#Goodnight I better not wake up to another bad news 😭

[yoohyeon]

I was going to sleep and thought about going on fb a minute, big mistake what do you mean Yujeong is leaving BBGirls and Cherry Bullet are disbanding 😭

[saintmurd0ck]

held together by fate | matt murdock x f!reader | part three 

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Summary: You find out Matt's secret.

Warnings: Very minor sexual references, blood/injuries/gore, mention of weapons (gun, knife)

A/N: I am honestly so overwhelmed at how many people are enjoying this because me too 😭 I am also excited to finally have this safe space to share my writing!! This is a LONG one (approx 3k words) but I promise with all my heart it is worth it. Part 4 isn't coming for a bit so please hang in there!

Please continue to like, comment and reblog if this resonates with you because it truly helps me to keep going ❤️

Matt’s sweet voice rang through my head. 'I’ll see you very soon.'

So much had happened in the week that passed since I heard those words. Moving to New York, meeting Matt... indulging in him. Chills ran down my spine as I replayed the memory.

I stood in my kitchen, placing a hand on our shared wall. I hadn’t seen him since he kissed me goodnight, but it didn’t bother me; well, not at first, because the last thing I wanted to do was scare him off, but it wasn’t until Foggy came by that I began to feel worried.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Foggy sighed, sitting himself down on my couch.

“Anytime Fog, is everything okay?” I asked, grabbing him a glass of water.

“You haven’t seen Matt at all, have you?” Foggy thanked me for the water, rubbing his temples feverishly.

Dread filled my stomach as I remembered what I’d been seeing on the news. A new threat lurked in our neighbourhood: one they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It was said that he left bodies in his wake, killing mercilessly and swiftly. I frowned. I wasn’t sure that I trusted the media’s portrayal of this vigilante — as Foggy so aptly described — after hearing how they desecrated Harlem’s so-called Bulletproof Man, but the numerous explosions that took out the Russian mob? That didn’t bode well with me. 

“Matt hasn’t been at work?” I asked Foggy, pursing my lips.

“I haven’t seen him since Josie’s…” he trailed off, a grim look settling on his face. 

I nodded. “I haven’t seen him since…” I bit my lip, lowering my voice. “After… that. As well. I have not seen—“ I fidgeted with my hands.

I should’ve known better than to try to lie to a lawyer. Foggy knew exactly what I was implying. 

A loud thud sounded in Matt’s apartment, instantly causing Foggy and I to jump out of our seats. He looked up at me, eyes wide. Foggy didn’t need to use his words to tell me what he was thinking.

We ran out to Matt’s front door, rapping until our knuckles turned pink. “Matt, it’s us, are you there? called Foggy, shifting his weight between his feet.

Another crash and the sound of broken glass.

Foggy swore. “We’re coming in.” He pulled out a set of keys, identical to Matt’s, and swiftly unlocked the door.

Inside, Matt lay in a crumpled heap, his body bloodied and bruised. Foggy paced up and down the living room. “Oh my God, oh my God. Matt’s dead. Oh my God.” 

I shot him a glare. “Foggy, I need you to calm down. Call 911. I’ll deal with Matt.”

A soft groan escaped Matt’s lips. “No ambulance. Please.”

“Shh, Matt. You need help,” I murmured, trying to roll him over. I mouthed at Foggy. Call them now. 

“No 911,” Matt whispered, groaning in pain. 

I felt a sudden burst of anger bubble up through me. “Give me one good reason why, Matt! You’re half-dead and you need serious—“

“Please...” his voice faltered.

My chest tightened at his plea. Against my better judgement, I listened to him. I don’t think he’d ask for this if it weren’t important.

“Okay,” I started, compartmentalising my feelings. I was going to save him, so it was time to get my shit together. “Fog, clean up the glass please,” I pointed to the mess near Matt’s dining table. “Find me a first aid kit and come back here right away.” I felt bad for ordering him around, but every second was crucial.

As Foggy scrambled around the apartment, I got to work. Matt was naked save for a pair of black boxer briefs. In any normal instance I’d stare a little longer, but that was not important. Right now, helping him was the priority. 

I cringed at the sight of his injuries — large, deep wounds on his chest, oozing cuts on his head and face, and what I was sure to be a few broken ribs. Superficial lacerations littered his torso, but given the state he was in, they were the least of my worries.

Using the limited supplies Foggy had gathered, I managed to suture and clean the wounds. Matt gritted his teeth as the needle found his skin, choking back a sob as I completed the first stitch. 

“You’re doing so well, Matty,” I whispered, wiping the sweat that gathered on his forehead. I looked up. “You doing okay, Foggy?”

Foggy nodded profusely, but a closed fist held to his mouth and the retching that followed after lead me to believe he wasn’t. I let Matt know I’d be right back.

I walked to Foggy, seeing that his skin was pale and clammy. I grasped his shoulders with my hands. “He’s alright, you can breathe. He’ll need some rest but, I know my stuff. He’ll be okay.” Foggy flashed an apologetic smile at me, letting me guide him to Matt. 

I knelt down. “Matt, we’re gonna get you into bed, okay?” A quiet grunt followed.

After the struggle that was heaving Matt from the floor to his bed — all five feet and ten inches of him — I was finally able to relax, letting out a sigh of relief. As Matt downed water and painkillers, coaxed in by Foggy, I let my eyes wander. His bedroom was minimally decorated, but what stood out the most was a large, wooden dresser. One of the doors seemed to be propped open, by what looked like a tattered suitcase, but Matt pulled me back down beside him as I got up to push the suitcase in. “Let me—“ I started, attempting to get up again. Matt shook his head, patting beside him. 

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I’m sorry guys…”

Foggy touched his shoulder gingerly. “What happened man?”

Matt flinched in response, causing me to grab his hand. I squeezed it, as if to tell him, ‘I hate seeing you hurt’. He squeezed back in response. ‘I know.’

“I… fell down some stairs,” Matt said, every muscle in his jaw tensing.

“Bullshit,” Foggy and I said without hesitation.

Foggy buried his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Matt. What the hell happened to you?” A look of hurt flashed across Matt’s face. He tried sitting up straighter, but he winced in pain. “You cannot keep showing up to work, or,” Foggy waved his hands around, “not showing up, with cuts and bruises. You can’t keep using the same excuse. No-one believes you keep ‘falling down the stairs!’”

I looked at Foggy, my stare telling him to take it easy, but Foggy continued. “If you’re not going to be honest, then don’t expect me to understand.” Picking up his suit jacket, Foggy stormed out.

My eyebrows knitted themselves together. This has happened before?

“S’okay, I’ll check in on him later,” I murmured, running circles on Matt’s hand with my thumb.

He tilted his chin up at me, the faintest hint of a defeated smile on his face. I kissed his knuckles, noticing that they too were bruised and bloody. “What happened, Matt?”

He gritted his teeth, again his face showing the trace of a secret he so wanted to share. “I can’t—“

My heart ached in disappointment. “I trust you completely, and I hope you’d be able to do the same,” I shared, trying to conceal the pain in my voice.

“No… no—I—I trust you completely, I just—“ he stuttered.

I grabbed Matt’s phone, on his bedside table, and programmed my number in. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I kissed his forehead. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right there.”

Matt’s eyes were closed, chin tilted in my direction. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but his gentle snores told me it was for another time.

Anxiety gnawed at me as I shut his door and returned to my apartment. I realised I didn’t have Foggy’s number, so I made a note to stop by Nelson and Murdock to let him know what happened. 

In the three years of med school I completed, I saw injuries of every single kind. I patched up hundreds of people, never failing once to set my emotions to the side. Why was it so hard now?

I thought about what I’d just experienced, digging deeper. There is no way this could’ve happened falling down the stairs. Well, maybe if you didn’t know how to walk, but I’ve seen Matt and his cane. He gets around fine. I stared at my front door harder, hoping it would trigger some sort of epiphany. A fall explains a lot of things, but not the knuckles… it’s like he got into a fight. I paused, thinking back to our night in the law office. The scars... on his body.. I huffed, attempting to quiet my mind. 

I shifted my gaze to my left, as if to look directly through my wall at Matt. What won’t you tell me?

I knew we had only just met, but it felt like somehow, we were beyond that. I felt stupid. Maybe getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea. I quickly shut myself down. No, that’s selfish. People have walls up for a reason. What matters is you were there for him. 

Overwhelmed, I stalked to my bedroom. What matters is you were there for him, I reminded myself. The tears came quicker than I expected.

In his haze, Matt listened to my muffled cries, his own heart sinking.

—

I only checked in with Matt once in the few days since Foggy and I found him, almost on death's door. He was looking better, which slightly relieved the tension in my shoulders, but still, at the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he couldn’t tell me. It felt wrong to be worked up over this. It could honestly be nothing. I exhaled. What matters is you were there for him, I thought, repeating the sentence like a mantra. Foggy needed more time before he could face Matt again, but from the look on his face, I knew he was grateful for the update. His remorseful laugh echoed in my head. ‘I’m glad you’re patient enough to deal with his shit.’ 

A sudden rumble of thunder brought me back to earth. It was late, and I was experiencing New York rain for the first time. Fat droplets of water fell from the sky, hitting the pavement in droves like waves of ecstatic applause. The rain created puddles that reflected the city lights beautifully, but they soon became nightmarish as cars rolled through without hesitation, drenching all those in the vicinity. My flimsy black umbrella did little to keep me dry, but since I was only a few streets away from home, I decided to try my luck and sprint to shelter.

I passed Nelson and Murdock on the way, the back of my neck burning as I thought about Matt. He’s fine, I reassured myself, fixing my gaze ahead. A flash of lightning caught my eye, watching as it danced amongst the clouds, drawing me back to a moment in my childhood. A book I loved growing up took place in New York City; the protagonist thrusted into conflict as the result of a lightning storm. I craned my neck upwards as the dazzling white bolts streaked the sky, silently hoping I could see the lightning concentrate around the top of the Empire State Building. I chided myself for even trying. Mount Olympus doesn’t exist. Well, maybe not in this universe.

I stopped dead in my tracks as the sound of a woman’s scream and two gunshots rang out. Holy shit. I willed myself not to panic, adrenaline kicking in and making my arms tingle. Remembering that I spotted a small alley just before the law office, I ran to it, hoping that I avoided whatever was going on around the corner. A grimy door at the end of the alley, its white paint cracked from the effects of time, read FOGWELL’S GYM. My hand reached for the doorknob. Locked. I tried it again, but the doorknob wouldn’t budge. I cursed. Don’t panic. 

Looking around and seeing no other option, I raised my elbow to the glass, praying for strength and courage. I drove it through, watching the glass shatter. I hissed as the glass penetrated my skin, pulling out the singular shard that lodged itself in. Blood trickled down my elbow, but I ignored it, unlocking the door from the inside and hurriedly running in. The smell of musk, old leather and copper filled my nostrils. Fogwell’s appeared to be an old boxing gym that had definitely seen better days. My footsteps were silent as I roved over the floor, moving amongst the weathered punching bags. A dim yellow light filtered through a large wall-to-wall window at the front of the gym. On the other side, on a wall that hadn’t seen daylight in a long time, hung a tattered poster. My heart skipped a beat. CREEL VS MURDOCK, it read. I squinted at the poster, moving closer. Battlin’ Jack Murdock. I ran my fingers over the name, anguishing for the Murdock I knew.

Another gunshot sounded, this one closer. I set my handbag down on the ground, pressing my back to the wall, as I inched closer to the door I broke through. Turning my head ever so slightly, I peeked out of the hole I made. I gasped silently as I watched the armed assailant, his back to me, shaking as he held his gun in front of his face. 

It was more who was in front of him that I gasped at; the windchill and pure fear making me want to recoil into the shadows. It was a man, clad in all black, a mask over his eyes, and his fists outstretched to his sides. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. With shaky hands covering my mouth to stifle even the smallest sound, I retreated backwards. I misjudged how close I’d set down my handbag as my heel caught on the straps, causing me to fall. My hands braced the impact, sending shockwaves down my arms. I cried out as the gash on my elbow opened up further. 

The armed assailant followed the noise, barging into the gym. I raised my hands up, trembling as the barrel of his gun pointed in perfect alignment with my head. He alternated his aim between me and the Devil, who now stood in the doorway of Fogwell’s Gym. The man in black looked at me, his chest tightening. I watched as he clenched his fists, about to take a step towards me, when his head whipped to his left. He leaned back as a bullet flew past his face. I fought the urge to scream as a second gunman burst through the door, launching himself at the man in black. Executing a seamless combination of punches, kicks and blocks, the Devil made quick, easy work of taking him down, but not before the first gunman attacked, a knife glittering in his hand. Despite dodging his lunging advances, the Devil fell victim to the knife. Fabric and flesh tore as the attacker dragged the blade up the Devil’s side. Baring his teeth, the man in black fought through the pain, shortly bringing the attackers down on the hard floor, leaving them incapacitated and bloody.

I staggered back, hands meeting the back wall of the gym. I clasped my hands together, saying a silent prayer of thanks in between shallow breaths. Thank you, God. 

It was ironic, because the Devil saved my life.

Panting, the man in black gripped the ropes of the boxing ring as he fell back. He was hurt. With an eye kept on the unconscious bodies on the floor, for in case they woke, I ran to him. “Thank you,” I breathed, steadying my hands. “Show me the cut.”

The man groaned, unable to sit up. I used one hand to compress his injury — to stop the bleeding — and the other to check his pulse. As I counted the beats in my head, I felt my own heart stop. I recognised his face. I lifted my hands temporarily, turning the man’s head. Sure enough, I noticed a large cut on his cheek; the same one I had cleaned for Matt several days earlier.

“Huh?” Tears welled in my eyes, and I swallowed. “Matt?” I mumbled, shocked to my core.

The man struggled to slip his mask off. I looked down at Matt’s face, his hair plastered to his forehead, fresh bruises on his face. “Hey,” he breathed, grabbing my hand. 

Wordlessly, I removed my sweater and placed it on his side, compressing the wound with my hands. Matt grimaced at the pressure. Thoughts raced in my head. I had so many questions. I felt my heart rate climbing higher as my stomach sank to the ground. Matt caressed my face. “S’okay,” he said, gasping my name.

“Are you okay, Matt?” I felt myself stumbling over my words. “You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

He groaned, putting an arm around me as he sat up. “I wanted to tell you… I just—“

“I’m here now,” I said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Does Foggy know?”

“No… but I need to—“ He winced.

Matt tilted his head towards mine, speaking as if he could read my thoughts. “I’m blind. I’ve been blind since I was nine. It’s— it’s complicated,” he started. “I can sense stuff that most people can’t.”

I stuttered as he continued. “I knew you weren’t from here when we met because I could smell Brisbane on you. New York smells like garbage but you were salt, rain and…” he hesitated, looking up at me. “Beer.”

“Not what I would’ve described Brisbane as, but okay,” I muttered.

Matt looked at me. “I heard your heartbeat outside of Josie’s that night. How it sped up when you saw me. The green tea body wash you use in the shower is almost expired. I hear three simultaneous train lines beneath us. There’s the E train,” he paused, pointing down.

I felt… exposed. “Can you hear my heartbeat now?” I asked, pulling away from Matt.

“Yes. It’s going like this.” He took my hand in his, thumping the rhythm of my heart with his finger. “I can’t see you exactly but I can… sense you. Your tattoos feel like striations… underneath them I can feel the pigment, just sitting there under your skin.” 

He ran his hand over the small tattoo on my bicep. 

“I can hear neon too,” he blurted.

“What does it sound like?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Like the sound of air filling a balloon, but pulsing. Over and over again.”

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. We chuckled together, but the calm quickly shifted as I looked at his mask. 

“Why do you do this, Matt?” 

He fell silent for a few moments. “The city needs me.”

“In a mask?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Matt’s tone hardened.

"The explosions, everything we've been seeing on the news... that was you?"

"No. I tried to stop them..." Matt faltered. "I don't kill. I'm not a killer."

"So you...," I frowned, trying to get a sense of what role the Devil of Hell's Kitchen played. "...You beat up bad guys?"

Matt managed a half-smile. "I guess you could say that."

I nodded my head. “Okay. Okay. Um..." I took a deep breath. "I— I don’t understand, not yet, but I wasn’t lying about what I said to you our first night together. As you would know,” I gestured to my heart. 

I stopped for a second, remembering Matt couldn’t see, but… maybe he could? I moved on, trying not to overthink. “I will always be here for you.”

Matt’s voice quietened. “It’s entirely possible that I love you.”

I felt my ears heat up. “You don’t mean that, Murdock.”

Fire burned in my chest as Matt took my hands, placing them over his heart. “What does that tell you?”

I batted his hands away, looking down to hide my smile.

“What are you gonna do about those guys?” I asked, uncomfortable at the thought of remaining here much longer.

“Give me your phone. I needa make a call.” 

Dialling 911, Matt’s voice turned gravelly. “I need to report a crime. Fogwell’s Gym. Aggravated assault and attempted murder.”

He hung up, took my hand, and reached for the door. The words burned in my brain as I took one last look over my shoulder.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is Matthew Murdock. 

We left without a trace.

—

As I listened to the rain falling outside, while Matt’s 90s Top 40 mix played softly in the background, I felt uneasy. 

“What’s bothering you?” Matt asked, gripping me tighter under his sheets.

“How can you te— ahh, never mind,” I sighed, pushing my hair behind my shoulder. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“It’s been a long day,” Matt whispered, tracing circles on my back.

I turned to face him, the moonlight illuminating the cuts on his face. I cupped his jaw. “I moved here for a reason. To find my reason. My purpose. I didn’t know what that was before but maybe… maybe now I know.”

“What do you mean?” Matt’s voice was gentle.

“I think I was led here to find you, Matthew Murdock,” I smiled, pressing my lips to his.

Matt’s laughter calmed any uneasiness I felt in that moment. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, coyly.

“Don’t get cocky, Murdock. I could kick your ass if I wanted to.” I pushed his chest, and he grimaced a little. “Oh, I’m sorry—“

Matt broke my sentence off with a kiss. “You’re definitely right with that one.”

—

As sleep settled us in the early hours of that morning, I turned my head towards Matt, watching as his chest rose and fell. He must be so tired all the time. 

I closed my eyes, beaming at the thought of a new life here. With him. My heart swelled.

I whispered in his ear, unaware he was still awake. “I think I love you too, Murdock.”

For a second after hearing that, Matt thought about how his city needed him as the man in the mask… the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

He was burdened with this purpose.

But, for the first time in a long time, Matt went to sleep that night, not thinking about the people he’d saved or the people he had yet to put behind bars, but thinking about a second chance at life. 

With me.