#father matt murdock x reader

[bi-n-evil]

Me seeing a fictional character be portrayed as a dom when they're literally such a sub:

[deniable-masterpiece]

even blurry he still looks so good

[lovelybucky1]

dad!matt versus usually independent reader for the first time - making her squirt while he's at it 👀

you were so confident in your ability to make yourself cum. you’ve never had an issue in the past and with your collection of toys, you’re always satisfied. even when you started dating matt and he was giving you everything you wanted, you would still break out your toys when he wasn’t home.

it’s not like you were keeping it a secret on purpose, it was just a habit you kept private, like flossing your teeth. one day, though, he caught you. he had an early day and you didn’t hear him coming, and his enhanced hearing allowed him to hear everything.

he proceeded to hold your vibrator hostage while he questioned you about his ability to satisfy you. it ended up with you on your back, thighs clamped around his head while he took you apart with his mouth and fingers.

you cried, explaining that he does satisfy you but your vibe does too, just in a different way. he ignored you as he sucked on your clit harder, pushing you towards overstimulation.

after your third orgasm, something unexpected happened. your legs started to shake and your mouth opened in a silent scream. you wanted to squirm away from him, but his firm grip kept you in place as he forced this pleasure on you.

you were gushing into his mouth, reaching a peak of pleasure that you have never experienced before, even with your toys. when he finally stopped, you sagged against the mattress in an exhausted puddle, and matt was left to pick up the pieces.

“this is why it’s my job to take care of you, sweetheart. dad knows best.”

[spnjediavenger]

I Need My Brother (Chapter 5)

Title: I Need My Brother (Chapter 5)

Type: multi-chapter; matt murdock x sister!reader

Warnings: canon-typical Daredevil situations/injuries, blood, angst, sibling argument

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: none

Spoilers: S1 SPOILERS

Notes: As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Word count: 1531

Need to catch up? 

(Chp 1) (Chp 2) (Chp 3) (Chp 4) (Chp 4.5)

“Y/n, I can get it myself, don’t worry about it,” Matt said, gently pushing his sister’s hands away. 

Y/n had been dressing Matt’s wounds and redoing any stitches he popped by doing things he shouldn’t be. He appreciated her willingness to help but fixing her brother’s wounds wasn’t something she should have to do - something he’s explained to her many times at this point.

“Matt, I can do it, don’t worry about it,” she mocked monotonously, going back to work.

“But you don’t need to. I’ve done this for long enough. I’d be a bad brother if I had you do it.” He poked at her stomach, earning a yelp.

“Dohon’t do that when I have a needle in my hand, jerk,” Y/n said, unable to help giggling at the feeling. But she shook her head and grew serious again.

“You already-...” Matt thought about his words carefully. “You already have been having a hard time with…all of this.”

“Matt, please!”

Not expecting her to yell, the older Murdock flinched.

Y/n looked away for a moment to compose herself before looking back to Matt’s blind gaze. “I’m…I’m sorry…Just, please,” she whispered. “It…It helps when I can do something. Patching-Patching you up helps me feel some semblance of control…It helps ground me in the fact that you’re still here…”

Matt paused for a moment and sighed. He had a feeling this conversation was coming. “You’re still having nightmares, aren’t you?

Y/n bowed her head.

Matt sensed this and hooked a finger under her chin to tilt her head back up. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell me?”

The girl sighed. “I didn’t want to bother you,” she whispered before sniffing and composing herself, sitting up straighter. “And I can handle it. You need to focus on resting and healing.”

Matt leaned forward, suppressing a grunt. “I can’t focus on resting unless my sister,” he poked her nose, “is able to rest.”

A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed. Y/n sighed.

“I can’t. I won’t be able to.”

“Then start bunking with me. Like when you were little.”

“You don’t get it, you don’t get it, Matt!” she yelled, standing suddenly. “I can’t rest because every time I close my eyes I see you bloody and dying on the living room floor! And if I can get past that and fall asleep - I dream of that night over, and over, and over again!” Her voice began shaking. “When I’m awake - I have to deal with the anxiety and fear of knowing this wasn’t the first and I know it won’t be the last time something like this happens. I have to deal with the anxiety and fear that one day my big brother is going to die doing this and there is nothing I can do to stop that!”

“Ok ok ok, please calm down, bug. I don’t want you to have another panic attack. I didn’t mean to set you off,” Matt apologized, grabbing her hands to hold tight.

Y/n ripped her hands out of his and backed away sharply; she took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff of air. She looked back to Matt. “You promised, Matt. You promised you would be more careful.”

“I know. I’m sorry.“

“Stop saying that!” she yelled. “Just stop! Stop saying you know! And stop apologizing when you don’t mean it!”

Matt went to stand, suppressing another grunt. “Y/n, I do mean it.”

Y/n shook her head. “No you don’t,” she said hotly, angry tears in her eyes. “If you did, you would change. You would do something to make it right. So until you do that you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your apologies seriously because you clearly don’t.” With that, Y/n spun on her heel and stormed off to her room, forgetting about her previous insistence on cleaning Matt’s wounds. 

Even though he knew it was coming, Matt flinched when her bedroom door slammed shut. He sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and pinched the bridge of his nose. Back when this whole thing started - with Y/n storming out of his office, Foggy told Matt he had a hell of a mess to clean up…now Matt couldn’t help but think that was still accurate. Or maybe the mess had never truly been cleaned up in the first place. 

Matt walked stiffly down the aisle of Clinton Church, sliding his walking cane as if he needed it. He slowed his steps and listened.

Steady heartbeat up to the left. Wooden cross tapping against fabric. Father Lantom was sitting in the pew five rows up from where Matt was standing and turned around to see him walking in.

Matt kept walking until he stood next to the father’s pew. Father Lantom turned further to look at him.

“Matthew,” he greeted, looking him up and down. “Do I want to know what happened?”

Instead of answering him, Matt asked, “Got time for another latte, father?”

Matt and Fr. Lantom sat in the break area of the church, lattes in their hands, though Matt’s remained full. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Fr. Lantom realized a push would be necessary.

“You didn’t come just for a two-star latte, did you, Matthew?”

Matt scoffed a bit through his nose. “That obvious, huh?”

“I hope you’re not here about another person you’re thinking of killing.”

“No, no, I promise it’s not…Father, did I uh…did I ever mention my sister?”

Fr. Lantom paused for a moment, wondering where Matt was going with this. “I know you have one. And that she was raised in the orphanage with you. I know things the nuns have told me. But the only things you’ve ever shared with me have been inside confessionals about your…nightly activities.”

Matt’s heart dropped a bit. He never stopped to think about how he only ever talked to Fr. Lantom from his vigilante perspective. He knew he mentioned his father before. He couldn’t believe he never mentioned Y/n.

“That upsets you,” Fr. Lantom noted.

“She’s everything to me,” Matt said. “Clearly I uh…I haven’t done a good job of showing it…to you or her…” he continued, bowing his head. The father waited patiently for him to continue. Matt swirled his now-lukewarm latte around in its paper cup. “I’ve hurt her…it seems like I can’t stop…and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Does she know your secret?”

“Yes. She did from the beginning. Not my choice. But I didn’t realize how good she had gotten at tricking my senses when she was younger. And even then she knew me too well for me to be able to lie to her.”

“Smart kid. Seems to run in the family.”

Matt chuckled. “As far as the kids go, anyway. That’s why our dad didn’t want us to end up like him. Knew we had the brains not to.”

Fr. Lantom smiled a bit before getting serious again. “You said you hurt her. What do you mean?”

“Everytime I come home, battered and bruised, I know it upsets her. But lately I’ve had more…dances with death than either of us would like.”

“It’s natural to worry for those we care about. I’d be concerned if she wasn’t upset by those things.”

“I know. But I made her a promise that I’d be more careful. And I want to keep it but…”

“You don’t know if you can.”

Matt nodded. 

“So are you looking to quit your duties?”

“No,” Matt said without a single thought. 

“Alright…Are you going to send her away?”

“No, of course not.”

“Involve her?”

“No.”

Fr. Lantom paused for a moment, analyzing the man before him. “Then what is it you want, Matthew?”

Matt sighed through his nose and turned his head down. “I don’t know.”

“You do know that there will never be peace with this situation? You’re never going to stop being a vigilante. And she’s never going to stop worrying about you.”

“I guess I’ve just been trying to convince myself and her that I’d be able to catch Fisk easier and at least be able to slow down.”

Fr. Lantom thought for a moment then clasped his hands, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “I don’t think you came here looking for a solution, Matthew.”

“What do you think I’m looking for, then?”

“Forgiveness.”

Matt paused. “That does sound nice.”

“The kind of forgiveness you’re looking for won’t be found within the walls of this church.”

“Something tells me I won’t be able to find it at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Fr. Lantom said, leaning back in his chair again. “With time you may get there. Couple smart kids like you? I think you’ll be able to figure something out. In the meantime, I think Y/n has to try and take some time to deal with her emotions. I’m assuming she’s mature for her age - that will serve you both well in this situation. She just has to realize it. And I think you need to be careful…and take your time healing.”

(Chapter 6)

Taglist: @babybeeelle

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

Okay now I wanna write father figure Matt Murdock

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

but daddy, i love him - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys it has been a month since i posted a fic but. i wanted to write this blurb and see what i could do. remember folks-- you can't choose your dad but you can choose your daddy. happy fathers day. warnings: cursing, mentions of readers father being awful, cheating at poker, a suggestive ending, mommy and daddy kink (not in a conventional way) word count: 1.3k summary: your matthew finally comes up with a way to get back at your dad. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: but daddy, i love him - taylor swift "screaming 'but daddy, i love him'/i'm having his baby/no i'm not/but you should see your faces'

He listens to your anxious heartbeat all the way to your dad’s house. He knows you’re nervous. He knows you can’t help it. It’s years of manipulation and trauma built up, but this year, he tells you, is different.

You started dating Matt just after Father’s Day last year—So he does not understand the horrors associated with it. Sure, he’s met your dad a few times. Christmas, once or twice throughout the year..

And while your dad loves Matt, because he puts on a smile and a charming laugh, Matt hates your dad. He cannot fucking stand him, mostly because he spends most of the year comforting you after your dad pulls something.

So when you told Matt about the yearly poker match that he hosts on Father’s Day, your lovely Daredevil boyfriend decided that the only thing he wanted for the holiday was to see you happy.

The plan was easy.

He would listen to the other players’ cues, and tap your hand once to bet, twice to call, three times to raise. Then, from there, he’d read the nerves of your opponents and write the initial of whatever he thought was best to do from there.

And it’s not like you let your father win, either. You and your siblings do your best to beat him, but every year, he manages to find a way to win. You suspect he’s cheating.

But as you pull into the driveway, Matt’s head tilts.

“Baby,” he starts, his tone dripping with affection, “You need to relax, or else you’ll never be able to win,” he tells you, “Your dads gonna be able to read you like a book.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. You manage a soft smile before nodding.

“You’re right. Ready to go in?” You ask, and Matt’s hand finds yours. He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“I am.” He hums.

• • •

As your dad deals out the cards, Matt finds himself sitting right next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. He’s usually affectionate, so no one bats an eye.

He looks at your Matthew, before asking,

“You playin’, Matt?”

Matt smirks and takes a sip of his beer. He’s not only playing, but he’s already won. Sure, a poker face is hard to maintain, but a nervous heartbeat is impossible to hide from Matt. Not only that, but the nervous sweat, or small bouncing of a leg or a finger that you might think was hidden. Matt could read easily.

Of course, Only you and him know that. And sure, it’s pretty much cheating, but you have been losing to your dad in poker and have listened to him brag about it for years on end, since you aren’t playing for money, only bragging rights.

Besides, your dad is a piece of shit and has done nothing but manipulate and torment you, driving you crazy, for as long as you can remember.

So, fuck ‘em.

“Somehow,” Matt replies after a moment, “I don’t think I’d have much fun with cards.” He tells him, and you and your siblings, as well as an uncle or two and your grandfather, laugh. Your dad’s face hardens as if he’s been one-upped.

You play cards for a while—Going on three hours by the time it gets down to just you and your dad. Your brother was the first one out, then went your sister and uncle, then your other uncle and grandfather. You stand face to face with the beast. And you’re so close to winning.

Matt listens as he deals the cards. When he glanced to the card, Matt takes a moment to listen. He tells you to raise with his finger, and you do. Your dad scoffs.

“That’s a dumb move.”

“Why?” Matt answers you. “Scared to be beat by your own kid?” he asks, and his voice is teasing, but when you listen to his voice for a second, you can hear the snark, the venom laced within. The devil has come out to play.

And he is insistent on you winning.

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head.

“This one? Not one bit.” He hums, placing his cards down, what you recognize to be a tell of his bluff. You don’t need Matt to tell you to go in for it, because you realize you know this game, and you know this man. He is so close to winning that he thinks if he can convince you that he has a good hand, you will probably believe it.

So, you go all in.

And Matt just leans back, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as his smile grows. The other players that are out of the game stare at you like you’ve just thrown the whole game away. But Matt begins to hear your Dad’s heart stutter.

But you study his face, and you have to give it to the man, despite the fact that you’d never ever give him credit, he has an incredible poker face. Luckily, not only do you have a boyfriend who helps you win, you also learned a long time ago that your father is gifted in lying.

He is also incredibly egotistical, so he goes all in too.

So, when it’s time to reveal cards, your dad smirks.

“Flush.” He tells you.

A thick silence fills the air, before you turn over your cards.

“Four of a kind.” You smirk, and your father’s face drops. Matt and your siblings start clapping as you start laughing, and everyone in your dad’s backyard quickly learns that there is a new Father’s Day poker champion.

You grin as you lean over to Matt, kissing his cheek.

“My lucky charm.” You say, scrunching your nose at him.

He sends you a wink back.

• • •

You ride the high of beating your dad all night, giggling softly as you stumble out back to the car. He holds your hand as you lean on him.

“I cannot believe we fucking did that,” You tell him. “That was amazing!” You grin, and he laughs.

“You’re amazing! You went all in and I didn’t even have to tell you!” He grins. You sigh, leaning back against your car. Matt’s arms wrap around your waist. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and you hum happily.

“Happy Father’s Day,” You whisper as you kiss repeatedly, the passion between you growing. His arms move from around your waist, to moving his hands up and down your sides.

“Mmm..” is all he hums back.

“How can I say thank you for today?” You ask him, and he pushes his body against yours.

“Maybe you could give me something to celebrate next year..” He says softly. You smirk.

“You want me to make you a daddy?” You ask, and he groans against your skin.

“Mm, Maybe.” He says quietly, leaning in to kiss your ear. “What do you think, Mommy? Wanna go home and continue to feel good?” He questions, biting the skin right below your ear.

“As long as you keep kissing me like that, daddy.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss him again before biting his lip, tugging on it a bit.

“Now that’s something I can do. Easily.” He smirks. His lips come down to start kissing your neck, leaving little kisses and bites on your neck. “You’re gonna make such a pretty mommy..” He tells you, his hands squeezing your thighs. He thinks he might go crazy if he doesn’t get a hold of you, a better taste.

His mind runs wild with thoughts of all the things he could do to you. You cannot stop thinking about making him a father, about him filling you up.

You love the holidays.

[aza-writes]

Blood Red : Chapter 14

Doodles of Saturn

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE AND PAST SEXUAL ABUSE

Hell's Kitchen : 2016

Aleksandra's POV

A euphoric feeling lingers as I ride my bike to the meeting. I weave in and out of cars in a rush to get there, worried I'll crash if I ride on this high any longer. I've never had to ride my motorcycle or drive a car while my head remains stuck in this haze, but I kinda like it. I like the absence of worry and strategy; I like the recklessness.

Tonight's meeting is at the Ranskahov garage, where they stash their taxis. It's a typical meeting spot, unassuming. You wouldn't question a bunch of cars going into a garage. That would be a ridiculous thing to be suspicious of.  I'd almost feel bad for the idiot who thought, "Huh, I wonder why cars are going into a garage?"

I don't slow down as I navigate into the opening of the garage, allowing the ramp to pull me down even faster than I was going, adding extra adrenaline to my already excessive-high. My heart is going incredibly fast; I fucking love it.

My bike comes to a skidding stop, forcing all the momentum to stop at once and forcing my bike to turn 180 degrees to avoid crashing into something or someone. Besides the usual people at Mr. Fisk's meetings, there were also the people the Ranskahov brothers employ. Bloodstained water covered the ground and slowly drained.

More blood.

This night keeps getting better and better.

The smell is dull, diluted with water. It doesn't matter, though; blood is blood.

Even over the sound of the power washer the Ranskahov employees are using to get Anatoly's head bits off the door frame of the car, Leland's voice echoes throughout the garage. Even though he is a loud talker, I cannot fully grasp what he's saying. There's a soft ring in my ears that, combined with the power washer, drowns out the actual words he's saying. I know it's his voice. I know he's speaking, but I can't register anything.

As I approach the group of mobsters and drug dealers, I take the helmet off; my mask and hair are still intact. The instructions for the meeting said to keep the blood on my face, so I do just that. I'm not complaining; I get to ride out my high for longer and relish in a well-done job. My eyes scan the circle, acknowledging everyone I see.

There are so many mobsters in one room. Harsh faces that have or been an accomplice in a murder or assassination. Except for one. In a sea of drugs, sex, and crime, there's an angel sneaking glances and smiles at me.

Under my mask, I want to smile back and let him know I see him, too, but would we risk being in trouble? In the Red Room, we would be punished for anything that indicated a connection, romantic or platonic. We, of course, cared for each other, but no one knew what was a genuine connection or simply bonding because they were there. Although I don't want to, it's the ladder.

Maverick's face melts away all of the other thoughts in my brain. Nothing else matters right now. I've just met him, but I feel like I've known him for years at this point.

Why am I feeling like this? I have been around boys my whole life, yet he makes me feel something. He isn't just an object; he means something. Fuck, I must be going crazy.

The illusion of it being just us is quickly fading. Our reality crashes back as Leland continues to ask questions. Gao just giggles at him.

Leland looks me in the eyes and says something to me. I can't make out his words, but I can sort of read his lips. He repeats the word "look" several times, but he mumbles so much that I don't catch the rest.

His eyes dart to something behind me that shuts him up immediately. I push my shoulders back, making myself look more intimidating as Fisk's car pulls up.

Fisk's car is silent; if you weren't completely quiet yourself, you wouldn't be able to hear it.

Wesley steps out of the car first, straightening out his suit jacket. Not even a millisecond later, Leland starts to run his mouth again.

"Why aren't we meeting in the usual place? And what's all this?" He gestures to the bloody cars and garage.

"An opportunity," Fisk's voice echoes throughout the garage, controlling the conversation. "for those willing to seize it."

Madam Gao laughs again. I can't tell if she's crazy or just a bitch. She is my favorite out of the group, though. She finally speaks up.

"最后，我们看到了主销。是什么花了你这么久." (Finally, we get to see the kingpin again. What's been taking you so long.) Her voice is very cheerful, with a hint of sarcasm. She truly is my favorite mobster.

Wesley turns his head to Fisk, not making eye contact. "She's happy to see you." His voice is quiet like it always is. It has a false calmness; if you weren't familiar with reading people, you would think it's true. He tries so hard to behave how mobsters do in the movies, but it seems almost too natural to him. He's still wearing a mask, though; he's not born for this like Fisk.

"My apologies," He leaves a long pause in the middle of his sentence, "for my absence of late." His voice grows louder, and he becomes more controlling of the situation. "And for calling you here on little notice."

"Where are the Smiley Twins? Sleeping off another kidnapping?" Leland, who had no impulse control, decides to interrupt Fisk again. As silence hung for a moment, his eyes drifted to me, then back to Fisk. "What's with bloody over there?"

That sentence caught Maverick's attention. He looked up a bit at me, then put his back down and continued to write. My eyes had to stay focused on Leland, not allowing me to see Maverick's facial expression without looking. Is he disgusted with me? Ashamed?

"The Ranskahovs are no longer a part of this organization."

"Since when?" Leland's annoying little voice butts in.

"Since I removed Anatoly's head," the silence was deafening, "with my car door."

I take a sharp inhale, the memories of blood and carnage rushing back. My brain goes fuzzy again. Madam Gao's voice becomes distant again.

The smell of the blood from last night still lingers in my mind, mixing with the scent of the blood on my face now. I want to resist getting lost in my thoughts, I really do, but it's hard not to. My brain is hardwired, too. Not just psychologically but biologically and chemically, too. I'm fucked in the head on a neurological level.

I want to move my head and look at Maverick and see his reaction to everything. In meetings like this, I feel sick to my stomach seeing his reactions. Today's worse than the others; I've never had blood on my face and clothes before. I've never been on a blood high around him before.

He seems almost unbothered by the meeting and the topic being covered. He's unfazed by the blood, talk of murder, and the mobsters surrounding him.

I allow my eyes to drift up and down, analyzing Maverick; his head is down, taking notes. His sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows, and his tie is a bit loose. The paper he's holding isn't very big, but big enough for me to make out some of the things he wrote before Fisk came. Several long math equations are scratched on the paper, and next to them is a little doodle of Saturn.

He doesn't belong here. I need to protect him.

I've never felt this instinct to protect towards someone before. I guarded who and when I was told to, not when I felt it was right. Protecting Maverick feels right.

My view of Maverick is eclipsed by Fisk. He towers over Maverick. Maverick isn't a small man, but he doesn't compare to Fisk's colossal build. Although the most dangerous mobster in New York is glooming over not just Maverick but Leland, too, he doesn't care. He is unfazed, writing notes, equations, and the occasional doodle.

"The masked vigilante killed his brother."

I can feel my eyes dilate, the spike in my nervous system is evident, but no amount of blood-struck euphoria will make me lose my composure in front of Maverick. He doesn't need to see me this way.

"At least that's what Vladimir believes."

All eyes in the room turn to me. Everyone, except for Maverick's. His nose is in the notepad. Scribbling and scribbling to the point he needs to flip the paper again. His fingers are diligent. His hands are flexed, making the veins and muscles on his arms stand out against his rolled-up sleeves. Such strong arms for such a delicate person.

"Did your little widow-monkey-blood-girl do it?"

I know what my role is supposed to be here; say something intimidating to play into the part I've been cast in. Even though my brain is screaming at me to be the bad guy, I can't do it.

"You think I wear his blood for full day?" I tilt my head slightly, staring deep into Leland's soul "I'm not a monster." I relax my voice, creating a haunting whisper. I'm doing my job, what I'm doing is enough.

"Weren't the Russians terrified of you? I wouldn't exactly call you an angel-"

"I thought she was? Russia's angel of death." Maverick's voice cuts through like a knife. All eyes going from me to him. "I did my research. I do my job."

"Little sh-"

"That's enough." Wesley's eyes. "We came here to hear from our employer. Let him speak."

Fisk continues talking, everyone's attention turns back to him; all but mine. My eyes stay on Maverick. His eyes linger for a bit on me before returning down to his notepad. He flips it again, but very few notes are on the page. The majority of it is taken up by a doodle of an ocean wave, but it couldn't keep my attention. The opposite side of the paper had delicate angel wings and a halo. But between them, a little heart.

• • • • • •

Masterlists

[ophelia-loves-desdemona]

This is the first time I've ever posted something hear but I do kinda need help I'm currently writing a Daredevil fanFic and I need help for a Faceclaim of my character I give you infos about her down below 🥰

- she is Matt and Elektras Daughter

- she is in her teens (so preferably a actress that fits that age)

- has dark hair eye colour doesn't matter

-would be amazing if she looks similar to at least one of her parents maybe even her Grandpa

Thank you guys have a great day 🥰

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem

Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

[STATUS: IN PROGRESS]

my masterlist

gif by me

summary: The positive pregnancy test sitting on your bathroom counter was the least of your worries, considering you had to tell both the men you'd been regularly sleeping with the news and figure out which was the father. A task that would be difficult for anyone, but especially difficult for you since the potential fathers of your child were Matt Murdock and Frank Castle. When the three of you come together to coparent, their complex relationship with each other and the lingering weight of their haunted pasts makes pregnancy and parenthood difficult for all, not to mention the lingering feelings each harbors for you and how they'll compete to win your love.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Love triangle that leads to eventual MFM throuple relationship. Eventual smut (DONT READ IF YOU'RE NOT 18+/YOUR AGE IS NOT LISTED IN YOUR BLOG) including but not limited to: three ways, oral (all giving and receiving), DP, etc. In depth mentions of pregnancy, birth, newborn, postpartum fem body, and parenthood. Matt and Frank's pasts being complex and traumatic. Parts of it will be canon for Born Again, parts won't: I'm picking and choosing which parts I want to be, okay? Be prepared for many chapters, slow burn, and angst that eventually gets happy.

a/n: I got to thinking how could you ever realistically get Matt and Frank into a throuple with you and I realized the only way to do it would be get pregnant and not know which is the father. So that's what this is. Yes I am still working on another multi-chapter series. Yes she is fully outlined and waiting to be written while I also work on this. Mind ya business.

★ Chapter 1

★ Chapter 2

★ Chapter 3

★ Chapter 4

★ Chapter 5

★ Chapter 6

★ Chapter 7

★ Chapter 8

★ Chapter 9

★ Chapter 10

★ Chapter 11 (Coming Soon!)

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

[vigilantekisser]

Let It Be Done Unto Me

pairing: husband!matt murdock x f!reader (wc: 7.5k | ao3 mirror)

18+! cw: breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, rough sex, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—turns out all he had to do was ask.

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings. also I’VE BEEN SO BUSY but i alw read everyone’s sweet messages in my inbox and thank you so much for them, i’ll get through everything eventually!! dex again next

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

Later, by the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in slow, endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription�� So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough. “I want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star—he hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

tryna get a load from of this guy

[deniable-masterpiece]

charlie cox on good morning america (2/19/25)

[lovelybucky1]

How would dad!matt react to being asked to hit me during sex???

“you want me to hit you?”

“yes, please,” you moan as he thrusts in deeply.

“where do you want me to hit you, sweetheart?”

you two are no stranger to the occasional spank, but he’s certainly never come close to hitting you during sex.

“m-my face,” you stutter out, feeling embarrassed to voice your desire.

matt bites out a curse under his breath. “you want me to slap you?” he asks as he taps your right cheek. when you nod, he chuckles. “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

he gives you a light tap on your cheek with his fingertips but there’s no force behind it. none of that sting you crave.

“harder,” you whine.

a crease forms between matt’s brows. “you want it to hurt?”

“uhhuh. need it, dad.”

the name he loves to hear is all the encouragement he needs. he gives you a quick, close-fingered slap that makes your cheek jiggle and your toes curl. despite the sting, it felt like the sweetest kiss.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

snow white

kinktober, day fifteen

a/n: i really wanted to play around with a fairytale this kinktober season and i came up with maybe too many ideas for a bunch of different ones, but this one just stuck with me for months, so i had to go with this one.

summary: that was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

warnings: snow white!reader x various, dark!prince!billy russo, miners!steve rogers, bucky barnes, thor odinson, miguel o'hara, marc spector, matt murdock, frank castle, dark content, smut, fairytale retelling, innocent!reader, references to loss of virginity, arranged engagement, assassination attempt, violence, poison apple, kidnapping, somno, polyamory, reverse harem, time jump (for domestic and slutty purposes), kissing, fingering, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, oral, handjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, gangbang, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, double penetration in one hole, unprotected sex, creampie, dark ending

word count: 6746

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

Once upon a time, there lived a princess. 

You, to be exact. 

However, your day-to-day life, that wasn’t a part of you that one could define as something very regal, not lately, not since your father had died and left you in the hands of his late wife, a vain woman he had only married a short time prior to his passing. 

There wasn’t much you were allowed to do any longer as your stepmother was perhaps a bit too overprotective of you in her own cold way, even though many of the chores the sea of servants that buzzed within the castle took care of, that for some reason wasn’t off limits to you, if not encouraged by the queen. 

But it was all out of love, wasn’t it? 

“Oh, there you are!” your gaze fluttered up to find the prim and familiar figure stalking towards you in the gardens, “what in the world are you doing out by this ghastly old well?”

“Prince William,” you stiffened up slightly at his presence and swiftly did a curtsy, “w-what are you doing here?” 

“Ah, come on, Snow,” his palm brushed against the edge of the stone well, briefly cleaning it a bit before he leaned against it, “how many times do I have to tell you to call me Billy?” 

“Your Highness,” you swallowed nervously, “I’m just not sure that would be completely appropriate. You deserve to be paid with the utmost respect.” 

“Oh, I agree,” a sly smirk slithered across his chiselled features, “though, I do think my fiancé should be allowed just a little leniency.” 

“Oh,” you put on a smile for the royal, “you got engaged? Congratulations! Is it to someone I know?” 

“I’d sure hope so,” he grinned, and the next words that rolled off his tongue caused your face to drop, “it’s you.”

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but flinch as he stepped to get closer to you.

“…excuse me?” you breathed, your hand fluttering up to the neckline of your modest gown as you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest.

“We’re to be married,” he caught your hand and kept on smiling, “I just sorted the last of the details out with your mother a few moments ago.” 

“Stepmother,” you corrected him hazily before uttering, “I–… how come I didn’t know about any of this? Why didn’t anyone think to ask me what I wanted?” 

Billy’s face then scrunched up at your question, as if it was the strangest of reactions to have at such news, “well you know now.” 

“That’s–,” you stared back at him, your eyes wide and horrified before you ripped your arm back out of his hold, “no.”

“What?” 

“No, I don’t wanna marry you,” the words flowed out of your lungs. 

But to your astonishment, the prince of the neighbouring kingdom then only chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t want to marry me? Of course you do, everyone does.”

“Well, I don’t.” 

Slowly, he seized your arm in a bruising grip before inching closer to you and leaning down to sternly whisper in your ear, “you better get rid of this attitude before you become my wife.”

The following week when the queen suggested that you go for a walk through the nearby woods, an activity you’d formerly thought to be banned as all your previous pleas throughout the years had failed, you nearly stumbled as you rushed to accept the opportunity. 

Where this newfound kindness had come from that you had no clue of, though you weren’t going to argue now as the chains around you slowly began to slacken. 

The queen’s protective nature for you stayed fast however when she sent a guard to accompany you, though one you’d never encountered before as you spent so much time in the castle that you knew all of the others by name. Perhaps he was just new? 

Though when you eventually came upon a clearing and you decided to take a small break in that peaceful and serene glen, it all changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash. 

One moment, you were grinning up at the treetops, whistling back to the birds building a nest up there, and the next, the guard shadowing you had raised a dagger up high and lunged it down upon you. Thankfully, luck was for once on your side and you managed to twist just enough for it to miss your sternum and instead slice through your sleeve and cut your shoulder. 

When you tried to run, a shrill scream erupting your frame, the knight caught your arm before you could manage to escape.

Though just as all hope seemed lost, when the dappled sunlight caught and reflected in the shiny blade as he rose it back up high, it never pierced your heart as a pickaxe instead suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, flying through the air and lodging itself right above the guard’s brow. 

He stayed standing for a second, blood trickling down his face, before the warrior’s body fell backwards and collapsed on the forest floor. 

Your frame shook like a leaf on the wind as you stood there, eyes wide with horror, watching his brain leak and stain the moss below your feet. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” a deep voice called from behind you, though it still took you a moment before you were able to rip yourself out of your petrified state. 

As you slowly twisted around, you saw seven men standing at the edge of the clearing, all of them except the blonde one in the middle with a pickaxe clutched in their hands. 

“Are you hurt?” the miner missing his tool spoke again, taking a ginger step closer. 

Still reeling, unable to fathom that you nearly just lost your life, you blinked, “I–… I–…” though just continued to stand there, frozen in the middle of the storm. 

“You’re bleeding,” a dark-haired man further down the line uttered before the muddled confusion that bloomed on your horrified features caused him to gently gestured to your arm and guide your gaze down to your shoulder. 

“O-oh…” you blinked back at the gash, though still couldn’t pierce through the fog to do anything more. As your glossy eyes flickered back up to gaze at your heroes, the woods around you began to spin as you then blubbered, “you saved me… I–… I–…” before the whole forest went black and you collapsed into a pair of quick arms. 

“Wow, it’s alright,” a voice washed over you as soon as you came to, “you’re okay.”

After your eyes had found the source of the deep timbre, they then flickered around to take in the unfamiliar home you now found yourself in.

“Where am I?” you asked hesitantly as you sat up in the bed you’d been planted on. Looking around the space, it wasn’t the only one as the whole room was filled with enough sleeping arrangements for all of the strangers. 

“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” the long golden locks on the man sitting by your feet rustled slightly as he raised up both hands in a gesture of goodwill, “you’re in our home,” he informed you before his neck twisted and he shouted out the open bedroom door, “hey guys! She’s awake!”

As the rest of the men from the forest began to filter into the dormitory, your legs curled up beneath the blanket and you swiftly hugged your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” one of them asked in a careful tone. 

“I–…” you felt your heart thump in your chest as your wide eyes danced between the burly figures, “what do you–, w-why did you take me with you?” 

Taking a step forward, a dark-haired one said, “well, we couldn’t in good conscience just leave you back there and let you bleed next to your assassin,” he then tilted his head, “plus my healing supplies were all back here.” 

As you glanced down to discover your slashed sleeve cut off and missing with a bandage instead wrapped around the ghastly cut on your upper arm, you then blinked back up at the stranger and asked, “you’re a healer?”

“No, not really, I’m a miner, we all are,” he gestured to the others. 

“Yeah, we work in the mines out west on the other side of the village,” the one leaning against the doorframe shared. 

You faintly recalled the mines they spoke of, though you hadn’t been out there since you were a child, the memory however of the glimmering jewels it produced still sparkled brightly in your mind. 

“Hey, do you mind me asking,” the one standing beside the pickaxe-throwing blonde spoke, “why in the world would a royal guard want to kill you? I mean, forgive me if your looks are deceiving, but you look like just an innocent young girl.”

Averting your gaze to the quilted blanket draped over your form, you uttered, “it’s probably because my stepmother commanded him to…”

“Wow…” one of them breathed, “she has that kinda power? Then you must be, what–, some kind of lady?”

“Princess, actually,” you blinked up at them and watched as they all froze up, instantly growing so quiet that you would have been able to hear a single pin drop in the cottage, “thank you all so very much for saving me. I can’t even begin to fathom what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened.” 

“Oh, well…” the blonde one in the middle shifted slightly, visibly nervous at the discovery of who you truly were, “you’re welcome, your–, uhm, highness.”

“Please, just call me Snow. That’s what everyone does,” you waved a hand and offered him a soft smile, “what are your names?”

“Well, I’m Steve,” the one who’d thrown the pickaxe pressed his palm to his broad chest, “and that there is Bucky, Thor and Marc,” he gestured to the other miners, “and that’s Matthew, Frank and Miguel.”

“Miguel,” you spoke the name of your healer, “thank you for patching up my arm.” 

“Does it feel alright?” he glanced down at the bandage, he too clearly not having a clue how one should act around a royal, “because I could go get some herbs if you–”

“No, thank you, I think I’ll manage” you gently declined before uttering, “although, I–… what’s to happen now? I can’t just go back to the castle, I’d be dead within minutes.”

“Don’t you have anyone you trust somewhere else? Someone you could stay with?” the one named Matthew asked. 

The only person your mind managed to scrounge up was the prince you’d been unwillingly promised to, and he wasn’t just an individual you didn’t trust, but also one you feared.

“No…”

“Uh…” Marc exhaled before his glance flickered across the rest, “would you excuse us for a moment?” 

And as you offered a nod, they all filtered back out the bedroom and huddled up just outside the door, though you could still faintly catch a word or two in their discussion.

“Okay,” Steve crossed his burly arms across his chest when they all entered the room once more, “you can stay here for tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll help you come up with a plan.”

The following day, when all the miners had gone off to the mountains for the day’s work, they’d said their goodbyes before leaving you in the cottage, fully expecting you to no longer be there once they returned. 

But you didn’t leave, you couldn’t have. Where would you have run off to?

So instead, to both try and convince the entire group of you staying, yet also in a makeshift attempt at thanking them for how they’d come to your aid, you spend the day cleaning their messy abode and welcoming them home to a dining table brimming with a roasted feast, a simple comfort none of them had seen in a while. 

It had only been one of them who hadn’t instantly jumped onto the unanimous agreement to let you become a part of their household, but he swiftly received an elbow to the rib to help change his tune.

Not long passed before you soon grew close, and one night, after weeks of you experiencing a sensation you’d never even known existed, something unfamiliar that each and every one of them evoke and flooded your senses with, you finally couldn’t hold your tongue any longer as your innocence had begun to thrust you into the abyss of worry. 

You still hadn’t received a permanent sleeping arrangement even though you’d been here for a while, each one of the miners still took turns letting you borrow one of their simple beds, all of them lined up along the perimeter of the shared bedroom, and let you rest there for the night while they took the humble couch. 

So as you sat on your bed for the night and your gaze shadowed the men as finished getting ready for the night, shedding their clothing and washing up in a small basin by one of the windows, the unfamiliar feeling fluttered once more in your lower belly and drove you to part your lips and utter, “hey Miguel?” you caught the attention of the healer of the lot, “I think there might be something wrong with me…” 

Patting his damp face dry with a small rag, he brought it down upon his shoulder as he furrowed his dark brows over at you, “why would you think that?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you met his glance, “I feel strange…”

“Strange how?” he took a seat at the foot of the mattress you were curled up on, “explain it to me.”

“Well,” you began hesitantly, “ever since I got here, since I met you all, this weird feeling keeps bubbling up inside of me, like I’m about to faint or something, like I can’t think, and all I can focus on is just this odd tingling sensation almost, like–, I don’t know how to explain it, I know it sounds weird, but I swear, something’s going on, I don’t know what, but it’s weird.”

The man’s head then promptly tilted to the side and you heard him exhale, “oh, honey…” 

Your explanation also caught the attention of the rest of the miners and even conjured a small laugh in some, though Steve swiftly stepped in and barked, “hey! Shut it!” rapidly putting a holt to Bucky and Marc’s amusement. 

Placing a palm on your blanket-covered shin, Miguel then uttered gently, “I think what you’re describing isn’t something bad.”

“Are you sure?” you sat up a bit more. 

“Positive,” he nodded, trying his best to keep a straight face unlike some of the men behind him who still struggled even after getting scalded. 

“So, I’m not sick?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you’re not.”

“Your Highness,” Frank then spoke up, “have you never–, uhm, been with someone else?” 

“What do you mean?” your brows knitted together. 

“Okay, uh…” Thor sighed softly, taking your confusion as enough of an answer, “have you ever–, let’s say, kissedsomeone before?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve been kissed before,” your thoughts drifted to Prince Billy, though none of those times had stirred any sensations of this sort, “but I’ve never felt like this, not ever,” your gaze then danced between and caught each of the stares the seven miners directed at you, “what’s going on? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Have you touched yourself while you feel like this?” your eyes suddenly grew at Bucky’s bold question, “does your little honeypot get all wet from this feeling?” and when you found yourself too stunned to conjure an answer, he went on, this time with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “I mean, if you’d like, one of us could help you. Teach you how to make it feel better…” 

“You know how to make it better?” you blinked back at him.

“Oh yeah,” his gaze dipped a bit as his grin grew wider. 

“Do you want one of us to help you?” you then heard Steve offer. 

And as your head began to rock in a soft nod, Marc asked, “which one do you want?”

But as you stared around at all of them, you murmured, “I–… I don’t know…”

“Just pick the one that gives you the most butterflies,” Matt tried to aid your decision, “the one that makes you feel like your heart lives between your thighs.”

“…do I have to pick?” you asked quietly as you blinked around at all of them, now clustered by the small bed, “couldn’t you all just help me?”

“…you want all of us to help you?” Miguel’s head dipped slightly as he tilted forward in surprise. 

“At once?” Frank asked. 

And as you offered them a nod, they all exchanged looks, silently agreeing before Steve uttered, “alright.” 

With all of the miners surrounding the bed, they swiftly kneeled down on the floor in a half-moon around you before they began. 

Before Marc, Thor and Frank the furthest from you grabbed a hold of the blanket draped over you and began to tug it down and let it crumble below your feet, Matt and Miguel to your right gently prepared you and began to undo your confusion. 

Each of their touches were feathery in the beginning as their fingers ghosted over your frame. At first, it wasn’t even in that scandalous of places as Steve and Matt even continued to hold your hands long after the thin chemise you wore had been tugged at, the neckline pushed down to expose your boobs, heaving with every fierce breath you sucked in, and the skirts shoved up, letting the linen bunch well above your hips to uncover the place where the dizzying sensation peaked to unimaginable heights. 

When the first touch fluttered between your legs, your eyes swiftly flickered up to find Bucky and Steve’s directly to your left as the pleasure was one you’d never even thought possible. 

You rapidly melted into the bliss as lingering embarrassment faded away and you soon let them crack you open even further, folding up your legs to grant them all better access to your haven. 

Even before your eyes fluttered closed, the job of deciphering which hand belonged to who was an impossible task. Floating in the sea of touches, not a millimetre of your skin was left unexplored, and neither were your untouched holes as they all turned you so molten that at one point everyone had at least one finger warm within you at once. 

Four digits stretched out your lips and both gave your mouth something to drool around and also let your moans melt against their flesh. Three of them slipped in and worked in tandem to stretch out your virgin cunt. They’d even gotten you so relaxed that two managed to sneak a finger inside of your tight little ass, plugging you up completely.

And when the still unfamiliar high began to bubble within you and creep near, worry first began to billow out of you once more, though after some soothing sentences and an ask of trust, they carried you through the overwhelming ecstasy till you were trembling in their hands and begging them to grant you that gift one more time, like an addict, already craving that sweetness once again.  

ONE YEAR LATER

“Ah-ha-ha!” Thor’s jovial rumble was the first sign you got that any of the fellows had returned after a day at the mines, “come here, princess!” 

As he entered the cottage, arms spread out wide, he excitedly caught you in a hug and lifted you up as he swung you around till you became no more than an ethereal giggle in his hold. 

“Oh, no,” you complained light-heartedly through your laugh as his stale smell of sweat mixed with soot flooded your senses, “you’re so dirty!” you tried to glance down at your dress to see if any of the grime from the mine had transferred.

Letting out a chuckle as he only tightened his hold around your frame, “you love it,” he tilted his head out of the crook of your neck and planted a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re not–,” you continued your giggle even as his own mouth tried to smother the sound, “Thor, you need to bathe first.” 

“Oh, really?” he cocked his head and slyly narrowed his eyes, “you sure you don’t wanna repeat the welcome home you gave me yesterday where you couldn’t wait? I mean, I could barely get in the door before you had your lips on me, struggling to fit my balls inside that little mouth of yours?” 

His lips first pressed against your now hot cheek before they wandered across in a straight line down to your own, not simmering down his eagerness even as the rest of his fellow miners began to filter into the cabin. 

“Oh, so that’s why you ran ahead,” Marc’s sigh caused you to break the peck, “of course.” 

Still entangled in Thor’s strong arms, you glanced over at the familiar men who crossed the threshold and slowly began to set down their tools and peel off their muddy boots.  

“Heya, boys,” a warm bubble burst within you as you flashed them all a smile. Attempting to slip out of the burly hug, Thor still kept his palm interlocked in your own as you made your way around through the crowd and began to greet the others, “how was the mine today?”

“It was fine,” Frank muttered in your ear when you hugged him. 

And as your free arm lastly found Steve’s broad shoulder in an embrace, his low voice tickled the side of your neck as he exhaled, “hi Snow.”  

“Hi,” you pressed a soft kiss to his bearded cheek. 

As you retracted and let Thor pull you back against his warmth, Miguel asked, “so, what’s for dinner tonight?” as Thor leaned back against the sturdy dining table and dragged you with him, half planting you in his lap as he leaned you back against him. 

Though as the softness of your bottom came to rest against the miner’s pelvis, a palpable hardness distracted you even through the layers of your dress, “uhm, I’ve got a lentil stew going over the fire,” your breathing began to grow unsteady as he discreetly grinded you down against his desperation, “it should be done soon.” 

“Good,” Miguel smiled, haven not yet noticed the nefarious activities that had begun right under his own nose, “I’m starving.” 

“What else have you gotten up to today?” Matt asked as he sat down on the bench where Marc had already planted himself, “did you begin that book we were talking about?” 

“I–, uh, I started it, but I didn’t get that far,” your words became a struggle to form as you tried to fight through the fog Thor thrust you into, “ended up taking a nap instead.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky noted, “you were tossing and turning so much last–,” though his sentence then promptly crumbled as a soft whimper finally slipped out past your lips and drew his attention to the way Thor’s hands on your hips subtly rocked you down against him, “seriously?” he swiftly scalded him, “you couldn’t keep it in your pants for even two seconds?” 

“Right,” Thor scoffed, “like I'm the only one who’s desperate,” he then buried his grasp in your skirts and before you had the chance to protest, picked it up to prove his point. 

It was frankly a bit embarrassing how wet you already were, though when Thor grabbed ahold of your thighs and lifted you up, your back plastered against his chest as his hold on you spread you wide for all to see, your cunt couldn’t help but drool for them so fiercely that even the one furthest away from you could catch a glimpse of the glimmer glinting back at him in a lewd plea.  

“Hm…” Bucky hummed warmly as he kneeled down before you, though only let his palm come up to ghost against your inner thigh and didn’t grant you the sweet relief of petting your pussy as she cried out for his touch, “your Highness, are you sure it wasn’t something else you were doing all day while we were off at work?” 

“I–,” an airy chuckle innocently escaped your lungs, “what are you implying?” 

“Well, either you were too impatient to wait for us,” you sucked in a breath as his hand finally drifted up to offer your core the softest of pets, teasing you further into madness, “or just the mere sound of the front door opening got you dripping the way that you are right now…” 

“So, which is it, princess?” Frank smirked, arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace, “are you a whore or is it just for us?” 

“You already know the answer to that…” you hazily smiled, though swiftly let out a whimper as Bucky removed his hand, denying you of any further pleasure. However, before you could part your lips in a complaint, Thor set you back down on your now wobbly feet. 

Your gaze found Steve’s as he took a seat beside Marc, unlike the rest of the men who began to swarm around you, their broad hands swiftly reaching for your dress. It nearly didn’t even get the chance to drop back down and cover you from how Thor had torn it up, before they nearly ripped it to shreds. 

And when no fabric was left to conceal your frame, your moment with your feet on the ground turned out to be more fleeting than you’d thought as both Frank and Miguel then shifted to stand behind you and their grasps found your form, first guiding your arms around their necks for support before they plucked you up. 

As Matt stepped up and seized your flaming cheeks to dip his lips down to yours, a whisper then washed over you as the sweet kiss ended, “can I have a taste?” and as your head began to nod, your nose momentarily nuzzled against his own before his knees buckled. 

Both Thor and Bucky enveloped a hand around your ankles, keeping you spread wide even as Matthew dropped down and made you squirm as his hot breath fanned across your glistening core. 

As your lips parted in a gasp, staring down at Matt as he dipped down to kiss your puffy pearl, in your periphery you just managed to spot how everyone’s free hand had found the tent in their pants, squeezing it for an ounce of relief as they watched you intently. 

When Matt’s tongue lapped through your petals, it wasn’t till he tilted his chin and sucked your clit into his mouth that your gaze fluttered up to find Marc’s across the room. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moaned into the cottage, “I need–, I–, I need more–,” the plea left your lips as you tried to keep your stare lock. Though the love pecks felt incredible, it was bordering the line of crude torture, only tickling at your senses and not granting you the sweet relief the deepest depths of you yearned for so fiercely. 

It seemed like an eternity that Marc took to get up from his seat and actually cross the small room, though when he did, his palm briefly patted Matthew’s shoulder and caused the kisses to cease. 

“How much more, princess?” Marc asked as Matt got up and let him switch places. 

Though when your answer came in the form of your gaze dropping to his hard length, freed and heavy in his tight fist, one of the men holding you up murmured in your ear, “you want him to fuck you, huh? Is that what you want?” Frank’s deep timbre seeped directly into your bones as his lips dipped down to nip at your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded hazily, keeping your eyes glued as Marc stepped up and briefly swept the bulbous head of his cock through your folds. 

For a second, you thought it had been Marc himself who had slowly thrust his entirety inside of you, though in actuality when Miguel and Frank’s hold on you tightened, they’d been the ones to tilt your body just as the girth caught your entrance, and lower you down on it in one fell motion. 

“There you go, Snow,” Bucky breathed as your eyes fluttered at the stretch. Halting his palming of himself, Bucky’s hand soothingly swept up the length of you till it found your tit and cupped it gently, his calloused thumb stretching up to flick against your pebbly nipple and get your eyes to blink back open. 

Marc’s efforts were purposely slow and he gently began to warm you up for what you expected was in store. Though on one of his long and deep strokes, plunging all the way inside of your little pussy before yanking himself out completely, you only blinked and when your eyes fluttered back open, it wasn’t Marc’s cock that was buried deep within you, but instead the last man to join the fray. 

“S-Steve, o-oh!” your head tilted back slightly as his fat girth split you open. 

“Oh, how do you always feel better than I recall?” Steve groaned, the tip of him already bumping against your cervix. 

“It’s that fucking princess pussy,” Thor grunted, “I swear it’s like magic or something.” 

“No matter how many of us try and fit inside of you at once, we just can’t ruin you,” Miguel kissed your cheek, “you just snap right back and we have to stretch you all the way back out again.” 

Steve, Marc and Matt before you then took turns, fucking you slowly and building a rhythm till they became like a river, each of them only sinking in and letting their balls tap against your slick skin before they pulled back out and let the other one take a dive. As the silky pattern pushed you closer to the peak and made you dazed out of your mind, you stopped being able to tell who was fucking you when, as they all just flowed together and worked your body as one soul being. That was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

Once your first of many orgasms washed over you and rocked through your soul, your body was set back down, though only for a mere moment before Bucky picked you up into his arms and carried you with him as he lowered himself onto one of the long benches that stretched out on either side of the dining table. 

As he settled you atop of him and slipped inside your still throbbing cunt, your head tilted up in the direction of the men whose hard lengths were still glistening with your juices and your hands fluttered up to motion for them, grabbing for their girths, way before your fingers could reach them, though when they did, Steve didn’t let your touch linger on himself but instead plucked up your face and parted your lips with his cock, letting your hands take care of Matt and Marc on either side of him while he gently fucked your mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” Frank then appeared before you, wedging himself in beside Steve’s bulky form, “share some of that sugar,” his palm found your cheek and stroked it softly. As your lips left Steve with an audible pop, Frank’s fingers drifted up to bury themselves in your locks before he guided you to him and groaned as he finally felt you swallow his cock, “yes…”

However, what you didn’t expect was how Steve’s hand too fluttered up to tangle itself in the other side of your hair before they both took over your head’s movements, passing you back and forth between the both of them, though only granting themselves one long bob at a time.  

When a pair of fingers softly swept over the last of your holes, your eyebrows knit together at the familiar teasing. 

“What do you say, Snow?” you heard Thor utter from behind you as he brought his palm down to smack the curve of your ass, watching intently as Miguel’s fingertips rub against you, only shyly dipping inside the hole just above where Bucky split you open, “exactly how much more are you in the mood for today?”

And when you took your chance to catch your breath, you shot back your needy answer through your heaving intakes of air, “all of it.” 

It wasn’t till Miguel let out a gravelly groan that you knew which one had gotten the chance to claim your ass first. When a dollop of his spit landed upon your skin, his thumb wasted no time to soar up and rub it in, swiping over your little rosebud as it stretched to take his girth. 

The task of keeping up your attention to the four miners at your head became an impossible task as they gave your mouth a break for your breathless moans to flow freely and they instead came to your aid and helped guide your hands around to grant them all a bit of affection. 

With both of your holes snuggly filled up, you felt yourself near the edge once more, though it was Thor who pushed you over it as his hand coiled around your waist and snaked down to find your swollen clit in a lavish pattern. 

Though when you buried your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and trembled between his and Miguel’s burly forms, Thor’s touch dissipated and though you half expected him to join the rest up top, it still didn’t manage to surprise you what he opted for instead. 

“Holy shit!” you shakily gasped, your palm nearly slapping Bucky in the chest as you felt Thor angle himself behind you and press his cock in beside Miguel’s, who’s dick was already more than enough for you to handle on its own. 

“Shh,” Bucky tilted your chin down for you to catch his eye, “don’t act like this is your first time, princess,” he kept his own pace selfish as the silky wall parting him from the rest grew thinner than ever, “you can take it,” his palm tapped your cheek lightly as he smiled at how you overcame the staggering sensation, “just as you always do.” 

And take it you did, soon gushing all over them as the three miners emptied themselves into your holes, pumping you full and leaving you a leaky mess for the remainder to enjoy while they all found a seat to relax in and watch you descend further into madness. 

It was Frank who then flipped your molten form around, planting himself on the very same bench, and twisted you around for your back to be melting down against his front. He slipped in effortlessly as the two loads that dripped out of your ass aided his fat girth as he buried himself completely, fucking the other miner’s cum that much deeper inside your utterly wrecked hole. 

“How’s she doing, huh?” Steve asked as he and Matthew stepped up between your parted legs, his fingers coasting down to spread open and inspect your pussy as it too leaked, “you think she can take a bit more? You think she can take on the two of us?” he briefly pumped two of his fingers into your quivering hole as he awaited your answer. 

“I–, you can try,” you panted, hazily blinking down at how Matt’s digits too came down between your thighs and began to draw rude patterns over your puffy pearl, “I don’t know if I can do it, but you can try.”

“Atta girl,” Matt flashed you a smile before each of their touches was traded out for something much more overwhelming. 

With Marc as the last one remaining above your head, he stayed patient and simply stood there, stroking your hair and even dipping down to press his lips to your cheek as your poor pussy struggled to take the two cocks your loves attempted to ease in there. Though, when your eyes widened at the eventual success, the man behind you only let you stare at the severe stretch a moment before he tilted your head back, supporting it with both of his hands as you caught on and parted your lips for him. 

As he fucked your face, one of his hands briefly swept down to your throat as he fed you more of his length and spotted how a dull bulge of him appeared each time you gagged around his girth. 

You felt as if you’d slipped into a trance by the time everyone had gotten the chance to cum inside your sweetness, yourself falling apart around them enough times that you lost count. Though even so, as you layed there, various burly men enveloping your half-continuous form in their warmth, your eyes blinked open and spotted the few who’d gotten the privilege to go first and how they’d at some time grown hard once again and were now pumping their cocks in their fists, with all of their greedy gazes glued on you.  

The seven miners always warned you to be careful while they were off at work and you were all alone in the secluded cottage. Even though it was located in the middle of the woods, they still advised you not to open the door for anyone, not even if their looks deceived you. 

You should have heeded those warnings the day when an old hag knocked at the cabin door, because she didn’t turn out to be just a sweet old lady as you had thought when you first spotted her through the window, dark cloak drawn up over her grey hair as she clutched onto a heavy basket of apples in one arm and thumped her free fist against the front door. 

All she’d asked for had been a sip of water, one your kindness couldn’t deny her of. 

Though your gravest mistake came when you accepted her seemingly kind offer of gratitude in the form of one of her apples, because when you sank your teeth into the crisp red fruit, the produce suddenly turned rotten in your grasp, granting you a brief glance of the truth, of the potent poison it withheld, before the effects took ahold and cast you into an eternal slumber.��

The enchanted sleep however wasn’t like the one you’d heard tales about as it in truth only shut down your body as the rest of your senses still stayed awake, alert and aware as ever to the things around you, though forever helpless to whatever could occur. 

When your dear miners returned that day, the sight that found them utterly broke them all. 

And when they discovered that you’d received a fate worse than death, a few of them had to lean on superstition in order to cope. 

Though superstition was what superstition often is, just a fairytale. 

No matter how many of them attempted to press their lips to yours, you stayed asleep as true love’s kiss turned out to be no more than a bedtime story. 

That’s how you ended up in a blossoming glen, not far from the cottage that had grown to become your home, encased in a glass coffin. 

But that’s also how he found you again…

Prince Billy had been on a hunting trip the day he stumbled over the clearing you rested in, his deepest desires he’d assumed forever lost, so perfectly on display for him in the middle of the woods and with no one to stop him from taking you with him back to his castle. You had been his fiancé after all, so if your fate as his wife included you being a little less of an active participant than you’d been previously, then so be it. He could be content with you as nothing but a living doll… in fact, perhaps the royal even preferred it… 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[bellsbookshop]

give me attention [i need it now]

pairing: matt murdock x reader

a peek at the cat-coded tendencies of matthew michael murdock ⋆🐾°

author’s note: my writing partner and i had a silly little chat about how matt is truly an orange cat at heart, and this was born ! warnings for a concerning amount of fluff, the tiniest hint of angst re: matt’s upbringing, and a dash of suggestiveness જ⁀➴ as usual, any feedback [likes, comments, reblogs + asks] is appreciated and welcomed ! title comes from where the lines overlap by paramore. reader is not explicitly gendered in this !

wc: 960

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the evening light trickles in through the apartment windows, only slightly overshadowed by the neon of the billboard just outside them; everything is painted in hues of purple and orange and red, hazy and soft in the quiet peace. matt’s draped over one end of the couch, a stack of papers in his lap and a furrow in his brow as his fingers dance over the braille engraved there. you’re at the other end, book in your hands and a blanket draped over your tucked up legs, keeping him company while he works. the week has been long for the both of you, work bleeding over into the domestic time you two usually share, so you’ve taken to sitting with him while he slogs through paperwork after dinner. it’s not the most exciting, but its still quality time, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

every so often you’ll look up at him, admiring the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light splashes patterns over his face; even with the exhaustion under his eyes and the stress lining his forehead he looks handsome, a stained glass painting that’s all yours to gaze upon. sometimes you like to tell him he reminds you of a church window, larger than life and beautiful to match it, just to watch a rare blush dance over his cheeks. usually it’s matt flustering you with his cheeky flirting and charm, so on the rare occasion that you get to turn the tables on him you take full advantage, warm with affection for him.

one of his hands stills on the page he’s reading, fingers twitching almost involuntarily as if wanting something he can’t voice, and a small smile lifts the corners of your mouth. in the months of dating matt, you’ve come to realize that for all his late night deviling and daytime lawyering he’s truly just ….

catlike.

he craves attention but never knows how to ask for it, the words always at the tip of his tongue. he’ll wrap an arm around you silently, squeezing you in a hug so tight it takes your breath away, resting his head against your shoulder and burrowing his face into your neck. he’ll deny it till he’s blue in the face, always brushing off your questions and sidestepping your concern, but he melts the moment you touch him, a puddle of repressed catholic goo in your hands.

you muse to yourself that it’s likely due to his childhood — the loss of his father, growing up in the church orphanage, seeking out the world with his hands open only to find it just out of reach. it’s put a muzzle on his ability to voice the need, the deep seated longing for intimacy that doesn’t involve heated touches beneath silk sheets. thankfully you’ve taken it upon yourself to study him, master the language that is matthew michael murdock, and you know all his tells when he’s in desperate need of affection.

setting aside your book, you look for the rest of his tells; the tightness in his jaw that means he’s clenching his teeth, the way his shoulders seem heavier despite being out of his work clothes and in a cozy sweater that doesn’t irritate his skin. the most obvious one is his hands, the restless way he’s tapping them against his paperwork, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the pages. it’s enough for you to decide he needs a break, and you sit up enough that you can tug the work out of his hands and set it on the coffee table, pulling him in close to your chest with an exaggerated pout.

“i need a snuggle, c’mere. i feel like the mistress to law right now,” you tease, leaning back against the cushions and tugging him with you till he’s laying against you fully, head against your chest. one hand gently rubs patterns against his back, soothing away the stress in his shoulders little by little. your other hand goes to the back of his neck, nails lightly scratching at the hair there till he’s all but dead weight on top of you, like a matt-sized weighted blanket.

“i do have to review those last few witness statements before bed,” he manages to protest after a moment, but there’s no urgency in his tone; he’s perfectly content to stay right where he is forever, paperwork be damned. you do your best not to laugh, pressing a light kiss to his temple as his hands snake their way up your shirt, warm palms holding your waist to ensure you don’t wiggle away.

“sure, matty. after our cuddle.”

bit by bit he starts to crumble; his eyes close, the fingers drawing circles on your skin moving slower and slower till they stop, just the warmth of them there. his shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out of them easily, and his complaints about needing to get up come less and less frequently till they die off altogether, nothing but little huffs and mumbles when you talk to him like he’s purring, rumbling low from his chest.

he falls asleep like that, face in your neck and his arms around your waist, keeping you flush against the couch, and you don’t wake him. like this he’s peaceful, all traces of worry gone from his face, and you love it when he’s like this — sleepy and warm and pliant, not afraid to take what he needs. affection and love, that’s what he needed, and you’ll happily give it to him for as long as he’ll let you.

even if you had to trick him into thinking it was your idea. such a cat, you laugh to yourself, brushing his hair off his forehead.

maybe you should get him a bell. ✮⋆˙

[the-shedevil-writes]

Cheer Me On (Matt Murdock x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You're in love with Matt Murdock, acclaimed boxer and vigilante. But lately, you've felt more like his medic than his partner. After a heated argument, he steps into the ring—only to realize he can't hear your heartbeat in the crowd. WORD COUNT: 3.3k WARNINGS: Boxer!Matt. Blood/Injury. Hurt/Comfort. Argument. Slight miscommunication. Boxing. Stitching. Suggestive content. Fluff. NOTES: Cheer Me On by Malcolm Todd is so Matt core. Also I SWEAR. I'LL WRITE SOMETHING JUST FLUFF WITH HIM SOON. As much as I love Matt, I just think he'd make a horrible boyfriend LMAO. (Refer to season 2 alright). MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Y/n wasn’t even a nurse. She had taken a sports med class in high school, and that was it. She learned the rest from her boyfriend, Matt, the day he knocked on her apartment window in the middle of the night, scaring her half to death in his Daredevil armor. From that day on, she was the only person to know of his heightened senses and vigilante life. Not even Foggy knew, and that added an extra layer of responsibility. 

The fact that she was the only person to know how Matt boxed on the side felt like a privilege. He had amazed Hell’s Kitchen by being a blind boxing champ, taking on his father’s role. Sure, he’d always throw a few fights, so he didn’t seem suspicious, but he was moving up the ranks quickly. Considering Nelson & Murdock had become essentially a charity at this point, he needed to make money somehow. Now, all the papers were stating that New York’s up-and-coming champion was a blind man from Hell’s Kitchen.

But as he moved up the ranks, he was facing bigger and tougher opponents. Sometimes, even men outside his weight class, and Y/n would watch from the sidelines with her hands over her mouth and her heart in her ears. 

All of this plus his vigilante life? Matt was getting his ass kicked a fair amount. It was getting to a point where she was patching him up nightly. And she noticed the injuries were getting worse and worse. It started with horrid bruising and contusions that left constellations of purple across his ribs. Then slowly it became cuts that she’d have to purchase medical tape for. 

The next thing she knew, Matt was talking her through how to stitch a cut on his upper eyebrow. He sat at her kitchen table, calm as can be. Dark blood dripped from his forehead. Red-stained tissues and gauze littered the room.

“Matty- I can’t. I can’t.” She said scared.

“Yes, you can. You can sew. It’s the same thing.” Matt tried reassuring her.

“I SEWED THE HOLE IN YOUR JACKET, NOT YOUR FACE!” She squealed with tears on the brink of her eyes, and he suddenly grabbed her shaking hands. He gently rubbed his thumb over the top of her palms. 

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re not gonna hurt me. Been hurt way worse than this.” He said softly, “If you want, I’ll do it, but I just need you to hold the skin together.”

She felt like she was gonna puke, but she also didn’t want Matt to bleed out in her kitchen. “I’ll do it. I’ll- I’ll try.” She said, “But after this, we need to talk.” And that sentence was almost scarier than the fact that she was picking up the needle with shaking hands.

After some rough stitching, she tied it off, and her breathing was on the verge of hyperventilation. 

“Breathe. You did it.” He said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away, and the tears just fell freely now. The built-up stress collapsed on her, and she put her head in her hands.

“Matt, when we started dating, I signed up to be your girlfriend. Not your medic.” She said, trying to catch her breath. 

He dabbed at his forehead with some gauze before standing up. “I know. I know I’m sorry-”

“And it was totally fine when it was just bruises and cuts, but Matt, it’s getting worse. With- with the whole Fisk operation you’re fighting and- and the additional weight class, it’s getting out of what I can do.” She stammered.

She felt a little pathetic. It felt like she was supposed to be happy to patch up her superhero boyfriend. But watching Matt box went from something exciting to torturous. And every night she spent at home alone, she spent it waiting by the windowsill for her devil to come back half beaten to death. 

“I know. I know it isn’t fair, but you’re doing great. I can teach you more.” He said, walking up to her with his arms out.

She wiped her tears away and crossed her arms, not accepting his offer of affection. ���Why can’t you just charge your clients? So you can finally afford an urgent care visit after a match. Or why can’t you stop….” She started, but she already knew what he was gonna say to that. 

If she asked him to stop the vigilante work, she would get the same answer. He had said it plenty of times before. 

“You know I can’t abandon this city.” He said what felt like a catchphrase to her.

She shook her head, fuming now. It felt impossible to understand, even though she desperately wanted to. She tried to be the most accommodating girlfriend for him because she knew he was making a difference. It didn’t matter if he had to leave early from the dinners she made. Or if he only slept over on nights he crawled through her window. Or if he forgot important dates because he was sleep deprived. She let him and told him it was okay. What was she supposed to say? No, don’t go save innocent lives with your incredible gifts? But now…

“It’s coming at the cost of your life. You’re falling apart.” She said, her voice cracking, “I don’t want to watch you die, Matt.”

There was a silence between them as Matt thought about what to say. He was certainly in a conversation of landmines.

“Sweetheart…” He said gruffly, “It’s just a risk I accept.”

She threw her hands up immediately and shook her head with pursed lips. “No. That’s it. You need to find a new medic that isn’t your god damn girlfriend. Go call up Claire, and bring her out of retirement, because I can’t… I can’t.” She said, pacing, “If a night nurse is all I am to you, I’m going to sleep.” She started leaving towards the hallway.

Matt followed her, “Come on. You know that’s not true. Let’s not go to bed angry.”

She stopped in the hallway and turned to face him. Her face was crumpling now, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hands. Her face glowed red as she looked up at him with big, watery eyes. Every inhale she took was sharp and fast. 

The sound of her crying broke Matt’s heart. The sense of her salty tears hit him like a brick. 

“You’re not just my night nurse. I need you in every other way.” Matt said.

A scoff escaped her. “Oh really?” She asked, tilting her head with a sniffle, “When was the last time we were intimate? Huh? When was the last time I wasn’t having to ice pack your whole body, praying that you wouldn’t be eating through a straw?” 

Welp. He was silent. It had been a long time since they had done anything romantic. Dates. Nights in. Intimacy… It was difficult to try and incorporate these when he was barely functioning, but that just proved her point more.

“Go sleep on the couch. I don’t want blood on my sheets again.” She said coldly, but with a waver in her voice. It was clear she didn’t want to go to bed alone. Every sign in her body screamed that she wanted to hug him and hold onto him until she fell asleep. But she was so upset, and there’d be no point in letting him off the hook. 

She turned back around and started walking to her bedroom.

“Love you, sweetie.” He said, and she froze again, but didn’t turn back around.

“Love you too.” She lamented with a frown before walking forward again. 

Matt hit his red gloves together as he got himself ready to go into the ring. It was just Fogwell’s, but he meditated as if it were an UFC arena. He sat on a bench and listened into the gym from the locker room. It was decently packed, nowadays that he had made a name for himself. But he tried listening for his girl’s heartbeat. It was difficult to discern in a crowd of so many… Maybe that’s why he couldn’t hear it. He tried breathing in the air to see if he could sense her signature cherry perfume, but he didn’t smell it. 

A sweat began to form on his brow. Where was she? She never missed a match. She was far too anxious to miss one, even if she was gasping and gripping the bench the whole time. Did he go too far with having her stitch him up? Who was he kidding? Of course he did. He knew he had a lot to make up to her, but he didn’t think it was bad enough for her to miss a match.

He sighed and got up to stretch his shoulders out. It was already gonna be a difficult match, and he had a feeling that without her there, it was only going to get harder. 

Walking out into the main space of the boxing gym, he desperately searched for any and every sign of her. The clacking of her kitten heels. The jingling of the locket necklace he got her for Christmas. The sound of her cackling laughter when she teased Foggy… Nothing. Her absence was devastating, and it showed on his tense shoulders. 

Without her there, all he could sense was the salty sweat and grime of Fogwell’s. The sound of jeering filled his head, and the dust on the bricks clogged his nose. 

“Murdock! Whatchu doing? Go on up now.” Will, the current owner of the gym, hissed at him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Besides Y/n, Will was his biggest supporter. The man had owned the gym since his dad’s old days and had watched him grow up. 

He nodded and ducked under the ropes to climb up into the ring. The match card was rough. They had paired Matt with another guy above his weight class. Samuel Owens, a rookie notorious for his no-defense strategy. Sure, he was new, but he had gotten this far for a reason. Either he killed you, or you were both going home in ambulances. This was a match-up destined to be bloody, with Matt having that same terrible strategy out on the streets. And if it came to it in the ring, he wouldn’t be afraid to use it there either. Anything to keep the lights on, and to afford flowers for his girl… But then again, now that he thought about it, it had been a while since he had gotten her flowers. 

“Front and center.” The ref broke him out of his thoughts again. He was already horribly distracted with his thoughts going a mile a minute and nothing to ground him. 

Matt walked forward into the center of the ring. He could hear the heavy breathing of Samuel in front of him, like a bull seeing red. And he didn’t have to see to feel the deadly glare the man was giving him. 

“Gentlemen, keep it clean. Protect yourselves at all times.” The ref ordered the typical spiel, then looked over at Samuel, “No low blows, no rabbit punches. I’m looking at you, Owens.” 

The blonde man smirked and wiped sweat off his face with his forearm. 

“Touch gloves and to your corners.”

Matt reached out his gloves in anticipation, but Samuel looked at him and scoffed. In refusal, Samuel walked back to his corner without the sportsmanship, and Matt already wanted to be home with his girlfriend. 

He took a deep breath as he trudged to his corner. The ref backed up against the ropes and pointed to the timekeeper. DING DING.

“BOX!” 

Usually, in a typical first round, Matt and his opponent circled the ring, sizing each other up. He’d be able to hear the scuff of his opponent's boots and the ruffle of his shorts. Put in a few jabs up and down to see where the reaction time differed.

But this fight started with Samuel practically flying towards him. Matt’s senses came in handy here as he quickly dodged to the side and turned back to punch at Samuel’s back. 

Round one, and the fight was already dirty as Samuel was throwing punches like a madman, forcing Matt to stay on top of it. He almost wished it were an MMA fight so he could make use of the Judo that Stick forced him to endure growing up. But it was just fist to cuffs today. 

He instinctively listened for Y/n’s heartbeat. What he did every match. And when he remembered she wasn’t there, Samuel was able to get a hard shot into his cheek. Bouncing back quickly, he took the opportunity to swing at Samuel as well. After a few punches, Samuel got a grip on Matt, only because he was decently bigger than him. Clinching him, Samuel punched some hits into Matt’s ribs. 

“Gonna get out of this, wise guy?” Samuel gritted his teeth. 

Matt landed a punch to his stomach to create enough space and free his arm. Instantly sending a hook to Samuel’s face. But he was fast, using the last few seconds to recover and clinch Matt again. 

“EXCESSIVE OWENS.” The ref called, but DING DING DING. The first round was over. “TIME.”

Even after the ref called it out, Samuel sent an extra punch to his stomach, making him groan. Matt shoved him off of him, more pissed than a usual. This guy was the fucking worst.

“COME ON MURDOCK! GET YOUR HEAD ON STRAIGHT.” Will yelled from the side, making him huff.

This was gonna be a long match.

Stumbling out of Fogwell’s with a bloody nose, split lip, and bruised ribs, Matt flagged down a taxi. The only thing that held up was the stitches that Y/n gave him above his brow, and at the very least, that made him feel better. He had made it through the three rounds, but the judges determined that Samuel was the winner, making this the first match he’s lost in a few months. Once a taxi pulled to the curb, the driver looked at the bloody man standing with a white cane up and down.

Matt got in the back and leaned his head back against the seat. “To the nearest urgent care… please.” He grunted.

And the taxi drove off.

Matt didn’t check his phone until he was sitting in the urgent care room with an ice pack against his lip and gauze packed with ice around his torso. He had enough money saved up to afford a visit, but it sure was making him miss the benefits of working at Landman & Zack.

“Check inbox,” Matt said into his phone with the accessibility features turned on.

“You have six missed calls from… Y/n. Six new texts from… Y/n. One new voicemail from… Y/n.” The phone repeated back to him.

Huh? His heart flipped in his chest. Six missed calls and text messages? That wasn’t like her. Did something happen? He swallowed and prayed that she was just overexcited about something. Maybe she finally got those concert tickets she wanted and needed to tell him… But he knew that wasn’t voicemail worthy. 

“Play voicemail,” Matt said nervously.

“Playing voicemail from… Y/n.” The phone repeated back before playing the static-filled voice memo. It sounded like she was in the middle of the street with horns honking and people yelling. “Hey, baby. I’m not gonna make your match today, I’m sorry. I was on my way, then a stupid guy rear-ended my bumper so hard. Foggy’s on his way to pick me up, but I’m just hoping my car isn’t totaled… Also, I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve let you sleep in the bed. But good luck on the match today. You got this. Just don’t be stupid… Okay, the officer is having me move, so I gotta go. Love you, bye.”

The biggest sense of relief flooded through Matt. He wasn’t completely in the doghouse like he thought. Even though he didn’t think she needed to apologize, all that mattered was that she was supposed to be there and that she was okay. He lay back against the exam table, relieved. 

“Play text messages.” He said into the phone.

Y/N: I’m not gonna make it to Fogwell’s, just got rear-ended. I’m sorry.

Y/N: Listening to the fight on the radio in Foggy’s car. 

Y/N: Break a leg! (Please don’t).

Y/N: I’m sorry about the loss. When you come over, I’ll have ice packs and ice cream. :)

Y/N: Baby, you okay? Do you need me to get Foggy to pick you up? Please answer when you can.

Y/N: You better not be dead, Matthew Michael Murdock, I swear to god. 

Matt laughed at the last one. He instantly ordered the phone to call her, and when she picked up, he smirked.

“Guess where I am.”

Y/n had quickly gathered all her things and took the first taxi she could to the urgent care center that she interrogated Matt for the address of. But as soon as she got out of the taxi, Matt was already stiffly getting off a bench and walking towards her. 

It took all she could to stop herself from running and pouncing on him.  So instead, she briskly walked and put her hands to his sore face.

“That Owens guy really didn’t play nice today, huh?” She said, looking at his face. “No stitches for the lip?” She asked worriedly.

He chuckled at how doting she was and shook his head. “Cut’s shallow. It’ll heal.” 

She sighed and pulled him in for a light hug, not wanting to injure him more. But he instead pulled her in tightly against him, not caring about the pain. That gave her permission to hold him tighter against her as well. 

Standing on her toes, she kissed the side of his temple. “Please, God, don’t go out tonight.” She murmured into his ear, figuring it’d have fallen on deaf ears per usual. Matt always went out, even after his rougher matches. 

Yet, he pulled back to brush a piece of hair out of her face and behind her ear. “Didn’t plan on it.”

She immediately squinted her eyes at him in disbelief. There was no way that Matt was saying he was taking a break from patrol… It didn’t even sound right coming out of him.

“Don’t kid me, Matt.” 

“I’m not! I’m not.” He said with his charming smile that could always disarm her. The man was too charismatic for his own good. “I want to spend the night cooking for my girl and making sure she feels appreciated.” His voice lowered, and he leaned closer to her ear. “Very appreciated.”

She pushed him back playfully. “Stop it. You need to rest up that torso.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. “There’s a reason we wear gloves, sweetheart… To protect our hands.”

Jesus Christ. Her heart picked up, and she blinked, surprised as a blush reddened her entire face. Memories of Matt’s hands and new lewd ideas from her imagination flashed in her mind. 

“C’mere.” He said before pulling her in for a kiss. 

She was horrified at the prospect of hurting his lip, but she tried to suppress that and just enjoy the feel of her boyfriend against her again. As for Matt? Who cared about pain when he had her against him? The city breeze blew through them, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, less afraid of hurting him now. 

He smiled at how desperately she kissed him and pulled away to say. “Need to make sure my sweet girl’s there to cheer me on next time.” 

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Forgive me father, for I have sinned

Matt Murdock X F!Reader

He needed to get to you, to make sure that no one had managed to lay even a single finger on your head. The sound of his steps was nearly silent as he lunged over the side, dropping down harshly onto the fire escape. Breath foggy, a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything tonight.

A/n: hello! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, and it’s been even longer since it’s been a marvel fic, this is just Matt being a slut if I’m honest

Warnings: smuuuuut, mentions of bodily injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of death

The wind was sharp, the cold stinging the open cuts that seemed to multiply as he stood atop the building. His heart was still beating, for now.

He needed to get to you, to make sure that no one had managed to lay even a single finger on your head. The sound of his steps was nearly silent as he lunged over the side, dropping down harshly onto the fire escape. Breath foggy, a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything tonight.

Lips pulled back into a snarl, fingers digging into the metal of the stairway, he vaulted over, pulling himself higher until he reached his apartment. He stopped, listening closely for your heartbeat.

Thump…thump…thump.

You were sound asleep, soft breaths echoing inside his bedroom as you slowly rolled over. You didn’t need to see him like this, like a monster.

It didn’t matter how often you rebuked that statement, claimed he was better than he’d ever seen himself. Daredevil was a monster inside and out, a way to express himself without causing harm to those he loved most. After he’d lost Foggy, things were blurry, as if he was remembering everything through a thick veil. Nothing made sense anymore, a reminder of how quickly things could be ripped from his hands.

Karen left not long after the funeral, stating she couldn’t stay in the same place he’d been murdered. Matt hadn’t left his apartment during those few weeks, his hands still stained with his best friend's blood. Sure, Dex might be behind bars for the remainder of his life, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He opened the door slowly, his attention focused solely on you as the latch shut with a soft click. Your breathing hadn’t so much as shifted, letting him know he could head down without worry.

You’d nearly killed someone tonight, someone that has a family they go home to.

Matt’s heart slammed into his chest as he grabbed onto the handrail, heel nearly slipping out from underneath. 

“No, he,” Matt cleared his throat, the skin of his knuckles breaking open once more as he struggled to compose himself.

Does she know what you do at night? How do you attempt to save the city by nearly killing people? Innocent lives will be lost by your hands.

“No!” Matt reached up, harshly yanking off the mask  that kept his identity hidden from the rest of the world. 

The air stilled as the cool air of the apartment began to brush over his heated skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight. The red lenses of his helmet dimly, the mask held loosely in his hands, fingers curled ever so slightly.

How could he ever begin to believe that, even for a moment, he wasn’t the true monster of the world? His sins spreading far and wide, the inky blackness that slowly corrupted him sinking into those he cared for most. Foggy had already been ripped from his hands, the reminder that he couldn’t be by his side as he took his last breath, his final heartbeat echoing in Matt’s mind. Was he a monster for trying to keep the city streets safe? Or was he no better than the men he was going after?

“I’m nothing like them,” his steps were silent as he reached the base floor, movements fluid as he stepped over to the chest that normally hid his suit.

He halted in his haste to strip down as you shifted in bed, the sound of the silk sheets rubbing against your soft skin, a breathy sigh slipping through your lips.

His blood burned hotter in his veins, hands nearly ripping the suit off in his haste to shove it, none to kindly, into the case. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the blood rushing like rapid waters.

Her skin will be tainted with your sins, Matthew, are you ready to damn her as well? To bring her to hell alongside you to burn for eternity?

Matt growled low in his chest, hands clenched into fists as he stood nearly naked before the chest. His body littered with bruises that would heal before he could begin to worry about them. Feet turning towards the bedroom, his heart raced as he slowed the closer he got to the bed.

Fingertips traced over the soft material, calluses catching ever so slightly on the barely frayed edges. Your breath was slow, heart beating slow and steady. An angel lying before him.

“My darling,” his voice was soft as he gripped onto the blanket covering your body, slowly sliding it away until you were bared before the world.

Though he couldn’t see your body properly, Matt knew you looked ethereal bathed in the soft moonlight. Breath catching in his throat, his brow furrowed as he realized you’d gone to bed nude, the taste of your arousal thick in the air.

Swallowing thickly he slowly crawled onto the bed, listening intently for any change in your heartbeat. Hands pried open your thighs further, his lips trailing soft kisses along your smooth skin. Teeth sinking into the supple flesh of your thighs.

Your head twisted around on the pillow, thighs pressing against his ears as you attempted to both escape, and relish in the sensations. His tongue lapped at the mark, groaning low in his throat as he trailed the appendage closer to your soaked core.

Fuck, he’s never smelt something so divine in his life. 

His eyes slipped closed as his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, suckling gently. Your essence coated his tongue like the sweetest candy, a delicious treat he’d gladly let himself drown in if you’d let him. His palms slid up to press against your belly, pressing your body into the mattress before sliding up to your chest.

Your legs squeezed tighter, eyes flicking back and forth behind your closed lids. Matt never left you unsatisfied, it was egregious that anyone ever dared utter the words around him. His tongue trailed down to your slick entrance, sliding in and curling up towards your g-spot.

Though your eyes remained closed, Matt could feel the way your cunt tightened around his tongue, your orgasm soaking his mouth and chin. He palmed your chest gently, thumbs sliding over your nipples as he felt the skin tighten beneath his touch. He pressed closer, sliding his tongue back up to your overly sensitive clit, practically able to feel your heartbeat through it.

Subconsciously he began to utter prayers, tongue and lips assaulting your clit. Your thighs clamped around his head harshly, an intense scream ripping free from your chest, your eyes flying open as you looked down at Matt.

“Fuck, baby,” your thighs shook as you ran a hand through his hair, gently gripping the soft strands as he ate you out as if it were his final meal.

It was almost as if Matt was deafened by everything surrounding him, his hands squeezing your chest as he lapped his tongue harder against your clit. Your eyes rolled back as a second orgasm washed over you, hands pulling harshly. 

“Baby, please,” you could hardly catch your breath, heart racing as you tried to come down from the intense climax of your second orgasm.

Normally Matt would never push you past your limit, he loved you too much to ever hurt you. However, tonight was nothing like normal. His palms slid from your chest, your nipples sore and aching as he grabbed the fat of your thighs and ass, pushing you closer to his face as he rolled onto his back. Your eyes flew open as you realized exactly what he’d wanted.

“Jesus,” your voice was barely above a whisper, hips grinding down against his mouth.

Matt gripped your thighs harder, moaning against your skin as your essence dripped down onto his jaw. His cock strained against the tight fabric of his briefs, the tip leaking as he drank you in. His hands traced up your spine, pushing your body forward so his nose grazed your clit.

Your head dropped between your shoulders as you came for a third time, tears dripping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep yourself upright. 

“Matty,” you gripped the headboard, carefully pulling yourself up and off before plopping down onto the bed.

His eyes were closed in bliss, chest rising and falling harshly as he licked his lips of your taste. Arousal flooded your body as you watched him, ignoring how battered his body was, again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” Matt let his eyes open slowly, looking over in your general area.

“Trust me, that was an amazing wake up call,” you’d finally managed to catch your breath, a soft laugh slipping out.

He couldn’t help but smile, eyes crinkling as he reached up to gently graze his fingers over your thigh. You’d never seen him look so beautiful before.

“However, it looks like you need some help,” you scooted down the bed, hooking your fingers into the fabric of his briefs before pulling them down and off.

His cock slapped against his stomach with a wet slap, precum seeping into the thick hair on his stomach. The skin was nearly purple, hot to the touch as you gently stroked him.

“Fu-fuck!” His back arched off the bed, hands gripping onto the sheets as he did his best not to cum right then and there.

You cooed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of his throat, lips trailing down his chest and stomach before reaching the tip of his cock. Taking him fully in hand, you wrapped your lips around him, giving gently kitten licks as you kept your eyes on him.

Matt couldn’t contain the guttural moans that echoed inside the bedroom, hands blindly searching for you as his hand tangled in your hair. You immediately pulled off his cock, squeezing the base as a warning.

“You’re going to behave and keep your hands to yourself, do I make myself clear?” You reached back with your free hand, untangling his hand from your hair.

One thing no one would ever expect to find out, is that Matthew Murdock, is an absolute sub.

“Yes miss,” Matt’s throat felt tight as you began to take control, laying his hands down onto the sheets.

You watched him for a moment to ensure he wouldn’t pull another stunt as he just had, leaning down to take him back into your mouth once more. He could hardly focus on anything other than how your tongue felt tracing over the underside of his cock. The air felt thick, drowning the both of you as Matt tried to focus on not cumming. You pulled off with a smirk, fingers sliding down to gently cup and squeeze his balls.

“You’re doing so good for me, bet you wanna cum, huh?” Your tone was condescending, teasing in a way that riled Matt up intensely.

He nodded hastily, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook from head to toe.

“Please,” his breath caught in his throat as your hand wrapped around his cock once more, pumping quickly.

Before he could utter a single word, even a warning, he was cumming over your hand, cock throbbing intensely as he whimpered.

“Look at that, such a good boy for me,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your hand continued to stroke his cock.

Matt felt his breathing pick-up as the intensity of his orgasm began to slow, the overstimulation setting in. His lips parted to bed for a reprieve, to beg you to stop if for even just a moment.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got one more in you,” you giggled, letting his cock lie against his stomach as you straddled his lap. He hadn’t even softened in the slightest.

His hands slid to your thighs, thighs shaking as you dragged your soak cunt along the underside of his cock.

“Baby, fuck, baby please,” Matt was ready to plead, to pray to any god that would listen if it meant sinking in to your heat.

You ignored him, hands pressed against his chest as you rocked your hips slower, the tip of his cock pressing harder against his stomach each time. To anyone eavesdropping it would be obvious what was happening, a man having what could only be considered the most intense orgasm of his life.

“I’m not stopping until I am done, do I make myself clear?” You pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking his cock in hand as you slowly sank down onto him.

“Ye-yes, ma’am,” Matt nearly went cross eyed as your heat enveloped him, jaw slack as he sighed happily.

Your movements were slow, deliberate in a sense as you took his hands off your thighs, sliding them up to your chest. Matt wasted no time in pinching and squeezing your nipples, thumbs rolling over the skin.

“So beautiful,” Matt could write sonnets about how beautiful he found you, fingers tracing gently over your skin as he quickly pushed himself up, pulling your bodies flush together.

“I love you,” you pressed your foreheads together, panting softly against his skin as you rocked your hips faster, his cock gliding deliciously against your tight walls.

“I love you too,” Matt leaned up, pressing a kiss to your lips, arms wrapping around your waist as he fucked up into you.

You dug your nails into his shoulder with a loud cry, moaning against his mouth as you struggled to keep up with his intensity. He cupped your jaw, pressing kisses along the skin as he chased your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him.

“Let go for me, come all over my cock sweetheart,” Matt gently nipped at your neck, slamming his cock in once, twice, thrice before you came all over his cock, your body locking up as Matt’s eyes squeezed shut once more, his hot cum filling your sore pussy.

He slowed his thrusts before stilling completely, your bodies still fully connected as he pulled away from your throat.

“Are you okay?” Matt pressed kisses all over your face, the fear that he could’ve hurt you in any way tearing at his soul.

“I’m doing fantastic, might not have feeling in my legs right now,” you laughed against his hair, fingers gently caressing the indents from your nails.

He carefully laid you down, pulling out slowly before making his way into the bathroom to get a damp washcloth. You watched as he came back into the bedroom, body covered in a light sheen of sweat as well as cum sticking in the hair covering his chest and stomach.

“Just warn me if I’m too rough, okay?” Matt had always been gentle when it came to aftercare, even if you didn’t have such intense sex.

The cloth was warm as it pressed to your core, cleaning up your mixed fluids. Normally he’d toss the cloth into the hamper to be dealt with later, instead he folded it over, cleaning off the inside of your thighs slowly, meticulously.

“Don’t forget yourself,” your eyes trailed down his chest slowly, even when you were on the brink of exhaustion you couldn’t get enough of him.

“I was thinking a shower would do us some good, if you’d be okay with that,” Matt leaned up, tossing the washcloth into the hamper before sitting on the bed beside your hip.

You mulled it over in your mind for a brief moment, could you even handle standing up long enough to get clean? Then again a shower would actually get you clean.

“Yeah, let’s take a shower,” you sat up slowly, not wanting to worry Matt by making yourself dizzy.

Matt stood up, lifting you up bridal style before heading into the bathroom. The room wasn’t that big, especially not for two people to fit comfortably. Carefully setting you down onto the sink he turned back towards the shower, turning it on and stepping back to let it heat up.

“Be more careful next time, okay?” You traced your fingers along his spine, the fresh bruising more obvious in the dim lighting.

“I’ll try, I promise,” Matt turned to face you, hands pressed on the sink on either side of you.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, lips moving languidly with his own as your chests pressed flush together. The taste of yourself lingered faintly on his mouth, your skin heating up at the recent memory.

As the room began to fill with steam Matt pulled from the kiss, his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifted you up.

“Shall we?” His lips pulled into a smirk as he stepped into the small shower, slowly setting you down.

“My, my Mr Murdock,” you giggled, resting your hands against his chest as the water glided over your skin.

Matt didn’t let his hands stray far, fingers tracing over every dip and curve that he could reach. Your own hands traced along his chest.

Soft words were whispered between the pair as Matt carefully washed your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp as you did your best to keep your eyes open. 

God damn that man and his amazing hands.

He didn’t so much as let you lift a finger as he scrubbed your body from head to toe, being more gentle on any areas that could be sore from earlier. Never protesting as you grabbed his own soap, scrubbing down his body with a bright smile.

Matt felt his chest tighten as you turned to rinse off the loofah, your back pressed against him. He’d never thought he’d have something so domestic, so loving.

“Marry me,” the words slipped out before he could stop them, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your hands stopped altogether as you looked up at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide.

“Really?” Could this be a joke? A slip of the tongue, and Matt hadn’t realized his mistake yet?

“Yes, I have a ring hidden away, I know I’m asking you in the most unconventional way possible, but I want to marry you,” Matt listened to your heartbeat, hearing how it beat harshly behind your ribs.

You waited for a moment, gathering your thoughts as tears welled up into your eyes, a bright smile pulling up your lips.

“Yes!” You didn’t waste a second, turning to face him as you threw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Matt was stunned for a brief moment, mind slowly catching up that you’d said yes! His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in tight, kissing you back hastily. You’d actually said yes to marrying him, the woman he couldn’t believe at times had chosen him.

“I fucking love you,” he pulled free from the kiss, hands squeezing your soft flesh.

“I love you too,” you laughed through a sob, tears mixing with the water from the shower head.

He reached back, shutting off the water so that you could both get out and head back to your bedroom.

He scrubbed your body town with a towel, hands moving faster than you’d seen them before. Your giggles echoing in the small bathroom as you watched him. Matt smiled as he wrapped you in the towel, wrapping one around his own waist.

“Go sit, I have to get the ring,” Matt patted your ass gently, making his way out to the chest he’d hastily shoved his suit into earlier.

This night he was more than thankful you never pried into his lifestyle as Daredevil, you would’ve found the ring months ago, ruining the surprise. Grabbing the small box he held it tightly in his hand, making his way back to the bedroom.

You had somehow managed to change the sheets while Matt was busy, having changed them to clean, dry sheets. 

“You’re too perfect for me,” he smiled, kneeling down in front of you before popping open the box.

Your jaw dropped open as you saw how gorgeous the ring was. Had he somehow found your Pinterest and given it to a jeweler to perfect a ring for you? That seemed like the only logical explanation.

“Matt, oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your mouth as he carefully pulled the ring free, grabbing your left hand before finding your ring finger, sliding the cool band over your skin.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together. You make me the happiest man alive,” as the ring settled on the base of your finger you couldn’t stop staring at it.

This was going to be your forever.

And you couldn’t wait to start the beginning of forever.

tags: @gaylemonshark @mel-thefrog