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mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

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— goodnight n go

summary: You and Matt are childhood friends who met at the orphanage. But people always assume you two are dating.

word count: 3.6k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: as an og matt murdock stan, i can't believe i've never wrote for him. i hope this is accurate to his character!

and the title goodnight n go is a song by ariana grande from her album sweetener - which i fully believe is an underrated album

also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba

warnings/tags: mentions of twirling/playing with hair, after endgame (so tony is dead😭), best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, oblivious idiots, slight angst, mention of injuries and blood

“And don’t forget to clean the coffee filter. I don’t want anyone getting sick. Again.” You said, grabbing your purse.

“I swear, sometimes your worse than my mother.” Foggy replied, sipping from his mug.

Karen quirked a brow, “your mother isn’t exactly a role model for parenting.”

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, Foggy."

Foggy sighed dramatically, setting his mug down. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean the damn filter. But if I get coffee poisoning or whatever, I’m blaming you."

"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."

"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.

"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."

"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.

You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.

Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."

Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."

Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.

"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."

Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.

Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"

"Same as always. How was court?"

"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."

"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.

Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."

You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.

Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.

"You could stay," he murmured.

"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.

You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.

Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.

"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."

Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."

"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.

Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."

"You’re too slow."

"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."

You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.

"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.

"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.

You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."

Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."

You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."

"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."

You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.

---

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.

"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."

His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.

---

The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.

Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.

"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.

"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.

Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."

Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"

Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."

"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"

"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.

Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.

The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.

"Date?"

Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."

You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.

Damn him.

---

At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.

"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."

You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.

His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.

"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."

Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.

"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.

It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.

And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.

---

It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.

"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.

Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."

Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."

You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.

"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."

"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.

Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"

"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."

"You better."

There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.

Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"

The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.

You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.

Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.

"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.

Damn him.

You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."

Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."

---

A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.

You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.

"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.

"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.

You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.

Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"

"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.

You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.

The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.

You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."

You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.

Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.

Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.

"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."

Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.

"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”

Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.

"How so?"

"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"

The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.

"No," you admitted softly.

His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."

Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."

"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.

You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.

Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.

He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)

it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!

and, one more thing, i'd love to write more of these two! if you have any requests, send them in! i fear that that shower scene in that ddba trailer has taken up my mind... so don't be surprised if i write shower sex with matt soon...

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock #matthew murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfiction

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multiharlot · 1 month ago

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honeymoon phase // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your friends cannot stand you and your newlywed husband

warning: so much fluff and sweetness you might need to see a dentist and a doctor after reading. hope u have insurance or live in a country that cares about you. wanted to give you guys this after the drama.

series masterlist || main masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH SO MUCH IN MY PERSONAL LIFE BUT I'M HERE NOW. HERE'S SOMETHING SWEET BEFORE MORE OF THE DRAMA

the morning after your january wedding was cold. but the morning after you'd returned from your island resort honeymoon was even colder. which was to be expected since it was only just the beginning of february. but you were the warmest you'd ever been, including the time you spent in the warmer climates of thailand, which you and your husband had just returned from. you laid entangled in silk sheets, his arms woven tightly around you, holding you close to him as he slept soundly.

a soft smile emerged on your face and you lifted your hand, bringing it up to his face and placing your hand softly on his cheek. stroking the stubble with your thumb.

"your hand. is cold." he mumbles, his eyes still closed and his mouth barely moving.

"and your face. is warm." you tease, tucking your other hand under his other cheek, sandwiching it between his face and the pillow and giving him a quick peck on the nose.

"leave my face alone." he groans, pushing your hands away.

"that's no way to talk to your wife." you pout playfully, and he opens one eye, peaking over at you and smiling softly before closing his eyes again.

"my wife. i like that." he hums, re-wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest, bringing the blankets up to your shoulders as he tucked his face into your chest.

you just smile, raking your fingers through his hair and cradling his head against you as he hummed happily.

"how do you feel about-"

you were interrupted by the door being thrown open, you feel your spirit leaving your body as matt shoots up, pushing you behind him.

"WELCOME BACK HONEYMOONERS" foggy shouts through the loft, making matt relax, a sigh leaving both of your lips.

"i'm gonna kill him." matt shrugs nonchalantly, and you just shake your head, pushing his arm slightly as you lean down, grabbing matt's sweatpants from the floor beside you.

"no you're not." you roll your eyes, standing up out of bed and pulling on his pants and throwing on his columbia hoodie.

" i could." he frowns, throwing on some clothes, his frown still etched onto his face as you slide open the bedroom door.

"hi fog." you smile, and foggy excitedly wraps you into a hug.

"if it isn't my favorite murdock!" he exclaims, rocking the two of you side to side.

"first, you break into our house. then you tell me that you like my wife more than me, your best friend." matt frowns, pulling you from foggy's hold and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and tiredly placing his head into your shoulder.

"sorry to break it to you matt, but i'm pretty sure everyone likes your wife more than you." karen responds as she walks into the loft, a bag of bagels and a tray of coffee cups in her hands.

"that's what i'm saying! it's like you didn't listen to my speech at your wedding." foggy smiles, throwing his arms up.

you throw your head back as you laugh, matt grumbling into your neck.

"i'm touched. truly." you smile, placing your hand on your chest.

"i'm not" matt pouts, and you roll your eyes, turning around and placing your hands on in chest.

"you're my favorite murdock." you smile, leaning forward and pressing a short peck on his lips.

"that makes me feel a little better." your husband smiles against your lips.

"okay enough being gross. karen brought bagels and coffee and we have a new case we need to discuss." foggy quickly interrupts, pulling you from matt's grip and plopping you onto the couch.

"you relax. and you, sir, come to the table." foggy directs matt as he throws a blanket over your lap.

your smile widens as karen hands you a cup of coffee, the latest seasonal drink and an your favorite bagel (with enough cream cheese to drown yourself in, of course. you're sophisticated)

"you're an angel" you sigh as you stare at the coffee and bagel in your hands.

"you owe me a lunch date. i wanna hear all the honeymoon deets" she smiles at you as she walks towards the table where foggy was forcing a pouting matt to sit down.

"absolutely!" you agree, tucking the blanket under your legs and reaching forward to place your coffee on the table so you could dig into your bagel.

****

the next day you found yourself perched on top of matt's lap in his office. soft giggles emitting from your lips as he placed gentle kisses along your neck and collarbones.

"how'd i get so lucky?" he says softly against your lips

"i'm actually a government plant" you shrug, and he snorts, leaning in to place his lips on yours.

"oh jesus, seriously?"

you jump, pulling your lips away from matt's and turn to see foggy frowning in the doorway.

"hi fog, sorry" you say as you sheepishly sink into matt's chest.

"when will the honeymoon phase be over? i work here too ya know!" he groans, shutting the door behind him.

"if it helps, i brought coffee?" you say, nodding your head over to the counter where the large coffee traveler sat.

"it does" foggy frowns before walking away momentarily to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"maybe i should go?" you whispered to your husband, and he frowned, dramatically pouting at your suggestion.

"no."

"y/n i love you so much, you two disgust me." foggy smiles sarcastically before sitting down in front of matt's desk.

"i know" you say proudly, standing up from matt's lap.

"where're you going?" matt frowns, and you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"leanne's. i'll see you at home?"

matt nods his head and you say bye to foggy as you walk out of the office.

"i love my wife." matt smiles proudly, making foggy roll his eyes.

"you're gross."

"i'm happy you think so"

************

taglist:

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matt-murdockk · 1 month ago

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Sweet Nothing

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 5.1k

warnings: cussing, slow-burn, angst if you really squint but it's just fluff mostly, lack of proofreading (rip), pretty descriptive making out

summary: This is the story of how Matt Murdock met the love of his life one fateful day at the NYPD precinct.

a/n: guess who finally learned out how to make emdashes on Mac— hehehehe. some fluffy slow-burn for you <3 (i tried not to use pronouns for the reader but I'm so sorry if i accidentally used she/her anywhere)

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While Matt was charming, romantic, and thoughtful, historically— he hasn't been the best at relationships. Flings were okay, short-term was fine, but a proper relationship? Matt didn't think he deserved to be in one until he met you.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air from all his previous exploits. Elektra was a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, certainly an experience, but he knew he didn't like the side of him that she brought out. Karen was too close a friend to lose over a relationship and Claire, well, he had way too much respect for her, he wouldn't do that to her.

You, on the other hand, were what he swore was the right person at the right time. The right amount of calm and the right amount of chaos. He didn’t go looking for you. But you found each other anyway— almost by accident, almost like it was fate.

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

A regular phone call from Brett Mahoney about a possible case for Nelson & Murdock brought Foggy and Matt to the precinct one day. From outside, Matt quietly observed you before going in. You were in the holding cell, handcuffed, busted lip, and bruised knuckles. For all that you looked like you'd been through, Matt noticed that you were oddly calm.

Brett opened the door to let Matt and Foggy inside, the confusion in your face did not go unnoticed by the people in the room. "10 minutes, Foggy." The door shut behind him as he left, giving them a knowing look.

"You know it, Brett." Foggy helped Matt into his seat and took the empty seat beside him.

"Miss (Y/l/n), my name is Matt Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson." Foggy gave you a half wave and smiled.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Before we begin, have you been assaulted while in custody?"

"No, I have not. Listen, I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"We understand that you have been accused of assaulting a police officer. You have opted not to seek legal representation, is that right?"

"First of all, there has been a huge misunderstanding. Secondly, I still don't know why you're here, Mr..."

"Murdock," he reminded you.

"Right. Murdock. Sorry."

"We run a practice at Hell's Kitchen. Our firm is interested in representing you. And please, call me Matt," he clarified, presenting a warm, genuine smile.

"Well, Matt, while I am certainly thankful for your interest in representing me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't need a lawyer."

"Trust me, you're going to," he said, amused at your confidence that you'll be fine.

"Oh, I know, I just already have one."

"Well, our job here's done. No cigars for Bess next time," Foggy retorted, as he got up, ready to leave.

"Foggy, sit down. Miss (Y/l/n)—"

"(Y/n), please."

"Very well. (Y/n), I understand that you already have representation. Probably from a big-time firm with 5 times the number of defense attorneys than we do. But here’s the thing. Those firms? They see cases. Numbers. Profiles. Headlines. They’re already calculating how your situation fits into their win column. I don’t work like that. My firm doesn’t work like that. We don’t take every case. We don’t chase the press. What we do is show up— completely. We sit down, we listen, and we fight like hell for the people who trust us. No fluff. No posturing. Just the work, and the truth, and someone in your corner who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next. So if you want the machine— fine. But if you want someone who’s going to look past the charges, past the headlines, and actually see you? Then you want Nelson and Murdock."

"Wow, okay, so, great sales pitch, love the energy, I really do. There's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"My boss is already on his way to represent me."

"I'm sorry— Boss?" " Yeah, what is it you do, exactly?" enquired Foggy.

"I'm a senior associate at Pearson Hardman."

"Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Happy now, Matthew? We're poaching clients now. Oh and not just from any firm. No, sir. From Pearson fucking Hardman, Unbelievable."

"Foggy, it's okay. So, (Y/n), is your boss any good? Or..."

"I work for Harvey Specter."

"And that's our cue to leave."

Matt finally admitted defeat and got up to leave, following Foggy who was already at the door. While he was certainly ambitious, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Thank you for your time, (Y/n)."

As Matt turned toward the door, he caught the subtle quickening of your heartbeat— hesitant, uncertain, like you were rethinking your decision. His hand was just about on the doorknob, ready to leave but not quite gone, when your voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Out of your line of sight, he let the faintest smirk curl at his lips. He just loved being right.

“What is it?” Matt asked, turning back to face you.

You hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking between him and Foggy, then down to your bruised hands in your lap. “I... I want you guys to represent me.”

Foggy blinked, taken off guard. “Really? Just like that?”

You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your tone softening into something a little more tired. “Let’s just say… I’ve worked long enough at firms that care more about damage control than people. I don’t want a firm that’s already prepping their PR statement. I want someone who’ll actually give a shit.”

Matt nodded once, quietly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something solid behind it. Something settled.

Foggy let out a low whistle, then grinned. “Well… welcome to Nelson & Murdock.”

Cut to a little while later— Nelson & Murdock office. You, Matt, and Foggy sat around the table, the arrest report open in front of you. The air buzzed faintly from the overhead light, the hum of late-night tension settling over the room.

Foggy skimmed through the statement again, frowning. “Okay. Walk us through it. From the top.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, tone clipped but calm. “I was on the subway platform. Late. Waiting on the C train. There were maybe three other people around, none of them close.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, tuning in. Not just to what you were saying, but how you said it— measured, unflinching. No panic. No dramatics. Just facts.

“This guy comes over, starts making small talk. I make it clear I’m not interested. He doesn’t take the hint. Gets closer. I step back, tell him to stop. He grabs my wrist.”

“Forcefully?” Matt asked.

“Firm enough that I couldn’t just shake him off,” you replied. “So I pulled away. He grabbed me again. That time, I reacted. Hit him once, hard, in the face.”

The rhythm of your pulse didn’t spike when you said it. No guilt. Just certainty.

Foggy nodded slowly. “And then?”

“He goes down, pulls out a badge. Says he’s NYPD. I get cuffed.”

“He never identified himself before that?” Matt asked.

“No. Not verbally, not visually. No badge, no warning. He was in plainclothes, no backup, no indication he was on duty.”

Matt exchanged a look with Foggy, then turned his attention back to her. That steady confidence. The way you answered questions like you were already anticipating the next three.

“That’s a serious problem for their case,” Matt said, flipping through the paperwork. “Use of force in response to a perceived threat is protected— especially when there’s no identification of authority.”

You shrugged. “It won’t stop the department from backing him, though.”

Matt’s brows lifted just slightly. YOu knew exactly how this would play out— too many steps ahead for someone just hoping to walk out clean. You were smart. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

“No,” Foggy agreed. “But it gives us a strong narrative, especially if we can get security footage or eyewitness statements from the other people on the platform.”

There was a beat as Matt closed the folder and set it aside.

“You’re sharp,” he said, more thoughtful now. “You know the statute, you know your rights, and you’re quoting case law off the top of your head.”

You looked at him, just a little amused. “That’s because I’ve spent years doing the same thing you do.”

A flicker of something moved across Matt’s face. He leaned forward just slightly.

“Why exactly are you not representing yourself?”

You smirked. “Because representing yourself while you’re the one in custody is a logistical nightmare. And because even good lawyers know when to bring in reinforcements.”

Foggy shook his head, amused. “Okay. That was... a good answer.”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. “Now let’s go win my case.”

Matt smiled slightly. “Glad you picked us.”

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

They won.

Not easily, and not without a few uphill battles, but the charges didn’t stick. Between the platform security footage, two credible eyewitness statements, and some rather unflattering internal complaints about the arresting officer, the case quietly unravelled in court. Matt made his arguments clean and precise. Foggy handled the media brushback with that classic Nelson charm. You? You sat through the whole trial stone-faced and unshakable— until the verdict came in, and Matt swore he could hear the way your shoulders finally loosened.

You kept in touch after that.

Not constantly, no regular meetings or phone calls— just the occasional email. A few sarcastic text exchanges. One time, you sent Matt a voicemail of you laughing because Foggy had apparently called you "the one that got away." Matt saved it. He never said that part out loud.

It was about six months later when Foggy floated the idea.

“We could use another good lawyer,” he told Matt, over a plate of lukewarm takeout. “She’s smart, she’s sharp, and she gets us.”

Matt didn’t disagree. He didn’t say much at all, really. But the next morning, you got a call from him— short, polite, a little too formal— inviting you to "grab a coffee and talk opportunities."

You left Pearson Hardman three weeks later.

Karen was the first to greet you when you walked through the door on your first official day. She had already cleared space on the shared bookshelf, left a fresh legal pad on your desk, and warned you not to get caught in any of Foggy’s snack traps. You settled in like you were always meant to be there.

The four of you fell into rhythm faster than expected— late nights, tight wins, inside jokes. Karen became one of your closest friends before your second week was out. Matt had a habit of lingering in your doorway on the days he claimed he "wasn’t eavesdropping," but his smile always gave him away. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care."

The firm did better that year than anyone had predicted.

And you? You’d finally stopped feeling like just another cog in someone else’s machine. You felt like you were home.

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

It was late.

Most of the lights in the office were off except for the one at Matt’s desk, and the faint glow of your screen across from him. Karen had bailed with a yawn and a pointed “Don’t stay too long, you two.” Foggy left not long after with a granola bar and a salute.

Now, just you and Matt.

A few open case files, cold takeout, empty coffee cups.

“Your typing slows down when you’re annoyed,” Matt said, breaking the silence without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “Your voice gets smug when you’re fishing for attention.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s not flattering?”

“Because I don’t need to fish for attention,” he said. “Not when you give it up so easily.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “Oh no. You have caught me.”

“Seriously, that's how you respond to my flirting?”

You closed your file and leaned your elbows on the desk. “I didn’t realize ‘mild workplace bullying’ counted as flirting now.”

Matt tilted his head, listening closely. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled. “Murdock, if I were flirting, you’d know.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward, just slightly. “Go on, then.”

You mirrored the movement. “You sure you want to start something you can’t finish?”

His smile flickered into something smaller, quieter. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

The banter fizzled for a second into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Just... full. Like both of you were waiting to see who would blink first. Then you reached for the leftover fries between you.

“See, this is where you should’ve swooped in and offered to share,” you said, picking one up.

“I was being polite.”

“You’re full of it.”

Matt chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You make work a lot harder than it should be.”

You smirked. “If you’re blaming me for your lack of focus, I feel like that’s a you problem.”

He tapped a knuckle against the folder in front of him. “Pretty sure you’re a walking conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth. “But you already knew that.”

Matt bit back a smile, quiet again. Listening. After a moment, he said, “You know you could’ve gone back to a hundred bigger firms. Why stay?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “Because this place feels like... me. Like it's mine, you know?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Feels like mine, too.”

There was something honest in his voice when he said it. Something unguarded. And for a beat— just a beat— you weren’t just two coworkers trading late-night barbs. You were something else. Something that lived in the space between laughter and hesitation. He broke the silence first.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Karen’s going to start planning our engagement party.”

“She already has,” you said. “She’s terrifying.”

He laughed, bright and real. You laughed too, leaning forward again, close without touching. And that was it. Just a moment. Not a confession. Not a move. But later, walking home, you’d think about it again— about how easy it felt, how his voice softened just for you, how neither of you pulled away.

Matt sat at his desk long after you left.

The city hummed outside the windows, faint and familiar— footsteps, traffic, a distant siren splitting the air somewhere on the west side. The kind of night New York never ran out of. But his attention was still in the office. Still in that moment.

You’d laughed. That real kind of laugh that started in the chest and softened everything around it. And for a second, he wasn’t Daredevil or Matt Murdock, the guy with a double life and a thousand reasons to keep people at arm’s length. He was just a man sitting across from someone who made him forget about all of it.

He hadn’t expected you. Not just the sharpness, or the way you fit in so seamlessly, or how you never once treated him like he needed to be handled. It was the way you challenged him. Matched him. Made the air feel lighter, even when the work was heavy.

And tonight— he’d heard it in your heartbeat. That shift. That hesitation. The quiet hope. It mirrored something in his chest he didn’t want to name. Because if he named it, it would be real. And real things could break.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been careful. Always careful. With you, maybe too careful. Always toeing the line between professional and personal, between harmless teasing and something far messier.

But tonight? Tonight, the line blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said this place felt like yours. Like you’d claimed it. Like you belonged here— next to Karen, Foggy... and him.

Matt had spent most of his life believing that the things he loved either left or got hurt. And yet, here you were. And he was terrified. Because the thought of you staying scared him more than the thought of you leaving.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t fight for in court. Couldn’t earn by bleeding for it.

He just... wanted you.

And wanting had never ended well.

He leaned back in his chair and turned his head toward where you’d been sitting hours ago, the ghost of your laughter still echoing softly in the corners of the room.

He didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a very long time, he hoped. And that was dangerous.

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

Matt had been trained to keep things close to the chest. To be quiet. Composed. Measured. He’d made a whole life out of it— knowing exactly how much to say, how much to feel, and how much to hide. But lately? He was starting to slip.

It started with small things. Lingering a second too long outside your office. Finding reasons to walk the long way around the building just so he wouldn’t pass you in the hallway. Not looking up when you said his name. Not teasing you like he used to. It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Foggy? Foggy clocked it immediately.

“Are you avoiding (Y/n),” he asked one day, without even looking up from his sandwich, “or just trying to die alone with dignity?”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Which, of course, was the response.

He tried to get a handle on it. He really did. But every time you walked into the room, something short-circuited in his chest. It wasn’t just the way your laugh stuck with him hours later, or the way you challenged him in court, or how you always saved the last of the coffee for him without saying a word. It was everything.

It was the way being near you made him feel like maybe he was allowed to want more. And that terrified him. So he did what Matt Murdock always did when he felt too much— he shut down. Smiled less. Talked less. Pulled back.

From your side, it made no sense. One minute, Matt was your closest friend at the firm— bantering with you over contracts and flirting shamelessly during late nights at the office. And then suddenly, he was stiff. Cautious. Civil, but distant. Like someone had flipped a switch and now you were radioactive.

You asked Karen once if you’d done something. She blinked, confused, then immediately said no. Foggy just smirked and shook his head like he knew something he wasn’t telling.

It wasn’t until the case came in that everything started to unravel.

A mugging gone wrong. Client said Daredevil saved her. That wasn’t unusual, not in Hell’s Kitchen. But Matt had disappeared halfway through the intake. No explanation, no warning.

When he came back, he looked… off.

There was a stiffness in his step. His jacket was damp. You noticed a bruise blooming along the edge of his jaw, half-hidden beneath his collar. And the excuse he gave? It was nothing. Too easy. Too rehearsed.

That was the first moment you really looked at him. And from that moment on, it didn’t stop. You started noticing everything.

It started small. A scrape on Matt’s knuckles one morning when he swore he just "bumped into a railing." A bruise along his jaw two days later that hadn’t been there the night before. The fact that he always knew when sirens were about to pass. That he sometimes winced at conversations happening across the street and flinched when someone behind him opened a soda can too loud.

The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was watching. The bruises that never quite added up. The way his hearing— his attention— seemed to stretch too far, too focused. His absences. His silences.

You weren’t stupid. You were a lawyer, after all-- your entire job revolved around reading people, noticing what others missed. So you paid attention. Not obsessively. Not yet. But enough. Enough to clock that he disappeared some nights without explanation, always coming back the next day with a carefully worded excuse and that same “don’t ask” look in his eye.

And then came the clincher.

A client— a woman being threatened by her landlord— was suddenly protected. Completely. No restraining order had gone through. No legal intervention. But the man stopped showing up. Cold turkey. When you asked, she just said, “That guy in the mask. The Devil. He said I’d be okay.”

You stared at her.

Later that night, while Matt was in his office pretending not to eavesdrop, you walked in and dropped the case file on his desk.

“She said ‘the Devil.’ Not a devil. The one. Hell’s Kitchen’s own.”

Matt didn’t look up. “Lot of people throw that name around.”

“She also said he was calm. Polite. Knew her name. Said she had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

He was quiet.

You folded your arms. “She said he didn’t sound scary. Said his voice was warm.”

That made him pause.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Matt finally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “...hi?”

You blinked. “Hi?”

He shrugged. “It’s concise.”

You just stared at him.

“Matthew,” you said flatly. “What the fuck.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When I saw you parkour off a fire escape in a three-piece suit?”

“I— look, I didn’t want this to change anything. I didn’t want you to change how you looked at me.”

“Look, I’ve been working beside you for over a year. And you didn’t think, at any point, to maybe mention that you moonlight as a one-man SWAT team?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, good job, Matt. Really nailed it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “Listen, I know you're upset. I would be too. I didn’t tell you only because I care about you. Because this thing, what I do— it’s brutal. And if anyone ever found out how much you mean to me...”

You blinked. That shut you up. For a second.

“Oh, so I mean something to you now?”

“I think that’s been fairly obvious.”

Matt noticed the way your heartbeat changed when he said you meant something to him. He figured this was a bad time to bring it up, although he smiled to himself at what that meant.

“I’m not mad that you’re Daredevil.”

That made him pause.

You went on. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to know. But... I get it. I really do.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Just listened. Really listened.

“You protect people. That’s who you are. And I don’t mean the mask or the fists or any of that— I mean you. The guy who goes to court for tenants getting pushed out of rent-stabilized apartments. The guy who sits through paperwork and trials and still somehow finds time to help people when the system doesn’t. So yeah, I get why you kept it quiet. I would’ve done the same.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

You stepped a little closer. “Would it have been easier to hear it from you directly? Sure. But I also understand why you didn’t. You’re trying to keep people safe. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

You gave him a look. “Matt. I’m a defence attorney in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m already in danger.”

He huffed a laugh, tension slipping just slightly.

“And besides,” you added, “it’s not like you told everybody.”

Matt winced. “Karen and Foggy know.”

“Splendid,” you muttered. “I’m last to know. That feels great.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you waved him off.

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. You didn’t think I could handle it, or maybe you were just scared of what it would mean. Either way, I want you to know I still look at you the same way. Hell, I think I respect you more now."

His expression softened— like something in him untangled all at once.

“And Matt?” you said, quieter now. “I'm still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That undid him more than any kiss could have. Matt Murdock was already in love with you.

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

Weeks passed. Then months.

You slipped into the parts of his life he never thought he'd share with you— quiet nights on the couch with cold tea and warmer glances, half-finished cases strewn between your desks, your voice low and steady on the phone as you helped him stitch up a gash at 2AM because Claire was out of town. You didn’t flinch at the bruises anymore. You stopped asking where they came from. Not because you didn’t care— because you knew he’d tell you if he could.

You joked that you were his unofficial dispatcher. He joked that you were the only one keeping him alive. It was good. Better than good, most nights. You were steady, sharp, present in a way that grounded him even on the worst days. You kept him tethered.

But even the strongest anchor can’t keep something from drifting if the pull is strong enough. It had been building.

After a particularly brutal stretch— three back-to-back nights of Daredevil coming home bleeding and bruised, a botched sting, a kid who didn’t make it— Matt changed.

He got quieter. Tense. He stopped calling when he was out late. Stopped dropping by your place after patrols. Stopped letting you patch him up. When you showed up with food one night and found his apartment dark, he didn’t even text to say thanks. You let it go. Once. Twice. Then you stopped letting it go.

It was almost midnight. The city was soft and silver around you, the streetlamps humming like old secrets. You’d waited for him— on the pavement outside the office, case files abandoned inside, takeout cold and forgotten. When he finally turned the corner, hoodie up, bruised along the cheekbone, your blood was already simmering.

You stood before he could say anything.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Matt paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks. You come back barely stitched together, and suddenly I’m a stranger? What, I only exist when you need to be sewn back together?”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You crossed your arms. “I told you I could handle this. That I was here because I wanted to be. You don’t get to push me out every time things get hard.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for your help.”

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “You inserted yourself. You wanted this. You stayed.”

“Because I care about you, you idiot,” you said incredulously.

He looked away. “If this isn’t working for you—”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

You flinched. “So that’s it? You’re just giving me an out?”

“I’m saying,” he said, sharp now, “if you don’t want to keep doing this, you can stop. I’m not going to hold you here.”

Your chest burned. “Right. Got it. Loud and clear, Murdock.”

“Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

"Fine."

“Fine.”

You turned. He turned. The silence between your retreating footsteps felt louder than anything either of you had said.

You made it maybe ten steps before you turned on your heel. At the same time, Matt doubled back from the other end of the block. You both stopped mid-step.

“This is stupid,” you said.

“I know,” he echoed.

You walked back to each other like it hurt to be apart even for that long. Stopped just a few feet shy of touching.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then, after a second— calmer now, but still visibly unraveling— he said, “You do realize what’s going on, right?”

You tilted your head. “You mean us shouting at each other in the middle of the street like deranged theatre kids?”

He gave you that small, crooked smile, the one he only let slip when it was just you. “I mean this,” he said, gesturing to the space in between you.

A beat. Then you laughed, soft and breathless. “Oh yeah. For two Ivy-educated lawyers, we are extremely oblivious people.”

“Painfully,” Matt said, taking one slow step closer. “Embarrassingly.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Do we keep pretending? Or...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t cautious. It was months of built-up tension, late nights, shared space, quiet devotion, and almosts finally snapping into something real. His hands cupped your face. Yours gripped the front of his jacket. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for permission— and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting time.

Before you could breathe, your back hit the wall. The brick was cool, sharp against your spine— nothing compared to the heat of him. His mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry, all the restraint he’d held onto suddenly gone.

You gasped, and that was all he needed. His body pressed flush against yours, arm braced beside your head. One hand slid down, catching your waist and holding you there like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging. That made him groan— low and quiet and right against your lips.

The kiss deepened— messier, more desperate. He was everywhere. Warm mouth, steady grip, chest rising hard against yours. You barely registered the moment your hand slipped beneath his jacket, over the fabric of his shirt, just needing to feel something more. When you finally pulled back— barely— your forehead rested against his.

“That was…” you started, still catching your breath.

Matt laughed, voice rough and low. “Yeah. That was.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “We are going to be so annoying now.”

He grinned, thumb brushing along your jaw. “We already were.”

576 notes · View notes

allllium · 4 months ago

Text

Perfect for Me

~ Matt Murdock x insecure!reader

~ omg two posts in two days 😮 this is not edited at all so ignore my mistakes

~ Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, WC: 1,679

- Matt comforts insecure reader -

Dating a blind guy is very different from any other relationship you've had for very obvious reasons. Not only is it an adjustment going out with and even living with someone that can't see, but Matt is different. He has senses that other blind people don't which makes things even harder. You love Matt but that doesn't mean it's not an adjustment.

Obviously he can't see you but he knows everything about you. He knows the basics of how you look but not the details. Sometimes that's hard. Only because you fear he has some other idea of you in his head. Like the real you can't match up to the look of you he has in his head.

It's silly, you know, but it's not like you can just get rid of the thoughts in your head. Matt can tell something's wrong, a bonus of his super senses. So far though, he hasn't asked about it. He's learned over time to give you a little bit of time to process your issue before he tries to get involved.

It's not his fault, simply your insecurities getting the best of you. It'll be fine you tell yourself, wondering around the apartment you now share with Matt. Maybe that's where it's coming from. You guys have always spent a lot of time together but now your space is his, and when you want space to yourself, you don't have a separate apartment to hide in. You certainly don't want that but what if he does?

You turn on some music to fill your rattled brain. Nothing loud but enough to distract your thoughts. You soon turn from wondering to cleaning. It's become a daily habit since Matt rarely has time. You have no problem doing it because you know it makes Matt feel slightly better. Not as much dust and grime for his senses to focus on.

You're very ingrained in your scrubbing of the counter when you hear the door shut.

"Hey, Matty." You call out to greet him, not taking your attention off the counter for a second.

"Hi." His faces lights up as he sees you. "How was your day?" He asks, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

"Not nearly as eventful as yours I imagine." You smile, turning around to meet his beaming face. He has already taken off his suit jacket while walking towards you and has began loosening his tie. Giving him that slightly casual look that you know and love.

"I actually think that's true today, though the most amusing part of it was hearing Foggy fall out of his chair not once but twice within a twenty minute period." You listen intently to his words as you finish wiping off the counter. His words get quieter as he slowly makes his way to the bedroom for more comfortable clothes.

You know Matt feels a great pressure to keep the city safe by going out every night, but your favorite night of the week is the one where you've both agreed he stays in. One of the few requests you had when moving in.

"How the hell did he manage that?" You chortle, imagining it in your head. You can hear Matt's laugh from the other room.

"I have no clue, you'd think he'd learn after the first time." He comes back into the living space wearing black sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. After you got together, you had to take Matt shopping for new, plain, clothes considering most of the ones he owned had something stupid and possibly embarrassing on them due to Foggy, bright colors and big slogans. "I heard him whine about it for the rest of the day."

"At least your days aren't boring like the other lawyers."

"That's definitely a plus of partnering with him."

This is the best part of your day. Talking to him about your days and gossiping about the people you know, plus all the people Matt hears about during the day. The only problem seems to be the words that won't leave your head.

"How do you feel about spaghetti for dinner?" You ask him as he grabs a water out of the fridge. Usually, he'd grab a beer but out of fear for his liver you haven't bought any in a week.

"Sounds perfect. How can I help?"

"I can do it, you worked all day."

"Worked is a loose term." He laughs to himself. You and he both know a lot of their work consists of finding new cases.

"You can boil the pasta if you want to be helpful."

"Oh that's easy. It's almost as if you don't believe in my culinary skills."

You turn and give him a stare that makes him smirk. "Matthew, I know what you lived on before I moved in."

"Okay water it is." He gives you get another kiss before searching for a suitable pot.

You hum along to the soft background music as you and Matt work on your tasks. Once he's done with his, he stands right beside you in silence.

"So." He starts.

"So?" You repeat.

"I didn't want to bring this up but I think it's important-"

"That sounds scary."

"For me, yes. I talked to Karen today."

Oh fuck. To say Karen knows your deepest darkest secrets would be an understatement. For Matt to start a conversation like this about her, she told him something. Something you're know wracking your brain to figure out.

It's not that you think Karen would sell you out. But Matt is very charming and sometimes you find yourself telling him things without even realizing.

"I would hope so." You try to play it off like you're not immensely worried about his coming words. "She is your secretary."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that title." He laughs nervously. You know he's nervous because his glasses are still on. He's trying to make sure you can't read him at the moment.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want it to seem like I was invading your privacy."

"Matt, you always do that. You hear literally everything I do."

"Yes but this feels different."

"You wouldn't have started this conversation if you didn't have something to say so please get on with it."

"I heard you talking to Karen the other day when she was over. And I tried not to read too much into it but then I talked to her today and I'm officially reading into it."

"Karen and I have talked about a lot of things, that doesn't really help me understand."

You try to seem nonchalant by stirring the pasta sauce.

"I heard you telling her how you don't think you live up the version of you I have in my head." He whispers the words as if that'll make it easier. Of course. Out of everything he could've heard, it was the one thing you really, really don't want to talk about. You know Matt isn't going to let this go until you answer all his questions.

"That was over a week ago." You whisper over the sauce.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But I only heard a part of what you said and I couldn't handle not knowing the rest."

A heavy sigh escapes you. It's not his fault. You are still adjusting to how much he can hear from so far so you didn't even think about that when he came home that day. You also can't fault him for wanting to know more, if the roles were reversed you would've gone to Foggy to know more almost immediately.

"You obviously weren't supposed to hear that." You turn off the stove top and look at him. "I don't suppose we can keep acting like you know nothing about that?" Your words come out with a hopeful tone.

"No we can't. Sweetheart, how can you feel like that? Have I made you doubt yourself like this?" He pulls you away from the kitchen and pushes you to sit next to him on the couch.

"You have done nothing Matt. You're perfect. I just can't get it out of my mind that every time you're complimenting me, it's not actually me. It's the more beautiful version of me you have in your head." He already knows enough, might as well tell him the rest.

"I know what you look like. Maybe I can't see every detail but I know enough to know every compliment I've ever given you, has been for you. I can't see everything on your face but I can sort of see the shape of you."

You're just now realizing you've never actually asked Matt what he can see. Knowing he was blind you always figured he couldn't see anything.

"What do you see?" You ask now.

"It's difficult to explain. I see certain figures but not all the time. It's kinda like flames that prevent me from seeing things but they don't always stay in the same spot."

"So how are you so confident I'm the same that you think I am?" He moves closer to hold your hand and lean more against you.

"Because I've had everyone describe you. Foggy, Karen, even Frank at one point. And I've felt your face a lot, enough to understand the shape of everything. Your eyes, lips, nose. Everything that makes you, you."

"Feeling is different than seeing."

"For other people yes. For me, this is the only way I know a lot of things. It's the way I've learned to know things so I'm better at it. I don't need to see every detail when everything I've felt is beyond perfect."

You feel tears appear in your waterline. Leave it to Matt to know the perfect thing to say. Always.

"When I say you're perfect for me, I mean it. More than anything."

He wipes the tears off your face the second they begin to fall.

"You're perfect for me too, Matty."

"Good." He states. "You're gonna be with for the rest of forever."

"That's a nice plan."

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sim0nril3y · 1 year ago

Text

I got you.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After hours of labour your precious baby has finally arrived. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, very fluffy, pregnancy, post-labour. Note: Thank you so much to @milf-murdock for feeding into my Dad!Simon delusions. I appreciate you.

It was amazing. One of the most beautiful experiences that Simon had been allowed to witness. He had watched his beautiful wife bring their daughter into the world and here the little bundle was laid across his chest. A tiny little babe pressed to his skin, warm and protected in this cold world. It was in that moment Simon knew that no harm would ever come to her.

There you were laying, completely exhausted, eyelids so heavy that they seemed to droop down further and further with every tiny blink. Still, you were unable to take your eyes from that wonderful little bundle too. “You fought bloody hard.” Simon said with so much love and tenderness, glancing away from that the little human using him as a mattress to look at you. “M'so proud of you.”

For a moment you lower lip trembled, reaching out a hand towards him, which Simon happily took, squeezing your fingers. “She’s so perfect.” You voice was practically hoarse. “I didn’t realise one little baby could be so perfect.” You were completely enamoured by your new daughter, unable to take your eyes from her for a second. “Did we get the best baby ever?”

“Yeah.” Simon let out a small breathy laugh, watching the way the small tuffs of hair seemed to ruffle. Hair. She has hair. His hair. Little blonde splotches on hair on top of her precious head. His daughter. His hair. That nose… was he crazy or did she have his nose too? “She looks like you.” You mentioned, but there was no malice or envy to your tone. “Yeah.” Simon said again, completely dumbstruck. “Poor kid.” He added with another hearty chuckle, careful not to disturb the sleeping babe on his chest.

“Lucky kid.” You corrected softly, leaning your head into the pillow. “Poppy’s gonna… have the best daddy in the world.” You fought back a yawn then, blinking a little too heavy. It took him a full minute to realise what you had said before creasing his brows and reeling. It caught him by surprise then, looking towards your sleepy face. “Did you say Poppy?” Simon asked with raised brow.

Coming back from your exhausted haze you asked. “Hmm?” “Poppy… you called her Poppy…” It had been a name he’d written on the list a few weeks ago. One of the few names he’d written down amongst the dozen that you had scribbled, he had thought choosing a name would be impossible, but you said it like it was destined. “The second I saw her… she looked like a Poppy.” You explained, followed by another yawn. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Simon replied, his voice a little tighter. “I love her.” Then squeezing your hand. “I love you.” Then looking towards you to see that your eyes had completely closed now, dropping off into a comfortable sleep after your hours of hard work bringing your precious daughter into the world. “S’alright, Poppy. I got you.” He placed a hand over her back, securing her, protecting her, shielding her. “I got you, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 30-04-2024

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 1 month ago

Text

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 2

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: You try to put Frank behind you and fall into bed with Matt. Unfortunately, now you also have to tell him the news that you're pregnant.

warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio) AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Mention of pregnancy. Pet names. Angst.

wc: 4,185

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

Still a few weeks earlier

You rubbed the palms of your hands into your achey eyes as the words on your computer screen blurred again. After what went down between you and Frank a few days prior, you were having more trouble than normal focusing on tasks at work. The sparse amounts of sleep you’d gotten over the past few nights wasn’t doing you any favors either. Between bouts of crying over the “breakup” (If one could even call it that. You and Frank weren’t together) plus the way your brain kept drifting to replay every conversation you’d ever had with Frank over and over again in your head; you’d found it hard to get a restful night of sleep. Despite how your eyes burned and your body ached when you laid down in your bed each night, you just couldn’t get into a deep slumber.

It also didn’t help that your neck still had a crick in in from sleeping on the floor mattress at Frank’s shitty hideout. Or it was from having your spine twisted oddly as he railed you into bliss and oblivion? Or both?

Frank was clearly never going to come around and you knew moving on would be best, but wallowing in your own self pity was a maschochistic habit you just couldn’t seem to get out of. Also, if you accepted his feelings about the two of you and moved on, then you’d have to let go of the small glimmer of hope that just maybe you could be enough for him to finally want to move on with his life and love someone else. You weren’t sure you were ready to do that.

“Huh, I didn’t know they sold White Diamonds to anyone under the age of seventy.” A smooth voice cut through the buzzing in your brain, turning your attention away from staring at your computer.

“Murdock!” You exclaimed at the handsome figure leaning against the door frame to your office.

All too happy to see a familiar and friendly face to distract you from all the work you weren’t getting done, you gave him a look up and down as he stood before you. His navy suit was tailored perfectly to his lean figure and you couldn’t help but smile at how he adjusted the red-framed glasses on his face.

“I know you have a bloodhound nose there Mr. Murdock, but even I’m impressed you can identify the specific perfume I tried from a client gift basket yesterday.”

You rose from your chair to greet him with a hug. The way his taught, muscular frame enveloped you sent a jolt of butterflies through your stomach and you wondered if he could tell how his handsome charm flustered you every time you met. The clean scent of his cologne cut through the stale air of your office as you breathed him in. The wool of his suit was soft as you ran your hand down his arm and pulled away a bit.

“Mr. Murdock, really? Wow, okay. We’re going formal today? If I’d have known, I’d have worn my tux.”

Matt always seemed to always know just what to say to get you giggling.

“I figured I’d keep the illusion of professionalism at work. I mean, I could call you another name; starts with a D and rhymes with Shmare Shmevil”

Matt gripped at your elbow and spun you into your office, trapping you between his body and the wall.

Ow, that hurt your shoulders. That was definitely from when Frank had you—

“Watch it.” he chided with a lick of his lips.

His breath was warm against your face as he let out a dry chuckle at your surprised demeanor. He tilted his chin, searching for an answer from you.

“Sorry, Matty. Couldn’t help myself.” you giggled as he loosened his grip on you and took a step back, straightening his tie.

“Besides, even with out the alter ego and the super sniffer, only someone who is regularly intimate with women of that age range would recognize an Elizabeth Taylor perfume. Didn’t know you were into much older women.”

“Sweetheart, who I sleep with is none of your business.” Matt chuckled at your retort. “Besides, that kind of talk isn’t what I’d call keeping it professional.”

“Right, right. So what brings you in today?”

“Colleen emailed me. Said you had some new contracts that needed a look-through?”

The non-profit you worked for couldn’t afford to have a full-time lawyer on staff to review contracts and relied on pro-bono services to make sure everything stayed above board. Matt and your boss, Colleen, were buddies in college. Despite the fact he was a defense attorney and not involved in contract or non-profit law, she regularly roped him in to helping with the legal side of things.

“Right, I’ve got some of them pulled up on my computer right now if you have the time.”

“Always have time for you, old lady perfume and all.”

“Okay, now you’re just being rude!” you chided him

You held out your arm and led Matt to the conference room across the hall, letting him set up as you ran back into your office and grabbed your laptop. You had to take a deep breath before returning. Always flirty and confident, you were never bored when Matt was around that was for sure. But with your heart still pulling for Frank, it felt wrong to let yourself have even the little attention you knew Matt gave to nearly every woman he encountered. But still, you smiled thinking of spending the afternoon with Matt, even if it was just to review boring contract language. Maybe you were looking for any glimmer of hope that a man could actually desire you and not just push you away like Frank had.

“What’s this new clause in the contracts ‘public image addendum’?” Matt asked, listening to the details of the file via his screen reader

“You been following the news lately?”

“Yeah.”

“So you heard about the CEO of Caffeination Collective?”

“Yeah, but what’s a local coffee chain boss embezzling have to do with —”

“Well, Caffeination Collective signed a contract to be the main sponsor of our next gala three days before he got arrested. We tried to drop them, obviously, but they’re arguing we need to honor all the sponsorship placements of our contract despite the fact that they’ve shuttered all their locations and it looks like they won’t be back in business any time soon. Colleen thinks we should add a clause to all future contracts that if anyone we do business with does anything bad for PR, we can drop them.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a great idea.”

“She asked if you could review the language to make sure we’re covered going forward.”

Matt nodded.

“You know Caffeination Collective is headquartered in Hell’s Kitchen, right?” you added, spinning back in forth in your chair as you nursed your third coffee of the day

“Yeah, so?”

“Corrupt CEO disenfranchising employees and laundering money? Thought the Devil would have got to him before the cops.”

Matt adjusted his tie once more and grimaced at the mention of his alter ego, a pained look apparent in his eyes even as they hid behind crimson frames.

“Yeah well, I’ve been trying to lay low lately.”

“Since when have you ever laid low?”

“I have a lot of reasons to right now.”

“Hmm, sounds interesting. Shame you’re here to talk boring legal files, I’d love to hear more about it.”

Matt rubbed at the grey in his stubble and a crinkle appeared at the skin around his glasses as he smiled at you, hint of whatever troubled him at the moment washing away.

“Maybe if this doesn’t take too long, we could discuss it over dinner.”

“You’re incorrigible, Murdock.”

“And serious.”

“I don’t date lawyers. And I especially don’t date vigilantes.”

“You’re lying.”

Technically you weren’t. Frank was the only other vigilante you knew personally. While you’d just slept together the one time and had an odd ‘friendship’ before that, you had technically never dated him.

“Quit listening to my heartbeat.” you chided, tossing a paperclip towards Matt’s head, which he easily dodged

He chuckled.

“Come on. What is it? What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just too busy to get involved with anyone right now.”

“Oh, don’t give me busy.”

The air in the room suddenly felt warm as you mulled it over. You and Matt had always had great chemistry and the only excuse you really had was how desperately your heart was still hanging on to Frank.

“You deserve someone who can give you better.”

You knew you needed to move on. Frank made it clear he didn’t want to be a part of your life anymore after the two of you had crossed the line from whatever you had been to more.

And what better way to try than with Matt? Always handsome and suave and kind and funny. You knew the two men shared history and had complicated feelings towards one another, though you weren’t super clear on the specifics. You did not want to inform Matt of this situation and open that can of worms.

Fuck it.

“Fine, Murdock. Let’s get through these contracts and you can take me to dinner.”

Dinner turned into several rounds of drinks, which turned into a leisurely stroll back to your apartment. The restaurant he took you to was a cute French spot in Hell’s Kitchen, matching your love of cool and sophisticated with out being stuffy.You knew Matt was a flirt but were shocked with how easily the two of you connected. The whole evening felt natural, how care free and easy it was to just be yourself with him. In fact, you were having such a pleasant time with Matt, you hadn’t thought of Frank the whole evening.

“I honestly can’t believe the judge didn’t throw me out.” Matt concluded his story, a smile splitting across his face as he spoke

You let out a hearty laugh into the chilly night air as the two of you ambled down the quiet sidewalk through your neighborhood towards your apartment building. Matt’s hand was gentle as it held yours, letting you set the pace as he kept in step beside you.

“You always get away with the most asinine stunts in court. Only you Matty, would do something that would get any other lawyer a mistrial and instead win the case. And to play the whole blind card too in your defense? Classic. They let you get away with that?”

“Yeah, usually, actually.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the only reason you get juries and judges on your side.” your sarcastic tone had him shaking his head and grinning “It has nothing to do with how hot you are.”

Matt stopped, letting go of your had and facing you with a raise to his eyebrows as he leaned against his cane.

“You think I’m hot?” he asked, playfully feigning ignorance

You shook your head as you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Of course I think you’re hot.” you replied “You know I do, even without all your stupid senses; that by the way, you still need to explain to me how that all works.”

You gestured towards his face and were met with a chuckle. The carefree way he tilted his head, taking in everything he could about you as you stood before him made you feel unshielded.

“Next time.” he said, voice low and thick

“Next time?”

“Yeah. I mean, tonight was great. I want to do this again, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah. Matt, I really did have a great time. It’s just…” you trailed off

“Who is he?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on sweetheart, you’ve been holding something back all night.”

“I have not—”

“Don’t lie.”

“Fine.” you contested with a sigh “There was someone. Recently. But he broke my heart. And told me to move on. And I’m trying.”

It was the first thought you’d given to Frank in hours; how kind his eyes were when he spoke to you, how the low gravel of his voice resonated through every nerve in your body when he muttered your name, how soft and gentle his hands were despite all the violence they inflicted. Then you thought of the conversation you’d had when you last spoke, how he just wasn’t ready for the love you wanted to give and how it just seemed so easy for him to walk away.

As Matt stood before you, earnest and flirty in a way that always wooed you into giddiness, you too thought of how similar the two men were. All the traits that made you fall for Frank, present in Matt, with just a little more of that “has his shit together” factor.

“But?” Matt inquired

“But as handsome and charming and electric as you are, I’m still hung up. And I’m sorry that’s not fair to you Matt. I shouldn’t have agreed to —”

“No it’s fine, look I had a great time tonight. I always do when I’m with you. We can put a pin in this, call it a night and not let hard feelings get in the way.”

“No, that’s not fair. To either of us. I shouldn’t let this chemistry between us fade out because of...” you paused, shaking your head and trying to find the right words “You and me, this could be a really good thing.”

“It could be.” Matt agreed “Plus, wouldn’t hurt in helping you win the break up?”

“Who said I want to ‘win the break up?’” you said, giving Matt a playful smack on his arm, which cause him to jolt and fein injury with a smile “It wasn’t even really a breakup, it’s way more complicated than that.”

“Hey, just another thing for us to get into next time.”

“You keep saying next time.”

“I do.”

“You really want to be a rebound?”

“I mean, I don’t have to be. We could just take this slower until you’re ready. See where it goes?”

Winning the breakup. What a childish concept. Still, knowing Matt and Frank had some kind of rapport with each other and getting just a little bit of revenge by getting with someone Frank was acquainted with felt like an enticing idea. Why not make things a little complicated and messy for Frank if word ever got back to him and give him a little taste of his own emotional medicine? Plus, as he had proven all evening, Matt always made you feel special anyway, so there was no harm in letting yourself have a little fun.

Fine.

“Or you could take me upstairs and fuck me until I forget about him.” you spoke, unwavering voice cutting through the background noise of sirens and traffic and every other noise you knew he worked so hard to tune out

You swore you could hear Matt’s heartbeat pounding from his chest and you didn’t even have his abilities. He tried to conceal his nerves behind a faint giggle as he contemplated your offer, searching for any indicator from you that you were joking. Whatever he sensed from you told him you were serious, as his nostrils flared and his hand to tightened around his cane. He licked at his lips and shook his head as he opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed words were lost on him at the moment.

Matt Murdock flustered. You never thought you’d see the day.

Was it so wrong to egg him on when he clearly wasn’t opposed to the idea? You decided not, rocking your feet forward and meeting your lips with his. You kept the kiss soft and gentle until his hand slid up your jaw, pulling you in more. Heat ignited in your bones as he kissed you back, trying to swallow down the low moan that was building in the back of your throat.

It took all his will power to pull away, even just a fraction of an inch to speak.

“Yeah, upstairs.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now

The door to Matt’s office was cracked open just a little and you could see his silhouette sitting at his desk through the frosted glass. You hoped he couldn’t hear the shaky breath you released as you approached the door, still unsettled on exactly how you wanted this conversation to go. The dampness of your palms was enough to leave a residue on the brass door knob as you softly turned it to enter.

Matt was kind. Matt was a good person. Matt would handle this well.

“Matthew?”

He cocked his head as you pushed the door open, a smile spreading across his face as he heard your voice. The air felt stifling and hot as the setting sun cast the room in shades of orange. Matt looked like he’d been carved by gods in the tangerine glow; perfect forearms flexing slightly as he waited for you to enter the room, shown off beautifully thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. He had at some point in the day loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt just enough so that a small bit of chest hair poked through. The glimmer of the fading day reflected in the red glasses that sat on his face. His looking so delicious was how you got into this mess in the first place.

“Visiting me at work? We’re crossing into some serious territory here.” he jested, rising from his seat to lean over his desk and greet you with a soft kiss on your forehead “Unless this is Colleen just sending you over with more contracts.”

You glanced down at the grey carpet beneath you, chewing on your cheek as you ran over the words in your head you’d been rehearsing all the way over here. Tugging at your sleeve, you finally looked up to face him. The kind way his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you would usually put you at ease on any other day, but under the circumstances it only made you more nervous to speak.

“No no, this is a personal visit.”

Matt’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. It was late enough in the day that both Matt’s office and the city outside were in a lull of quietness, making you feel extra exposed to the way you could tell Matt was observing you. Scanning every element of your body for some kind of hint to where this conversation was going and you were certain the vibes were not great.

“Is everything okay?”

You let out a sigh as you sank in the chair opposite him, tapping your fingers on the wooden surface of his desk in front of you.

“Look, I know we both said we weren’t really in a place for anything serious and this would just be fun between the two of us, no strings attached but…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to continue without crumbling into a sobbing puddle. Matt licked at his lips as he waited to hear what you had to say and you were certain he could still taste the saltiness in the air from when you had wiped away your tears earlier. Squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to center yourself, you shook your head, let out a large exhale, then spoke.

“Matt, I’m pregnant.”

It came out as almost a whisper, strained from the tightness of your throat and how heavy it felt to say out loud. The tick of his jaw was the only indicator you had that he’d even heard you, as he stood there with his hands on his hips. He didn’t need to listen to your heartbeat to know you weren’t lying.

Never one to leave a moment of silence to linger, you couldn’t resist the bubbling up of all the hundreds of thoughts and you’d be having since taking the test. The carefully constructed phrases you’d rehearsed for this moment in your head were now lost to a cluster of intangible thoughts as you began to ramble.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I was being so careful. I mean I was. I was taking my pill on time every day and everything. At least, I think I was. You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I’m going to take care of everything myself. Unless you want to, I mean be involved or whatever. And I know this isn’t what either of us wants right now but I just never thought I’d ever have kids, like it wasn’t even on my radar and—”

Matt held out a hand, cutting you off. You sat there blinking, unsure what to do as you watched him pace around in a circle, large hand rubbing at the back of his head. His silence was troubling to you and it seemed each moment spent without knowing what he was thinking was taking an eternity. Was he angry? Or just in shock? Was he going to ask you to leave, never to speak to you again? Was he going to break your heart just as Frank had? Was this a big enough complication that made you worth discarding by someone you cared for again?

After what seemed like minutes, he rested his forearms against the back of his chair, turning his attention fully to you.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” he reassured. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Matt, you don’t have to—”

His hand came up again.

“Do you know what you want to do? Because whatever you decide, I’m right there beside you.”

“Matt, you don’t have to. I mean we’re not exactly at that stage of this relationshi—”

With a scoff, he shook his head and smiled. “No, sweetheart. I’m serious. Talk to me.”

He finally pulled out the chair from under him, sitting across from you and clearly ready to listen. You let out another sigh, resting your elbow on the desk and propping your head in it as you slowly spun the chair back and forth, even more antsy to how he’d react to what you were about to say.

“I want to keep it. I never thought I’d be a mom. Never thought I’d get the opportunity. But it took me all of five minutes after I took the test to calm down and I just knew.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he listened to you ramble more.

“But Matt,” you continued “Please don’t feel obligated to do anything. I don’t want you to feel stuck or like you have to—”

This time he cut you off by reaching across the desk, taking the hand that was not supporting your head as it danced nervously across the desk in his.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I said I was beside you and I mean it. No matter what.”

“Are you sure, because —”

“I want this. Us. Together.”

“Together?”

Your heart clenched at the certainty in his voice. Matt’s eagerness to be with you, to make this work, had all the alarm bells going off in your head. This was not how things usually went for you; life, relationships, opportunities. No one had ever been this clearly all in for you without some form of repayment expected and you were just waiting for the catch of it all to come crashing down and break your heart. But then you remembered the other shoe that was about to drop and ruin this moment was the secret you still kept from him.

“Or,” Matt sensed your hesitation and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “We still don’t have to put a label on this. We can get you through the pregnancy and co-parent and just see what happens.”

“That… yeah that might be best. But um, Matt there’s one more thing.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up over his red glasses as he tilted his head toward you.

“There’s a chance you’re not the father.”

You swore you saw Matt’s heart break into a million pieces as his face dropped and he sat back a little, letting go of your hand.

“Right…” he replied, looking more and more sullen by the second “We didn’t— I mean we never labeled this. You said you didn’t want to.”

“I’m so sorry Matt. But we agreed to keep things casual and if it makes you feel better, I only slept with him one time after you and I started—”

Matt nodded warily.

“Is it just one other guy or—"

“Matthew!”

“You can’t blame me for being curious!”

“It’s just one other guy.”

“Okay. It’s the one that you told me about, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told him yet?”

“No.”

Matt rubbed at his chin, letting out a sigh.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.”

“No. I want this. Even if its not mine. Even if I have to co-parent with whatever other— I’m sure sweetheart.”

“You might want to rethink that”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t told you who else the father might be and you’re not gonna like who it is.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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#frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #frank castle #daredevil #daredevil born again #fratt #matt x reader #frank x reader #matt x frank x reader #nmcu #mcu #mcu fic #daredevil smut #matt murdock angst #frank castle imagine #charlie cox #jon bernthal

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chvoswxtch · 20 days ago

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an olive branch

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt’s efforts to find out what he’s gotten himself into don’t go as planned.

warnings: swearing, more angst than me as a teenager, fury being fury, matt being the sassy lil shit he is

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it's only been three days since the born again finale and i'm already having withdrawls. if you are too, here's some matty for you. <3 as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter coming 5/9] | [series masterlist]

“Agent Y/L/N.”

Fury gave her a subtle dismissive nod, which she returned with one of her own, a silent communication passing between them before she turned to slip back into the elevator. Once those doors closed, Fury gestured towards his desk with his hand.

“Please, have a seat.”

Instead of taking a step towards one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk, Matt stayed exactly where he was and decided to cut straight to the chase.

“What am I doing here.”

“I wanted to talk to you. I understand you and Agent Y/L/N had a bit of a…misunderstanding last night.”

Matt let out a dry scoff as a tiny humorless smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, and his dark brows raised above the rims of his red tinted sunglasses.

“Misunderstanding? She tased me and knocked me out.”

“You got in her way.”

The coolness of his tone made Matt tighten his grip around his cane. Fury casually turned to walk back to his desk where he made himself comfortable in the plush leather seat. There was a faint creak when Fury’s leather jacket rubbed against the leather of the chair, and it made Matt’s jaw clench as he grimaced. The Advil hadn’t kicked in yet, and his throbbing headache made his sound sensitivity worse.

“I didn’t agree to be an accessory to murder.”

“And you won’t be.”

Folding up his cane with a little more force than necessary, Matt stalked towards Fury’s desk.

“You really expect me to just stand aside while she-”

“Mr. Murdock, I understand that you argue for a living, and I understand that you’re good at it. But I'm a very busy man, and I'm pressed for time. Agent Y/L/N and I had a little chat while you were out, and we’ve come up with a compromise.”

Matt cocked his head slightly to the side, confusion nestling between his dark brows.

“A compromise?”

“While the two of you are on missions together, Agent Y/L/N will do her best to not use lethal force. But, if there is no other alternative, she will do what she has to do, and you will not intervene. Understood?”

Matt tossed his folded cane into the closest leather chair next to him, and he placed one of his hands on his hip while his other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose and adjust his sunglasses.

“Why did you drag me into this?”

Fury’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly at Matt’s question, but they quickly furrowed in an entanglement of confusion and annoyance a moment later.

“Drag you into it? Mr. Murdock you were already waist deep in the middle of it. I just thought you’d wanna be part of the team”

“A team of killers.”

Fury let out a deep exhale through his nose, a subtle sign of his patience waning. Resting his elbows on his desk, he interlocked his fingers together as he took a moment to regain his neutral composure. A brief thought flashed through Matt’s brain that Fury may be to blame for Y/N’s unwavering and irritating calmness.

“What is it you think we do here?”

“I thought you protected people.”

“We do. By any means necessary.”

Matt dragged his palm down the lower half of his face in frustration, the coarseness of his grown out facial hair scratching against his palm as if he were caressing the needles of a cactus. He hated the growth stage. The smoothness of a clean shave never lasted long enough, and the time frame between prickly stubble and a tolerable beard was too long.

“There’s a system-”

“And it’s broken. You know that better than anyone. Justice isn’t always blind, and some people never get it. That’s why you go out and take it by force at night, isn’t it?”

Matt abruptly paused, his words dying on his tongue. He had no rebuttal for that. And it pissed him off. Seeing Matt’s own patience fading quickly, Fury let out another deep exhale and leaned back in his chair.

“Look, you care. About this city, and about the people in it. That's why you protect it. This is personal for you.”

Matt was quiet for a moment, running a hand stressfully through his hair before placing his hands on his hips and shifting his weight to his other foot.

“Yeah. It is.”

“It’s personal for her too.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that. He tilted his head to the side, puzzlement evident in his expression.

“What do you mean? Personal how?”

“It’s just personal.”

Jesus Christ, these people were brick walls. Nothing was ever a simple answer. And every single answer was calculated and infuriatingly indeterminate. Matt threw his hands up in exasperation and let out a bitter dry and humorless laugh that echoed with incredulity. He turned away for a moment, cracking his neck and shaking his head, and when he turned to face Fury again, his tone was rough and snarky as his temper flared.

“That's not good enough. You can’t keep leaving me in the dark. You have to give me something-”

“I don’t have to give you a goddamn thing.”

Matt’s nostrils flared when Fury abruptly shut him down with that combative statement. He let out another dry laugh, clicking his tongue against his cheek as he shrugged his shoulders and forced a tight lipped defiant smile on his lips.

“Then I’m not doing this. Not unless you tell me what’s really going on.”

Matt pointed his index finger in Fury’s direction and took a step closer.

“I don’t trust you, or her, and I’m not partnering with someone who can so casually take a life.”

“It wasn’t an issue with Frank Castle or Elektra Natchios.”

There it was again. That simple delivery of something personal about him with an undercurrent of what could either be a taunt or a threat. Her words echoed in his ears as he visibly stiffened.

Just assume we know everything.

Matt’s skin felt like it was crawling with invisible wrathful insects slithering under the surface. Fury might as well have brushed the sharpened tip of a steel blade against the back of Matt’s neck the way his spine straightened and the soft hairs stood to attention pin straight.

Knowing about Frank was one thing, that was easily explainable. Frank and Matt had come to one another’s aid once or twice, and Daredevil crossing paths with the Punisher was something the people in the city noticed. Neither one of them were exactly subtle.

But Elektra…that wasn’t public. That wasn’t connected to Daredevil. That was connected to Matt. Whoever knew about her either had been watching him longer than he thought, or they were really good at digging up things that should stay buried. Either way, Matt was unsettled, and immediately went on the defense with his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides.

“That was different. I didn’t condone what they did.”

“But you weren’t bitching about it in someone’s office either.”

A muscle feathered in Matt’s jaw as he clenched it, and Fury eyed him silently for a moment before slowly rising from his chair, placing his palms flat on his desk as he leaned forward slightly.

“Tell me something, Mr. Murdock. When you beat that man within an inch of his life all those years ago, and you sent him to the intensive care unit where he had to eat through a straw for a month, did you feel remorse? Or did you sleep better at night, knowing that the son of a bitch couldn’t sneak into his daughter’s room anymore after his wife went to sleep?”

Matt’s blood had felt like molten lava pumping through his veins up until the moment Fury brought up that night. It was the night Matt had become a vigilante. He hadn’t been the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen yet. He’d just been the man in the black mask. Fury’s words floated across the space like an unforgiving winter wind, their briskness making his skin prickle with goosebumps and the cold verity of them freezing everything inside him, making the color drain from his face.

Fury’s footsteps were calm and measured as he rounded the desk, but in Matt’s ears, the sound of his boots against the marble floor were like explosives going off in a minefield with each step. Sitting on the desk directly in front of Matt, Fury grabbed the edges on either side of him, his relaxed posture the polar opposite of Matt’s rigidity.

“You felt better, didn’t you? Knowing you served that little girl justice when the system didn’t. They failed her, everyone else failed her, but you were there.”

Matt swallowed thickly, his hands still clenched tightly at his sides. His fingers were starting to tingle due to lack of circulation.

“I understand that you’re a God fearing man. You have a set of morals, a code, I can respect that. But we do not abide by your rules. Your self righteousness and your hypocrisy have no place in this agency. I am doing you a favor-”

“A favor?”

Matt’s face was twisted up in vexation, caught between incredulity that Fury truly believed that and frustration that he thought any of this was a favor to Matt.

“And what part of this do you consider a favor, Fury? Invading my privacy? The extortion?”

“Extortion is a bold claim. We didn’t force you to do anything.”

“Not explicitly, but the threat was loud and clear. We know who you are, we know everything about you, comply or suffer the consequences.”

“Well now you’re just being dramatic. We aren’t holding anything over your head, Mr. Murdock. We simply leveled the playing field. We know who you are, you know who we are. You were already working on a lead we were pursuing, we offered you an in.”

“I didn’t need your help-”

“You are an unsanctioned vigilante, and a civilian. I have given you confidential information on The Red Right Hand, and I am putting my ass on the line allowing you to be a part of this investigation. I didn’t have to do that. And I could have threatened to expose your temperamental ass if you didn’t back off, but I didn’t. Because someone thinks you’re worth a damn. Someone stuck their neck out for you, and put their own reputation on the line, because they believed in you-someone that I trust, and that is not an easy accomplishment.”

Matt’s mouth snapped shut as Fury’s words settled between them, once again leaving him with more questions than answers. Fury’s patience with Matt had clearly run out, and Matt could feel that this conversation was over whether he was ready for it to be or not.

Satisfied with Matt’s silence, Fury slowly stood up straight, and there was an edge of warning to his voice when he spoke.

“Now, I am offering you an olive branch. You’d be wise to take it.”

»»———　　———««

The buzzing of Matt’s phone against the wooden dining table alerted Matt to an incoming phone call before the automated voice did.

“Incoming call, unknown number.”

Matt’s fingertips brushed over the last few Braille bumps of the court document he was reading before reaching over to tap the phone screen.

“This is Murdock.”

“Did you find the present I left you?”

Matt’s concentration was sufficiently broken when he heard her voice. The document was left momentarily abandoned beneath his fingers as creases of confusion settled in his forehead.

“How did you get my number?”

“I knew your address, you think I didn’t have your phone number?”

The amusement in her voice was clear, as if she were standing right next to him instead of on the other end of the line. Her original question made him sit up a little straighter, focusing his senses on his front door. He didn’t notice anything.

“Wait, what do you mean present you left me? I haven’t gotten anything delivered.”

“I left it in your closet.”

Matt snapped his head in the direction of his phone. His expression immediately shifted from mild confusion to full blown annoyance.

“How the hell did you-, I locked the rooftop door.”

“And I told you I can pick locks.”

“Stop breaking into my fucking apartment.”

An exasperated sigh tinged with a twinge of playfulness floated through the phone speaker.

“Just go check your goddamn closet.”

Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, Matt angrily swiped his phone off the table, his chair screeching against the floor when he abruptly pushed it back to stand up. When he stepped into his walk-in closet, he tilted his head to the side, using his senses to locate the box sitting on one of the shelves. He hadn’t noticed it when he came home. Granted, he hadn’t even come into his bedroom yet. He’d immediately sat down to go over his closing statement for court on Thursday.

Setting his phone aside, he slowly reached out to brush his fingertips over the slender rectangular box. The wrapping paper was smooth, and there was even a bow tied around it with soft silk string.

“You tie this yourself?”

“I did.”

“How thoughtful.”

Matt’s dry sarcasm didn’t quite match his internal reaction. Brushing his fingertips over the silk string and following it towards the center where an expertly tied bow rested, a subconscious smile ghosted over the edge of his mouth. Despite him being an ass about it, it was actually thoughtful. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

After pulling the bow loose and unwrapping the box, he lifted the top off, and his face scrunched in curiosity and uncertainty feeling cool metal touch his fingertips. There were four slender pieces of it side by side, the one on the far left wrapped in smooth leather with grooves for an easy grip. For how firm it felt, it was surprisingly light when he picked it up, almost weightless.

“What is this?”

“You can’t tell with your super senses?”

“They’re not super. They’re heightened.”

As Matt inspected the object, he felt a sense of familiarity. Brushing his thumb over the bottom of one of the slender pieces, it seemed to click in his brain. One by one, he locked each piece into place, straightening them out vertically. He rubbed the thin silk rope at the end of the handle between his first two fingers and his thumb, the opening wide enough to wrap around the pieces to keep them bundled, or to hang up by his front door.

“Is this a cane?”

“With a tracker. I installed the tracking app on your phone.”

“What? How did you even-”

“You were unconscious for quite a while.”

Matt let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he continued to glide his hand slowly over every part of the cane.

“So you’ve broken into my apartment God knows how many times, you took my suit, and my phone. Anything else?”

“Well, I was gonna swipe your card and treat myself to a nice dinner, but according to your bank account, you’re one of those lawyers that actually cares about people, not money.”

Matt could practically hear the smirk in her voice, and it made one tug across his own mouth.

“Unlucky for you.”

“Mhm. Owens, on the other hand, gets a pretty nice payday from the government. I put it on his tab instead.”

Matt was quiet for a moment, trying to decipher the intention behind this unexpected gift. He couldn’t think of one. Or maybe he just wanted to hear it from her lips.

“Why did you get me a cane with a tracker?”

“Because littering is illegal in New York.”

Matt couldn’t stop the amused snort that escaped even if he’d tried.

“And I didn’t get you a cane. It was custom made. Feel that button on the handle?”

Matt’s hand glided down the smooth surface until he felt a small circular button just a few inches below the handle.

“Yeah?”

“Well press it.”

“How do I know it’s not gonna explode?”

A laugh sounded from the other end of the line, and it caught Matt off guard. He wasn’t sure why, but he had an urge to hear it again. It humanized her otherwise artificial demeanor.

“Wow, guess those senses really aren’t super. “

Pressing the button, the top two pieces merged into one, as did the bottom two, leaving a string of material between them. It happened so quickly Matt nearly dropped the two pieces he was now holding. They felt like…his batons? Rubbing the thin string of material connecting them between his thumb and first two fingers, his dark brows furrowed. It was some kind of smooth metal, but he couldn’t place it.

“What is this made of?”

“High-tensile steel fiber composite cable. It’s virtually indestructible, so it shouldn’t snap no matter what you do with it. The cane itself is made out of Vibranium.”

Matt’s hand suddenly paused its exploration, and he cocked his head to the side.

“Vibranium? Like…Wakandan Vibranium?”

“Is there another kind?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Yes, Vibranium is only sourced from Wakanda. Are you familiar with kinetic energy?”

Matt rolled his eyes as he pushed the small button again, the two split batons morphing back into a cane.

“I’m a lawyer, not a scientist.”

“You graduated Summa Cum Laude from Columbia, but you don’t know basic science? I’m disappointed, Matthew.”

The playful tease in her comment had Matt fighting the smirk that threatened to cross his lips, betraying his own stubborn defiance. He clicked his tongue against his cheek as he broke the cane down into four pieces again, wrapping the thin silk rope around the bundle.

“Aw, sweetheart, I’m gutted. How am I gonna live with your disappointment?”

“I’m sure you could make a compelling case for my forgiveness, Counselor. I’ll even trade for it.”

Matt let out a dry chuckle and shook his head, taking the phone off speaker to bring it up to his ear, dropping his voice to a lower octave.

“No, see, forgiveness isn’t a transaction. That’s your first mistake. Although I wouldn’t expect someone who seems incapable of feeling guilt to understand the fundamentals of forgiveness. But you’re welcome to come to church with me one Sunday, learn a thing or two.”

“Oh I don’t know, Matthew. I think I’d have to clear an entire day just to sit through your weekly confessional.”

“Well I’m sure if you were to go in, you’d probably never come out.”

The momentary silence on the other end felt like a little triumph. He’d won this round. He’d managed to tip the scales back in his favor.

“Now, you gonna tell me what the point of this science lesson is?”

“Vibranium absorbs kinetic energy. Whatever hits the metal takes, it stores, and that energy can be released.”

“Released?”

“Think of it as a boost to pack a really powerful punch.”

Matt’s thumb absentmindedly brushed over the gift, contemplating his next question. When he spoke, there was no attempt at banter, no sarcastic remark, just pure curiosity.

“Why did you have this made?”

“So you can vigilante on the go.”

It wasn’t an answer. Not a real one. He’d dropped his guard for a second, allowing a snippet of vulnerability into the conversation, hoping for raw honesty. As much as she frustrated the hell out of him, and as much as he didn’t trust her and wasn’t sure if he even liked her, he wanted to understand her. He didn’t know why, but he did. And she was giving him nothing.

“Right.”

Matt’s disappointment was palpable even through the phone. An uncomfortable moment of silence passed before a quiet sigh sounded from her end.

“Look, it’s a peace offering.”

“Because you need my help-”

“No. I don’t. But I want it.”

That surprised him. That was the last thing he expected her to say. It made him pause, considering the sincerity in her words. I want it. That was something. Real, honest, vulnerable. But it didn’t make Matt any less weary of her.

“I have conditions.”

“I already agreed to Fury’s compromise-”

“I have more.”

This time her sigh was tinged with exaggerated exasperation, and it made him roll his eyes.

“I’ll start knocking.”

“Don’t tase me again.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose, reaching up to pinch the bridge of it. He didn’t know if he’d ever met someone so insufferable. And he knew Frank Castle.

“You know, if we’re gonna work together, you’re gonna have to at least pretend you trust me.”

Matt let out a genuine laugh at the audacity of her statement, and he shook his head as he switched his phone to his opposite hand, raising it to his other ear.

“Sweetheart, you don’t get to pull the shit you did the other night and talk to me about trust. You haven’t exactly given me a good impression so far. I also know virtually nothing about you, which puts me at a disadvantage, because you know everything about me.”

“I don’t know everything about you.”

“I thought I was supposed to assume you knew everything?”

Matt’s voice was mocking as he repeated those irritating words he was tired of hearing.

“Assume, yes. That doesn’t mean that I do.”

All at once, bewilderment washed over him. Matt stood there in his closet, letting those words sink in, finally blinking a few times to chase away the dryness that had glazed over his sightless eyes in his stupefied state.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Let’s start simple. What’s your favorite color?”

Matt was still trying to process that she didn’t actually know everything, she’d just led him to believe that. And he had. Pressing his lips together in annoyance, his voice was dry and flat when he answered.

“I’m blind.”

“So? You weren’t always blind.”

Dropping the phone down to his side for a moment, Matt tilted his head back and dragged his top teeth across his bottom lip, letting out a quiet grunt before cracking his neck and lifting his phone back to his ear with a disgruntled deep exhale.

“Red.”

“I never would’ve guessed.”

Matt’s eyes rolled so hard he thought for a moment they’d stay stuck in the back of his skull.

“Well, why?”

“Why what?

“Why is red your favorite?”

Matt’s feet carried him out of the closet and over towards the edge of his bed where he sat down, trying to decide how to answer. There were a million different ways he could, but most of those answers were personal, too personal for him to feel comfortable telling someone whose intentions he was still trying to figure out. His intrigue about her was muddled by his suspicion that had only continued to grow with each encounter.

“My dad was a boxer. It was his color.”

“Do you remember him?”

Matt tensed slightly at that question, and he immediately redirected the conversation.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

A hundred questions flashed through his brain, but he knew he had to be intentional about which one he chose. Trying to get an answer out of her that wasn’t yes or no or annoyingly vague was like pulling teeth. So he played it safe and smart and threw her own question back at her.

“What’s yours?”

“What?”

“Favorite color.”

“Green.”

There was a small pause, and then her voice sounded again.

“Emerald green.”

“Huh, that’s not what I expected. Why?”

“It’s calming. It reminds me of something…something good.”

There was a hesitance in her tone, an uncertainty that made him stay quiet, picking up on the fact that she seemed like she wanted to say more but was conflicted about it. He wanted to know, so he gentled his own voice to give her a little push.

“Yeah? Like what?”

The silence that passed stretched for so long Matt thought she might have hung up on him, but then her voice came through, and it was the softest he’d ever heard it.

“I have these…glimpses I get sometimes. A place. A woman.”

The electricity buzzing throughout the building, the conversations happening on the floors above and below him, and even the lively sounds of the city outside seemed to fade completely as he solely focused on her voice.

Matt was hesitant to push too far and make her shut down. He didn’t know if she was intentionally being more honest to prove to him that she was trying and making an effort, or if the question brought up a memory she’d seemingly gotten lost in, but he was going to take full advantage of this rare moment.

“Are these…memories?”

“I think so. I think it’s where I grew up. Somewhere with a lot of trees and grass. Cherry blossoms. And the woman, I can’t really see her face, but I think she’s my mother.”

Matt never once stopped to think about where she came from, or who she was outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. He’d been so focused on who she was currently that he hadn’t even thought about who she had been. But that hint of grief was an almost imperceptible crack in her perfectly crafted exterior, and he recognized it.

Because he felt it, every single day. He’d been haunted by it ever since that tragic night that had left him completely alone in the world.

Matt let out a soft breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he tilted his head downwards.

“You lost her.”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was so quiet, and there was a rawness to it he wasn’t expecting. It was what he’d been wanting, but now that he had it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. For every answer she gave, he had thirteen more questions. He’d never had such a hard time trying to get a read on someone before.

“You know, I think that might be the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”

“I thought you knew when I was lying.”

A fleeting smile graced Matt’s lips, and as the volume of his voice lowered to match the sudden intimate nature of the conversation, his retort was interlaced with the truth that neither one of them seemed to find amusing.

“You’re a good liar.”

Another moment of silence passed before she spoke again.

“I was trained to be.”

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https-murdock · 10 days ago

Text

rough - matt murdock

summary: he knows you’ll let him take you any which way he wants to.

word count: 780

warning: ⚠️ p in v! (wrap it up!), dirty talk, slapping, choking, insults, ass play (i’m shy don’t mention it), rough sex, religious imagery (ish?)

note: a lil sequel to gentle! not related at all but i loved writing gentle so much <3 wanted to do a little best friend for her. hope ur all ok!!! love you x

you can feel it in everything. you can feel him in all of you.

the way his calloused fingers have wrapped themselves around your neck, gently yet strong enough to restrict it, enough for him to feel the pulse pounding underneath your skin.

“good girl, sweetie.” he’s growling, his other hand tapping the side of your face a few times, enough to grin when he hears you wail at the harsh contact. “so good for me when you let me take whatever i want, such a little slut for me, huh?”

his hips are keeping the same punishing pace, connecting with yours so hard that you know the neighbours can hear the headboard slamming against the wall - you just don’t care, he’s already fucked all the thoughts out of you.

“h-ple-“ the way you’re trying to speak amuses him, almost makes him laugh. his cock pushing it’s way against your cervix, eyes seeing white hot blotches and all you can do is let him take his anger out on your already sore pussy.

“ah, poor baby can’t even speak…” matt grins, letting his hand clutch tighter around your neck and listening to the noises that escape your throat underneath him. “told you not to wear those panties while i was gone… especially not to send me pictures while i can’t touch you. dirty slut.” he spits.

“matt please, god- please.” you let yourself beg, finally letting go of the fraction of pride you held so close to your chest, even when he’s buried so deep inside you it’s notching at your chest.

he knows for a fact you’re all his, right there and always wet enough for him to slide right in - to play with you, throw you around as much as he needs to according to how bad his day has been. matt is always hyper aware of the fact you’re always at his beck and call, willing to let him engulf you in so many ways.

“don’t use his name in vain, honey. you ask me. no one else, understand?” he can feel you nodding below him, hand finally moving - pounding pace not slowing even the slightest - as his fingers reach right to the back of your throat, and you can feel the way his cock swells inside you at the sounds you make. “only me, baby. only i can make you feel this way, correct?”

“yesyes, yes…” you splutter between gags, his hands still clawing at the back of your tongue and relishing in the sounds he’s pulling from you. your pussy accepting him so well, the sounds of your slick filling his bedroom. the fact that he’ll make you leave just after this, tell you that he’s busy and you can’t stay, has left your mind as you accept any attention or treatment you’ll get from someone like matt murdock.

“so willing to take me like this, so desperate.” he chuckles, deep voice drawling above you when you’re suddenly flipped, his arms lifting your hips up and spreading you apart so he can touch you in all the places he craves so badly. face down, you can’t watch him anymore, can’t anticipate what’s coming next - and you certainly don’t expect his finger to start rubbing at your tight little muscle, something he hasn’t done before.

sliding back into your heat, you feel his finger dip past the edge. “so tight everywhere aren’t you baby? all mine, all of your holes are all mine.”

“yes matt all yours, i’m all yours.” the words are still spilling from your lips like you have no control on what’s coming next. you’re not even fully aware of what comes next, body letting his ravage you with harsh and strong thrusts, not holding back from taking everything out on you. finger sliding in and out of your tight hole so slowly it sends you finally over the edge.

clenching around him so tightly he can barely keep pushing in, he growls “i didn’t say you could come, did i?” and he’s angry now, you can tell in the way his hand grips your hair, pulling backward to make you look at him, watch him. “pl- no, i’m sorry, so sorry… please come in-“ you begin the begging, knowing that your early release means you won’t be allowed the privilege of walking home and feeling him drip down your thighs.

“no, you’ll wait for me, i didn’t say you were allowed, so you don’t get what you want.” he grunts, finally pulling out and letting himself spill all over your back, other hand holding you open so he can push his cock between your cheeks.

“dirty bitch.”

tags 🏷️ -

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat @xoxabs88xox

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matthew murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matthew murdock smut #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil fanfic #marvel daredevil #daredevil marvel #daredevil born again #ddba

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kittenmurdock · 21 days ago

Text

Imagine Mean!Matt Murdock coming home from a rough day at work, seething with anger. Only 10 minutes pass by as you find yourself naked on the bed, face down and ass up. Matt has tied your wrists behind your back and your ankles together, attaching them to your wrists, leaving you in a hogtied position. Your mouth was gagged with his tie filling up your mouth, drooling soaking into the perfumed fabric.

Matt’s blind gaze settled on your naked form as he held onto the ropes, that restrained you, with one hand. “Cmon’ pup” he gruffly ordered as you started moving. Matt has ordered you to fuck yourself on his cock, while you were all helpless and tied up. Matt growled while clenching his jaw, feeling your dripping heat wrap around his cock. the sound skin slapping, and your quenching heat filling the room and bouncing off the walls. You moaned pathetically as you tried your best to fuck yourself on his still, strong standing form.

You squealed as Matt harshly slapped your ass. “You can do better than that!” he barked out. You whined and cried, your limbs aching from your restrains. Matt scoffed as he then grabbed your hair. “So pathetic you can’t even get yourself off” He growled as he then pressed your form onto the bed, his heavy body pressing against yours. Matt started rutting onto you roughly, using your hole as he pleased. You squirmed around as you saw the stars dimming your sight, the feeling his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you driving you to your climax.

You trembled and let out a choked scream as you came all over his cock, him following right behind you. “Fuck.. take all of it, feel how my spunk fills your slutty hole up.” He muttered into your ear gruffly as his cock shot out his warm load into your womb. His heaving body looming over yours as a bead of his sweat dripped down your cheek.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #murdock circle #thirst post #fuck this is kinky-#need him

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monicfever · 9 days ago

Note

How you think the punisher and DD characters would be with their s/o asking to move in with them

asking to move in 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / james wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

MATT pauses for a moment, trying to process it fully, because his brain short-circuits a little at the idea of someone wanting to share that much of their life with him.

“you really want to?” like he’s trying not to sound too hopeful but failing. you can hear the smile in his voice before you see it on his face. he probably acts cool about it but is internally spiraling in nervousness.

immediately starts thinking about how to make the apartment more comfortable for you, even if it means giving up some of his own habits or routines. asks if you want a drawer… and then the next day clears out half his closet without saying anything. lets your things blend into his space like they’ve always belonged.

listens to your footsteps echo in the apartment and thinks it already feels more like home.

has a brief moment of worry about you finding out how bad his insomnia really is, or how often he gets hurt, but ultimately decides you're worth the risk. starts sleeping a little better just knowing you're there.

makes you coffee in the morning even when he’s half-dead from a night out as daredevil.

listens to the sound of your key turning in the lock like it’s his favuorite song. gets irrationally proud when you call it “home” for the first time

the first time you fall asleep on his chest on the couch, he doesn’t move for hours, even if he’s stiff and sore, because it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. lets you steal all the blankets because he runs warm anyway.

hears your heartbeat when you're unpacking and notices the slight tremor of nerves — whispers, “me too”.

finds one of your socks in his drawer weeks later and smiles like an idiot all over again.

if you're out late, he pretends he's not listening for you on the street but he's absolutely tracking your every step once you’re a block away.

lets you put up art on the walls, even if he can’t see it, just because he knows it makes you happy. touches the wall near where you hung a photo and quietly asks, “what’s this one of?” with a smile that says he’s already memorizing where everything is, even if he can’t see it.

gets really self-conscious about how sparse and impersonal his place is — starts asking things like, “do you want to paint? get some real curtains?”

the first time you leave clothes on the floor, he trips over them and mutters a sarcastic, “great, love this part.” but you can hear the affection behind it.

the first time he comes back injured after you’ve moved in, he panics — not because he’s hurt, but because he doesn’t want you to see him like that. lets you patch him up anyway, quiet and vulnerable, murmuring “i’m sorry” over and over.

learns how to move around the apartment a little differently now, more careful, more attuned to your presence — even asleep, he always knows where you are.

the first time you kiss him goodbye on your way out in the morning, he stands there for a full minute afterward, grounding himself.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

FRANK goes completely still. like statue-still. doesn’t say anything right away because he’s not sure he heard you right. finally mutters something like, “you sure?” but his voice is rough and low, like he’s fighting back something big.

part of him wants to say no — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s scared he’ll ruin it. the other part of him, the part that remembers what peace used to feel like, is already picturing what your toothbrush would look like next to his.

doesn’t know how to ask what kind of stuff you’d need space for, so he just clears out an entire drawer and half the closet and pretends it was always like that. fixes the creaky step by the door before you even move in.

sharpens every knife in the kitchen. installs better locks. reinforces the windows. doesn’t tell you. just does it. the first time you fall asleep in his bed after moving in, he stays awake all night listening to your breathing like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

lets you put your books and blankets and candles around, even if it feels like too much softness at first — it grows on him. catches himself smiling when he sees your coffee mug in the sink. still sleeps with one eye open but it’s less about paranoia now and more about making sure you’re okay.

the first time he has a nightmare after you move in, he almost leaves in the middle of the night, but you hold onto him and he stays.

says “this place is yours too” and means it, even if it terrifies him doesn’t call it home out loud, but he feels it in his chest every time he walks through the door and you’re there.

starts cooking more, not just heating up canned stuff — actual meals, because you’re there and you deserve better. doesn’t say much when you rearrange the furniture a little, sits in the new spot on the couch without complaint like it was always meant to be that way.

silently memorizes the sound of your footsteps, your breathing, the way you hum when you’re making tea — tiny details he tucks away.

buys an extra blanket for the bed but claims it was “just lying around” — it’s new, and soft, and clearly for you. one day you catch him fixing the busted sink cabinet, muttering to himself like “can’t have you hurtin’ your damn knee on this thing” and it’s the most tender thing in the world.

gets weirdly possessive over your safety now that you're sharing a space — triple-checks locks, glances out the window every time he hears something.

he doesn’t say “i love you” easily — if at all — but you hear it in the way he says “you good?” every night before bed.

thinks about his old life sometimes, but now when he does, there’s less pain in the remembering and more hope in the now.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

FOGGY says “really??” with wide eyes and a grin before you even finish the sentence. immediately starts talking about how you can redecorate — “i was gonna get new pillows anyway. those old ones are criminal, and not in a cool-lawyer way.”

gets way too excited about sharing a grocery list, like “now we can buy milk together like adults!”

plays it cool but absolutely calls matt the second you leave the room like “guess who’s shacking up with someone way out of his league?”

genuinely proud when you bring over a toothbrush, like it’s a milestone. insists on cooking dinner the first night you officially move in. burns something. orders takeout. swears it was the plan all along

excited to show you every little part of the apartment like “and this — is the cabinet where i keep old soy sauce packets, but we can throw them out now.”

buys a “his & theirs” or “ours” type of mug even though you didn't ask for one. starts referring to things as “ours” before you do — our couch, our kitchen, our mess, our bed.

gives you a key and then immediately worries he made it too big a deal, so he plays it off like “no pressure, just... y'know. if you wanna come and go like a cool roommate who kisses me sometimes”

absolutely cries the first time you call it “home,” but tries to hide it by pretending there’s something in his eye. kisses your forehead while mumbling “can’t believe you’re stuck with me now” and means it.

starts labeling leftovers in the fridge with cute notes like ‘for you (but i’ll fight you for it).’

if you move even one thing slightly, he notices immediately but rolls with it — “did you move the couch a little? i love it. feng shui, baby.”

offers to build ikea furniture with you and somehow turns it into a romantic bonding experience instead of a war. brings home takeout with your favourite sides just because it’s thursday. starts referring to weekends as ‘us days.’

you catch him watching you with this stupidly soft look when you’re folding laundry or doing something completely ordinary. 100% keeps a mental inventory of your snacks and restocks them without being asked.

your first mini-argument about something dumb (like which way the toilet paper goes) ends with him making a dramatic legal defense for his side — complete with opening statements.

finds excuses to say “our place” as often as possible — “our place could use a plant, don’t you think? we’re plant people now.”

if you leave town even for a day, he immediately texts “this apartment is haunted by your absence” and sends sad selfies with your pillow.

you once casually mention you like soft lighting and the next day there are like three new lamps and he’s pretending it was totally normal behavior.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

KAREN goes quiet for a second, her heart stutters at the idea of being chosen like this. looks at you with this wide, soft gaze and says “are you sure?” but you can already see the yes blooming behind her eyes.

she smiles right away but her eyes flicker, like she’s flipping through every time she’s let someone in and gotten hurt. she says yes gently, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud it’ll scare the moment away.

later that night, when she’s alone, she stares at the corner of her apartment and starts mentally rearranging furniture just to make room for you.

the first night you bring a few things over, she’s buzzing with nervous energy — lighting candles, fluffing pillows, asking “do you want this side of the bed or that one?” three times.

she overthinks everything — are you comfortable? is it too soon? does it smell weird in here? what if you hate how she folds towels?

she insists on doing a “tour” even though it’s a small apartment — shows you the squeaky kitchen drawer, the window that fogs up in the morning, her favourite mug. the first time you brush teeth side by side, she watches your reflection in the mirror and feels this quiet little thrill in her chest.

she’s careful about letting you into her routines, but once you’re in, you’re in — she brings you coffee with exactly the right amount of sugar and leaves notes on the mirror in the morning.

gets a little nervous about being “too much”—too messy, too intense, too late-night-working— but when you reassure her, she melts.

lights candles at night to make it cozy, and always puts on soft music while you’re both unwinding. loves grocery shopping with you. makes it a whole date. argues playfully over which pasta is best.

if you have a rough day, she’ll cook something simple and grounding, even if she’s tired, and sit cross-legged on the floor with you to eat.

tells foggy immediately and with so much joy in her voice that he tears up a little.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

ELEKTRA laughs at first — not unkindly, but like you’ve caught her off guard, like you just suggested something absurd. “you want to live with me?” she says, smiling with a raised brow, but there's a flicker of something behind it — fear, maybe. or wonder.

“you’re either very brave… or very stupid.” but her voice is gentler than her words. doesn’t say yes right away. needs time to sit with it. she’s not used to people wanting to stay, let alone being allowed to stay.

the first time she sees you carrying a bag into her place, her heart jumps like a startled bird — but she keeps her face calm, cool, unreadable acts like it’s not a big deal. like your toothbrush beside hers is just “convenient.” like your jacket on her chair doesn’t make her chest ache in a good way.

rearranges nothing. if you want space, you have to carve it out yourself — but once you do, she never touches it. it’s yours.

the first time you bring her coffee in the morning, she stares at it like it’s a weapon she doesn’t know how to disarm.

tries to hide her affection in sarcasm — “what, planning to redecorate now?” — but her fingers brush against yours a little too long when you hand her something.

she lets you see her vulnerabilities in small fleeting moments. when she comes back after a mission, her expression softens when she sees you sitting on the couch waiting for her, and she doesn’t hide the relief that hits her. when you catch her staring at you across the room, she looks away quickly, but the warmth in her eyes is undeniable — like she’s finally allowed herself to belong somewhere.

if you ever say “i love you,” she’ll freeze for a moment, then give you that sharp, half-smile that means she’s feeling things she can’t put into words. she never says it back in those moments — not because she doesn’t feel it, but because she’s not sure how to show it without breaking.

the quiet is important to her. too much noise and she’ll retreat — go for a walk, meditate, or just sit in silence until she can breathe again. intimacy is still new to her. she doesn’t always know how to be tender when things are calm. she’s used to chaos, violence.

in the evenings, after a long day, she’s still a little restless. she’ll either pace around or dive into her training — anything to keep the adrenaline in check — but she never minds when you join her, even if it’s just sitting in the same room, offering quiet support.

she’s always late to bed, lingering in the quiet of the night with thoughts that won’t settle, but you’ve learned to meet her halfway. you stay up just a little longer, keeping her company, offering the presence she craves but never asks for.

she doesn’t ask you to stay. she dares you to. and when you do, she looks at you like you’re the first person in the world who’s ever passed her test.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

DEX, at first, would freeze. completely caught off guard. it’s not something he’s ever really considered. he’s used to being alone, isolated, and the idea of someone sharing his space would set off alarms in his head. part of him is thrilled by the idea, but another part feels like he's being asked to open a door he’s been desperately trying to keep closed.

he’d try to play it cool, maybe give a half-hearted smile, and act like it’s not a big deal, but you’d see the tension in his posture, the slight shift in his eyes, betraying his nerves. he wouldn’t be used to sharing space, and while he’d agree (hesitantly), he’d quickly start obsessing over everything — every little thing you might change or touch.

moving in with him would require adjustments for you. his place is sparse, cold, slightly clinical — some things are arranged in odd, very specific ways. any changes you make, even small ones, would throw him off, and he is not going to be the type to adapt.

he tries so hard to be easy to live with. washes dishes right after eating. folds your laundry just the way you like. buys the same brand of everything you use because he doesn’t want to mess it up. but when things go out of rhythm — when you go out of rhythm — his chest tightens. the world tilts. and he doesn’t know how to ask, “did i do something wrong?” so he just hovers, waiting for the routine to return

he'd ask for boundaries almost immediately, perhaps too early, like he’s putting walls up before they’ve even begun to come down.

he never outright says “i need you to stay on schedule,” but you can feel it. the way his body goes tight when you skip breakfast, the way his voice flattens when you cancel plans last minute. like you’ve disrupted something crucial to his sense of control. when you do stay consistent — when you fall into routine naturally — he relaxes. he’s all quiet humming, fingers brushing yours while passing a mug, lingering in the doorway just to watch you exist.

there’s an underlying unease to everything he does: the way he watches you unpack, the way he hovers when you move something slightly out of place, like he’s hyper-aware of every decision being made. he’d definitely have moments of intensity when you both adjust to this new dynamic. any accidental miscommunication or small thing would make him tense up, on edge because it feels like he’s walking on thin ice.

he’d have a very hard time with the idea of you being “permanent,” and may subconsciously sabotage the idea out of fear of getting too close. he might withdraw without explanation, acting distant to see if you’ll leave, just to test how much you’re willing to stay. eventually, he’d start letting down the walls in small ways: leaving his phone unlocked for you to use if you need it, letting you use his bathroom products, giving you a drawer for your things.

he notices every single thing you do. how you fold your socks. what side of the bed you take. the sound of your toothbrush against the sink. it becomes part of his routine. part of the structure he builds around himself to stay okay. he starts checking if the stove is off twice instead of three times because your voice in the kitchen grounds him faster than his rituals ever could.

incredibly routine-oriented. if you mess with the order of things — dishes, towels, what shelf the mugs go on — he doesn’t say anything at first, but you’ll catch him quietly moving them back later. doesn’t like a lot of clutter. your stuff slowly migrating into his space freaks him out at first. not because he doesn’t want you there, but because change makes him feel like he’s losing control.

he has comfort habits; like lining up his keys just so, or triple-checking the locks. if you ask he’ll downplay it, but if you don’t ask and just let him do it, he relaxes around you faster.

he doesn’t just notice your routine — he memorizes it. down to the minute. how long your showers take, what time you usually eat, which sock you put on first. if anything changes, even slightly, he feels it in his body like a system glitch.

he builds his entire day around you without realizing it. he starts syncing his schedule to yours — when you wake up, when you brush your teeth, when you leave for work. if you're five minutes late one morning, he gets stuck staring at the door like it personally betrayed him. your habits become sacred. you like honey in your tea? he’ll keep three kinds in the cupboard just in case one runs out. you hum while folding laundry? he starts doing it too. not on purpose, it just imprints.

he keeps a mental archive of everything that soothes you. what music you put on when you’re sad. how you like your blankets folded. the exact temperature you set the thermostat to. and then starts applying it before you ask, like clockwork. if you ask how he knew you needed something, he just says, “i pay attention,” but he won’t tell you that he’s been tracking it for weeks.

if you act off routine — oversleep, cry out of nowhere, forget to eat — he goes into full quiet panic mode. he won’t bombard you with questions, but he’ll hover close, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for the threat he thinks he missed.

he starts sleeping better with you there. deeper. more still. but only if you’re facing him. if you turn away he wakes up every time. when you fall asleep on the couch, he sits nearby on the floor, just watching you breathe. hand resting on the edge of the cushion like he’s guarding you. like if he lets go, something bad will happen.

he'll try not to be clingy but the fact is, the closer you get, the more obsessive his behavior can become. you’ll notice him lingering in rooms just to be near you, watching your every move, constantly ensuring that you’re comfortable and safe. If something’s off he can go into a spiral. that gnawing fear of losing you.

and when you look at him with soft eyes and say, “i love being here with you,” his throat goes tight. “yeah?” like it’s fragile. like it might vanish.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

BILLY’S first reaction is a practiced, easy smile. cool, smooth. "you really want to?" he sounds confident — playful, even — but his heart stutters like it just got clipped by a bullet. there’s a flicker behind his eyes. one second of real vulnerability before it’s buried under charisma.

he says yes. of course he does. but internally? he’s spiraling. he’s spent his whole life building walls lined with silk and marble, and now you’re asking to step inside.

he makes it look effortless. he wants this to feel like it was always going to happen. “it’s your place too now, sweetheart.” he says with that soft, smirking charm — but deep down, he’s bracing for you to change your mind.

the penthouse is pristine. expensive. cold. and when you move in, he watches your stuff disrupt that carefully polished perfection—and he loves it more than he knows how to say. a mug you leave on the counter? he stares at it for a second longer than he should. your shoes by the door? he steps around them like they’re sacred.

he keeps acting cool — laughs when you accidentally drop a sock in the hallway, rolls his eyes when you leave a light on — but every time you do something domestic, his chest gets tighter in a way he’ll never admit out loud.

starts getting scared of loving it too much. of waking up next to you and thinking, this could be forever, and then remembering that forever’s never been kind to him.

he’s obsessive about protecting you now. starts double-checking locks, adding security, keeping a closer eye on who’s around you. he won’t call it paranoia, but you know what it is. his trauma simmers underneath it all. on nights he can’t sleep, he’ll go out onto the balcony, staring at the skyline like it owes him answers. when you come out and wrap your arms around him, he just leans into you silently. he’s still afraid you’ll leave. that you’ll see the cracks under the surface — the mess he hides under suits and soft lighting — and walk away.

so he starts giving you pieces of himself, slowly. a key. his favourite hoodie. his real laugh, unpolished and unguarded

“honey, im home.” in that frustratingly charming voice when he’s trying to be annoying.

mornings are quiet. not cold, just muted. he’s already been awake for a while, sipping espresso by the window in a robe that’s way too expensive, staring out like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only he can see. but the second he hears you stir, he softens. brings you coffee without asking, knows exactly how you take it. kisses the top of your head like he’s done it forever. never says good morning like a normal person. always some variation of “hey, gorgeous.” or “you sleep okay, baby?” — and it sounds like velvet every time.

he watches you move around the kitchen like it’s art. like it calms something in him. you’re the only chaos he allows inside his perfect little world.

when he’s had a bad day, he won’t say anything. just drops onto the couch beside you and pulls you onto him like you’re an anchor. you let him sit in the silence until he’s ready to breathe again.

he can’t cook. not well. but he insists on making you dinner at least once a week — usually ends with a half-burned something and him going, “okay, maybe i’m more of a reservation guy.”

he gets weirdly attached to your routines. like, if you skip a skincare step one night, he notices. “no moisturizer?” he asks, faux-casual, but he’s already reaching for the bottle.

he never says it directly, but being with you day to day makes him feel human. like maybe he’s more than the wreckage he came from. and when you say “i love living with you,” his whole body stills. like it’s too much. like it hurts. then he touches your face, gently, reverently, and says, “you have no idea how much that means to me.”

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

DINAH blinks. once. twice. like she didn’t hear you right the first time. “you serious?” half-laughing, half-deflecting, because that’s easier than letting her heart show on her face.

the truth is: she’s wanted you there. for a while. but she didn’t think she was allowed to want that kind of softness. she probably tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. “sure. yeah. we can try it.” but you can see the way her shoulders drop just a little. like a weight she didn’t know she was carrying slipped off.

she spends the next week obsessing over logistics. where your stuff will go. whether her place is “too small.” acts like she’s just being practical, but really, she’s panicking under the surface. she doesn’t share space easily. she’s used to her solitude. used to walking around guarded even in her own home. so with you she tries. she wants to let you in, even if her hands shake while doing it.

clears a drawer, then a second one. gives you the better side of the closet. buys you your own toothbrush holder without saying a word. still doesn’t let you see her cry. not yet. not even when you set a mug down beside her while she’s working late and kiss the top of her head.

every time she comes home and hears you moving around in the apartment, she exhales without realizing it. like her body’s been holding tension all day and finally gets to release it. she’s not great at domesticity, but she tries. starts making dinner with you, folds your laundry and pretends she’s not secretly proud of it all.

when you fall asleep on the couch, she puts a blanket over you and sits beside you in the dark, sipping wine and watching whatever you left on the tv. doesn’t even care what it is. she just wants to be near you.

still keeps parts of herself locked up tight, files and folders and grief she never talks about. but every now and then, she lets you see the cracks “i’m not .. easy to live with,” she says one night, eyes on the floor.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

WESLEY doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stutter. just tilts his head slightly like he’s calculating what this means, how it fits into the long-term picture he already started building with you months ago. “you want to?” he says it low, like he’s double-checking, not because he’s surprised, because he wants to be sure.

you nod, and he’s quiet for a second too long. then he smiles, small and private, like something just slotted perfectly into place. “okay.” simple. certain. like he’s already rearranging his entire life in his head and doesn’t see a single downside.

he’d already been making room for you before you asked. subtle shifts. an extra set of your preferred wine glasses. drawer space you hadn’t noticed yet. everything is done intentionally. he doesn’t rush anything, but by the time you bring over your first overnight bag, there’s already a place for every item.

he doesn’t just make room for your things — he blends them into the space like they’ve always belonged. a book you left out gets bookmarked and stacked next to his. your jacket ends up hanging beside his tailored coat. if you move something, even if it’s out of place, he leaves it there. memorizes the change. adjusts.

he notices everything. the way your keys sound when you drop them on the counter, your mood when you walk in, what kind of music means you had a long day. you come home once and he’s already poured your favourite drink, sat it on the table, like he’s been waiting for that exact version of you.

he doesn’t show affection with grand gestures, he shows it in consistency. in remembering. in placing himself exactly where you need him to be without being asked.

at night, he watches you read, or wash your face, or fold laundry like it’s a scene he wants to etch into stone. like it’s the first thing that’s ever felt like peace.

he keeps your schedule memorized. he knows when you’re home, when you’re late, when you’re off. if something’s wrong he’s already halfway to fixing it before you even mention it.

he lets you talk through your day at dinner while he listens, always with quiet focus. occasionally he’ll offer insight or dry commentary, but mostly he’s content to just hear you speak.

he doesn’t nag about tidiness, he just fixes things without a word. your charger’s always plugged in. the pantry stays stocked with what you love. if you leave something out — like a sweater on the back of a chair — he’ll leave it there until you wear it again. he’s waiting to see if that was part of your pattern.

when you’re sick, he takes time off without being asked. “don’t argue,” he’ll say, slipping a blanket over your legs. “you’d do the same.” when he’s sick, he pretends he’s fine. but the minute you touch his forehead and tell him to sit down, he obeys without a word. only for you.

he buys expensive soap you mentioned liking once. replaces your pillow when you say your neck’s been sore. upgrades the apartment’s security without telling you. at night, he reads next to you, one hand resting on your thigh.

when you call it “home,” he just gives you this look — soft, quiet, intense. like he’s storing the word away somewhere deep

★ a / n : i didn’t add muse to this one bc im sick asf and tired but if somebody wants me to add him just leave a comment and i can come up with smth no biggie

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.28.2025.

( masterlist. )

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chiosblog · 2 years ago

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Priceless

#face/murdock #sorry facedock again #templeton 'face' peck #hm murdock #facedock #they are my comfort ship now so bear with me pls #domestic fluff #mlm fluff #'priceless' come from one of the best mv of them I saw on yt #it made me feel things #why am i so damn emotional over them??#the a team #my art stuff

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pastafossa · 9 months ago

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"Do I Need To Beg?" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

Right so like a lot of other people, I saw that leaked trailer and had thots, mostly about Matt's new beard, and much like my thoughts on his coat, none of these thots are pure. This is pure fucking sin, in other words, one of the filthier things I've written, so scroll past if that's not your thing. Also thank you to my friends over in the Murdock's Tuna Team server, ya'll are the best fucking enablers ever.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

“Welcome home, Mrs. Murdock,” he purred darkly, lazily dragging his tongue across his lips in a way that told you, quite clearly, what he was imagining. “If you need to shower or drink a glass of water, do it now. Because the second you enter this bedroom, you’re mine for the rest of the night. And I have no intention of letting you go until I’ve had my fill.”

Wordcount: 4.1k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: oral f!receiving and a LOT of it like this is literally just a love letter to bearded Matt eating you out (Matt retains his 😺eating crown), brief oral m!receiving, Dom!Matt, Sub!Reader, bondage, overstimulation, subspace, dirty talk, PiV towards the end, Matt's new fucking BEARD none of us are ok

Matt with an oral fixation incoming, here have this:

Your trip out of town had lasted longer than you’d initially expected.

Initially you'd only planned to be gone for ten days, but ten had abruptly been extended to an irritating fourteen with little notice. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything you could do about it, though Matt had reassured you over the phone that it was fine. While he missed you dearly and would have vastly preferred you back home and in his arms, he understood that things were out of your control. However, he did have one more thing to say before you’d both given your goodbyes, something that wound up eating at you for the rest of your trip in all the best ways.

“Besides,” he’d murmured. “It’ll give me a little more time to work on my surprise for you.”

What that surprise was had been a mystery, one he’d smugly refused to reveal no matter how much you’d tried to pry it out of him over the ensuing phone calls. It couldn’t have been a gift for your next wedding anniversary, which was still a few months away. Nor was it your birthday, or Valentine’s Day. As best you could guess, this was just one of those moments when Matt decided to give you something, just because he could, just because he wanted to, no prompting needed. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with him, one more thread in the tapestry made from all the many reasons you loved him.

However, on the list of things you’d expected to find when you finally made it home, you hadn’t thought to include Matt standing shirtless in the bedroom doorway, his sweats slung low on his hips, his hair still damp from his shower. One corner of his mouth curled up into a wicked smirk, and oh, he knew. He knew, or he’d at least suspected what your response would be to his surprise, and you drew in a sharp intake of breath.

He’d grown a beard.

You raked your gaze over it, taking in the way it seemed to change the angles of his jaw and his face, somehow adding a dangerous edge to his smile. What was more, there were little patches of grey scattered amidst the dark of it. You had no idea why, but something about those threads of silver only added to the building heat between your thighs, a fire that had started the second you’d seen him standing casually in the doorway, his beautiful body on open display just for you.

How would it feel to touch him, cradle his jaw in your hands now?

How would it feel when he pressed his lips to yours, to your throat?

And how would it feel as he made his way down, down, down, the rough scrape of his beard lighting you up as he drifted towards one of his favorite places on your body?

Your shiver drew a rumble of satisfaction from him. He slowly rolled his head back, inhaling deeply, clearly savoring the scent of your arousal.

You were pretty sure you’d never downed a glass of water and gotten into the shower so quick in your life.

Matt kept his promise. The second you stepped out of the bathroom, he was on you, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar sensation as he caught your face between his hands and pressed his mouth hungrily to yours. That wild kiss didn’t stop at just one, your lips separating only to meet again a half-breath later, over and over again. The two of you only grew more frantic with every second that passed, hips beginning to rock, bodies swaying towards each other, until you were both left gasping, frantic and breathless, hands groping desperately across whatever bared skin either of you could reach.

“Bed.” The word was a low growl against your lips, his hand wound loosely around your throat, one thumb up under the hinge of your jaw to force your head back for him. One of your hands, meanwhile, had slipped back and down beneath the hem of his sweats, blatantly groping at the thick curve of his ass. He let out a rough groan that you eagerly swallowed down, the skin around your mouth already burning from the rasp of his beard where it had rubbed against you. “Fuck—Bed. Now.”

He wasn’t going to get an argument from you.

It was a short, stumbling walk from there to the bedroom. Neither of you bothered to keep your hands off each other, your fingers fisting in his damp hair as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to that special spot under your jaw that made your legs shake, Matt seemingly eager to drink the remaining droplets of water from your skin. You should have guessed his plans when you noticed the towel on the bed. But it was hard to focus with the tantalizing burn of his new beard dragging across the delicate skin of your throat, and with the taste and scent and touch of him filling your senses after a long two weeks apart. It felt like there was nothing in the world but him, nothing but the scent of cinnamon and copper and salt, the warmth of it so rich you couldn’t help but gasp with it as he herded you backwards until at last, you both found the bed.

The world lurched, and just like that you were pinned beneath him, the broad, heavy weight of him easily trapping you against the mattress, not that you minded. Your ragged moan of his name seemed to hang in the air, your fingers still tangled in his hair. God, your cunt was practically dripping already as you lifted your hips, trying to rock up against him in invitation. You'd been thinking of this the entire time you'd showered. He had to have sensed it. “Matt, sweetheart, please.” “I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he purred in your ear, his breath a rush of burning embers before he started down your body. The moment he reached your bare breasts, he pressed his face between them, the rasp of his beard making you shiver. He inhaled deeply, dragging your scent deep into his lungs. That inhale led to a hitched, delighted moan, his hips rocking down against the mattress. Without warning, he turned his head and eagerly drew one of your nipples into his mouth. The greedy suction of his mouth when paired with the bristling scratch of his facial hair made you whine, writhing as best you could where you were trapped beneath the heavy weight of muscle and bone. But despite the way you offered up your chest in invitation, he had other plans, quickly releasing your breast to slide further down your body. His voice dropped into something low and sinful, then, soft as silk against your skin. “And I’ve missed this sweet pussy of yours, sweetheart.” He placed a tender, innocent kiss against your hip, the gentle nature of it at direct odds with the obscenity of his words. It was a combination that left you burning up, your breath hitching as he pointedly lifted one of your legs to drape it easily over his shoulder. He directed his blank gaze back up towards your own, his lips curling up into a feral grin. “So I’m going to see how many times I can make you come with my mouth tonight. And I’m not stopping until you’ve soaked everything underneath you.”

Oh god—

Your eager moan and the fresh flood of arousal between your legs was the only answer he needed. He let out a quiet hiss before diving in, his tongue burying itself between your folds for one heavy lap up your cunt, the first taste of you he’d had in weeks. And with a rough moan that matched yours in volume, he threw one arm over your hips, and settled in.

And there he stayed, his face buried between your thighs, for hours.

You lost track of your orgasms after you came for the third time, three of his fingers hilted deep inside you, his tongue lapping firmly, determinedly at your clit. It had been impossible to resist between that and the rhythmic, rough scrape of his beard against the inside of your thighs—a sweet-edged pain you were quickly growing addicted to. You came so hard you saw spots at the edge of your vision, came so hard you left a puddle on the towel beneath you, your startled cry loud enough to wake the neighbors. Your brain didn’t even know what to do with that kind of pleasure, your thighs snapping shut around his head, your whole body writhing as the pleasure washed over you in uneven waves.

But Matt didn’t so much as slow. If anything, he simply opened his mouth wider, drank from you even faster, swallowing down that flood as if you were the sweetest of wines. The moment he tasted your orgasm, one that drenched his beard and mouth, his eyes snapped shut, his hips bucking against the mattress. A wild, shaky moan tore from his throat as he came with you, soaking his sweats, the rhythm of his mouth growing clumsy and uneven.

Yet still, he didn’t stop, despite the fact you'd both come. All it took was a few breaths before he was back at it. He seemed almost mindless now, focused only on taking, greedy and insatiable as he forced your body and his to start the climb yet again.

You lost control over your body not long after, your reactions instinctive and uncoordinated. Somehow you found your hands back in his hair, soft, sweat-soaked strands sliding through your fingers. You weren’t sure what you meant to do then, whether you wanted to push him away from your overstimulated body or pull him in even closer, ride his face the way you wanted. Either way, he wound up deciding for you.

“Seems to me like someone can’t control herself.” He braced one hand firmly against your abdomen, and though he couldn’t see you, you still felt pinned by his gaze and the almost drunken little quirk of his lips. Even in the low light, you could see how his beard and mouth glistened, slick with the taste of you. “Do you need the rope, sweetheart? Do you want me to help you?”

There wasn’t a chance in the world of you remaining still without that rope, not if he intended to keep going. And you both knew it.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed as he clumsily rose from his place between your legs. Despite the lingering oversensitivity in your body, the sudden absence of his mouth still made you whimper. You just—you needed more, the promise of it keeping the tide of your arousal from fully easing.

“What a good girl, admitting you need help,” he crooned, crawling up the bed far enough to reach the nightstand, pausing only to brush his lips against yours, the scent of your sex clinging heavily to his beard and mouth. He opened the drawer and dug around for a moment, until he finally drew free a length of red silk rope, testing it out in his hand. Once he was satisfied, he began to loop the rope around your wrists. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you can’t move. Because I meant what I said. I’m not letting you up until I’m finished with you, and I’m nowhere near done, sweetheart.”

The moment your wrists were properly tied, he placed his knees on either side of you, rising up to hook the length of rope to the hook set into the wall. But that put something else within reach of your mouth, and all the grinding he’d done against the bed had managed to drag his soaked sweats down just far enough to expose his cock. He was already half-hard again, the head slick and dripping, flushed dark and tempting.

In that moment, you needed to taste it.

The noise he made as you darted your head forward and took the tip of him into your mouth was inhuman, one part choked gasp and one part snarl. You suckled at the broad head eagerly, rapid little licks of your tongue against his slit to draw out more of the precum leaking steadily into your mouth, trying to get as much as you could before he could stop you. He wound up hunched over the top of you, one hand braced against the wall, the other fisted in your hair to hold you against him. And the harder you sucked, the more his rough growls and snarls shifted into high moans and soft little whines, his hips bucking instinctively, helplessly forward, pressing his cock deeper into the warm, welcoming wet heat of your mouth. Even those powerful thighs of his started to shake.

If you did this right, he’d come in no time at all.

But it was the creak of the ropes as you instinctively reached for him that seemed to snap him out of it.

Just like that, your head was wrenched back by his hand in your hair, his cock sliding free from your lips with a wet pop, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, and down onto your chest as you stared blearily up at him. Chest heaving, dark eyes burning, he slowly leaned down until his lips hovered mere millimeters from yours. But even though his lips hadn’t made contact, his beard did, the faintest brush of bristling hairs tickling against your overheated skin until you couldn’t help but moan.

“And this,” he grit out, “is why you’re being tied: because you can’t keep your hands or your mouth to yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you whined, trying to nuzzle at him in apology. He dodged your mouth, his hand tightening in your hair in warning. This time, at least, you listened, rolling your head back into his touch, trying to make up for what you’d done, submit like he wanted. “I’m sorry, Matt. I just wanted a taste, I needed you so bad.”

“If you’d asked like a good girl, maybe I’d have given it to you. Now you’re going to have to make it up to me.” He abruptly let go of your hair, climbing back down your body, ignoring the way you thrashed and twisted. Once he was back in place, he roughly shoved your thighs apart, dropping back down between your legs like he belonged there, claiming that space for himself. “Do I need to beg?” you choked out, practically shaking when he caught the thin, delicate skin of your inner thigh between his teeth, sucking hard. He lingered there for a long moment as you moaned and yanked desperately on the ropes, but it was no use. He was in control, not you, and you knew he wouldn’t let go until he’d left his mark, claiming this part of your body that belonged to only him. But what you weren’t expecting was for him to let go… and then tip his head, sliding his cheek, and his beard along the newly sensitive skin. The burn of it sent you soaring, your cunt clenching around nothing, your back arching as you tried to offer your core up to his mouth. “I’ll beg! God, I will, Matt, just—” “I don’t need you to beg,” he growled, his lips curling until he’d bared his teeth. “I need you to scream.”

Then his mouth latched onto your cunt again, relentless and inescapable no matter how much you writhed. It was torture, madness of the best kind, and it wasn’t long before something in your mind began to unravel, drawn right down out of your body and into his mouth to be swallowed down the Devil's greedy throat.

Things… got a little blurry after that.

There was no tracking the time, not when one orgasm melded into the next, minutes and hours falling away beneath the merciless lap of Matt’s skilled tongue, the brutal curl of his thick fingers, the rough scrape of his beard against your thighs and cunt until everything burned with pleasure and pain that turned the edges of your vision a fractured white. There was no outside world, no thought left in your mind but his name, nothing but the mountains he dragged your increasingly exhausted body up, and the swift fall when he mercilessly shoved you over the edge, over and over and over until you were ready to lose your mind.

“Matt!” you sobbed, wrenching hard at the ropes binding your wrists. It didn’t make one bit of difference, the rope firm and unyielding where you were bound. Down between your legs, Matt slurped hungrily, drunkenly at your cunt, his face and throat drenched with your slick, a wide puddle on the towel beneath the place where his mouth connected to your body. The burn of his beard was almost unbearable now, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You weren’t even sure he could hear you at this point, his eyes glazed over and glassy, the broad laps at your slit and clit so instinctive and clumsy that you were half convinced he was lost in the same place you were, drunk off the taste of your pussy, off your repeated orgasms and pheromones that he’d been drenched in.

Another finger joined the three he already had buried deep inside you. He’d been at this so long that your body parted for him with little issue, and god, god, you were so goddamn full, so trapped in the haze that all you could do was choke out another sob as all four of his fingertips rubbed firmly at that spot inside you. You were too tired even to close your legs around his head, but you could feel it—that final orgasm curling hot and inescapable inside you, so close now you could taste the fractured shards of it, tears streaming down your cheeks as your eyes snapped shut.

“I think maybe you earned that taste you wanted,” he slurred, kissing lovingly at your clit like he might a lover, his lips parted just far enough to let his tongue brush against you. And god, it almost hurt, it hurt, your body so far beyond oversensitivity that even that light touch hit you like a bolt of lightning, your body jolting. “Not that you can answer me now. Or can you?”

All you could give him was a mindless whine.

He chuckled, working his free hand down beneath himself as he lifted his hips. His mouth dropped open a moment later, face going slack against your cunt before he moaned loudly, his shoulder shifting rhythmically beneath your thigh, his eyes rolling shut. Was he—

He drew his hand up a moment later with a purr, his fingers now smeared and sticky with both your wetness and his, glistening softly in the low light. “What do you say, sweetheart? Would you like a taste? Because I would.”

You whimpered, tugging mindlessly at the ropes, and you—yes, yes, but your tongue couldn’t seem to quite form the word yes, because he still had the fingers of his other hand buried inside you, rubbing steadily at the spot that made you see stars. God, please, the mere thought of tasting your combined flavors on your tongue had you almost mad, your body a hairs-breadth away from coming. All you needed was a nudge—a brush of him at your clit, the taste of him on your tongue, and you’d tip over the edge.

He clearly knew it, too. And you thought-you’d thought he would be offering his hand as he dipped back down to your cunt, but instead, he pulled his soaked fingers free from you with a sigh. Your cry was a broken thing, something thick with grief at feeling so empty when you were so close, more tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Shh, you’re alright, sweetheart, don't cry,” he crooned gently, hushing you as he crawled up over your body, nuzzling at your sweat-soaked skin. “Don’t worry. It’s only for a second. I won’t leave you empty. I promise. Almost done. Almost there. One more for me. You’re going to give me one more, honey.” But how, when you were so empty, when you didn’t have his mouth or his fingers, lost and—

He groaned as he began to slide his thick cock inside you. You’d been stretched so open by his fingers, by all of your orgasms over the past few hours, that he entered you with a delicious ease. The sloppy, wet squelch of his cock as he slid inside you would have made your cheeks burn if you’d had any sense left.

“Shit,” he moaned, one hand braced beside your head, fisting in the sheets. One rock of his hips and he was buried as deep as he could reach, your cunt clenching around him as if it were trying to keep him there. You were too exhausted to lift your legs and lock them around his hips. All you could do was gasp and accept him, your eyes rolled back as you hovered on the edge. “Nn, there you go, sweetheart. There we go. Nice and-and full. Hold on just a little longer for me. Open your mouth, honey.”

You parted your lips instantly, long past resisting, long past thinking.

His fingers stroked gently against your tongue a moment later, allowing you to take in the combined musky taste of yourself, the bitter richness of his cock, and how it mingled and melded with the taste of his skin.

“Suck for me like a good girl,” he murmured, his other hand rising to wipe away a few of your tears. Once that was done, he settled his hand around your throat, as if he wanted to feel it when you swallowed. “Go on, sweetheart. You can have it.”

You curled your tongue around his fingers, drawing them deep into your mouth with a grateful moan. The explosion of it across your tongue as you swallowed, the sheer obscenity of it, made you choke out a broken cry. His fingers were yanked back a moment later only to be replaced by his tongue snaking lazily into your open mouth, blatantly chasing your paired tastes with a filthy moan. All of it rolled up over you at once—his cock sliding up against that spot inside you, the whisper of pressure around your throat as his massive hand closed around it, the angle of his hips that let his body grind against your clit, the paired taste of you both filling your mouth as his tongue curled against yours, but…

It was the harsh scrape of his beard against your skin that pushed you over the edge.

Later, you wouldn’t remember the noise you made as you came, your body seizing as your orgasm slammed into you in one sudden rush. Your body went rigid, back bowing off the bed so sharply you felt something pop, your head thrown back as you lost yourself beneath a roaring tide of pleasure. Because this-this wasn’t something you rode, something you swam with, something that swept over you gently. This was something you survived, something you choked beneath, drowned beneath. You barely heard Matt’s shout, didn’t even notice the spreading heat as he came with you in slick pulses of warmth. You heard even less his slurred words of encouragement against your lips as your orgasm lingered in waves that just didn’t end, and you couldn't, you couldn't—

“There you go. Good girl, good girl, so good for me, let it all go sweetheart, I’ve got you, good gi—”

You weren’t quite sure where your mind went, then. But things cut out for a while.

How long you tapped out for was a mystery, the world around you faded into a soft black. All you knew was that when you finally floated back up from that quiet sea, your senses coming back to you one by one, Matt was there, your limp body cradled warmly against his chest. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, the sounds distant and still a little warped as he rocked you gently. He had to have untied you at some point, you thought blearily, since he was holding you now, his back against the headboard, your head tucked down against his neck. “Come on back, honey. Time to come back for me.”

You made a soft little noise of acknowledgement in your throat, all you really felt capable of at the moment, your eyes fluttering half open.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he hummed, nuzzling down warmly against your hair. One of his hands swept steadily up and down your arm, sensation that helped ground you, along with the easy rhythm of his breathing as he held you, the rasp of his skin against yours. “There you are, my good girl. You did so good, honey. Now you’ve got it. Take it slow. Breathe with me."

“Mmm.”

"That works." He huffed a quiet laugh, tipping your slack head back until he could brush his lips against your forehead. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your body feeling a bit like all your bones had just up and wandered off. Maybe Matt had sucked them out of you. “I got eight out of you tonight if you can believe it. A new record.”

“It’s,” you slurred thickly, “the… beard. I love it.”

“I figured. And now I'm definitely going to keep it.” He nuzzled at you again, lifting one of your hands so he could knead gently at your wrist where you’d been tied. You'd probably have some bruises tomorrow considering how hard you'd yanked at the ties, but you'd wear them with pride. You always did. “And now you get the full aftercare treatment. Water, a snack, maybe a massage and a lot of cuddling before you fall asleep. I almost thought about drawing you a bath, but I’m not quite sure I trust you not to accidentally slide down into the water right now, even with me holding you.”

“...Fair.” You sleepily mashed your face against his throat, drawing the musky scent of sex and his skin deep into your lungs. You were still floating to a certain extent, your body sore and exhausted, but the comfort of his touch, the low rumble of his voice went a long way to soothing you. “Love you. Missed you.”

“I love you and missed you, too.” He pressed a fond kiss to your wrist, letting out a contented sigh. “Let’s avoid being apart for a while.”

“Agreed.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil #matt murdock #fic #fanfic #reader fic #x reader #reader insert #ns/fw #tw: smut #tw: oral #this is filth please mind the warnings #daredevil: born again fic #matt's blatant oral fixation #i regret nothing

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bucky-murdock-moans · 2 months ago

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on the portrayal of grief and depression in daredevil: born again

so I don't think it's a secret that I am so far loving the new daredevil show. I want to preface that it's also completely fine to not like it. but I like the different approaches, the darker tone focusing more on the emotions of the human soul rather than the physicality (for now, at least) and yes, I can't write this without praising charlie cox for his acting. bite me. just like with any other medium, movies and tv shows often have a set mould in which they portray grief and depression. they tell or show us how it's supposed to be, what we are supposed to feel, the characters say the same old lines... the new direction is a lot more heavy on the show-don't-tell side and as someone who had to face grief at a young age while completely abandoned, I feel very strongly about this and I don't want to step around it without praise.

foggy neslon is the closest thing matt has ever had to a family, and the show opens up with him being violently murdered and matt's biggest fear coming alive. someone he loves, someone innocent getting hurt as collateral damage.

I love and adore foggy nelson with all my being not just in the netflix show but in the comics too. elden did an incredible job bringing him to life and showing that potential in the character that is often underestimated in the comics, too. he gave us foggy nelson filled with endless love, kindness, compassion and someone who is incredibly smart - even in the comics, matt admits that himself is more of a master of great speeches and bravado in the courtroom, while foggy is the one with an immense well of knowledge not just about the law but about specific cases that could grant them leverage. as foggy himself pointed out in s3, everybody abandoned matt in his life. his mother left the family (yes, she had ppd, but she abandoned a child nonetheless), his father did his best to raise a kid as a single dad but ultimately, he chose his pride of not willing to lose over staying alive and actually raising his son. stick abandoned matt for a lot of reasons depending on whether you look into the comics or the show. and in s3, while struggling with her own grief and anger karen was considering abandoning matt too. which is a very human emotion to feel on her side, to be fair. as for foggy, that was not gonna happen. foggy nelson loved matt murdock undonditionally. that was the single most powerful, the most priceless thing he could ever give to him. and after his death, we jump a year ahead in time and a lot of people are complaining about bad pacing but please, I am begging you to believe me when I say this was a concious choice to not give us closure the same way matt is not giving himself a chance at closure.

we see a matt murdock who is in survival mode. he moved away from hells kitchen (a palce he never imagined he could abandon), he is now at a new firm, adapting to changes and as you watch him get ready before that court hearing, it is clear to see that he is simply going through the motions. this man is on autopilot. he wants to get the thing done for the sake of being able to say he did it, he finished that task, that chore of making breakfast, getting dressed... and then you see him reaching for foggy's prayer card and you immediately clock in on how worn the edges are. he puts it in a pocket above his heart. at the end of the day, he takes it out, and the next day, picking it up again. he doesn't put it in his wallet, or a pocket permanently to carry it around passively like you would do with a photograph. it is a concious choice that he makes every day to touch it, to handle it, to not allow himself to forgive or forget. he is depressed, he is not letting himself process his own grief and it goes to show just how great of an actor charlie is to convey all that in the posture, in the body language, the way matt seems to stop dead in his tracks when met with inconveniences (sitting down, slumped over when he larns fisk running for mayor while while he ignores the smoke detector for example). we also see him (as of episode 2) abandoning his faith which happens often when people go through intense trauma. especially if religion is a big part of your identity, it's a connection that gets damaged along with your self image. just another sign that goes to show what kind of impact foggy's death had over matt. bottom line is, I love how matt is portrayed with a more high functioning depression (where even karen thinks that he is "doing well" on the outside) while on the inside, he is absolutely falling apart. grief is an extremely complex human experience that never really goes away. it is a long, hard journey that is different for everyone. and yeah, I'm not happy foggy died. I wish he didn't have to. but you could not have picked a better catalyst for matt's life to fall into nothing. and I think in a twisted way it is the most beautiful legacy you can give to foggy. that he was so incredibly, undeniably, unimaginably important and loved.

#daredevil #daredevil born again #ddba #charlie cox #matt murdock #elden henson #foggy nelson

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matt-murdockk · 1 month ago

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Tolerate it

i made you my temple, my mural, my sky now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

words: 1.7k

summary: He comes home bleeding. Again. You ask what's wrong. He kisses you instead. You let him— until you can't, not anymore. Love is not the problem. Silence is.

warnings: implied smut, detailed description of making out— almost smut actually but then a truckload of angst to balance the vibes, cussing, not a happy ending

a/n: i'd say sorry in advance but i'll be honest i enjoyed this way too much lmao. fic clearly based on tolerate it by taylor swift. special shoutout to the best person of all time @foreverwinterstan13, the person without whom this fic would not have existed at all, ilysm, this one's for you *shoots basketball into hoop and misses*

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You heard the door unlock but didn’t move from the couch. You didn’t have to look. You could feel it— Matt’s presence in the way the air shifted. Heavy, worn out. Quiet. Keys in the bowl. Jacket on the hook. A slow, sharp inhale.

You stared straight ahead. “You’re late.”

No answer.

A few seconds passed. You heard him step into the room, that near-silent way he walked when he was trying not to show how much it hurt. You turned your head, eyes landing on him. Blood smeared across his temple. A bruise blooming near his jaw. His shirt was clinging to him with sweat, wrinkled, dark around the ribs.

You sat up straighter. “Matt—”

He crossed the room in two strides and kissed you. Just like that. No greeting, no warning. Just his mouth on yours— hot and urgent and desperate.

You froze for a second. Then you gave in. Because it was Matt. Because he knew exactly how to touch you, how to quiet every screaming part of your brain. Because he always came home like this— broken, aching— and you always let him.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you gently into his lap. You straddled him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand threading into his hair. His breath hitched when your hips rolled forward, and you felt that familiar spark burn down your spine.

He kissed you deeper. Rougher. One hand slid under your shirt, the other bracing your waist like he was afraid you'd vanish.

You pulled back, barely, just enough to speak. “You’re bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, mouth chasing yours again.

“Matt—” you started, but his hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you down. His lips moved to your throat, slow and reverent.

And God, it felt good. Too good.

You let him. You tilted your head and gave him more. His fingers brushed the underside of your bra and your breath stuttered.

“I’m serious,” you whispered, even as your hands tugged his shirt up. “You’re hurt.”

“I just need you,” he breathed.

And you wanted to believe that. You wanted to give him whatever he asked for. You wanted to lose yourself in him until you didn’t care what time it was or how fucked everything felt. So you let him keep going.

He laid you back on the couch, pressed kisses down your body. Your shirt was bunched around your ribs. You were shaking and aching and trying to hold yourself together.

“Matt…”

He kissed back up your sternum, across your chest, dragging his lips like he was memorizing you. Like he was sorry. Like he was praying. You arched into him, a broken sound in your throat. You loved him. You loved him so fucking much you could barely breathe.

But—

Your hands came up and pressed against his chest, not hard, but firm.

He paused, lips just under your jaw. “What?”

You were still catching your breath when you said, “I can’t keep doing this.”

His eyes opened— barely. He didn’t move.

You swallowed hard and sat up slowly, pushing his hands off you. “You walk in looking like you got hit by a truck, and you won’t talk to me. You kiss me like it’ll make it go away. Like I won’t notice.”

“I’m not trying to make anything go away,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just—”

“You what?” you asked, searching his face. “You need a distraction? You want to forget about how much you're bleeding, so you touch me like I’m the one that needs saving?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Your voice rose, bitter now. “Say the part out loud? Because God forbid we ever talk about what this is.”

“You think I don’t care?” he shot back, rising to his feet. “You think I’d come home to you every night, let you see me like this, if I didn’t care?”

“I think you don’t let me in,” you snapped. “Not really. I think you come here because you like the idea of being loved. Because it’s warm and safe and I don’t ask you to be anything more than what you already are. You like feeling close to something good. Something safe. But when it really matters, you shut me out.”

“That’s not fair.”

You stood too, wrapping your arms around yourself. “No. What’s not fair is how I feel like a stranger in my own relationship. What’s not fair is how I spend every day wondering if you’re still in this, or if I’m just—”

You stopped yourself.

Matt’s voice was hoarse when he said, “Say it.”

You looked at him. “If I’m just something you tolerate.”

That landed like a fist to the gut. His head dropped slightly, like the weight of your words physically knocked something loose in him.

“You’re not,” he said, and for a second you almost believed it. “You’re not.”

“Then show me,” you whispered. “Tell me something real, Matt. Anything. Why won’t you let me all the way in?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, silent, the echo of his guilt ringing louder than words ever could. And that silence was worse than anything he could have said.

“Right,” you breathed. “That’s what I thought.”

You turned away from him, but he stepped forward. He took a step closer, hand half-lifting toward you like he wanted to close the gap, but he didn’t touch you.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you more than I should. That’s the problem.”

You blinked, stunned for half a second. Then your expression hardened.

“Don’t turn this around on me,” you said sharply. “You chose to be in this. You let me in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s where I went wrong.”

Your breath caught. “I’m sorry— what?”

Matt’s hands were at his sides, balled into fists, like he was holding himself together by a thread. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion sharp and messy. “It was selfish. Wanting this. Wanting you. Wanting… a life.”

You stared at him, heart thudding in your chest.

“You think our relationship is a mistake?”

“I think I dragged you into something I never should’ve. I thought I could do both— be with you and still be… me. But who are we kidding, (Y/N)?” His voice broke again. “I can’t have normal. I can’t have domestic bliss and lazy Sundays and arguments about what kind of soap goes in the bathroom. I’m not built for that.”

You took a slow step back. “Don’t do this.”

“As cheesy as it sounds, I am doomed by the narrative,” he said, half-laughing, bitter. “I know how my story ends. Short. Bloody. Alone.”

“Stop—”

“I should’ve never brought you into it,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him like you didn’t recognize the person standing in front of you. “Matt… I don’t need you to be someone else. I don’t need picket fences or lazy Sundays. I just need you. I need you to talk to me. To let me in.”

He didn’t answer.

“Don’t say things like that,” you said, voice shaking now. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to be.”

He looked at you for a long, aching second, and then said quietly, “Being with me is a constant trial. It’s always going to be like this—pain, fear, never knowing if I’m coming back, or God forbid, something happening to—” he stopped himself, jaw tight, and looked away. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t.”

“No.” You stepped closer, voice firm despite the crack in it. “I love you. I’ve chosen this. Chosen you. You don’t get to just—”

“I want us to remember each other in love,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “Not as what we've become. Not as something broken.”

You stared at him, stunned. For a second, the room was silent except for your own heartbeat in your ears.

Then your voice cut through the quiet— sharp, shaking, furious.

“You don’t get to do that.”

Matt’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me and then walk away like it means nothing. You don’t get to pull me into your world and then decide it was a mistake.”

“I never meant—”

“You did,” you snapped. “You said it. You think this was a mistake. Us. Me.”

He looked away.

You took a step forward, eyes burning. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Matt. You told me to trust you. You said we’d figure it out. That we were in this together. But the second it got hard, you shut down. You ran.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” you bit out. “You were trying to protect yourself.”

He flinched.

You kept going. “You say you love me? Then prove it. Stay. Talk to me. Fight for this. You don’t just get to throw your hands up and disappear.”

Matt’s voice was low, but unyielding. “I’ve already done enough damage.”

You stared at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore. “Coward.”

His face tightened— hurt flickering under the surface— but he didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.

You felt your throat close, the weight of it all crashing in.

“I love you,” you said, softer this time. Like maybe if you said it gently, it wouldn’t shatter between you. Like if you remind him one last time, he’d maybe change his mind.

Matt closed his eyes. His breath stuttered, chest tight like it hurt to contain it. He pressed the heel of his palm to his brow, like he could rub the thought of you away, like the words tasted wrong in his mouth before he even said them.

A slow exhale. A muscle jumping in his jaw. His shoulders dropping like surrender.

“It’ll pass.”

a/n: oh yeah, i threw in a little fleabag :)

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