#Matt murdock’s daddy issues

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

… I am in way too delicate of a state for this right now. 😭

mama, i’m chasing a ghost. do I look like him?

whatever you do, don’t think about matt murdock when you hear that song. do not consider the possibility that because his abilities were very new, he might not remember his dad clearly. definitely don’t think about the fact that he will always be yearning for a father figure and lost anyone who even came close to being one for him.

don’t think about that!

[realangelahernandez]

I love older men and I love fictional men you put them together……

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

matilda - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys i have back pain and i have daddy issues so i wanted to write a quick blurb about it. so. sorry if you guys cant particularly relate to this one it's for me <3 warnings: ANGST, reader cries a lot, probably cursing, lots of daddy issues, lots of being upset, mentions of fathers being drunk, matt picks up the reader but matt in my brain can lift like 250+ so, uhhhh i don't know guys just angst and daddy issues ! word count: 1.2k summary: you have daddy issues and back pain. matt does his best to help. pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader now playing: matilda - harry styles "i don't believe that time will change your mind/in other words, I know they won't hurt you anymore/as long as you can let them go"

Matt finds you on the floor of the kitchen, your knees hugged against your chest. He is so tired, bruises starting to really hurt after sitting all purple and blue on his ribs and his arms. He’s just in his boxers his hair damp from a shower.

You are just in a pair of boxers and a muscle tee. Your knuckles are white, and you are staring into space in the most literal definition. It’s four a.m. You are a twenty something year old adult, you have not slept in your mother’s bed in years.

And yet, you feel like a child.

And your back is fucking killing you.

Matt sits next to you on the kitchen floor, goosebumps shooting up his skin as his feet and palms feel the cold, rough tile floor. His hand finds your arm and gently rubs his thumb against your skin.

“What’re you doing on the floor, sweetheart?” His voice is low and thick with sleep. He is so tired, that his words aren’t nearly as poetic, sappy or flirtatious as he wants them to be (maybe not all at once, but he most certainly wished they were better than that).

You consider lying to him for a moment. Really, you do. You could tell him that the floor is just more comfortable, that you want him to fuck you right here against the tiles, that you just could not sleep, that there is nothing deeper than a busy brain that cannot calm down.

“My dad called me while you were away.” You tell him, your voice soft. Matt will be able to hear it no matter how loudly or quietly you say it. And at your confession, he tenses. He has a complicated relationship with your father, but his relationship is calm compared to the raging waters that make up how you feel about the man.

“Okay,” he starts, rubbing your arm gently. “And what did he say?”

You blink.

“Nothing. Nothing that should have made me feel like this.” You tell him, a horrible taste in your mouth. From what, you do not know. Matt doesn’t respond right away, waiting for you to tell him more. “He was drunk.” You say quietly.

“Oh.” He knows you don’t drink. He knows you have a very complicated relationship with substances. “I can understand why that might be upsetting..” he tries, and you shake your head, your face twisting into frustration, anger, and perhaps a hint of sadness.

“He’ll never change.” You whisper, too afraid to be any louder, too afraid that maybe from miles and miles away, your father will hear you. That maybe if you say it any louder, it won’t be a secret anymore, and that you’ll start crying if you say it any louder. “He’ll never ever change.” You say, and your head turns to look at him.

And you stare at the man that you love, and you stare and stare, and you think about Jack Murdock who loved his son so much that he was willing to die for him to have a better life, that he was entirely selfless when it came to the person you are lucky enough to call yours.

And you think about how your father wants nothing to do with you. He never did. Not really.

That’s when you start to cry.

It starts with a few tears rolling down your cheeks, salty and fat, as if they hold all of the memories your brain has locked away to protect you. Then, the tears come out faster, and faster, until you are choking on your own breath, racking with sobs. Matt’s arms are around you in an instant.

He pulls you close to him, and you feel bad for getting tears all over his skin. He’ll tell you it’s his fault for wearing just briefs. He pulls you into his lap, and while you cry into his neck, his hand comes down to your back and slips under your shirt, gently rubbing it up and down.

You twitch at the feeling, your back still aching as you sit with him, the pain contributing to your tears. Matt’s lips kiss your forehead, and he just holds you for a long time. Your breathing becomes short with how violently you’re sobbing.

“Hey, easy..” he says softly before he tilts your head up to look at him. “Your breathing isn’t healthy. Come on, watch me,” and he takes deep breathes in and out, expecting you to copy his attempts. When you’re finally at a point where you an breath on your own, Matt begins wiping your tears gently.

“Sorry…” You say quietly. He just shushes you softly and leans in to kiss your cheek.

“You never have to apologize for your emotions.” He promises, “I love you so much. I am so sorry he’s like that,” and now Matt is crying and he’s not sure why, but you feel awful about it, so your shaky hands come up to wipe his tears and he wants to laugh at your attempt at gentleness because he wonders how often you were shown the same kindness and his heart aches at the most realistic answer.

“Honey, you never have to worry about him again. You made it out, he can’t hurt you anymore..” He tells you, and you try to believe him. “You’ll never feel anything except safe and loved, I promise.” He says quietly, before leaning in to kiss you gently. “Is there anything else?” He senses that you are in physical pain too. Partially because he can tell by how your jaw clenches that you are tense, but even without his super senses, he just knows you aren’t feeling well.

He knows you too well.

“My back is killing me.” You confess, and he frowns. “And my head now.” Your head always hurts after crying.

“Okay,” He nods, “Hold tight,” and somehow, your fucking angel of a man picks you up off the floor and carries you to bed. He steps away only to grab you a glass of water and some Advil. You take it quietly, chugging the water before he sits on the bed next to you.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper, still upset, but so so grateful. He just smiles sadly and leans in to kiss you gently. Then, he pulls away to ask,

“How about I give you a quick back massage and then we get to bed? You must be tired. I know I am.” You sigh and nod, shifting so you’re laying on your stomach.

Matt leans down and kisses your shoulder before whispering, “I meant it you know. You made it out. You’re safe. You’re loved.”

And even without being a human lie detector like him, you can tell he’s telling the truth. It makes you cry more, but Matt stays to wipe the tears away. He’ll always stay. And he’ll always tell you as much when you need the reminder.

You’re safe.

You’re loved.

These words echo in your brain as you drift off to sleep, Matt holding you close, fingers tracing patterns into your skin as you fall into a dreamless sleep, focusing on the warmth that radiates off him.

[farfromstrange]

Daddy Issues | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by this song.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: There are some scars from our childhoods that just won't heal, like daddy issues will somehow always affect our relationships, especially with men. It's the trauma that makes us afraid. Matt Murdock is a considerate boyfriend and he hardly ever raises his voice, so when he lets his anger out on you, he triggers something in you that you have never told him about.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), childhood trauma, yelling, crying, small injury (reader cuts her finger), not proofread

A/n: This is entirely self-indulgent. I won't tell you why exactly, but let's just say today was not a good day and I needed to write this to feel better. It helped, for the most part. If you have/had a father who yells a lot and likes to blame you for everything, this is for you. But also basically everyone who's afraid of men yelling at you because you've been traumatized before. This has not been proofread or beta-d. It’s just a silly little comfort fic.

Tags: (people who answered the original idea and I think would enjoy this or asked to be tagged)

@igotanidea @lina-mar @redzie02 @hellskitchens-whore

[not my gif, credits to the owner mentioned under the gif]

In the heat of the moment, some people raise their voices. May it be a fight or a moment of excitement. When we get angry, we often resort to a louder volume and sometimes even verbal abuse. We say things we don’t mean. We wouldn’t be human if that didn’t happen sometimes, although most fights can be resolved by talking civilly. There is no point in screaming when talking like adults is a viable option that won’t hurt anyone. But it hardly ever happens, not when both parties are already worked up to the point of no return.

For you, there has not been a fight or discussion in your life that hasn’t resulted in a screaming match. Your parents often yelled at each other. You grew up like this, the voices of your fighting parents constantly in the back of your head until the day they divorced. And even after that, you figure you started hallucinating their fights whenever the world went quiet around you so you would have some noise in the back of your head.

Your father was the one who screamed the most. He yelled and scolded you whenever you didn’t act according to his standards or made even the smallest of mistakes, didn’t do something or just used the wrong tone with him, something that often didn’t sit right with him.

He always resorted to screaming. The context never really mattered, he just got louder, harsher and he used words that would confuse every kid and make their tiny brains overflow with the guilt they caused. And when you cried, he only waved it off because “there is no reason to cry, I’m just stating the facts”.

It traumatized you in a way many children who grew up in such families understand, and he made you believe that every man in your life has a reason to yell at you, to use you, to abuse you and constantly ask you for things even though you can’t possibly match up to all of their expectations.

You always expect to be yelled at by the men in your life. Even the smallest hint of the disappointment in someone’s voice makes you anxious and more often than not, you start to cry. It’s your defense mechanism. You’re fragile and you get scared easily. A switch gets flicked and you’re suddenly standing in the same house you grew up in, letting your father rain hell down on you because you were too scared to fight back.

The constant screaming made you scared of men, and it made you more careful with what you say or do around others. You tread carefully. You try to please and not to screw up too much, too scared of the consequences and possible negative reactions. In school, you used to do the same, always wanting to please the teachers and when they raised their voices, you often excused yourself and were left shaking and crying in the bathroom. 

Matt Murdock has always been a man with a heavy internal conflict, and that conflict resulted in anger issues and his ever-present catholic guilt. When you met him, he came across as attractive yet dominant, and that scared you a little until you talked for the first time in the middle of a cozy coffee shop and he showed how soft of a man he actually is. He keeps himself locked away and that might make him seem unapproachable, but he isn’t. He’s the kindest man you have ever met, and his heart is set right. Out of all the lovers you’ve had, he is truly the best and most considerate when it comes to your relationship.

He treats you like you’re the universe to him and when you fight, it’s more often bickering than it is an exchange of vulgarities and screams. He takes his anger out on punching bags, not you, and when he hurts someone, it’s often criminals who deserve his wrath. His life is complicated, but it’s easier with you in it. He feels alive, he’s told you, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, so he always makes sure you’re taken care of and happy before he looks after himself.

There is, of course, the issue with his enhanced senses. He’s blind but his senses are enhanced to an extent that most blind people don’t have. You found out about that early on in your relationship, but there’s never been a doubt in your mind about the love you feel for him, so it was no hard choice to stay.

Though dating the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its collection of issues. More often than not you have to stitch him up or search him in dark alleys and trash cans because he keeps getting in trouble, and the worry often eats you alive. Still, you comfort him when he’s had a bad day, always, and you make him the spotlight of your life every time. In your mind, taking care of him comes first.

But Matt always gives back. It’s his Catholicism, you’re sure of that. He can’t take help. He has to be the one doing the work and moving mountains. He is God’s disciple and he feels responsible for his city and the people living in it. His blindness feels like a gift given to him by God to conquer all possible battles, and while you don’t really believe in God, you have accepted that part of him with open arms and more often than not join him in his faith because life with him is surely not the easiest.

When Matt Murdock feels overwhelmed, he tries not to show it. He’d rather lock himself away than burden you. He’d rather struggle on his own than put the people he loves in danger or hurt them with his personal struggles and the pain that consumes him.

Matt is patient and he doesn’t care if you screw up, even though you apologize profusely most of the time. He’s patient because we’re all human. We all screw up. That is the principle that he lives by and he makes you feel like you can be more of yourself around him. So after a year, there are no more reservations and you feel a lot more comfortable in your skin.

Until this day, he had never let his anger out on you, and he had never opened his mouth to yell at you in any way. Until that day.

He’s different when he comes home. He finds himself at his wit's end, and he has been ever since that godforsaken murder trial started. When he comes home, you don’t think much of his distance toward you, the denial of a proper kiss, and his grunts as he lowers himself on the couch instead of asking you about your day. You don’t think much until it all goes wrong, and you’re not even sure at what point it does or what you did to deserve this, but there has to be a reason because the man you’re seeing right now is not the Matt you usually get to see.

We all have bad days sometimes, others more often, but this seems deeper than just a bad day at the courthouse. This is not the face of an exhausted man after a long work day that just needs some kisses and maybe a blowjob, or to have sex with his girlfriend in all his dominant glory with aftercare to put the cherry on top. This is not Matt Murdock, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that comes through the front door, tosses his cane into a corner, and then just falls on the couch like a wet sack of potatoes, his fists clenched as if he is ready to explode any second.

You’ve been taught to tread carefully, so you do. You approach him only slowly because you are worried, you always are. Perhaps it’s the line of questioning that has him exploding in no time.

“You okay?” you ask.

He props his feet up on the living room table and huffs. “Fine,” he says.

“You don’t look fine. Did something happen?”

You’ve brought him a glass of water, which he takes with a curt nod. Something is bothering him, but he won’t talk to you.

“Bad day at work?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m fine. I just want to forget that today ever happened.”

“You want some coffee?” you decide to ask instead.

“No,” he says.

His leg starts to bounce. It only does when he is agitated or overstimulated and is trying to deal with the world around him. 

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He sighs. “No.”

“We still have leftovers, maybe I could warm them up.”

His tone is harsher this time, “No!”

You blink, a little taken aback by the force in his voice and involuntarily, you start to shake.

“I just want to be alone,” he adds, softer this time. “Can you… you know what, I’m just gonna get changed.”

And like that, he is gone. He disappears into the bedroom and you’re left flabbergasted. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you’re scared. You’ve never been scared of him before. It’s not him, it’s his reaction, and so you retreat into the kitchen. 

Eventually, he comes out again, though he is still missing a shirt. “Have you seen my Columbia sweater?” he asks, the lights of the billboard reflecting off his marble skin. 

“It’s in the washer,” you tell him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Matt, what is going on?” You place your mug down and look at him, eyes soft and full of concern.

He only rolls his. “I just want my sweater.” Grabbing the used shirt from the chair at the dinner table, he slips it on. It’s not the fabric he wanted and he tenses up, hating the new sensation already.

“Are you sure this is about your sweater? You’ve been on me ever since you got in.”

“Yes, because you keep asking useless questions.”

“Useless?” You scoff. “So my interest and worry for you are useless?” 

If there is one thing you have gotten good at it has to be defending yourself.

He brushes past you to get a beer from the fridge. “I told you, I’m fine.” He is good at brushing you off because he doesn’t like to admit when he feels weaker than usual.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh, my God, then stop fucking looking!”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“It’s not…” his chuckle is bitter. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna keep seeing problems where there are none, so talking to you makes no sense anyway.”

What did he just say? You are so confused and suddenly very angry that you forget you are holding a glass. You smash it down on the counter, and, as expected, it shatters into a million pieces. Most of them fall to the floor and right at his bare feet. His eyes darken.

Oh.

Now you are scared, and not in a way that resembles sexy foreplay. You are scared because he is turning into a stranger right before your eyes. Suddenly, all you can see is not your loving boyfriend Matt Murdock, you see the anger of both your father and your stepfather in his eyes and hear it in his voice and it instantly tells you, 'this is all your fault'.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t see…”

“One night,” he says. He moves out of the kitchen, trying not to step into the glass.

You follow him with wide eyes. “What’s that?” 

“One night,” he repeats his earlier statement. “That’s all I wanted. One fucking night where people don’t prod or- or want things from me. And what do you do? You keep talking and talking, and you don’t even care that I simply don’t want to talk.”

“Matt, that is not fair. I just wanted to-“ the tears start to prick in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” And that’s where your strength stops and you retreat into your shell – the next words out of his mouth come so loud, you could have sworn they echoed off the brick walls and shot straight into your eardrums. “For once in your life, stop fucking apologizing!” 

His hand lifts, mostly to underline his words, and with the bottle in his hand he is suddenly so close, your eyes squeeze shut at the gush of wind. You flinch, your entire body caving in on itself. It’s not even intentional, you can’t help it. You’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when someone raises their hand, and Matt has never done it before. 

He realizes what it looks like the second your heart jumps and your blood rushes loudly in his ear. He can smell your sweat, the tears, and the fear that surrounds you. It’s your pheromones that change and something lingers in the air that makes him stop and think, what did I just do? 

He has been so in his head and the city has been loud for hours, he lost most of his patience at the courthouse, and then you’re there all caring and lovely and he can’t help but tell himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you. He just wants quiet and to be alone while at the same time, all he wants is you, but it’s too much. It’s all too much.

And now, as you flinch away from him and his booming voice, he snaps back to reality and realizes he made a mistake. He’s never experienced you like this before, and it scares him. 

“Did you just…” he begins, his voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He hears you fall to your knees, the taste of salt thick in the air and your breath shakes with every intake. You bite your lip and you collect the shards, trying to clean up your mess as if he would hate you if you didn’t. You whisper a silent, “Sorry.” And then he hears it. You’re sobbing, you try not to but you are, and it is his fault.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?” he asks, dreading the answer.

You sniffle, not answering.

You flinched, he heard it, and not because you were surprised. You are scared, he knows. 

He slowly approaches the kitchen. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“I just gotta clean this up,” you whimper and you brush the glass together with shaky hands. The tears are running down your cheeks in thick streams and your teeth have gnawed your bottom lip bloody, your throat dry with the denied sobs.

“I just gotta clean this up and then I can make you dinner or something. I don’t… I can fix this. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, you tell yourself. You pushed him. You deserve this. He worked hard the entire day and you annoyed him. He has every right to do this. In your head, at least. It makes all sense in your head while in reality, Matt has never been more shocked to read your body language than he is now.

He slowly kneels in front of you. “Answer me this,” he says, “did you flinch because you thought I was gonna hit you or because I yelled?”

You shrug, unable to look at him. One of the shards slides across your finger and you hiss, the smallest cut forming and causing blood to pool out of your skin. Still, you don’t stop. You need to clean this up before he gets even angrier at you. In your state, you don’t realize his voice has softened and he no longer stares at you with those blacked-out eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost, but most of all the guilt has spread throughout his features and his heart. He is aching to touch you, but you are scared and shaking and he doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he already has.

He had been so ignorant that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You wipe your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. It’s my fault,” you say. “I’ll clean this up, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey.”

“No, I gotta-”

“Stop.” His hand is on your arm then. “You cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s a mantra you’ve taught yourself to say in the hopes you could somehow fix this before it’s too late.

But it’s not too late. When you finally look up, he’s smiling softly, and his thumb is stroking over your skin in circles. 

“I’m sorry,” it’s his turn to say it. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. None of this is your fault. I was so caught up in my own shit, I… God, I would never hit you. I just- I didn’t think when I raised my hand. I didn’t think what it might look like to you. And I didn’t think when I yelled because I… in my head, I wasn’t thinking.”

Your facade cracks even more to the point you are seethrough and your defenses have fallen completely. You’re a snotty mess, shaking violently in his grasp. 

“I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be better. Just don’t be angry with me,” your voice is bordering on helpless little sobs, your lips turned downward and God, you are shaking so badly, you haven’t done so since the last fight with your father when you were a teenager. 

Matt’s face softens even more, but there is a pain in there too. He takes a paper towel to wrap around your injured finger and he holds your hand, not sure if he is allowed to touch anywhere else, but he wants you to know he is here and he is going nowhere. He is neither mad nor is he going to break up with you. You try to tell yourself that, but it’s hard with the demon in your head whispering all those awful things into your ear, reminding you that everything bad that happens can only be your fault and that there is no use for you but to destroy and disappoint. But you don’t want to disappoint, you want him to be proud of you. You want him to hold you and tell you everything is alright. But you’re scared and you feel so stupidly guilty for something you can’t even put a finger on. Your bleeding finger.

“Angry with you?” he says. “No.” Matt chuckles, but it’s broken and almost whiny as he does so. “I’m not angry at you, bug. Of course not. I was just angry with the world. I was angry at everything else, but not you. I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t possibly be. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. I realize that now. And the glass…” he forces you away from the chaos gently, helping you stand up without hurting yourself further. “It’s just glass,” he tells you. “I’ll clean it up. There’s nothing bad about breaking something.”

“But the mess,” you say. 

“Fuck the mess. The whole apartment’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry! I can clean it. I can clean up, I promise. I just… I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Stop apologizing, baby, please. The mess doesn’t matter. The apartment doesn’t matter, and the glass does not fucking matter. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything but try to help. I had no right to yell at you. And my hand… I would never hit you. Never.” He squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

You hiccup, whimpering when he pulls you away from the glass on the floor and pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on the crown of your head and you mold into him, the tears taking on new speed and wetting through his shirt. He strokes your back, not sure what else to do, and his lips find your temple. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, none of that.”

You cling tighter to him. 

He keeps asking himself the same question over and over again. “Who hurt you?” he asks. It’s a valid question. A fear like that doesn’t just stem from nothing. Something happened in the past to have traumatized you this badly. 

Your breathing eventually slows down, as do your tears, and you look up at him through swollen eyes. His white shirt is wet now, but he doesn’t care, he only hugs you back to his chest. “My father used to yell at me whenever I did something wrong,” you tell him, your voice muffled through his chest, but he understands every word. 

His grip tightens. “Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes, but… I remember that one time I forgot to clean up after myself and he just… he…” The lack of oxygen makes you shudder and you hiccup again, nails digging into his back. “I’m sorry, he just… yelled at me. Sometimes, he’d slap me, but only sometimes. He’d threaten most of the time, but he didn’t do it often. And I mean, I was a hard kid to raise, I-“

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he is quick to cut you off. “You were a kid.”

You shudder again. “Well, I… you know, he blamed me for the smallest of things, so I got used to apologizing and trying to please everyone, but I can’t always do that. I try to fix things, but it doesn’t always work. He used to yell at me every damn time and I just… I get scared. I don’t like it when people raise their voices. It makes me feel so guilty and now I even broke a glass. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… you had a bad day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this. I swear I’m not a baby.”

You move away to rub your eyes. He grabs your face, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over your wet cheeks. The heat has pooled under the skin in an upset blush. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. If I’d known, baby, I…” Matt can only shake his head in disbelief.

He loves you more than anything and to see you hurting because of something another man did to you, a man who is supposed to protect you, makes him feel all kinds of things, but none of them positive. 

But his anger doesn’t matter. This is about you. He has to take care of you now, not himself, and definitely not your father. It’s just you on his mind.

You choke on nothing. “He told me I have no reason to cry because he’s just stating facts.”

Matt clicks his tongue. “No, don’t ever think that again. You have every right to cry when you feel the need to.”

“It makes me weak,” you say.

“Your father’s wrong. You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “And the fact that he yelled at you and blamed you for things that were out of your control… no one has the right to treat you like that, not even your parents, and he should have never even thought about raising his hand against you. That’s abuse. I can’t believe- fuck! Do you understand that it wasn’t your fault? That he had no right to do that?”

“Yes, but… it happened. Maybe I deserved some of those slaps. I mean you… I- I don’t know. It happened, we can’t change it. And who knows, maybe he was right.”

“Stop it! That’s not true and you know it.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, sweetheart. I would never raise my hand against you, I promise. I’m not like your father. No one should be like him. You deserve so much better.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you sniffle, “it was just instinct.”

“Shh,” Matt kisses you gently, “I know. It’s like me dodging punches in a fight. It’s a defense mechanism. Your father, I… you’ve never said anything. I would’ve never suspected this.”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was important. This never happened before. You never yelled before.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” he says. “It’s important to me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I want you to feel comfortable around me, not scared.”

You nod. “And I am, really, it’s just… I thought I did something wrong.”

His smile is soft when he leans in to kiss you again, tasting the tears on your lips. “You didn’t. I let my anger out on you for no reason. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again, I promise,” and he dives right back in. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing in his arms as his lips move against yours with sweet precision, making you feel lightheaded. He scared you, that much is true, but it was neither you nor his fault and you realize that now, safe in his arms as he proves his devotion to you with a single breath into your mouth. With his gentle touch around your waist he promises never to hurt you, never to let his anger out on you again, and he promises that he will drive himself to hell personally if he ever scares you like that again because he couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if he broke your heart or triggered the trauma you brought into the relationship from your broken childhood, and he promises that he will never leave you, never put you second and always hold you when times get hard because people screw up, bad things happen, and you might be at fault sometimes, but so is he and there is no reason to be put down for being human. He wants to teach you that, he wants to help you heal yourself, and you have never felt more in love than at that moment, losing yourself in his lips, eyes and arms.

He breaks the kiss, moving on to your forehead. “If there is anything else I need to know,” he breathes hotly against your already heated skin, and the exhaustion slowly starts to seep into your bones as the shakes and tension subside from your bones, “please tell me before I make another mistake that might trigger you.”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head. “There is not much else. My childhood wasn’t the best, but that’s okay,” you say. 

He brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone. “Bad enough. Promise you’ll tell me if something else might come up?” He resembles a puppy as he tries to meet your eyes, but he fails miserably.

So you promise him, “Okay.”

“Can you forgive me for yelling?”

Your tears have finally come to a halt. “Yes,” you say. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes fall on the mess on the kitchen floor again and you go to grab the broom. Matt’s arm around your frame stop you and he gently pushes you out of the kitchen. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Put a bandaid on your finger and then go lie down. I’ll deal with it.”

“No, I broke it. Please, Matt, let me do this.”

“Not everything is your fault, sweetheart. Besides, you already cut yourself once and with how you’re shaking, the next time you accidentally cut yourself I’m sure you’re gonna cause more damage.”

“But I-”

“Go to bed,” he insists, “I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll cuddle so you know I’m serious when I say that I love you more than life itself.”

The weight and guilt fall off your heart. “I love you,” you tell him. “More than life itself, too.”

It’s not a lie. If there is anything or anyone you love, it’s him, and you’ve never been this in love with anyone before. It’s sickening to the point it hurts, but the pain is sweet and it’s all worth it because with Matt, you can be yourself. 

The past matters just a little less with someone who loves you right by your side, and he would never give up on you like everyone else did before him. 

[deermurdock]

something something about matt referring to himself as ‘your old man’

‘open up for your old man, baby’

‘so tight for your old man,’

‘takin’ your old man so well, honey’

‘aw, is your old man fucking you dumb?’

bonus:

if you’re afab but not cis in ANY SLIGHTEST WAY he calls you ‘son’ in the bedroom

like

‘okay, son, deep breathes for me’

‘sh, sh, i’ve got you, son’

thanks for coming to my ted talk

@bunmurdock @https-murdock @kit-murdock @lambmurdock @starmurdock

[outer-edges]

u ever just look at all ur favorite characters and realize they’re all tragic depressed old men that resonate with ur soul and it’s just like. do i have daddy issues or just need therapy

[hellscupboards]

watching 3.12 and Matt listening to Ray tell Sami on the phone that he just wanted to make him proud and that's why he did what he did while Matt's standing in Fogwell's being haunted by his own father's mistakes he made just to make Matt proud like we need to discuss this more as a society

[chvoswxtch]

I completely forgot how in 2x12 when matty is fighting the hand and stick teaches him how to track their breath & he starts beating their asses and let’s out that unhinged FERAL yell when the last one goes down like WHEW good LORD that did something to me ✨

btw this is the scene i’m talking about, y’all know I love to share the filth wealth 😏

[thedevotionaltour]

Daredevil #11 - "A Time to Unmask!" (October 1965)

Written by Stan Lee Art by Bob Powell (pencils), Wally Wood (inks)

[allllium]

🌸 Matt Murdock Best Fics On Tumblr 🌸

Part One • Part Two • Part Three

Headcannons

Matt when you're sad ~ @throughfrostedglass

Angst

Green is the Color ~ @courtforshort15

Daddy Issues ~ @farfromstrange

You're Losing Me ~ @l0vergirlwrites

Fingers Crossed ~ @petertingle-yipyip

Afterglow ~ @amhrosina

Hurt/Comfort

Unstealthy ~ @ellephlox

Fragile ~ @devils-dares

Always here ~ @blackshadowswriter

Renegade ~ @sunflowersandsapphires

Overwhelmed ~ @l0vergirlwrites

Scars ~ @ithebookhoarder

Protected ~ @catholicdaredevil

° Pretty Eyes ~ @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

You'll always be what I need ~

Changing Lights ~ @hellskitchenette

° Bruises ~ @goldustwomun

Out of the Shadow [Angst] ~ @courtforshort15

If you Need to be Mean ~ @farfromstrange

On Dark Days ~ @fandom-imagines-stories

A Shitty Day ~ @toomanystoriessolittletime

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Sweet on You, Chapter 2

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~2800

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter! If you'd like to be tagged in this, please let me know.

Divider by @theradioactivespidergwen!

Tag List (struck-through blogs could not be tagged): @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm

You looked at your phone once again as you headed down the busy sidewalk towards The Brew Towers.

Matthew had messaged you the previous evening confirming your meeting and sending you a description of himself so you'd know who you were looking for in case the café was crowded. I have dark brown hair and will be wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt with a black leather jacket, he had sent.

Okay, you had replied. See you tomorrow.

You had agonized over your own outfit, finally deciding to wear jeans and a sweater since it was the middle of November.

The closer you got to the café the more nervous you became. What if Matthew took one look at you and changed his mind? What if he wanted more than what you were comfortable with giving? What if--

You shook your head. The last thing you needed to do was to give yourself a panic attack, especially over ‘what if s’. 

You continued on to the café, taking a deep breath before entering.

You looked around for someone who fit Matthew’s description of himself, finally spotting a dark-haired man sitting alone at a table in the corner. 

He was handsome, with a strong, straight nose, plush lips, and eyes that were hidden behind red-tinted sunglasses. That must be him.

You headed over, pausing as you got to his table. “Excuse me, Matthew?”

He looked up at you with a smile and nodded before saying your name questioningly.

You nodded in return. “Yes, hi.”

Matthew stood and stuck his hand out for you to shake. “Hi, it's nice to meet you. And please, call me Matt.”

You took it and gave it a brief shake. “Nice to meet you too, and okay. Matt it is.”

Matt gestured towards the empty chair opposite him. “Here, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” You unwound your scarf and took your coat off before draping both across the back of your chair and sitting. 

“How about I go order our coffee?” Matt asked as he remained standing. “What would you like? Anything to eat?”

You eyed the display case of baked goods. In your nervousness you had skipped breakfast, so… “Um, sure.”

You gave Matt your order and he nodded. “Got it. Be right back.”

He took a long white cane out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it, then headed towards the counter to place your orders.

Okay, so that explains the sunglasses indoors, you thought. And probably why he wanted to meet in person to discuss terms rather than hashing it out over DMs.

You waited as Matt placed your orders then returned with a small numbered placard.

“So, um, how are you today?” Matt asked as he sat.

“I'm well,” you replied. “And you?”

“Good, good, yeah…” Matt paused. “Um, thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I've never done this sort of thing before.”

You shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”

“If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been a sugar baby? I'm just curious since you don't seem to fit the typical profile.”

Your hackles raised slightly. “You mean because I'm not a barely-legal teenager with daddy issues?”

Matt chuckled warmly. “Quite frankly, yes, but I promise it's not a bad thing -- In fact, it's one of the main reasons I chose you. I apologize if I came off as judgemental, that wasn't my intention.”

You relaxed at Matt's apology. “I actually prefer the term ‘companion’, if you don't mind.”

Matt shook his head. “Not at all. How long have you been a companion, then?”

“I've been on Sugar and Spice for about four months -- I ran into some financial trouble and found that it was the fastest and easiest way to make some extra money… at least legally, that is.”

Matt suddenly looked concerned. “What kind of financial trouble? That is, if you don't mind me asking. Maybe I can help if it's something you could use some legal advice on.”

You shook your head. “Thank you, but I have it handled. It's actually not even technically my debt – I'm helping my mother out with some medical bills after she got seriously ill and wound up in the hospital. She had lost her job – and subsequently her health insurance – right before she got sick, so now she has to pay all of her hospital bills out of pocket. She can't afford the monthly payments, so I offered to help. It's the least I can do after all the sacrifices she made for me when I was growing up.”

You were fortunate that the hospital had agreed to put your mother on a long-term payment plan without much fuss, so there was no need to get a lawyer involved even if you could afford Matt's services. 

You paused as a café employee brought your and Matt's coffee and pastries to you, thanking them before they left. “I don't intend on being a companion forever, just until I get things settled with that.”

Matt took a sip of his coffee. “In that case, shall we discuss business then?”

You nodded. “Why don't you start by telling me a bit about yourself and what your expectations are for this arrangement, especially since you said that this is your first time doing this sort of thing.”

Matt nodded. “Well, as you already know, I'm an attorney with Nelson, Murdock and Page. I'm currently single, but, uh, I guess you probably already figured that out considering the circumstances.”

You shook your head with a wry smile. “I've learned never to assume anything about Sugar and Spice 's clientele. You'd be surprised at how many people frequent the site who aren't actually single.”

Matt chuckled. “Fair enough. My busy lifestyle doesn't really allow for a committed relationship, so I'm looking for someone to fill that role in my life that isn't actually expecting commitment.”

You pursed your lips, unable to help but silently judge Matt. “So you basically just want a friend with benefits.”

Matt shook his head. “No -- well, yes, but -- not exactly?”

He sighed. “I'm honestly just looking for someone to spend time with, someone to accompany me to dinner or a concert or to take a walk and go for coffee with, someone to bring as my plus-one to the occasional work event when necessary. I'm not expecting anything sexual in return -- in fact, I think it's actually best if we'd keep things strictly platonic between us.”

You nodded, relaxing once again. You found it odd that Matt wasn't expecting any sort of ‘sugar’ in return, but then again, to each their own. “Okay, so you actually are just looking for a companion then.”

Matt nodded. “I'd give you a guaranteed monthly stipend in addition to paying for all of our outings, and in the case of a work event I'd arrange a shopping trip for you if necessary.”

“How much of a stipend are we talking about?” You figured it'd be about three or four hundred dollars a month, which was okay with you since that would at least cover the minimum monthly payments on your mother's medical bills.

Matt shrugged. “Let's say… a thousand a month?”

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. A thousand dollars a month just to accompany a handsome, rich lawyer to dinner a couple of times a week and the occasional party full of other rich lawyers? At that rate you'd have your mother's medical debt paid off a lot sooner than you originally thought.

Matt must've taken your silence as a rejection, because he added, “unless that's too low? Like I said, I've never done this before so I don't exactly know what the going rate is for something like this.”

You quickly shook your head. “Uh, no, no, I think I can agree to a thousand dollars a month.”

Matt smiled, looking relieved. “Great! I'd like to have something in writing, so would you mind swinging by my office on Monday?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

Matt took his wallet out and extracted a business card. “Here's the address.”

You took the card and looked at it.

You nodded. Matt's office wasn't too far from your own. “Okay, yeah. It'll have to be late afternoon, though. Is a little after 5 o’clock okay with you?”

Matt nodded in return. “Yeah, that's fine.”

“Okay, good.” You pocketed Matt’s card.

Matt broke off a piece of the croissant he had ordered and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “So are you from New York?” he asked after he had swallowed and took a sip of his own coffee.

You nodded. “Yeah, born and raised here in Hell's Kitchen. You?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Where'd you go to school?” You didn't recall there being any blind students at your school when you were growing up, but then again you had been so focused on your studies in order to try to make your mom proud that you didn't really notice much else.

Matt shook his head. “I was mostly homeschooled.”

“Oh, okay. Nevermind then. I thought maybe we had gone to school with each other since we're both from here.”

Matt bit his lip as if he was contemplating his next sentence. Finally, he said, “My mom left not long after I was born, so my dad raised me. He, uh, he always said that it was important that I get a good education so I wouldn't have to struggle to make ends meet like he did, so after I graduated high school I went to Columbia and got my law degree.”

You took a bite of your own pastry. “He must be really proud of you for becoming a lawyer then.”

Matt shook his head. “He died when I was 9.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry.”

Matt shrugged. “It's ok, you didn't know.  What about you though, do your parents still live around here?”

You nodded. “It's always been just me and my mom, but yeah, she doesn't live far from here.”

You paused as your phone began to ring, Mom flashing across the screen. “Oh and actually that's her. I'm sorry, I’ll just be one second.”

Matt nodded. “No problem.”

You quickly swiped to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi honey,” your mom replied. “Are you busy?”

“Uh…” You glanced over at Matt. “I'm out having coffee with a friend, but what's up?”

“Oh, well I was wondering if you wanted to come by for lunch tomorrow. I found this new recipe I wanted to try and it's been a while since we've cooked together.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. What time do you want me over?”

“Would 11:30 work for you?”

“That'll be fine. Need me to bring anything?”

“No, I think I have everything I need for it. I'll let you get back to your friend, see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow, Mom. Bye.”

“Bye, honey.”

You hung up. “Sorry about that.”

Matt shook his head. “It's no problem. So, you and your mom are pretty close, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, we are. And actually that reminds me, how are we handling this? Because I’m gonna have to tell her eventually that I’m seeing someone.”

Matt hummed. “I don't suppose she knows about your job as a ‘companion’ then.”

You shook your head. “She thinks I got a raise at my day job, and I'd really rather her not find out the truth or else she'll refuse to let me keep helping her out.”

Matt chewed on his lip as he thought. “Honestly I think it's best if we keep our arrangement under wraps, so we could just tell people we're dating since you'll be accompanying me to work events and things like that.”

“Okay.” You took another bite of your pastry. “So then how'd we meet since we can't really tell people we met on Sugar and Spice ?”

Matt shook his head with a smile and waved a hand around the café. “Well, since the most believable lies at least have a kernel of truth to them, how about a coffee shop?”

He took another sip of his coffee. “We struck up a conversation in line and decided to sit together since it was busy, and by the time we left I had asked you out for dinner.”

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. That way the timeline will still fit.”

“How about dinner on Monday, then? We can meet at my office, sign the contract, then go somewhere nearby?”

“Okay.” Unless Matt chose a fancy steakhouse or something for your regular work attire would suffice.

“Great. How does Asian fusion sound?”

“Yeah, that's fine.” 

You and Matt continued to talk for another hour as you got to know each other, finally exchanging phone numbers as you were both leaving. “It's easier for me to communicate this way,” Matt explained as the two of you walked outside. “Unless you'd prefer to use the website?”

You shook your head. “No, that's fine. I can't exactly check my S&S messages while I'm at work anyway.”

Matt handed you his phone so you can input your number. “Okay great. Thanks.”

You input your contact information then quickly sent yourself a text so you'd have Matt's number before handing his phone back to him. “So I'll see you Monday afternoon, then?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, Monday.”

“Okay.” You weren't sure if you were supposed to shake Matt's hand or give him a hug or what, so you settled for an awkward wave then mentally cringed at yourself for waving at a blind man. “Well, thanks for breakfast.”

Matt shook his head. “No problem.”

“Okay, bye.” You turned and headed back to your apartment, silently hoping that you'd actually made the right decision.

Matt pocketed his phone as you walked down the street, waiting until you had turned the corner before unfolding his cane and heading in the opposite direction back to his apartment. You had seemed nice enough – over the past couple of hours he had learned that you had graduated from NYU and were currently working as an administrative assistant at an architectural firm not far from Nelson, Murdock, and Page, but that your dream actually lay in historical preservation. 

“There's just something comforting about stepping into an old building that's been restored to its natural splendor,” you had said. “Being transported back to a simpler time, where we didn't have to worry about alien invasions or crime-fighting vigilantes wearing red Spandex.”

Matt had chuckled. His Daredevil suit was actually made from a material akin to Kevlar, so it wasn't exactly stretchy or comfortable, but it wasn't like you knew that. “So I take it you don't approve of Daredevil then?”

You had taken a sip of your coffee before answering. “ Actually, quite the opposite. I feel like the streets have been a lot safer since he's shown up, especially at night. Daredevil’s doing a better job of protecting this city than the police department is.”

Matt had nodded. Patrolling Hell's Kitchen as Daredevil was about more than dismantling Fisk’s empire and getting the cartels off the streets, it was about protecting people from low-level criminals as well. “Yeah, I get that.”

Once Matt reached his apartment he sat down on his couch then picked up his laptop. Might as well start drafting the contract while the terms are fresh in my mind.

He paused when he reached the part regarding his payments to you, then after a moment he pulled up your Sugar and Spice profile before sending you the note, I had a great time this morning along with $200.

When you had balked at his offer of $1,000 a month he immediately thought that he had lowballed you and was fully prepared to double it, especially since out of all of the profiles he had gone through on Sugar and Spice, you had been his only choice of ‘companion’. 

He didn't know what he had expected your reasoning behind joining the site to have been, but it certainly hadn't been because you were helping your mother with hospital bills. I wonder how much she owes.

He figured it must've been a fairly substantial amount since not only did your mother have to foot the bill herself due to losing her health insurance just before going into the hospital, but also because of the lengths you were willing to go to help her pay it.

Matt finished drafting out the contract before reading it over using his text-to-speech app and nodding in satisfaction.

He saved it then sent it to his work email, certain that he had made the right decision.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

wildest dreams - m. murdock

a/n: i have literally not been inspired for two weeks then i was STRUCK with the urge to write this. guys. i am so proud of this one i am not even going to lie. this one is dedicated to @bunmurdock because i am literally always thinking about professor murdock.... i really hope you guys enjoy this one, because i enjoyed writing it :) warnings: SMUT! inappropriate dynamic, P in V smut, so much cursing, lots of inappropriate thoughts and pining, power dynamics, dirty talk, reader does an edible and is high for a small part of this fic, reader isn't stupid in this one! she is just horny! she is also deaf, and there is yapping of readers daddy issues word count: 6.3k likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 summary: you have a huge crush on your professor and spend many days desperate for him. pairing: professor!matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: wildest dreams - taylor swift (taylor's version) "i said, "no one has to know what we do"/his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room"

You could treat him better than any of these other horny grad students.

Seriously, that is your only conscious thought watching this man move around the front of this lecture center. You’re not dumb, you know everyone sitting here wants him—Those who are attracted to men want to fuck him and those who aren’t seek his approval. But you are built different, you’re also lacking a major sense, besides, your brain runs ramped with disgusting thoughts about the man.

Today’s focus is on the man’s outfit. It’s his last class of the day, and it shows. His clothes are a bit more wrinkled, and his hair is messier than it had been when he started the day. But most importantly, his jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, meaning you have a phenomenal view of his torso.

He wears a white button down, with the cuffs of the arms rolled up to just below his elbows, the bottom of the shirt tucked into the waistline of his pants. The shirt is tight, maybe a little too tight, especially around the arms. Maybe it’s because he works out. Or at least, you assume he works out.

That brings us to his tie. Oh, his tie. It’s nothing special—a pure black tie, just hanging from his neck. Your mind wanders. It starts at the dissection of a key court case in the subject of minimum wage, but from there, it starts drifting to his tie.

You think about the tie moving back and forth above you as he thrusts into you, brushing against your face, pulling on it to bring him closer. You think about that soft half chuckle he does, before he says something dirty like—

“Did you have something to add?” His voice right in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Fuck. You were not paying attention.

“Uh, No, Professor..” Your face is a deep red, embarrassed. You wish you could take off your hearing aids to stop listening to all the giggling from around you, from peers who are thrilled that Professor Murdock’s little (not-so) secret admirer got called out for her staring.

“Hm,” he taps the table in front of you, “Then I want you paying attention.” He says, before going back to his lecture. You could die right there. Everyone is laughing at you. He embarrassed you.

Okay, so you have no proof that he’s ever wanted you in the way that you’ve been so god damn desperate for him, but it’s still crushing that he’d single you out in that way. That maybe while you were increasingly needy for him, he found you fucking annoying, in such a way that he felt the need to embarrass you in front of your peers.

You want to melt—Melt into a puddle with just your boots and your hearing aids left behind so you never have to face him ever again. That’s why you’re so relieved when he dismisses class right on time (Well, right on time for him. He always ends class five minutes early to leave room for questions) and you quickly gather your things.

Because of the sheer level of embarrassment he has caused you, the other students in the class who want him try to flock to him, sensing that you no longer have the confidence to engage with him—But your desire is still there, as you messily shove your things into your backpack. You turn when you’re finished, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Your face is still flushed, part because you’re embarrassed, part because you are out of breath from rushing. But you are faced with the view of your professor, all alone. Your breath hitches when his hand moves up to the top of his tie, as he smooths it out, running his fingers down the fabric.

“I read your essay on the expectations of the courts and law versus the realities of it. I loved it. The argument using Gideon versus Wainwright to justify the existence of the right to counsel as a civil right and not a liberty was fascinating, especially considering your other arguments about how race, class and gender play into those realities. Well done. I thought it was some of your best work.”

Your face is flushed for a new reason now. Wasn’t this the same man who was mad at you for not paying attention?

“I thought so too.” You confess, and he just smiles. He loves that you’re confident in your work. You’ll make a great lawyer one day.

“Oh, and,” He digs through his leather satchel to pull out some notes, running his finger over the folder tab to make sure he has the right folder, “Here are the printed copy of our notes from the last few lectures.” It’s part of your accommodations that professors give you a copy.

“Thanks, Professor.” You smile gently, reaching out to take the papers. Your hands meet and as you grip the notes, the tips of your fingers just barely brush against his. Neither of you say anything. Neither of you let go.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.” He starts, “But you’re bright—Smarter than most of your professors, I bet. And I don’t want you to fall behind.” He says softly, and without saying it, you know he’s worried because of your hearing. He was disabled in law school once upon a time, and he recognizes your potential.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, softer than your voice usually is. “I get it, really. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He says gently, letting go of the papers now. As you clutch them close to your chest, his hand goes back up to mess with his tie again. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know how wild it drives you? He must. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you on Thursday.” You agree, and that’s when you leave the classroom.

As the door closes behind you, he listens intently. He hears your nervous heartbeat, could practically feel the heat radiating off you. But he knows your routine by now. You’re about to start playing music, and he likes knowing what sort of mood you’re in as you leave his class.

A smile spreads across his face when he hears the opening notes of that new Hozier song, ‘Too Sweet’.

• • •

You are a straight A student. You study days in advance for exams, you write elaborate study guides and most of all, you do not miss class, unless you are dying (no, seriously, the last time you missed class you were rushed to the hospital, sick with pneumonia after a big exam, which you aced). So, when you’re not in Matt’s class on Thursday, he tries not to panic.

You’re a grown woman, he tells himself, and he doesn’t have an attendance policy, having told the class on syllabus day that he trusted them to know when to come to class and when they should go lay in the sun or stay home with a bad cold.

But you once came to class doped up on cold medicine with a mask on, just because you didn’t want to miss any important information. He heard it before you got to class, so he faked a family emergency to cancel class early that day. He could hear your rattled sigh of relief as the other students flooded out.

And he knows for a fact you didn’t show up today because of how fucking loud you are; You don’t mean to be, but he can hear the light buzzing of your hearing aids, and you wear these big work boots that stomp even when you’re trying to step lightly. And he heard neither buzzing nor stomps today.

Oh, your boots. He’s spent years with everything being too loud, but he just can’t help but think about the boots—What color were they? What were their texture? He has this fantasy that lives at the very back of his mind of putting you in heels, heels too big for anyone let alone a girl who only wears clunky work boots, that way he would have to help you, take care of you, and it is a fantasy that will probably live at the back of his mind until he dies.

Sure, he’d probably get married, settle down with someone his age and never worry if she might be dissatisfied with an older man, and she’ll be quiet. No hearing aids, no big boots. They’ll have kids, they’ll be happy together. He’ll still go to you when he can’t sleep, and no one will ever know.

Wait, what was he doing? Oh, right. You weren’t in class today.

His fingers move over the keyboard to look you up in the system. He clicks on the audio assistant to read him your information. It reads out your first and last name, middle initial, then your grade in his class (A+), your accommodations (Notes, time and a half, things like that), your birthday, and—

Wait, he takes a moment, and his fingers go over to his braille calendar, realizing that you’re taking a day off because it’s your birthday. A laugh escapes his lips, because how silly was he being?

His fingers move again to find your email address. He debates for a moment before adding the subject line, “Absence Today.” Then, he erases it and changes it to, “Class Today”, hoping you wouldn’t freak out before reading the email.

And just for a moment, he lets himself dream. He writes the following email to you,

“Hey, sweetheart—

Happy Birthday. I’m so happy you’re taking a break, you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. Are you doing something fun for it? Going out and getting wasted? Hooking up with some college guy who couldn’t fuck you properly?

If I could, my birthday gift to you would be a day spent with my face buried between your pretty thighs, although that might be a birthday gift to me and not to you. I’ve always been a selfish man, and you seem to be something I am entirely selfish about. I want your hands tangled in my hair, tugging on it as I taste you. I want you all to myself. I didn’t hear the buzzing of your hearing aids or the clunking of your boots, and I felt this striking yearning.

I can’t stand being around you without having you. It’s torture.

Happy Birthday,

Matthew.’

He thinks about it for a minute, before completely erasing the email, and sending you this one instead:

‘Missed you in class today! We went over the reading for Chapter Seven. Happy Birthday! Professor M’

He sends it, and then rubs his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. He is completely enamored by you, and it is so unfair.  You’d be in class on Monday, he told himself. He’d see you then, and it would be like getting his fix of you.

Then, he turns to the distraction of trying to grade papers. It won’t work. He’ll still have you on his mind all day, and there will be no relief in sleeping. Hopefully he’ll dream of that long day between your thighs.

• • •

Truth be told, you were not drinking and fucking some random guy when Matt emails you. You were cuddled up in bed, giggling and eating snacks, so many snacks, because, well, you took an edible with a bunch of your friends and now are high out of your mind.

Some animated shows are on in the background, and when your phone buzzes, you pick it up and almost melt when you see the email from your favorite professor. You start giggling like a kid, your fingers clutching your phone as you read the email over and over again.

One friend looks up to you from her place on your floor and asks, “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer at first, but then you nod, and pull your blanket close, imagining Matt’s arms around you. Your brain paints you a picture of him holding you against his chest and gently playing with your hair.

It’s a nice fantasy.

• • •

For being a law student, you really fucking hate it sometimes. Okay, that’s not true. You love being a law student and are so excited to go out into the world and make that difference. But you’d be lying if you don’t sort of contemplate dropping out and getting a sugar daddy over certain assignments.

Maybe Matt is in the market. Then you shake your head to get the thought out of there, before opening your laptop to check your professor’s office hours. The one that assigned this assignment is an old bat who does not have office hours except for during your other classes on Fridays.

Then, you look at Matt’s office hours. He has office hours right now. You click the pen in your hand a few times, thinking. Contemplating. Would he want to see you at this point? Would you be able to control yourself?

You give the question you’re working on one more time before you lean down and grab your boots, starting to lace them up. Then, you pack up your bag, heart beating nervously over what—Asking him for help with an assignment?

You make it all the way across campus, the whole time worried about if you’ll walk in on your professor with some other girl. You almost laugh at that thought, because you think you’re silly for how dramatic you are about the man.

You stand down the hallway from his office for a few minutes, just contemplating. You could just turn around and not at all open the possibility of being around him, and everything stays the same. Nothing changes, and your relationship with your professor maintains it’s strictly professional relationship.

You walk towards the door, knocking on it before holding your breath.

“Come on in,” He calls from behind the door. Now or never. You open the door, and smile in his direction.

“Hey, professor,” You greet, a soft smile on your face. His tie is loose around his neck. You blink away whatever daydream your brain wants to dive headfirst into.

“Hey,” He greets, “I don’t think you have any assignments due, so what’s up?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction. As you think about it, you realize that you do not need help with an assignment.

“This is going to sound like a lie. But I had trouble with this assignment earlier, and suddenly I walked in here and realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You explain, but you make no attempt to turn around and leave.

“Let me guess,” He starts, gauging by what year and academic proficiency you’re at, “Professor Reid’s estate planning class? That assignment about the will and testament of an old lady with a marriage less than 90 days and estranged kids?”

You groan and take a seat in one of the chairs in his office. He laughs in response, shaking his head.

“That old bat.” You roll your eyes. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to cheat on your final.” He tells you, and you give him a perplexed look.

“What?”

“Well, for the final, there’ll be a question about a super niche argument on inheritance. Just cheat on it.”

“You’re a professor, telling me to cheat?”

“I cheated on it,” He shrugs. You suddenly remember that he used to go to school here and has taken all the classes you’re struggling with right now.

“You’re being unprofessional.” You tell him, and he smiles again. Your heart skips a beat, and somehow, his smile grows. As if he knows exactly what sort of effect he has on you. As if this is all a game he likes to play with you, his eager and willing participant.

“Okay, forget that I told you to cheat on Reid’s exam. We have to talk about something, it would be awkward to just sit here in silence. Uh, what did you major in in undergrad?”

“English. I minored in Disability studies.”

“So why Law?” He asks curiously, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, before resting them on his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I’m tired of being poor.” The answer slips out before you can really stop yourself. He laughs again, and something in you stirs. As if making him laugh is the newest way you feel good about yourself. How twisted is that? “I’m being serious!” You laugh too, unable to contain it.

“I’m sure,” he promises, “I grew up poor too, I was sick of it too. But if you’re going to be a lawyer—”

“You need to have respect for the law and the people taken advantage by it,” You finish, “I get that, really, I do. And I want to help people. I want to go into divorce law and help all the poor and battered women like—” You’re forgetting yourself. You’re forgetting that this isn’t a date and that this man is your professor.

“Like..?” He prods you to finish, curious. He is on the edge of his seat about you. This is more than he has gotten of you in the past few weeks you’ve been taking his class.

“Like my mom.” You finish suddenly looking for something to do with your hands. Anything, really. “But the check that comes with it isn’t exactly deterring me, you know?”

“I get that,” he says earnestly, “I was an orphan, one of those dirty scrappy ones you feel bad for,” he does that half chuckle that makes you want to go over there and kiss him. “Never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was young. So, I get it. Being poor and wanting to do better for yourself. For your parent who sacrificed for you.”

But it clicks for him, the hidden meaning behind your ambitions. You have daddy issues, and he can tell that’s part of your crush on him. Though, he’ll never say it to you. He’ll let it be something unspoken between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you do get it.” You smile softly. But this is dangerous. So so dangerous. The two of you are dancing this dangerous line—Well, more like you’re damn well dancing clear over the line and ignoring it. But you don’t know how to stop it. Maybe you don’t want to stop it.

“Well, uh, maybe you could finish that assignment while we’re here.” He clears his throat, straightening his tie and you try to connect the wires in your brain to focus on the assignment. You pull it out of your bag and place it on his desk, smoothing it out a bit. Matt gets up and starts to wander around the office, and you look at him curiously. “I think better when I can move around.”

You should’ve known that much, you have stared at him doing lectures, wandering from end to end of the rows and rows in the classroom.

“Yeah, totally,” You nod, focusing on the assignment. It’s on paper, the old bat refuses to use online assignments. You’re practically flying through the assignment, and it’s at the point where you are forgetting your company. In fact, you really don’t notice him.. Until you lean back and stretch, jumping when you realize that Matt has taken a spot right behind you, his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward. You’re practically leant up against him.

“See? Was that so hard?” Your face flushes, his voice right next to your ear. He has to know; he has to know how you’re affecting him. You tilt your head a bit, and your eyes are level with his chin. His stubble moves as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t smell much like anything… except the faintest hint of clean sheets and this slight scent of mahogany. It would go perfect with a whiff of whiskey.

“No,” you say quietly, and he almost shudders at the feeling of your warm breath against his cheek. “Not at all, Prof—”

“Call me Matt.” It’s almost begging. You’re kind of into it, but that’s not surprising given how incredibly attractive you find him.

“Okay.” You say quietly. He has reduced you to one-word answers. The two of you stay quiet for a while. You’re unsure what to say. Matt is contemplating his options. Anyone could walk in on the two of you like this. The door isn’t locked, and you want to bring this up, but the words die out in your throat. His head tilts a bit towards you, and you get a glimpse at those perfect lips of his.

“You know—” He starts, but before he can get any farther, you lean in and kiss him. You kiss him intensely, your hand on his cheek, and for once, you are not filled with regret at a bad decision. He doesn’t react at first, and for just a second, you’re nervous.

Then, He kisses you back, letting out this deep hum as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head to get deeper into your mouth, and his hands make their way down to your hips. He focuses for a second, before wrapping his arms around you to pick you up and sitting you on his desk.

His hands trail down as the pair of you kiss, landing on your thighs. His fingers rub back and forth, and you gasp when he squeezes your thighs. He grins and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your clunky boots hit against his desk and he practically growls at the sound. He pulls away, his teeth biting your bottom lip as he does.

You’re completely out of breath, and so is he. He stumbles back a bit, his lips swollen and bright pink from kissing you. He wipes his mouth as he pants, and inhales deeply. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing the hair that has fallen onto your face.

“We..” he mumbled gently, running his hand over his chin. “Holy shit, kid—”

“Don’t call me kid—”

“Listen,” he goes over to you and brushes the hair from your face, “That was.. it was phenomenal, but someone could’ve walked in on that, and.. Fuck, if we do that again, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” he confesses, his hands on your cheeks.

“When I was staring off into space last week, I was thinking about your tie.” You tell him, your hands are finding the base of it now. He tilts his head, curiously.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Was daydreaming about it brushing against my face as you fuck me.” You could swear his face is red. You grin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking the tie from you and bringing the tie up to brush against your cheeks, “Like that?” he teases, and you laugh back. Dick.

“Mhm,” You giggle, and your hands find his, wrangling the tie out of his hands, and tugging on it, before bringing him in for another kiss. He inhales deeply as he kisses you, taking the taste of you in for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m serious, sweetheart, this is dangerous.”

“Sweetheart?” You grin. He takes your chin and grips it between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey. Pay attention.” He says, and you want to argue that saying things in that low gravely tone will not help you pay attention, but you can tell he’s serious. That he wants your attention focused on him, this is important. “Listen. I like you. I like you a lot, but we have to be careful if we want any of this to go further. We have to be subtle and watch our steps.” He says softly.

“Okay.” You promise, “Okay, we should be careful.” He smiles gently and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Good pup.” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I like ‘pup’.” You like sweetheart too, but your stomach flips when he calls you pup.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He grins. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you said we have to be careful.”

“Okay, then I’ll give you my address and you can come over.” He shrugs. “I know how badly I need you, I can only imagine how you feel.” He hums, and you grin.

“Okay, Here, give me your phone.” Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. You put your number in with your name, sending yourself a quick text before handing the phone back to him. “There. Send it to me.” He steps back so you can hop off the desk, before putting your homework back in your bag.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you close, just to kiss you again.

• • •

Your hands are shaking as you drive over to Matt’s apartment. You’re so full of desire for him, and you take a second after parking the car to adjust your hair and makeup. Luckily you had no plans with your friends so it’s not like you’re hiding anything from anyone.

Are you about to sleep with the professor you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester? Hopefully. You take a quick glance down to the apartment number he sent you before climbing out of the car, locking it behind you.

Then, you manage your way through the building, finding yourself in front of his door for the second time tonight. You hesitate. Though, you’re not sure why. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you’re terrified that this is going to be bad. Or maybe that you’re scared you’ll be bad, and he’ll hate you.

Maybe you just need to get over yourself. Although, you can’t really do much more convincing because Matt swings open the door and grins at you. You almost die at the sight of him. His tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned by three buttons.

“You’re so hot,” You blurt out as you hand him a cheap bottle of wine you picked up on the way here.

“You’re cute,” he hums, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the apartment, leaving you giggling as he closes the door behind you. You look around his apartment, your eyes catching on the giant billboard. You’re standing in front of the window when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips gently kiss your neck, up and down, biting your shoulder gently. “Enamored by the billboard, sweetheart?”

“Your windows are so big, probably a lot of light in here during the day.” You say softly, and he smiles against your neck.

“Mhm, one day, I’ll fuck you against those windows—”

“Matt,” You groan, but he just shushes you and kisses your neck again.

“I know, pup,” He hums, “But don’t worry, I’ll show you a very nice time, hear all those pretty noises you can make for me.” You blush, turning to say something to him but he wraps his arms around your waist again, before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to his room. You’re laughing all the way there, before throwing you onto the bed.

“Mean.” You accuse, but he shrugs.

“You’ll get over it, sweetheart, I promise.” He hums, and you sit up on his bed. He stands between your legs, leaning down to kiss you gently, his hands finding your cheeks again. He kisses you like this for a few minutes, before slowly kneeling in front of you, never breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss. You pull away from the kiss to study him. He tilts his head, his hands finding your thighs to rub them again as he did in the office. “What?” he asks gently.

“I spent all those lectures only being able to study you from a far.. Just let me really look at you for a while..” You request. He grins gently as your fingers run over his stubble again. Your hands move up to his glasses. “Can I take these off?” You request, tilting your head.

Matt hesitates, just for a second. He’s not really used to it, to someone truly wanting to see him, every part of him. But he trusts you, wants you to see him. So he nods, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ as you pull off those circular red glasses, gently folding them and setting them down somewhere safe.

Then, you take a good, long look at his eyes. They’re this deep brown, almost black, irises that are drop dead gorgeous. The skin around his eyes is scarred, but the scars are old, yet, you rub your thumb gently against that scarred skin. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his eyes, first the left one, then the right one.

He leans up and kisses you after that, his hands slowly making their way down your legs. Your hands find his buttons of his shirt starting to undo them. He pulls away from the kiss, before slipping off his button up, throwing it away somewhere in the room. Your eyes drift down to these scars on his collarbones, and your fingers run over them. Then, you notice other scars on his skin, and your hands find those too.

“Your boots are so loud,” he hums, and you’re taken back by it.

“What?”

“Your boots.” He hums, “I hear you stomping around with these things on, they’re.. Like a bell, you know? I like knowing you’re around.” His fingers go down to the laces of your left boot, slowly untying them. Then, he does the same with the right boot.

He pulls off your boots, before running his fingers over your socks.

“They’re multicolored. Bright and patterned.” You confess, and he grins, before pulling them off. Then, he stops, realizing you have another pair of socks on. He blinks, before starting to laugh.

“You have two pairs of socks on?” he chuckles, your face flushing.

“My boots are just a little too big!” You tell him, and he laughs, resting his head against your thigh. He finishes taking your socks off, before working on the buttons of your jeans. When he finally gets those undone, he pulls off your pants, throwing them somewhere close to his now abandoned shirt. His hand comes up to rub you through your panties, and he lets out a scoff as he does.

“So wet for me, pup..” He mumbles, coming up to gently kiss your cheeks and then your jaw, as you whine. “I know, baby, I know,” he says softly, rubbing your clit gently. You whine gently at the feeling, gripping his wrist. He chuckles softly, kissing you to shut you up a bit.

He pulls his hand away from your throbbing cunt to pull off your tee shirt, throwing it wherever. He starts to kiss you as you fiddle with the buttons of his pants and pull them off, letting him step out of the before he casts them away.

You grin into the kiss, before he pulls away.

“What? What’s got you so giddy, pup?” he asks, a grin on his face too.

“Briefs,” You hum, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Thinking about your professor’s underwear?” He teases, leaning in to bite your neck. “Dirty, dirty girl.” He grins, and you swat at his shoulder, which causes him to laugh. He likes having fun with you, even if it’s not inherently sexual.

His hands come up to run gently over your skin, trailing from your hands up to your shoulders, and then all the way to your ears, where his fingers gently run over your hearing aids. It’s a nice gesture, really, but as soon as his fingers brush over your hearing aids, you immediately retract, the feedback shooting through your skull, uncomfortably.

“Ow—” You cringe, leaning your head back to try and get away from his fingers. He cringes, hearing the feedback, not as badly as you do but knowing it’s there and that you’re in pain pains him.

“I’m sorry,” he coos softly, his fingers moving down to cup your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t realized—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You hum, tilting your head to kiss his palm gently. “It happens, It’s why you should never touch them while I have them on.” You shrug. He leans down and kisses your stomach a bit, before going back to kiss you again, deepening the kiss a bit before roughly shoving you back on the bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, caging you in between his legs, as he slips his tongue into your mouth again. He kisses you with passion and need, and it drives you entirely too wild. As he pulls away, one hand comes up to grip your chin, before he leans down with his head against yours.

“Want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” He asks gently, his voice sweet as honey as he talks so obscenely to you. You whine, finally getting what you want after weeks and months of waiting. He just smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, puppy, you gotta say it to me.” He requests.

“Yes, I want you..” You groan, bucking your hips a bit at the thought of him finally fucking you.

“Want me to do what?” he asks, innocently.

“Want you to fuck me, please..” You request, and this finally seems to satisfy him. His hand comes down to unhook your bra, throwing it behind him with the rest of your clothes, before his lips begin to travel downwards, kissing down your jaw and neck, before he’s kissing the valley of your breasts, his hand going down to rub your clit again.

He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wetness soaking through your underwear and listening to your moans. His hands begin to work to take off your panties, and as soon as those are gone, your hands come up to his briefs, wanting them gone.

“Off, off, off—” You huff, and he laughs as he slips them off. Then, he reaches over and grabs a condom from the bedside table, but you grab his hand, shaking your head, “No, no—I’m on the pill, promise.”

“You sure?” He asks gently, and you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sure.” You nod, and then you’re kissing him again, your hand going down to stroke his cock, and he gasps into the kiss, before chuckling. He pulls away to mutter out to you--

“Needy girl,” he purrs, before moving to kiss you again. As you’re kissing, he slips his cock into you, and you moan into the kiss, tensing at the feeling, “Relax for me, pup.. So fucking tight for me.” He groans, his hand coming down to swat your thigh. “Relax.” He tells you, his voice sterner this time.

You nod, trying to form a more conscious thought than the pure bliss you feel, your hands wrapping around his neck, scratching down his back a bit. He groans softly, as he starts to slowly thrust into you. He is using every ounce of self-control he has, resisting the urge to absolutely violate you.

But he’s trying to be gentle, be nice.

“Faster,” You gasp out, your fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He does that half chuckle, and it makes you whine as he begins to speed up.

“Beautiful little pup..” he says lowly, “Been staring at me.. Wanting your professor so badly these past few weeks, dirty little thing,” he hums, “Fuck, so.. fuck..” Your legs are beginning to shake the longer and harder he thrusts into you. “So fucking good for me..” You whine into his lips as they crash into yours, one hand going down to rub your clit gently, the stimulation too much for someone who hasn’t had sex this good, ever, but especially because you haven’t had sex at all in the past.. well, six or more months.

“Matty, ‘m..” You can barely get the words out as he fucks you harder,

“I know baby, come on, cum for me, pup,” he coos, his thrusts nor rubbing slowing down, maintaining his pace. Within a minute, you’re coming with loud moans into his ears, and he’s following suit shortly after, coming deep inside you.

But for the few minutes after the two of you finish, he continues his thrusting, relishing in the pretty moans and the sound of his deep thrusts into you. Eventually, he slows down, remaining deep inside of you. He pulls you close, kissing you deeply before flipping the pair of you over, and holding your legs close to stay buried deep inside of you.

For a few minutes, there are no words spoken, just deep, frantic pants and sweaty skin against each other.

“You know, that was as good as I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.” You pant, “Better, even..” He laughs and nods.

“Me too..” he kisses you softly. “Let me take you out somewhere.”

“I thought we had to be careful..”

“We’ll go away somewhere then. Just the two of us for the weekend. I need to be with you, I can’t get enough of you now that I’ve had a taste.. Besides, I haven’t even eaten you out. Now that, that is going to be fun.” He grins, and you swat his arm.

“Evil, mean man!” You gasp, and he just laughs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, pup, let me make it up to you,” he hums.

“How?”

“Calling you pup a few times, ordering Thai food and teaching you how to suck me off?”

“I know how to suck you off,” You scoff.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, leaning in to kiss him. Then, lips still against yours, he whispers, “Prove it, pretty puppy.”

[farfromstrange]

Matilda | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You left your past behind to start a new life, but the road continues to be rocky even years after getting out of your hometown.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, talk about childhood trauma, emotionally absent father, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), crying, not proof-read

Word Count: 2k

A/n: Since I saw this song live for the third time ever and I cried my eyes out because lately, I relate a little too much to this song, I thought I'd use my interpretation of it to channel some emotions. You don't have to read it, do with it as you will, but I think some of you might see yourself in this little fic too and it might help you too, maybe even give you some hope for the future. If you get the chance and haven't already, give that beautiful song a listen!

You’re happy. Two words you never thought you would use in the same sentence or context, but it’s true; You are happy. You’ve abandoned the small town you were born and moved to New York City. You have a well-paying job, one that you’re happy with. You’ve pursued your dreams, the dreams so many people have tried telling you not to pursue. You have managed to move out and on and start a life that’s made for you, not the people around you. You’re living for yourself, finally. And then there’s him, Matt Murdock, the man of your dreams. You’ve been dating for two years and although you’ve had your ups and down, you have never been more in love. He’s taught you that you don’t have to please everyone and that your life belongs to you, no one can tell you otherwise. He’s taught you what safety and stability can look like, and he’s taught you how it feels like to be loved and to love someone as unconditionally as you love him. He’s helped you find yourself and you are forever grateful for that. 

When you came to New York, you were broken and looking for an escape. You struggled to get back on your feet after falling out with your family, with your father especially, and you just wanted to forget that your life before ever existed. You truly believed you were broken beyond repair. Most of your relationships in the past had failed and you came to realize that the problem was your choice of men. You didn’t know how to trust someone else, you either got too attached or too afraid of commitment, and that fear carried into all parts of your life to the point you considered crawling back home on your knees and begging for forgiveness for something you didn’t even do. The wounds from your childhood were deep, and you weren’t sure how to heal something that ended up having such a huge impact on you. 

But then Matt came into your life. One day, you were having coffee at your local Starbucks when he walked in. He bumped into you, hitting you with his cane. You remember apologizing profusely, but he told you, “You’re good, it’s not your fault.” He bought you another coffee to replace the one you spilled and you’ve been inseparable since then. 

When he first learned about your family history, he wasn’t surprised. Your tendency to apologize for everything, your fear of loud voices, and the fear of failure that you displayed whenever things weren’t going your way told him everything he needed to know. Although when you told him how deep your wounds truly run, he could only wrap his arms around you and promise you that you were going to be okay. And he was right. 

You got better. You learned how to deal with your past. You’ve got yourself a man who loves you unconditionally and he has been nothing but supportive since. You’ve built a new life for yourself and you’re still growing. Things are going well. It’s the kind of optimism you never fathomed possibly as a child. 

Back then, you lived to please your father and to support your mother after he left, and when he started a new family, blaming yourself for not being good enough became the standard. You grew up thinking everything that went wrong was your fault and that if you had just done better, he wouldn’t have left and started a new family. A family he still treats better than he ever treated you, and while your mom moved on, you grew up trying to fix everything and everyone around you but yourself, and it broke you. That was ultimately the reason why you chose to leave, and you forced yourself not to look back. You don’t want to be the same broken little girl anymore. You’re a grown woman now and your new life offers something your past lacked - love. 

Though when your father called the other day and asked you to join them for family dinner while he is in town, your past turned around to bite you in the ass. 

The door finally falls shut behind you, shielding you from the outside world. The entire evening was spent being forced to watch how much better your father and his new family are doing and it has broken something inside of you that you had spent years trying to fix. You played along, confrontation not being your strong suit, but you had never wished to leave a table so soon. 

Matt looks up from his spot on the couch, one headphone in his ear as he is towered over several case files. You don’t want to bother him while he’s working, but there is nothing you coil slip past him, especially not when you’re already close to tears. He’s told you before, “If something’s wrong or you’re not feeling well, I want you to tell me, no matter what time of day it is or how busy I am. You can talk to me.” You’ve often felt like a burden before, considering he had to teach you so many things you missed as a child, but learning how to ask for help or simply seek comfort without feeling guilty has by far been your greatest challenge that persists up to this day. 

When he hears the change in your breathing and your racing heartbeat, he slowly gets up. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly. 

It’s not the kind of question that should hit you as hard, but it does. And when he opens his mouth to ask again, “Are you okay?” It is game over. 

The first tear slides down your cheek as you press yourself against the door, your eyes directed toward the ceiling. You try to blink away the tsunami that is about to hit, but the sobs are already standing close by, waiting for their moment to shine. 

You hate that, after all this time, your father still has the same power over you, and that you still don’t know better than to let his behavior and his words cut way too close to home. You let his ignorant self break your heart time and time again because even now, the hope that he will find something worth putting effort into you and rekindle your relationship is still a dying flame inside your withering soul. It’s a flower that never truly dies, and it hurts you time and time again. Matt knows that. He hates that you do, but there is nothing that he understands more than craving the attention and love of the parent that has failed to do so before. 

“Sweetheart,” his voice is suddenly so close and when you glance to your left, he is standing there, his arms wide open. 

You shake your head. It’s too much. What you need, you can’t have. 

“Come here,” he says. 

You don’t want to, but at the same time, you do. Your feet carry you over, your body doing the talking your mouth fails to do. The way your shoulders slack tell him parts of the story. 

You fall into his arms, your tears flowing freely now. They stain his dress shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He holds you close to him, rubbing your back, and your sobs vibrate off his shoulder. 

“I hate him,” you manage to choke out. 

He nods. “I know.”

“I fucking hate him!"

“I know, sweetheart. Let it out. You can let it go.”

And so you do. He is your haven, your sanctuary, and you are too tired to fight. 

You remember learning how to ride your bike as a child and accidentally hurting your knee. Like any other child, you cried. Your father told you that it’s no big deal, to push through and move on. That much, you understood and you still do, but he told you the same thing every time you cried. Crying was considered a weakness. Part of you still believes it, which is why you hardly ever cry in front of anyone. As a child, it had never felt especially alarming, but as you grew older, you started to realize how twisted it was to connect emotions to weakness. They’re not. Matt taught you as much, as have all the other new people in your life, your friends, your chosen family. Still, it’s a part of you that you can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you try. 

Letting it go had never seemed like a possibility before until you met Matt and started anew. On days like today though, you tend to forget, and he has to pick up the pieces of your heart your father has shattered only an hour prior. 

No matter how many times you say that you’re okay with the pain he caused, there will always be a part of you that feels dead inside whenever you think about it, a part that yearns for the childhood you never got to have, and a part that is angry at everything and everyone even though you promised yourself to always be kind, and you try to do so. But sometimes, it’s hard, and Matt knows how hard it is because he is familiar with the feeling of anger. 

He slowly pulls away from the hug to hold your face in his hands. “Whatever he said to you, don’t let it get to you,” he tells you, “because he doesn’t get to have that power over you.”

You sniffle. “It hurts,” you say.

“I know it does, but that’s why you have to let it go. Them, him, all of it.”

“Every time I try, he manages to come back into my life. It’s like I can’t escape him. I just don’t want to go back to where I was before.”

“You don’t have to,” he says and strokes your cheeks. “You’re home with me, right where you belong, and you’re going to be okay.”

Matt lowers his forehead against yours and you close your eyes, inhaling his signature scent and feeling his warmth fill your body with serenity and a sense of safety. You feel less alone in his arms. 

He presses his lips to your forehead before moving on to your lips. “I love you.”

You muster a weak, “I love you too.”

“It’s okay to move on, sweetheart.” He always knows what to say, you have noticed. He speaks from his soul right into yours, and in his arms, you don’t doubt it. You don’t doubt him. You believe him. “You already did, and it’s okay to not want to be confronted with the past again. The next time he wants to talk, just say no. Family is who you feel comfortable with, who you feel loved by, and you don’t feel loved by him,” he says. “Or do you?”

“No,” you whimper. His perception of love is twisted and you have never truly felt loved by him. 

“Then he and his new family are not worth it. You don’t deserve this, you deserve better, and you deserve to be loved.” 

“Why is it so hard to let it go even though it hurts so much?” You swallow a broken sob. “I just don’t understand…”

“It’s a phenomenon hardly anyone understands, but you’re not alone. Not anymore. I’ve got you and I won’t ever let you go, so I’ll help you the same way I always have, okay?” The scars are fresh and Matt tries not to abuse them too hard. He gently tugs you toward the couch and sets you down next to him, pulling you into his chest. 

You curl into him, seeking his love and comfort like a scared little kitten. “I’m sorry,” you say. 

Matt shakes his head, running his fingers through your hair. “You don’t have to be sorry, I just want you to be okay.”

You shudder. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, “especially not for turning your back on them and doing it on your own.”

And he's right - you don't have to be sorry, and you refuse to be any longer. In his arms, you're finally safe, and you refuse to let the man who ruined your childhood ruin your new life too. Because you deserve happiness, and you don't want to lose it again, whatever it takes.

[the-shinysnorlax]

Honestly I can probably connect any of my interests with Miguel O’Hara

Here let me give some examples

-Kyle Rayner is a main character in a comic where it crosses over with Alien WHICH is drawn by Rick Leonardi who is the original artist for Miguel’s first run

-Starset has a official comic called Prox transmissions WHICH was written by Peter David AKA Miguel’s creator

-Matt Murdock has had 2 runs recently drawn by Marco Checcetto who drew Miguel in a single issue of Superior Spider-Man back in 2013

-Blue Beetle is a movie about a person who unintentionally becomes a superhero and does not want to be one (With some body horror to boot!) You know what else has this? Miguels original run

-Ken Sato is very similar to Miguel in that. Daddy issues, masks his issues with being over the top. You get my point

[outer-edges]

any other writers out there just clinically unable to help themselves from crossing their own OCs over with their little obsessions at the time. every time i get into something new it’s like…ah…yes…time for you to meet my original blorbo

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Blind Reflections

A fanfic about Jake having a great group of friends and daddy issues, also I ship him with everybody

This is a teaser of my fanfic, so not a full chaper

characters: Jake Lockley, Matt Murdock, Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, Jessica Jones, Elias Spector

tags/warnings: This is a general fanfic, but it leans mostly on the angsty side, nothing too angsty on this teaser though. Also no beta read, just the gang being very potective friends and Jake having dady issues because duh. Also I mention Judaism but I am not Jewish.

The reason I am posting this is so people who are interested in the fanfic to comment on the post so I can notify them when chapter one drops.

Words: 900

Chapter name: Elias Spector

The man on the other side of the door with dark curls and wet hair was holding his phone tightly.

There was a knock at the door, nobody knew where they were living here except-

“I’m sorry I didn’t know where else to go” Elias Spector said.

Foggy took a step backwards to let him in again but nobody else moved, they just stared at him, he is not a threat, at least not for them but they wouldn’t do that to Jake, or the others, especially not Karen who was blocking him like a protective mother.

Elias realized his unexpected visit wasn’t enough to be welcomed so he proceeded to explain “Someone broke into my house, they, they started a fire, I was supposed to be there! They were going to kill me, please I need to know what’s going on, what is my son involved in, who are you people? Let me in, I have a right to know! You don’t-”

“Karen…” Matt said. “We have to let him in.”

Karen hesitated but was surprised when she looked around and everyone looked welcomed.

“Not for long” she said and moved to allow him to enter.

“Thank you, thank you really!”

“Don’t thank us yet” Matt added as they guided him to the living room and Foggy filled him a glass of water, putting it in front him, in the center of the coffee table.

“So, when did this happen?” Asked Jessica, who by the looks of it wasn’t happier than Karen to allow him to be there.

“The police called me twenty minutes ago, when I was gathering my things at the hotel. Who would do such a thing? Haven’t my family suffered enough?”

“Sir, is there anyone you know that would have the motive to do that?”

“No I-”

“Look, you’re… it doesn’t have to be connected to your son’s life choices, who we still as we told you before know very little about.” That was of course now a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

“What she means is…” Matt interrupted “you’re a Rabbi, there are many antisemitic organizations and individuals we need to look into.”

That seemed to have offended Elias “Never in the last twenty years my community has suffered such an attack! We live a peaceful life and just because we’re Jewish doesn’t mean, everything has to be connected to it!”

“But you are Jewish…” Jessica added, not giving a shit if she angered him more.

“And my son is an international criminal!” he finally yelled, making the others look at each other, hopping his son was still asleep, Karen stood up and went to check on him.

“Sir you don’t need to yell we can hear you clearly.” Matt commented, as he indeed was hearing him, more that clearly, over the sound of his heart and his breaths incoherently leaving his mouth, making each syllable sound different, to him. The anxiety and the fear made him sound like if he had just run a marathon, feelings that overcame the furry that had started to raise.

“You can hear me? Because I think you can’t! Two different people have come to me in the last ten days looking for information about Marc; urgently! And I know my son hasn’t made the brightest choices or the best connections, I am not a fool I know who he is, he is dangerous, and I will not allow him to bring any more pain to my family.”

The bedroom door squawked slightly open but closed with force immediately, making everyone turn around.

“Sorry, I’ll be back in a second!” Karen said from the other side but Matt had heard the entire conversation behind the closed doors but he didn’t have to, he knew exactly what was going to happen so he excused himself to go help Karen.

“What family?” Jessica asked, looking straight into his eyes. “It’s just you, isn’t it?”

“Jessica-” Foggy tried to stop her before she made him yell again but the door opened, this time nobody was hiding the person behind it.

Elias stayed still, he put his glass down and slowly stood up, without breaking eye contact with the door. He rubbed his fingertips together just like Steven uses to do. He would have looked down in shame, if he wasn’t so surprised, or maybe we wouldn’t realize why he should feel ashamed. No matter how anyone was feeling, the truth was, Elias Spector was standing in the middle of the living room, his son avoiding his look from across the room, only stealing a couple of glimpses, as hard as he tried to stop himself, just to make him realize that what’s happening is true and not just some voice, some distant memory of nightmare echoing in his head.

“M, Marc.” Elias tried to ask but it came out less that a question and more like an announcement, a deduction.

His son from across the room stayed still like a pole, looking at the fine details of the carpet, probably counting all the red flowers. His hands and feet where running cold and he forced himself to speak in the coldest more distant way possible but his voice was still shaking with all of his feelings in the end of every second word.

“I have a house in the west side of the state, you should be safe there, I’ll inform a friend to stay with you, now leave, go back to your hotel.”

That's it folks, comment if you want to read more