOops,â he said with a smirk.
âYouâre paying for those,â you grumbled. âHappily.â He side stepped around you, and by the time youâd turned he was already on the bed, rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked.Â
âShit,â you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hellâs Kitchen layed out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things youâd ever seen. âHoly shit, youâre trying to kill me.â âGet up here and ride my face, sweetheart,â he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. âDo it before I drag you up here myself, because Iâm not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.â
It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity heâd given you.Â
You hit another brief snag, however, once youâd crawled over to him. Youâd ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a momentâs consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, âfuck it,â and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Mattâs free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didnât really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.
Matt, however, had lost his patience.Â
With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadnât eaten in days.Â
You both let out a sharp moan, Mattâs far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Mattâs mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. Heâd told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, heâd consider that death a victorious one.Â
âMmâMatt, oh god, please,â you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.
 Apparently satisfied that heâd taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. âTaste so good, sweetheart, all mine,â he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.
Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Mattâs moans against your cunt growing stutered and hoarse. It likely wouldnât have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thich thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself.Â
Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what youâd wanted to do.Â
You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didnât like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.
âRelax.â You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. âJust-just trying to get to you.â He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasnât listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didnât matter, because youâd finally maneuvered yourself to where youâd wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth.Â
It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Mattâs mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a secondâs hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Mattâs cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since youâd gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.
âGod,â he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. âAh-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, justââ
Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.
You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was⌠relative.Â
Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, heâd yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, heâd buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until heâd managed to worm his tongue inside you.
Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. Heâd burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldnât have been able to breathe, but still you couldnât bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you werenât much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.
No.
No, you wanted to ruin him too. Â Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didnât matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, youâd need one more thing, so And, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didnât slide your fingers inside himâsomething you both hadnât tried quite yetâbut you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him.Â
His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time heâd thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was makingâwhimpers and broken moans, slurred pleasâso you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, âFuck, Matt, please!âÂ
Your begging managed to drag him up out of his haze just enough that he began to sloppily hunt for your clit, licking at your cunt until he finally found it, closing his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and then with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy pushed you the rest of the way. Mattâs tongue lapped warmly against your clit,a nd just like that you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him.Â
You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. But then Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Then he moaned, dragging your hips back down. âDonât stop,â he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadnât quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully dome down left you shaking, clawing wildly at him, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in place.
Donât stop.Â
There wasnât much you could do but follow the instruction.Â
You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet⌠he couldnât resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that youâd had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you shifted and rolled your finger, grinding hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head fell back once again, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets, but you didnât care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear.Â
You werenât sure who was more startled when he cameâyou, or himâbut either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound youâd never heard from him before, one part shout and one part a high, hitching moan, the sounds ebbing and flowing with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasnât much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against him to drag it out. You didnât stop until his sounds began to sound pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. But even that much pressure against your clit, made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted heâd managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.
âMatt,â you choked out, not even sure what it was you neededâhis hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give.Â
Mattâs head was still thrown back on the pillow, his mouth hanging as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look, one he got when youâd really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. Heâd need some time, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what youâd doneâMatt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your bodyâwould be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasnât as good as Matt, but it was good enough.
Or⌠thatâs what you thought youâd do, until Mattâs head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.
Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.
âMatt,â you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. âIâm-Iâm fine, just, unh, gonna finiâMatt!âÂ
Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed, because yuou you abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed on your back with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and feeling around the bed to feel out how youâd fallen, his eyes burning. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew youâd have a mark there tomrrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasnât the part of you heâd been aimiing for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You lifted up your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. âHere!â you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. âHere, Matt, rightââ
He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. And his furious, rough lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation youâd been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss.Â
Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break.Â
âMatt,â you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. âMatt, thatâsâfuckâII need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!â
The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didnât get very far, though, immediately tipping his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump. Â
You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to breathe, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. âThat,â you wheezed, âwas⌠we need to do that again. But in⌠in a while.â
He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion whoâd just had a meal. He hadnât moved from your thigh, his face still absolutely drenched. Then he grinned, and the expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldnât help but roll your eyes. âI take it youâre ok, then?â You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his cheek.Â
He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like that was what he needed.Â
âYou wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?â
He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didnât even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you aaginst him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He noses around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. âYouâre drunk as hell,â you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. âYouâre pussy drunk. God, I love you.â He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping. The rest of his body followed, as he settled down on top of you with a groan of satisfaction. Then he rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip, where he began to knead clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. âMhm. Love you, too.âÂ
âLittle more coherent?â âMm. You taste good.â âSo do you. Donât make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.â
âMhm,â he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. âI promise. Weâll share.â
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil#matt mudrock#fanfic#fic#smut#reader#reader insert#x reader#AFAB reader#marvel fic#prompt fic#prompt challenge
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The Library of Pastaxandria has documented for its archives: "You're Who I Want" (Michael Kinsella x Reader)!
"Youâre who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)
Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2k
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)
It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that youâd hoped would lull you to sleep. But that wasnât in your cards tonight, it seemed.Â
âHeâs headed yer way. Things⌠didnât go well tonight.âÂ
Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off when he arrived. You didnât care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had wanted this. But he was a loyal man, endlessly devoted to family, something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of.Â
You had thoughts on that, too, but that would also have to wait.Â
 âWe lost a few oâ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but⌠Well, the family argued after. Things were said ta him, andâŚâ
Some nights, though, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath that weightâthe weight of expectation and a grim responsibility he shouldered without complaint, even as he began to crumble beneath it. In the two years since youâd met this beautiful, quiet man in that small coffee shop, youâd watched those brittle cracks form. Over time, as he gradually began to let you in, youâd discovered the far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what heâd done, had only opened that door further, until he began to seek you out as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits were brought closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inevitably in the pull of each otherâs gravity.  Â
Neither of you had named what this was. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then youâd happily give it.Â
 âJust⌠be gentle with him, dear.âÂ
Somehow, even the knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where youâd been filling up the kettleâyouâd learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when youâd moved to Irelandâand headed down the hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the rain and a gust of chilled wind.Â
âOh, Michael,â you whispered.Â
He was soaked to the bone, dark hair plastered down against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and hands, more of it leaking steadily from a split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes werenât red because of the rain. The moment he seemed to realize you didnât buy it, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and exhausted.Â
âThat bad, eh?â he asked tiredly, trying for humor and missing by miles.
âShit, get in here before you freeze.â You caught his arm and tugged him forward until you could quickly shut the door behind him. He didnât fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldnât seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness.Â
âIâm gettinâ yer floors all wet,â he said. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, stripped of all energy, as if heâd used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head, staring down at the growing puddle on the floor, his face twisting through something unreadable. ââM sorry, pet. I shouldnât haveââ
âFloors can be dried, Mikey.â You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was standing shivering in the hall as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just⌠broke your heart. âCome here.â
He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. âIâll⌠Iâll get blood on ya.â âI donât care.â
He clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at you. Some of the blood on him had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a rusty pink. âNo, I-I shoulda stopped âa home first, cleaned up. And itâs late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another timeââ
You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the door. He went stiff the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops, making it clear you werenât going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of whiskey and leather, of gun oil and rain and blood. âStop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,â you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder as his breath hitched. âI donât care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that wonât change. Iâll stand here all night with you if I have to.â
He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his hands tentatively finding their way around your waist, as if he were still half-convinced it would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. âWhy?â he whispered. âI donât understand. I have nothinâ ta give ya. Ta give anyone. I keep tryinâ to be what everyone needs, but I canât even do thaâ right. Why do ya keep openinâ the door for a broken man, pet?â
âYou might be hurt, but youâre far from broken,â you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands beginning to fist in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath from him, more of his tears falling against your throat as he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what youâd offered. âI let you in because I just need you. Youâre who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. Thereâs nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.âÂ
That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked sobs. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, soothing whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and through his hair as he let go of every last wall heâd put up between him and the outside world.Â
It took time for that wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, taking the time to clean him up. He accepted the care silently, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready, so you let the quiet have its place, though every now and then youâd lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
You left him alone just long enough for him to change. You were glad he now kept a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, the knowledge that this place was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed, you tipped your head before heading towards the bedroom. He hesitated, just for a moment, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.
It wasnât every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. Just on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed each otherâs presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against grief or hurt. Until now, however, it had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that youâd never intended to fall asleep at all. Tonight, however, you just⌠thought he deserved a bed. That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate. Neither of you had dared offer access to the otherâs bed until now. Hell, you hadnât even kissed yet, though thereâd been⌠moments when youâd both come close, dancing along that edge. Somehow you knew thereâd be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when youâd both sworn you were simply friends.
And after a long moment⌠the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow.Â
The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you.Â
Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him.Â
âI donât know what Iâd do without yaâ,â he sighed, his breath slowly easing. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them took your breath away, filled with a tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the end and never find it. âEvery time I think Iâve lost who I am, yerâ there ta bring me back. I feel⌠I feel real when Iâm with yaâ. IâŚâÂ
His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair as his lips met yours.Â
The kiss was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a hesitance that swiftly gave way to confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed down as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he lay his forehead against yours, his eyes falling closed. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, eyes crinkling, even if they stayed closed. âWanted ta do that for a long time, now,â he admitted. âNot long after we met, if âm honest.â âI may or may not have wanted the same thing,â you huffed softly, his smile growing.Â
âCan I take ya ta breakfast tomorrow?â
You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt⌠permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for.Â
âIâd love that.â
And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.
#michael kinsella x reader#michael kinsella#kin#fic#fanfic#reader#reader insert#x reader#angst#fluff#emotional hurt/comfort#tw: blood
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The Library of Pastaxandria has documented for its archives: A Bit Of Sunshine.
"A Bit Of Sunshine" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)
And here we are on Day 2 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Two, I chose the fluff prompt: Flower Crowns. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. And off we go!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Wordcount: 985
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: none, just some sweetness
It was rare that he found time to simply relax.
And yet here he was with you. The air was pleasantly warm, a whisper against his skin from the cool breeze faintly tinged with salt from the sea, and the shade from the massive oak tree above kept the worst of the sunâs rays from reaching him. The familiar sounds of the parkâsquealing children, laughing couples, bees buzzing away beneath a chorus of birdsong and rustling leavesâhad been a welcome respite from the blaring sirens and furious car horns, though heâd have been able to hear those, too, if heâd concentrated hard enough. But in a brief moment of peace, heâd allowed himself to reel his focus back in, his hypervigilance easing until he was just⌠here.Â
Here, in this case, referred to the two of you together atop a blanket under a tree in the park, the chosen location of your Saturday date. Youâd settled with your back against the tree, your legs stretched out easily in front of you. It hadnât been long before the warmth and fresh air had drawn him into an unusual state of lethargic relaxation, and at your encouragement, heâd wound up sprawled out next to you, his head in your lap, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest. Youâd seemed to recognize the moment for what it was, too. Your fingers had quickly found their way often to his hair, stroking fondly through the strands, nails against his scalp a sensation that occasionally made him purr or hum, rolling his head into your touch. He wasnât sure how long it had been, but that didnât seem to matter. Sometimes you both talked, and sometimes instead you lapsed into a pleasant quiet, the two of you simply enjoying the break from all the chaos and stress so common in your life together. Though your hands had been absent from his hair for a little while now, instead working steadily away at some sort of mystery project above him. He wasnât sure what it was. Heâd have to extend his senses to find out, and for now, he was choosing to trust you while he let go of his usual control.Â
Still, the repeated shift of you as you reached for something beside the blanket, the little snap as you pulled something from the grass over and over, adding it to whatever you were working on, finally stirred his curiosity.
âWhat are you doing?â he murmured, fighting back a yawn as he adjusted his head on your lap, tipping it towards yours. It wasnât like he could see you, but he liked to make sure you knew he was listening.
âMaking you something.â You let out a hum, something soft and light falling from whatever you held in your hands to land on his cheek. He didnât bother to move it. It was soft enough, whatever it was, and delicately scentedâfaint traces of cut grass and something vaguely sweet, tinged with musk and the scent of your skin where youâd touched it. Even without his focus firmly in hand, the sensory weight of it made his nose twitch as he took it in. Fortunately, the smell wasnât unpleasant, especially when mingled with yours around him, with the scent of grass and earth, oak leaves and sea breeze and sugary vanilla from the ice cream cart a few hundred yards away. Somehow, he had a feeling the unique mixture would stay with him, a memory shortcut back to the feeling of this moment, so he spent a long moment breathing it in, letting it imprint itself on his mind. These brief moments of joy, of perfection were something he held onto as tightly as he could, a shield for his heart when his thoughts grew dark and the world seemed intent on stripping all the good from his life like meat from the bone.Â
âThere,â you said happily, the shape of your smile sunlight on his skin. âAll done. Hold still.â
You shifted a little above him, lifting his slack head just a touch, and a moment later you settled something onto his head, a circular loop of sensation that lightly pressed down against his hair, tickling, velvet-soft whispers of textures against his forehead. The scent of cut grass and sweetness grew stronger with its presence, and he lazily blinked his eyes open, shifting his gaze towards where he knew your face lay. Â
âOh, you need to let me get a picture before you take that off. My flower king.â You sighed, before leaning down to kiss him lightly. You lifted your head again, tilting your head in the way heâd come to learn meant you were taking him in, trying to ensure you would remember this later, just as he had a moment ago with the scents around him. âYour eyes with the yellow dandelions and your hair is just beautiful. You look happy.âÂ
And the truth in your heart when you said it justâŚÂ
âMaybe I am happy.â He leaned into your hand when you ran it down his cheek, scanning lovingly around the sensory shape of you, all gentle whispers of fire and soft sensation. âAnd what about you, sweetheart?â
âIâm with you,â you said softly, lifting up one of his scarred, battered hands. You brought it up to your mouth, letting his fingers trace your smile before you turned it and kissed the woven bands of scar tissue on his knuckles. âSo yeah. Iâm happy. Now sit up for me for a minute. I want to get a picture of us, flower crown included.â
That picture found its way onto his desk a few days later.Â
He couldnât see it, of course.Â
But the cut dandelions you often left beside the picture were quick to bring the memory back, as did every last determined bloom he found growing up stubbornly through the cracks of his city.
#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock x reader#daredevil#matt murdock#fanfic#fic#reader#reader insert#x reader#fluff#flower crowns#drabble#prompt challenge
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The Library of @pastaxandria has documented the above fic for its collection.
"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) đĽ
So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
Youâd had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldnât mind if he woke you upâyou never didâbut odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then⌠he didnât have to wake you up, did he?Â
Wordcount: 3.3k words
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!
Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.
Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door.Â
The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring.Â
Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.
Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enoughâthe fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people heâd ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your bodyâs call to him wasnât exactly intentional.Â
He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you werenât moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless.Â
Asleep.Â
You were dreaming, then.
Maybe even dreaming of him.Â
He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.
Youâd had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldnât mind if he woke you upâyou never didâbut odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.
But then⌠he didnât have to wake you up, did he?Â
Just like that, he settled on a course of action.
He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where youâd grown flushed and aroused.Â
The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way youâd curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearingâ
Oh.Â
You were wearing his shirt.Â
It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned.Â
He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didnât want to wake you. It wasnât that youâd be angry, of courseâyouâd both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though heâd had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest.Â
Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied.Â
The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down.Â
Gentle.Â
Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didnât so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But heâd been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you.Â
The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasnât stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep.Â
âRoll over for me, sweetheart,â he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. âYou smell so good. I need a taste.â
He wasnât sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldnât resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasnât so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him.Â
God, your scent.Â
He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousalâall pheromones and slick warmthâleft him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you.Â
It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. Heâd told himself heâd just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt.Â
Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once heâd thoroughly tasted what youâd made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didnât wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal. Â
âM⌠Matt.â
His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal youâd woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids.Â
If you hadnât been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe.Â
He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit.Â
Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That heâd spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?
The very idea that you might not know, that youâd left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips.Â
He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, heâd slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, youâd know tomorrow what heâd done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what heâd planned on from the start, before heâd become distracted by the taste of you.
He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too.Â
He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. âDo you want my cock, sweetheart?â he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. âI think you do. Even when youâre asleep, you need me inside you, donât you?âÂ
There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldnât take it off youâeven he wouldnât be able to mange something like thatâbut he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy heâd used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him.Â
Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. âPoor thing,â he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. âListen to you, so needy.â
And it would only be right to help with that, wouldnât it?Â
Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva heâd left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You werenât much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter.Â
âFuck,â he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. âFuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.â Â
God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, heâd caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours, ages before heâd finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat.Â
He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again.Â
Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan.Â
The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadnât woken.Â
Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets.Â
It wouldnât take much more for him to come, he knew that muchâthe taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasnât a selfish lover, even when you werenât awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, heâd make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep.Â
He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldnât resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadnât been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more.Â
It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you neededâeach retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep.Â
He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what youâd asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both.Â
All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldnât notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasnât quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring heâd coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep.Â
Satisfied with what heâd given you.Â
He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist.Â
âLove you,â he murmured. âMy good girl.â âMm.â
#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x f!reader#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil#matt murdock#fic#fanfic#x reader#reader#reader fic#ns/fw#consensual somno
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The Red Thread: Chapter 162
đĽ
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: Chapter 162 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
âIt really did bother you, didnât it? What I said to her.â Her brows rose curiously, the cool fascination of a cat watching the movements of a fluttering bird. âAnd here I was wondering if it was just a bit of show for her.â âYou know it wasnât!â he snapped. âI get that you may not understand this since everythingâs a game to you and weâre all just here for your amusement, but hurting the people we love is generally something most of us try to avoid.â âYou think that lowly of me, Matthew?â Her gaze skittered away from him, her fingers beginning to fidget, just a little, with the blanket on the couch. Trying to draw him in, make him feel for her, he suspected. âThat I would hurt someone Iââ âYou hurt me.â Or: in which an old hurt is discussed
Wordcount: 8.2k
Warnings for this chapter: blood, injury care, some NSFW smutty content (grinding, nudity, a hint of fingering)
Read me on AO3 where the penguins are
#the red thread#daredevil#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#reader#reader fic#reader insert#x reader#fic#fanfic#tw: blood#tw: injury care#tw: brief ns/fw#elektra natchios#the way i have been fighting for my life with this chapter#but i think it came out WONDERFULLY
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The Library of Pastaxandria has documented for its archives: "Do I Need To Beg?"
"Do I Need To Beg?" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) đĽ
Right so like a lot of other people, I saw that leaked trailer and had thots, mostly about Matt's new beard, and much like my thoughts on his coat, none of these thots are pure. This is pure fucking sin, in other words, one of the filthier things I've written, so scroll past if that's not your thing. Also thank you to my friends over in the Murdock's Tuna Team server, ya'll are the fucking enablers ever.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
âWelcome home, Mrs. Murdock,â he purred darkly, lazily dragging his tongue across his lips in a way that told you, quite clearly, what he was imagining. âIf you need to shower or drink a glass of water, do it now. Because the second you enter this bedroom, youâre mine for the rest of the night. And I have no intention of letting you go until Iâve had my fill.â
Wordcount: 4.1k words
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: oral f!receiving and a LOT of it like this is literally just a love letter to bearded Matt eating you out (Matt retains his đşeating crown), brief oral m!receiving, Dom!Matt, Sub!Reader, bondage, overstimulation, subspace, dirty talk, PiV towards the end, Matt's new fucking BEARD none of us are ok
Matt with an oral fixation incoming, here have this:
Your trip out of town had lasted longer than youâd initially expected.Â
Initially you'd only planned to be gone for ten days, but ten had abruptly been extended to an irritating fourteen with little notice. Unfortunately, there wasnât anything you could do about it, though Matt had reassured you over the phone that it was fine. While he missed you dearly and would have vastly preferred you back home and in his arms, he understood that things were out of your control. However, he did have one more thing to say before youâd both given your goodbyes, something that wound up eating at you for the rest of your trip in all the best ways.Â
âBesides,â heâd murmured. âItâll give me a little more time to work on my surprise for you.âÂ
What that surprise was had been a mystery, one heâd smugly refused to reveal no matter how much youâd tried to pry it out of him over the ensuing phone calls. It couldnât have been a gift for your next wedding anniversary, which was still a few months away. Nor was it your birthday, or Valentineâs Day. As best you could guess, this was just one of those moments when Matt decided to give you something, just because he could, just because he wanted to, no prompting needed. That wasnât an uncommon occurrence with him, one more thread in the tapestry made from all the many reasons you loved him.Â
However, on the list of things youâd expected to find when you finally made it home, you hadnât thought to include Matt standing shirtless in the bedroom doorway, his sweats slung low on his hips, his hair still damp from his shower. One corner of his mouth curled up into a wicked smirk, and oh, he knew. He knew, or heâd at least suspected what your response would be to his surprise, and you drew in a sharp intake of breath.
Heâd grown a beard.Â
You raked your gaze over it, taking in the way it seemed to change the angles of his jaw and his face, somehow adding a dangerous edge to his smile. What was more, there were little patches of grey scattered amidst the dark of it. You had no idea why, but something about those threads of silver only added to the building heat between your thighs, a fire that had started the second youâd seen him standing casually in the doorway, his beautiful body on open display just for you.Â
How would it feel to touch him, cradle his jaw in your hands now?Â
How would it feel when he pressed his lips to yours, to your throat?
And how would it feel as he made his way down, down, down, the rough scrape of his beard lighting you up as he drifted towards one of his favorite places on your body?Â
Your shiver drew a rumble of satisfaction from him. He slowly rolled his head back, inhaling deeply, clearly savoring the scent of your arousal.Â
âWelcome home, Mrs. Murdock,â he purred darkly, lazily dragging his tongue across his lips in a way that told you, quite clearly, what he was imagining. âIf you need to shower or drink a glass of water, do it now. Because the second you enter this bedroom, youâre mine for the rest of the night. And I have no intention of letting you go until Iâve had my fill.â
You were pretty sure youâd never downed a glass of water and gotten into the shower so quick in your life.
Matt kept his promise. The second you stepped out of the bathroom, he was on you, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar sensation as he caught your face between his hands and pressed his mouth hungrily to yours. That wild kiss didnât stop at just one, your lips separating only to meet again a half-breath later, over and over again. The two of you only grew more frantic with every second that passed, hips beginning to rock, bodies swaying towards each other, until you were both left gasping, frantic and breathless, hands groping desperately across whatever bared skin either of you could reach.Â
âBed.â The word was a low growl against your lips, his hand wound loosely around your throat, one thumb up under the hinge of your jaw to force your head back for him. One of your hands, meanwhile, had slipped back and down beneath the hem of his sweats, blatantly groping at the thick curve of his ass. He let out a rough groan that you eagerly swallowed down, the skin around your mouth already burning from the rasp of his beard where it had rubbed against you. âFuckâBed. Now.âÂ
He wasnât going to get an argument from you.Â
It was a short, stumbling walk from there to the bedroom. Neither of you bothered to keep your hands off each other, your fingers fisting in his damp hair as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to that special spot under your jaw that made your legs shake, Matt seemingly eager to drink the remaining droplets of water from your skin. You should have guessed his plans when you noticed the towel on the bed. But it was hard to focus with the tantalizing burn of his new beard dragging across the delicate skin of your throat, and with the taste and scent and touch of him filling your senses after a long two weeks apart. It felt like there was nothing in the world but him, nothing but the scent of cinnamon and copper and salt, the warmth of it so rich you couldnât help but gasp with it as he herded you backwards until at last, you both found the bed.Â
The world lurched, and just like that you were pinned beneath him, the broad, heavy weight of him easily trapping you against the mattress, not that you minded. Your ragged moan of his name seemed to hang in the air, your fingers still tangled in his hair. God, your cunt was practically dripping already as you lifted your hips, trying to rock up against him in invitation. You'd been thinking of this the entire time you'd showered. He had to have sensed it. âMatt, sweetheart, please.â âIâve been thinking about this since you left,â he purred in your ear, his breath a rush of burning embers before he started down your body. The moment he reached your bare breasts, he pressed his face between them, the rasp of his beard making you shiver. He inhaled deeply, dragging your scent deep into his lungs. That inhale led to a hitched, delighted moan, his hips rocking down against the mattress. Without warning, he turned his head and eagerly drew one of your nipples into his mouth. The greedy suction of his mouth when paired with the bristling scratch of his facial hair made you whine, writhing as best you could where you were trapped beneath the heavy weight of muscle and bone. But despite the way you offered up your chest in invitation, he had other plans, quickly releasing your breast to slide further down your body. His voice dropped into something low and sinful, then, soft as silk against your skin. âAnd Iâve missed this sweet pussy of yours, sweetheart.â He placed a tender, innocent kiss against your hip, the gentle nature of it at direct odds with the obscenity of his words. It was a combination that left you burning up, your breath hitching as he pointedly lifted one of your legs to drape it easily over his shoulder. He directed his blank gaze back up towards your own, his lips curling up into a feral grin. âSo Iâm going to see how many times I can make you come with my mouth tonight. And Iâm not stopping until youâve soaked everything underneath you.âÂ
Oh godâ
Your eager moan and the fresh flood of arousal between your legs was the only answer he needed. He let out a quiet hiss before diving in, his tongue burying itself between your folds for one heavy lap up your cunt, the first taste of you heâd had in weeks. And with a rough moan that matched yours in volume, he threw one arm over your hips, and settled in.
And there he stayed, his face buried between your thighs, for hours.Â
You lost track of your orgasms after you came for the third time, three of his fingers hilted deep inside you, his tongue lapping firmly, determinedly at your clit. It had been impossible to resist between that and the rhythmic, rough scrape of his beard against the inside of your thighsâa sweet-edged pain you were quickly growing addicted to. You came so hard you saw spots at the edge of your vision, came so hard you left a puddle on the towel beneath you, your startled cry loud enough to wake the neighbors. Your brain didnât even know what to do with that kind of pleasure, your thighs snapping shut around his head, your whole body writhing as the pleasure washed over you in uneven waves.
But Matt didnât so much as slow. If anything, he simply opened his mouth wider, drank from you even faster, swallowing down that flood as if you were the sweetest of wines. The moment he tasted your orgasm, one that drenched his beard and mouth, his eyes snapped shut, his hips bucking against the mattress. A wild, shaky moan tore from his throat as he came with you, soaking his sweats, the rhythm of his mouth growing clumsy and uneven.
Yet still, he didnât stop, despite the fact you'd both come. All it took was a few breaths before he was back at it. He seemed almost mindless now, focused only on taking, greedy and insatiable as he forced your body and his to start the climb yet again.
You lost control over your body not long after, your reactions instinctive and uncoordinated. Somehow you found your hands back in his hair, soft, sweat-soaked strands sliding through your fingers. You werenât sure what you meant to do then, whether you wanted to push him away from your overstimulated body or pull him in even closer, ride his face the way you wanted. Either way, he wound up deciding for you.Â
âSeems to me like someone canât control herself.â He braced one hand firmly against your abdomen, and though he couldnât see you, you still felt pinned by his gaze and the almost drunken little quirk of his lips. Even in the low light, you could see how his beard and mouth glistened, slick with the taste of you. âDo you need the rope, sweetheart? Do you want me to help you?âÂ
There wasnât a chance in the world of you remaining still without that rope, not if he intended to keep going. And you both knew it.Â
âYes, please,â you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed as he clumsily rose from his place between your legs. Despite the lingering oversensitivity in your body, the sudden absence of his mouth still made you whimper. You justâyou needed more, the promise of it keeping the tide of your arousal from fully easing. Â
âWhat a good girl, admitting you need help,â he crooned, crawling up the bed far enough to reach the nightstand, pausing only to brush his lips against yours, the scent of your sex clinging heavily to his beard and mouth. He opened the drawer and dug around for a moment, until he finally drew free a length of red silk rope, testing it out in his hand. Once he was satisfied, he began to loop the rope around your wrists. âDonât worry. Weâll make sure you canât move. Because I meant what I said. Iâm not letting you up until Iâm finished with you, and Iâm nowhere near done, sweetheart.âÂ
The moment your wrists were properly tied, he placed his knees on either side of you, rising up to hook the length of rope to the hook set into the wall. But that put something else within reach of your mouth, and all the grinding heâd done against the bed had managed to drag his soaked sweats down just far enough to expose his cock. He was already half-hard again, the head slick and dripping, flushed dark and tempting.Â
In that moment, you needed to taste it.Â
The noise he made as you darted your head forward and took the tip of him into your mouth was inhuman, one part choked gasp and one part snarl. You suckled at the broad head eagerly, rapid little licks of your tongue against his slit to draw out more of the precum leaking steadily into your mouth, trying to get as much as you could before he could stop you. He wound up hunched over the top of you, one hand braced against the wall, the other fisted in your hair to hold you against him. And the harder you sucked, the more his rough growls and snarls shifted into high moans and soft little whines, his hips bucking instinctively, helplessly forward, pressing his cock deeper into the warm, welcoming wet heat of your mouth. Even those powerful thighs of his started to shake.
If you did this right, heâd come in no time at all.Â
But it was the creak of the ropes as you instinctively reached for him that seemed to snap him out of it.Â
Just like that, your head was wrenched back by his hand in your hair, his cock sliding free from your lips with a wet pop, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, and down onto your chest as you stared blearily up at him. Chest heaving, dark eyes burning, he slowly leaned down until his lips hovered mere millimeters from yours. But even though his lips hadnât made contact, his beard did, the faintest brush of bristling hairs tickling against your overheated skin until you couldnât help but moan.Â
âAnd this,â he grit out, âis why youâre being tied: because you canât keep your hands or your mouth to yourself.â Â
âIâm sorry,â you whined, trying to nuzzle at him in apology. He dodged your mouth, his hand tightening in your hair in warning. This time, at least, you listened, rolling your head back into his touch, trying to make up for what youâd done, submit like he wanted. âIâm sorry, Matt. I just wanted a taste, I needed you so bad.âÂ
âIf youâd asked like a good girl, maybe Iâd have given it to you. Now youâre going to have to make it up to me.â He abruptly let go of your hair, climbing back down your body, ignoring the way you thrashed and twisted. Once he was back in place, he roughly shoved your thighs apart, dropping back down between your legs like he belonged there, claiming that space for himself. âDo I need to beg?â you choked out, practically shaking when he caught the thin, delicate skin of your inner thigh between his teeth, sucking hard. He lingered there for a long moment as you moaned and yanked desperately on the ropes, but it was no use. He was in control, not you, and you knew he wouldnât let go until heâd left his mark, claiming this part of your body that belonged to only him. But what you werenât expecting was for him to let go⌠and then tip his head, sliding his cheek, and his beard along the newly sensitive skin. The burn of it sent you soaring, your cunt clenching around nothing, your back arching as you tried to offer your core up to his mouth. âIâll beg! God, I will, Matt, justââ âI donât need you to beg,â he growled, his lips curling until heâd bared his teeth. âI need you to scream.âÂ
Then his mouth latched onto your cunt again, relentless and inescapable no matter how much you writhed. It was torture, madness of the best kind, and it wasnât long before something in your mind began to unravel, drawn right down out of your body and into his mouth to be swallowed down the Devil's greedy throat.
Things⌠got a little blurry after that.Â
There was no tracking the time, not when one orgasm melded into the next, minutes and hours falling away beneath the merciless lap of Mattâs skilled tongue, the brutal curl of his thick fingers, the rough scrape of his beard against your thighs and cunt until everything burned with pleasure and pain that turned the edges of your vision a fractured white. There was no outside world, no thought left in your mind but his name, nothing but the mountains he dragged your increasingly exhausted body up, and the swift fall when he mercilessly shoved you over the edge, over and over and over until you were ready to lose your mind.
âMatt!â you sobbed, wrenching hard at the ropes binding your wrists. It didnât make one bit of difference, the rope firm and unyielding where you were bound. Down between your legs, Matt slurped hungrily, drunkenly at your cunt, his face and throat drenched with your slick, a wide puddle on the towel beneath the place where his mouth connected to your body. The burn of his beard was almost unbearable now, but you didnât know what to do about it. You werenât even sure he could hear you at this point, his eyes glazed over and glassy, the broad laps at your slit and clit so instinctive and clumsy that you were half convinced he was lost in the same place you were, drunk off the taste of your pussy, off your repeated orgasms and pheromones that heâd been drenched in.Â
Another finger joined the three he already had buried deep inside you. Heâd been at this so long that your body parted for him with little issue, and god, god, you were so goddamn full, so trapped in the haze that all you could do was choke out another sob as all four of his fingertips rubbed firmly at that spot inside you. You were too tired even to close your legs around his head, but you could feel itâthat final orgasm curling hot and inescapable inside you, so close now you could taste the fractured shards of it, tears streaming down your cheeks as your eyes snapped shut. Â
âI think maybe you earned that taste you wanted,â he slurred, kissing lovingly at your clit like he might a lover, his lips parted just far enough to let his tongue brush against you. And god, it almost hurt, it hurt, your body so far beyond oversensitivity that even that light touch hit you like a bolt of lightning, your body jolting. âNot that you can answer me now. Or can you?â
All you could give him was a mindless whine.Â
He chuckled, working his free hand down beneath himself as he lifted his hips. His mouth dropped open a moment later, face going slack against your cunt before he moaned loudly, his shoulder shifting rhythmically beneath your thigh, his eyes rolling shut. Was heâ
He drew his hand up a moment later with a purr, his fingers now smeared and sticky with both your wetness and his, glistening softly in the low light. âWhat do you say, sweetheart? Would you like a taste? Because I would.â
You whimpered, tugging mindlessly at the ropes, and youâyes, yes, but your tongue couldnât seem to quite form the word yes, because he still had the fingers of his other hand buried inside you, rubbing steadily at the spot that made you see stars. God, please, the mere thought of tasting your combined flavors on your tongue had you almost mad, your body a hairs-breadth away from coming. All you needed was a nudgeâa brush of him at your clit, the taste of him on your tongue, and youâd tip over the edge.Â
He clearly knew it, too. And you thought-youâd thought he would be offering his hand as he dipped back down to your cunt, but instead, he pulled his soaked fingers free from you with a sigh. Your cry was a broken thing, something thick with grief at feeling so empty when you were so close, more tears streaming down your cheeks.
âShh, youâre alright, sweetheart, don't cry,â he crooned gently, hushing you as he crawled up over your body, nuzzling at your sweat-soaked skin. âDonât worry. Itâs only for a second. I wonât leave you empty. I promise. Almost done. Almost there. One more for me. Youâre going to give me one more, honey.â But how, when you were so empty, when you didnât have his mouth or his fingers, lost andâ
He groaned as he began to slide his thick cock inside you. Youâd been stretched so open by his fingers, by all of your orgasms over the past few hours, that he entered you with a delicious ease. The sloppy, wet squelch of his cock as he slid inside you would have made your cheeks burn if youâd had any sense left.Â
âShit,â he moaned, one hand braced beside your head, fisting in the sheets. One rock of his hips and he was buried as deep as he could reach, your cunt clenching around him as if it were trying to keep him there. You were too exhausted to lift your legs and lock them around his hips. All you could do was gasp and accept him, your eyes rolled back as you hovered on the edge. âNn, there you go, sweetheart. There we go. Nice and-and full. Hold on just a little longer for me. Open your mouth, honey.âÂ
You parted your lips instantly, long past resisting, long past thinking.Â
His fingers appeared against your tongue a moment later, taking in the combined musky taste of yourself, the bitter richness of his cock, and how it mingled and melded with the taste of his skin.
âSuck for me like a good girl,â he murmured, his other hand rising to wipe away a few of your tears. Once that was done, he settled his hand around your throat, as if he wanted to feel it when you swallowed. âGo on, sweetheart. You can have it.âÂ
You curled your tongue around his fingers, drawing them deep into your mouth with a grateful moan. The explosion of it across your tongue as you swallowed, the sheer obscenity of it, made you choke out a broken cry. His fingers were yanked back a moment later only to be replaced by his tongue snaking lazily into your open mouth, blatantly chasing your paired tastes with a filthy moan. All of it rolled up over you at onceâhis cock sliding up against that spot inside you, the whisper of pressure around your throat as his massive hand closed around it, the angle of his hips that let his body grind against your clit, the paired taste of you both filling your mouth as his tongue curled against yours, butâŚÂ
It was the harsh scrape of his beard against your skin that pushed you over the edge.Â
Later, you wouldnât remember the noise you made as you came, your body seizing as your orgasm slammed into you in one sudden rush. Your body went rigid, back bowing off the bed so sharply you felt something pop, your head thrown back as you lost yourself beneath a roaring tide of pleasure. Because this-this wasnât something you rode, something you swam with, something you swept over you gently. This was something you survived, something you choked beneath, drowned beneath. You barely heard Mattâs shout, didnât even notice the spreading heat as he came with you in slick pulses of warmth. You heard even less his slurred words of encouragement against your lips as your orgasm lingered in waves that just didnât end, and you couldn't, you couldn'tâ
âThere you go. Good girl, good girl, so good for me, let it all go sweetheart, Iâve got you, good giââ
You werenât quite sure where your mind went, then. But things cut out for a while.
How long you tapped out for was a mystery, the world had vanished into black. All you knew was that when you started to stir, your senses coming back to you one by one, he was there, your limp body cradled warmly against his chest as he rocked you gently. âCome on, sweetheart,â he murmured, the sounds distant and still a little warped. He had to have untied you at some point, you thought blearily, since he was holding you now. âCome on back, honey. Time to come back for me.â
You made a soft little noise of acknowledgement in your throat, all you really felt capable of at the moment, your eyes fluttering half open. Â
âHi there, sweetheart,â he hummed, nuzzling down warmly against your hair. One of his hands swept steadily up and down your arm, sensation that helped ground you, along with the easy rhythm of his breathing against you, the rasp of his skin against yours. âThere you are, my good girl. You did so good, honey. Now youâve got it. Take it slow. Breathe with me."
âMmm.â
"That works." He huffed a quiet laugh, tipping your slack head back until he could brush his lips against your forehead. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your body feeling a bit like all your bones had just up and gone missing. Maybe Matt had sucked them out of you. âI got eight out of you tonight if you can believe it. A new record.â
âItâs,â you slurred thickly, âthe⌠beard. I love it.âÂ
âI figured. And now I'm definitely going to keep it.â He nuzzled at you again, lifting one of your hands so he could knead gently at your wrist where youâd been tied. You'd probably have some bruises tomorrow considering how hard you'd yanked at the ties, but you'd wear them with pride. You always did. âAnd now you get the full aftercare treatment. Water, a snack, maybe a massage and a lot of cuddling before you fall asleep. I almost thought about drawing you a bath, but Iâm not quite sure I trust you not to accidentally slide down into the water right now, even with me holding you.â
â...Fair.â You sleepily mashed your face against his throat, drawing the musky scent of sex and his skin deep into your lungs. You were still floating to a certain extent, your body sore and exhausted, but the comfort of his touch, the low rumble of his voice went a long way to soothing you. âLove you. Missed you.âÂ
âI love you and missed you, too.â He pressed a fond kiss to your wrist, letting out a contented sigh. âLetâs avoid being apart for a while.â
âAgreed.âÂ
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil#matt murdock#fic#fanfic#reader fic#reader#reader insert#x reader#ns/fw#tw: smut#so much of it#mind the warnings please
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The Red Thread: Chapter 161
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: Chapter 161 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
With it came a sound, one only you seemed to hear. It was a sound youâd never forgotten, one youâd had the misfortune of hearing just once during a terrifying, panicked drive down a rural highway in Texas: a steadily building roar, one you could feel resonating inside your chest; the crackling pop and snap of dry trees and buildings catching light beneath a sudden rising heat and floating embers; the wild gusting of twisting winds heavy with smoke and charred ash that fell like flakes of snow onto cracked streets. The cavalry was coming, and oh, was that cavalry furious. Or: in which 5 muggers have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Wordcount: 5.6k
Warnings for this chapter: blood, canon-typical violence, lil bit of implied gore, scary sexy grr grr feral devil
Read me on AO3 where you can find Matt currently beating the shit out of bad people
#the red thread#matt murdock x f!reader#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock#daredevil#fic#fanfic#reader fic#reader#x reader#reader insert#tw: blood#tw: canon typical violence#don't worry i'm sure matt will react very calmly to the muggers who are attempting to rob yo-LOL i'm kidding i know what you're here for#feral devil matt is BAD ya'll
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The Red Thread: Chapter 160
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: Chapter 160 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
You were pretty sure Peter had been planning to swing you up and onto the roof or maybe just haul you up as fast as he could, but there wasnât time. Peter seemed to realize it at the same moment you did. Just as your momentum slowed and you hit the height of your backwards swing, he narrowed his eyes behind his mask. Abruptly he loosened his grip, the line of webbing heâd been drawing up reversing course. Just like that, you dropped.Â
Wordcount: 6.7k
Warnings for this chapter: Spider and Hind antics, heights, some dudes making very poor decisions, Peter being the most adorable and pure soul in the whole world when he's not giving you a heart attack
Read me on AO3 where the penguins are
#the red thread#daredevil#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#f!reader#reader#reader insert#x reader#fanfic#fic#spider-man#peter parker#heights#antics#peter must be protected at all costs he is too good for this world
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The Red Thread: Chapter 159
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its archives: Chapter 159 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
Those cases wound up eating away most of your day, which was just fine with you since what you had planned would work best beneath the cover of night. By the time you sent off the last of your photos to Donovan, the brilliant, scorching sunshine of a late summer day had begun to recede, giving way to the growing softness of quiet twilight, the dampness in the air softening the glare of the streetlights into a hazy, eerie glow. A perfect night for a break-in in Queens, if you did say so yourself. Or: in which you put your skills in disguise to good use, Matt is worried, and you zero in on the key to tracking down Derek, and from there: Anthony, your old handler.
Wordcount: 7.3k
Warnings for this chapter: mention of drugs
Read me on AO3 where the penguins are
That's right, we're back, baby!
Matt over here like 'it's about time, now get to the part where i marry her'
#The Red Thread#Matt Murdock x Reader#matt murdock x f!reader#Daredevil x Reader#Daredevil x F!Reader#Daredevil#Matt Murdock#Fanfic#Fic#Reader#Reader Insert#x Reader#tw: mention of drugs#THAT'S RIGHT WE'RE BACK MY FRIENDS RING THAT TRT DINNER BELL. CHAPTER IS FRESH AND HOT#or sort of fresh because i forgot to do this last night before bed so it's been sitting out#but in reality that just means it's had time to cool off so you can eat it immediately!#HOW GREAT IS THAT
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Haunted (Matt Murdock x TRT!Reader, Fic, SFW)đ§ď¸
Right, so close to 3 years ago, I had an ask in my box: 'what would happen if TRT!Reader/Jane Hind lost her memory just before returning to Matt after her three months away', aka: just before point where they both confessed their love and got together in mainline TRT. So I wrote up a fairly angsty, no happy ending sort of fic about it, which you can find here. But there just felt like there was more to the story, and the idea of a sequel wouldn't leave me alone, so I've worked on it in little bits and pieces over the past few years and I'm finally ready to unleash that into the world now that it's been edited to my satisfaction.
This will have a happy ending and hurt/comfort, once we swim through a lot of Matt Suffering. <3 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
Leaving him like that shouldnât have bothered you as much as it did. You didnât know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldnât glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. He⌠shouldnât have been alone. That was wrong, somehow. There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that⌠that youâd made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting. Matt was alone. Youâd left him alone. It was the right choice, one youâd made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back. So⌠why did you feel so very sick?
Wordcount: 11, 805 words so, hilariously, about 3 times the length of Part 1
Warnings for this chapter: angst, alcohol, matt spiraling fairly badly, he throws some things, LOTS of TRT references and spoilers so I wouldn't do this one unless you've finished the Miami arc in TRT.
Sad Matt gif as a reminder that the angst is pretty heavy here because I'm really going to emotionally beat on this poor man for a bit.
At Ciroâs insistence, you gave yourself one month in Hellâs Kitchen.Â
A month wasnât much time, granted, but it would hopefully be enough to see if there was a chance of bringing back the memories youâd lost: memories of friends, of your life here, and of⌠of whatever it was that youâd had with Matt Murdock. Based on his grief over the loss of Jane Hindânot you, but her surely, the role, the mask youâd worn while hereâhis attachment to her had been deep and fervent, and those feelings appeared to have been at least partly reciprocated. The dangerously intimate photo youâd found in your memory box was all the proof you needed of that.Â
Your past self had already been accustomed to his touch when the photo was taken, based on the way sheâd allowed him to press his head tenderly to her temple, his dark eyes warm and fond as he'd smiled in her direction even if he couldn't see her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She should have been put off by the proximity, by such a blatant show of physical intimacy, but instead of looking distressed, sheâd been relaxed and comfortable where sheâd confidently tucked herself up against his side. Try as you might, you hadnât been able to find any hint of discomfort, any clue that signaled the obvious affection sheâd felt was an act, her shoulder angled in a way that made you think sheâd wrapped her arm comfortably around his waist, her grin bright and so very real.
This couldnât be you.
When was the last time you'd looked that happy?
When was the last time youâd let someone hold you close?Â
And when was the last time someone had looked at you like⌠like they mightâŚÂ
âDid I⌠love him, Ciro?â
âI believe that⌠you might have, yes. Him, and this city. That is why I encourage you to stay, for a time at least. See if the memories return to you. Even should you leave, it would be wise to know of the life you led here.â
Ciro had sent a check to your office, booking you for the month and clearing your schedule. Just like that, you were free to focus on looking for something that might trigger the return of your memories. Though what that something might be, you werenât really sure. A more thorough examination of the apartment had been your first step. Unfortunately, thereâd been nothing there that seemed familiar beyond the same cheap decor and calculated set pieces youâd always used. Youâd quickly ruled those out. They were meaningless distractions meant to reinforce the lie of whatever pre-planned identity youâd taken on. In this case, that identity was Jane Hindâpractical, professional, detached, likes sailboat paintings and the color grey. Based on the fine layer of dust you'd found coating everything but the kitchen counter and a neat stack of mail, no one else had spent much time here during your months away. That, at least, fit your pattern. You werenât in the habit of making friends or putting down roots. There was no point in doing so when youâd just wind up cutting them loose and running again.Â
What had unsettled you far more were the hints of connection youâd found quietly tucked away:
A fleecy stuffed bear holding a plush crystal ball, the threads connecting the two uneven as if hand-stitched. That kind of time and effort wouldnât have been spent on anyone but a friend, and the bearâs prominent position on the counter lent it far more importance than any of the other decorations.
A tacky âHandsome Devilâ coffee mug, the curling red script and clichĂŠd devil horns design bizarrely out of place amongst the rest of the plain white mugs in the cupboard. An identity like Jane Hind wouldnât have been caught dead drinking from it, which meant someone else was here with enough regularity to have a mug of their own. Further digging revealed a second decorated mug, this one adorned with the name of the law firm co-run by Matt. You could have written off one mug, but two? Two was a pattern.
An entire drawer in the dresser devoted solely to a pile of dangerously soft shirts that clearly didnât belong to Jane Hind, the fabric threadbare and worn. They looked about the right size to be Mattâs, though, the faint traces of scent a match for him. The fact that they took up an entire drawer indicated heâd visited often enough to need a space for his clothes.Â
Youâd⌠made space for him in your false life. That wasnât something you did.
Or had you been the one wearing them?Â
Maybe�
Youâd spent a long moment holding one of the shirts in your hand, rubbing at the fabric in hopes of stirring something. When that hadnât worked, youâd even brought it up to your nose to inhale slowly, just in case the traces of scent brought some memory back.Â
Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon.Â
All it had done was remind you of holding a grieving Matt in his kitchen after heâd realized your memories werenât coming back. It was a gloomy enough memory, but ultimately unhelpful.
You'd tossed the old shirt on top of the dresser and moved on.Â
While you didnât know who exactly youâd been here in New York, the longer you searched, the more it became clear what had happened. Youâd started to slip, your years of isolation forming a crack in your layers of armor. That fracture had allowed an attachment to form, an insidious connection worming its way in through the open gap like poisonous roots through crumbling pavement. Youâd grown weak, and careless. There was no other explanation for why youâd broken so many of your rules, dominoes tipping one by one until it cascaded into a waterfall of mistakes. Youâd slipped before, of courseâloneliness was natural and expected, which was why you had so many contingenciesâbut youâd never let yourself get in this deep. Not until now.Â
What you didnât know wasâŚÂ
Why?
Why here?Â
Why these people?Â
And why the fuck hadnât you followed your rules and run?Â
If there was an answer to be found in Jane Hindâs apartment, you couldnât seem to find it, no matter how hard you look, no matter how many of her belongings you dug through. Even your memory box had failed you, the photo of you and Matt at the back of your stack of pictures an outlier you couldnât explain, this fruit of an as-yet unidentified poisonous tree. You had no real leads, no faint ringing of memory to guide you beyond a vague sense that, somehow, this started with Matt. You didnât even know where to begin.Â
At least, not until some shaggy-haired guy named Foggyâwhat the fuck kind of nickname was that?âshowed up entirely and rudely unannounced at your front door, dressed in a cheap suit and wearing a bizarrely determined look. Despite your doubts, you reluctantly allowed him in. He made it pretty clear he knew you, and if you were lucky he could tell you more about your life here.
âSo I know you usually skedaddle when things get uncomfortable, which I imagine they are at the moment. How long are you trying to stay?âÂ
âOne month.â You shrugged casually, a cover for just how warily you were watching him as he paced in yourâin Jane Hindâs living area. He knew far more about you than you knew about him, a reversal you were uncomfortably aware of. That vulnerability was almost enough to trigger a retreat beneath that cold, brittle shell youâd used long ago, though you quickly caught hold of that instinct and buried it back down deep where it belonged. Still, you couldnât quite hide the cool clip to your voice, your walls firmly in place. âLeaving after that. Donât see the point in staying if the memories are gone. Truthfully Iâm not sure why I stayed in the first place, especially once it was clear I was getting attached. No offense.âÂ
âNone taken, my hopefully-still-friend-when-your-memories-come-back.â He abruptly swiveled on his feet to face you, squinting at you thoughtfully. âHow badly do you want your memories back?âÂ
You thought of out-of-place mugs and hand-stitched psychic teddy bears; of faint cinnamon and a worn photo frame; of the way youâd held a broken Matt in his kitchen until heâd carefully pushed you away and asked you to leave, his face closed off and distant despite the tears on his cheeks and yours.Â
Youâd⌠been someone here. Someone cared for. Someone whose loss was mourned. Â
Even if you left, you needed to know just who that someone had been, if only so you could make sure this never happened again. Not until you reached your island in the sun.Â
âBadly enough to stay for the month,â you said quietly.Â
âThen put some shoes on. Weâre going on a memory hunt.â
Over the next few weeks, Foggy took you all over Hellâs Kitchen.Â
You visited Jane Hindâs office, abandoned warehouses, and empty rooftops covered in thick blankets of snow. He reintroduced you to Karen, to your upstairs neighbors, and to a bartender who didnât seem all that inclined to be introduced to anyone. You drank crappy beer and slightly less crappy vodka, played pool, and went to the zoo to stare for far too long at penguins, which Foggy refused to explain no matter how much you pressed. He had you focus on sights, on smells, on sounds that might trigger a memory. He joked with you in between, and he was just funny enough, friendly and clever enough, that for the first week or so, you were consistently cracking a smile. Hell, you even laughed now and then, much to your surprise. He really did know you, enough so that you gradually began to relax around him, just a little. He was likely hoping the addition of a friendâs voice would bring back what youâd lost, especially when paired with all the other sensations.Â
But no matter how much you both tried, your memories remained lost.Â
God, you hadnât thought this would⌠would hurt as much as it did. Yet with every day that you failed to find your way back to who youâd been, the more that fierce ache, that old longing inside you grew. Your smiles became brittle, your laughter fading, until both finally dried up like withered, crumbling leaves beneath a bitter frost. You couldn't help pulling away really, not when your soul curling up in the dark might protect you from the agony of knowing that maybe, just maybe, youâd finally found what you'd always wanted. How fitting that it had been ripped away from your bloodied, desperate hands like so many times before, one more square for the filthy patchwork quilt of shredded lives and possibilities youâd been forced to leave behind. What was worse: even your memories of that seeming joy had been stolen, too, leaving you with nothing left to carry but the tattered scraps of a ghost and the photograph of a stranger wearing your skin.
It shouldnât have been possible to miss what you couldnât remember. Yet here you were missing it all the same.Â
It didnât help that Matt was avoiding you in every way that mattered. Youâd thought about calling him if only to ask him questions about your life here, but you could never quite work up the courage to do it. He must have felt the same since he hadnât reached out to you, either. And why would he? He knew as well as you did that your memories likely werenât coming back. It made sense to cut that connection, tear it away like a weed before the roots could do more damageâsomething you should have done sooner, for both your sakes. What you hadnât expected was just how good he was at dodging you, somehow absent no matter how many places Foggy took you to, places he swore Matt frequented with you when youâd lived here, as if Mattâs mere presence might be enough to trigger some memory in you. Had he been that important? Either way, it didnât matter. You hadnât seen Matt once since youâd walked out, doing your best to ignore his hitched breath as youâd opened the door. Youâd forced yourself to ignore, too, the broken, agonized sound of grief that heâd let out as you quietly shut the door behind you, leaving him alone.Â
Leaving him like that shouldnât have bothered you as much as it did. You didnât know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldnât glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it.Â
He⌠shouldnât have been alone. That was wrong, somehow.Â
There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that⌠that youâd made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting.Â
Matt was alone.Â
Youâd left him alone.Â
It was the right choice, one youâd made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back.
So⌠why did you feel so very sick?Â
Sympathy.Â
That was all you were feeling. Matt was grieving a woman heâd cared about, one whoâd died and left a cold stranger in her place. It was normal to feel for someone in that much pain, and no one should be alone while grieving. Maybe this was for the best. The sooner you were fully out of his life, the sooner all his friends and family could step in, and the sooner he could move on. He wouldnât be alone, then. And even if he was, his loneliness wasnât your goddamn problem. You had more than enough troubles of your own.
Protect yourself.Â
Protect what you might one day have.Â
All else was irrelevant.
You just⌠hoped he was doing alright.Â
He did his best to avoid you, but that only grew more difficult once your ghost began to haunt his every step.
Even Josieâs quickly became off-limitsâsomething he discovered one night when he stepped through the front door where he was promptly met with the familiar, comforting scent of you floating like a haze beneath the smell of cheap beer and sour sweat. His body went rigid the moment he recognized it, your presence across the room a sharpened knife that only widened the wound carved into him by your death. And if the scent of you was a knife, then your bark of laughter was a cruel twist of the blade, one that left him gutted and shaking there in the doorway. He drank in his apartment after that, waiting for that blessed moment when he would feel nothing, waiting for the very second the glorious shroud of night fell. Only then could he finally escape to the streets and drown himself in a far better kind of pain, taking his rage and his grief out on whatever piece of shit had the misfortune of falling into the Devilâs path.Â
But Foggy seemed determined to shove the specter of you directly into his face.Â
âYou need to talk to her!â Foggy snapped, his voice only just shy of a shout. Matt ignored him as he headed for his office, desperate to retreat from your scent lingering on Foggyâs clothes. Foggy had taken you to a coffee shop that morning, one youâd frequented when youâd lived here, and now each inhalation was a vicious torment. It felt like breathing in shards of glass, the sharp pain of it throbbing with every stuttered, choked breath he drew in. If Foggy noticed, he didnât seem to care. âChrist, Matt! You love her and we both know it. If you talk to her, it might trigger somethingââ
âStop,â Matt grit out, reaching up to scrub his hand angrily over his face. He stalked his way over to his desk, still desperate to escape somehow, even if it was into his work. âJust stop, Foggy. I did talk to her, and you know what happened? Nothing. She didnât remember anything at all. Sheâs gone, and you dragging this out is just making everything worse for all of us.âÂ
âSo what, youâre just gonna roll over?â Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms as he planted his feet in Mattâs doorway. âAre you sure you actually loved her? Because Iâm pretty sure she loved yââ
Matt slammed his fist down on his desk, the furious crack of it echoing through the office like a gunshot as he shouted, âDonât you fucking dare!âÂ
Tension hung thick in the air as Mattâs chest heaved, his teeth bared, blood and adrenaline running hot in his veins as if Foggy were some sort of-of threat. Everything in him shook with rage, or maybe unshed grief, the burden of them both impossibly twisted and tangled beneath the sea of his guilt and his self-loathing until he couldnât tell which was which. He just couldnâtâhow was he supposed to force it all down when Foggy had just come so close, so dangerously close to shattering what few pieces remained of Mattâs crumbling armor?
It was bad enough loving you the way he did only for you to slip through his bloodied, desperate grasp like whispering grains of sand. What was worse, this entire disaster was one of his own making, a series of mistakes whose snarled, winding paths led inevitably back to him just like they had so many times before in his life. This loss of someone whoâd truly understood him, accepted him, cared for him had already broken something inside him he wasnât sure heâd ever be able to repair. But that fracturing inside him would surely rise up to consume him if Foggy were right, if youâd truly cared for him that deeply before your memories were taken, so deeply that you might even haveâŚ
I miss you, sweetheart.
âŚloved him the way he loved you.Â
Abruptly Mattâs surge of rage drained away and his head fell, leaving him feeling all the more empty and broken. He braced his arms weakly against his desk, drawing in a shaky breath as he forced himself to confess, his voice gone hoarse and ragged with grief. âI loved her, Foggy.â He lifted one shaking hand to his face. âGod, I loved her so, so much. I canât⌠I donât know what to do without her now that sheâs gone.â âI know, Matt,â Foggy said gently. âI know.â âI loved how she always smelled a little like coffee, and the way she always managed to wind up climbing into the oddest places for a case. She had one of the foulest mouths Iâve ever heard, but I swear she could use it to talk her way out of almost anything or to bring someone up out of whatever dark hole they were trapped in. She was⌠far kinder than sheâd ever admit.â His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it, the expression miserable and gutted. Youâd have likely argued with him about how kind you were if youâd been here. But there was no chance of that now, no matter how much the scent of you on the air told him otherwise. âSome days it felt like she was the only thing holding me together, like the only time I could breathe was when she held me in her arms. She was always there when I fell apart, or when it all⌠when it all started to hurt too much. And I tried to give her whatever pieces of me the Kitchen hadnât already taken, to be there for her like she was for me, to keep her safe. We were finally going to make our relationship official when she came back, her and me, even if thereâd⌠already been something there for a while now if Iâm honest.âÂ
And it had, it had been there, this soft, tender thing that had developed slowly but surely between the two of you, a tangling that came by degrees rather than all at once. It had sprouted, grown, and blossomed so gradually that even now he struggled to point to any one moment where it had truly begunâthe night he found you in the warehouse, maybe, or that first game of Devil Hunt, or when youâd both almost taken the leap before heâd realized you were drunk. But the question of where it began didnât matter. All that mattered was that it was there, something nameless yet still so good and warm and perfect, a connection nurtured in the low light and the blood-soaked soil of the Kitchen. Youâd felt it just like he had, and youâd been willing to take that chance with him despite the baggage he carried behind him like an anchor destined to drag him down. You never would have agreed to kiss him when you came back otherwise. Now that chance was gone.Â
âHow much did she know before she left?â Foggy asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe.Â
âShe knew that I-that I wanted to be with her, but I never told her that I loved her.â Matt blew out a slow, heavy breath. âI was too scared of chasing her away, I guess. I thought maybe when she came back, if she still wanted me, I would⌠I decided that I would tell her. But I waited too long. Now sheâs gone and Iâll never be able to tell her. All because of me.âÂ
He finally lifted his head, tipping it at Foggy. Neither of them dared mention the wetness on Mattâs cheeks. Even speaking about thisâabout how much heâd loved you only for him to ruin itâwas almost more than he could bear, the edges of the wound still fresh and raw. Then again, maybe he deserved that pain after how miserably heâd failed you, just like everyone else in his life. âI miss her. And whatâs worse is even when sheâs right there in front of me, sheâs not. Sheâs not, Foggy. Because I-I fucked up. Iâm the reason the woman I knew, the woman I loved, died. Iâm the reason sheâll never remember what we had, why Iâll never hold her again, and why sheâll leave New York at the end of the month like she does whenever sheâs afraid of forming a connection.â He let out a bitter laugh, waving towards the windows, towards the place youâd once held dear. âI couldnât even keep her here before. She almost ran last summer and the only thing that stopped her was being kidnapped. That was what slowed her down long enough for our thread to turn red, not me. She wonât let that happen a second time, not now that sheâs seen what happens to people I care about. Do you understand?âÂ
The door to Nelson and Murdock creaked open, Karenâs voice making its way in first. Her voice was followed only a moment later by anotherâs, one still so familiar.Â
ââI mean, winding up in a pool while chasing a kid sounds about right for me, so even if I donât remember, I wonât argueââ
âI had to keep you here somehow.â Foggyâs voice remained quiet, but there was no disguising the ferocity in it now, the fervent belief. âGet out of your own head and talk to her, Matt. Fight for her. She would want you to.âÂ
No.Â
No, no, no.
Your body may have been here, whole and real, but the woman whoâd known him wasnât. The song of your voice, your sweet scent, the flames of heat and stirred air currents around you flaring into a familiar shape: all of it was nothing but a lie, a snare for his senses, a ghost of his own making, and he wasnât about to be caught by it again.Â
He darted back around his desk, shoving his way past Foggy on the way toward the front door, his heart racing. If he was quick, if he just put up enough of a front, he could get out before they trapped you here with him like theyâd planned. He wouldnât relive this grief again, he couldnât, not without falling apart. The moment heâd had with you in his apartment had been enough agony for one lifetime.Â
âHey, Matt.â You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet where youâd stopped by the front door. Your stance was cautious and guarded, almost wary of him. It was just one more reminder of how uncomfortable he made you now. âAre youââ
âHeading out,â he said stiffly, only belatedly remembering to trace one hand along the wall as if his heightened senses hadnât given him a clear map of the room the moment his adrenaline spiked. That spike was a curse all its own. It made the scent of you so much stronger, the lie of it fresh and present as it twined around him. His chest hitched just once before he forced himself to breathe his mouth. But that route of escape had been cut off, too. All it did was shift his focus to the taste of you on the air, and the taste of familiar fabric once so tenderly given.Â
You were wearing one of his shirts.Â
He fumbled for his cane, his hands starting to shake before he finally found it where heâd left it against the wall. He couldnât let you see him like this. It wasnât your fault that you didnât remember him, nor was it your fault that heâd lost you. Heâd done enough damage without adding a layer of guilt to what you were dealing with, too. But despite his attempts to hide what he was feeling, his face a hard mask, your fingers still brushed gently against his arm a moment later. It was an offer of help, or maybe an attempt to reach out, to slow him down, to connect. It was a kindness, a sympathy he didnât deserve. Even now, you read him far too well, this touch the same as it had been that first night heâd met you when youâd gently brushed your hand against his arm. âHey, do you need⌠I could walk you home.â
He shied away from your touch, finally managing to roughly unsnap his cane before going for the door. âIâm fine. I justâI have things to take care of. Excuse me.â Â
He went straight home and showered, but no matter how many times he scrubbed, he couldnât seem to wash the ghost of your scent away.
You slowly wandered around Mattâs office, taking it in. This was another place youâd supposedly frequented, a place that should have been familiar, and one you'd avoided until now.
Even though Foggy had assured you it was alright, it felt⌠almost wrong to explore a strangerâs space like this without them present. But you couldnât help but brush your fingers across the battered desk and the small labels in braille you couldnât read, run your hands along the chair for clients that you might have sat in once, and trace curiously the small seashell next to Mattâs laptop. The base scents of Matt were stronger here where he spent so much time, only partly erased by the smell of coffee and paper. The room was clean, cared for, and well-organized despite how rundown the office was. Important to him. You could tell that much, even if the scents and sights had failed to spark any memories.
Maybe⌠knowing his space wasnât enough.Â
This was about more than just figuring out who you were, now. For some reason, you needed to know who Matt was, too: this man Jane Hind had cared so much about and whoâd cared so much about her. You told yourself it was practical. Matt was your best bet when it came to remembering who youâd been. But some part of you deep down recognized the lie. No, there was something in you inescapably drawn to him, a pull you couldnât quite explain. Maybe that strange, unnatural gravity was what had started this whole mess in the first place. What was it about him that was so different, that had driven you to break every last rule youâd lived your life by for over a decade?Â
And why⌠did you spend so long wondering if heâd ever climbed out his office window?
It had been twenty-nine days, and not a single memory had returned.Â
Oh, there were beats now and then when you thought that maybe, just maybe something was coming back, but those moments were painfully few and far between. Even in those moments, you couldnât say remembered anything, exactly. It was more a frustrating sense of deja vu, a fleeting little itch at the back of your mind like youâd forgotten something important, flashing road markers to warn you of the dark, empty gaps in your memory. That sense was probably driven at least in part by Foggyâs growing desperation as he frantically hunted for something that might trigger a return of your memories.Â
But the rest of that feeling⌠the rest was all you.Â
There was no denying a traitorous part of you wanted to remember no matter how ill-advised it might be. You wanted to remember this bizarre little family youâd stumbled into and then lost, just like in Los Angeles. You wanted to remember the love youâd had for this place, this city, this taste of mutual affection that had grown up around you after going so long without. After endless ages and ages of drought, of starvation, you hungered for even these bare crumbs of connection, something to tide you over until you found safe haven on the distant horizon. What a tempting thought it was to slither back into the life of this woman whoâd been so cruelly murdered and replaced by a stranger wearing her skin.
Was this what a demon felt like when it took over a body? To walk around with someone elseâs face, to speak with the unnatural voice of the dead, tormenting the loved ones that remained?Â
That, ultimately, was why it didnât matter what you wanted. Your presence in this city only spread rot and suffering. It would be better for everyone involved if you left like you should have long before now. Then they could all grieve without you tainting the very soil around them.Â
Especially Matt.Â
Youâd seen him once or twice in passing as your time in New York wound down. Even at a distance, youâd marked the growing circles under his eyes, dark enough to be visible despite the glasses he always wore. The rest of him wasnât doing much better. It seemed like every time he crossed your path, there was another bruise, another cut across his face or knuckles, a shifting canvas of pain painted across skin grown pale and drawn. He didnât just look tiredâthat wasnât what this was. This was something far worse, a haggard exhaustion, a weariness that couldnât be solved with sleep, if he slept at all. This was someone being haunted.Â
Probably because the ghost of Jane Hind kept crossing his path. But that would be solved soon enough.Â
Youâd already packed up your things, not that you had much to take. Just your bag and your memory box. Youâd be leaving the next day. Foggy was still convinced he had a few more days, but you had other plans. You couldnât give Matt back the woman heâd lost, nor could you give him a body to bury, a grave to lay flowers across, but you could give him what Jane Hind had carried with her until her dying breath.Â
âI thought you might⌠want these before I left tomorrow,â you said quietly. âI⌠sorry, itâs⌠itâs a bag with myâwith her things.âÂ
Matt took it carefully from you, the motion mechanical and stiff. He hadnât really invited you the rest of the way into his apartment, the two of you now stalled out in the hallway just beyond the closed front door. He hadnât taken his glasses off, either. It made it harder to read him, his face closed off and impassive, a wall of red glass placed firmly between you. Come to think of it, you hadnât seen his eyes even once since that day youâd first come back, and you didnât blame him. You didnât like feeling vulnerable, either, though that was just a guess when it came to what he might be feeling.Â
âItâs the shirts from her apartment, which I think are yours. And the stuffed bear.â You bit your lip and released it slowly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. âAnd the⌠the mug, which Nelson said was yours, too. The one you used at her place. I also put the hoodie in there, the one she had with her while she was traveling. AndâŚâ You reached into your pocket, fumbling for a moment. God, you were bad at this, unsure of just how to do this without hurting him any more than was absolutely necessary. It wasnât a concern you usually dealt with since your goal was almost always the exact opposite, a precaution meant to destroy any threads of connection they held with you. Unfortunately, he wasnât giving you much to work with, though you didnât miss his subtle flinch when you drew the key from your pocket. âI thought you might want this, too.â
You cautiously edged forward, daring to breach the ring of radiant heat that surrounded him, the closest youâd come to him in almost a month. He went stiff as you approached, his jaw growing tight as the gap between you both closed. Another step, and his head cocked as if he were listening to your footsteps, or maybe⌠maybe he was just waiting to find out what you had to give him. But he wasnât telling you to fuck off or just set your gift aside, which was a good sign. So you hesitantly reached out and brushed your fingers lightly against his bicep, a signal so he knew you were about to pass him something.Â
A breath.
He remained absolutely still amidst the sudden, crackling tension in the air as your fingertips skated gently down and around his forearm, stirring all the little hairs, his skin shockingly warm. All youâd intended to do to take his arm and guide it up so you could place the key in his hand, but you quickly found yourself distracted by a ragged scar along the back of his forearm, one your fingers seemingly made their way to on instinct. It was a deep scar, the original cut likely made by some sort of blade, the edges of it rough and uneven from messy stitching. Your curiosity got the better of you, so much so that you missed the way Matt had begun to hold his breath.
âWho fucked up the sutures on that?â You furrowed your brow, your thumb smoothly marking out the jagged line of it. âThey did a terrible job. No offense.âÂ
Mattâs face fell and you only realized too late just who it was that must have patched him up.Â
Before you could blink, heâd yanked his arm out of your grip as if your touch had burned him. âDonât,â he grit out, his chest heaving as he put a few steps distance between you both. âYou canâjust put your key on the bench.âÂ
âHow did you knowââ âBecause thereâs only one thing left it could be.âÂ
You nodded weakly, taking a few steps back towards the little bench beside the door. That unfamiliar ache, that sense of wrongness was back, the weight of it settling uneasily in your chest like a stone until you almost wanted to retch. It didnât help that Matt was just barely holding himself together while you were here.Â
Best to say what youâd come to say and leave him be.Â
You gently set the key down, and the quiet click of the brass against the wood seemed to echo in the hallway, a graveyard bell tolling with a looming sense of finality. What you were about to tell him would hurt, you knew it would, but maybe one day heâd find comfort in it. Thisâa sign of what sheâd feltâwas the real gift youâd truly come to give, the only true token of her you could offer. Your words, when you spoke, were almost as hoarse as his. âI thought you should know I⌠she wore it. The key. I asked them. She wore your key and she never took it off. Not once. Whatever you both had, she treasured it, and all she wanted was to get back to you. She didnât leave you by choice, Matt. I hope that⌠that helps.âÂ
Of all the things youâd said and done, it was this that finally seemed to break him. His face twisted in a sudden wave of grief, and regret hit you all at once. You quickly took a step towards him, one hand out, though you werenât sure what youâd do if he reached backâit wasnât like you knew how to comfort him, and you sure as hell didnât know if heâd tolerate you holding him again, nor whether he was someone that needed some sort of touch when he was hurting. But before you could take another step heâd flinched away from you, retreating quickly back into the darkness of his apartment, his voice ragged. âJust go. Get out.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, backing away towards the door. âIâm⌠Iâm so sorry.â Â
It shouldnât have hurt as you closed that door one last time. But you cried all the same.Â
Somewhere within the apartment came the sound of splintering furniture and a hoarse scream wracked with grief.
âLook, Nelson.â You tiredly adjusted the strap of your duffle bag over your shoulder, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as if it would stem your growing headache. âI know itâs a day early. But another twenty-four hours isnât going to make a fucking difference.âÂ
âI donât need another day!â he pleaded, his arms spread wide where heâd blocked your front door, ensuring you couldnât leave your apartment until youâd heard him out. Youâd had no idea he even had a key until today and, not for the first time, you cursed Jane Hindâs apparent lack of common sense. You did not give out keys, or at least, you hadnât before coming here to this ridiculous fucking city. âJust five minutes. Thatâs all. Iâve got one last thing to try.â
âMaybe I donât want to try one more thing!â you snapped bitterly, dropping your hand. That anger was a good cover for the way something sharp and prickly had begun to catch in your throat, the incident with Matt still fresh in your mind. âIâve tried for a month, and itâs gotten me nothing. Fucking-fucking bars and random rooftops and a shitty little duck, goddamn penguins and keys, and none of it did shit! Janeâs gone, ok? Sheâs dead. And Iâm sorry, I know you all cared about her, but Iâm doneââ
âHave you climbed inside a thread?âÂ
â...What?â you asked in sudden bewilderment, your rage abruptly faltering in the face of pure confusion. âWhat the fuck does that even meââ
He let out a whoop, practically dancing on his feet. âYes! I knew it! I canât believe no one told you!âÂ
âTold me what?!â You chucked your bag back onto your couch in sudden exasperation. If this was thread-related, at the very least you could stay long enough to listen. âThereâs nothing to climb!â
âOk, so stick with me.â He rubbed his palms together eagerly, a bright light in his eyes. âBecause Iâm about to get really metaphysical.â
It took you what felt like hours to climb inside the shimmering honey-colored thread that lay between you and Mattâa thread that sang with his sorrow and your reluctant sympathy.Â
It wasnât right having your soul constricted like this, all of who you were narrowing down into something so small as you squirmed through a barrier that tasted and felt like dirt and earth, chasing after the sound of trickling water. There wasnât supposed to be anything on the other side. It was an emotional connection, nothing more.
And yet here you were, standing in a place that had no reason to exist.
âHoly shit,â you whispered in amazement, spinning on your heels to examine your surroundings. âHoly shit, he was right.â
Despite the late hour, the air was full of a muted light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, tinting the world a hazy, eerie green. High up above you roiled thick, sullen black storm clouds, silent flashes of red lightning carving their way between swirls of charred smoke. It wasnât much light, but it was enough to see by.
And what you saw was heartbreaking.Â
You stood in a dry, stony riverbed. The ground beneath you was cracked and brittle where the water had receded, leaving behind nothing but dust and broken branches. The river itself remained though just barely, the thin trickle of flowing water down the center of the riverbed a far cry from whatever immense force had carved its way through the landscape until the banks were a good ten paces from one side to the other. The terrain beyond the river didnât look much better, wilted, drooping cattails dotted up the bank before giving way to endless forest that stretched farther than your eye could see. Like the cattails and scrub, the pine and fir trees stood withered and brown, casting their empty branches up toward the sky.Â
If it had been beautiful here once, whatever had happened to you had destroyed that beauty.Â
âJesus,â you whispered.Â
âCan you hear me?â Foggyâs voice sounded distant and far away, tinny like he was talking through a long tunnel.Â
âYeah. Can you hear me?â
â...Ok, if youâre trying to respond, I canât hear you. But according to Matt, whenever you were here, it felt like memories. So poke around, see what you can find.â
You sighed and started down the riverbed. âNot super helpful, but ok. Letâs give it a shot.âÂ
The water was the most obvious place to start, and you made your way over to the thin stream that ran raggedly across the parched soil. Much to your fascination, you quickly discovered that what youâd thought was one current was actually two, one layered over the top of the other, each flowing in the opposite direction. The first of those currents hiding on the bottom was fairly calm, steady if a little restless, swirls of pale color that almost felt like curiosity, though how you understood that translation was a mystery. The second current seemed far rougher where it roiled atop the first, its section of the stream cloudy and thick with swirls of black and the red of an open wound. You hovered over the second current for a long moment, working up your courage, before you finally knelt and hesitantly brushed against it with one finger. It was just water. How bad could it be?Â
The moment your skin made contact, your chest seized on a sudden swell of agony. Your mouth filled with the taste of grief, with the sound of an empty home, the lack of some familiar scent that meant affection and warmth and softness and safety, the ache of an old wound reopened just when it had started to heal. Alone, always alone, I deserve it, so many gone, he was right, when will I learn? There was no hope for comfort from that pain, no escape from the darkness into tender arms that could hold you just right when it all hurt. All you had to look forward to was moreâÂ
You threw yourself backward, scrambling away from that terrible current as if what youâd felt might rise up and chase after you, snapping its teeth the whole way. You didnât stop retreating until your back slammed against the dry soil of the riverbank. Only then did you stop, panting, your eyes wide in shock as you cradled your hand against your heaving chest.Â
Emotion. Itâs emotion.
That was what the water was. Mattâs emotion. Which meant the other currentâone now shifting back to yellow despite a momentary surge of twisting, roiling blackâwas⌠yours.Â
Right. So you could rule the water out. But if that was emotion, where was memory?Â
Examining the rest of the river was the most obvious next step now that youâd ruled out the water. Based on what you could see, the original riverbed had been a mix of silt and stones of varying sizes, a firm foundation beneath a once-powerful river. Now, though, the grey, dried-out silt was covered in a strange sea of divots and dips, as if somethingâa lot of somethingsâhad been plucked up and removed. You traced one of the indents in the soil curiously, lifting your hand back up to consider the grit as you rubbed it between your fingers. Another glance around revealed the answer.Â
The stones.Â
There were still plenty of stones remaining in the riverbed, but the divots in the dry silt told you thereâd once been far more. If that was what youâd lost, then maybeâŚÂ Â
You rocked up eagerly to your feet, pacing around breathlessly as you searched for a promising stone to start with. Eventually you made your pick, plucking up a stone just small enough to fit in your palm, flat and smooth save for a little groove in it as if someone had run their fingers over it endlessly. Strangely, it smelled like honey and herbs, the surface oddly warm against your hand like the brush of a thumb against your mouth. You waited for a long, impatient moment, and when nothing else happened, you tapped it a few times.Â
Still nothing.Â
And something inside you⌠cracked.Â
âFuck!â you screamed, hurling the stone back down the river in a sudden rage. The pain and the loneliness youâd been suppressing for the last month, the last year, the horrible, endless eternity since leaving your family in Los Angeles began to claw its way up your throat, the clouds churning wildly above you in response. A wild rain came next, each droplet sharp and cold and edged like the blade of a knife, bitter and biting as it beat against your skin. You grabbed another stone, one that tasted like shitty beerâJosieâs beer. You threw that rock, too, then another and another, throwing stones that smelled and tasted and felt like your shriek of laughter as he grinned and caught you against his chest, like torn flesh and a needle held by tender hands, like your face nuzzling fearlessly against Mattâs throat as he whispered comfort into your hair and held you close, like synced breathing and hearts and dances between binary stars as you both fell into sleep, fell into safety, fell into one another, phantom sensations that only made the fierce ache in you grow stronger because with every stone you snatched up it became clear thatâŚÂ
Youâd been loved.Â
Not your identity.
Not the image you showed to the world.Â
Not the walls youâd put up in front of him before heâd found some way past them.Â
You.Â
And heâd loved you with every part of him.Â
You werenât sure when you started crying, a violent, vicious stream of tears that was just as much a product of rage as grief. Here was someone whoâd loved you fully, loved you despite every asterisk and bit of baggage and sharpened edge that came with being a broken hound, with being a former experiment still on the run. But you barely noticed your tears, spitting up at the unforgiving clouds and the howling wind, because you could howl, too, just as violent, just as much a threat as any storm in this place. âI want my fucking life back! I want him back!âÂ
You hadnât wanted it before, or maybe you had and youâd just been too afraid to ask for it. But now? Oh, oh, now you were furious, furious and hurting and screaming, because youâd denied yourself connection all these years only to find it in the last place youâd expected. That was what this had beenâhome, family, love. That had to be why youâd stayed in New York, why youâd risked everything for these people, for Matt. You werenât an idiot. Youâd have run the numbers and the math, made your calculations.
You couldnât bear to lose this. Not⌠not again.Â
You threw stone after stone, hunting frantically as your fingers bled dry, desperate fury into the air, reddened drops disappearing before they ever hit the ground. The trickle of water in the center of the riverbed had churned itself into a frenzy, but you ignored it. There had to be something here that would trigger a memory, something that would let you remember being loved again, something big enough, important enough, so you grabbed and you grabbed and grabbed and grabbed and grabbed until at last, you found a stone the size of your fist. You snatched it up with a ragged sob, cradling it greedily against your chest as if doing so might let you carry it out of here, because you wanted it, you wanted him, wanted to remember more than anything in the world.Â
âLet me have it!â you snarled, snapping your teeth at the howling winds of the storm as if you might catch this place between your jaws and tear it open until you at last found what belonged to you. âGive it back!âÂ
And with a blinkâ
He tore one of his bloodied gloves off, his hand shaking as he reached out to you.
You stilled the moment his fingertips brushed tenderly against your cheek, so very gentle, affection layered over blood and earth and hurt. And god, your skin was so terribly dry and cold, the beat of your heart uneven as it struggled to pump blood through your body, but he could feel you react to him, the barest parting of your lips as you dragged in a startled breath. He didnât want to startle you further or risk you fighting him, so he let his voice drop into a whisper, soft as the brush of a feather.
âItâs me. Iâm here.â
âI heard you,â he tried to say. âI heard you. Iâm here.â
And your weakened heart⌠skipped.
He wasnât sure if he reached for you or if you reached for him. All he knew was it was the sign heâd been looking for. In a heartbeat, he scooped you up off the floor, stealing you back from that dry, filthy cement and crusted blood that had tried to take you from him. He cradled your cold body against his chest, then, held you there where it was warm and where you were safe. You made the softest little noise, the sound choked and dry, but there was no disguising the heartbreaking relief in it. He pulled you in further, pulled you up until you were curled up in his lap, not an ounce of air left between your bodies, your head laying against his shoulder.
He would never let you touch the floor of this place again.
âDâŚâ you mumbled, not one hint of fear in you despite what heâd just done, the blood on his hands and the burning heat of violence that still lingered in his bones. You wearily slid your head over, inch by inch, until youâd buried your face against the sweat-slick line of his throat, nuzzling in against him with a hoarse sigh that only made him hold you tighter. You inhaled slowly then, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat that coated his skin, your fingers coming up to hook weakly in the collar of his shirt. âYou came.â
And you⌠smiled.
He buried his face against your hair and let out a shaky breath. As he did, he dug down past blood and dust and dirt, dug and dug until he found the sweet, familiar scent of you, a scent he never wanted to leave him again.
The stone fell from your limp hands, a ringing in your ears you could barely hear beneath the sound of the water nearby, frothing and wild.Â
The increased sensory feedback had been bizarre, and there was⌠there was no reason he should have been covered in so much blood, his body burning as if heâd been fighting before coming to you. ButâŚÂ Â
âHey, you in there?â Foggy called.Â
âD.â The letter felt strange, and yet⌠natural, as you cradled it on your tongue. âD?â
And you knew what came after that letter, shaping the word again in your mind.Â
You knew.Â
You⌠remembered.Â
âAlways,â heâd said.Â
âAlways,â you whispered, casting your eyes up the riverbed towards another large stone. âAlways, D.â
He didnât know what you were doing or why youâd climbed inside the thread.Â
âAlways, D.â
All he knew was that it hurt.Â
âYouâre stuck with me, unfortunately for you.â
Heâd thought catching your scent, hearing your laugh, being forced to take back the key heâd given to you had been the worst of it. But no. It was far, far worse having to relive these memories of your time with him over and over and over without pause, his senses filled with you: with your touch, with your scent, with the taste of you on the air. He heard you whisper, laugh, and sigh; felt the brush of your fingers in his hair and your body shaking with laughter when he snatched you up during a game of Devil Hunt and the safety of you as youâd held him so tenderly after his fight with Foggy. All of it was a reminder of what heâd lost, what heâd never get back.Â
âDonât you give up on me, Matt. Ok?â
He was in agony. There was no blocking you out like this, no escaping your memory no matter how much he tried to push back or retreat, until he wound up trapped and spiraling in his kitchen.Â
âKiss me when you come back.â
On and on it went, memories snapping at his heels until all he had left to hide behind was rage. He swept his arm across the counter, glass shattering as he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually he found himself backed up against the wall, sinking down as he hitched out something like an agonized groan, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. âDonât do this to me, sweetheart, pleaseââ
âAdoringly yours, because I do adore you, you ridiculous man...â
âLeave me alone,â he whispered. âJust leave me alone.â
â...Remember that. if nothing else.âÂ
In hindsight, it was a really bad idea to give back your key.
âMatt!â you shouted, pounding frantically on his front door. âMatt, let me in! Itâs me, I swear, I can-I canââ
Silence.Â
And you werenât willing to wait any longer. This wasnât something you could explain through the door, out here in the hall where the neighbors could hear. You needed to get inside. You knew he was in there somewhere.Â
Red threads never lied. Â
You wiped the blood away from your nose and took off for the stairs. It was only one flight up to the roof, and sometimes he left the rooftop door unlocked. Even if it wasnât unlocked, youâd use the key under the mat. You didnât remember everything. But you remembered that. And if the key wasnât there? Youâd break that fucking door down.
He sat unmoving in his meditation pose on the floor, the sound of your attempts to get into the apartment distant and far away. Meditation had been the only thing left he could think of that would allow him to escape the pain and the memories of you that had flooded his thoughts. Like this, with his mind and his focus withdrawn until it lay deep within himself, heâd hoped heâd be far enough away from the world that the ghost of you couldnât reach.Â
Yet even deep in meditation, his instincts were set off by the crack! of his rooftop door slamming open.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his heart racing as he bared his teeth, his body prepared to face whatever threat had just broken in. The sensations of you, at the very least, had quieted during his meditation, which should have left him enough space for some small margin of peace as he threw himself into a fight. But that peace was nowhere to be found, because you were here again.Â
He recoiled from that thought the second it crossed his mind. This wasnât you, that much had become painfully clear. Youâd passed away somewhere far beyond his reach, away from the home, the life youâd lived here. The woman that stood on his landing now was nothing but a ghost, a fading memory and a terrible reminder of what heâd had and lost, what heâd earned by daring to reach for something good. There was no undoing it, no washing away the blood on his hands. If anything, how he felt for you had doomed any hopes of you staying long enough for him to reform that connection with you. He knew how you operatedâhell, youâd tried to run on that hot summer night so many months ago after seeing just how much heâd cared, even if youâd ultimately changed your mind. At the time, heâd thought it was Destiny, the hand of God ensuring you remained in the Kitchen where Matt could keep you safe from the Man in the White Coat, here in this place where you both might⌠might shape something good out of all the broken pieces youâd both been left with. He knew better, now. Even the hand of God couldnât break the curse Matt placed on those he loved. You would leave, leave like all the others, and he deserved it.Â
The only question that remained was why you seemed so, so fucking determined to make him suffer.Â
âMatt.â Your voice cracked as you stumbled down the stairs. âMatt, Iââ
âWhy canât you just leave me alone, sweetheart?â he grit out, reaching up to fist his hands tightly in his hair. Heâd never known you to be unnecessarily cruel, but there was no other explanation. âGod, I-I canâtâyou canât keep doing this to me.â
âMatt, just let meââ
âDo you even care how much youâre hurting me?â He hitched out a broken laugh, something bitter and tormented, the sound absent all humor as you made it down the stairs. âAll those months, all I wanted was for you to come back. I begged. I prayed to God, over and over again, that he would bring you back to me. And now that youâre gone, you just wonât leave. I canât get away from you no matter what I do. Do you know what thatâs like? To lose someone you love only for their ghost to haunt you every time you turn around?â
A soft intake of breath.Â
There it was. Now that heâd said it, youâd leave. There would be nothing more frightening to the You heâd first known than a word like love.Â
âI justâŚâ His breath hitched again, something thick building in his throat. It was just another sign of his weakness, the same weakness that had gotten you killed.Â
âI warned you, kid,â came Stickâs voice, so smug that Matt bared his teeth. âI fuckinâ warned you the night I opened up her eye. But you didnât listen.â
He started to pace wildly, ignoring your voice as he hunted for some opening through which he could escape, flee from Stickâs voice hiding in the corners of his thoughts, from your ghost. With every step his movements grew more frantic, more furious as his rage built like a rising wave: rage at himself, at God, at the monster whoâd taken your memories and the possibility of a life for you here with Matt, and at you, too, because you just didnât get it. âI just want to grieve, and God canât even give me that much, can he? Is that what this is? Punishment? Revenge? Congratulations. Job well done. You can go.âÂ
You tilted your head as you watched him pace, the same cock of your head you got when considering your potential routes forward. As far as he was concerned, the only route heâd give was a route out the door. Â
âI donât know why you came back, and at this point, I donât fucking care,â he told you hotly, nothing but burning smoke and thick venom in each word. âWe donât have a red thread anymore. Thereâs nothing to keep you here. Leave. Now. Iâm not asking.â
Your soft response was a single letter, one that struck directly at the open wound inside his chest.Â
â...D.âÂ
He snatched up an empty beer bottle from the kitchen counter in a sudden rage, turned, and hurled it past you.Â
You didnât so much as flinch as the bottle came within inches of your head. Nor did you react to the distant shattering of glass, the sound of it barely audible over his anguished roar.Â
âLeave me alone!â Â
And then he froze in sudden horror at what heâd done, his heartbeat almost drowning out the soft sound of your steps. All heâd wanted to do was scare you away, frighten you away so he could break where you couldnât see, because it had hurt, it had hurt to hear you call himâ
Wait.Â
Youâd⌠youâd called himâŚ
âMy Devil Man, my Saint Matthew,â you whispered, the touch of your hands cool and endlessly gentle as you cupped his face. His skin was wet, damp beneath your thumbs as you swiped them across his cheeks, when had he started crying? You brought his head down until you could lay your forehead against his, the taste of salt hanging in the air. Your voice grew achingly tender, so longed for that he swayed helplessly on his feet, wanting nothing more than to be held like youâd held him so often before when he was hurting. âIâm so sorry, D. Iâm so sorry I left you alone, sweetheart.âÂ
He closed his eyes tight, his breath growing shaky. You couldnât know that he was two steps away from crumbling in your arms, fractures widening with every breath. He had no energy left to fight your touch, your misplaced mercy, but giving into the lie was another thing entirely. He couldnât bear to hope again, not when it would crush him if he were wrong. âFoggy told you to⌠he told you to call me that, didnât he? To see if youâd remember. But I canâtâyouâre going to leave me, youâllââ âDo you remember what I said before I left? Because I do.â You swiped your thumb gently against his cheek, your uneven breathing skipping and falling into rhythm with his as his hands shakily rose. They hovered hesitantly a few inches away from your face, terrified that you might vanish beneath his hands like a ghost. âI donât leave my box behind, and I wonât leave you behind, either. I told you that you were stuck with me after Nobu. I meant it. Itâs really me. I know youâre tired and hurting, sweetheart, but listen to my heart. What does it say? Truth or lie?â
âŚSteady.Â
Truth.
Could it really be you? Â
He held his breath as he dared at last to touch your cheek, stirring the fine hairs as he stroked his way along the familiar shape of your face, one heâd traced so often in his dreams. Your skin was damp with tears just like his, another sliding down to bump against his thumb as your lips quirked up into a brilliant smile. And the moment his trembling fingers passed your lips, you kissed the tip of each with a warm fondness, a mirror of that night youâd held his broken, torn body and heâd kissed your fingers and palm.Â
âHow much do you⌠do you remember?â There was a ringing in his ears as the world beneath him seemed to roll beneath him. âEverything?â âNot everything. Some pieces are still missing, with Foggy and Karen and my job, but I-I remember enough. I remember you, and what I had with you.â Your voice grew fierce and fervent then as you drew in a sharp breath, preparing yourself. âI remember you, D. And I remember that I love you. I love you, Matt Murdock, all of you, so, so much. And I will never leave you alone again.â You loved him.Â
You loved him.Â
The weight of itâbeing forced to let you leave the city, the ensuing months alone, the agony of the past few weeks thinking heâd lost you entirely, and now this, this, knowing you loved him like he loved youâhit him all at once, and with a sudden groan he started to drop. You caught him in your arms, the two of you sinking to your knees as you held him tight and he wound desperately around you in return. Only then did he start to fall apart in your arms, shaking in your hold, his grief, his hurt, his relief spilling out in choked gasps where youâd tucked his head down against your neck. He fisted his hands in your shirt as you both rocked, and a ragged moan tore free from him, spilling against your skin when you lifted your hands to trail your fingers lovingly through his hair. You knew, you remembered just how to hold him when he was hurting, a balm across every last wound. His shivering, touch-starved body remembered your touch, too, drowning beneath the sudden surge of good, warm, safe, soft after months of nothing but pain, so much so he couldnât help but gasp out your name.Â
âIâve got you now, D,â you whispered, burying your face against his shoulder until he could feel the heat of your tears against his shirt, too. âIâm here, now. Youâre not alone. Iâve got you, Matt.âÂ
âI thought you were gone.â There was no way for him to truly sync his breathing with yours, not with the way you were both crying, but still his body tried on instinct, tried and failed over and over again. He closed his eyes tighter, burying his face deeper against your throat as he pulled you in even closer, until there wasnât an inch of space between your body and his, where he could feel every beat of your heart against his skin, as if to make up for the way heâd almost⌠almost chased you away. âI thought youâd left me and I was alone. Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry I didnât try harder, and that I didnât-I didnât go with you, but I couldnâtâIâm so, soââÂ
âHey, hey, itâs ok.â You kissed shakily at his hair, his shoulder, and whatever other parts of him you could reach, your breath, your tears, your absolution washing over him like rain. âItâs not your fault, D. Itâs not your fault sweetheart. None of this was your fault.âÂ
âButââ âHey. Listen to me, before you get any further down in that hole.â You lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his tear-stained face in your hands again. For a moment you both simply breathed with one another, your forehead to his, soaking in the contact, the affection that youâd both dearly missed and needed. âWhat happened to me outside New York, my memory loss⌠all of that is not your fault. It never was, D. There are-there are a lot of things weâll have to deal with in the future, things I need to tell you. Consequences of what weâve done, andâbut this isnât one of them. Never this. Youâre what helped bring me back.â âHow? I didnâtâŚâ He let out a breathless, watery little laugh. âI didnât do anything but try to chase you away.â âSome part of me couldnât help but be drawn to you. I remembered, deep down, I think.â You gave an amused little huff. âAnd once Foggy showed me how to get into our thread, all your memories are what brought me back, helped me remember, because I could feel it, how you loved me. That was the key. Speaking of whichâŚâ You leaned in to nuzzle up against his cheek, your voice lowering to a whisper. âI think I made you a promise, you ridiculous man. And itâs one I intend to keep.âÂ
And with one small tip of your head, and a single slow breathâŚÂ
âKiss me when you come back.âÂ
âŚyour lips brushed against his for the very first time, tender and achingly soft, and so full of love that it would have stolen his breath away if heâd had any left at all.Â
It wasnât the first kiss heâd envisioned months ago just before you left, something triumphant and wild. Nor was it anything like the first kisses heâd imagined before that, the first kiss heâd thought this journey with you might lead to. And God only knew heâd considered kissing you for the first time more than was healthy.
Your first kiss with him was, instead, shaky and gentle, tasting of salt and tears and the fading shades of grief retreating like streamers of night before a welcome sunrise. Slowly, and then more surely, his lips began to move against yours, finally allowing himself to truly taste you for the first time, his eyes slowly falling closed as your fingers ran fondly through his hair, you, it was really you, you remembered. With a quiet moan, he breathed you in deep, calling your grace, your love deep into him until it settled there against his heart, knowing that, no matter what else might come, he would never lose it again, one of his hands rising to tenderly wind around your throat, his other hand finding yours so he could lace his battered fingers tightly with yours.
It wasnât the first kiss heâd expected, but it felt perfect all the same.Â
Because all that was left was himâŚÂ
And you.Â
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An Ode to a Coat (Matt Murdock x F!Reader fic, 18+ Only)đĽ
All of this is almost entirely inspired by Matt's black coat on the set photos of Born Again which has had me ready to chew drywall and froth at the mouth. This was only encouraged by @wonderlandmind4 and I figured why the fuck not! Set during Born Again obviously, and I've written this so it can be seen as either TRT's Reader or just a general AFAB, F!Reader.
Rating: Explicit cause holy shit this one's obscene Wordcount: 7,573 Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader Warnings: HERE WE GO. Smut, hard smut, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, alley sex, thigh riding, Dom!Matt Murdock, Sub!Reader, hand jobs, finger-sucking, Dom!Matt's absolutely filthy mouth, Dom!Matt being a little condescending and mean but it's all consensual, almost getting caught, PWP, alcohol Fic Preview:
Matt lurched to a stop so suddenly you almost lost your balance. You quickly glanced back the moment you stumbled to a halt, only to find Mattâs reddened lips parted on a shaky breath, his broad chest heaving like heâd been ridden hard and put away wet. In the murky, amber-rich glow of the streetlights, his red glasses gleamed like the embers of a smoldering bonfire, his hand on his cane gone white-knuckled. He cocked his head dangerously slowly, predatory hunger on full display, his dark coat snapping and around him in the late fall breeze. You had only a second to admire him before he seemed to make his decision. Before you could blink he yanked you sideways, dragging you into a nearby alley and behind a chest-high stack of cardboard boxes. Oh fuck. His cane clattered onto the pavement, flung down by an impatient hand. Was he really going toâ Your back hit the cold brick wall of the empty alley. Then he was on you, seizing your face in his hands as his mouth slammed fiercely to yours.
Read Me On AO3 If You'd Prefer Smut below the cut because I am not responsible for what I write when this man's dressing like this:
You were both three beers in, and you were already unsure of just how youâd both get home.
It wasnât that you were too drunk to make the walk. Three watered-down beers from Josieâs may have been enough to leave you and Matt solidly tipsy, but drunk? Not a chance.
It wasnât that either of you were angry, either, though Matt was certainly⌠on edge.
It had been a hard month for him, with most of it spent managing an incredibly stressful, complex legal case that had left him chained to his office whenever he wasnât at the courthouse or out on patrol. The two of you had barely seen each other these past few weeks as a result, something that had left him almost as frustrated as his nightmare of a legal case. Matt was never in a good mood when his cases kept him away from you, and that was especially true when he was stressed, his thoughts only growing darker as the time without you wore on. Unfortunately, despite both your best attempts, your moments with him lately had been limited to those late-night hours when he dragged his weary body into bed with youâwhere he was often asleep within seconds of his head hitting his pillow and faster still when you drew him into your arms, his head sleepily cradled against your chestâand the early pre-dawn light when he woke you just long enough to kiss you softly and give you an apologetic goodbye before he headed into the office.
It wasnât like this hadnât happened before, of course, but normally heâd have had a ready supply of unlucky criminals to take his frustrations out on. Sadly, the Kitchenâs underworld had seemingly had a rare moment of conscience, or at least, they had for the past few weeks, leaving Matt without so much as a purse-snatcher to bloody his fists against. Hell, even Turk Barret had headed out to visit his grandma in Orlando for her Hobbit-inspired one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday party. All of which meant the Devil had been left hungry and unsatiated for weeks.
In more ways than one.
Even now that the case was over, the stress of it lingered in the air like a physical thing, a weight that only grew the longer you both sat there without speaking. Matt was practically a livewire next to you, radiating a crackling, electric tension that sang against your skin like the roiling energy of a coming storm. Heâd barely said a word since heâd arrived, and you'd been with him long enough to know he needed some time to decompress next to you. Or that was⌠what you thought he was trying to do, anyway. If it was, he didnât seem to be having much luck.
But none of that was why you were worried about the walk home, either.
No.
The real problemâŚ
âŚwas Mattâs new fucking coat.
Tonight was the first youâd seen of it since heâd bought the coat exactly one month ago just before his case had taken off. It hadnât been cold enough then for him to wear it, but it was now, and thank God for that. He looked so good in it that youâd momentarily been struck speechless when heâd first stalked into the crowded bar, his cane clenched tightly in his hand, his jaw tight beneath the beard that had grown in over the past week or so. None of his other coats had been like this new one, this long line of dark, tailored fabric that hung to mid-thigh, the cut of it crisp and elegant. It was like it had been made just for himâand maybe it had been, for all you knew. The way it emphasized the deliciously broad line of his shoulders and the thickness of his powerful thighs, drawing your eye towards his slim waist and then down the endless length of him, had been a sight to behold and one youâd had no problem partaking in. Heâd looked like something torn right out of a magazine⌠or maybe from within the massive box in your head labeled, âFormerly Unknown Matt Murdock Fantasies.â Youâd never been so grateful that Josieâs heating unit was out for repair: Matt hadnât even bothered to take his coat off before sliding silently into the booth with you, quickly taking up the beer youâd already ordered for him without a word.
And that was where youâd been suffering for the past thirty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds. Not that youâd been counting.
You didnât know what the fabric of his coat was made ofâsome soft sort of wool, if you had to guessâbut right now, you didnât much care because even while sitting, the fabric fell around him like a gift from God Herself, brushing against you whenever either of you dared to breathe. Oh, you might have been alright if Matt had been sitting a bit farther away. But tonight was not your night, since heâd decided to crowd you down to the end of the booth until he was practically on top of you, his thigh shoved hard against yours, the heavy, burning line of his body blatantly pressed up against you until you could barely move.
This, at least, was an energy you knew: one part possessive hunger after a long month away from you, and one part searching desperately for a way to come down. He was trying to regulate himself with the rhythm of your body in a way no one could call him on, even if it meant you wound up pinned bodily between him and the wall of the booth. On another day it would have been a good plan: your heart rate and your breathing often calmed him when little else could, and it was something youâd both made use of when he was stressed. But tonight? Tonight, you were having some problems of your own when it came to shit like breathing and heart rate. And it was all his fault for sitting there next to you looking like every last filthy dream youâd ever had of him fucking you in his office.
For Godâs sake, heâd turned the collar up. Was it really your fault you were distracted by thoughts that were⌠maybe slightly less than chaste?
Like the ones involving you burying your nose against the soft collar of his coat as you slid one hand down to palm the line of his cock over his pants, if only to see just how far you could push him before he dragged you out of here.
He didnât turn his head towards you, but you felt the burning weight of his focus settle over you all the same. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick with barely restrained tension, two words hissed from between grit teeth. âStop it.â
âIâm not⌠not doing anything,â you said hoarsely. You carefully crossed your legs under the table, trying to relieve some of the throbbing ache that had settled between your thighs over the past thirty minutes. You were absolutely soaked despite your best efforts at self-control, and there wasnât much you could do to hide it from his senses. Still, it was the principle of the thing. âIâm just sitting here with you. Drinking. Iâm⌠Iâm barely looking at you, not that youâd know.â
A droplet of sweat rolled lazily down his temple, winding its way lower and lower towards his throat. Your thoughts abruptly fragmented as you watched in hungry fascination, your body burning in a surge of longing.
Would he be mad if you leaned over to follow its path with your tongue?
His nostrils flared, his lips parted just enough that he could taste the air. Whatever he sensed was enough for his hand to tighten around his bottle until his scarred knuckles went white. You swore you saw something tick in the corner of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. âYouâre not drinking. Youâre fantasizing.â
âObjectionââ
âOverruled. Youâve been doing it since I walked in.â He cocked his head towards you. His next breath in prompted the barest shiver from him. His restraint was clearly hanging by a single, tattered thread, one you were halfway tempted to start biting at. âDo you really want to do this here? Now?â
You cleared your throat. âIâm notââ
âI can smell you, sweetheart.â His voice had gone guttural and thick, a furious note resonating in the back of his throat. âHow wet you are. I can taste it, hear it every time you squirm around, just how much you need me after three weeks of missing each other.â He drew in a slow, carefully controlled breath through his nose, his shaky exhale morphing into a low rumble of dark hunger that shot straight between your legs. âAnd you need to stop, because I swear to God, if I have to breathe in your pheromones for much longer, Iâll drag you into the bathroom and fuck you so hard youâll need me to carry your limp body home.â
And just like that, everything in you went up in flames.
You tried, God you tried to swallow down the low moan that built in the back of your throat, your body clenching at the thought of Matt filling you in the way that only he could. You werenât sure if heâd meant what he said as a threat or as an offer, but your body sure as hell treated it like the second. You justâyou needed him inside you now, whether it was his fingers, his tongue, or his cock, whether that was here in the booth or in the bar bathroom shoved inside a filthy stall. But he clearly didnât want to do this here, so you did your best to stay still, to barely move, barely breathe despite the need that was desperate to claw its way out of your throat. With anyone else, youâd likely have managed to keep your thoughts to yourself.
But not him.
He slammed his bottle down onto the table hard enough to rattle your own half-empty bottle, rising swiftly to his feet. He caught your arm in a vice-grip as he went, yanking you out of the booth with him, though you didnât exactly resist. âHome. Now, Mrs. Murdock. Iâm not getting kicked out.â
âYour fault for buying a coat that looks so good on you,â you said breathlessly as he threw a pair of folded bills onto the table. Neither of you dared mention the way his hands shook as he did, though whether it was from arousal or frustration, you werenât quite sure. âAnd you grew your beard in. You know what that does to me. Youâre lucky I didnât maul you in the booth the second you sat down. I was incredibly polite.â
âIs âpoliteâ code for driving me up a fucking wall?â he grit out.
âYouâre the lawyer. You tell me.â
It took everything in you not to pace restlessly as he unsnapped his cane in stiff motions. He tapped the end sharply against the grungy floor, just once, before taking your arm, the two of you starting quickly for the door. To everyone else around it would have looked like you were the one leading, your experienced step guiding him confidently through the crowd. It was something theyâd seen many times before, something they wouldnât question. But you both knew who was really in control tonight, his fingers subtly shifting and pressing as he steered you roughly out Josieâs front door and then up the street. You simply let him nudge you the way he wanted. Youâd long since learned to let him take the wheel when he was like this.
After all, when had it ever not worked out for you?
Youâd thought the fresh air might settle him some, the frosted kiss of late fall a blessed relief to your burning cheeks and his. But he only seemed to grow more frustrated that you both hadnât spontaneously teleported to your front door, his steps picking up speed until you struggled to keep up with his furious stride. The sharp clack-clack of his cane was a constant drumbeat, one that matched the rapid clip of your eager heartâa heart that knew good and well what would happen the second you were both home and inside:
The slick glide of sweat-soaked skin against skin, the sharp bite of teeth against your throat as you clawed wildly at his back, and the powerful rhythm of his body atop yours as he fucked you six kinds of senseless, the way he always fucked you when he was wild and in need of release, in need of you. This was a Devil whoâd been deprived of the taste of your body for far too long, and he had no intention of stopping until that hunger of his was fully sated. Youâd be lucky to make it further than the hallway once you got home, and you certainly werenât leaving the apartment this weekend.
Maybe heâd even leave the coat on for the first round.
The very thought of it made your breath hitch, your fingers curling as if you could already feel the softness of wool beneath your nails, a fresh flood of slick wetness building between your thighs.
Matt lurched to a stop so suddenly you almost lost your balance. You quickly glanced back the moment you stumbled to a halt, only to find Mattâs reddened lips parted on a shaky breath, his broad chest heaving like heâd been ridden hard and put away wet. In the murky, amber-rich glow of the streetlights, his red glasses gleamed like the embers of a smoldering bonfire, his hand on his cane gone white-knuckled. He cocked his head dangerously slowly, predatory hunger on full display, his dark coat snapping and around him in the late fall breeze. You had only a second to admire him before he seemed to make his decision. Before you could blink he yanked you sideways, dragging you into a nearby alley and behind a chest-high stack of cardboard boxes.
Oh fuck.
His cane clattered onto the pavement, flung down by an impatient hand.
Was he really going toâ
Your back hit the cold brick wall of the empty alley. Then he was on you, seizing your face in his hands as his mouth slammed fiercely to yours.
Worth it.
There was no room here in the murky dark for anything like gentleness, for anything like soft, reverent touches. Instead, you clawed wildly at his back as if you could somehow bring him closer despite the way heâd already pinned you to the brick wall with his body, his grip on your face like steel as he forced your head back at an angle that granted him full access to your gasping mouth. That shared hunger only built with every desperate breath of yours that tangled with his, his tongue burning hot against yours as he snaked it hungrily past your parted lips with a heady rumble of satisfaction, the both of you parched and desperate to drink of the otherâs mouth after a month of nothing but dry desert. This was a kiss that was all teeth and heat, open obscenity barely hidden by the long shadows of Hellâs Kitchen. You could barely keep up with him as he slid one hand down to your throat, winding his fingers possessively around straining tendons, claiming each sound for himself. All you could do was fist your hands in the rich fabric of his coat in response, grinding yourself desperately against the hard line of his cock trapped inside his jeans, a blatant invitation if there ever was one, one that had him groaning openly into your mouth.
If he wanted to fuck you here, you wouldnât say no.
And he knew it.
His panted breaths gusted against your skin as his mouth slid away from yours, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing down from your jaw toward the vulnerability of your throat, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar rasp against your skin. A needy whine left you at the scrape of his teeth over your pulse, your head rolling back further to give him room. He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply before he let out a loud groan, as if the scent of you left him in pure agony.
âMattââ
âTell me no, and Iâll wait until weâre home,â he breathed, each word a kiss against your skin.
âAnd if I say yes?â you whispered.
âThen Iâm going to rip your pants down and fuck you right here in this alley,â he purred darkly, dragging his nose slowly up the line of your throat to your ear. He paused there a moment, as if relishing in the sound of your sharp inhale, before his lips curled, each syllable carefully enunciated. âDecide, sweetheart.â
He⌠really was considering this, wasnât he? Heâd fuck you here in the open air of the alley, no hesitation, a mere twenty feet away from a busy street, your writhing hidden only by shadows, a few boxes, and the angle of your bodies. All you had to do was say yes.
But would you?
Youâd done this with him a few times before, letting him take you somewhere you might get caught, from church rooftops to bathroom stalls, from abandoned buildings to the quiet of his office. But this felt⌠different somehow, more dangerous. Traffic still rumbled by regularly, a mere stoneâs throw away. It was late, the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk much slower, but that meant nothing in New York City. There was always someone walking by, especially before the bars closed. The odds of getting caught were slim with his heightened sensesâheâd sense someone coming long before they got to the alleyâbut the risk was still there.
And yetâŚ
The hand heâd fisted in your shirt rose swiftly to your throat at your startled moan. He slid his thumb up under the hinge of your jaw, pushing your head back until you were forced to stare up at his face. The rich, wine-red lenses of his glasses caught the low light, a flash of burning embers and molten heat as the expression on his face darkened, sharp as the edge of a knife. He squeezed lightly at your throat in warning, just enough to make you suck in a heavy breath. As he did, his voice dropped into a low hiss. âWords. Iâm not guessing with something like this. Yes or no?â
âYes! Green light, please, Matt,â you gasped, doing your best to keep your voice down. âI canât-I canât wait until home, I need youââ
His hand dropped to your pants, as did yours, the two of you fumbling roughly at the button and zipper, your whole body throbbing in giddy anticipation. You werenât sure who was clumsier about itâyou or himâbut the placement of both your hands was enough of a problem that he finally slapped your hands away with a low growl, giving him more room to work with the stubborn button, even as one of his hands rose to quickly yank off his glasses and shove them into his pocket. Which left your own hands conveniently free. And you knew exactly what to do with them to hurry things along.
His belt buckle turned out to be a lot easier to pop open than your button, and before he could figure out what you were up to, you snaked your hand down the front of his pants, inside his silk boxers, and took the burning, velvet-soft line of his hard cock in hand.
He let out a ragged, startled gasp against your throat. That gasp quickly morphed into a low, sinful moan as you started to stroke him hard and fast, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch. Your rhythm was a little rough, your range of motion limited by the confines of his jeans, but it was enough that he shot one hand out, bracing himself against the brick, his own hand faltering in distraction. If you didnât know any better, youâd have said his legs had started to shake, his head falling to your shoulder to help muffle his gasps. Clearly the separation hadnât affected just you.
God, youâd missed this.
You used your free hand to drag his head up away from your shoulder. It was your turn, then, to purr as you licked into his slack, panting mouth, tempting him until he mindlessly pursed his lips to suck at your tongue and swallow the offered taste of you down. You quickly altered the motions of your hand, making sure to drag the palm of your hand across the slick head of his cock with each upstroke, using your knowledge of his body against him as best you could. His eyes began to flutter, the color gone glassy and dark in pleasure as he fell into rhythm with you, moaning helplessly into your mouth. For just a moment, you almost, almost thought youâd knocked him off kilter just enough that he was about to pass you the reins. It wasnât what youâd planned on when youâd startedâyouâd really only intended to give him a bit of a nudge, see if you couldnât frustrate him a little further just to see what happenedâbut you were just as happy taking the lead. All you needed in the end was him, in whatever way that happened, slick wetness dripping down your thighs as your body called to him.
âMatty,â you breathed.
It was a nickname that you only used when you were the one in charge. And it was all that was needed to break the spell youâd cast over him.
Just like that, his eyes snapped open and he wrenched your hand up, slamming it back against the brick. He caught your other hand a half-second later, yanking it up until heâd pinned that one against the wall, too, and oh, oh, he was furious now at the trick youâd just pulled, his teeth bared in a snarl at your challenge. He cinched his hands tighter around your wrists, hauling them both up further until your back bowed, your body arched and helpless before him. âNo,â he hissed. âNo, I donât think so. You think you can toy with me like that?â
âFuck,â you whispered, trying not to squirm. Right, maybe youâd gotten in a little more trouble than youâd initially planned on. âIâm sorry, I justââ
âLetâs make one thing clear. Iâm in control tonight. Not you. If I fuck you in this alley, I decide how,â he whispered hotly, leaning in slowly until his lips barely brushed yours, an intentional tease, this mere taste of what you wanted so very badly. He smelled like copper and clean sweat, like the beer heâd been drinking and faint cinnamon, the familiar scent almost enough to bring you to your knees. There was nothing gentle in the cant of his mouth, his eyes hard and unyielding as he tightened his grip on your wrists meaningfully. âIf you touch me, itâs because I let you. Not that you deserve it. Youâve done nothing but torment me all night long. Good girls donât do that, do they, sweetheart? What makes you think youâve earned anything from me?â
âIâŚâ You swallowed hard, trying to find your words as he slowly shifted your wrists around until he could take them both in one large hand, tight enough that you knew youâd have bruises tomorrow. That added distraction only made it harder to think past the desire that flowed molten and thick in your veins, but you knew this game. He expected an answer. âI⌠I havenât earned it yet. Please, I want to be good for you. Iâm sorry.â
âAre you? Because all night Iâve had to listen to you work yourself up next to me,â he growled, sweeping his free hand back down your body. He hummed a low, thoughtful noise when he reached your breast, cupping it through your shirt and bra. The sharp pinch of his fingers against your nipple was almost mean, the sensation just as much pain as pleasure, just as much punishment as reward. Yet still you arched into his hand with a stuttered gasp, your hips jolting helplessly in search of⌠of something, anything like friction. It had been far too long since heâd touched you like this, three weeks suddenly feeling like three months, like an endless eternity. He cocked his head coolly and without a trace of sympathy. âI could smell it the second you saw me, you know. What seeing me did to you. And even with all that time I gave you to get yourself under control, you couldnât do it. You just got worse, and worse, and worse. All I wanted was a chance to pull myself together so we could make it home before I tore your clothes off, but you couldnât even give me that, could you? Now listen to you.â Another pinch, this time one that prompted a soft, broken little mewl. âYouâre ready to beg me to fuck you in an alley where anyone could see us. What a bad girl youâve been tonight. Whatâs got you acting like this?â
âI-I just needed you so bad,â you mumbled, dropping your eyes as his hand drifted lower. He was dragging this out dangerously slowly considering you were both technically in the open and anyone could walk by, but heâd know better than you how much time you both had. Besides, the truth couldnât hurt. âI missed you so much this month, and you-you looked so good when you walked in, and⌠I got impatient. Please, I can do better.â
âCan you? Because Iâm not so sure.â He tipped his head almost mockingly, the barest traces of condescension lurking at the edges. But you could see it in the dark of his eyes: a flicker of sympathy at your response, followed by a familiar warmth. He leaned in to press his lips fondly to yours, breaking character just for a moment, his stance softening. âI missed you, too,â he whispered. âSafeword, sweetheart.â
âLos Angeles,â you said instantly, arching up eagerly when he nuzzled warmly at your cheek.
His low chuckle warmed you from head to toe, made you want to preen with pride that youâd pleased him. âGood girl.â
He lifted his head again and just like that, all hint of softness, all traces of warmth had vanished, the cold, stern mask back in place. Despite the darkness on his face, you couldnât stop yourself from starting to shift around again, your body reminding you forcefully of just how aroused you still were despite the momentary pause. He rumbled a low sigh. âWhat am I going to do with you? Although⌠I suppose everyone deserves a second chance.â
His free hand fell away from your body, but instead of going for your pants like youâd hoped, he went for his own, tugging down his zipper. You let out a frustrated groanâyouâd been hoping he was headed for the absolute agony between your thighs, a burning ache you were desperately in need of help with, even if it was just a few of his fingers working you over. Your protest was met with a swift rebuke: his teeth against your neck in a sharp nip, one that almost made you yelp. âDonât think I wonât make you walk the rest of the way home with nothing,â he warned. âYou know I will. Behave.â
Right, you could⌠wait for a just a little longer.
Or you would have, except that as he shifted you around, one of his thighs wound up shoved between yours. You were fairly certain it wasnât intentional, though you couldnât be sure. All you knew for sure was that it was there, broad and hard, and deliciously warm. One more nudge from him as he started to work his pants down, andâŚ
Mattâs brows shot up in surprise, but then his lips curled into a wicked smirk. âOh, my poor sweetheart,â he crooned, his words empty of anything like mercy as you gasped up towards the sky. The weight, the pressure of his thigh was barely there, but even that tiny bit of friction against your aching cunt was absolute heaven after so long with nothing. That pleasure only grew when he helpfully lifted his thigh higher, locking up the muscle so you had something to writhe against. And writhe you did, lungs heaving as you rocked your hips helplessly, grinding yourself roughly back and forth along his thigh. Each wave as you rode him sent you spiraling, the obscenity of fucking yourself against his thigh in an alley of all places making your cheeks burn. Yet it wasnât enough to make you stop, not even close. Matt clucked his tongue, nuzzling against your flushed skin when you let out a soft whimper. âMaybe I really should forgive you if youâre so desperate that you canât even wait for my cock. If weâd stayed in the bar, would you have begged for my fingers to fill that empty little cunt of yours?â
âYesââ
âWould you have let me make you come right there in front of everyone, biting your lip so they wouldnât hear?â
Oh god, you would have, you really would have, and your eyes rolled up as you writhed against his thigh without thinking, burning up in your own skin as you mindlessly dragged yourself up and down, over and over again like some sort of animal in heat, ripples of pleasure rolling up your spine at finally feeling true pressure and friction against your clit. Any hint of embarrassment was quickly washed away, lost to the fire youâd so willingly fed, the scent of kerosene on your hands and a match still clutched between your fingers, all as your Devil filled your ears with absolute sin.
âTell me,â he growled, letting go of your hands to catch your chin, forcing your eyes back to him.
âYes!â You swallowed hard, trying to arch your body, opening yourself to him all as you kept your hands where heâd left them. âYes, God, I would have. Please, Matt, I need you, please, please fuck me!â
There was a quiet, victorious hiss in your ear. You barely noticed the jangle of his belt as he shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his cock to the cool air, taking himself in hand. His cock was dangerously hard, the head flushed dark and slick as he gave himself a few pumps, choking on a rough groan. It was something that normally would have had you reaching for him, desperate to help, but you didnât dare touch him this time, not without his permission. Youâd learned your lesson. After a moment, he started on your pants, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. His hands may have been shaking again, but this time, you knew why. âDonât worry,â he said breathlessly. âIâll give you what you need. I always do. Donât I? Answer me.â
âAlways, you always do,â you said hoarsely. Still, even knowing what was coming you almost sobbed when he dropped his thigh away, the loss something that you felt in the very heart of you. He made up for it as quickly as he could, yanking your pants and underwear down far enough that you could kick one leg free. You were even more grateful youâd both picked this alley now, the cardboard boxes hiding the fabric tangled around one ankle, the one closest to the street. Then he caught your other leg, lifting it higher and higher before smirking and hooking it around his waistâ
âunder his coat.
The realization hit you just as he sealed his hand tightly over your mouth, lined himself up, and snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself inside you in one swift thrust.
The sudden sensation of fullness without warning tore a cry from your throat, only just muffled by the palm of his hand. The force of it was enough to steal the air from your lungs, and you clawed wildly at his back without thought, halfway to mindless. He didnât seem bothered by you touching him anymore since it was still clear who was in controlââIf you touch me, itâs because I let you.â Then again, maybe he just didnât notice. He breathed a choked, ragged groan into your ear, just as lost in the pleasure of finally finding his way back inside your body as you were.
One breath was all the time he gave you to adjust. Then he bared his teeth, braced one hand against the wall, and began to fuck into you at a brutal pace. And the sweet, delicious burn of it only added to your mounting pleasure.
The song of the city was quickly drowned out in your ears by a far better music. Mattâs quiet snarls and filthy grunts were paired with the lewd slap of skin on skin, with your muffled whines and ecstatic moans, the softness of his wool coat brushing against your thighs, your ass, your sweat-soaked skin with each wild thrust. Every last inch of you had gone pliant beneath his hands, submissive and ready to accept whatever he gave, let him take whatever he wanted. Because this, this was what youâd needed more than anything: the thickness of his cock filling your needy cunt at the apex of each vicious thrust, the feel of him back where he belonged, something to tide you over until you both managed to make it home where he could take you apart piece by piece for hours, for days.
This wouldnât, couldnât last long for all that heâd dragged things out at the start of this. Youâd be caught if either of you spent more than a few minutes doing this, spotted by a wandering pedestrian or a curious driver. He knew it as well as you did based on the way he quickly adjusted his angle, making sure to hit that spot inside you with every brutal snap of his hips, over and over again until you were seeing stars. It was only the wall that kept him from throwing you loose, your head thrown back against the brick as you struggled to hold onto him, the texture of soft wool beneath your nails and the scent of him and sex and fire hanging in the air around you like the best kind of aphrodisiac.
âThis is what you needed, isnât it?â he grunted roughly between rapid thrusts, never faltering in his rhythm. âNeeded me to-to fuck you right here. Couldnât get home without me filling you up, could you?â
âI couldnât!â you panted, as he shifted his hand from sealing your mouth to grasping your chin and rolling your head up. The rough scrape of his beard against your throat made your toes curl, your back arching when you felt him catch your skin sharply between his teeth and suck, determined to leave a mark. You really werenât going to last long, not after almost a month without anything like this. âOh god, it-it was your coat, and I just couldnât stop thinking about it.â
âAll this for a coat.â He huffed something that might have been a laugh, though it was hard to tell. He changed the angle of his hand again, lifting his head to brush his lips to your temple. âOpen your mouth. Now.â
You parted your lips, taking in his thumb eagerly into the warm cavern of your mouth when he shifted to offer it. You laved at it, sucking and working your tongue against it at his like you might his cock. It was enough to drag out a rough moan from him, the rhythm of his body briefly stuttering. He drew it back after a moment before dropping his hand, his voice thick with heat. âIs this going to happen every time I wear this coat? Iâm not sure youâd live through the winter, sweetheart.â
The first brush of his thumb, rough but knowing, set your nerves alight. You couldnât help but scrabble at him in instinct as your mouth fell slack, your body jerking as he kept up his rhythm. He wrenched your leg higher, and the next thrust hit just right when paired with a grind of his thumb, your back bowing.
âGod, Matt, Iâm-Iâmâ
âBarely three minutes in and youâre already about to come,â he purred, only tormenting you further as he flicked your clit with his thumb. Your breath quickly grew stuttered, your body beginning to tighten around him in growing waves. You were so wet now that youâd swear the people the next block over could hear the obscene, slick noises of his cock filling you. âI wonder how many times I can make you come in one night. I know the recordâs six, but maybe weâll try for seven tonight. What do you think?â
You thought you were going to die, but damn, what a way to go.
Abruptly, he stilled mid-thrust, his cock still halfway inside you. He cocked his head towards the street, his brow furrowing.
Shit.
Someone was coming.
You expected him to pull back, or maybe push you down behind the boxes. Heâd have a far easier time hiding what he was doing than you, considering he could simply close up his coat while your pants were still down around one ankle.
He did neither. Instead, he snarled softly and thrust up, burying himself as deeply as he could.
You choked on a breath, your cry just barely swallowed down. âMatt, whatââ
âQuiet,â he grit out, fiddling with the edges of his coat and adjusting your body. But even that much motion left you burning, your eyes rolling back at the unintentional, delicious grind against that spot inside you. You swore you could feel every inch of him, every last inch of his cock cradled inside you. No matter how much he might pretend otherwise, that feeling must have been just as good for him, his voice going ragged and hoarse, his breath shaky. âDonât move.â
âButââ
âI told you Iâd take care of you. Now donât move!â
It took everything in you to do as he said, your body locked up and rigid as he finally angled himself the way he wanted, his coat falling just right.
He was hiding what you were doing you with his coat.
The first wave of a small crowd began to move past the alley entrance, drunken laughs and friendly shouts echoing out as they staggered past. None of them so much as glanced your way. But even if they had, all theyâd have seen around the boxes and Mattâs coat was Matt standing close to you, his mouth by your ear as if he were telling you the best kind of secret. No one would know he was buried so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your throat, as long as you played this just right.
A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple, your cheeks burning. Still you didnât move. You were determined to do what Matt had ordered, no matter how close you were to coming. Even so, your orgasm crept ever closer, hovering at the edge of your fingertips, tendrils of heat spiraling up from where your body connected to his.
Matt tilted his head slowly, nuzzling at your cheek with a smirk before he dipped his lips towards your ear. And as he didâŚ
âŚhe rocked his hips the slightest bit, intentionally grinding his cock inside you. And that grind was paired with a lazy loop of his thumb across your clit, the motion smooth but firm, and somehow mocking.
You bit your lip to swallow down the sound you almost made, a flash of copper spilling across your tongue. Shit, he was really going to justâ
âDo you want to be my good girl again?â he murmured. He was still playing at being unaffected, but with him seated so deeply inside you, you could feel what this game was doing to him. Reckless. Risky. His chest was heaving against yours, his heart racing so fiercely you could feel it against your skin. Yet none of that mattered when he was the one in control. âYes, or no?â
âYes,â you whispered.
The first wave of the crowd had finally moved past, but a second surge only brought more potential onlookers. None of them looked, either, or you didnât⌠think they did, anyway. It was hard to tell, though, since your eyes had started fluttering every time Matt rocked into you, working you higher with every breath. Over and over again he ground his cock relentlessly inside you in small, firm movements, your fingers digging tighter into his coat. He shifted the angle of his hand until he could carefully pinch your clit between two fingers, making you mewl softly.
âThen youâre going to come when I tell you to,â he said roughly, and the tone of his voice made it clear it was an order, one you were expected to follow. âAnd youâre not going to make a sound. We wouldnât want anyone to know what weâre doing, would we?â
But⌠how were you supposed to be quiet when he was doing this?
âI-I donât know if Iââ
âPoor thing. Here, Iâll help you.â He slid his hand around to cup the back of your head, bringing your face closer until he settled it against his shoulder in offering, your face pressed into the fabric of his coat. âNow, get ready. Remember: nice and quiet.â
Oh god.
You buried your face deeper against the dark wool, choking down a frantic moan as his fingers started to rapidly circle your clit. His cock began to pick up speed, though he kept the rhythm subtle, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back in. To anyone on the street, with Mattâs hand cradling the back of your head and your face buried against his neck, it would look like he was comforting you. Comforting you as if he wasnât the one doing this to you, your nose filled with the scent of him where it had soaked into the collar of his coat.
âFuck,â you whimpered, your thighs shaking. God, it was right there, that crest, that frothing wave threatening to sweep you under. You didnât stand a chance now that you had him inside you, his scent swirling around you and the soft wool beneath your nails, your mouth. âMatt, Matt, Matt!â
âBe my good girl,â he growled, âand come for me. Now.â
His light slap against your clit, combined with a sudden hard thrust during a short break in the crowd, was more than enough to push you over the edge.
You sank your teeth deeply into the collar of his coat, your eyes snapping shut as you came right there on your feet, his cock buried deep inside you. You only just managed to keep yourself quiet, not a sound leaving you safe for a choked gasp that was thankfully muffled by his coat. With every wave you had to swallow down another moan or gasp, your cunt clenching around his cock over and over as if you were trying to draw him in deeper, the world around you gone hazy beneath a tide of roiling pleasure. It was only the way heâd pinned you to the wall with his hips that kept you upright, your fingers fisting so hard in his coat you were surprised you didnât feel something tear.
There was a quiet, ragged grunt in your ear as he came with you, a liquid heat spreading outwards as he spilled himself inside you. Yet even as he came, he barely moved, his control iron-clad, the rapid racing of his heart and his stilted breaths the only outward signs heâd come at all. He kept one hand cradling the back of your head, rocking you gently as if comforting you, all while out of sight his fingers continued to rub firmly at your clit to drag your orgasm out for the both of you. When you finally managed to glance up, his dark eyes had fallen closed, his reddened lips flushed and slightly parted as he savored the taste of your shared orgasms in the air.
âGod,â you panted breathlessly against his shoulder, your leg trembling as he gently unhooked it from his waist and lowered it to the ground. He nuzzled warmly at your hair, chuckling as he kneaded at your hip to help work out any kinks in the muscle. The crowd seemed to have finally passed the both of you by, which was fortunate since youâd need some help getting your pants back on. You were understandably a little wobbly. âI canât believe we did that.â
âWell, I will say one thing, Mrs. Murdock.â
âWhatâs that, Mr. Murdock?â
He lifted his hand to his mouth, cocking his head and inhaling before he stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking the taste of you free. At your barely stifled moan, he smirked, pulling it free just long enough to say smugly, âI definitely donât think Iâll be returning the coat any time soon.â
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The Red Thread: Chapter 158
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 158 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
You froze, your blood running cold. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckâ Karen slowly spun to face you. There was a triumphant light in her eyes, the gleam of it fiery and merciless. There was only one way out now. âIâm having an affair with Daredevil!â you blurted out. Or: in which you and Karen have a Very Important Talk
Wordcount: 9.8k so a NICE MEATY CHAPTER, LET'S DO THIS
Warnings for this chapter: some metaphorical descriptions of the deep ocean (I'm sorry to thalassophobia but it's for plot purposes), and a joke about pregnancy (the pregnancy is not a plot clue either, I say that seriously this time).
Read me on AO3 to find out why Matt is basically a sperm whale
#the red thread#daredevil#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#matt murdock x f!reader#fanfic#fic#reader#reader insert#x reader#tw: thalassophobia#tw: joke about pregnancy#i personally quite like this chapter and also i never thought the information i have learned over the years about sperm whales#would ever come in handy in this fashion#but here we are#FUN FACT SPERM WHALES ARE ONE OF THE DEEPEST DIVING MAMMALS BUT THERE ARE A FEW THAT GO DEEPER#anyway#me and foggy drunk watching nature documentaries#KAREN IS FUCKING SUPPORTIVE OF DAREDEVIL THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH I REWRITE CANON THE WAY IT SHOULD BE
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The Red Thread: Chapter 157
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 157 of The Red Thread.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
âCan I make a suggestion?â Foggyâs voice came out strangled and choked. âLike, just a-a little one?â âNo. You can shut the fuck up and let her talk.â Your eyes darted right and then left, your gaze leaping from the trash can to the fridge and then up to the dividing wall it sat against. Karen narrowed her eyes, pointedly taking one step further into the kitchen. âStop trying to figure out if you can escape by climbing the furniture.â âI wasnât,â you said defensively. Lie.
Wordcount: 7.4k
Warnings for this chapter: some sexual innuendo but other than that, you're good!
Read me on AO3 because thatâs where penguins hang out
#the red thread#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil#matt murdock#daredevil x f!reader#matt murdock x f!reader#fanfic#fic#reader#reader insert#x reader#i had fun with this one#everyone get in karen's going to interrogate jane#and jane's going to throw every tactic including the kitchen sink in karen's path like karen's a bulldozer she's trying to stop#crunch crunch crunch oh no karen ran it over
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I'm Sending A Raven: Chapter 5/5 đ§ď¸
The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 4 of I'm Sending A Raven.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
Matt knew what you were. Heâd seen you for the rabid monster, the hound, the worthless subject that you were. That was why you were alone, why he hated you, why they all hated you, why theyâd all sentenced you to die hereâCiro and Matt and Frank and Karen and Thompson, all of them capable of freeing you only to leave you to rot, a loathed, forgotten thing lost in the dark and gathering dust. Theyâd all seen. This was what you were. What youâd always been. What you always would be. Fine. If they thought you a monster⌠youâd be one.
Wordcount: 12.5k
Warnings for this chapter: suicidal ideation, dehumanization, disassociation, emaciation due to captivity, hallucinations, blood, canon-typical gore and violence, murder of bad people, guns, knives, references to torture, references to brainwashing, references to human experimentation
Read me on AO3 where I'm about to crush your heart but I'll give it a small bandaid when I'm done
Sad Matt gif cause we're gonna go through some shit
#the red thread: what if#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil#matt murdock#reader#reader insert#fic#fanfic#x reader#tw: darkfic#tw: suicidal ideations#tw: dehumanization#tw: canon typical blood and gore#tw: disassociation#tw: emaciation due to captivity#THIS IS IT YA'LL THE FINAL CHAPTER
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