#daredevil x gender neutral reader

[hellsburners]

let's get intertwined

summary: matt misses your voice. pairing: matt murdock x male reader word count: 1.8k warnings: 18+ warning, top matt murdock, bottom male reader, phone s3x, use of toys a/n: this is hellsburners born again did y'all miss me?

masterlist | more matt murdock

Matt dragged himself to the couch after a long day at work, a wine glass on one hand and an unopened bottle of merlot in the other.

He wallowed in the supposed silence of the room, his senses focusing on the minute sound of every object, like the tick of the clock, or the drops falling from the faucet. 

He missed a lot of things since you’ve been gone. Work demanded you stay in San Francisco for two weeks while Matt stayed in New York. He missed the humming you would do as you cleaned the flat, or the sound of your heels as you skipped and danced around. He missed the smell of your fresh shampoo and body wash whenever you left the shower, or the smell of your perfume when you hugged him goodbye. 

It has been exactly nine days since you left and he felt like all traces of you had gone. Matt grits his teeth after he sipped on the wine, the bitterness tracing down his throat. You would’ve laughed at him for having the reaction, you always had the higher alcohol tolerance.

He traced a finger on his phone, debating if he should give you a call. It was half past midnight for Matt, meaning you were already probably asleep, you always cared for a full eight hours. 

As he finished the glass his phone started to vibrate, the voice assistant repeating your name in a monotonous tone. He scrambled to answer, almost dropping the glass on the carpeted floor. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said in a calm tone, he tried to mask the fact that his heart was beating fast and that he was excited you finally gave him the call.

“Hey, baby,” you said, he could tell from your voice that you were tired. “How’s work?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he said. “You sound exhausted.”

“Well work is always tiring, there’s nothing new about that,” you said, he could hear you place your keys on the kitchen counter, the sound of you kicking your shoes as you huddled yourself on the couch. “I just want to go home, I miss you so much.”

Matt sighed, you don’t know how much he felt the same. “I miss you too. I don’t think I can handle any more takeout recommendations from Kirstie.”

“Matthew, don't be rude, she’s trying her best!” you laughed. Matt could feel his cheeks warm up from the sound of your laugh. 

“Well she’s not like you,” he said, toying with the hem of his shirt. “No one is.”

“Oh yeah?” you smiled sheepishly. “I bet you’re flirting with a lot of pretty boys and girls while I’m away.”

“How would I even know if they’re pretty?” he chuckles. He paused for a second like he was about to confess a sin. He scratched the back of his neck before letting out a sigh. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but I’ve finally used that lube you got me.” 

There was an awkward bit of silence, like Matt just said the wrong thing, he was embarrassed, he wasn’t really the type to say his perverted thoughts out loud. He felt like God was listening to him and judging him from above. You, however, always teased him about it. How, one time, you caught him masturbating to your sweater, or when you found out that he used to hear you pleasure yourself when you were still neighbors due to his heightened senses. 

So, one day, you gifted him a special bottle of lube and a fleshlight so he could use it. It was merely a joke, but you also kinda teetered on the idea of you two using it together when one of you was away.  

“And the stroker?” you said, your heart starting to beat fast. 

“Yeah—I used it too,” he said, his tone like a defeated man. “It’s nothing like you though, it lacks the softness of your lips, or the warmth of your mouth—” 

Matt traced his hand on his thigh, teasing the growing heat in his center by avoiding it. You imagined him on the couch, legs spread, touching himself to the idea of you sucking him off. You let out a soft moan under your breath, writhing in your seat to ward off the growing heat. 

At the other end of the line Matt smirks, your moans only made him harder. He palmed his cock against his pants, the growing bulge aches to be let out. “I tried to make due though, I stroked my cock with it everyday thinking of you, but it’s just not like you—it’s nothing like your ass too.”

“Matt—” you moaned. 

“Plus it’s not about relieving myself, I miss you–your face and your body,” he said, gripping onto his clothed hardness. “I miss the way you sound when I fuck you, or the way you beg for me to go harder.”

“I miss you too,”  you said, palming your hardness as well. “I miss riding your thick thighs and holding onto your chest. I miss the way you feel inside me—it makes me lose myself.”

“Tell me more—please baby,” he said, unzipping his pants. 

“I miss it when you come home from work,”  you said, pulling your pants down. “You’re so tired but you act like you just want to undress me and take me on the kitchen counter.”

“It’s not like we haven’t,” Matt said, a bead of wetness forming on his tip. 

“Yeah—I know,” you moan. “Or when—you know—you come home from being out at night. You seem to change a bit. I mean for fuck’s sake, Matt, you get yourself beaten up and cut by knives but when you come home all you want to do is fuck me.”

Matt recalls every time he has come home from patrolling Hell’s Kitchen. He would sometimes catch you asleep on the couch, you’d get so worried of his injuries, but Matt didn’t care. The thrill of his crusade, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he jumped from building to building, or the rush of punching and kicking. He couldn’t help but crave for you when he finds you asleep in your underwear, his calloused hands running through your soft skin. 

“I’m so fucking hard, sweetheart,” Matt moaned, his hand stroking his thick cock, the precum acting as lube for his dry hands. 

“Check your phone,” you said. Matt’s phone dings, the voice assistant says you’ve sent a link, it was for an app for a remote controlled vibrator. “Maybe you’d want to play with it while we’re on call?” you said teasingly. 

The two of you got ready for what was to come. You were still on the couch, your lower garments forgotten now, beside you was the vibrator and a small bottle of lube. Matt had taken his shirt off, the silver cross laid on his broad chest. His pants and underwear were pulled down as well, his fingers pushing lube inside the small silicone stroker. 

He had managed to navigate the app while you prepared, there was simply a bar that would increase or decrease the amount of vibrations. “Ready?” he said, his cock already standing tall. 

“Yeah,” you said. The lube was cold, but the sensation soon changed to pressure as you inserted the vibrator. It wasn’t as big as Matt, nor was it as thick, but the idea of you using it and him in control made you more horny than anything. 

Matt pressed his sensitive tip on the stroker, he shuddered, swallowing his saliva as he slowly inserted his cock. You could hear each other moan, the vibrator finally inside you. “Fuck—I wish it was your hole I’m fucking right now.” 

“I wish it was your cock too,” you moaned, slowly pushing and pulling on the toy. You squirmed in your sofa, lewd sounds spewing from your mouth as you gained more momentum. Matt did the same, he was gripping onto the stroker so tight his knuckles were white. He wanted to stroke harder, but he didn’t want to come fast. 

Matt pressed on his phone, bringing the vibrator to the first level. You gasped from the sudden intensity, your feet kicking as you whimpered. That only egged Matt on, he was stroking and twisting the toy on the head of his cock where it was most sensitive, he spewed different curses as he stroked. “You sound so good, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels—so good,” you said, your voice shaking. 

“Feels better than me?”

“No—not better,” you gasp again as Matt increased the level to five. Shit, shit, shit. Your neck was extended, your hip lifting off the sofa as the toy stayed inside you, your cock a leaking mess. “But—it’s making me lose my fucking mind.”

“You can’t imagine how hard that makes me,” he said. “This stroker isn’t as good as you by the way, it’s tight but not as tight, I have to grip it hard just to even come close to how you feel. But—fuck—I can’t stop imagining you here, riding my cock.”

“I wouldn’t stop,” you said, “I want to see you turn red and weak from me riding it.”

Matt felt his orgasm come closer, he didn’t want this to end. He scrolled the app to its highest setting, you let out a loud whimper, your tip continued to leak, your legs shaking and losing control. You cursed, begging Matt to fuck you when you came home. 

“Fuck—I can’t take it anymore,” you said, your chest heaving. Sweat dripped down Matt’s forehead, his hips already rising from his seat to fuck the stroker, he knew he was leaking more and more onto the toy, which only contributed to its slickness. 

“Cum for me,” he said. “Cum for me, my love. I’m almost there.”

In the three counts you could hear him let out a loud and raspy fuck. He removed the stroker before shooting cum all over his bare chest and abdomen. You spasmed and writhed on the sofa, cum shooting all over you. 

You both laid on the couch gasping for air. Matt had turned off the toy, his wrist hurted from the stroking. “I’m coming home tomorrow,” you said, chasing your breath. “My boss said my tasks were done so I could—come home.”

“Then prepare for much worse, because we’re not sleeping when you come home,” the both of you laughed. And, indeed, it was much much worse.

if you likes this fic go check out some of my other stuff! want to request? don't be shy to send one! Also do tell me if you want to be on a taglist?

[funnylittlelad]

will be updated as needed - MNDI

Clinton Coffee Collective (Triple C) | AO3

summary: Matt Murdock finds the new café two blocks away from the office by chance when meeting a potential client. He's immediately absorbed by the atmosphere, the coffee, the food, but most of all the owner who effortlessly accommodates him. So, maybe he starts walking an extra two blocks for coffee every morning. It's a victimless crime, until Foggy catches on. (or the funnylittle coffee shop AU)

word count: 15.8k

tags/warnings: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, light ableism, Matt being the self-punishing butthead he is, descriptions of food and eating, descriptions of anaphylaxis, hospitals, Foggy and Karen being lovely caring nosy friends.

Apocrypha | AO3

summary: A night at Josie's will clear your head. At least, that's what you think. Grad school is okay, your social life is shit, and you hate your job. Making friends sans benefits has proven a near impossible task. You aren't expecting to meet Matt, or his friends. You aren't expecting to go home with him that night. You aren't expecting breakfast the next day, or the offer of an actual date. Matt consistently goes beyond your expectations and you go beyond his. Which is exactly why you must stay away from each other at all costs, and also why you fail every time.

chapters: 6/20

[outoftheseine]

- MATT MURDOCK FIC RECS 2 -

hot hot hot hot hot | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, blood, swearing. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

let you break my heart again | matt’s pov | part two • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @angst-cravings (some angst, fluff, unrequited love)

one more time | part two • matt murdock x fem!enhanced!reader

↳ by @murdock-barnes (flufff)

hold them gently (these confessions) | part two | part three • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @privateanxieties (fluff, some angst, mystery, pining)

sweetest poison • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @place-called-space (this is so good i can’t wait for more parts)

seeking forgiveness • matt murdock x pregnant!reader

↳ by @bellaxgiornata (very angsty, a lot of grovelling, hurt/comfort)

sad girl • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @cellophaine (fluff, smut, angst)

buttercup • matt murdock x baker!reader

↳ by @thyme-in-a-bubble (fluff, smut, angst, tw: rape, ptsd)

do no harm • matt murdock x fem!doctor!reader

↳ by @farfromstrange (angst, smut, tw: dv, child abuse, mental illnesses)

stitches | part two • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @megthemewlingquim (angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, second part is smut fyi)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

saw you dancing in a crowded room • matt murdock x fem!accountant!reader

↳ by @scarletsloveletter (angst but fluffy ending, second chance romance)

matt murdock as a dad would include...

↳ by @bowieandqueen11 (fluff)

home sweet home • husband!matt murdock x wife!reader

↳ by @maple-the-awesome (very fluffy, dad!matt, comfort)

tragedy • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @modern-vellichor (angst, comfort)

deserving • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @sgt-morgan (angst)

ask me tomorrow • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdockparker (fluffy adorable)

rising in the east • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdockparker (fluff)

choice and chance and promise • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (slight angst, mostly fluff)

calling out • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @ithebookhoarder (angst, comfort)

the perfect cheesecake • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @cece-writes-fanfic (fluff)

be still • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @dameronology (comfort, a little angsty)

the defence rests • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @dameronology (fluff, a little angst)

the lakes • matt murdock x hard-of-hearing!reader

↳ by @goldenlikedayl1ght (comfort, fluff)

more of you • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @chellestrash (smut, bantering)

your wedding dress • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @shadowbriar (very angsty)

sincerely, anxiety • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings (veryy fluffy)

skin • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @reckoningss (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

black friday • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @goldenlikedayl1ght (very fluffy)

here • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amberlynnmurdock (angst, comfort)

lifeline • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @sunflowersandsapphires (angst, comfort, fluff, panic attacks)

play along • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @mayfieldss (fluff)

orange roses • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @bornagainmurdock (fluff)

[allllium]

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."

[r3ita-g4zette]

Could you write a small oneshot of Matt Murdock x reader where you help him shave?? 🥺🥺 like where you’re on the bathroom counter with him between your legs just letting you shave him??

Of course!! I love the idea of Matt trusting you with something so intimate, even if it is a small act.

Helping Matt shave

Matt Murdock x GN!reader

Matt’s hands ran along your thighs, tracing shapes that didn’t even seem to make out anything. Mornings like these brought a sense of assurance in his life, a way to ground himself in who he really is. Yes, he is the man who goes out at night and “saves the city”, but he’s also just a man, a man who is desperately in love with you.

He wasn’t the kind of man to fall this hard, but he couldn’t help himself. It was the little things you’d do for him, like now.

You sat atop the bathroom counter while Matt stood between your legs. You had a hand on the bottom of Matt’s chin as you dragged the razor along your boyfriend’s shaving cream covered face. Matt’s eyes were open, staring, but unable to see. He craved more than anything to see you, to admire your beauty.

The way the razor swiftly dragged along his jaw earned a content sigh from him. Matt’s hand was still on your thigh, slowly moving up your leg as you shaved his face. He liked being pampered, and the way you had him wrapped around your finger was making him fall apart at the seams. He bit his lip at the thought of how much control you held over him before he opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re doing a good job.”

He spoke with that smooth tone that sent chills down your spine, his voice a bit raspier from tiredness. He was so soft for you.

“And how would you know?” You retorted, a gentle smile painting your lips at the joke. It was common, the two of you to joke of his blindness.

A smirk tugged on the corners of Matt’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle, his thumb gently rubbing your thigh at your comment.

“Oh, I just know.”

He quipped back, shifting his neck so you had better access to shave below his jaw. He let out a sigh when the razor glided over his skin, his tone suddenly softer as he added, “Keep going.”

You dragged the razor along Matt’s neck, the white shaving cream on his face and neck soon disappearing. “There, I’m all done.” You whispered, pecking his nose as your hands cupped his face.

“Now you feel all soft,” you tenderly cooed. Matt smirked at your touch, the corners of his lips turning upwards at your praise. As you finished up shaving him clean, Matt leaned just a bit closer, his body pressing up against yours. He loved having you this close to him, your proximity was like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

“All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

He murmured, his voice low and gravelly as his smirk turned into a soft smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him, hands sliding up to the back of his neck as you pulled away and admired him, and despite the fact Matt couldn’t see, he opened his eyes eagerly.

In typical Matt fashion, he cupped the bottom of your thighs and picked you up, guiding you through the house with ease to your shared bedroom.

A soft noise escaped your lips as Matt’s lips locked with yours. This is gonna be a long night…

wc; 504

[monicfever]

matt murdock as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

includes ᝰ .ᐟ gn!reader ,, fluff ,, sfw headcanons ,, religious mentions

MATT MURDOCK AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . adores you. he can’t believe you’re real — every time you say his name it’s a prayer answered. he listens to the sound of your heartbeat like it’s music, memorized the rhythm of it before he ever let himself memorize the curve of your smile.

matt doesn’t just love you — he carries you. protects you like it’s instinct. like you’re something sacred.

will step between you and anything that looks like danger, even if it’s just a rude stranger or a loud car. and god help anyone who actually tries to hurt you — matt won’t let them walk away. not as the lawyer. not as the devil.

he’s soft with you in a way he never is with anyone else, fingers tracing your wrist like he’s reading braille, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand when he thinks you’re asleep. smiles against your shoulder when he’s tired. holds you tighter when the city feels too loud.

but he gets scared too. scared of losing you. scared of hurting you. scared that the violence stitched into his soul will bleed into yours. so sometimes he pulls back — disappears into himself. tells you he’s fine even when his knuckles are split and there’s blood on his collar. won’t meet your eyes, won’t let you touch him. but if you wait it out, if you reach for him anyway, he always comes back. always folds into you like he never left.

remembers everything. the exact cadence of your laugh, how your breathing changes when you're about to cry, the shape of your hand when it’s searching for his. he notices when you swap perfumes, when you wear new earrings, when your voice sounds a little hoarse because you didn’t sleep well. doesn’t mention it like it’s weird — just softly asks if you need tea. or rest. or him.

his love shows up in rituals. carries your umbrella even if it’s not supposed to rain. calls you after a bad case just to hear your voice. kisses your temple twice when you leave the apartment.

he talks to god about you. not in the way he used to — not asking for forgiveness. not begging for strength. just... saying thank you. like he’s been given something he didn’t deserve. and maybe he hasn’t, but he’s going to protect it anyway.

he always reaches for you in crowded places. not because he needs to — his senses are sharp enough to navigate most chaos — but because he wants to be guided by you. threads his fingers through yours, hand curling into your sleeve, forearm, belt loop. anything to keep you close. anything to let you lead.

“where are we going?” he’ll ask, even though he already knows. grinning like he’s getting away with something. he just likes hearing your voice explain it. likes being pulled along like you’re his compass and the only thing that matters is keeping up with your footsteps.

sometimes he pretends he can’t find something just to get you to come closer. “where’s the salt?” “matt, literally right in front of you.” “i’m blind, sweetheart.” and you roll your eyes, walk over, and he just grins, smug, hands slipping around your waist. “thanks for the assistance.”

lives for slow strolls with your arm linked in his. especially at night. especially when the city has finally calmed down a bit. lets you guide him like you’re dancing through the streets, murmuring what’s around you — the neon signs, the smell of fresh pretzels, the sound of a jazz saxophone in the distance.

he fakes not being able to do tech stuff all the time. “can you post that for me?” “can you read this email out loud?” “can you set my alarm?” and every time, it’s just an excuse to hear your voice, or feel your hands brush against his as you show him how to do it. yeah, he could use a screen reader. but where’s the fun in that?

he rests his chin on your shoulder a lot when you’re doing something mundane. like brushing your teeth, making dinner, folding laundry. just appears behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and leans his whole weight into you.

sometimes he fumbles on purpose. “oops, I missed the cup,” he’ll say with a smirk, spilling just a little water. you sigh and walk over, wiping it up, and he uses the moment to pull you into a kiss.

he gets a little clingy after bad nights. not in a loud way. just won’t let go of your hand. won’t stray more than a step away. stands behind you while you do dishes or brush your hair, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

you guide his hands through everyday things, and he always looks like he’s learning the shape of the world for the first time. folding dough, measuring spices, finding the buttons on a remote — he’s so focused. and he always smiles when your hands touch his to correct something. every single time. like he’s never going to get used to being cared for like this.

sometimes you’ll lead him somewhere with no warning. “trust me,” you’ll say, tugging his hand. and he’ll smile, nod, follow without hesitation. because he does. always has. always will.

he tells you he loves you in the smallest ways. “be careful.” “call me when you get home.” “take my jacket.” “your heartbeat changed — what’s wrong?”

he wakes up the second you stir. even if he was dead asleep five seconds ago. instantly reaches for you, palm brushing your side, murmuring, “you okay?” voice still gravelly from sleep.

he gets weirdly smug when you trip or bump into something. “huh,” he’ll tease, “and here I thought I was the blind one.” and you’ll glare at him and he’ll just kiss your forehead.

he has incredible spatial awareness but pretends to bump into furniture just so you’ll tease him. “you good?” you’ll say, raising an eyebrow, and he’ll grin and go, “guess I need a guide.” cue him holding onto your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

he randomly kisses your hands. when you’re cooking, reading, doing work — he'll just reach over, take your hand, and press his lips to your knuckles. it’s not always romantic. sometimes it’s just a little thank you for being here.

he’ll ask you to describe things to him in your words. “what does the sky look like right now?” “what’s she wearing?” “what’s the room feel like?” and you’ll ramble through the details, unsure if it makes sense — but he always listens, like you’re telling him a story he never wants to end.

you read to him at night. curled up in bed, your voice soft in the quiet. he’s not even listening to the story half the time — just the way you say the words.

he teaches you self-defense. he takes it seriously, even if you don’t. but every time you land a hit, he praises you like you just saved the world.

late-night walks through hell’s kitchen. just talking. venting. dreaming. sometimes he stops mid-sentence to kiss you under a streetlamp. “sorry. just had to.”

he pulls away when he’s hurting. emotionally, physically, all of it. slips into that quiet place in his head where the guilt lives. tells you he’s fine with a tight jaw and bruises blooming across his ribs.

he’s terrified of burdening you. of being too much. too broken. he thinks if you saw everything — the anger, the damage, the things he’s done — you’d leave. so he tries to handle it all himself. isolates. bleeds in silence. but he aches for comfort, even when he won’t ask.

sometimes he has nightmares. fists clenched in the sheets, breath ragged, muttering things that don’t make sense. and you wake him up gently, touch his shoulder, and he flinches before realizing it’s you.

absolutely refuses to admit when he’s sick. “i’m fine.” you’re shivering. “it’s not that cold.” you literally just sneezed five times. “allergies.” matt, you don’t have allergies. “…okay but i still don’t need soup.”

the moment you take charge — pull the blankets up, hand him tissues, give him meds — he folds like wet laundry. instantly compliant. snuggles into the pillows with a dramatic sigh. “only because you’re cute when you boss me around.”

a huge baby when he’s actually sick. makes the most pitiful groaning sounds, flops onto the couch like he’s on death’s door. constantly wants to cuddle and cling to you.

you catch him trying to sneak out of bed once to go on patrol and you yell. he tries to argue. “the city needs—” “the city can wait, you have a fever and a death wish.” he grumbles. you kiss his forehead. he shuts up immediately.

tries to pretend he’s suffering in silence but keeps whispering things like “baby can you rub my back?” or “i think i need another blanket” or “can you come lay with me for five minutes? ten? okay forever?”

he’s so protective. not in a possessive way — in a “if anything in this world hurts you, it’ll answer to me” kind of way. steps in front of you instinctively. hears a tone in someone’s voice you don’t even notice and subtly shifts between you and them. but if you ask him to stand down, he always listens. because your safety isn’t just about fists — it’s about trust.

always insists on keeping your plans, even if he’s clearly moving slower than usual. “I’m fine,” he says, clearly wincing as he puts on a button-down. you catch him rotating his shoulder like he’s trying to pop it back into place.

he’s not loud about his jealousy. not possessive. just hyper-aware. the way someone’s voice changes when they talk to you, how close they’re standing. you can practically feel the shift in his body next to you — shoulders straightening, jaw tightening. but he says nothing. just listens.

he does subtle things. puts his hand on your lower back when someone’s talking to you for too long. brushes his fingers over yours when someone compliments you just a little too enthusiastically. stands slightly closer. doesn’t speak unless he has to.

if someone gets too bold, though? oh he’s done. still polite. still calm. but absolutely deadly. steps in, voice low and smooth: “Hi. I’m Matt.” smile perfectly measured, hand firm in the handshake — but he’s already evaluated the guy’s heartbeat, stance, and whether he could take him down in five seconds or less if needed. (he could. always could.)

he’ll dance with you in the kitchen. no music. just the sound of rain on the window or a pan sizzling on the stove. he’ll reach for your hand with that little crooked smile, spin you into his arms, and sway like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

you both talk during chores. actual conversations. about your day, about random memories, about the weird neighbor with the too-loud parrot. and he listens like it’s the most important intel he’s ever received. nods, hums, asks questions. you’ve never felt so heard while doing dishes.

he lets you cut his hair sometimes. sits on a stool in the bathroom, towel around his shoulders, completely relaxed. you tease him about how still he is — “you’re acting like you’re on trial.” he just grins. “you’re holding scissors near my head.”

he folds your laundry. not just folds it — does that careful press-and-stack thing. pairs your socks. hangs your shirts so they won’t wrinkle.

does dishes with his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel over his shoulder like it’s a whole ceremony. hums under his breath while you dry. sometimes flicks water at you just to hear you squeal and laugh.

you two have a habit of falling asleep in odd places — couch, floor, roof. anywhere. half a conversation turns into hours curled into each other. his favourite part is waking up to your heartbeat under his ear. says it’s better than any alarm clock.

helping him shave sometimes. it turns into something gentle. your fingers on his jaw, his hands resting on your hips, quiet laughter when he makes a face at the cold razor. it feels intimate.

gets grumpy when you're hurt. even small things — a paper cut, a stubbed toe — he gets all quiet and intense like he's going to take on the concept of pain itself. he’ll crouches in front of you while putting a bandaid on like it’s the most important task in the world.

he insists on carrying all the groceries. all of them. “i’m blind, not weak.” he’ll say, ten bags looped on each arm like a stubborn pack mule. won’t even let you take the bread.

he keeps extra gloves and scarves in his coat pockets — not for him, for you. “you always forget yours,” he says, even though sometimes you don’t. doesn’t matter. he’s already wrapping one around your neck, tugging your hands into his. “can’t have you getting cold.”

he saves the crunchy edges of brownies for you. the soft center of cinnamon rolls. whatever part you once mentioned liking the best, that’s what you’ll find saved for you — tucked in a napkin, handed over without a word, just a warm smile.

when he gets back from patrol he always checks if you’re asleep before doing anything else. listens for your breathing, your heartbeat. if you’re up, he’ll come curl up next to you. if you’re asleep, he’ll just hover in the doorway for a second. breathing it in.

sometimes, when he’s feeling brave, he whispers “i love you” when he thinks you’re not awake. presses a kiss to your forehead and says it like a secret. like it’s breaking out of him and he has nowhere else to put it but right there, into your skin.

always checks if your phone is charged before bed. quietly plugs it in if you forgot. sets your alarm. puts it face-down so the light won’t bother you. doesn’t say a word about it — just does it.

he calls you sweetheart when he’s sleepy. voice all low and warm and tangled in dreams. sometimes murmured against your neck, sometimes mumbled into your shoulder like he’s already half gone — “mm, goodnight, sweetheart,” and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

saves you the last bite. his sandwich, the cookie you split, the best bite of takeout. even if it’s his favourite part, he’ll nudge it toward you and go, “you take it. i’m full.” (he’s not.)

he loves being babied a little. not a lot, and too much of it will have him feeling annoyed and overcrowded, but when you help him fix his tie, button his cuffs, rub his shoulders after a long day, he leans into your touch like he was waiting for it all day.

he’s hopelessly in love with the domestic routine. brushing teeth side by side. carrying the laundry basket while you fold.

he’ll do your skincare with you at night. blindly pats moisturizer into your cheeks with far too much enthusiasm. “did i get it?” he asks, fingers smeared with product, giggling like an idiot when you say “too much.”

when you cry he holds you like he’s made of warmth. wraps you up in his arms, hand at the back of your neck, thumb stroking slow and steady. doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. just says, over and over, “i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[writingfics-passingtime]

hello lovie! just found your mixtape thing, and I love the idea so much! was wondering, whenever you’re able of course, if you could write something based off the song ‘biomes’ by james heather? preferably with matt! it’s also a classical piece, so not too sure on how well that’ll do! thank you in advance 🫶🏻

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a collection based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Before, and Now

Song Prompt: Biomes - James Heather

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used, and no y/n)

Word Count: ~1360

CW: swearing, violence (against the reader), I wrote this before Born Again came out so don't @ me if it doesn't fit the new series pleeeease and thankyou

Minors DNI: this work does not contain smut, but contains a romantic relationship between the reader and adult-aged characters. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, strry! I love classical pieces and have written many stories to them (including a mega-length one in my drafts), so I'm glad you sent this one in. I hope you like it!

Matt has always hated the smell of the police station. Sweat, desperation, the chemical tang of stale coffee, damp uniforms, and something uneasy beneath it all.

Blood. Not fresh, not yours, but it clings to the air like a bad memory.

Your hand is small in his, cold despite the heat of the building. He has both of his hands wrapped around yours, like he can somehow fuse them together, make himself an unbreakable barrier between you and the rest of the world. But your fingers don’t squeeze back. They don’t do anything.

Your silence is suffocating.

His leg won’t stop bouncing. He can’t sit still, can’t stop the way his pulse hammers in his throat, can’t do a goddamn thing except hold your hand and listen to the flickering light above, the heartbeat of the cop at the front desk, the thick exhaustion in your every breath.

This is his fault.

He knew something was wrong the second you started up the stairs.

Your footsteps are usually light and easy, a rhythm he knows like the back of his own hand. But tonight they were heavy. Weighted. Hesitant.

A pause on the landing. A sniff. Another step.

Too slow. Too careful.

He knew you were tired and overworked, but something crawled up his spine the way it always did right before a fight.

Then you opened the door.

And Matt smelled blood.

Your blood.

His stomach turned to ice, righteous rage curling up from somewhere deep inside him, but he swallowed it down, controlled himself as he carefully crossed the room. He didn’t know where the injury was, didn’t know how bad, didn’t know if you were seconds away from crumpling into him or if you were standing on your own two feet only because you willed yourself to.

“What happened?” His voice came out steady, but he felt anything but.

“I'm okay,” you said, and fuck, you were lying to him. It was instinct, the same way you always tried to downplay things. You did it to protect him. And that made him feel even worse. “It’s just my lip. It's not a lot of blood.”

“Who?” he asked, sharper this time, hands ghosting up your arms, carefully mapping over you, trying to find where else you were hurt. The cut on your lip wasn’t the only thing. He could feel it. The stiffness in your ribs, the way you barely breathed too deep. He was about to ask again when-

“Who’s Tommy Bracewell?”

He stopped. Frowned. “What?”

He knew that name. A client. A case. Nothing he would ever have connected to you.

But then you told him.

Someone grabbed you by the back of the neck. Pushed you face-first into a wall, jammed a gun into your ribs. Tell your boyfriend he better get Tommy Bracewell outta jail, or next time I see you, you’re not walking away.

Matt went still. Too still. The kind of stillness that preceded violence.

He ran over your words again in his head, the exact phrasing, the exact tone, searching for something, anything that could tell him who did this. Who fucking touched you. Who put their hands on you, pressed a fucking gun to you, and thought they’d get away with it.

His hands had started shaking.

You had reached out, barely brushing his wrist. “Matt.”

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He never thought it would be his work - his fucking job - that got you hurt. He always knew there was risk in what he did, but he thought it would be the other thing. The mask. The blood. The Devil. Not some piece-of-shit gangbanger using you to get to him.

He could've gone out right then. Put on the suit. Find them. Beat a name out of the first guy stupid enough to cross his path. But that would expose him. Expose you.

His stomach churned at the alternative.

Fisk.

He could… ask. Pull a favour. Trade something.

Fisk could make this go away.

But then he thought of you. Of the way your voice had sounded when you told him what happened. Shaken, but steady. Matt knew you. Knew the way you would never forgive him if he did that. If he owed that man for your safety.

And he knew you were waiting for him to say something.

“… We need to go to the police.”

You didn’t want to. He heard it in the way your breath hitched, the hesitation in your pulse.

But you trusted him.

So you did.

The cop station is just another level of hell.

Matt listens to the officer at the front, lazily flipping through a file, his pulse slow, steady, uncaring. The man doesn’t give a shit. Neither do half the others in this place.

He grips your hand tighter, but you still don’t squeeze back.

“I’m gonna get you some coffee,” he says quietly.

You nod, but it’s distant.

He gets up, extending his cane, walking with careful purpose across the room. He doesn’t need to feel his way there, but he pretends to anyway. Because it makes men like him underestimate him - the cop who steps up beside him.

Matt smells cigarettes on his breath. Something thick and dark in his voice, a kind of sick satisfaction curling around the edges.

“Maybe now you know how it feels,” the officer murmurs, low and taunting. “All those families who never get justice.”

Matt stills. His stomach twists.

The cop doesn’t stop. “Maybe next time, Mr Murdock... you’ll think a little harder about defending some worthless gangbanger.”

Matt’s grip tightens on his cane.

He inhales slowly, evenly, calculating. He tilts his head, as if considering, as if weighing the words, but the only thing he’s thinking about is how satisfying it would be to feel this guy’s teeth crack under his fist.

But that wouldn’t help you.

So he breathes. He exhales. He turns back toward you.

And he walks away.

Back in the apartment in the early hours of the morning, everything feels wrong. The walls feel too close. The air too thick with everything that’s happened. You sit on the couch, exhausted, and Matt’s doing everything he can to keep his own bleeding heart from spilling out into the room.

He talks, hurriedly at first, explaining the plan, the steps he’s going to take. He tells you he'll protect you. He tells you it will be okay. But his voice cracks on the last sentence, and he knows you hear it. He knows you hear how not okay everything is.

You stop him with a soft touch, stepping into his arms.

“If you want to help,” you murmur, voice so raw it rips through him, “just hold me.”

You don’t want the plans. The protection. The promises.

You just want him.

So he pulls you close, the weight of your body sinking into his, the warmth of you the only thing that feels real. His hands roam your back, tracing the familiar contours of your skin, his touch a quiet apology, a promise. His fingers brush over the places he's traced an infinite number of times before.

But this time, it’s different. This time, the fear is deeper.

This time, you are different.

This moment of pain and terror has split you in two. There’s a before, when you walked the streets of New York, anonymous, just another face in the crowd. But now... there’s only the unavoidable aftermath. Now you know that there are people out there who know who you are. Who will come for you. There is no going back. You aren’t invisible anymore.

And Matt feels it.

He feels the shift in the air as you lean against him, your breathing slower, your chest rising and falling with the weight of everything. He holds you tighter, as if the tighter he holds you, the more he can keep that world outside from touching you. From ripping you apart.

You fall asleep in his arms. And he stays awake, knowing that tomorrow will bring new danger. But for tonight, he’ll hold you through it all, knowing you feel safest right here, and now.

[farfromstrange]

Pink Eye | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: You start the new year with a bad case of conjunctivitis and a cold. As annoyed as you are about it, fortunately for you, you have a very doting boyfriend to take care of you.

Warnings: Cursing, sickness, fluff.

WC: 1.2k

A/n: This is totally self-indulgent, and my first fic after a month (or so)! Don't worry, you're still getting those other Fictober prompts, this is just something that came to my mind yesterday and I had to write it. I wish I had a Matt Murdock to take care of me, so I wrote this. I hope I'm not too rusty.

Read Me On AO3!

The cold compress seeps into the swollen skin of your eyelids, though it offers only a small reprieve from the ache and itchiness that make you want to claw your eyes out like a feral cat under attack.

Tissues lay strewn around the coffee table, each one soaked in tears and whatever else came out when you wiped them dry. The apartment reminds you more of the set of a bad chick-flick rather than a home. Most of the time it resembles a crime scene or a poorly supplied hospital when your risk-friendly boyfriend decides he just has to get himself into another fight for the greater good, but this New Year’s, the only casualty that came out of the holidays is you—defeated by your own immune system. 

You haven’t been properly sick in a year. For 366 days, you’ve been free of any viral or bacterial infections, and the one time you decide to have dinner with your family you end up with a nasty infection: conjunctivitis. Yes, you started the new year with fucking pink eye and a cold, and now you’re stuck at home for your last few days off work, feeling miserably sorry for yourself.

“Here,” Matt appears in your one functioning line of sight with a bowl of soup in hand, “You need to eat something.”

“Thank you,” you say through a congested nose, and he can’t help but smile at how adorable that sounds.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I want to put a finger into my eye and scratch it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So, not good?”

You shake your head. “I’m annoyed. And in pain. And I can’t fucking breathe!” As if to underline your frustration, your lungs constrict and you cough up a not-so-delicious ball of phlegm. 

Matt’s hand instantly moves to your back, rubbing gentle circles until the oxygen returns to where it needs to be. Your breathing becomes rapid before it slows down again, and you swallow.

“Fuck me,” you mumble.

“When you’re feeling better,” he retorts almost cheekily, but the joke doesn’t get much of a response. He knows how miserable you are. He can hear it in the way you breathe, your elevated heartbeat, and the pulsing of the skin around the infected eye. You wear your discomfort on your very sleeves. He doesn’t want to imagine what it feels like for you.

Instead of joking any more, Matt gently removes the compress from your eye. “Let me get you a new one,” he offers. Your first instinct is to cover up. It baffles him; you haven’t hidden from him in a very long time.

Matt takes your hand and places it back down in your lap, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Don’t do that.” 

“I look like I got into a fight,” you say.

At that, he reaches out, fingers gently brushing just above your brow, down your temple, and over the apple of your cheek. He can feel the heat radiating from your skin, the inflammation that’s causing your eye to swell, but the picture his fingertips paint is a stark contrast to your own description. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. And Matt knows better than anyone what one might look like after a fight.

His touch is so gentle, far away from where you’re hurting but close enough to feel his need to fix you. To heal you. To take your pain away and make it his own just so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Your heart flutters like a newborn butterfly. You look into his hazel eyes, how soft they are, and it makes you melt. If you could only see yourself the way he sees you... The way he loves you seems like a gift from God himself. 

His touch disappears, and you bite back a pathetic whimper. “Be right back,” he says.

You watch as he rises to his feet and heads back to the kitchen, grabbing another cool compress from the fridge before returning to your side.

“There you go.” He places it against your eye and holds it there. “So you can eat.”

You want to say, ‘You’re doing too much’, but then you realize that you’re with the kind of man who would shoulder the world for you even when he’s already drowning to make sure life is just a little easier for you. And while that feels like entirely too much, more than you deserve, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him to stop. Not that he would do so, anyway. 

Every bone in your body aches, but the pain blurs in comparison to what he makes you feel. 

You take the bowl of soup he prepared and dig in. It’s your favorite, yet scarcely seasoned to not irritate your throat any further. When your stomach is finally full and he’s satisfied, he reaches for the bottle of eyedrops standing tall amongst the graveyard of tissues. He knows to think about everything when you can’t. 

“Lean back,” he instructs softly. 

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you protest. 

“I won’t. I know you hate doing this yourself. Now lean back.”

He’s even more stubborn when you’re sick, but only because you’re stubborn, too. You don’t protest further, simply leaning your head back to give him better access. 

Matt gently searches for your lower lid with his fingers, pulling it back ever so gently before squeezing the first drop in. Then, he moves on to the second eye. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut at the sudden intrusion. It burns. Will it ever stop, you wonder? 

“I’m sorry,” he wipes away any excess tears threatening to escape, “it’ll get better in a second.” 

You huff a breath of disapproval, but not at his words. “I’m never visiting my family again unless they give me a detailed list of who’s sick,” you say. 

Matt stutters for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“I’m serious! Small children are little Petri dishes, carrying viruses and bacteria that continue to mutate into God knows what. Petri dishes, Matthew!” 

You sound so beside yourself, he can’t help himself. He adds the used tissue to the coffee table pile and pulls you into his arms, his laugh rumbling against the top of your head as he presses his lips against your heated scalp. “This is New York, sweetheart,” he says, “the entire city is a Petri dish.”

“And I will avoid it like the plague if I have to.”

He chuckles. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “You’re so much moodier when you’re sick.”

If you had the strength you would smack his pretty face for that statement alone, but you really, really don’t. You can barely sit up on your own. So, you nudge him with your elbow and grumble, “Shut up.”

With a bright smile on his face, he gives you another squeeze. “I love you too,” he says.

You squeeze his bicep three times to assure him that yes, you do love him, and you can’t help but think that perhaps being coddled in Matt Murdock’s arms while recovering from a little infection isn’t so bad, after all. It certainly could be worse. 

fluff tag list: @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler @mochie-is-a-librarian

[kelltonic]

★Frank Castle Heacanons☆

First post on this account!! (*≧∀≦*)

A/N: Hi!! This is my first post to this account. I’ll make a rq intro to me and what my account will entail in a while, but just know it will contain a lot of Frank - probably no smut though, I can’t write it (´∀｀*). There aren’t really any warnings or notes for this post, it’s pretty self explanatory. I’ll probably write a lot of headcanon posts, so request who you’d like to see or what topic they should be on!! I’m fine with writing for most marvel characters, and overtime you’ll see what other fandoms I drift towards.

CW: A tad bit hurt but just barely. Very brief mentions of canon typical violence. Some fluff and just general headcanons - completely gender neutral for relationship hc’s (*'▽'*)

WC: 1195 Words (but you can pick and choose what you want to read)

→ Relationship Tendencies ♡

Established relationship:

- Frank is unintentionally distant at times, sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. Obviously due to the mass amount of trauma (physical and emotional) and his overall personality, he drifts. Sometimes mid conversation he’ll lose focus, borderline dissociating until he’s snapped back to reality by whoever he’s talking to. Then of course there are the times he is genuinely dissociating, going days at a time in an automatic state of survival, just repeating his daily routine while being in the back of his mind.

But then there’s you. The one thing anchoring him back down to the present. You’re one of - if not the only - constant in his life. Every time he feels himself falling back into the spiralling mess of his thoughts, he holds onto to you. Sometimes literally, every so often you’ll just feel a hand on your shoulder as you’re doing work or warm arms wrapping around your waist as you’re cooking.

However, sometimes he struggles with even the simple gesture as sitting next to you on the couch. The fact that you’re there, with him, despite all the atrocities he’s committed? It’s wrong. He stubbornly refuses to believe you really chose to be there.

Is he subconsciously threatening you into staying? Are you scared of him and just really good at masking it?

But then you hold his hand. You simply hug him. You reassure him, because by now you can tell what he’s thinking. By now you know that no matter how much distance he puts between you, you need to keep hold of him.

First meeting scenario: (Okay this may have drifted from a headcanon to a short story… but whatever)

- You were his neighbour, politely introducing yourself when you’re unlocking your door and he happens to be adding extra locks onto his door. At first glance it may seem like an odd first thing to do when you move somewhere, but it’s New York. if anything you respect the man for prioritising his safety. Despite the real reason of him not wanting any unwanted guests breaking in and discovering his extensive arsenal. But you were unaware of course, so as far as you knew he was just a cautious man - a decent first impression.

Then every so often you’d pass him in the stairwell or in the hallway, progressively building more conversation each interaction. It got to a point where you were comfortable enough to knock on his door when you realise you lost your keys and were incapable of getting into your own apartment. Even if it was still a little humiliating that you had to ask him to help you break into your own apartment. He let out a small huff that you could only slightly perceive to be a chuckle, which eased your embarrassment a small amount. This turned into the longest interaction you had with him, apologising profusely for bothering him and offering a drink in gratitude. He had to accept, he couldn’t help wanting to stay by your side for as long as you allowed him.

Over time these little hangouts where you’d get a couple drinks, complain about the tenants upstairs constantly stomping around, sometimes even have dinner together, evolved into a near daily occurrence. And from there things only progressed further.

Until he realised what was happening. And he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow you to have a target painted on your back for affiliation.

So daily drinks progressed to weekly… to monthly… until he nearly entirely cut you off. You had no clue as to why. Why he suddenly moved away over night. why he suddenly abandoned you.

After the first month of no pick ups from the phone or text responses, you just started leaving him messages. Voicemails of what happened during your day; the good, the shitty, even the occasional odd. He became a journal for you, as you lost all expectations of him actually hearing you. He very well could’ve deleted your number, or even gotten a new phone. Maybe he was dead. You couldn’t tell, but no morgue or hospital claimed a ‘Pete Castiglioni’ or a John Doe.

Until, you heard sloppy knocking at the door. Not expecting anyone, you got up from the couch and approached the door, hearing heavy breathing and wheezing. You hesitated to open the door, frightened of the possibility of a criminal or unstable person on the other side. It was only when you heard an uncomfortably familiar voice struggle to say your name. You froze. For what felt like a lifetime, you were paralysed in shock, and maybe even slight anger. It was only when he repeated, with more volume, that you could really hear the pain in his voice.

You reached for the handle, and there he was. Covered in blood and open wounds, leaning against the doorframe while clenching his side. You were liable to slap him, but instead you stuttered out the obvious questions of “are you okay?” “What happened?”

“Why didn’t you just call back?”

A/N: You can finish that however you want, it started getting far too long for a headcanons post lol

Fluff/Little behaviours:

- When he finally gets comfortable enough with you, he gets very physically affectionate. Usually in more subtle ways, but sometimes he won’t care to give you personal space (unless you actually told him to give you some - in which he would absolutely back off). In public, he’ll range from the occasional forehead kiss to the hovering behind and holding you to his chest. He can’t help but keep you close, it’s the easiest way for him to ground himself. But also the easiest way to keep you safe.

- He’s surprisingly good at cooking (which is canon), but he makes sure you know it. He wants you to see the skills he has that aren’t violent. Aren’t bloody. Until you’re talking about his steaks.

→ Independent Habits ♪

- He’s a really slow reader. Not because he doesn’t read at all, it’s consistently portrayed that he much rather reads a book than scroll the internet or something. It’s more because when he was in the military, he wanted to enjoy the little time he had when he wasn’t doing anything. He wanted a distraction, something time consuming that would seperate him from the world and the atrocities he would commit. So, he trained himself to read slowly, helping him absorb every little detail in a book as well as minimising the amount of books he would need to have access too.

Or alternatively,

- He’s a really fast reader. When his children (mostly his daughter) would recommend books, whether they were school books or personal interests, he would have to get through them in as little free time as he had. He needed something to connect with his kids to as he spent such little time with them over long periods of time due to deployment. So he learnt to read as quickly as possible while also absorbing as much information as possible. This continued when Leo (Lieberman) would recommend books to him, such as Life of Pi. Books were just the easiest way to make conversation and discover shared interests with (his) kids.

- Sometimes after spending days consecutively not speaking, he’ll choke up when trying to say something. Even just a simple “thanks” to the shopkeeper or something comes out as a croak. It’s one of the few times he feels slightly embarrassed lately.

Post Writing:

A/N: I was planning on adding more Independent Habits but I ran out of ideas/motivation (*´-`) - I felt funny putting the fluff relationship headcanons after that little story (´-ω-`)

please fill my requests with ideas/scenarios you’d like to see!! I need prompts to thrive lmao.

Started: 6th of May, 2025

Completed: 7th of May, 2025

[biting-miguel-ohara]

can i get a romantic blurb with prompt #69 and matt murdock :]

(congrats on 300 followers !! 🎉) - 🧸 anon

Prompt #69: “Can I hold your hand?”

CW: fluff, kisses, mild pining, chivalrous behavior, gn!Reader

"Can I hold your hand?"

“What?” You blink at Matt. He gives you that devilishly charming smile in return. The one that’s achingly lazy and oh so warm. It melts you completely.

“Can I hold your hand?” He holds out his own. After a moment, you take it. You weren’t ever really gonna say no. Not to an opportunity you’ve been dreaming about for months.

You walk with him, sticking close on the busy sidewalk. You’re barely paying attention though, too busy focusing on the feel of his calloused hand against yours.

He takes you out for lunch. And then walks you home. It’s the most giddy you’ve felt in months. He treats you so normally, but with so much grace it feels… special. He makes you feel special.

And when he kisses your hand at the door, lips lingering against your skin for a touch longer than necessary? When his lips are pillow soft and his kiss slow and gentle? You could combust into a thousand starbursts and still feel enraptured.

You’re so in love with him. And for the first time in ages, it seems like you finally have a chance.

[hellsburners]

thin walls

summary: this new york city apartment has terrible walls! pairing: matt murdock x gender neutral!reader word count: 934 warnings: 18+ warning, masturbation, perv!matt, eavesdropping, mutual masturbation kinda?, sex toy use, neighbor!matt a/n: was writing for a request but this prompt came to mind lol.

masterlist | more matt murdock

Matt Murdock let out a yawn listening to his screen reader, neck aching, lids half-hooded at this point. It was well beyond the night for this lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen. It was definitely nothing new, taking hours doing research for a case. The week has been busy for him, balancing pro-bono cases and bigger cases to pay for the bills, this didn’t even include his nightly duties to the Kitchen. 

Matt was in his dining area with his laptop and tons of paperwork, one earbud on as the robotic voice of the reader blurred in his tired brain. He pauses the audio and rests his face on his hands. The sounds of his neighborhood started to flood his senses, the dogs barking, the couples fighting, the crying babies, it was all making his head hurt. He tries to breathe his way into silencing the noises, purely focusing on blocking them all out when he hears a moan and buzzing sound from the unit next door. He knew who you were, you’ve exchanged greetings before, you even gave him packed food on Christmas day. It was a warm gesture, something that rarely happens in this neighborhood he loves to protect. 

With Matt tuning his senses to the sounds coming from your room he hears what you’re doing clearly. You were on your bed, he heard the way the bed creaks and the way the cotton sheets brush on your shirt, you were completely naked waist down, the vibrating toy in between your legs teases you sex. It was a gift from your friend, you told them it was embarrassing and that you would never use it anyway, but here you were holding the six-inch pink vibrator in your hands. 

On the other side of the wall Matt could hear you spread lube on the vibrating device. He furrowed his brows and removed the earbud to fully listen to what’s happening. Matt knew it was wrong, he purposely intended to only use his hightented abilities for good, not for eavesdropping on your neighbor masturbating. He loosens his tie from the heat starting to burn inside him, unbuttoning the first two buttons from his shirt. He hears your soft moans from you teasing your sex with the vibrator, you try to increase the intensity and you suddenly shudder from the shock of pleasure. At the same time, Matt could feel his own erection form. 

Your mind wandered to the hot neighbor you had, with his red glasses, unkempt stubble, and his soft lips. You wondered what it would feel to have those lips on your skin, the softness of his kisses with the roughness of his facial hair trailing down your body to your center. Your eyes closed as you dive deeper into your fantasy, moaning while your thighs move closer. You were reminded of that time you saw him take a package left on his doorstep with the name “Foggy” written on it. He was only clothed from the waist down with worn out sweatpants with the hems tucked into old cotton socks. You marveled at his toned body, his big arms, his broad chest and his abs. You couldn’t help but stare as he bent down and his muscles contracted into deeper lines making them more defined. 

“Fuck,” you said as you started to put the vibrator in your sex, feeling your muscles tense and give into the sensations. The lube added more ease to the thrusts you were doing to your center. You gripped the sheets as you moaned. In your head the pleasure wasn’t from a toy but from the man in the unit next door. 

Behind the thin wall Matt Murdock was also in the middle of pleasure. He had opened his trousers and was pumping his dick to the sounds from the other room. Your voice starts to pitch higher from the immense pleasure. You muffle your moans with your other hand as you continue to fuck yourself. In a twisted use of his abilities, Matt could single out the  moments the vibrator would go in and out of you. He used that chance to pump his dick in the same rhythm to yours. 

Come on, sweetheart, let me hear your moans, he whispers under his breath, his chest rising and falling. He spits into his cock to give him some lubrication so his thrusts could be faster. You were a whimpering mess, your hand leaves your mouth to play with your nipples. You wanted to call for his name. The name of the man next door. Matt was it? Your orgasm was close. Your body slightly convulsing, tears pooling in your eyes. You wanted him so badly, want to feel his cock as it thrusts inside you. You want to feel him lose himself in your arms. A carnal desire looms over the both of you.

“I want you so bad, Matt,” you moaned. Matt was shocked to hear you moan his name, and how you wanted him. Wanton lust pulses through Matt’s body as he cums. His senses focusing on your beautiful noises, his cum pools on his abdomen as he climaxes.

The tension inside you loosens as you give out your release. You give out one last moan before you fall back to the mattress. You turn off the device and take it out of you. You lay there in your bed, ashamed of what you’ve done. The same way Matt feels. Sin won tonight in Hell’s Kitchen, wherein you and the devil lost yourselves to lust. Matt wondered if it would happen again tomorrow night. 

He grins.

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[angelyuji]

Our Father, Who art in heaven,

if he could focus, he could hear your voice. he could hear you mumbling along, focused on praying. he wonders what you pray for, your family? your work? or... for love?

Hallowed be Thy Name. 

matt feels his face heat up at the thought. no. you weren't like him. you're not a sinner like him. he tries to shake the thought from his head. he told himself he wouldn't do this anymore.

Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done,

he can't. with the devil gone, he told himself to not let himself fall back into those habits. his sinful, perverted, dirty habits. but as he sat outside the church, listening to your hushed prayers... matt couldn't help but dream.

on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. 

dream of you. dream of waking up next to you, making you breakfast, laughing with you. he couldn't help, but dream of your legs wrapping around him, pressing himself to your scorching skin, memorizing every inch of you.

And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

he's different now. he has to be. so why is he continuing to be the man he used to be. he smelled you, he didn't mean to follow you. but the scent of you captivated him and now he knows where you live. where you work. what places you go to with your friends. the self-loathing creeps up his spine; he could feel His disappointment as he listened outside of your home.

 And lead us not into temptation, 

you needed better locks. matt had chuckled as he easily picked your lock. all he could think as he broke into your home was that you needed better locks. he walked in and he was overwhelmed, everything smelled like you. he couldn't help but bask in it. if he couldn't be with you, this was the next best thing.

but deliver us from evil. Amen.

[softspace-fics]

Exhausted.

HEY YALL Im coming out of left field with this one because this is a relatively new character ive fallen in love with but MATT MURDOCK!! So enjoy whatever this is and hopefully ill be back soon with school ending in less than a month !!

Masterlist! - all my work

Warnings⚠️: Mentions of exhaustion, crying, fluff and comfort!

Cg!Matt Murdock x little!Gn little

_________

Life has been a continuous cycle of repeat events, especially the last few weeks. It has felt like nothing but hell because of it. Sleep, school, work, repeat.

Your hobbies haven’t moved an inch since the last time you had a true day off, and you can feel it. The closing of your car door as you turn on your car has you sighing. The night sky surrounds you as you see little to no people out on the streets. Work was long and tiring, working till late really wears on someone after a while.

You missed regressing, it was one of the only things that didn’t take a million things to be able to do. Even though you wished for and have cute Sippy's, outerwear, and a caregiver that helps you to worry less about your big world, life hadn’t given you that chance to indulge in it, at least not recently.

Matt, your lovely boyfriend and caregiver has been working on a huge case, constantly in the office and or out on the streets doing things he never wants to talk about with you.

You park successfully before grabbing your phone and scrolling mindlessly for a few minutes, even though you should probably go in and go to bed. You eventually pull yourself out of your car and drag yourself up to your second-floor apartment, opening the lock and climbing inside, exhaustion finally beginning to run its course of the night.

You expect yourself to be home alone seeing as Matt normally doesn't get home till early morning at the earliest the last few weeks, so the quiet of the apartment doesn't phase you. Walking to the kitchen and getting a snack to distract yourself, you try and hold back the tears that want to escape. Even without wanting to or having anyone there to help, all your brain can begin to do is beg to regress and give it some sort of a break.

Without much of a thought you slowly trudge over to your shared bedroom, changing into more comfortable clothes and sitting in the swinging chair in the corner of the room. Curling yourself into a ball the tears start to fall as your brain regresses, the weight of exhaustion being your blanket.

You aren't sure how long you’ve been sitting in the chair before you feel someone pick you up, cradling you close to their chest. The scent of Matt fills your lungs, and you cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he sits on the edge of the bed.

No words are spoken as he rocks you gently, kissing your forehead and just being there. He felt awful coming into the house and hearing your crying, knowing that you had no one here to help you shattered his heart. All his plans of action for the night became a back thought as he rushed in to help you.

“I’m here sweetheart, your safe. I’ve got you” He mumbles softly, kissing your temple as your tears slow.

The weight of the world slowly eases off your shoulder as he rubs your back, letting you put all your weight onto him. The more kisses and sweet words he whispers, the further and further you fall into your headspace.

Once your just softly breathing while having your face buried into his neck, he climbs further into the bed, making sure to hold you protectively.

You pull your face from his neck and look at him, worrying that your interrupting important things for him, you go to climb off him. Your mind desperately trying to go to your bigger headspaces where you can take care of yourself.

“No- No baby stop pulling from me. I’m not leaving you alone like this.” He firmly says although no heat is laced through the words. He pulls you even tighter to his chest as he kisses your forehead.

“I’m sorry you fought these last few weeks alone. The case and my other duties should never come before you. I’ll make it up to you and do better.”

You want to console him but you have zero energy left in you, so you just bury your face in his neck and bask in his warmth. He rubs your back and continues to give you little kisses through out your hair as he lulls you to sleep.

The following morning you two shared some comforting words and talked out the remaining feelings. You both ended the conversation with promises to make sure the other is priority and to give eachother the love you both deserve. Although sometimes its hard, you both never had to worry about giving up on eachother.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Headcanons for dating Matt Murdock where reader is a civilian and doesn't know he's daredevil??

Matt murdock x GN!reader

● you met Matt working down the hall from Nelson & Murdock, always going out of your way to start conversations when you saw him because you thought he was cute

● and sometimes you would bring him pastries from your favorite bakery as another excuse to see him which Foggy especially enjoyed

● more often than not Foggy would take down the entire box by the time you finished talking to Matt

● “really Foggy? You ate the whole box? Y/N brought them for all of us” Matt laughs

● Foggy with a mouth full of pastry “Hey I left you and Karen one to split”

● you really couldn't tell if Matt was attracted to you but he definitely knew you were attracted to him

● he would hear your heart rate speed up every time you saw him

● and then you were hanging out with them at Josie's and Matt put his arms around you to help you line up your pool shot purposely to get you all flustered

● “how are you so good at pool when you can't even see the table?” You say trying to keep your cool

● “I'm a man of many talents,” he grins enjoying the way your breath hitched when he put his hand on your lower back

● when he finally asked you to dinner you were excited but also very nervous

● you kept stumbling over your words and knocked your drink over soaking the table

● “shit I'm sorry Matt I guess I'm a little nervous,” you apologize as you clean it up with napkins

● “it's okay Y/N, it's just me you don't need to be nervous,” he chuckles holding your hand which once again he hears your heart start to race making him smile

● when you make your relationship official Foggy's first question is “does this mean you're not gonna bring pastries over anymore to flirt with Matt?”

● “don't worry Foggy I'll still bring you pastries, I can flirt with Matt even if he's already my boyfriend,” you joke

● you always help him pick out the suits he's gonna wear for trials

● and listen to him run his opening statements for the dozenth time

● “how was that?”

● “sorry did you say something I was too distracted by how hot you look in this suit,” you say smoothing out his tie

● “Y/N,” he laughs

● “I'm just kidding babe it was great, you're so gonna win this case,” you say before giving him your traditional good luck kiss before he heads off to court

● after months of dating Matt hasn't quite gotten around to telling you about his crime fighting alter ego yet

● he uses the excuse of being overloaded with cases as to why you guys have to have so many lunch dates and why you rarely see him at night

● and him showing up with new wounds he blames on working with clients with dangerous pasts

● as suspicious as it is you do live in hell's kitchen, you've been mugged more than a handful of times so you let yourself believe him for now

● but the nights you do get to share in the same bed you hold him in your arms and don't let go

[r3ita-g4zette]

could you plz have Matt feeling your face to memorize your face? I love the idea of his blindness affecting him genuinely instead of him being some sort of indestructible force. Thank you!!!

Yesss!! Having Matt understand your face due to his senses is already amazing, but having him intimately just feel your face to try and memorize you as good as he can feels much more personal.

Memorizing your face

Matt Murdock x GN! Reader

After a long day, you and Matt sat together on the bed, the home silent. your hands slid down to Matt's, taking note of how cold they felt against yours. He seemed tired, the way his thumb lazily rubbed over yours, staring at you but.. not quite. “Matt.. do you wish you could see me?” You asked with a certain tenderness.

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Well.. I know you can, kind of but.. you know? See me.” You murmured. The room was silent for a couple more moments, Matt's gaze lowering just slightly as he thought.

"No, I don't," he says without hesitation, shifting to wrap his fingers around yours. "Sometimes seeing too much can be...dangerous, even traumatic."

He raises your intertwined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, tracing them with a thumb. "Besides..." he adds, his tone a bit more playful, "you forget—I have other ways of seeing you."

Instinctively, you rolled your eyes, “well I know that.” You teased, your gaze stuck on your husband for a moment before looking down at your intertwined fingers.

“I still remember when we first got serious, back in College.. you were so shy to ask me if you could touch my face.” You whispered, unraveling your fingers from his and guiding the palm of his hand to your cheek. Your eyes closed at the gesture.

“I may not be the prettiest, but I like it when you “see” me. It makes me feel wanted.”

Matt's smile softens at the memory. "I was not shy; I was just being respectful," he counters, his hand finding your cheek, fingers gently tracing the lines of your face, mapping out every feature. Matt’s fingers curving into every dip and caressing, as if making a model of you in his head

"You're pretty to me," He murmurs, the pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "And there's only one way I want to see you—through my fingertips. It's more intimate, more...personal."

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, giving Matt the softest look, “You think I’m pretty?” You questioned in a hushed tone. Matt's expression was one of utter adoration. Despite his lack of sight, his other senses screamed at him that you were gorgeous. It wasn't just physical attraction, either.

"The prettiest," he said softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The shape of your lips..." His fingers trailed down to your jaw. "Your eyes..." The pads of his finger's grazed along right beneath your eyes. "...the line of your nose..." He finished, his touch as gentle a feather.

His hand moved down to the column of your throat, "the way you feel when I do this," Matt whispered, gently tracing the tender skin with his fingertips, feeling the way your pulse fluttered at the touch.

You let or soft laugh, pulling away Matt’s hand and placing it back on your cheek. “You don’t care that I don’t have that supermodel body? I’m glad you never see me when I’m fully relaxed. I look like a creature from a movie and develop 3 chins." You pickily chuckled.

Matt shook his head. "You don't need to look like a supermodel," he said adamantly, his other hand rising to caress the other side of your face, cupping it in a way. "I'm not looking for someone to put on a pedestal. I'm looking for someone real."

His thumbs gently brushed over your chin and jawline. "And besides," he added with a sly, gentle smirk, "I'm pretty fond of your chin(s). The more the merrier."

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, “I can’t with you-“ you laughed, your hand lightly patting Matt’s chest before leaning your head forward and resting on his shoulder. “You can touch my face whenever, if you want to see me.. if you're bored.. I’m okay with it all. You are my husband, aren't you?”

Matt chuckled at your familiar laugh, the warmth of it filling the room like a cozy blanket. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. He then pulled your head back softly and slowly, his gaze on you, but as usual, off.

"Your permission is appreciated, but I'd always wait for your consent," he said softly, his touch still tracing the features of your face. "And if you're bored, how about we keep things interesting?"

His fingers gently found their way to the nape of your neck, his touch light but possessive, a subtle claim.

wc; 751

[monicfever]

sound and vision. 𝜗𝜚 matt murdock.

on a quiet rooftop, matt lies beside his girl as she traces constellations with her voice, painting the stars he can’t see.

matt murdock had never truly mourned the stars.

there had been a time, long ago, when the idea of losing them — their sharp, distant shimmer, the way they blinked into existence in a velvet-dark sky — felt like one of the smaller heartbreaks nestled quietly inside the larger one.

but grief has a way of softening around the edges. over the years, he forgot to miss them. forgot what it felt like to look up and see. he learned to look inward, to trace the world with sound and scent and the subtle shift of air currents against his skin.

he hadn’t realized that he’d replaced starlight with other things. the click of her shoes across his apartment floor. the way her heartbeat quickened when she was lying. the warmth in her laughter when she wasn’t.

she never tried to fix what he couldn’t have. never flinched at what was missing. but she did have this tendency to share what she could — to narrate her world in a way that made him feel like he hadn’t lost a thing at all.

that night, it was a blanket thrown over her shoulder and a mischievous smile in her voice. “come on. i have a surprise.”

he didn’t ask questions. just followed.

they climbed the stairs slowly, her hand brushed against his every few steps like punctuation, like she couldn’t help making sure he was still there. she smelled like citrus shampoo and something sweeter, something sun-warmed and familiar.

the door to the roof groaned when she pushed it open. the air changed immediately — cooler, lighter, tinged with the city’s distant hum.

she laid the blanket out with the kind of precision reserved for small, sacred things. crackled open a bag of popcorn. popped the cap off two sodas with a practiced flick.

“okay,” she said, settling beside him, legs crossed like a kid at storytime, “i know you can’t see them. but they’re here. and they’re gorgeous tonight. want me to describe them to you?”

he turned slightly, smiled. “i was waiting for you to offer.”

so she did.

she spoke the constellations into life — drew orion and perseus and lyra with the lilt of her voice, every star mapped out like a heartbeat. her words were delicate, deliberate. she didn’t rush. didn’t pretend he needed her to fill the silence — he just liked when she did.

matt laid back slowly, the gravel of the roof pressing into his shoulders, the city pulsing around him like something alive.

beside him, she shifted — her knee bumping his thigh as she mirrored his posture. the blanket rustled softly beneath them, the scent of buttered popcorn mixed with the faint, crisp cool of the night air.

“okay,” she breathed, like she was about to tell him a secret. “the sky looks like... spilled sugar across black velvet. but not perfect sugar — some pieces clump together, some scatter way out on their own like they’re being shy. and there’s this huge one, low in the sky, almost yellow. it kind of glows like the streetlamp outside the bodega near your place, you know the one?”

matt smiled, just barely. he did know. it buzzed faintly in the evenings.

“and there’s this long stretch — like someone took a paintbrush and just swiped it across the sky,” she went on. “that’s the milky way. it looks fuzzy. a little messy. like a kid did it. i always thought it looked like someone smudged the stars with their thumb.”

her voice had that unfiltered wonder in it again, the kind that made him feel like he could see it too, just in a different way. she described the sky not like she was reciting facts, but like she was telling a bedtime story — full of colour and strange comparisons and joy so tangible he could almost reach out and hold it.

matt turned his face toward her, though his eyes were still closed. he just wanted to catch more of her voice, the little vibrations in the air, the way her pulse fluttered a little faster when she got excited.

he let the silence stretch, not because he had nothing to say, but because he was a little too full of it all. of her. of this domestic kind of magic she carried with her, the way she turned a rooftop and a blanket and a few whispered descriptions into something sacred.

she was precious in a way that crept up on him. not just because of how fiercely she loved things, or how she always brought snacks, or how she narrated the stars like they were old friends. but because she shared it all. with him. without hesitation. without pity.

he could’ve told her. right then. just blurted out I love you. but instead, he reached for her hand, interlaced their fingers lazily, gave her the smallest squeeze.

she squeezed back. said nothing.

the city murmured around them — traffic rolling slow a few blocks away, a dog barking hoarsely in the distance, someone playing jazz out of an open window three stories down.

matt turned slightly onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers still twined with hers. the gravel was digging into his arm, but he didn’t care. not when she was still talking, not when her voice was this soft, low-laughter kind of lovely.

“you’ve got popcorn in your hair,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to pluck it out with mock precision.

“no i don’t.” she said, but she was grinning.

“you do,” he insisted, holding up the offending kernel triumphantly, “evidence.”

she leaned over and swatted at him, missing entirely, and laughed in a way that made his chest ache. not in the sharp, bruised way he knew too well. but in that strange, aching tenderness that always came with being close to something — someone — good. something real.

“you think you're clever, huh?” she said.

“i do.”

“you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he smirked. “i’ve been told.”

she rolled her eyes audibly, somehow, and flopped back onto the blanket, tugging him down with her. his hand found her waist automatically, like it always did, like it knew the way better than he did.

they didn’t say anything for a while. just breathed in rhythm, letting the stillness settle like another blanket over them. it was easy with her. he didn’t have to chase the silence away or fill it with half-hearted distractions. she didn’t expect anything but what he gave.

after a few minutes, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “do you ever wish you could see them? the stars, i mean.”

he was quiet for a second, thoughtful. “not really.” he said finally. “i think if i could id be too focused on what I was missing all these years. i like it better this way.”

she shifted slightly, turning to look at him. he felt the movement, the small puff of her breath on his cheek. “this way?”

he smiled. “hearing it in your voice. feeling how much you love it. it’s better than the real thing, probably.”

there was a pause. then she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth — light, barely there. “you're such a sap.”

“only for you.” he replied, completely deadpan.

she snorted, and he smiled wider, because he liked making her laugh like that — unguarded, a little surprised. like she hadn’t expected it and couldn’t help herself.

“you know,” she started, voice laced with that familiar teasing, “for someone who’s all serious and broody in court, you’re kind of a softie.”

matt turned his head toward her. “broody?”

“yes. absolutely broody. you sit in court with your tie all perfect and your jaw all tense like you’re in a crime drama.”

“i am in a crime drama.” he muttered, deadpan.

“see? exactly that energy.”

he huffed out a laugh, the kind that vibrated more in his chest than in his throat. “you don’t think im mysterious and cool?”

“oh no, you’re mysterious,” she said, dramatic. “like that one neighbor no one sees during daylight hours.”

matt gazed at her with mock offense. “you think I’m the creepy neighbor?”

“i think you might be batman, honestly.”

he bit back a laugh, one corner of his mouth twitching up. “im flattered. but I don’t do capes.”

“suspicious answer.”

“you watch too many movies.”

she grinned, triumphant. “and you dodge questions like someone with a secret lair.”

he reached over, slow and playful, nudging her shoulder with his. “If I had a secret lair, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”

“ouch.”

“you’d try to redecorate it.”

she gasped like he’d wounded her. “that is not true. I would simply add a little mood lighting. maybe a throw blanket or two. some ambiance.”

he tilted his head toward her, pretending to consider. “you want to add candles to my non-existent lair. that feels like a fire hazard.”

“you’re impossible.”

“so you keep saying.”

she rolled onto her side, shoving him lightly. he let himself be moved, dramatic about it, like she’d knocked him clear off balance. her hand stayed on his chest for a beat longer than necessary, resting there like it belonged.

“you’re lucky you’re charming.” she admired him.

“and modest.”

she snorted. “deeply.”

matt’s smile softened.

“you’re kind of dangerous, you know,” he said quietly.

she blinked, surprised. “me?”

“yeah.” he leaned back onto the blanket again, hands folded behind his head like they were just two regular people stargazing and not… this thing that felt like more. “you make things feel easy. like I could stay here forever and not worry about anything.”

she didn’t respond right away. just curled up beside him again.

“good.” she said. “i hope it always feels like that.”

and for a man who could no longer see the night sky, matt murdock had never felt closer to it.

started 4.20.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

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©️ monicfever 2025