#human disaster matt murdock

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

“Never before would you have thought that a man with such calloused palms and fingertips could hold you so gently.”

Dang! The comfort in this one is just… ughhh!! 😫🙏🏻🥹 No words. But all good thoughts. ALL good! ♥️♥️

In the Rearview

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 3,300

Summary: Reader returns from a trip home to visit her family, and Matt is less than happy to hear about the details.

Trigger warning: discussion of physical abuse

Shameless use of the “who did this to you?” trope.

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[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Gentle Touch

Installment 1 of The Catlike Tendencies of Matthew Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt doesn't know how to ask for physical affection.

warnings: none that I can think of!

a/n: long story short this is inspired by my wife’s orange cat. He loves her but only tolerates me most of the time, unless I’m the only one home when he wants attention. However, he doesn’t really know how to cuddle with me since we don’t do it often so he just awkwardly lurks wherever I am until I invite him closer. It happened earlier and I thought it was hilariously Matt-coded so I wrote this. (It’s set in the Of Oak and Ivy verse because I love them, but you don’t need to read that story for this)

w/c: 2.3k

You were absolutely enthralled in the story Foggy was telling when the noise caught you off guard. A small puff of air, sounding almost like a voiceless sigh. Glancing toward Matt who was the closest to you, one look at his stony expression told you it had come from him. He was clearly irritated, despite his face being blank. You’d known him for long enough that you could tell when something was on his mind. 

Maybe he’d heard this story too many times? You leaned more heavily into his arm, which was parallel to yours. 

Turning your attention back to Foggy, you flinched with a laugh as he gestured wildly when concluding his story, spraying beer at you from his mostly full bottle. 

“Geez, Fog. Reaching your limit already?” Matt smirked, his icy exterior fading away as you giggled beside him. 

“He is, he’s all flushed. This is just like that party at the Beta house sophomore year.” You shook your head, looking at Karen with an exasperated expression. “Have they told you the possum story?” 

Smiling gleefully, Karen shook her head. “The possum story?” 

Both Matt and Foggy groaned, protesting and blushing furiously, but Karen was adamant. And who were you to not indulge her?

“In the fall of our second year at Columbia, Matt and Foggy got absolutely plastered on some disgusting concoction of cheap alcohol and Hawaiian Punch,” You began, rolling your eyes as Foggy gagged across from you. 

“God, even the thought of it—“ The blond mime-retched. 

“Yah the smell of Hawaiian Punch still makes me nauseous.” Matt shuddered next to you. 

Karen stifled a giggle as you continued to illustrate just how inebriated you’d found them when you’d come to pick them up. “I was studying and had sat the party out, but offered to drive them home when Fog called me screaming at someone to chug alcohol. I figured they’d both be in no shape to get home.”

“You were correct.” Foggy nodded. 

“I don’t remember anything from that night, but I assume I was the one chugging.” Matt grimaced, laughing sheepishly. 

“So I drove over to the house, somehow got ahold of Matt and managed to convince him to herd Foggy and himself into my car. When they get there, they’re holding this bundle, right? I figured it was dirty clothes or something. But as we were driving home the clothes start hissing.”

“Oh, NO!” Karen cackled, propping herself up on her elbows as she listened to the story. 

“Oh yes. Naturally, I ask Fog what he’s holding and he says ‘my dog’.” 

“We didn’t have a dog,” Matt clarified, looking incredibly guilty. 

“No you did not.” You squeezed his arm, hoping he could hear in your voice that you had no resentment over the incident. “Foggy unwraps the thing a bit and introduces it as ‘Spot’. But instead of a dog,”

“It’s a possum.” Karen finishes for you, nearly in stitches over her coworkers’ mortified faces. 

“An angry one at that. I have no idea where it came from or how they managed to catch it, but there it was.” You shook your head, still amazed at their ability to wrangle the creature while piss-drunk. 

“What happened to it?” Karen asked, and the men erupted. 

“That’s classified.” Foggy stated firmly, lips pressed together. 

“A story for another time,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Don’t tell me you killed it!” Karen gasped, whirling to look at the out of them sternly. 

“Of course not! No possums were harmed in the making of this story, just mildly inconvenienced.” You assured her. “They’re just clamming up because they can’t remember whose fault it was that it got loose in the science hall.”

Trailing off into a fit of laughter, Karen was quick to follow you as the two men started arguing, pointing fingers. Sitting back and enjoying the show, you shot Karen knowing glances as Matt and Foggy fought, no real heat behind their words. 

You’d had so much fun that night, reliving one of the funniest moments of your college years, that you’d completely forgotten about the aggravated sound. Until about one month after, when you were sitting next to Matt on a bench in the courthouse. 

The case he and Foggy had been working on was tedious and full of metaphorical landmines that threatened to ruin any shot your client had at escaping her abusive husband. The entire firm had been on edge, struggling to keep everything in order. Given your lack of steady employment at the moment, you’d been helping out wherever you could, and had been working this case from day one, right alongside Matt. Which is how you’d ended up beside him rather than Foggy. 

The blond had flown out of town a few days before to attend an extended family reunion, leaving the rest of you to man the fort, so to speak. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Matt had been increasingly temperamental leading up to the ex parte hearing. His normal reserved demeanor had rapidly been replaced by a moody, antagonistic version of him–driving poor Karen to her wit’s end. 

After Matt had incited a screaming match over a spilled cup of coffee, you’d told her to take her lunch early, giving her a couple hours where she didn’t need to walk on eggshells. The plan seemed to be working so far, Matt responding with less hostility to your persistent support rather than Karen’s eager suggestions for an aggressive approach. Something about this case had rubbed Matt the wrong way. His invisible hackles were standing on end, posture almost bristling as he sat beside you, twisting a white-knuckled fist around his cane. And, though you understood why Karen was pushing for another solution, you agreed with Matt that this needed to be handled quickly and quietly. 

Scowling at the floor, Matt’s joints rolled beneath the delicate skin of his hands. His jaw was clenched, shoulders curled inward, as if he expected the judge to request a fist fight to grant the protection order. Christ, that could not be comfortable.

Carefully, slow enough to not spook him when he was in this state, you slid the pads of your fingers over the back of his hand. Prying his firm grip off the handle of his cane, you cradled his massive, calloused hand in your lap. He visibly relaxed at the touch, twisting to face you as you traced gentle patterns over his skin, careful to avoid the line of freshly healed cuts on his knuckles. Your curiosity would have to wait for now. There was no way he was in the mood to explain those.

A breathy rumble sounded in his throat, akin to a sigh but less obvious. The same noise he’d made all those days ago at Josie’s–the quiet indication that something wasn’t right. 

Bottom lip jutting out in sympathy, you squeezed his fingers with your own. “It’ll be ok, Matty.” 

He swallowed roughly, hazel eyes darting around behind his red lenses. You could practically see the thoughts forming in his mind before he buried them, the stress forcing him back into bad habits. Sweeping your fingers over his wrist, you studied him, satisfaction thrumming in your chest when his breath hitched. “Hey, talk to me, trouble. What are you thinking?”

“It’s not going to go well.” His voice was pitched low, angry, but there was a brief undercurrent of fear within it. 

“We don’t know that.” You chastised lightly, knowing this pessimistic streak was a coping mechanism and not confirmation he’d become a nihilist. 

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? It’s like every officer is laughing at us. We’ve already lost.” Watching Matt, the perpetual optimist, crumble at the thought of things not going the way you’d planned nearly broke your heart. 

“Oh trouble, don’t say that.” Threading your fingers with his, you knocked your knees together. “It’ll be ok. Even if the judge doesn’t grant the order today, we won’t stop trying, right?”

“No but she needs legal protection now. Truthfully, she needs an armed guard.” Matt spoke bitterly.

“We can get her temporary protection.” You suggested.

“They’d never grant that for a simple DV case. Besides, those are his coworkers. Do you really trust them to keep her safe from him?” Matt scoffed, raising a brow at you. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you jabbed your pinky into the flesh of his palm. “I wasn’t suggesting we go to the police, Matthew. You and I both know how little good that would do.”

Deflating as he realized you weren’t being as naive as he suspected, Matt frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone knows the flaws in the system.” You reassured him. “But I do. To some extent, at least.”

He hummed in agreement, but said nothing. 

“What’s really bothering you?” At your insistent question, Matt’s face flashed with rage, his spine straightening as he tried to pull out of your grasp, but you held fast. “Don’t you dare, trouble. Please, talk to me. It’s eating you away, I can’t sit here and let that happen.” 

Sighing harshly, Matt ran a hand over his face. “I just..this case feels different. I don’t know why. But if we can’t help her…”

“All we can do is try our best.” You reminded him. 

He let out a single humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” 

When you let his hand drop, he made that pitiful, choked noise again. 

“What?” You asked, slightly worried. 

“Nothing. Just tired.” He lied, wrapping his hand back around the handle of his cane.

It was only once you were truly together that you realized what that specific sound was meant to signify. 

Since you’d officially started dating, or rather labeling whatever you two had as a relationship instead of dancing around each other, that stupid noise had cemented itself in your life. It seemed like Matt was making it every damn day and it was driving you up a wall. 

Not because Matt wasn’t entitled to his feelings or to expressing said feelings. But because your brain registered that the sound had a specific meaning, and you could not for the life of you translate it from a mere Matt-ism into a language you actually understood. Every little quirk and charm about Matt inherently made sense to you, they always had. Yet this little growling exhale seemed out of your reach. Not to mention, anytime you tried to ask him what was up, he shut down faster than a computer chip dunked in pool water.

Sitting on his couch as he typed on his laptop, he snarled out that sound, eyes darting towards you and away before you could blink. Brows furrowing, you peered at him over the top edge of your book. A muscle in his cheek twitched, a blaring omen that he was holding himself back from saying something. 

“You ok?” You asked, nose scrunching as Matt brushed off your concern. 

“Yep. Hungry.” He grumbled. 

One word answers. Great start. Really breaking down his walls there, champ. 

“Oh, gotcha. I’ll order something. Have a taste for anything in particular?” Setting your book across your thighs, you opened up a delivery app on your phone. 

“No.” 

“Okay...” You drawled, stifling an eye roll at his grouchiness. “How about that Lebanese place we liked?” 

Receiving nothing but a thumbs up in response, you submit an order before Matt reached another stage of hangriness. 

Once Matt had eaten half of his shawarma, he was more agreeable. Smiling and chuckling sweetly as you read him cheesy snippets of your romance novel. Crawling across the couch until you were seated beside him, you stretched over his lap to snatch a piece of pita bread for your plate of hummus. Matt blew out a breath, tickling your ear as he grunted. Now that you were close, you could hear the shrill, whimpering undertone. Hidden, nearly silent, as if the growl was to compensate for the whine, to conceal it. 

Craning your neck towards him, you planted your free hand on your hip. 

“Alright. Out with it.” 

“Out with what?” Matt gave his best ‘befuddled’ impression, but you saw past his feigned innocence. 

Snorting, you prodded his firm chest. As your finger connected with his solid pec, he whimpered again, this time almost moaning. Something clicked. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” You gasped. “You are not making that sound instead of asking to cuddle.” 

Blushing furiously, Matt dipped his head, ashamed–though he made no attempt to deny the allegation.

Laughing incredulously, you tossed your plate aside and settled into Matt’s lap, threading a hand into his hair. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Matt rumbled happily, leaning into the touch until his head landed against your chest. Clutching his face between your palms, you trailed soft touches over his cheeks, around his ears–scratching tenderly down his neck when he practically melted beneath your fingertips.

“You could’ve told me that’s what you wanted, all this time…” Shaking your head, you planted a kiss atop his thick hair. “Why suffer in silence?”

“Didn’t want to force you. It’s been different. Since..everything.” 

Snuggling in close, you maneuvered his chin with two fingers, kissing him deeply. His stubble brushed over your skin roughly, making you smile. “You can always always ask, trouble. No need to be a martyr with me.”

“Sorry,” Matt murmured against your lips, chasing your mouth with a mournful noise as you pulled away. 

“Don’t be sorry. Now come here.” Tugging him on top of you, you laughed brightly as he squirmed over you, finally relaxed when his face was tucked against your neck. “That’s it. Better?” 

“Much better.” He whispered, going limp under your touch as your fingers stroked up his back.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @shouldbestudying41

[superbreadsoul]

DON’T BAIL ON ME

Matt Murdock x Reader

DISCLAIMER: The following story is purely fictional and is made for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story.

WARNING: Heartbreak, no happy-ending, Matt is emotionally constipated, Reader is unable to take responsibility as well. Elektra (cuz she’s hawt).

WORD COUNT: 5119 WORDS

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Matt’s voice trembled with concern as he heard her step through the door, sensing her eyes downcast, her posture tense. He had been pacing for what felt like hours, his mind running wild with worry. The clock on the wall mocked him with every passing second. He hadn’t heard from her all day. He hadn’t seen her since their plans had been set.

"Hey, sweetheart," he began, his tone more gentle than usual, but heavy with the weight of unspoken fear. "I was worried about you. Where have you been?"

Her response was quiet, almost reluctant, as if she was debating whether or not to let him in on the truth. "At the hospital."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart skipped a beat. "What? Why? Are you okay?"

His feet moved instinctively toward her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she stepped back, a wall of frustration and hurt suddenly building between them. He halted, sensing the shift, his worry now mingling with confusion.

"Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "I was visiting Barry."

There was an unmistakable edge to her words, and Matt froze, the weight of her response settling in. Barry. The name stung. He had heard about Barry—her ex, the doctor— the one she couldn’t quite escape, the one who always seemed to pull her back in. He had known this day would come. He just hadn’t expected it to feel so… personal. Little did he know, that wasn't what she was seemingly hesitant about.

"Oh," Matt said, his voice trailing off as he tried to keep his composure. He noticed a familiar scent around her, something sweet and floral. "You—smell nice."

She blinked, her lips tightening into a thin line. “Really?” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I wanted to smell nice for our date. Thanks for showing up, by the way.”

Matt’s heart clenched. The biting tone in her voice stung, but it was nothing compared to the way the truth had just hit him. His sightless eyes bounced, full of remorse and regret. His mind raced, desperately trying to piece together where everything had gone wrong.

"Oh sweetheart," he whispered, his words catching in his throat. "I’m so sorry. It… it slipped my mind. I’m so, so sorry."

He stepped forward, his hands reaching for her, but she pulled back slightly, the distance between them growing, thick with unspoken anger.

"Are you?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. She glanced up at him, the vulnerability in her voice almost too much for him to bear. "Are you really sorry, Matt?"

Her question hung in the air, and for a moment, he was speechless. All he could hear was the rapid beat of his own heart, and the deafening silence that followed. He had forgotten their date. He had let her down. Again.

Matt’s breath hitched as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more sincere tone. “Y/N, is something wrong?”

The words were tentative, but they were filled with an unspoken plea for her to let him in, to let him fix this, to let him make things right. But she only stood there, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Matt had known her long enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. But this—this was different. This was something deeper, something he couldn’t fix with an apology alone.

"Natchios."

The name dropped from Y/N's lips like a stone sinking into the silence of the room, heavy and uninvited. It echoed through the small space, reverberating off the walls and into Matt’s chest, where it lodged like a shard of ice. The very surname that had haunted him for years. The one name he thought he had left behind. The name of the woman who had once ruled his world in a storm of chaos and passion—and who, no matter how hard he tried, was never truly gone.

“What?” Matt froze, his blood running cold, his breath caught in his throat. The dread settled in, slow and suffocating. He had thought he could outrun it, that he had buried that past deep enough for it to never resurface. But now, standing before him, was Y/N, looking at him with eyes that said she knew, and with a smile that barely disguised the hurt and the bitterness.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a bitter, almost rueful grin. “I was so caught up with the trial, I didn’t realise it at first. I’d never heard a name so unique. Then I thought, hey, actually, I have. I’ve only ever known one person with a name that unique. She had a pretty unique personality too. Elektra Natchios. Huh.”

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat prick at the back of his neck. Her words stung deeper than he could have imagined. There was no hiding now, no pretending that this wasn’t happening. He couldn't see it but he knew that Y/N was no longer looking at him with the gentle affection of someone who had shared quiet moments of love. Now, she was looking at him with something else: pain. And the realization that everything he had tried to protect her from had come crashing down.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed at him, her gaze sharp and cutting, as she began to recall their past. “God, I hated that stupid Chevy Belair Coupe she used to drive around to pick you up. Then you’d get in the passenger seat with a big smile on your face, bunking all your classes.” She chuckled, but the sound was hollow, edged with something bitter and pained. “And I wouldn’t hear from you for days. Three days, Matt. I didn’t hear from you for three damn days.”

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to apologise, to explain, but the words felt useless. How could he explain any of it without dragging her deeper into the mess that was his life with Elektra? 

Elektra. 

Just the thought of her made his stomach twist, but the worst part was the knowledge that Y/N had been right all along. He had never fully severed the connection with Elektra, and now, it was here, in front of him, like a spectre from his past. 

Y/N’s eyes flashed with an icy determination. "She’s here, isn’t she? Like Stick? You can come out now.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and accusing. Matt’s breath hitched, and before he could protest or stop it, Y/N’s gaze flicked toward the door of the bedroom. The silence that followed was oppressive, and Matt’s heart sank as he knew exactly who would walk through that door, already hearing her heels clicking. He didn’t need to say a word. He didn’t have to.

From the shadows of the hallway, Elektra emerged.

“Hello, Y/N,” Elektra’s voice was smooth, almost amused, like she had been waiting for this moment, anticipating the fallout from Matt’s past finally catching up with him.

Elektra’s steps were confident, every movement exuding the kind of smug self-assurance Matt had never been able to shake. She stood tall in the doorway, her presence dominating the room even as she leaned casually against the frame. There was a faint, cruel smile playing at the edges of her lips as she looked past Matt to Y/N. 

Matt’s stomach turned. Elektra had always had that way of walking into a room like she owned it, like everyone in it was just another pawn in her game. He hated that about her. He hated the way she always made him feel like he was nothing more than a fool to be played with. 

“Elektra,” Y/N said, her voice tight with controlled fury. "I should have known you’d be here. Always lurking in the shadows, making everything more complicated than it needs to be."

Elektra’s eyes gleamed with something cold, calculating. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just here to see Matthew, just like I always have been.”

Matt’s chest tightened. “Y/N, I—”

But Y/N held up a hand, the air shifting as she did, silencing him before he could finish. Her eyes, once soft with affection, now burned with a mix of pain and anger, and he realized, too late, that this was a breaking point. A fracture in their relationship that couldn’t be healed with empty words.

“What? You’re sorry?” Y/N asked, the disbelief thick in her voice. “For what, Matt? For still being tied to her after all this time? For letting her come back into your life, into our life, like nothing ever changed?”

Matt took a step forward, but it was like walking on a tightrope. Every word he tried to say felt heavier than the last, his voice faltering as he reached for her. “Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

“It never is,” Y/N snapped, her voice a mixture of frustration and grief. "You’re still lying to me, Matt. You’re still lying to me, even now.”

Y/N’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, a sharpness that immediately cut through the tension in the room. “Matt and I need to talk, so I’m sorry, but I’d like you to leave.”

Elektra didn't flinch. She gave a soft, almost mocking smile, the same smile Matt had once found irresistible, traced it with his own fingers, now a twisted reminder of everything he was trying to move past. “Alright.” She didn’t hesitate, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she turned toward Matt’s bedroom, making her way back into the shadows of his life.

But before she could slip out of sight, Y/N’s voice stopped her cold, the words laced with authority. “—The apartment.”

Elektra paused mid-step, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but it was quickly masked by that same smug composure.

Matt opened his mouth, but his throat tightened as the reality of the situation began to settle in. He had never heard Y/N so resolute, and despite everything he wanted to say, he knew that this wasn’t his battle to fight. Still, he hated the feeling of being stuck in the middle. “Y/N—” he started, his voice soft, trying to diffuse the tension.

“—You speak when I ask you to speak.” Her voice cut through his words like a knife, leaving no room for argument.

Matt flinched, a sigh escaping him. His frustration built inside him, the weight of being trapped between the two women he cared about—one from his past, one from his present. He dropped his head, hands on his hips, trying to control the burning anger bubbling within him. The last thing he wanted was this kind of confrontation, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? A situation of his own making.

Elektra, as if sensing Matt's turmoil, gave him one last smirk before she silently walked out, her footsteps echoing as she left the apartment. But even with her gone, the tension in the room was suffocating. Y/N stood there, arms crossed, her eyes trained on Matt, who didn’t move. The silence stretched between them like a chasm, filled with things unsaid.

“I’m not gonna have a one-sided conversation, so can you please turn around?” Y/N’s voice was stern, but there was an underlying hurt that Matt couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, Matt turned to face her. His jaw was tight, the weight of her gaze almost unbearable. For a second, he was relieved that he wouldn't have to see that scathing look on her face Foggy always talked about. He knew what was coming next, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asked, her tone softening only slightly as she tried to understand, but the confusion in her eyes was clear.

Matt opened his mouth, the words caught somewhere between guilt and frustration. “About what?” he asked, feigning ignorance, but even to him, the question felt hollow. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the door where Elektra had just left, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she listed out the things that had been gnawing at her. “About Stick. About Elektra. About everything that’s been hanging over us since the moment we got together. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her words hit harder than she probably realised, and Matt’s breath faltered. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to share it. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he had hoped—no, he had needed—to believe that he could keep his past locked away. That Elektra, Stick, and all the messes of his old life would stay buried, far from Y/N. But he had been fooling himself. And now, here she was, asking him the one question he couldn’t dodge.

“Because you walked out on me before I could tell you,” Matt said, his voice thick with frustration, his hands clenched at his sides. His sightless eyes were wild, somewhat searching for hers—waiting so that she might tell him that she understood, or at least would understand, if he could just explain it all.

Y/N didn’t flinch at his words, but the hurt was unmistakable. She stood there, her arms still crossed, her gaze unwavering. She had always been so patient with him, so understanding. But this—this was too much. 

“You think I walked out on you?” she asked, her voice tight, trying to keep the trembling anger at bay. “You think I just left? You’re the one who shut me out, Matt. You’re the one who didn’t trust me with the truth. You kept me at arm’s length, and now I’m supposed to believe it was just because you couldn’t find the right time to tell me?”

Matt took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a frustration that was barely contained. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice lower now, softer but still heavy with regret. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to drag you into that world. But you—you wouldn’t have understood. You wouldn’t have accepted it.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she stepped closer to him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Matt. You don’t get to keep things from me because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. I’m your partner. You tell me. You trust me.”

Y/N’s voice was laced with frustration as she tried to make him understand, but Matt could sense that her patience was starting to wear thin. “Besides, I was rightfully upset—”

“—Is there a point to this conversation?” Matt interrupted, his tone sharp, his shoulders tense. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to keep spinning in this cycle of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. He just wanted it to go back to the way it was. He wanted everything to feel normal again.

Y/N blinked, her expression one of bewilderment and frustration. “What do you mean, ‘is there a point’? Matt, of course, there’s a point! I want you to talk to me!” She said the words with an exasperated urgency, as if she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting it.

Matt’s jaw clenched, and he turned away for a moment, trying to steady himself. “There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N. Besides, you made it clear yesterday that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, and Y/N’s chest tightened. The memory of last night—the way she’d stormed out, the way Matt had closed himself off—was still fresh. It felt like a betrayal, but even more so, it felt like the same pattern she had been trying to avoid. He was slipping away from her, like he always did.

Her heart pounded as she stared at him, frustration bubbling up again. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, her finger gesturing towards him. “You just brush it all off. It’s like you won’t even try to understand why I’m upset!”

Matt’s eyes flashed, frustration building in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it, how to make her understand that his silence wasn’t about her, but about the things inside him that he didn’t know how to talk about. “What?” he snapped back, unable to hide the rawness in his voice. “What do you want from me, Y/N?”

“God! It’s always one step forward and ten steps back with us!” she nearly shouted, her voice full of pent-up frustration. “It’s always the same thing! You do something, and I pull away. I do something, and you pull away. We can’t keep doing this, Matt! I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one trying to hold this together.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t just her—that it wasn’t always her fault. But the truth was, his own insecurities were starting to drown out the words. His fear of being abandoned, of losing her, was starting to seep into every crack of their relationship, and he didn’t know how to fight it.

“We talk, don’t we?” Matt said cynically, crossing his arms as he looked at where he assumed her eyes were, his expression closed off. “I’m right here standing in front of you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she shot back with a bitter laugh, the sting of his words landing harder than he’d realised. “As opposed to how lately, every conversation I have with you is towards your back?” she said, her voice full of incredulity. “You’re physically here, Matt, but you’ve been gone for a while now.”

Matt flinched at the accusation, the weight of her words cutting deep. He opened his mouth to argue, but the frustration in Y/N’s voice silenced him before he could speak.

“What the hell does that mean?” he snapped back, his confusion mixing with his growing anger. 

Y/N’s words were sharp, cutting through the air between them like a blade. “It means you avoid me!” she deadpanned, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “It means your first instinct is to run away from me the second things get a little bit rough.” She pointed directly at him, her eyes narrowing as she squinted up at him in disbelief. She rocked her hand in the air, as if to emphasise how often he pulled away, how shaky he could be when things weren't easy.

Matt’s heart beat erratically in his chest as she spoke, the truth in her words hitting him like a freight train. She wasn’t wrong. He had always pulled away when things got tough. His instinct had always been to retreat into the safety of silence, of isolation, of not facing the things that scared him the most.

“I don’t run,” Matt muttered, his voice low and defensive. “I—”

“You do,” she interrupted sharply, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’m not an idiot, Matt. I can see it. You shut down. You turn away. You make yourself small, and you expect me to just stand here and wait for you to come back.”

Matt stood there, frozen for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a weight he couldn’t escape. His breath was shallow, his chest tight. The things Y/N was saying, the things she was pointing out, weren’t easy to hear, but they were the truth. And deep down, he knew it.

“I don’t run!” Matt growled stubbornly in denial.

Matt's chest tightened, his jaw clenching in anger. He couldn't stand hearing it, especially not from her. "Okay? That is neither here nor there," he snapped, immediately brushing her words aside, shaking his head in frustration. He was done with the conversation, or so he thought. He wanted to put the walls back up, to shield himself from the rawness of the situation.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, the sarcasm in her expression all too clear. "Okay, well, here we are, Matt," she said, her voice dripping with frustration and mockery. "What do you wanna do? How do you wanna handle it, huh? Do you wanna fight for us, or do you wanna bail?"

She pointed toward the door, her hand shaking slightly with the intensity of the moment, as if to punctuate her question. Her voice rose in frustration, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. She paused, studying him as the weight of his silence seemed to hang in the air. But as she watched him, something softened in her gaze. She saw the vulnerable look in his eyes—the quiet uncertainty he wore so well. And despite the storm of emotions she felt, her heart ached for him.

With a heavy sigh, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to raise my voice,” she said quietly, the sharpness gone from her tone, replaced by something more tender. The fight was still there, but beneath it, there was love. She stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for him.

Y/N placed her hands gently in his, her touch soft and warm. She needed him to hear her, needed him to understand. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice steady now, but filled with a quiet urgency. “I want you, Matt. In all your sweet, yet rugged, devilish glory,” she said with a small, affectionate smile, even as her heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid. “I want to be here when your nights get rough, and I want to be the first thing you feel in the morning.”

She cupped his cheeks, her fingers soft against his skin as she looked into his eyes and feeling the intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. Her gaze softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sniffled, her voice trembling. "Look, you think your crazy life, your past, everything that’s happened to you, is going to scare me away or something… but that’s not true. You’re so wrong."

Her chest tightened, her heart aching at the sight of him—of the man who had always been so afraid of being too much, so afraid of dragging others down with him. “Because there’s nothing out there, nothing in here, that scares me as much as the thought of losing you.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper now, but the weight of her words struck him with the force of a wrecking ball. "Trust me when I say… people like you and me, we don’t get the chance to love like this, Matt. I stay. I don’t run. Because I love you."

The confession hit him like a punch to the gut. She had said it. She had finally said it, and her words hung in the air between them like a lifeline. She had chosen him, despite everything. Despite his fear, his past, the mess he carried around with him. 

Y/N’s voice was soft, tender now, as she spoke again, the love in her tone so raw it made his heart ache. “I love you so much that all I can ever think about is you. There’s no version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.” Her hands tightened around his, pulling him closer, even as she sniffled again, the tears starting to break free from her eyes. “So I’ll stay right here. You can push me away all you want, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.”

Matt’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words, the weight of her confession crashing over him. She was here. She was choosing to stay, despite the chaos, despite everything. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something so raw, so real to him. 

But even now, he found it hard to believe. He was so used to people leaving, to pushing others away before they could hurt him. The idea that she wouldn’t walk away, that she wanted him, despite his flaws and his broken pieces—it was a foreign concept. 

He shook his head, as if trying to clear the fog in his mind, but the truth was, he was terrified. Terrified of letting her in, terrified of what would happen if he let himself truly believe that someone could love him—want him—after everything.

"I..." His voice cracked as he tried to speak, but words failed him. He reached up, touching her hands, still holding him so gently, and his gaze softened as he aimlessly searched where he assumed her face was in wonder, listening to her heart for any sign of doubt. But there was none. There was only love. A kind of love he had never known, never imagined he deserved.

Matt stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest as Y/N’s confession lingered in the air between them. The weight of her words was suffocating, like a tidal wave crashing over him. He had never expected this moment to come, and now that it had, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Her love for him, so pure and raw, left him paralyzed, caught between the fear of being loved and the fear of losing her.

His mind raced, his emotions a tangled mess. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. His fears—his insecurities—gripped him like chains. Could he really let her in? Could he really let someone love him after everything he had done, everything he had become? And if he did, what would that mean for her? For them?

Y/N noticed the struggle in his sightless eyes, the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, and her heart sank. She had poured herself out to him—had told him, for the first time, how much he meant to her—and now, he couldn’t even return the sentiment. She frowned softly, her own pain growing as she took a small step back, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Matt?” She searched his face, looking for something, anything, that would tell her that he felt the same. “Did you hear me?” she repeated, the desperation creeping into her voice. “Say something. Please? Matt?”

The silence between them stretched on, thick with the unspoken. Matt’s brow furrowed, his hands trembling slightly as he struggled to find the words that felt right. But there was nothing—nothing that could explain the tangled mess of emotions inside him. He opened his mouth, but only half-formed words came out. 

“I—uh—I can’t do this right now,” he finally said, his voice shaky with regret. “There’s a lot going on, and I—I can’t—” His words faltered, a deep ache filling his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her. But the weight of his dual life—the mask he wore, the life he led as Daredevil—was so heavy, and he wasn’t sure how to balance it with what Y/N was offering him. The fear of losing her, of not being enough, of the danger he brought to everyone around him—it all swirled in his mind.

Y/N’s heart dropped at his words. The dread that washed over her was instantaneous, a cold, sharp wave that made her feel small and foolish. She had laid herself bare, had trusted him with a part of herself she didn’t give to anyone else, and now—now he was pulling away. 

"Oh," she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips as the weight of disappointment settled into her chest. A hollow ache took root there. She had given him everything she had, all her love, all her hope—and he couldn’t even say it back. The look in his eyes was enough to confirm the one thing she’d feared most: he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t willing to let her in. 

Her hands instinctively pulled away from his, the absence of his touch like an icy wind. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the regret in his eyes. Instead, she looked away, her heart breaking with every passing second. She felt so stupid for believing, for thinking that maybe this time, with him, things could be different. That maybe, just maybe, he could love her back.

“I don’t—” Matt began again, but the words felt too heavy to say. He sighed deeply, his own heart aching as he heard the stutter in her heartbeat. He didn’t want to hurt her; glad he couldn't see that look of brokenness in her eyes. But he knew he had to do this—he had to finish what he started with Elektra, had to be Daredevil first. There was too much at stake. He was torn between the man he wanted to be for her and the one he had to be for the city.

“I have to go,” he said reluctantly, his voice low and filled with regret. His eyes softened for a moment, the weight of the moment heavy in the space between them. “I need to finish something. I need to... do what I have to do. I’ll come back, okay?”

The words sounded hollow to Y/N, and she felt her throat close up as the tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t look at him now, not like this. Not when he was so distant, so unsure. Her voice cracked as she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“Okay.”

It was the only thing she could say, the only thing she had left. Her heart was in pieces, each one slipping further away from him with every word he spoke. She wouldn’t fight him. She couldn’t fight him. Not now. Not when he was already running. 

She didn’t look up as he left, didn’t want him to sense the tears that slipped down her cheeks, the raw pain she could no longer hide. All she wanted was for him to stay, to choose her, but the cold reality was that she didn’t know if he ever would.

Matt hesitated at the door, his hand on the handle, but the moment lingered for just a second longer. He tilted his head, ear faced to her direction, his face a mix of regret and guilt, but he didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t.

And with that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing in the quiet apartment, her heart aching with the realisation that love—real love—might not be enough to bridge the chasm between them.

The End.

[blackshadowswriter]

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

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You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

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AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

[farfromstrange]

Can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request. You and Matt are fighting, you kick Matt out of bedroom. Matt sits outside the bedroom door and hears you crying yourself to sleep. Maybe there is a happy ending

Hi, nonnie! Thank you so much for your request (and I apologize for the delay). I hope you don't mind that I put my own spin on it. I got heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's "You're Losing Me" which I can't seem to get out of my head. I felt it to be the perfect foundation for your request. Still, I stayed as true to it as I could, and since you said "Maybe there is a happy ending" I ended it kind of on a hopeful note. I hope you like what I made out of this and that it's anything like what you've imagined!

You're Losing Me | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: You and Matt get into an argument and you throw him out of the bedroom with a choice to make. You cry through most of the night as Matt sits in front of the bedroom door, contemplating and hating on himself until you can't take it anymore.

Warnings: Angst, relationship problems, Reader feels neglected because of Daredevil, Matt Murdock is an idiot when it comes to his feelings, talk about breaking up, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: This song isn't even released yet and it's killing me inside...

You had planned for a normal evening with him. Dinner, dessert, and a nice bath. You promised each other that today, you would take the time out of your day to spend time together. If it isn’t your work, it’s his, and if it happens to be neither, it’s usually his hunger for justice that ends with you alone in your shared apartment at night. You get it you do, and you support him with all you have, but tonight was so important to you and he promised you he would be there, that he would put Hell’s Kitchen on hold for just a few hours of normalcy in your chaotic lives, and he still didn’t show. 

You feel neglected. Part of you feels bad for wanting him to choose you over the responsibilities that are on his shoulder, but you have needs too. You’re a human being that craves the touch of your boyfriend and his undivided attention every once in a while. It’s not a bad thing.

You know what you’ve signed up for, and you don’t often complain, but you asked him for one night where you can show each other how much you truly appreciate each other, without you having to patch him up after a rough night of patrol and him thanking you with endless kisses, and it hurts that he couldn’t even be there for an hour or two because something in the city called him and he had to be there. 

“Everything okay?” he has the audacity to ask when he comes home, luckily unscathed, and finds you brushing your teeth in the bathroom. You don’t greet him, even though he initiates a kiss, and your distance makes him grow significantly more suspicious. There have been only a handful of times when you’ve given him the cold shoulder, let alone refused to let him kiss you. Something isn’t right, but it infuriates you to no end that he can’t even make the connection himself after you’ve practically begged him to stay with you. 

He thinks you can be so easily swayed and that you’ll just take and take and take until you’re okay with being second place, but he is wrong. This time, he is so wrong, alarms are blaring all around him to showcase just how wrong he is, and even with his sensitive ears, he can’t hear them. 

“Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asks. 

The audacity to blame it on your well-being seems to come from a place of genuine confusion, but for someone who prides himself on being perceptive and always knowing what you need, he’s missed a billion too many hints. Not just today but for weeks; your feelings have been eating away at you, and your fear of losing him grows alongside the anger that makes it hard for you to even look at him without crying. 

As you look around the apartment, you remember talking to him about how the different colors of the billboard give the place its unique beauty. He’d laughed and told you that you were the first person to think so. You remember telling him that it fits him, the colors and the milky windows and the almost nostalgic flair that his home carries. You’ve lost count of the many kisses shared in the lights of the color wheel instead of the artificial yellow of the ceiling lamp. The vibrations of the billboard are more comfortable to his heightened senses than those of the lightbulbs covering the apartment, he’d told you, so from the day you started dating, you’ve barely used the light switch and relied on the funky little ads that play in front of your windows every night. 

But of what worth is seeing the beautiful colors if the person you used to describe them to is barely present anymore?

You let out an almost bitter laugh and turn to his confused frame in the door. “I wanted you here,” you say. 

Matt nods, but his jaw is clenched and he looks as stern as always. “I told you, the city needed me,” he says. 

“But I needed you too.”

You’re growing tired of repeating the same few words over and over again. It’s like he refuses to listen or even acknowledge that your emotional needs are important to you and that you simply want him by your side because he is the man you love. Every time you tell him, he tells you he loves you, but you’re not sure if you believe him anymore. He can’t tell that this is killing you inside, even though he should. He used to, once. He used to be so attuned to your needs that he would drop everything, but for a while now, something has been missing, and you now realize that the thing missing between you is him, but he simply won’t come back to you, no matter how tightly you cling to him and try to pull him back from the abyss. 

He doesn’t even seem to realize that he is slowly losing you. Your heart aches and it wants to stop beating; it wants to stop beating just for him, but you know that your soul is dependent on him, which hurts even more because no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape, and he will keep on ignoring you until it breaks you. 

You know he doesn’t mean any harm. He loves you, he does, but you both have different ways of showing it and you both love and crave certain things in very different ways. When he’s not Daredevil, he’s sheer perfection, the best boyfriend you could ask for, but then nights come around and you realize that begging for his attention is something that should not be part of a healthy relationship. 

But God, you don’t want to give up. You want him to see you, just once, and you want him to listen so you can fix this before it’s too late. And you are so close to turning your back and saying goodbye, shattering both of your hearts in the process. You don’t want it to come to this, but if he keeps this up, you see no other way out to keep your heart safe. You’re getting tired of healing your own wounds while also treating his. At this point, finding a pulse in your relationship is getting harder and harder by the second.

As you stare into the dark apartment behind him, the red of the billboard dancing in patterns along the leather couch, you wonder if it’s time. 

“It’s always them and never me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “and it hurts.”

He senses the vulnerability in your voice, and his eyebrows furrow as he swallows the lump in his throat. his heart aches at what you’re implying. The calm sound of your voice almost breaks him. “I don't understand,” he whispers back. 

You smile sadly at him. “I know you don’t.”

He calls your name softly, but there is a hint of frustration behind his voice. “You know that I’m the only one who even thinks about doing something against all the pain out there, right? I’m the only one who fights. I’m there when no one else is, and the people are dependent on me. Terrible things happen at night here and I have to do something! I can't just leave people to die for dinner or- or a movie night that I can't even enjoy. That's not how it works. I- It's not my fault, I just have to do this, and you should know that by now. I can't change who I am…”

It’s always the same. His words brush past you like a gush of wind. He’s talking, but you don’t hear him. You’re flatlining, and your relationship fades before your very eyes. 

“Matt,” you stop him before he can talk himself further out of your life, “if you keep going at this pace, you’re going to lose me sooner or later. You’re going to lose me because you’re already in the process of doing so,” you say. “I’m not asking you to stop or change who you are, I’m just asking for you to be there from time to time when I need you to just be my boyfriend. I need you to fight. I need you to put in an effort because this relationship can’t survive if we both don’t give the same. Lately, it feels like I’m the only one who’s fighting, and it’s making me feel so alone.”

You gave him everything, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the bleeding, and you hope he finally sees the scars his behavior has left deep within your soul. 

He doesn’t move. You throw your hands up. “Just say something, do something, anything! Just fight for me,” you beg. 

Nothing. 

You swallow your tears. He’s like a rock, unmoving, and his unfocused eyes are darting around wildly. You don’t care. You brush past him into the bedroom, grabbing the pillow and blanket from his side of the bed. You toss it to him worldlessly, meeting his sightless gaze. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

You cut him off, “If you can’t listen to what I have to say, I don’t want you in bed with me. Think about what you want. If you love me, truly love me, you show me, but if you don’t… well, make your decision. I won’t sit by and take it any longer. I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, wait!”

The bedroom door slams into his face and he is left with his bedding in the cold space of the living room. He sighs, dropping his forehead against the milky glass, calling your name, but you don’t answer. 

He slides down the wall, hearing you climb into bed with heavy limbs. His mind begins to reel, and he finally begins to realize too late that he screwed up. He took you for granted, and he gave up fighting for no other reason than simply because he’s never been more scared. 

Matt is so in love with you, it hurts. He’s felt you pull away before, but he tried not to let it get to him. That was a mistake, as he now realizes. He would never prioritize being Daredevil over you, but he’s not sure how to tell you without sounding like an idiot. You accept him, all of him, and you support him unconditionally. That can get overwhelming for someone who’s not used to being accepted. All he wants is to be seen and do the right thing, but every time he does, he goes about it the wrong way, and the same people he’s vowed to protect end up getting hurt. 

He tried to give you space from the buy life he’s leading to show you he cares, but he now realizes that his attempts to keep you safe backfired and might as well have sabotaged his relationship with the best thing that has ever happened to him. By trying to keep you safe, he’s involuntarily pushed you away. Your love has never been anything short of perfect. You have never been overbearing or pushed him beyond his limits. It’s what he appreciates about you; your blind faith in him is what keeps him going.

But he’s been blind in more sense than one, not realizing how much effort goes into a healthy relationship, and he realizes now that the unique circumstances that surround your life together require even more effort. You’ve been fighting in his war, taking care of him, catching him, and he’s viewed everything through tunnel vision for so long, he forgot that, to keep you and to make you happy, he has to fight just as hard. 

His hand touches the glass of the bedroom door, the shadow appearing on the other side, but your eyes are closed. He opens his mouth to whisper your name. It’s then he realizes you’re crying. He can hear you sniffle, trying to muffle your sobs that break free into your shared pillow. It smells like him and you, and the scent seems to be overwhelming to you. Still, you won’t let it go. Your tears roll off the green silk, mixing the salt with the sandalwood of his cologne. 

Matt wants nothing more than to breach the barrier, storm inside and hold you. He wants to apologize, he wants to make things right, but suddenly, words don’t seem enough anymore. He’s not sure how to tell you exactly how he feels because he never has before, and his inability to do just about anything makes him afraid of what’s to come. He doesn’t deserve you, he’s losing you, and a big part of him plays with the thought of letting you go so you can move on and find someone who can give you exactly what you need and deserve. Because he can admit his mistakes all he wants and promise to be better, but he is his biggest enemy and his biggest saboteur; he knows that one day, he will break any promise he makes and then you’re going to be twice as crushed. He can’t do that to you. He loves you, but he can’t hurt you any more than he already has.

You’re both sick. The air is thick with your shared pain and the fear of losing what is most dear to the both of you, but hearing you cry because of him makes him want to throw himself off the nearest cliff or hide somewhere and never come out again. He doesn’t deserve someone else’s love if he can’t give it back the way the other person deserves, and you’re truly a diamond compared to him. You’re the most precious gift he’s ever received, as is your love, but this is no way to treat someone as good as you. 

All you’re doing is for him to say something, to fight for you, to risk something and come back to you, and he can’t even do that. He’s so lost in self-pity and the sound of your tears, he finds himself drowning. 

Your tears carry on for what feels like hours. The agony is etched deep into your bones. You’re exhausted, your muscles ache, but the sobs just won’t stop. He’s so close yet so far away. Of course, you can see his silhouette outside, his hand against the glass, and his lips moving with unspoken words. You need him, but even so close to you he is so far away. 

Though as you think about it, there has to be a cure for even the worst of illnesses when it comes to a relationship just like yours. You’re sure there is something. If only Matt would see it too. He’s so caught up in himself, he makes your symptoms worse, but you love him too much to let him give up on you, even though you’ve never been more tired of fighting. 

You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your hand finds his against the glass. He can feel your warmth through the cold and he sucks in a sharp breath. 

You have become a sad song, but every sad song can be turned into something hopeful, can it not? You would have never considered yourself a positive person, but as you see Matt cowering in front of the bedroom, clearly conflicted, you know he wants to fight, he just doesn’t know how to deal with himself amidst something incredibly new to him. 

His voice sounds hoarse when he speaks up. “You know, I see you in my own kinda way,” he says. 

“What’s that mean?” your voice is almost entirely gone from crying. 

“You’re everything to me, I just don’t know how… I didn’t think it would be this hard. On my end. I didn’t think it would take so much from me to make this work, but I… I want to make this work. But I can’t, and you deserve so much better than that.”

He’s crying too, you can hear it. You want to touch him, but you’re not quite there yet, so you sit down against the door, your back to his, only the glass protecting you now. 

“You’re right, I deserve better,” you say, “but that doesn’t mean I need someone else.”

“But maybe it’s better.”

You hope he’s not being serious. “Don’t say that, Matthew.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

You almost don’t catch his words, but when you do, the sob that follows breaks your heart. 

He ruffles his hair, removing his hand from the glass. Your vicinity hurts. He doesn’t want to lose you, but sometimes you have to lose what you love. 

“You can’t decide that this is over just because you don’t want to hurt me,” tears of your own start forming again, “that’s not how adult relationships works. I know you’re not used to being loved or being in a stable relationship, but that’s why fighting is so important. So please, baby, let us fight.”

He sniffles, covering his face with the crook of his elbow. 

“They say you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, but I don’t even want us to go this far,” you say. You’re being so open and vulnerable with him, and every word spills the purest truth. 

Matt wipes his cheeks. “Are we too far gone?” he asks, waiting for an honest answer. He knows you would never lie to him. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t take me back either. I’m complicated and I can’t promise that I can keep all of my promises because I screw up. A lot. It’s just who I am. That’s why I said you deserve better.”

“I deserve you, Matthew.”

“No, you deserve better. That’s what I said. A pathological people pleaser. You can’t say that’s something you want to grow old with. And I’d understand if you said it wasn’t. Maybe the vision of us was more of a fever dream, anyway.”

The door slides open. Matt looks up, his eyes are red, his cheeks stained with tears, and his resolve cracks some more when he feels you towering over him, then sitting down next to him. 

You take his hand in yours. “I only need you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I told you to fight for me, and you didn’t walk away, so I know you want this. I just need you to admit it, I need you to promise that you’ll try, that we’ll both try. I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you to show me that you want this. I just need you to try.”

Your touch sets his skin on fire. He whimpers when he feels your fingertips brush his cheek. “I want to try,” he says, “but I don’t know how-”

You shush him again, your name a fleeting breath on his lips. “That’s all I need.”

“What?”

“I just need you to see me and show me how much you care. Just try, that’s all I’m asking for you. Everything else… we’ll figure it out. I’ll find the faith in us again, you just have to choose me.”

Your eyes are hopeful, he can feel them. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. Your salty tears mingle and you melt into his touch, only for the moment, only until he pulls away and tries to look into your eyes as he says, “I will always choose you.”

And then you’re diving right back in. This time, you initiate the kiss, but he is more than eager to return the display of affection. His hands caress your face, almost as if you’re so fragile, you might break under his touch. And maybe you might. You have lost sight of each other and you need to find it again.

“I choose you too,” you break off the kiss to say, “because I love you, Matthew, and I don’t want to give up on us.”

His nose nuzzles against yours and you succumb to the magic of his lips once again. It’s his way of telling you that giving up on you is the last thing he would ever want to do, no matter how badly he screws up, and you are more than willing to run back into his arms and let him hold you through the night because finally, oh finally, you got what you wanted, which is simply him, not just a piece but all of Matt Murdock, and he swears not to leave your side until sunrise. 

And this time, he keeps his promise, his head resting against your chest and your limbs entangled as you begin to heal, together. 

[marvelismylove]

The way Matt Murdock thinks of himself and his need to be Daredevil makes me so sad.

He thinks he's got the devil in him because he's so violent when really it's empathy that drives him. Empathy for the good people of Hell's Kitchen that are being hurt and not getting help due to deep-rooted corruption (and other things).

He doesn't feel that he needs to attack, but that he needs to protect and there's such a fundamental difference between the two that it's heartbreaking that Matt himself can't see it.

[yarrystyleeza]

The 1: You Would've Been The One (M.M)

Matt Murdock x female!reader

Religious settings (at the beginning), implied intimacy, misunderstandings, alleged cheating, things going south, sadness, break—up, exes but pining, no happy ending.

Summary: on an August rainy night, you walked by Josie's and the memories came rushing back in your head.

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: this idea popped in my head when I was recalling 'the 1' lyrics and I get the first and last scenes in my head and I almost cried. This will get a second part from Matt's perspective. Not very proofread but I'm trying to fix it :')

Drop after drop, the rain sweetly bounced off your shoulders as you strolled down the street. The rain makes the sound of sizzling rice from a distance. The ground is glistening, it smells earthy despite you're walking in New York. The city always looked beautiful when it was raining. It was calm, quiet, and cozy. You'd snuggle into one of the walls and they'd embrace you warmly.

Splashing the little water puddles forming on concrete with your steps, you kept walking on the sidewalk to prevent getting water in your boots.

Your hair is damp and your skin is flushed and wet. It's not fall yet, but you loved this time of the year.

Beams of light flared through the partially fogged glass, people's warm breaths created a tepid and pleasant atmosphere.

Your eyes peer inside for an unintended glance and you see him there, sitting at one of the tables with his two friends around him.

Your heart palpitates as if you were hit by a truck and thrown on the side of the road. Broken, bleeding, crying, dead.

Why did it have to end?

Two years ago. After attending the Mass on a Sunday morning, you went to a coffee shop nearby to meet one of your friends at noon.

You sat alone for a while and waited. You called your friend and she told you she had an emergency and couldn't call you. She apologized and you hung up. You ordered coffee and waited for your order.

The bell at the door rung and it caught your ears, you glanced up from your phone and you saw him walk in. You recognized him. He always attended Sunday service, you've often seen him sitting at the last couple pews, he'd always stay after the Mass. You'd watch him kneeling, hands gathered at his forehead in a praying fist.

You've seen him crying a couple of times and you wondered what a good—looking —in the sense of kindness because you've seen it—blind man would've done that would make him snivel and tremble the way he did.

You would've never expected what he cried about. Not in a million years.

He placed his order and you saw him walk in your direction. He took a seat in front of you. It was astounding. You cleared your throat. His head shot up and he himself was astonished to find out that someone was sitting on the other side of the table.

The eleven in the morning sunlight casted upon the side of his face as he sat by the window in front of you. The beams crept into the corners of his gentle face. His eyes sparkled behind the red blinds and you later learned that they were hazelish brown.

"I'm Matt." his voice still vivid in your ears as if he just said it. His voice was gravelly but sweet. Warm. It made your stomach churn with butterflies that you died to keep from rising once again.

You often thought if he did that on purpose, if he intended on sitting in front of you the way he did, if he knew you before you knew him.

It makes you smile. He chose you. Above all. At least for once.

The next Sunday, he stopped you as you paced between the pews on your way out. He asked if he could grab some coffee with you—after learning that you too attended the Sunday service.

You sat together and talked about almost everything. He kept flashing smiles at you and you kept falling deeper. You knew he was going to be the death of you. And how you wished to die in his hands.

Where did it go wrong?

The haunting memory of his lips marking your being, worshipping every inch of your existence. The words he never stopped telling you. The 'I love you's and the 'you're mine's. The sweet flirts and the tempting ones.

You were his death and his living, you were his vigor and his redemption, you were his eyes and his hands and his being, you were his everything.

Heart, head, body and soul. He loved all of you. He wanted all of you, the same way you did.

You accept—hell, you wanted both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, you wanted the lawyer and the vigilante, you embraced both his darkness and daylight, you were in for the deep and the high, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

If he died you'd die with him, and if he lived you'd live for him.

So why did it all go wrong?

A year of going back and forth, bickering and talking, stitching and love-making, dating and staying in, dinners and brunches, kisses and touches. You did it all. You've never been better.

But then he decided to make it even better.

Saturday night at Josie's. You sat with him and his friends to grab some drinks and bond. Foggy and Karen walked to the island to grab refills when he grabbed your hand, slowly, gently, sensationally and adeptly.

You turned to look at him, a little taken aback by the touch—a little taken off guard. He stood off his seat and knelt to the ground. Red blinds off and his face is so red and torn by a smile, tinted with a bit of uncertainty, of fear but of excitement about the unknown, too.

Maybe he was afraid you'd reject it, or maybe he rethought it and found it was too early. You never knew.

"Will you marry me?" you look at his free hand—but it wasn't that much of free. He had a ring between his digits and his thumb, placed so close to the finger that shoots straight to your heart.

You said yes.

He promised to love and cherish you, till death do you apart.

He never lied, though. Because one night, you died, and to you—he died, too, both of you died.

The night it all went wrong.

He told you he had a mission later that night, but when he returned—he didn't have his red suit on. He wore a tuxedo, instead. You imagined this was how he'd look on your wedding day.

He'd wait for you at the end of the aisle next to Father Lantom as your father escorts you to your spot, your white dress makes you look like an angel—no, you were an angel, that's what he always told you.

You'd look onto both sides, both families are present, all smiling and happy. Your mother is crying—but she's happy, too, she's always wanted to see you in white and this is your day.

You look back straight. Matt is grinning, his bowtie is a little crooked to the side but his hair was combed perfectly. Foggy and Karen are standing on each side along with your other friends—your bridemaids and groomsmen.

Both of you recite your vows perfectly, almost knowing them by heart. You're now a husband and a wife. Even death would never do you apart.

Until you saw the red lipstick print on the white collar of his dress shirt.

Both your brain and heart shattered, you almost heard glass breaking. Maybe it was the glass of water you had once carried in your hand when you walked out of the kitchen to meet him at the hallway.

That's when you really noticed the other details. His loosened bowtie. His wrinkled collar. And the reddened nail marks on the skin of his neck.

Your stomach sunk. The cold crept up your fingertips to fill your body. Your eyes remained fixed on him. Did he thought you wouldn't notice?

You were terrified to ask how he got to look like that. Not from him, Matt never scared you, he was always gentle and kind—but from the things he might have done to get to this point.

There was another woman.

The next events were a blur. Your ears were clogged, you were crying, you threw the ring in his face, you barely put any proper clothes on, you walked away and out of his life.

It was raining. Just like tonight.

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

You sob. The heavy dew showers you—hiding your tears, to console you, to let you know that you're not the only one crying tonight—the sky is crying, too.

You felt heavy. Head and heart, and clothes. It felt cold to think of it all.

You hug yourself tighter. You glance back for the last time. You walk yourself home.

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

taglist: @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat @bellaxgiornata @1988-fiend @babygirlmurdock @c-mrdck @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bunmurdock @loveroftoomanyfandoms @everythingsf1ne23 @shiorimakibawrites @shouldbestudying41 @lazyxsquirrel @munsonownsmyass @mindidjarin @v4leoftears (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for reading! 💞💞💞

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

organized fanfic with links to chapters, for easier access (ongoing)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case. Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that? What happens when you get involved in Fisk's business and Daredevil's lies against your will?

Clash in the Court

The Losing Team

Start Of Something Better... or Worse?

Shadows of the Past

Not Again

Strange Thoughts

Into the Ring

Union Allies

Bitter Company

Innocent Get What They Deserve

Mixing Business

Coffee Delusions

Crack in the Walls

Back when it all made Sense

Karma is a...

Breaking rules is fun (and dangerous)

The Big Call

Unexpected Encounter

Things are about to change

Old Friends, New Beginnings

Jealousy, Jealousy

In the Blood

Smoking Day

Time is a Fragile Thing

King's Right Hand

Chasing Wind in the Dead of Night

Deadly Dance

Chasing Wind in the Dead of Night, pt. 2

World on Fire

I don't want to be a part of this

Grasping the Straws

Better if you Do

Lawyers, Guns and Money, pt. 1

Lawyers, Guns and Money, pt. 2

Man-Eater

Interlude

bad idea, right?

Poisonous Affair

Nelson v Murdock

running away is all I know

Guilty Crimes

Field Day

my world was falling apart

The ones we left behind

not the best lawyer, but a goddamn good criminal

Daredevil

All 'thanks' to the Devil

this might've been just a dream, right?

Another night in Hell's Kitchen

of first dates and men

Bang

Dogs to a Gunfight

[eatommo]

Test of Patience [m.m.]{kd8}

Cockwarming / Swallowing

CW: cockwarming, blowjob during a phone call, dom/sub themes, cum eating,

You didn’t know anyone else that had a landline, much less a corded phone, but when Nelson and Murdock happened to clear their bills for more than a month he said he’d get a new phone.

However the phone being next to the bed had its cons, “Foggy, this better be important.”

Matt had just returned from patrol, the chilly autumn air keeping most trouble off the street. You had greeted him at the door with an oversized t-shirt and freshly cleaned satin sheets, and had practically pulled him into bed by his belt. When Foggy’s name reverberated off the brick walls of Matt’s apartment.

With an eyeroll you sat on the bed, unfastening his pants and ever so gently scratching the skin just above the hem of his fitted boxers. His throws his head back, already so sensitive to your glancing touches.

His bulge is growing rapidly despite the serious tone of his conversation, at least you think it’s serious, but you find it hard to focus on anything other than the kaleidoscope of light dancing off Matt’s taught scarred abdomen.

Each breath causes your pulse to quicken as his hand tangles in your hair, you’re only able to see his stubbled chin from this angle. You lean in and kiss the length of his shaft, letting your kisses linger for a few seconds each time.

You shift back slowly, gently tugging on his waistband silently asking for permission to remove them. He looks towards you, biting his lip as if to keep himself quiet, but nods all the same.

Tugging the fabric down to his knees, you let your hand cup the underside of his balls to slowly massage them as you lick a bead of precome from the tip.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” Matt’s hand finds your hair, kneading his fingertips into your scalp and encouraging you to continue.

You barely get your mouth wrapped around his tip when Matt’s hand stills your movement entirely.

“I’ll check the files, but I have a court appearance tomorrow morning fog.” He pulls you off of him and walks to the dining room table where his briefcase sits before he rejoins you in the bedroom with a bundle of papers in his hand.

He leans towards you, holding his palm over the mic side of the phone, “Keep my cock in your mouth while I look for this Sweetheart.” He whispers, and it’s probably the nastiest thing he’s said to you.

Your body betrays you, as you clench wantonly around nothing at the thought of engaging in such an act while he’s on the phone. He wraps his hand around your throat pulling you close against him in a direct but gentle reminder of his dominance.

You obey, taking the first few inches into your mouth and letting it rest there. The longing to move your jaw and the pleasure him is overwhelming, you didn’t expect the taste of his skin and the salt of his precome to make your body long for him more than you thought was possible.

Above you he shuffles through papers, using his fingers to read the braille stamped paperwork to whichever case foggy requested him to check over. You made a mental note to unplug the phone the next time you wanted some time alone with Matt.

It takes longer than you expect, and after a while your jaw tires, so you take a deep breath through your nose and adjust your posture. The shift makes one of Matt’s knee shake, you squint up at the underside of his papers as he says some legal jargon you don’t understand. You swallow, experimentally taking just a little bit more of him down, and using the muscles of your throat to stimulate him.

You hear a sharp drawn breath, and doing it again paying closer attention to watch he’s saying. “I don’t have it, must be in my drawer in the office. Night Foggy.”

The line goes dead as the papers flutter around in the air surrounding you. The phone is back on the the receiver and his hands are back in your hair like he never stopped. He takes no time thrusting into your mouth, hips stuttering and groans praising each second of your attention.

“I could cum just from that pretty mouth baby, you feel so good.” His voice is strained and the words fight there way out as you realize he’s asking for permission.

You begin to use your tongue to nudge at the underside of his cock, and give him of a hum of encouragement. He swears, every muscle in his body tense but the ones that are pulsating on your tongue, his hot seed shooting down your throat as you welcome your man home.

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

“The idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.”

This is the coziest description of Matt’s apartment that I have ever read, and it’s contrasted so nicely by the reader’s “empty apartment.”

It’s not actually about the things in the apartment, but about the correlation of those things to their relationship with Matt. Love it!

“Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.”

What an absolutely perfect closing line.

There will be rough patches. There will (likely) be relapses. But he’ll be there, and he’ll want to help.

That alone is huge—battling the isolation and loneliness of depression with unwavering support. Two steps closer to recovery with one Matt Murdock at a time. 💖

My Own Worst Enemy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 5,400

Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.

Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)

Masterlist

Keep reading

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[padfoot0216]

A very sleep deprived Matt in court - Your honor my client would like to plead … oopsie daisies.

[shiorimakibawrites]

I was reading a fic yesterday where the following happened:

"I'm fine." *snort* "The word or the acronym?"

Freaked Out, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional

I immediately thought of Matt. He is usually at least a couple of those things when he says he is fine. Especially if one substitutes Injured for the I.

[blackshadowswriter]

hi I wanna request where matt is about stressed out from work and his night activities and the reader (she/she pronouns) tries to help him out by riding him but she can't since he's so big, so matt says stuff like "what? can't even ride a cock? you dumb slut need me to fuck you?". and he just absolutely ruins her, hope you have a good day, thanks:)

Destressed┃Matt Murdock

Summary: Matt is stressed out about work, so naturally you do the one thing that helps him unwind. You ride him until he fucks you himself.

Warnings: smut: oral sex (male receiving), rough p in v sex, dom!Matt, degradation, bit of a taste kink, choking, dirty talk, and all the good stuff

Words: 3,068

AN: After like a month of not posting, I present this utter whore of a fic to all you thirsty bitches (it's me, I'm those thirsty bitches). Thanks for the request, anon, and I just want to let you know that I spat out my water when I got it.

You found him on the sofa with a pile of braille papers scattered around him and his computer on his lap. He had a frown edged on his face, the absence of his shaded glasses exposing the tightness around his eyes. Wound up with stress, his shoulders were squared as he slumped over several stacks of paperwork along with more on his laptop.

"Hey," you called out to him, gently shutting his apartment door behind you, dropping your bag by the door and making your way over to him.

"Hey, sweetheart," Matt murmured, looking distracted as he lifted his head from his work. "What are you doing here so early? I thought you weren't coming by until later."

"I brought you dinner," you explained, setting the takeout bag on his counter before padding over to him.

"I could smell that," he said, picking up a few stacks of paper and setting them on the side table to make room for you on the couch next to him. "But I thought you didn't get off work until later tonight."

You shrugged, settling down on the couch besides him and reaching over to kiss him. An eager groan rippled from his throat into your mouth at your touch as you lightly ran your hands through his soft, dark locks. "Got off early," you said when you pulled away to examine Matt in more detail, frowning at the terseness of his form. "You looked stressed."

He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I am," he agreed. "We had three more clients come in today. That's only adding to the pile we already had."

"Can I help?" you asked sympathetically.

Matt shook his head. "It's okay, we'll get through them. We always do."

You sighed, leaning over to kiss him again. "I don't like it when you're stressed," you admitted. "It's not good for you."

He shrugged, and you had to admit telling the man who beat people up every night that stress was not good for him sounded kinda stupid. "I'll be fine," he said, looking very much not fine. The dark circles under his eyes told you he hadn't been sleeping much. His shoulders were tight as though his workload were a physical weight on them. He hadn't shaved in a few days, so you could run your fingers along his jaw and feel the scrape of his stubble against your hand.

It was utterly unfair, you decided, how Matt could still look so gorgeous even when he was tired and stressed out. You didn't look half this hot when you were stressed. But this scruffy, slightly rumpled look on Matt had you so weak in the knees, you were lucky that you were sitting. He was still in his white dress shirt from work, the top few buttons of it undone and his tie loosened around his neck. He looked so entirely fuckable.

You blinked, surprised by your own thoughts. Jesus, where did that come from? Well, it wasn't your fault, not when Matt was sitting there looking like that.

As if sensing where your thoughts had turned, Matt tilted his head towards you, a little smirk lifting the corners of his lips up. He reached over, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. "What's gotten into that pretty little head of yours, hmm?" he asked, grinning at your hands tugging at his tie.

"I think I know a way I can help you destress," you said sweetly, dragging your nails down his hard abs, half drooling at the way his dress shirt stretched across the muscular expanse of his chest.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his large hands sliding up your shirt to glide along your skin slowly. There was a hungry gleam in his dark eyes as he licked his lips slowly. "What's that?"

You smiled coyly, reaching over to pluck his laptop from his hands and place it on the side table before climbing onto his lap. "Oh," you giggled, dragging the word out even as your hands swiftly unbuckled his pants. "I don't know."

Matt groaned when you unzipped his dress pants and slid your hand down to palm at his hardening length. "Careful, sweetheart," he warned, his grip tightening on your waist. "You might just get what you want."

Worming out of his grasp, you sank down to your knees in front of him, biting back another laugh. Keeping your eyes fixed on Matt's blank ones that were focused somewhere around your lips, you carefully tugged his pants and his boxers down to his thighs, wrapping your hand around his thick cock. "Maybe I want that," you replied sweetly.

Before Matt could reply, you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, and his hips jerked up eagerly, a whispered curse falling from his lips. You swirled your tongue over the head of his cock and the precum dripping from the tip, licking the taste of him up into your mouth. In no mood for your teasing tonight, Matt groaned harshly, his hand knotting in your hair to push your head down towards his cock.

You obeyed, giving him what he wanted and taking as much of his throbbing length into your mouth as you could manage. The throaty moan that Matt let out at the wet, hot embrace of your mouth went straight to your dripping cunt, making you squeeze your thighs together tightly.

The slick noise of your mouth sliding up and down his cock echoed through Matt's living room like a filthy melody in his ears. He panted, rolling his hips up eagerly against you as you took him deeper until he was nearly down your throat. You kept up the pace, dragging your mouth along his cock and swirling your tongue around the head, sending thick molten lines of pleasure arcing down his spine. Rough groans and stuttering pants fell from Matt's mouth when you sped up the slick motions of your mouth along his deliciously thick cock.

"Ah! F-fuck," he stammered, his hand tightening in your hair, the hot pulses of pleasure up and down his cock coming dangerously close to his climax. "Fuck," he hissed again, tugging your head back off his cock. "Get up here, sweetheart."

You hurried to obey, climbing up onto his lap and straddling him. Left in only your panties, you slowly ground your cunt against his cock, dragging the soaked fabric against the burning line of him. Matt moaned with you, his large hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts, flicking his fingers over your hardened nipples. You whimpered quietly, your rhythm stuttering for the slightest moment.

Matt tugged at your panties. "Get these off," he growled.

You hasten to obey, peeling your wet panties off your legs and tossing them aside, uncaring of where they ended up. When you straddled Matt again, your dripping cunt hovering just inches over his thick cock, he stopped from sinking down onto him and dragged his fingers along your slit in a slow, aching line that had you whimpering and bucking your hips into his hand at the way his fingertips just barely grazed your clit. But after just one stroke up your cunt, Matt pulled his fingers away despite your desperate whine and brought them up to his lips.

And oh, you nearly collapsed as you watched him drag his tongue along the glistening slick from you on his fingers, watched the way his eyes rolled back into his head at the taste of you, watched his face morphing into one of utter bliss, the filthiest moan falling from his lips as he sucked your wetness off his fingers.

"Oh my God," you whimpered, trembling at the sight in front of you.

"Sweetheart," Matt rumbled when he removed his fingers from his mouth. "You taste so good."

"Fuck," you panted. "Shit—y-you have no idea how fucking hot that was."

A sinful smirk curved along his lips as his hand found its way back to your waist. "Yeah?" he murmured, brushing his thumb along the inside of your thigh, the minimal contact driving you insane. "Why don't you show me then, hmm? Ride my cock for me, pretty girl."

You didn't think you had ever obeyed an order faster in your life. Hurriedly, you were grasping his thick, heavy cock in your hand, lining him up against your entrance, and slowly sinking down onto him. A ragged moan was all either of you could manage with the slick, deliciously hot pleasure pushing into you and engulfing him.

An embarrassingly loud moan slipped from your mouth at the way Matt filled you up so perfectly when you sank all the way down on him. He was panting too, nothing but blazing fire and heat burning in his eyes as you took every single inch of his cock. The stretch of him felt so deliciously good, finally satiating the ache in your core.

"Matty," you gasped, unable to move for a moment as you tried to accustom yourself to his massive girth. "I—ah!—fuck, you're so big—"

"Thought I told you to ride my cock, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice dark and low when you didn't move for another few seconds. He leaned forward to brush his lips against your ear, hot breath drifting over the side of your neck. "Don't you want to be a good girl for me?"

"Y-yes," you whined. "God yes, please Matty."

His hand slithered up and grasped your chin in his large hand as Matt smiled, slow and dangerous as a predator. "Then ride my fucking cock," he ordered.

With a low whimper vibrating along your throat, you forced yourself to move even though your legs felt like jelly. Lifting yourself off his throbbing length as far as you could, you sank back down quickly onto him, moaning eagerly as you tried to ride him faster and harder.

But fuck, he was so big, and each time you ground back down on his cock, he stretched you open until you felt impossibly wide, nearly split open in the best way possible at how fucking thick he was inside of you. Your hips stuttered with your shaky rhythm as shuddering moans racked your body.

Matt's grip on your waist was almost painfully tight as you fucked yourself on his cock, his plush lips falling open slightly with each rock of your hips. He groaned out stammered praises of your name, the syllables rolling off his tongue like a sweet melody.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted. "That's it, you're doing so well for me. Riding my cock so well, baby."

"M-Matty," you whimpered when you rolled your hips down onto him again, and the tip of his cock grazed against something overwhelming inside of you. A broken moan spilled from your lips as your pace faltered on shaking legs, trying to accommodate his thick, aching length. "I-I need you to—to fuck me, please."

He let out a rough laugh at that, gripping your chin and yanking your head down to look at him, eyes dark and burning with liquid heat as Matt bared his teeth into a feral smirk. "What? Can't even ride my cock? You dumb slut, need me to fuck you?" he snarled.

His harsh words startled you for a moment, but what was even more startling was the way your body responded to him. A shameless moan tumbled from your lips without your permission as you clenched around him, shuddering as another gush of your wetness coated his cock.

Matt laughed again, letting go of your chin to slid his hand down to your throat, loosely wrapping his hand around your neck. "You liked that, didn't you, hmm? You like it when I talk to you like that, pretty girl? I can feel how wet you get when I call you my dumb little whore."

Another shaky whimper from your throat vibrated against Matt's palm holding your neck. You gripped his broad shoulders as you trembled on top of him. "Please," you choked out, grinding down on his cock even though Matt was fully engulfed in you. "I need it, Matt, please."

"What do you need, sweetheart? Use your words for me, and I'll give you what you want."

"I need you to fuck me," you nearly sobbed, aching and desperate for him. "God, I need it so bad, Matt—please, please, please—just fuck me—I need your cock, I need you to—"

You didn't even finish your sentence before Matt was surging upwards, flipping you around so suddenly that the world spun around you until your back hit the seat of the sofa beneath you. Matt was on top of you, kneeling between your legs where he was still completely sheathed inside of you with your legs locked around his waist. There was a single moment where he brushed his thumb against your cheek tenderly, and that was it.

He dragged his hips back slowly, and you almost cried at the feeling of him leaving you—and then he was slamming back inside of you, and the next thing you knew, Matt was fucking you into the sofa with brutal, powerful strokes reaching so deep inside of you that you could have sworn stars exploded in the corners of your vision. You would have screamed if you had the breath, but the way his cock was pounding into you absolutely punched the air out of your lungs. The most you could manage was a strangled shout before you were gasping and clawing at the worn leather underneath your fingers, trying to find something to hold onto while Matt utterly wrecked you.

And then Matt was pulled you even closer to him, never mind the fact that you were already trapped between his strong arms, and the slight change in position was enough for his cock to drive into you at a whole new angle. His next thrust ground the head of his cock up into something earth-shattering inside of you, and your body jolted underneath him as though you had been struck by lightning. A hoarse moan, bordering on a scream, tore from your throat, followed by stammered gasps of Matt's name, falling over and over again from your lips.

Your smaller hands grasped at his forearm of the hand that was wrapped around your throat, blunt nails digging into the hard muscle of his arm as your eyes squeezed shut. Each one of his hard, fast thrusts was driving up you further and further towards your peak like a wave receding before it crashed.

Groaning in sweet delight with each slam of his hips, Matt stuttered out our name between his primal grunts as he fucked into you. "Sweetheart," he slurred, sounding as drunk on this pleasure as you were. "Fuck, honey, you feel so good—so fucking good."

"Matt," you gasped out, unable and unwilling to move from underneath him where he had pinned you down with the sharp, driving rhythm of his hips. He seemed to have realized that he had found your g-spot, and now he was just pounding mercilessly into you there, the pleasure of it so sharp and overwhelming it completely stole your breath away. Fire was coursing like liquid lava through your veins, going straight to your brain and making your head spin. Choked, ragged moans were all you could squeeze out from your throat, constricted from both Matt's hand around it and this utterly devastating pleasure ripping through you.

"So tight for me, sweetheart," Matt grunted. "Fuck—I can feel you squeezing me like that—ah!"

A strangled sob echoed through the room as you dug your heels into Matt's hips, encouraging him further. His pace picked up until he was fucking you so hard, the sofa was slowly sliding across the floor in small, stuttered skids.

"Such a good girl," he praised. "Taking my cock so well, baby."

You cried his name out again as he drove his cock up again, slamming straight into that spot with brutal accuracy, and then you were shouting—screaming—hoarsely as orgasm suddenly surged up over you, burning hot and furious as it scorched its way through every single nerve in your body. Your hands clawed uselessly at his forearm as you sobbed and twitched around him, clenching hard around his cock still pounding into you even as your vision went completely white for a few moments. That bone-deep pleasure was blazing deep inside of you, searing and branding itself on your fucking soul.

"Oh my fucking God, Matt!"

Matt's pace grew rough and frantic as your cunt continued fluttering around him even while the tendrils of orgasm were slowly receding from your limp form. He was panting and groaning your name, but the sound of it was muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. He drove into you once—twice—three more times, and then he was moaning brokenly against your throat where he'd pressed his face against your neck. You hadn't even noticed when he had he removed his hand from there, too caught up in your own bliss.

He buried himself inside of you to the hilt, and his body shook on top of yours as he finally let go, weeks of stress melting off his shoulders as he emptied himself in you, hot spurts of his release filling you up until he had nothing left to give you.

With a satisfied groan, Matt dropped his head into the curve of your neck with a low, almost reverent whisper of "sweetheart." Even though your arms, along with the rest of your body, were practically putty, you reached up to gently run your fingers through Matt's damp hair.

"Mmm," you hummed lazily. "I might have to thank whichever client got you so stressed because if that's what it takes to get you to fuck me like that...I'm sorry, babe, but I am going to refer Nelson and Murdock to everyone I know."

Matt snorted. "Sweetheart, I'll fuck you anyway you want as long as you don't do that."

"Oh well, in that case..."

You felt his lips curve into a smile against your neck. Matt lifted his head up and kissed you warmly, his pretty dark eyes focused on you. "Thank you for that, sweetheart."

"Oh absolutely. I'm always here if you want to just, you know, ruin me again. Totally down for it anytime."

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AN: Apologies for the very inconsistent posting schedule, I've just been writing whenever I can between work and life and classes and shit, so thanks for bearing with me, yall <3

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

Matt Murdock Masterlist

[farfromstrange]

Tupperware | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: A conversation about kitchen supplies leads to something more...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), multiple orgasms, aftercare

Word Count: 6.7k (This is a literal Smut Beast)

A/n: Yeah, whatever you think the title means in context, I guarantee you, this is different. But also, maybe not. I found this in my drafts because it was originally planned as an FG One Shot, but I decided to just throw my plans off the board and turn it into a reader insert (I've written this a while back, but I reread and edited it). Funny story: I found this writing prompt and it reminded me of the accent I have and how I say Tupperware (and how everyone in my State says Tupperware, the German version ofc), and I found it funny because that is definitely something I did when I said it in English for the first time. Anyway, enjoy!

The couple sat on his couch, the lights of the Billboard growing more distinctive as the sun started to set. He was working on the paperwork that had piled up over the days while she was reading something on her laptop. The steady typing of her fingers synchronized with her steady breathing. He didn’t mind the sound of her working. He enjoyed the carelessness of it all. Just two people seeking the comfort of each other’s presence while doing two completely different things. It wasn’t weird, it was productive.

At some point, he reached for her leg that was poking his side and placed it in his lap. She smiled at the casual, domestic action. His fingers stroked her calves absentmindedly while his mind continued to occupy itself with the information on the case that reached in through his headphones.

He heard her laugh at something. He smiled as he asked, “What?”

“I was looking for some accessories for our kitchen,“ – his heart bloomed at the pronoun, – “And now Google is trying to sell me  Tubberware,” she stated. “I don’t even use Tubberware anymore.”

The headphone fell from his ear.

“What are you saying?” Matt asked.

His lip twitched, more in disbelief than amusement, but it was also weirdly adorable, the way the ‘b’s’ rolled from her tongue.

“Say it again,” he told her.

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Tubberware,” she said, remaining serious and clueless throughout.

“Say it again. Slow.”

“Tubberware.”

“Slow, very slow– actually, say the first syllable.”

Her frown deepened. “Tub,” she said confidently.

Matt bit his cheek. “Wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“I thought I caught that. You’re saying tub. It’s P.”

He had to keep telling himself not to laugh, but it was so incredibly hard with the pout on her lips growing by the second.

She removed her leg from his lap and sat upright, laptop moving dangerously close to the edge of her thighs. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Tupperware,” he stated. “Tupper.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “It’s Tupperware?!”

He couldn’t hold it any longer. The laugh rolled off his lips like a serenading song. “It’s Tupperware, always has been, always will be,” he choked out.

The pout came back, stronger than before. A frustrated pout. This was entirely different from the confused and irritated one. “I thought it was tubberware because it kind of looks like a tub,” she muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he laughed.

“It looks like a tub,” she said.

“I know it does. I’m sorry.”

“Stop laughing at me, you dick!”

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… say it again. Please. For me.”

“So that you can make more fun of me?” she asked. “No thank you.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I promise. It just sounds so cute when you say it. Do it for me, please. I want to hear it again.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing too. She was supposed to be mad at him, but she somehow couldn’t because looking at it from this angle, she realized how stupid it was. Tubberware. It was hilarious, even.

“Tubberware,” she said again, trying to breathe through the fit of laughter bubbling in her throat.

Matt laughed. “Again,” he begged.

“Tubberware.”

“It’s so cute, I can’t-“ his voice cracked.

“I hate you!”

“I know you want to laugh,” he titled his head knowingly, “so laugh.”

“No,” she said.

“Please."

“Don’t tell me what to do,” but at this point, she was already laughing. The sound he loved so much grew louder by the second.

Her stomach hurt. His did, too.

“I’ve been saying it for years,” she said between breaths. “And no one’s ever told me. Oh, God!”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “I didn’t mean to… Tubberware.” He giggled. “It’s adorable.”

“Shut up!"

"I'm sorry, I'll stop." He wiped some more of his laughing tears.

Grateful for his attempt to compose himself, she nodded. "Okay,” she turned back toward her laptop, “While we’re already on the issue, do we need anything else?"

He threw his head back, thinking. “We could use some new spatulas,” he said. "And lunchboxes. Tupperware has some great choices, you should take a look."

Her laugh died into a smile. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“What I’m saying is, we’re not getting Tubberware.”

“Why not?” He cocked an eyebrow. “They’ve got great kitchen stuff and it’s easy to use. You know, for me as a blind man…”

“Matt Murdock, are you one of those Tubberware grandmas?” It was her turn to laugh.

He pouted. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, we need to talk about this.”

“No, I’ve got work to do. You should buy what I just said. We definitely need that.”

“Alright, let me see what Amazon has," she said.

“No, we'll get it from Tupperware," he retorted. "I've been using nothing else for years."

“That's not my problem. There are cheaper options. Amazon, same-day delivery.  Why do we have Prime if we don't use it? And don't say because of the Podcasts, we have Spotify, which is ten times better."

“Tupperware has better quality.”

“I'm buying the spatula and the lunchboxes from Amazon, end of discussion.”

There was a playful smile on his lips, already telling her what he was about to say next was merely a joke. “You’re not the man of the house,” Matt argued. “As the man of the house, I dictate where we buy our kitchen supplies.”

She gasped, her mouth hanging wide open as she processed his words. Even though it was a joke, she couldn't help but feel slightly offended at even the prospect. Shaking her head, she cocked her eyebrows at him and said, “And as the woman you depend on to suck your dick, I strongly suggest you think about what you just said.”

He bit his cheek. “Oh, so we’re going there?”

She smirked. “I thought you could handle it, tough guy.”

“Okay, that’s it!” He tossed the case file aside, tore the laptop from her hands, and pulled her into his lap in one swift motion.

Matt was always the first to suggest a gentle game of teasing, but he barely had any tolerance for it. He was always the first to get riled up, no matter what. Perhaps she should have thought twice about her words, but it was so much more fun to see him like this than give in too soon.

He rolled her hips down into his, his fingers sure to leave bruises as he guided her along his slacks. The moan she let out was guttural.

Matt bit down on her earlobe. “Mouth off on me again and this is all you’re gonna get for the next week,” he said.

Her thighs fluttered around his own. The heartbeat between her legs bounced off his muscles. The room suddenly grew too hot to breathe the toxic air in.

“On second thought,” she began, though when Matt’s lips wandered from her ear to her neck and down to her cleavage, the words got caught in her throat.

He ran his hands under her shirt. Her skin was hot. The rough callouses of his fingers pulled the fabric aside until it slipped off her shoulders.

“No bra,” he smirked. “Nice.”

She whined. “I really need to buy kitchen supplies now, Matt,” she tried again.

He sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth. If they were hard due to the cold air in the apartment or because his touch sent her into overdrive she wasn’t sure, but once he was on her all she could think about was his stupid mouth on her tits.

Her nipple slipped off his tongue with a pornographic plop. “I want you to do as I say,” he said.

“You can't use your bedroom voice when we're talking about the apartment. Oh, fuck!”

He slapped his hand flat on her ass.

“You were saying?”

She wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his perfectly wet lips.

“Stop teasing me.”

Matt leaned back from the mess he made on her chest, eyelids fluttering innocently, hands rested on her hips again. “You said you needed to buy kitchen supplies,” he said.

And he was instantly back in his teasing mood, believing he finally got the upper hand.

“I lied,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. You really need to buy kitchen supplies.”

She huffed. “Fine, guess I’ll do it myself.”

He wanted to laugh.

Her shorts accompanied her shirt on the floor. Half naked, she plopped down next to him on the couch again.

Matt choked on nothing at all, her scent thick in the air. When her thighs moved, the sound it made was wet, hot, and sticky. He loved that sound. He loved it most when it was as close to his ears as possible, squished between those perfect thighs that made the sound unbearable.

She threw her head back, throat exposed. She sighed. Her fingers ran over her body, barely touching, only testing the waters. All hairs on her body stood at full attention, the ache between her thighs thudding so hard to the point where she could hear nothing but blood in her ears. Her heart sped up, half because of embarrassment, the other half because of excitement. She wasn’t sure what was stronger. They’d never done anything like this before and she doubted he’d even let her. Up until this point he hadn’t done anything but listen closely though, fists clenched around the soft fabric of his slacks close to his crotch.

Her fingers ghosted over the waistband of her panties. Black silk. He liked the feeling of lace on her, but after some time it began to tickle and he hated the way it itched at his skin, so she barely wore lace anymore. He had his hands on her at all times, she had to adapt.

Matt’s hand shot out instantly. Her fingers barely breached her panties and he already had enough. “Don’t you dare,” he said.

“Why?” she challenged. Her voice was nothing but a series of breaths.

“Because it’s mine.”

“If you won’t touch me-“

He shoved his fingers down her underwear.

“Fuck!” Her head fell even further down the armrest.

“You were saying?”

“I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“Why?” his thumb stopped over her clit. “Why should I give you anything?”

“Because I will buy or- or do anything you want from now on, I promise!”

“Watch your tone, sweetheart,” he bellowed.

“Please,” she squirmed, searching for any kind of friction. His hand kept her hips restrained without even trying, any move grazing her just enough to make her body jolt, but not nearly enough to be pleasurable.

“Hm,” he hummed.

“Please?”

“Okay,” and he pressed his thumb down so hard, she swore she saw stars dance around her clouded vision.

She moaned just the way he liked it. “Fuck.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Matt resumed his work. Even though his pants were painfully tight, he acted like nothing had happened. “I need to finish this paperwork,” he told her. “I won’t ignore my responsibilities just because someone decided to be a needy whore today. So if you want to cum, you better stay quiet so I can concentrate.”

His thumb worked its way up and down her clit, circled, and drew patterns she’d never seen before. She bit into her bottom lip until it drew blood.

He knew her body better than anyone else, better than herself even. He knew what she liked, what made her squirm, what she didn’t like, and what could make her body shake instantly.

Her body was an altar. He had every last inch mapped out to perfection. Her skin was soft like a sunny day in spring and it smelled salty like the sea, sweet like the field of flowers in Central Park, and distinctive like summer rain. Every time he touched her, he was on fire. The temperature in her body changed with every flick of his fingers. Every hitch of her breath he caught onto. She didn’t even have to tell him to keep going, he simply knew.

Matt worshipped her body like he would kneel on the bench at church. She was a row of burning candles before the cross and he knelt before her like a pathetic disciple willing to do anything to please the divine being.

Her stifled moans through the palm of her hand drove him crazy. Usually, he was a lot more composed than that, but it was late, he was overworked and he was horny, and he couldn’t concentrate with the wetness of her arousal lying thick in the air. He licked his lips to taste it. He tasted the air like a starved man.

Matt growled. “Fuck this,” he said.

She protested silently when he retreated his thumb. She sat up against the armrest, staring at him. His hair stood in all directions from the hand he ran through it, his lips plump, seeking friction.

“Come here.” He grabbed her hips and placed her back on his lap, legs on either side of his thigh. “I need you close to me,” he breathed into her mouth as they met halfway. “Ride my thigh.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Ride my thigh. Be a good girl and ride my thigh. You want to make yourself cum, hm? I’m giving you an opportunity here, unless, of course, you’re too pathetic to do it yourself. Do you need me to help you, hm?”

She swallowed again. “Please,” she said.

His hands gently began to roll her hips against him. “Like that?” he asked.

The moan she let out was answer enough.

“Feel good?”

She bit into her lip, nodding wildly.

“Use your words,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

Her head fell on his shoulder, hand seeking something to hold onto behind him at the back of the couch.

The silence earned her another hard slap on her ass.

“Answer me.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Feels good. Keep going, please.”

Matt smirked. “Good girl.”

The leather was dented under her fingers. She held onto the couch for dear life. His hands guided her hips deliciously over his thigh, the fabric of his slacks mixed with the silk of her underwear sliding against her sensitive clit over and over again driving her closer and closer to the end.

She saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Her eyes rolled back. The pressure in her lower abdomen began to build slowly but steadily. She involuntarily sped up, sloppily fighting against the slow pace he’d set. He would’ve stopped her if he hadn’t been so riled up already, so he let her. He let her chase for the sweet relief the knot in her stomach prepared her for.

“Matt,” she whined his name.

One of his hands began to stroke her back. “I know,” he said. “I know, baby.”

Her thighs twitched around his, her entire body shaking underneath his touch. It was all too much. His rough hands on her hot skin, his fingers digging in sure to leave bruises, and the gentle coax of his hand on her back, stroking innocently to help her through it. His touch was too much to bear.

Matt instantly reached out when she threw her head back. The moan sounded delicious in his ears. He caught her head with his hand around the back of her neck, making sure she wouldn’t fall over and hurt herself. She clenched around nothing, thighs threatening to close but his own kept them open.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn’t crying, not at all. The tear came from a place of pure pleasure. Her body couldn’t handle it. The sensations he put her through left her speechless every time he touched her. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat was dry.

His thumb drew circles on the back of her neck. He brought her back to earth after it just shattered before her very eyes.

“Fuck,” she choked out.

Matt guided her back into his chest and she took the support gladly. His heart beat against her bare breasts. The bulge in his pants became painfully clear once she regained feeling in her limbs. It brushed her thighs where it lay between his own.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“That was…” she couldn’t find the right words.

“I know.”

She didn’t quite trust her legs when she twisted to swing the one between his thighs over the other one. She kept her hands on his shoulders to straddle him without falling over.

Matt tilted his head, eyes searching for hers. “What’re you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Looks like you need some help,” she stated. She played with his belt buckle.

“It’s fine. You know I don’t need anything in return for making you feel good.”

“I know, but I want to. That looks painful.”

In one swift motion, she pulled the belt out of his slacks and tossed it aside.

Matt chuckled at her eagerness. “You are insatiable, you know that?” he dove in to kiss whatever bare skin he could reach.

His lips sloppily kissed down her neck and up again, chasing her lips. She kissed him back as hard as she could. Their teeth clashed, tongues fighting each other for dominance, knowing he’d win anyway. He swallowed every breath she took, sucking her dry and breathing new life back into her mouth.

She opened the button on his pants, trying hard to pull it down enough to get his aching cock out of them.

He caught onto her plan. Shifting his hips, she managed to reach into his boxers.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?” she blinked at him.

Matt reached for the hem of her panties. His fingers flexed.

Rip.

She gasped. The silk fell to the floor in nothing but flaps of fabric.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

“Fine.” In response, the buttons of his dress shirt flew in all directions. She ran her hands down his chest, satisfied with the ripped front of the shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He chuckled. “That’s fair.”

She kissed down every exposed sliver of skin on his torso. Her tongue ran over the jagged scars, the freshly healed bruises from a couple of nights ago. He was beautiful. With the billboard casting a pornographic red light on them, eyes closed, he looked like the child of an angel and a demon. His entire existence was ephemeral, his body a wonderland.

She sucked one of his perky nipples into her mouth. He arched almost entirely off the couch.

“I love you,” she breathed against him.

She liked the way the words sounded. For someone so afraid of admitting her feelings not so long ago, she’d come quite far. It had become her new favorite thing to say. Though the true weight of the statement came in the moments they were intimate. She could chant the same three words to him all day, but the second they were close to each other, touching where only they could touch, those three words regained their true meaning. It was sweet, almost innocent. The kind of love everyone wished for. An endless spiral of butterflies danced around in their stomachs.

Matt chuckled. The very same sound turned into a moan once her teeth dug into the flesh around his nipples.

“I’m worshipping you now,” she told him. Her kisses traveled down his body.

Her warmth on his chest disappeared. Instead, the hot trail of kissed lead to the opened button of his slacks. Her tongue played with his belly button, the happy trail leading into Neverland.

She kissed each scar on either side. “Perfect,” she hummed. “I don’t deserve you and yet you’re mine. This is mine. Only mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine,” she kissed the lower part of his stomach. “Mine,” her lips landed on the hem of his boxers. “Mine,” it was an animalistic growl. She pulled down his underwear swiftly.

Matt didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. He was so in awe of the way she touched and spoke of his body, he listened to her for the sake of having her praise him over and over again. The words carried innocence in their sinful ways.

He choked on air. His scars long forgotten, her mouth opened around its original destination.

“Lord have mercy!” he grabbed a fistful of hair.

Her tongue licked a thick stripe down his shaft.

Matt was a religious man. He prayed regularly and went to church and Sunday Mass. He swore never to take God anywhere other than he needed to be, but that woman and her cursed mouth made him see God in the fiery land of his unseeing vision. What they were doing was outright sinful. He knew he’d go to hell for saying the lord’s name in vain. He’d go to hell for everything he’d ever done and yet, while that was the truth, he didn’t care because, at that moment, he was living. He was alive. He’d gotten used to the thought of going to hell, seeking penance almost every day since. With her though, something had awakened inside of him. He couldn’t let it go. The Devil inside of him wanted to play.

Her mouth danced perfectly to the gospel of his moans, he forgot who he was. He tried hard not to push her head further down his cock, although the warmth of her throat sent him into pleasurable overdrive.

The cold air hit the head, falling from her lips like a wet towel. “It’s okay,” she said. “Take what you need.”

It was all the confirmation he needed.

His hips bucked up into her throat. She had laid off the gag reflex the first time she had his cock in her mouth, knowing the act alone could turn her on for more than one day. She could cum from simply touching him, hearing the dirty sounds slip past his swollen lips, and she’d be more than okay with it. The sounds he made were heaven’s gift to her, she was sure.

His cock twitched against her throat. She braced herself, eyes already closed. 

“Stop,” he choked out.

She instantly sat back on her heels, naked and worked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all.  I just… I need you.”

His chest heaved with the denied orgasm. The one he had denied himself. Anticipation rutted through his veins.

She swallowed the precum mixed with spit inside her hollowed-out mouth. The skin tingled. “You want me to-“ she pointed to his lap.

Matt sensed the motion. “If you want to,” he said. “But you can lay back and let me do all the work if that’s what you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Her thighs trapped his. She’d never been so comfortable doing that before. She was completely naked on top of him while he sat there, half-dressed, eyes searching for what he couldn’t see. Blood rushed to her cheeks. The position was compromising.

He pulled the hair from her face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I don’t know what I’m doing but yeah, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Mine,” he licked a stripe up her pulse point. “Mine,” the spank landed right on her ass. The next touch of his fingers made her shudder. Her cheeks flooded red with blood. “And mine,” he parted his fingers between her thighs to spread the lips of her pussy wide open.

Part of her wanted to scramble away. He couldn’t see but he could feel everything. It was just about the same as having him watch every inch of her body closely. Every last crevice he wanted to memorize. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her brain refused to function. She was entirely bare to him.

“Matt,” she said his name.

“You’re beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her again. Passionate, loving. “Remember our safe word?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me.”

“Red.”

He flicked the switch. “Okay, good girl,” the dark sound of his voice made all the embarrassment vanish. Instead, heat shot through her core. “Good girl, having your good little cunt spread for me. Just want to look at you the way I can. Want to see what’s mine. Want to feel how wet you are from riding my thigh. Oh, look at you!” he smirked. “This is turning you on, isn’t it? Your heart’s going crazy and you’re literally dripping.  You’re making such a mess on my good pants. You want to make a mess on my cock now too, don’t you? You want to be my good little slut and ride my cock?”

She only whined.

His hand slapped across her ass harder this time. The collision stung. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Use your words or I’m leaving you like this.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice came out sobbing. “I’m sorry. I want you inside of me. I want to be your good girl, I promise.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, please! Please fuck me, Matthew. I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Don’t cry.” He wiped her cheeks. “I know I’m good, but no need to cry. You’ll get what you want. Want to make you feel good, hm. You deserve it for always being so patient.”

“Yes, I’ve been patient. I’ve been good. So good.”

He laughed. “You’re already so dumb for me, baby. You sure you can take this?”

“Yes!”

“What’s your color?” The always caring Matt Murdock peaked out from under the dark, sex-crazed facade only she got to see.

She shuddered. “I-“ words came harder than they should have.

His head titled. Worry spread across his face, ready to take back whatever he said.

“Green,” she eventually managed to say.

She only wanted the ache between her thighs to be numbed. She wanted him so incredibly deep inside of her, she could feel him bulge her stomach, everywhere he could be inside of her.

Matt smirked, and it only grew darker from there.

“Good girl,” he praised again.

She slapped her hand on her mouth. He bottomed out quickly, without warning. He penetrated her without thinking twice about it, burying himself so deep inside of her, he could feel her walls contracting around him with every inch. She sucked him in and she screamed. She was sure she screamed. Her hand was the only thing keeping the neighbors from knocking on their door. His name slipped from her lips like a prayer, like she was singing his name in church and the word echoed off the walls for everyone to hear. Except no one was supposed to hear this. It was just them. This was their safe space. They could be however they wanted to be like this, and only then they could touch each other so sweetly when the world wasn’t watching them and they didn’t have to worry about anything other than themselves.

The sound was new, even for Matt. He too was sure he let out the nastiest sound known to man, but unlike her, he had no intention of masking it. He bottomed out and he chose to stay like this for just a little while longer, waiting for her muscles to relax, waiting for her to enjoy this.

The impatient roll of her hips eased his worries.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

She breathed through her nose, “Okay.”

“Then ride me.”

And she did.

She started with a slow pace, taking her time to adjust to his size. Every inch of her felt perfectly filled out. He managed to reach parts of her she never could’ve found on her own. He had this way with her body, it was like a high that never ended, the endless train on the river of sugar rush.

Her eyes trailed up his body. Head tilted back, his eyes fluttered with every thrust of her hips. One arm flexed with the pressure he applied to the leather seat, the other was placed softly against the flesh of her hips. He made sure she knew he was there if she needed him to take control, though, at the same time, the move seemed almost domineering, leaving her no choice but to do as he wanted. She was completely at his mercy. Even the slightest touch made her cave. He knew it and she knew it.

If he’d told her to drive to hell with him, she would have.

The slow and steady pace felt like heaven to him. Her hips drew patterns to chase that spot so very deep inside of her, only he could reach it. The swirl was delicious around his cock, the hot, soft flesh of her insides rolling against him, up and down and up and down. He listened to her heartbeat, strangled breathing, and the goosebumps on her skin. Moan after moan escaped her lips, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hold it anymore. He filtered out every hint of discomfort or frustration. What she liked, what she continued doing, and what just didn’t seem to work. She explored herself without even realizing and it turned him on even more. He could’ve sworn he felt himself getting harder inside of her if that was humanly possible.

His ears only picked up on rushing blood and labored breaths. There was nothing else but the feeling of her body, the scent of sweat, and bittersweet arousal on his lips and tongue. He was entirely enveloped in her. Everything was about her. Her body, her wetness, her heart. The heart between her legs, loud and dominant.

She whimpered at the sight before her. Matt Murdock in all his glory, half naked with his shirt ripped at her fingers, fabric, and skin clutched between her nails. Sweat coated his forehead, mouth slightly agape. His lashes fluttered around his unseeing eyes. She didn’t even have to move. If she wanted to, the sight would’ve been enough to make her come undone in a matter of seconds. He was so comfortable in her presence, his shoulders slouched in absolute relaxation as her movement urged him closer to his own release.

The next time her hips rolled down into his, he met her movements. His hips jerked up with a purpose. That purpose lay deep inside of her and he knew where it was. The thrust from underneath made her cry out. The spongy spot inside of her danced with euphoria as the head of his cock brushed against it.

He chuckled breathlessly. “There it is,” his head stayed hung over the back of the couch.

She braced herself. The new wave of pleasure only spurred her on. The way he dove impossibly deeper into her with every brush against that sweet spot had him reeling, gripping the leather for any kind of support. She followed close behind, her hips beginning to move as if her life depended on it. With every thrust, she sped up. Although her legs slowly grew tired, all she could feel was the tingling knot deep in her stomach blossoming into a beautiful flower and waiting to blow.

The hand that had once laid around her waist landed around her throat instead. The leather wasn’t nearly enough to keep him composed if that was even possible.

Hell’s Kitchen always haunted him. Noise and smell followed him home, and the sound of innocent people getting hurt kept him from falling asleep most of the time. He couldn’t tune it out. The city was a part of him. Even asleep, he dreamed of all the bad that was out there and all the things he’d done in his life, the things that lead him there, the people he’d hurt. The city never slept and neither did he, not really.

Though with her, for the first time, he was able to breathe. She overwhelmed his senses to the point it almost became unbearable. Her touch singed his skin yet calmed his mind down to the point he could tune out everything else and just focus entirely on the woman atop him. Sight was overrated. He didn’t need to see to know the way she moved was graceful in itself. Everything she did, she did with passion. The rolls of her hips were angelic. With her head thrown back, sweat and tear all over her face, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever come across. He could feel every inch of her, smell her, taste her. The whole wide city disappeared in the wake of her existence.

She was his salvation. He was drowning.

“Matt,” she sighed. His name rolled sweetly over her lips like she was singing him to sleep.

He squeezed his fingers around her pulse point. The pressure caged her in, sending moons across the stars in her galaxy. She reached for his wrist, not sure if she wanted to keep him or push him away. The tingling traveled from her stomach into every last crevice of her being.

He twitched inside of her. His muscles tensed. She rolled against him again, chest to chest. Hard nipples brushed against each other.

She dove in for a taste. Sweat had nestled into his stubble. Air was overrated. She kissed him until her lungs had nothing left to give. Until there was no other way but to swim back to shore to take a deep breath.

They’d fucked before. They had sex before. They’d done a lot of things. Whatever this was though, it counted as neither. Time was of the essence. Not too little, not too much. Just the right amount of time, simply savoring each other, getting to know each other as much as humanly possible in the most intimate sense. Subconsciously, they’d both been carrying way too much pressure. It showed in the way they craved each other. Starving animals in the middle of the desert preying for sustenance.

She scratched her nails through the hairs on his chin, leaving red marks down his throat. He groaned ever so softly into the depths of her mouth.

“I love you,” she said. His name came in serial moans. She breathed hard, heavy. Lost all sense of space and time, as if she couldn’t even believe it herself.

Matt tasted the salt on his tongue, wet strains of tears carried from her drenched cheeks to his. She was crying, whining, begging, and as lovely as it was to hold her like this, the words were the last straw to destroy his composure completely.

“I love you.”

He flipped her over like she was a doll, easily handled, thighs opened to grant him the space he needed to get between them. All the while his hand remained on its throne around her throat.

She moaned. The red lights of the billboard shone at him from behind, fading into hues of purple and blue with each thrust. His hips brushed against her clit every time he dove forward, hard and relentless, deeper and deeper. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. The lights became a distant memory. Nothing mattered but the hot pressure inside her lower abdomen, his weight on her, the twitch of his cock against the spot inside of her at the same time he brushed the spot outside of her and all eventually just became too much.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me!”

She forced her eyes open. He loved it when she looked at him, vulnerable, exposed. And though she tried hard to obey, his pace made it almost impossible to keep her eyes open long enough. Not much longer and the only was about to snap.

“Who do you belong to? Who’s making you feel good?”

“You,” she gave him the answer he wanted. “Always you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Me, only me. You’re-“ he thrust his hips forward, “Mine. Mine.” he dug his teeth into her shoulder.

She sobbed. It was too much. Too good, too much. Her entire body was on fire.

“Matt, please.”

Waiting for permission, anything.

Fingers intertwined above her head on the armrest. She clawed onto him. His hand traveled down between their bodies, catching her clit just right between his fingers. Just a little more. Circles and triangles and more circles.

“All of this is mine, understood?” his face buried in the valve of her breasts. “I’m so in love with you,” he said. “So fucking in love with you.”

The Billboard outside exploded in fits of color. The coil snapped. She gave up the little control she had left, clinging onto him, shocks of pleasure wreaking havoc. Her pussy clenched around him. It was tight, so tight, and she kept him there until she could milk all he had to give her.

Matt stiffened. His mouth stayed open in a silent moan. Sound only came back to him once he came, hard. All the pressure from the week before unloaded and he fell on top of her, moaning, panting. His body vibrated with the aftershocks. The heat inside of her walls sucked him in until every last drop was spent, dripping along his softening shaft, out of her. 

The world stood still.

“I love you,” the admission blew hot against her sternum. Her hands raked through his hair, holding him.

She sighed blissfully. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Matt was a sensitive person after sex. During, he took control. He hardly left her any time to breathe or think. After though, the world came crashing back in, his senses so overwhelmed by everything, he just needed someone to ground him. His mind wasn’t back yet, ears rushing with blood and every nerve in his body straining. The only thing keeping him sane was the beating of her heart against his ear.

Not sure if she could trust her legs just yet, she gently rolled them over. “Come on,” she whispered. “I’ll clean us up.”

He lay there, eyes directed at the ceiling. Her warmth disappeared only to be replaced by a lukewarm washcloth on his stomach.

She helped him out of his pants. The cold air of the apartment eased the burning.

He had regained most of his consciousness by the time she laid back on top of him. The sofa wasn’t spacious and for the first time, he was glad there was no space for her to move anywhere but his bare chest. The skin-to-skin contact made the sudden awareness less unbearable. He needed to focus on the feeling of her. He needed to remember what it felt like to breathe.

She traced patterns on his skin. Eventually, she asked, “You okay?”

“Thank you,” he said.

“You know, I love you too. More than anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you,” she looked up at him. “I don’t just love you, I’m in it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He couldn’t help it. “Oh,” the tears flowed freely.

“Hey-“

Matt choked out a laugh. “You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said. "And I don't even know why I'm crying because I'm not sad, I'm happy."

Her eyes softened. She touched his cheek gently. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, kissing her palm, down to her wrist, and back up.

“I was thinking,” she broke the silence.

“Dangerous,” he muttered.

“Hey!” she slapped him only slightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

“I was thinking,” she began again. “How about, you and I,” her fingers traveled down his exposed chest, “take the day off tomorrow, stay in,” she kissed his throat, “and have absolutely filthy sex everywhere in this apartment until I can’t walk anymore.”

He moaned. “That won’t be so hard,” he said.

Needless to say, he didn’t buy any kitchen supplies that day, the day after that, or the day after that. Truth be told, she never got the chance to buy them.

“We can start today.”

The second they stepped into the shower, her chest was pressed to the cold tiles as he took her from behind.

Even if she’d wanted to, the throbbing between her legs the next morning made shopping for something as useless as kitchen supplies an impossibility. And as she sat on the kitchen counter in the morning, back arched with his head buried deep between her thighs, she realized she wouldn’t regain feeling in her limbs anytime soon.

[coffeeandbatboys]

Rainy day attack (Matt Murdock x Reader)

had a cute idea for a fluff/humor scenario.

Warnings: tickle fight! Fluff, some light intimacy but totally sfw.

You were royally bored. It was Sunday, which meant you were supposed to go to the park with Matt, but the weather had other plans.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

He sat at the couch with his computer and earpiece in, so he'd be less likely to focus on your skipping heartbeat as you began to form a plan. After being around Matt for as long as you had, you developed a good idea of how to figure him out.

You casually positioned yourself behind him, working your fingers through his hair as an excuse to stand there. He sighed happily at this, oblivious to what was about to happen.

All at once, you crept your hands down to his sides and began tickling. A half laugh, half startled cry left Matt's lips, and you couldn't help from cackling yourself.

" Oh my God Matty..." You barely breathed out. "You sounded like a dying chicken!"

But you quickly realized what a mistake you made. While you were in your doubled over state, Matt turned around, grinning like an adorable idiot. "Oh y/n...you asked for it."

He lunged to the right, but you effectively dodged him, running around the couch to his left. You attempted to catch him from behind again, but he spun around before you got the chance to do so. Facing each other, you began tickling each other's sides relentlessly. However, in one clean move, Matt swept your feet out from under you, placed both palms flat behind your shoulder blades, and carefully lowered you to the floor.

"I win." He grinned again, shifting above you so you wouldn't suffocate.

"Even in a tickle fight...you still manage to make sure I don't get hurt." You breathed heavily, tears of laughter pricking your eyes.

"That's my job, sweetheart."

After a second, your lips met in a soft kiss, parting only to go back for more smaller ones. He sat up, allowing you to get up as well.

"God I hope we're still like this when were old. I never want to get tired of you." Matt chuckled.

"Me neither, Matty. Me neither."