#matt murdock being a dad

[messyyythoughts]

black and red, part 1.

marvel Matt Murdock + female ballet dancer reader

author’s note: I am so so so happy that the first #mattdad fic received some love, so here is a second one :) thank you for the support, it means a lot to me as always! summary: the ballerina is finally prospering in her life, until her best friend goes missing. warnings: swearing (you have been warned 😟) and minor injury description! part 2

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

she had been sat in the police station for hours. it was overrun with calls and cops, yet no one had spared her a glance since she had reported her best friend’s disappearance. with tired eyes and permanently aching feet, the ballerina glanced at her phone screen again, seeing that it was almost morning in New York city. she had a show tonight, she should’ve been in bed hours ago and waking up soon for her morning routine. but, here she was, waiting to speak with a detective. the ballerina even asked the front desk if there was anyone available at all who would be willing to speak to her, and she was given a rookie cop in return. she tried to explain the situation, but was shot down, and told to forget about her friend as she probably did “a disappearing act over a boy and didn’t want to tell anyone”. the ballerina was then dismissed out of the police station and back into the streets of NYC. she got home as the sun began to rise, and felt utterly helpless and hopeless. she tried to do something to take her mind off of it, tried desperately to believe the cop’s words, but her mind was stuck on her friend. her best friend wouldn’t just up and leave like that without saying something, she knew that. she’d called and texted hundreds of times, and she knew that her friend would’ve picked up after even one phone call. she sat still as a statue in the apartment, thinking about what options she had. the police in NYC were a dead end, she realised that now, the good cops were too busy or too low down the pecking order, and the crooked ones wouldn’t risk upsetting the wrong people just for a lost ballerina. but who else was there? she sat there deep in thought, thinking back to when she was in trouble herself... oh. the masked man. with a jump she got out of her chair, digging around for her mobile in her handbag, and dialling Karen first. when Karen didn’t pick up, she reluctantly stared at the screen for Matthew Murdock’s number. she put the phone back down on the counter, second guessing herself. she hated having to ask him for more help when he’d already done so much for her, but what other options did she have? she was no good at doing detective work herself, and she didn’t know people like Matt did. so, she went for Matt’s number. to her surprise, he picked up before the third ring. he said her name immediately, and she sighed in relief. “I need your help.” she said in a timid voice, her heart beating at a million miles an hour as she waited for his answer. she really hoped she hadn’t interrupted him doing anything important. “where are you?” he asked, rustling sounds coming from his end. “in my apartment. can I come to you?” the ballerina asked, biting one of her nails as she spoke, a habit she never broke. “yeah, of course you can. I can call a cab for you if that’s easier?” he was so good to her, even though her own case had been tied up and was no longer Matt’s problem. the ballerina took the cab to Matt’s place, which she hadn’t actually visited before, and he welcomed her in with a hug. she felt awful for intruding but she really needed his help, she hung up her coat and took off her shoes. he made her a hot drink in his little kitchen and they sat down on the couch together, after the ballerina had calmed down. she was a silent worrier, Matt had noticed, not a loud or physical one. her cues were very subtle, but if you paid attention, they were there. tonight she was picking at her knitted jumper sleeve, avoiding eye contact with Matt as he had taken his glasses off for the evening. “what’s going on? trouble about your case?” he asked, holding his own drink in both of his hands. “no, it’s not me this time. it’s my friend, best friend, really. I saw her after the last show, and then all of a sudden she disappears. I’ve been to her place, called her a hundred times. none of our other friends have heard or seen a thing either, and the police told me to forget about it.” the ballerina realised how unimportant that sounded so she added, “something just isn’t right, Matt, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. we have a strict routine and she’s just totally abandoned it all, not a single word to me.” the ballerina said this all with a wobbling voice, and Matt reached out to her gently. she leant into his side hug, and wiped a few stray tears away, thinking he hadn’t seen them. he felt them, that tiny sliver of sadness amongst a big ball of stress and worry. “I’ll call my friend, he’ll sort everything out. he just needs time to get some information. I’ll give him what I can too.” the ballerina nodded, and when she had finished her hot drink Matt insisted that she stay for the night, so she borrowed Matt’s clean clothes, which did get a smile out of her from how oversized they were. while Matt made a show of doing legal stuff, the ballerina busied herself with daily stretches that she repeated too many times, then a few hundred practice moves. Matt knew she was calming herself through dance, and it both made him fascinated, and worried that she wouldn’t sleep. just as Matt was about to make up some excuse for leaving the apartment so late, the ballerina gave in and collapsed onto the couch. being as quiet as possible, Matt slipped out, and started his hunt. he hadn’t met the ballerina’s best friend before, but he had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for. young girls were being relentlessly targeted in NYC as of late, and this case was no exception. the ballerina had narrowly escaped her own encounter with a boy who’d had evil intentions, and Matt held that victory close to his heart, for he’d never seen someone so defeated be so brave when called upon. it was funny, because Matt had never considered having children, but the ballerina had certainly given him an idea of what it might be like, what it might feel like one day. unfortunately, that life was far off for Matt, especially as he found himself prowling the streets of cold, dark NYC in search for information on the ballerina’s missing friend. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ the ballerina called in sick to her performance that night, and knew that her understudy would be overjoyed at the news, she was always itching for a chance to perform. the ballerina waited as patiently as she possibly could for Matt to return, assuming he had left to go to work as she had intruded on him in the morning hours. he came back at lunch, and told the ballerina to pack a bag at her apartment and come back before night fell. the ballerina knew better than to ask questions, so she did just that. she took the subway home, headphones in, losing herself in the noise of the city. she liked people watching on her journeys around the city, making up lives for the people her eyes landed on. maybe other people looked at her and assumed she lived with two loving parents in some nice NYC apartment, or even a townhouse outside the city where she attended one of those good schools. the ballerina knew immediately that she’d hate that life, pretending like she lived in a happy little family when it was just the opposite. all her dreams of a happy family died when she moved to NYC–– her stop was coming up, so she stopped thinking and started walking. she felt unsafe entering her own place for the first time in a long time, but she was only here to get some things. with a gnawing anxiety she started packing a bag for a few days. she kept going back and forth for things she’d forgotten, simple things like a hairbrush or toothpaste. the floundering ballerina found herself in the middle of her now very messy apartment when her phone rang. she thought nothing of it at first, staring at the screen in mild confusion, it was an unknown number. her head was all muddled, it was wrong to pick it up, but what if it was her friend using someone else’s phone? against her better judgement, she pressed answer.

“listen very closely, we’ve got your little ballerina friend here, and for her safe return we want a bit of cash.” if the ballerina’s blood could’ve frozen and sent her into hypothermic shock, it would’ve. that voice was entirely unfamiliar and yet it was as if she’d heard it in dreams, or nightmares. “how does... fifty thousand American dollars sound?” there were a chorus of agreeing cheers from the other end, and the ballerina felt sick to her stomach. she then heard something she wasn’t expecting. “don’t you dare listen to them! they’ll kill you and me and take the money, just get as far away as you can–” the phone was pulled away from her friend’s voice, but she continued screaming. the ballerina had to steady herself against the wall, feeling as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body. this was not happening. “shut up, bitch!” a different voice bellowed, silencing everything on that end. the ballerina held back gasping breaths as she tried to understand what was going on. having a panic attack was not the move right now. “right, have we got that clear, sweetheart? fifty thousand in cash by tonight, you’re gonna leave it at the address I send you after this call ends. any funny business, police, outsiders, and your friend here dies. I don’t play those games, got it?” the ballerina was at a total loss for words.”can you fucking hear me or is the signal bad at your cushty little apartment?” he asked, quietly, to which the ballerina froze. “fifty thousand?” the ballerina asked, physically shaking. “there she is! you got it sweetheart, just leave it at the address I send you, and no one gets hurt. simple, right?” the ballerina had to bite back her cry before answering. “okay, alright. I... I just want her back, unharmed.” the voice on the other end laughed before replying. “that’s for me to decide, not you. I’ll see you tonight.” the call ended, and the ballerina stared at the wall she’d been leaning on for a good few minutes, processing what she had just agreed to. the address did indeed come through on her phone, from the same unknown number, and she knew it was somewhere in the old industrial part of the city. mostly abandoned warehouses filled with homeless people, or gangs. she went to ring Matt, but remembered the part about involving outsiders. Matt was an outsider, and if the voice on the phone knew he was involved, her friend stood no chance. fifty thousand was... too much money for her to comprehend. she didn’t even have that much, even so, withdrawing all of her life savings at once was sure to raise eyebrows. she had to do it at different banks at different times all by the end of today, then get it ready for tonight. should she take protection with her in case things went sideways? it was probably best... right? but what if they were there and searched her for weapons, finding whatever she’d brought, and killed her there and then? her head span with the choices and decisions she had to make by tonight. there was one thing she knew for certain though, she was getting her friend back alive, one way or another. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ several banks later, the ballerina was almost ready. she changed into more appropriate attire for the cold New York nights, before putting all of the money into a bag and taking the subway to the address. before she arrived, she sent a last minute voice note to Matt, against her better judgement again, about where she was going. he would figure out the rest, she was sure of it. she made sure she sounded okay, not nervy or weak, to try and put him off sending help. Matt was still trying to call her as she stepped off the subway, but she silenced her phone, hid it in her bra and started walking with a bag full of cash and nothing but sheer unrelenting hope that this would play out in her favour. the warehouses were very intimidating, despite their deteriorating condition and emptiness. maybe that was what made them so... haunting. the ballerina tried to get her head straight as she counted the warehouses to make sure she left the money in the right one. there, the one warehouse with boarded up windows and signs of life around it, at the end of the row. to say that the ballerina’s emotional state was a wreck would be an understatement. she had no idea what she felt, it was a huge mix of anxiety, adrenaline, fear, dying hope and an urge to flee while she still could. she paused before entering the warehouse, it appeared to be abandoned on the outside, but once she stepped inside she could have dozens of guns on her. she shook her head, wrenching the door open, and squeezing through the gap she’d made. she barely noticed the massive gash on her hand from where she’d scraped it across the jagged metal door, leaving the potent smell of blood behind her. it was hot dripping from her fingers, but she ignored it. with a grunt, she hauled the bag after her, barely getting it through. the warehouse was eerily empty, and the ballerina didn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious. she walked to the middle of the building, putting the bag down, and turned to leave when she had a bad feeling. she wasn’t alone, she just knew it, she wasn’t on her own in here. they were somewhere, they were close, but where? she turned back around, and found her answer, as numerous shadows began passing by the back windows. they were coming, and she suddenly felt like the money was the last thing they wanted. how could she let herself get into this situation? she made a break for a window, yanking it open and vaulting over the frame to land in a patch of overgrown shrubbery. the stinging on her face told her that she’d landed in something nasty, and she rushed to get free. shouting from inside the warehouse began, and the ballerina ran. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ Matt listened to the voice message again, trying to discern if it was genuine. the sounds of the New York subway screeching in the back made him think that it was genuine, but someone could’ve had her at gunpoint. gangs were rampant in NYC, and went to extremes to get what they wanted, and that alone made Matt worried. he was now out of his lawyer attire and in the masked man clothes, preparing himself for the worst night of his life. he was equally upset at the ballerina and impressed, he didn’t think she’d have the willingness to travel to a part of the city that was so dangerous, all to get her friend back. he was aware that there was probably cash or something valuable involved in exchange for the friend, as the words ‘drop off’ had implied in the ballerina’s voice message. strangely, he hadn’t heard her voice wavering like it normally did when she was nervous. Matt found that the ballerina’s voice, like so many others, betrayed her emotions at the best of times. some people had the ability to mask that weakness, but the ballerina was almost acutely aware of it, and used it sometimes to get her way. she was more than she appeared, Matt knew that, even if she didn’t. as Matt entered the warehouse district, he caught a gust of wind, and the unmistakable smell of the ballerina’s perfume. she’d heavily overdone it, he knew that instantly by how strong it was. like a dog catching the faintest scent of food, he followed. he arrived at the very last warehouse, on the end, dark, empty. if the ballerina had been here, she was gone now, but not far. he crept into the warehouse, finding it empty, but smelling traces of blood and heavy perfume in the air. he found the start of the blood trail, on a sharp metal doorframe, and followed a dripping trail that led to the basement level, and then abruptly ended by a wall. he retraced his steps, and ended up at the same spot. why did the fresh blood trail end at a brick wall? he scoured high and low in that basement level for more traces of blood, but always ended up at the same wall. in frustration, he punched it, and listened to the sound it made. it was hollow. his fingertips immediately felt around the brickwork for something unusual, something that stood out. he went over the entire wall once, twice. it had to be here somewhere, he was running out of time.  there, he just had it. he skimmed his fingers back over, and pushed down, hearing the wall move backwards. what Matt didn’t realise is that what stood before him was a complex network of tunnels. he listened out, hearing faint, faraway footsteps, and entered the tunnels. the wall didn’t move back into place on its own, meaning that someone had to do it from this side, so there had to be several people down here. Matt’s first guess would be gang members, but it could just be some loosely organised punks looking to make some serious cash off of a successful ballerina. whoever it was, they’d picked the wrong target tonight. Matt paused at the first corner. he took a moment to think, at worst, it was going to be a double homicide on his hands, at best he might get one of them back alive. the money wasn’t even in the question at this point, it was probably already gone. he then went deeper into the crudely constructed tunnels, ducking where he had to, and trying his best to follow the distant footsteps. all he could think about was how the ballerina had become so successful and had been prospering in her life. she’d already been ruined once, taken to her lowest possible point, and had come out the other side. Matt was only praying that she could do it again. he remembered attending her first performance. while he couldn’t see it and appreciate it in that way, he felt it, and was every bit as proud as Karen and Foggy were. in fact, he was more proud, not that he would ever say it because Foggy would ask him to prove it and then there would be a whole thing about it. but, Matt was proud, and he was reminded of how proud he felt of his dad when he won a boxing match. that feeling was a long forgotten one, and somehow the ballerina had reignited it. Matt paused at a corner, hearing voices neary. they were much closer than the footsteps he’d been tracking. the voices were idly chatting, obviously bored. Matt picked up on what they were saying. “but man, these tunnels? they go way back, I swear. my old man used to brag about running all sorts through here, and the cops had no fuckin’ idea!” the first one laughed. “man, I wish we knew about these sooner, could’ve saved us a lot of trouble.” the other one replied, sighing. “we lost a lot of guys recently, cops are cracking down. if they found out about these tunnels, we’d be really fucked.” the first guy tutted. “they won’t, we hid ‘em after the last raid. cops thought they blew up the lot, but we had backups already dug out.” they both started laughing now, that was when Matt revealed himself around the corner and surprised them both. before they had the chance to pull out their guns, they were down. they both sported an abundance of tattoos, some of which were very clearly gang related. they wore black and white, also pointing towards a gang affiliation. Matt sighed, kicking away the guns in case they got back up later. so, the cops had previously tried to end the use of these tunnels by blowing them up, but it hadn’t worked? well, Matt knew exactly how to fix that.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ one phone call later, and the police were swarming the tunnels. Matt had removed himself well before making the call, and watched in satisfaction as the police turned up in vans and SWAT teams. they entered through the warehouse Matt had used, and started flushing out the gang members from every possible angle. all across the city gang members were on the run, having heard the news from those who had been chased out of the tunnels or caught. the police were doing a lot of shooting on sight, which meant less work for Matt when they cleared out. Matt re-entered the tunnels with caution as the police were still active down there, clearing out rooms full of drugs and guns. some gang members were still hiding, or running, around the network and warning others to get out. Matt knew that the ballerina had to be down here somewhere, her scent was lingering in his head like she’d been here, but only for a short amount of time. she was smart to use the perfume as she had, it left a temporary trail for Matt, but no one else. he followed it, but it got him nowhere, and the police were getting closer as they advanced through the tunnels. Matt had to listen out for fleeing gang members, roaming police teams and any possible signs of the ballerina. it was exhausting, but only he could save her now. he was holding onto scraps of hope after avoiding close encounters with the police teams down here, when his foot scuffed something. metal, it made a nice ringing noise as it scraped across the concrete. he bent down, getting a feel of it, and realised with a start that it was the ballerina’s bracelet. he’d gifted it to her after one of her shows, he’d picked it out for her with Karen’s input one day. he’d know it anywhere, and this was definitely it. the ballerina was down here, she must’ve been. he tucked the bracelet away in his pocket, and kept walking the tunnel he was in. he was going to find her and bring her home safe. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

messyyythoughts © 2022 do not translate without my permission, give credit if you repost, support always welcomed <3

[frankcastlescumslut]

What If

Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Family Planning w Matt Murdock

warnings: mainly fluff, maybe some angst? not really, mentions of pregnancy,

A/N: short little blurb that absolutely nobody asked for this but oh well!! I want it!!

It was calm in the apartment for a Friday night. The smell of Josie’s was confined to the hamper of dirty clothes in the corner while hints of lavender scented body wash permeated the bedroom. It was calm. Peaceful.

It was a nice change; your nighttime routine including Matt, for once— there was something homey about it. Domesticated. He was there, just around the corner, pulling the sheets back and adjusting the pillows to your liking before you would both climb into bed and recount your days to one another as if you had been married for years.

You were afraid that if you verbalized the thought, told him you enjoyed not sharing him with Hell’s Kitchen for once, that the illusion of peace and routine would snap. That he would snap, and you would go back to the familiarity of falling asleep alone again, only to be awoken by a bruised and heavy body falling next to you.

Some things were better left unsaid, so you kept quiet, brushing your teeth in circular motions until you noticed the blood dribbling from your lips.

You almost didn’t hear him, his question drowning behind the gargling water in your throat.

“What if it’s not enough?”

Enough?

“What’s that?” you yell into the sink before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did you say something?”

The bedroom was dark, your side of the bed bare, the comforter pulled back as an invitation. He was concentrating on something, his brows noticeably furrowed even as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“What happens when it’s not enough?” He followed the question with a kiss to your temple as you positioned yourself into the side of his body.

“When what’s not enough, sweetheart?”

“Daredevil.” The stunned silence speaks for itself. “The firm. You. Us.”

Us.

You.

Me.

Your body stiffened at the thought of being lackluster to him. That your life together was somehow incomplete.

Dread quickly spread throughout your body, practically pulling you away from his body, untangling just enough so you could prop yourself against the headboard.

“Well,” you cleared the knot in your throat. “I would ask you what ‘enough’ means.” The chipped paint on your fingernails stole your attention. “What does ‘enough’ look like? Did I do something wrong?“ He was blurry when you finally looked at him.

“No!” God, what an idiot. “No, you didn’t do anything at all!” He was quick to hurry you into his chest, internally damning himself for being the cause of the lump in your throat.

“Then what’s wrong? You just said I wasn’t enough—“

“It was a poor choice of words, that’s my fault, I’m sorry.” His heart galloped in his chest, just beneath your ear. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“But?”

“Everything is good— great right now,” his grip against your frame grew tighter.

“But?”

“But it still… it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“Then what can I do to help? What do you need, Matt?”

The confusion began to transform into a mild frustration, and you were grasping at imaginary straws, trying anything to answer his impossible questions.

“I want more.”

The air became stagnant in your lungs as you held your breath.

“No, wait,” he stammered. “I want more of you! I want more of us.”

“I’m not following.”

“I want to start a family.”

The air left your lungs in an impressively long exhale, long enough for you to untwist from his grip and lean against the headboard, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

“A family?” The mattress dipped beneath your palms and your neck groaned with the weight of your head. Your stomach churned, from both relief and anxiety.

He waited patiently, pushing himself next to you. His breathing was steady, an inconspicuous cue for you to follow his lead, and he gave you both physical and emotional space to process what he himself had been grappling with the past several days.

A baby.

“A family?” You repeated, desperate to read his face.

He was unable to conceal a soft smile, and you softened in return, inching your hand closer to his so that your fingertips barely touched.

“With me?”

“Only if you want to.”

His fingers interlaced with yours, the pad of his thumb rubbing melodic circles into your skin.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of starting a family with Matt before. He would be a wonderful father, that you were certain of, and there were times where you would catch yourself holding onto your stomach, fantasizing about how your appearance would change with a growing belly.

Many of your closest friends were having children or had already started their own families, so it wasn’t that out of the ordinary to think about your future with Matt, but you never allowed yourself to think that way or to go that far, given the implications of his second job and moral obligations.

“What about Daredevil?” Your voice was unwavering, much to your surprise.

“I have it under control,” he said with a lighthearted smile.

“Under control? What does that mean?”

“I got some help. It’s taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” His voice was so steady and matter-of-fact that your eyebrows raised automatically. “Did you just happen to pick someone off the street?”

“He’s from Queens, actually,” he laughed.

“Right,” you huffed in tandem, not fully understanding the connotations, but enjoying his ease nonetheless.

The room grew with a bloated silence, and for once, you allowed yourself to wonder. How does maternity leave work? Would he take paternity leave? Would you breastfeed or bottle feed? Are there any good schools in Hell’s Kitchen? Who would watch the baby while you go to work? Why aren’t there any cute boys clothes? Will a crib fit in the room? Would they look more like you or him? What if you dropped the baby? What if you’re not a good mom?

“Sweetheart,” he called, bringing your hand to his lips, as if leading you away from the cacophony of what ifs and hypotheticals.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I’m just—

“Thinking.” He finished your sentence and you deflated automatically, resting your head against his shoulder.

You weren’t sure of how long you sat like that. Inhaling and exhaling. Inflating and deflating. Slowly sinking into the mattress, disappearing beneath silk sheets.

“You’ve really thought about this then?” You whispered, afraid to jinx something so precious so soon.

“More than you know.” He kissed your temple, emphasizing his sincerity.

“I have one requirement.”

“Go on,” he stretched an arm behind his head, enjoying the simplicity and ease of the conversation.

“Call me old fashioned, but I want to be married first.”

His laugh mimicked a bark, and for a second you were almost embarrassed by your reservations.

“Sweetheart,” he turned onto his side, somehow towering over you, before meeting your lips with his own. “I am Catholic, you know.”

[proheromidoriyashouto]

The People VS Gwen Stacy au where Miguel and Jess just picked up the Vulture and left, not stopping Captain Stacy from raising the gun toward Gwen a second time and shooting her on reflex.

Gwen bleeding out on a stretcher to an ambulance, face exposed to the world as a million cameras flash.

Gwen twisted up in the agony of her father choosing to be a cop before being someone who loves her with a bullet in her liver but a hole in her heart.

Gwen Stacy's face posted all over the news before she's even on the operating table at the nearest hospital.

Gwen Stacy arrested for the murder of Peter Parker, handcuffed to the railing of her hospital bed.

Gwen Stacy arriving at the court house in a wheelchair because she is fresh out of surgery and can't walk, meeting her lawyer, Matt Murdock for the first time.

Gwen Stacy villified by J. Jonah Jameson and the police union to the point other heroes, like Daredevil, have to come out of the shadows to protect her from a public lynching.

Gwen Stacy, abandoned by everyone she should've been able to trust.

Spiderwoman alone against the court of public opinion.

[multiscribe]

Title: Just Like Daddy

Fandom: Daredevil

Characters : Matt murdock /female reader little mini Matt (you’ll see)

Rating: soft R for cannon typical violence and cursing and maybe some flirting

Notes: inspired by this pic I saw this morning-done in one day special thanks to @hellskitchens-whore for the inspiration

In memory of my darling Sammie who would fit right in with Matt

“Let me get you some excedrin honey” you whispered as you rose from the edge of the bed trying to be as quiet as possible.

Your husband Matt Murdock the devil of Hell’s Kitchen was having a rare night off. Not because he wanted to of course but migraine’s as a rule fucking sucked donkey eggs.

It had been a whirlwind courtship between the two of you but even Karen and Foggy could see just how far gone he was. And when you knew you knew right?

So it surprised no one when a year to the day you two broke the news that you were expecting your first child.

Of course there had been some heartbreak when you learned your little girl would never be able to see like normal kids. And it had taken some extraordinary prodding from you to bring Matt back from the utter ocean of Catholic guilt he had been wallowing in.

‘Teach her to defend herself Matt teach her how to fight like you do so we never have to worry’

Famous fucking last words as you would soon learn.

Because your baby girl took to it like a duck to water and these days when she wasn’t working on her homework she’d usually be up at Fogwell’s with Matt either helping him train or training herself

Even Stick had taken a liking to her.

By the time she was 4 and a half you two had learned that her senses far outpaced those of her father.

But she’d been content to do normal little girl things. Like paint Auntie Karen’s nails or braid uncle foggy’s hair.

Until tonight.

Until tonight Matt had never come down with a migraine so bad it stopped him from going out to his ‘night job’.

Gently pressing the two pills into his left hand and water bottle into his right you whispered “I’m gonna go check on her then I’ll come to bed okay?”

He had barely taken his meds when your panicked cry sent him rushing toward your daughter’s bedroom.

She was gone

Glass on the floor and perfume winding through the room. Someone knew they knew about her abilities and his.

He could only pull you close as the devil in him seethed and raged. Someone was going to pay dearly for having taken their little girl.

He had called Karen and Foggy to come sit with you in case she managed to find her way back. He also didn’t trust whoever took her to not swing back and try and snatch you too.

What he ‘saw’ down by the docks was not something he expected and a ton of emotions hit him at once

Pride

Shock

Worry

Fear

Relief

Because leaping silently from container to container there was his daughter.

She was dressed in a miniature replica of his black outfit and some pleased part of him saw that she’d remembered to wrap her hands.

He took off after her having to catch himself several times from stepping in. All that training with Stick had done her good. You were gonna kill the pair of them of course but that was a fight for another day.

She had found an illegal dog fighting ring and had beaten the fighters to a bloody pulp. This was no surprise to him as she LOVED dogs and you and he were discussing the merits of getting your daughter a service dog prospect for Christmas.

However hearing the unmistakable scrape of metal that signaled a gun being raised had him reaching for his Billie club.

But as it happened she didnt need his help

Because before he could even throw it there was a huge hulking black shepherd that launched herself out of the darkness and latched her teeth onto the man’s arm drawing a scream from him.

Once all of the threats were down he heard his daughter call softly to the dog who dropped the man’s arm before she could rip it off and came to sit by her side.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that when he approached there was an ominous sounding snarl from the dog.

The devil in him smirked. It seemed they found her Christmas present early

“It’s okay girl..that’s my daddy” before finally she stepped around the dog and launched herself into his arms

“God baby do you know how scared you made your mommy and I?” He knows he should loosen his grip but she’s here and real and safe thank you god above for protecting my little girl

“Didn’t mean to” she whispers against his shoulder “you was sick daddy people needed help. I was careful like uncle stick taught me”

Oh he was SO gonna kick Stick’s ass the next time he saw him!

“How many people did you help tonight baby?”

He felt her tiny lips curl into a smile “well I stopped some bad men from taking an old lady’s purse. I helped another lady when the guy she was with he was gonna hit her-you said a man should NEVER hit a woman that it’s..illegal? In the state of New York”

Matt could feel the tears pricking at his eyes. God when had his daughter gotten so smart?and so brave?

“That’s right baby what else?”

She leaned up looking thoughtful “well I thought I should come home soon and I was on my way I promise!! But then I heard someone hurting doggies so I came down here.. they kicked one and they hurt it bad so I made THEM hurt instead. Then you found me!”

Matt exhaled gently before setting her on her feet “right now little miss there’s gonna be some ground rules. First you do not leave the house without me understood?You scared me and your momma half to death when we couldn’t find you. Second your grades fall even a little this?is done” she gave a silent nod “okay daddy” he could tell she was confused so he softened a little “your grandpa Jack had the same rules for me.He didn’t want me to fight but kinda like you I found my way into it but not til much later”

She tilted her head “what’s rule 3 daddy?” He chuckled softly “you have to apologize to your momma for worrying her”

She nodded “Kay I didn’t mean to honest! But I’ll ‘pologize can we keep Sammie?”

How could he say no to his angel?

The trek back was slower on foot as both had to slow down to allow Sammie to keep pace. She had some glass shards in her foot that would be cleaned up as soon as the chaos died down.

The sound of the roof door opening had you running for the stairs before Karen or Foggy could stop you

“Mommy!!” A sob tore from you as your daughter launched herself into your arms

“Baby are you hurt?where were you what happened?” It took you a minute to process what you were seeing

Your daughter pulling the black mask off her dark hair tumbling down her shoulders in a mess of curls

You looked to Matt silently questioning caught between relief and pure mamma bear rage

“I found her by the docks. She wasn’t taken she just wanted to help out. We already laid some strict ground rules” because you knew she was as stubborn as your husband -at least this way you knew she would be safe as she could be.

“Oh and this is Sammie” the shepherd eyed you warily before drawing closer for a sniff. When she learned that you were related she merely laid down at your feet with a tired huff and rolled over on her back demanding belly rubs

You had a love of dogs too especially Shepherds so it was no real question there. But it took you a moment before you realized what Matt had said and looked to your daughter who smiled “the bad man was gonna try and hurt me with his gun..but she protected me. Just like you said ‘member?”

At that you fully broke embracing both Matt and your daughter fiercely.

You had told her that story when she was first learning how to be respectful of other animals. How when you were at your lowest long before you met Matt that you had a pure black shepherd who was insanely protective of you. When you had suffered being homeless not once but twice in the cold Pennsylvania winter she was the only thing that kept you going.

And how someone had placed a call to animal control and she had been taken away.. for good

A nudge under your arm drew your attention. The resemblance was uncanny but it couldn’t be.. you were told she had been put down as she had seemingly out of the blue turned vicious and it had broken you.

A little bit of gray on her muzzle she’d be the right age..

“Sammie..babygirl?” When you were knocked back onto the floor by a black missle of fur and began to weep hysterically at first Matt was concerned.

But then he picked up your words between sobs “it’s you! Oh my god it’s you! My darling oh god how oh I don’t care!”

Matt pulled his daughter up onto his lap his own mask discarded and smiled at his daughter’s questioning look “you know I was thinking she was gonna be your service dog…but do you think you could share with mommy?” The little girl nodded “sure! Why’s mommy crying though?”

Matt smiled and kissed her temple “despite you scaring us half to death…you made a miracle happen sweetie… that IS Sammie”

Your daughter’s eyes widened almost comically and soon the three of you were on the floor together alongside Karen and Foggy being covered in kisses and the occasional paw to the face (you’d allow it this once she was happy to be home after all!)

You leaned over whispering to Matt “I’m still gonna kick Stick’s ass the next time I see him”

Matt smirked and pulled you close for a kiss “gotta beat me to it first sweetheart”

The End

[murdockmeta]

Jack Murdock undeniably loved both of his boys but it doesn’t change the fact that he definitely played favorites and abused Mike.

Like, if it wasn’t obvious, dragging your son into a ring while you’re pissed off, throwing him a couple boxing gloves and – while your son is actively protesting fighting you – punching him, is abuse. That wasn’t Jack teaching Mike to fight. That was abuse.

It’s sad that Mike had to have certain truths thrust on him way before Matt did.

He never had the illusion that Jack was a strongly moralized father. He didn’t have the illusion of Maggie being dead. Mike never got to think that Jack was proud of him.

And it’s these illusions that heavily contributed to Matt becoming the person he did. It’s the lack of them that heavily contributed to Mike becoming who he did.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 19]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Frank, admittedly, isn’t as fit as he used to be. 

Running through the desert, carrying all his gear, used to be an everyday thing he could do no problem, but now, running through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he finds his breathing to be a bit labored. 

Then again, that might be because he’s pissed off. He, Jones, and Red were in the middle of setting up for a night of surveillance, something Red insisted they do, when the costumed idiot took off into the night without a word.

Normally, Red will give them the damn courtesy of letting them know before he disappears to protect his flock, so him just starting to bolt had Frank and Jones scooping up their shit and following. 

One thing Frank’s learned while working with Matt Murdock is to trust the bastard when it comes to his senses - when he says they need to clear out, there is usually a damn good reason to start running. But he has always given a reason or a head’s up - taking off like this must mean something is going down.

Jones gave up trying to keep pace a few blocks back, but Frank is determined to find out what the hell is going on. Red has the advantage of not hauling an additional fifty pounds of gear, and he has taken to parkouring over the roofs, so has gotten about a block and a half ahead. 

Frank can keep him in his sights, at least. He’s making a bee-line right towards Chelsea and that’s causing a pit to start to grow in the Marine’s stomach. Not many things override Red’s deep seeded commitment to his city and only one of those things resides outside Hell’s Kitchen. 

He adjusts his grip on his bag and forces his legs to move faster.  

The buildings around him shift from businesses to residential and about two blocks into the change, Frank knows what set the Devil off. 

His little girl is in the middle of the sidewalk, crying hysterically as her mother struggles on the ground against some fat fuck in a business suit. Frank only sees the attacker for a brief second before fury incarnate grabs him by his thick neck and slams him into the ground by Mom’s feet. The sound of a skull being cracked rings clear before it's covered by angry roars and the crunch and squelch of someone’s face being pounded in. 

By the Grace of all that is Holy, Red’s baby seems to not care her dad is about to kill a guy and scurries to her Mommy now that she is free. Frank kicks his ass into gear to get there before she can be traumatized anymore. 

He doesn’t know if the little girl recognizes him or not, but she doesn’t fight it when Frank picks her up. She clings to him desperately, burying her face against his neck and just sobbing. Instincts he forgot he had kick in and Frank bundles Minnie up in his duster, rocking her and trying to soothe her the best he can.

“Hey, hey, sweet girl, it's okay, it's okay. I gotcha. Everything’s gonna be okay, I gotcha.”

Frank cups the back of her head, careful to not tangle his fingers up in her curls and turns her away from her bloody mother. He needs to check on you, to make sure your wounds are something he can handle, and they don’t need to take you to the hospital, but he can’t do that with a crying toddler in his arms. 

“He hurt my Mommy!” The baby wails and his heart just about breaks. He wants so badly to join Red in stomping the piece of shit’s head into the pavement for endangering such a precious child, but he knows he can’t. She can’t witness any more than she already has. 

As often as Frank takes digs at Murdock for being an altar boy, he can’t let Red’s daughter see him lose control and step over the line he swore to never cross. He’d never forgive himself for causing that trauma for her. So, he hugs the little girl closer, kisses the top of her head, then grunts, “Red!”

Murdock stills mid-punch, his bloody fist raised and ready to continue his punishment. He looks feral - he is snarling, and gore has splashed up onto his face. He is shaking with rage and for a brief moment, Frank can see why he claims to have the Devil in him. Then, just as his little girl cries for her Mom again, control returns to him. Red tilts his head in a way Frank knows he heard something, then he pushes himself up into standing. 

Red rips his gloves off, throwing them to the ground, before taking the few steps to clear the gap between him and Frank. He barely starts to rasp out his daughter’s name before she’s turning in Frank’s arms and trying to throw herself to him, sobbing.

“DADDY!”

The noise Red makes is not at all human as he crushes his baby girl to his chest. A new round of loud tears start and Frank knows he has to work quickly before they start attracting attention. 

He pulls his duster off and throws it around Red’s shoulders, trying to hide his garish costume. Murdock seems to realize what he’s doing - he curls into it while ducking his horn-head and moving towards the shadows as he comforts his daughter. Frank can’t hear what he’s saying - his voice is low and the crying covers it - but honestly he doesn’t care.

He turns his attention back to your limp body on the ground, dropping down and letting his knowledge of field medicine take over.

Your forehead is bleeding pretty bad, but a quick assessment of the wound tells him it looks worse than it really is. You’ve got a pretty good gash, but it is shallow, and he doesn’t feel any bone breakage under it or swelling. You’ll need a few stitches, and a hell of a lot of ibuprofen, but you won’t need a hospital. You probably passed out from a combination of pain and exhaustion from an adrenaline rush. 

Still, Frank checks your neck before deciding to move you, just to make sure it's safe. 

As he starts to press his fingers along your spine, Jones finally makes her appearance, jogging up to the scene. 

“What the fuck?”

Frank barely looks up as he growls out his reply, focusing on his work while formulating a plan in his head, “It’s his kid.”

“Oh shit,” she replies, then after a beat, “Is he dead?”

Frank barely looks over to the beaten man in question - his chest is still rising and falling so that’s good enough for him. “Nah, not yet. Call it in - then meet us up in her apartment.” 

He rattles off the address and apartment number as he scoops you up into a fireman’s carry. He’s glad he doesn’t have far to go, because your weight, plus his gear, isn’t doing any favors to his back. As he gets you situated, Jones steps over to the attacker and nudges him in the side with her boot. His face isn’t recognizable as human, but that isn’t what she comments on. 

“What is that smell? Did he shit himself?”

“Fuck if I know, just call it in,” Frank grunts as he begins to trudge towards the right building. “Red, let's go!”

He knows he doesn’t have to explain the plan to Murdock - fucker heard him the first time. Red falls in line and by some miracle, his little girl’s crying has tampered down. She’s still crying - Frank would be more concerned if she wasn’t - but she’s tucked herself close to her Dad and seems to be just more upset than actively terrified. Frank’s got no idea what Murdock could have possibly done to soothe her, but he gives him props for doing it so damn fast. 

He can hear Jones calling for an ambulance as they enter into your building, and once in the lobby, Frank wastes no time barking another order, “Take off your helmet.” 

That earns him a glare, or what counts as a glare from the Devil, and Murdock uses one hand to pull his cowl off and stuffs it between his chest and his daughter before starting for the stairs. Frank is right at his heel and being so close means he can finally hear what Red is repeating to his girl. 

“Just listen to her heart, baby, everything’s okay. You know that sound. Just listen to her heart.”

Frank has a good guess what that means - his theory about passing out from exhaustion and pain is probably correct. If your heart isn’t in crazy panic ‘I’m dying’ mode, you should be fine after a good night’s rest. 

The only problem they encounter in the climb up to your apartment is your door. They have to do a weird song-and-dance of Frank turning so Red can get into your purse to get keys while also making sure Minnie can’t see your face. He hasn’t gotten the chance to clean you up in any way and he’s not going to let any little girl see her mom like that if he can help it. 

Once they are inside the apartment, Frank goes right to the couch to lay you out. As he does, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna call Curt.” 

Just because you don’t need a hospital doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see a medical professional. Frank knows what he is doing, but he does not trust himself to stitch up your face. Someone with delicate hands needs to do that, and the best person he knows for that is Curt. 

Murdock, however, disagrees. 

“Call Claire,” he counters firmly. 

Frank knows better than to argue - this is Murdock’s family and Frank ain’t got a dog in this fight. So, once you are down, and his gear is dropped, he fishes out his phone to call the feisty nurse. As he does, Red starts back towards what Frank assumes is the bedroom, talking in a sweet tone to his little girl, “It's okay, Frank’s gonna clean Mommy up, then we can go see her. She’s just got a scrape, everything’s okay.”

Frank focuses on his task at hand - as the line rings, he raids the kitchen for washcloths, bowls, and paper towels. He’s on his way back to the couch when Claire finally answers.

“What did he do this time?”

A little smile forms on his lips at her bluntness - he’s always liked Claire and her no-nonsense attitude. 

“Ain’t him. His girl got mugged, hit her head pretty good,” he explains, as he dips a washcloth into the water to start on cleaning you up. The cut on your forehead is still bleeding, but only a little by this point. He’ll have to retrace their steps to wipe away any blood droplets, so they don't leave a trail right to your door.

“So, take her to the ER.”

He hums at the response, then adds the crucial element, “His little girl saw it all.”

The line is silent for a good five seconds before Claire is swearing, “I’m on my way. How bad are we talking?”

He feels a little for the nurse at the moment - she’s always having to deal with Red broken and battered and is probably thinking she’s going to have to do some sort of impromptu surgery. He gives a rundown on your injuries, then adds, “Your stitches are nicer than mine.” 

“Exactly what a lady wants to hear. How’s the kid?” 

“Physically ok, but probably going to have nightmares for a while,” is his honest reply. There wouldn’t be an attacker left to pick up in an ambulance if Minnie had gotten hurt - he would have made sure of that no matter what Red would have said.

Claire groans in response, “I don’t know anything about child psychology, Frank.” 

“No one’s expecting you to.”

The nurse may be a miracle worker in the eyes of Red’s little vigilante group, but no one in this world is qualified to deal with all their mental problems.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. You’re lucky I’m on this side of town already.” 

Claire hangs up on him and Franks stuffs his phone back into his pocket. He’ll need to call Mirco later to set up a camera on your building, something similar to what he’s got for Karen, and arrange for some background checks on the neighbors. The area seems to be working class just trying to get by, but isn’t that just all of the city now? Even if one drunk-off-his-ass guy just made some stupid decision, it put you and the kid in danger and that is a no-go in Frank’s book. As much Red will huff and puff and growl, his family falls under Frank’s sphere of protection and that isn’t something Frank skimps on. 

So, a full security upgrade is in your near future. 

But that is something he’ll figure out the details for later on. Right now, he puts his full attention in cleaning you up. 

The worst of it is the cut on your forehead. He folds a washcloth and sets it on the wound to help the remaining bleeding stop, then moves onto your cheeks. You’ve got some gravel stuck there, but he doesn’t see any glass or metal. There’s some bruising, but he doesn’t think it will be anything to fuss about - it will fade away within a day or so. He’s seen worse coloring on a hickey. The bastard who attacked you didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, or he was too sloshed out of his mind to be coordinated.

 Overall, you are just pretty banged up. 

But nonetheless, Frank takes care to make sure it just looks like you are resting, even putting the throw blanket left on the couch over you to hide the grime stains on your clothes. 

Red and his creepy bat ears must be listening, because as soon as he goes to dump the bloody cleaning water, he’s coming out of the bedroom with Minnie. She’s still in his arms, clinging to his neck like a koala, but her tears have stopped. She’s still sniffling, though.

Frank hangs back as the little girl is brought to her Mommy and his heart damn near breaks again when she starts talking. 

“She’s just sleeping?” 

“She’s just sleeping,” Red confirms. He carefully kneels down beside you and makes slow, exaggerated movements as he puts his hand over your heart. “You can feel, too. Just sleeping.”

He watches as the tiny little girl untangles herself from her father and stretches to put her hand next to his. She scrunches up her nose and gets a look Frank has seen a million times on Red. 

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

“Exactly, boom. Boom. boom. The same heart-noises Mommy makes when she sleeps.” 

They stay like that for a few seconds before little hands go up to your face and Minnie is examining your cuts.

“He hurt Mommy,” she says so softly that Frank wants to stomp back downstairs and unload his Glock into the asshole. “She has ouchies.” She turns so quickly in Red’s arm that Frank sees him jump just a little - probably still on high alert - and she slaps both her hands on his cheeks, “You have to kissy it better.”

Her voice is so serious and demanding, he’s surprised Red doesn’t instantly comply. Instead, he kisses his little one’s forehead. 

“A doctor is going to come and make sure all her ouchies are taken care of. Then we can kiss it better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Her curls bounce as the little girl whips around to address Frank, ordering in the same voice, “You have to kissy it better, too.”

He damn well knows better than to argue with a three year old girl - Lisa could put him in his place like no one's business - so Frank simply nods with a, “Yes, ma’am.” Red doesn't look thrilled at the agreement, but he's not the one who's opinion Frank cares about.

Her brown eyes sus him out, narrowing a fraction before he passes whatever criteria she has and Minnie turns back to her mother and father. “When is she gonna wake up?”

“She'll wake up when she's done resting,” Murdock gently advises. “She needs lots of rest right now.” 

Frank knows what question is coming before it is even asked. It is the universal toddler question. 

“Why?”

Red, it seems, needs to spend more time with his kid because he looks completely baffled by the question. He repeats the word, which just gets parroted back at him, and Frank can practically hear Lisa and Frankie chanting along with her. 

Why? 

Why? 

Why?

Why would you need lots of rest in a way a terrified toddler would get it? There's a slight hint of panic in Red’s sightless eyes as he fights to find an answer and Frank takes pity on him. 

He steps forward and asks the little girl, “Have you ever played really hard then needed a nap after?”

Attention swings back to him but this time he is prepared for it. Minnie considers his question, then nods, and Frank gives her a soft, friendly smile. “Same thing, sweetheart. Your Mommy’s body worked really hard and now she needs a nap.” 

“She needs a nap,” the baby replies and then, to his amusement, proceeds to stuff her fingers into her mouth and suck on them. He's got no idea what that means, but Red’s shoulders relax a fraction, so he assumes it's a good thing. 

He wonders if she's starting to get tired now that the action is over. He can't imagine why they were out in the first place, but he has to guess it was to get something from the store. That is his experience with bringing a baby in their pajamas out at night - there was something needed that couldn't wait until morning. That would also explain the black bag in your purse.

He looks to Red and his girl - Murdock has sat himself on the floor beside the couch, facing you, and Minnie is tucked in his lap, sucking her fingers still. Both of their focus seems to be on you. So, Frank lets curiosity get the better of him and he goes to snoop. 

There’s a bottle of Pedialyte nestled inside the bag, and by the tiny bit missing, he has a feeling he knows who it is for. He looks from it, over to the sweet child sitting in Red’s lap, and decides she probably still needs it if her mom went out in the middle of the night for it. So, he turns his snooping to the kitchen and opens and closes cabinets until he finds the one holding sippy cups. All of them have Braille labels on them and he briefly wonders what each says before grabbing one with Big Bird on it. He gives it a good rinse before filling it up halfway with the blue liquid.

He removes his tactical vest before he heads back to the living room. He thinks of it more of a sign for Red than Minnie. The little girl might be scared of the skull art, but he hopes it will help Murdock relax. He’s putting on a good face for his daughter, but Frank can see the tension in his jaw and how on edge and angry he must be, and he can’t be blamed. He knows how emotional Red can get and he’s surprised he’s managing to keep it together - so subtly letting him know ‘there’s no danger here’ and Frank isn’t a threat to his family might just get him to stop grinding his teeth. 

He approaches slowly and somewhat loudly, while holding out the sippy cup, “Here you go, sweetie.”

Minnie blinks up at him with those wide brown eyes and he can see the exhaustion starting to creep in - getting a bottle might just knock her out. He has to lean down so she can take it, but as soon as she does, her hand drops from her mouth and she politely mumbles, “Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” Murdock questions, nose twitching to try to figure out the smell. Frank doubts he’s familiar with the drink, but soon he’ll have it memorized.

“Blue Pedi-lyte,” the baby grumbles before the spout goes right into her mouth and she starts to nurse it. Almost instantly she starts leaning back against Red’s chest and Frank knows right away she’ll be asleep within minutes. 

He checks his phone as he goes to take a seat at the kitchen table. Claire should be here any minute and it's a toss up if Jones comes up or not. He’ll wait until everything is all settled to head out - he does want to make sure you are okay and he’s not going to leave Claire alone with an upset kid and her Dad-devil. 

Frank brings up his texts to Karen to start typing out that the op is a bust, when Murdock’s quiet voice interrupts his train of thought.

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Nothing to thank me for, Red. It’s your family. You don’t gotta explain that to me.”

“Still, thank you, Frank. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Murdock.”

---

a/n: frank has entered the chat and assumed Alpha Dad role. his family now.

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath 

 @allllium

@anehkael

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

[peterman-spideyparker]

Three Little Murdocks (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been sitting on this for a bit, but I just need to share it because I love happy Matt, but I think I love Dad!Matt more. Enjoy! :)

Summary: You and your daughters look at Matt like he's all the stars in the sky, and to Matt, you and the girls are his whole universe--and that universe is about to get another little planet.

Warnings: Fluff so sweet I might have created word cavities, flirting, Matt being happy daddy, pregnancy announcement, one swear

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 994

You swear, Matt’s super hearing is genetic. Every day when he comes home, the girls always seem to know before you do. Their little feet patter towards the door as they giggle and excitedly call for their father.

“Daddy!” they cheer as he walks through the door.

Bending down, a bright smile takes over his face, beautiful crinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes behind his red glasses. He holds onto them tightly, giving them kisses on the top of their heads.

“My little angels,” Matt breathes, giving them each another kiss on their foreheads. “I missed you both so much.”

“We missed you, too, daddy,” Felicity says, squeezing her father just as tightly as she has him wrapped around her little finger.

“You two aren’t the only ones that missed your father,” you chuckle as you walk over to the entryway. “Girls, can you put some silverware and napkins on the table for me, please?”

Felicity and Stella hug their father tightly once more before Felicity takes her little sister’s hand and they prance off to the kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” you smile as you wrap him in a hug of my own, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he hums, leaning in for another kiss.

“Busy day?” you ask as you run your fingers through his hair, massaging the pads of your fingers on his scalp, nails gently raking across the skin. Matt closes his eyes and lets out a hum as your fingers work to relieve tension from his body, nothing but bliss on his face as he basks in your embrace.

“That’s one way to say it,” he sighs. 

“Do you think you could take a night off from Deviling, tonight?”

He immediately beings to tense again. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Everything’s fine, Matty. I promise,” you assure, continuing to run your fingers through his fluffy hair to bring him back down. “I just think a night in might do you good. Relax and regroup, that’s all.”

“No ulterior motives, Mrs. Murdock?” he smirks as he brushes his nose against yours. After six years of marriage, he can still act like a horny idiot who just got married. 

You giggle as a blush rises to your cheeks. “Maybe only partially,” you admit. “Will you stay, Matty?”

“Of course. I’ll get more time with all of my girls.”

A big smile spreads across your lips, one that Matt almost instantly mirrors.

“Go take off your suit, get into something more cozy, and get your cute butt to the kitchen. The girls helped me make one of your favorites with dinner.”

“Gram’s Colcannon potatoes,” he smirks. “I could smell them from down the street.”

“Get to it, then—even if your butt does look fabulous in these slacks,” you smirk as you pat his butt.

Matt smiles big once more, capturing your lips with his once more as his arms wrap around your middle, making you lean back to offset his force. 

“Ew!” the girls groan from the kitchen.

Pulling back from the kiss, both Matt and your sigh at our girls’ reactions, and you know that the two of you get the same idea almost immediately. Turning to face your daughters, you both smirk before you chase them for hugs and kisses, giggles bubbling from all of your chests filling your house.

“You know, I really miss the loft, sometimes,” you sigh as you rest your head on Matt’s chest as you sit on the couch, the girls all tuckered out and tucked in. “There was just something about that place I loved so much.”

“I know what you mean, angel. But can you imagine us trying to raise Felicity and Stella there? Not enough space to contain all that energy,” he chuckles. “I mean, do you remember when Felicity started crawling? She was everywhere and trying to crawl on every surface that she could.”

“Hm, and I wonder where they get that from,” you tease, poking his bicep playfully. Matt immediately responds with a smile, leaning over to press kisses in your neck, making you giggle as goosebumps spread all over your body. “Hey, Matty?”

“Yeah?” he says, satisfied with the affectionate assault on your neck, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“I’m pregnant.”

You feel him shift from under you, moving to face your front better. 

“Seriously?” he beams, his hands subconsciously moving down your sides and over your stomach as if he’s trying to feel for the itty bitty baby that’s half you and half him.

“Seriously,” you confirm smiling back just as bright as he pulls you in for a kiss, laying your bodies down together on the sofa. 

“Wow,” he smiles, a slew of emotions flying across his expressive face within only a couple of seconds. “I . . . Wow.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it sooner,” you giggle. “I mean, you knew about Felicity and Stella before I did.”

“Honestly, me too,” he chuckles, and you can hear the rich emotion in his voice as his face is aglow with nothing but pure and utter joy. “I guess between the girls and the cases and Daredevil, my attention’s been a bit divided lately.”

“Or you’re just tired?” you tease. “Or better yet, you’re at ease and aren’t on edge, listening to every creak in the bricks.”

“Bricks don’t creak, sweetheart.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble tickling your lips and you snuggle down into him. “Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckles softly and he holds you close. “I’m just glad we don’t have to move this time.”

“But it does mean that you probably won’t get to have your at-home office anymore,” you say with a pout. “Sorry, hon.”

Matt leans forward, kissing your protruding lip, his face glowing and his eyes sparkling. “I think I’ll survive. I’ve got my girls, and now I’ve got a new little bean sprout to love. I couldn’t be better.”

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Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

[theblogwithoutfear]

karen page is so annoying in the show...is she better in the comics somehow or is she just like that

So I've actually wanted to talk about this forever, but I kept forgetting to make a post about it. Your ask is a perfect opportunity to write down all my thoughts. Brace yourself, because I have a lot to say. Sorry in advance lmao

I actually prefer Karen in the show. To be fair, I have not finished all the comics, but so far I think her TV counterpart is a lot better (I still like her a lot in the comics tho, don't get me wrong). The NMCU version of Karen Page also has a lot of Kirsten McDuffie (another comic book girlfriend) in her, which is great in my opinion.

A lot of people find her annoying, but to me it's her flaws that make her such a fantastic character. She isn't a caricature, stock-girlfriend character pulled from a box of tropes; she's a well-rounded individual, extremely realistic, a mirror of Matt Murdock, and a woman with real agency. Her actions have major consequences on the plot. In my opinion, a lot of superhero girlfriends (in comics, movies, TV, whatever) are written more like props than characters, and they don't have any agency or actual plot relevance. Which is why, when a lot of them die, their deaths feel so cheap and inconsequential. That's where fridging comes from. It's been a problem with superheroes since their very inception; and a problem in storytelling at large. So often in fiction, women are flat and unrealistic.

So to me, Karen's heavily-flawed character is refreshing. She is extremely impulsive; she's deeply intelligent, but makes such stupid decisions; she can be hypocritical, self-destructive, and petty. Sometimes she manipulates people, even unintentionally. She's very well-meaning, but constantly makes mistakes. And it's these mistakes that move the plot forward, and reveal important things about both her and Matt. Her actions have real consequences for the story, and she undertakes her own journey throughout the narrative. She is almost as much a protagonist as Matt is, in terms of her character development and growth.

For that matter, every one of the flaws that I listed are things that Matt does too. They are almost perfect mirrors of each other; people who are immensely concerned with justice and compassion, people who care for the truth, and people who want to make their city a better place. However, as they go about it, they stumble and make mistakes and endanger other people. They're hypocritical and contradictory and impulsive. They constantly have to call their own moralities into question, because they almost never live up to their high ideals.

(Also, as a side note, I think many of Karen's flaws—as with Matt's—come as a direct result of all the trauma she's been through: her mother's death, her brother's death, her alcoholism and drug addiction, her dad cutting her off, being framed for murder, almost getting murdered in prison, etc. So I think it's fair to give her some grace.)

But what makes both Karen and Matt so lovable, imo, is that they keep trying. No matter what mistakes they make, they get back up and try again. They do everything they can to atone for the blood on their hands.

I think also (and I'm not accusing you of this, just a certain subset of people in the fandom) that people are more willing to accept Matt's flaws than Karen's—because there's a lot of misogyny built into our society, and there's this ingrained idea that women have to be paragons of virtue. Women, both in fiction and in reality, tend to be put under a microscope and dissected, while men can get away with a lot more. So Matt and Karen have identical flaws, but only Karen gets hate for it, which makes me very sad.

It may be the writer in me, but imo flaws are what make a character—and a story—meaningful. A well-flawed character can take a ridiculous, implausible story and make it feel grounded and real and impactful. A well-flawed woman even more so. I love Karen for the same reason I love Jessica Jones and Wanda Maximoff; or, to go beyond Marvel, for the same reason I love Jo March and Katniss Everdeen and Miss Haversham and Katherina Molina. They all elevate their respective stories beyond the initial premise and plot. Flawed female characters are realistic and impactful, and therefore empowering.

Obviously, to each their own. Some people just find her annoying and don't like her personality, and that's fine. But for me, that's what makes her feel real, and that's why I love her.

[writingdumpster]

first impressions

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: none I think

summary: i wrote this purely bc i know matt murdock is excellent at meeting people’s mothers. after impressing your parents matt gets to thinking about his future.

word count: 1.6k

“I’m nervous.” You sat next to Matt in the restaurant he had chosen for the evening. It was fancy. There was a pianist in one corner of the room and linen tablecloths. It was nicer than the hole-in-the-wall joints that you and Matt usually preferred. He wanted to impress your parents though, so he had made a reservation at a swanky restaurant in midtown Manhattan. 

Matt was in his court suit and you had donned the blue silk dress he bought for your anniversary. It was by far your favorite dress. Beyond being a treasured gift, it fit you perfectly and the fabric always felt soft against your skin. Karen had helped Matt pick it out, but she had told you that all she did was describe the dresses and that he had completely ignored her opinions. She had strongly recommended a yellow dress but he had refused her suggestions, insisting you would like the one he picked better. Never having seen the yellow one, you knew he was right. If he picked it, you loved it. You would have him choose between options you put out when you got dressed in the mornings by describing them to him and he always had you match his tie to the rest of his outfit. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Matt said and kissed your temple. 

“I only ever introduced Caleb to my parents,” you told him, not that you hadn’t said it before. Matt knew that Caleb was not someone you had pleasant memories of. He had heard the stories from you and he was the one who helped you get over many of the fears that Caleb had struck into you. Matt was remembering those stories while he heard in your heartbeat how nervous you were. 

“You know I’m not like Caleb,” Matt reminded you. 

“I know, Matt. I just…this is a big deal for me,” you said. 

“It’s a big deal for me too, sweetheart,” Matt told you. “It’s just an exciting big deal for me.” You inhaled deeply. Matt smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Moms always like me, angel. It’ll be great,” he assured you. 

“All women like you,” you said. Matt laughed lightly. 

“Then that will include your mom, won’t it?” He asked rhetorically. He gave you a light peck as he tangled his fingers with yours beneath the table. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed. You sighed. 

“You’re right. I know they’re going to love you. I just…” You hesitated. 

“Caleb was a mistake and you think it’s bad luck,” Matt said, always knowing what you were thinking. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. 

“This isn’t a mistake, sweetheart. I promise. It’s just the next step,” he told you. You nodded and Matt gave your hand a squeeze. You looked up at the doorway to the restaurant. 

“They’re here,” you said. You rose from the table and greeted your mom and dad with hugs. Matt was standing by your side with a charming smile across his face. 

“Hello, Mrs. y/l/n,” Matt greeted with a smile. Your mom held her arms out to Matt and pulled him into a hug. He returned it kindly.  

“Oh, please, call me y/m/n,” your mom said. “Y/N has told us so much about you. I think we can be on a first name basis,” your mom said. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as your mom told Matt how you spoke about him. Matt simply turned to you and smiled. He loved that you told your parents about him. He wished he could tell his dad all about you. Your father held out his hand for Matt to shake. Matt stayed still, not wanting to give up his powers. You took Matt’s hand and pulled it to where your father’s hand was waiting. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” your dad said in embarrassment as he shook Matt’s hand. Matt chuckled lightly. 

“That’s alright, sir. Took y/n months to stop answering me with nods,” Matt joked. 

“It was not months,” you said sharply. 

“You still do it sometimes,” Matt teased. You pursed your lips, biting back the comment about how you knew he could tell. The four of you sat down, Matt pulling out your mother’s chair for her before doing the same for you and taking his seat.

Matt was right about mothers loving him. He charmed your mom with his dry sense of humor and enchanting smile. He won your dad’s approval when he mentioned he owned his own law firm. Your father didn’t need to know that Nelson and Murdock was nearly always on the edge of bankruptcy. Your parents told Matt stories about you from your childhood, despite your protests that they were too embarrassing. Matt loved the stories. All he could do was smile at you. The night was perfect. Matt was perfect. Your father refused Matt’s attempt to pay for the meal before the four of you left. You said your goodbyes in front of the restaurant before getting into different cabs and going back home. Matt’s hand was resting innocently on your leg while the two of you sat in the back of the cab. 

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Matt teased you. You rolled your eyes. 

“Yes, you were right, Murdock,” you agreed. Matt chuckled. 

“Doesn’t happen that often. I have to brag when it does,” he said. The cab pulled up outside of your apartment and the two of you got out. You made your way up the stairs and walked through the sliding door. The glow of the billboard outside of your window was blue. A new advertiser had taken over a few weeks earlier and the red light that usually filled the room had been replaced with a blue light, making it seem like your apartment was bathed in moonlight. You were looking through the mail that you had collected on your way up. 

You realized you didn’t know where Matt went when music started playing. You smiled to yourself as you tossed away the junk mail. Suddenly you felt hands on your hips as Matt pulled you away from the counter. He spun you around and moved one of his hands to the small of your back. The other went to cup your hand in his. You giggled before moving to wrap your free arm around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck as the two of you began swaying back and forth. Matt loosened his hold on your waist and moved to let you spin beneath his arm before pulling you back into his body and dipping you. 

When Matt pulled you back upright you leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. Matt smiled against your lips. You stared into his eyes when you leaned away. His eyes were so beautiful. You never cared that his eyes didn’t see you the way yours saw him. He saw you in so many other ways. 

“You really impressed them,” you said as you leaned closer to Matt, tucking your head against his neck.

“I told you moms like me,” Matt said. 

“My dad liked you too though,” you said. 

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “We just can’t let him visit my office. He won’t be impressed anymore.” You chuckled. 

“I certainly hope he won’t ever need a lawyer,” you said. 

“If you hadn’t needed a lawyer we never would have met,” Matt reminded you. 

“Yes, and that worked out very well,” you agreed. “But when we tell our kids how we met I think we should make something up.” Matt beamed. 

“Our kids?” He asked. Your heart dropped for a moment and your face went blank. 

“I mean, umm…” You started stuttering. 

“We’ll have to get married first,” Matt interjected before you could start backpedaling. Your panic turned to excitement. You grinned. 

“You obviously have my parents' approval now,” you said. Matt smiled. 

“And you’ve certainly gotten Foggy’s approval,” Matt replied. 

“Foggy likes me better than you,” you said with a laugh. 

“Yes, I know,” Matt said flatly. “He’s very clear about that.” You held back your giggles. 

“If you came into the office with cookies instead of bruises like me he might like you more,” you joked.

“I do bring in cookies,” he grumbled. 

“Yes, but Foggy knows I made them,” you said. Matt sighed. 

“He wouldn’t like me at all if I brought in cookies that I made,” he said. You giggled at the memory of Matt trying to make your birthday cake and causing the building to evacuate after setting off the smoke alarm. 

“When we have kids I bet he’ll like them better than both of us,” you said. Matt smiled. 

“That’s alright. We can use him as a babysitter that way,” he said. 

“Maybe if Karen’s there too,” you said. Matt chuckled. 

“You don’t trust Foggy with our kids?” He asked. 

“Matty, you have told me far too many stories about you dragging Foggy back to your dorm after a frat party for me to trust Foggy with our kids,” you said. “He will most certainly let one of them do something stupid.” 

“And you think I won’t?” Matt asked. 

“You won’t let them do something stupid, you’ll do it for them,” you said. Matt spun you around in his arms once more as the song came to an end. He kissed your forehead when he pulled you back against him.  Matt’s heart was full at the way the two of you were so casually talking about your kids. He hoped it wouldn’t be long till they were real. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t want to wait for it anymore. There wasn’t anything stopping him now.

“You want to go ring shopping tomorrow?”

[messyyythoughts]

black and red, part 2.

marvel Matt Murdock + female ballet dancer reader

summary: Matt is running out of time to find the ballerina and her friend. warnings: swearing, character death :(

part 1

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the cold metal of the bracelet reminded Matt that the ballerina was out there still, waiting for him, praying maybe. he tucked the bracelet into his pocket, he’d give it back to her himself when he found her, and her friend. the tunnels were becoming a hard to decipher jumble of voices, footsteps and occasionally search dogs barking. each new sound layered atop the last, making an ever growing pressure build in Matt’s head, something he didn’t need. still, he pressed on.

the sound of running water finally hit Matt’s ears as he kept creeping further into the tunnel system, losing hope and determination with each step. the scent of the ballerina’s perfume had become dampened by the cold air and the stench of what Matt could only hope was sewage, not bodies of enemies of the gang. as he got closer to the running water sound, his foot stepped on something soft. he immediately bent down, hands landing on something wet and furry. his hands recoiled, believing he’d just fondled a drowned animal, but then he caught that smell. the ballerina’s perfume was all over that furry object, and Matt suddenly knew exactly what he was faced with. her favourite fur coat that she’d bought for herself after her first successful show.

Matt picked it up, it was soaking, and now reeked of dirty sewage water. still, there was a tang of something in the air, a more subtle metallic smell... blood. Matt’s hands desperately clutched on the material, and he found patches of recently lost blood on the sides of the fur coat, much to his weakening resolve. still, he left the coat there, now ruined by the water, and carried on. all he could think about was where those blood patches could’ve originated from, was it her side, her arms, her hands? who’d hurt her? was she getting away, was she already back at his apartment crying for him?

he wished he knew.

the tunnel came to an end. why did it abruptly end here? Matt could sense a change in the space before him, there was a tall object attached to the wall, his hands landed on a ladder. it was old, rusted, creaky. the texture on his gloves was awful, let alone bare skin, he thought. there were no traces of blood on the ladder rungs as far as he could sense, as he made his way up in a hurry. he was rushing so bad that he didn’t stop to take in the surroundings ahead of him. just before his head would’ve surfaced into an above ground building, he paused. the lightest sound of footsteps above him. his heart pumped faster, and he backed down a few steps.

the manhole above was wrenched open and he was hauled upwards, thrown onto concrete and surrounded. guns cocked and clicked, Matt put his hands behind his head and grit his jaw together. he’d walked right into whatever this was, like an idiot. an unprepared, unfocused idiot. what a rookie mistake. as Matt’s self-inflicted insults ran through his head, the men around him shifted as another person entered the room.

“so good of you to finally make an appearance,” the voice was one he’d never heard before in his life, “I don’t know what to call you, so masked man will do.” the voice added quietly, before taking a deep breath to project their voice. “well, it seems we’re at a bit of a crossroads, I have something you want, you have something I want. see what I’m getting at?” Matt stayed silent, only breathing filled the room. “the silent treatment, right, okay.” the voice made an exasperated sigh, and footsteps echoed around the room. “let’s show you instead then, hmm?” the voice was then joined by sets of footsteps, and Matt immediately recognised the ones he’d been listening for all night.

the ballerina was being manhandled into the room alongside her friend, who looked much worse for wear. Matt could instantly sense the fear running through both of the girls, and it made him desperate to get out of here as quick as he could, but a survey of the room gave Matt a rough headcount of twenty men armed with various weapons, not to mention the ones upstairs and the owner of the voice. “now, whether or not you can see through that ridiculous mask of yours, I’m certain you know who stands before you at gunpoint.” Matt froze, suddenly realising the odds of this ending in an acceptable way. “oh, I do believe he’s realised how fucked he is!” there was a stark silence save for the laughter of that voice. it must be the leader’s voice, since no one else dared to speak.

“let the girls go and take me.” Matt said, breaking the laughter of the voice short. a tension settled over the room. Matt got the idea that no one had ever interrupted the maniacal laughter before, and he’d just been the first. “I know you want nothing to do with them, you want me, don’t you?” Matt continued. the voice had gone silent.

“wrong.” the sound of a gun being loaded filled the room. “I want everyone in this room right where they are.” the voice had a very unhinged tone to it now, and Matt sensed that things were about to go bad, quickly.

“you’re a freak, you know that?” a new voice hit Matt’s ears. he realised it was the ballerina’s friend. 

“don’t–” the ballerina hissed, but her friend had reached breaking point.

“you keep us here for no reason, laugh at everything you say, but you’re just a sad, lonely freak who has nothing better to do with his time. how shit do you have to be at your job to be demoted to kidnapping girls, ballerinas at that? I hope your boss has your name written down in a little black book with three strikes through it because you’re useless, you know that?” the voice broke out into laughter again, and Matt waited in absolute tense suspense. “what? is that all you can do, laugh at me? you’re pathetic–”

“oh, you were a funny one.” the gun clicked and a shot rang out, followed by a thump, then a scream. the voice was laughing again, harder this time, and Matt was having trouble registering what had just happened. the men around Matt shifted uncomfortably, obviously not expecting that either. Matt was guessing that it hadn’t been part of the plan. screams filled the room, the building, as the ballerina dropped to the floor to cradle her friend’s body. Matt listened out for the friend’s breath, heartbeat, anything but there was nothing. other than the racing heartbeats of everyone else in the room. “now, onto the main event.” the voice had stopped laughing and was now focused, serious.

a rustle of clothing and the sound of pages flipping, the echoing cries of the ballerina. Matt was losing time to figure out an escape, yet he couldn’t do anything from the position he was in, outnumbered twenty something to one.

think, Murdock, think.

“what are you doing–” the ballerina sobbed as movement sounded from her direction. she was being dragged up from her friend’s body and made to stand up straight.

“hold on a moment, I’m reading.” the voice snapped, before clearing his throat. what he said next was not what Matt expected, or the ballerina, but it changed everything. “longing,” the word was in Russian, and more followed, “rusted, seventeen,” Matt heard the slowing of the ballerina’s heartbeat, “daybreak, furnace,” the voice got more and more dramatic with each word he spoke, “nine, benign,” Matt didn’t understand what was going on, but it scared him, “homecoming. one. freight car.” the voice went silent, only heavy breathing remained. “now, my little ballerina, are you ready to comply?”

“ready to comply.” the ballerina replied in Russian.

“execute the masked man.” the voice ordered, excitement evident in his tone. Matt listened as the ballerina approached, taking long striding steps.

“wait–” Matt got out before the ballerina had him by the throat. Matt’s hands went to hers, and held her back, but she was fighting him. where had this strength come from? Matt was astounded, but also confused. why had those words changed the ballerina? why was she now acting on the voice’s orders without question? Matt could sense a change in the ballerina’s demeanour, but it was something deeper, something in her mind that she had no control over. she would never harm someone else, not unless her own life was on the line, even then she was scared to hurt others because she’d get into trouble. now, that sweet girl was gone, and left behind was something entirely different.

“I said execute him, girl.” the voice sounded from behind the ballerina, which spurred her to latch her hands onto Matt’s throat again and start squeezing. “yes, yes, do it!” the voice was overjoyed at what it was witnessing, but the ballerina was still not outright killing Matt as expected.

“listen to me, he’s done something to you, this isn’t you at all. you don’t hurt people, that isn’t who you are, why are you listening to him?” the ballerina’s hold remained firm, but Matt still fought to speak to her. “remember when I came to you on that rooftop the first time about your case? then when the case was finished you danced, and I danced with you? remember that?” Matt was wasting valuable oxygen, but he found that he didn’t care. he’d do anything to get the ballerina back, even if it killed him.

“what are you waiting for, ballerina? kill him!” the voice demanded.

“don’t listen to him, you never listen to bad men, not like him. you remember him, don’t you? don’t make me say his name, I don’t want to do that to you but if I can’t get you back–” the ballerina knelt down to Matt’s level, staring at him through the mask. “I’m sorry for this.” Matt then spoke the full name of the ballerina’s abusive ex-boyfriend who’d made her life a living Hell in and out of court. he was gone now, but still existed in the ballerina’s memories and nightmares. Matt felt the change happen from inside of her, first her heart, then her head, then the rest of her body followed suit. she began panicking again, rather than being stone cold serious.

“oh my god.” she said, looking around the room, her eyes landing on her dead friend once again. “what did you do to her?” she asked, voice shaking as she went to her knees halfway between Matt and her friend’s body. “what did you do!” she demanded, in a way that Matt had never quite heard before.

“why are you talking?” the voice asked, sounding as confused as Matt felt. “why isn’t it working? what did you say to her?” the voice made a path for Matt, but was abruptly stopped. the ballerina had grabbed the voice’s leg on his way past and held him there.

“I asked you a question.” she stood up, iron grip on the voice’s clothing, before slamming the voice back into a column of bricks. “what have you done?” she repeated, voice broken but body rigid. Matt started to get a sense of the situation, and got himself ready for a fight, because one was coming soon.

“I woke you up, you oblivious little bitch.” the voice started laughing, but was cut off as the ballerina slammed him into the floor, about to land a deadly blow when the nearby armed men jumped in. one dove at the ballerina, but she simply rolled and threw him off, getting back up to her feet without so much as a side glance. Matt swung out his leg, taking out some of the armed men, but not all of them. he ducked as bullets started flying, no longer questioning the ballerina’s persona change. if she could fight now that was only an improvement in this situation, and Matt wasn’t complaining about it.

the ballerina took on as many men as she could, evading their clumsy attacks and flooring them at each turn. she disarmed them easily, throwing unloaded pistols aside and emptying the clips into the bodies of her attackers. she even swung up on one’s shoulders using her legs alone, breaking the man’s neck and letting him fall to the floor. she had not a scratch on her, and any blood that landed on her was not her own. Matt was doing well on his side of the room too, knocking out men with his kicks and slamming them into walls. by luck neither Matt or the ballerina had caught a stray bullet, and it was when they realised this that the room was empty of conscious or living people.

the owner of the voice had fled, that much was evident, leaving behind twenty-ish dead or beaten men and one dead ballerina. Matt kicked in the head of one last attacker, silencing him, before turning in the direction of the ballerina. she was knelt over her friend’s body again, tears running but no audible sobs. the ballerina smoothed the hair out of her friend’s face, smiling sadly. the single gunshot to her chest had killed her instantly, at least she hadn’t suffered, but she was still dead.

Matt slowly came to the ballerina’s side, unsure of what state she was in now. she’d just fought off grown gang members with loaded weapons like it was just another day, when before she wouldn’t have dared look at someone the wrong way.

“I got her killed, he wanted me, not her.” the ballerina said with a small voice. Matt immediately recognised the ballerina that he had first met.

“he shot her, it’s his fault. I’ll find him, but we need to go.” Matt was knelt down next to the ballerina, and could sense the presence of the body right before him. it was a horrible feeling, being in the presence of the recently departed. it was like there was a black hole in the room, drawing in all of the warmth and love and leaving nothing there in turn. not that there was any warmth or love in this godforsaken abandoned building in the first place, but the ballerina’s heart was obviously breaking. “we’ll take her to the city coroner.” Matt said, reaching out to pick up the body, which was cold. the poor girl had lived her last few moments making a stand for her life, but she’d endured barbaric treatment from the gang, been shivering in the cold and probably wishing for a way out in her last few days.

yet, Matt was relieved that it wasn’t his ballerina’s body he was carrying.

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the ballerina burst back into Matt’s apartment, despite it being early morning. she was desperate to tell him about what the fuck had just happened, but found the place empty. she cried her heart out at being alone, and she thought about her now dead friend each time she closed her eyes. the ballerina cried herself to exhaustion, and eventually sleep, though it was fitful and cruel. she had fallen asleep on the couch, but woke up in Matt’s bed. she opened her aching, swollen eyes to see Matt in the kitchen. she rolled over, trying to dispel the mean headache that had formed overnight, and sighed when it only got worse.

Matt then appeared at the doorway, holding a tea and breakfast.

“where were you last night when I came in?” the ballerina demanded, sitting up and squinting at the bright New York light coming in through the windows.

“I was out looking for you, you did go missing last night, remember?” Matt replied sternly. “that was dangerous, you realise that, right? we’re lucky you came back on your own.” he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the ballerina’s response.

“you have no idea what happened, do you?” the ballerina asked, voice deadly quiet. she’d changed, Matt noted. “I had to abandon my best friend’s body at the city coroner with the help of the masked man, because some fucking depraved gang leader shot her, when what he really wanted was me.” the ballerina’s voice was laced with hate, unmistakable seething hatred. “he killed her, then... brainwashed me with Russian words. I almost hurt the masked man under orders to execute him. then I snapped out of it and started fighting people who had guns pointed at me. none of it makes any sense, nothing.” the ballerina was exhausted still, Matt could sense it.

“I’m sorry,” Matt’s hand covered the ballerina’s, “about your friend, the gang, all of it.” Matt’s heart screamed for the ballerina, he could sense her pain. “we’ll open a case at Nelson and Murdock–”

“no.” Matt stopped talking, but he was relieved that the ballerina was opposed to opening a case, going to the police. “no, this isn’t something you deal with in the courts. this is... different.”

“what do you want to do?” Matt asked, a simple question, but a million possible answers. he knew exactly what the ballerina was about to say.

“right now? sleep for a hundred years. after that? kill that man.” Matt turned towards the ballerina, both of his hands taking hers and holding them. he had to put on an act, he had to try and discourage her, but he so badly wanted to just come out and say he’d help her no matter what.

“that’s not possible, I’m sorry, but you’re putting yourself in too much danger.” the ballerina leant forward and challenged Matt.

“I think I can handle it, ask the masked man.” Matt had to hold back a smile, because he knew exactly what she was referring to, yet he had to hide it. instead, he shook his head. “whatever that brainwashing thing was, it made me able to fight, and I mean fight. I just need the masked man to help me find this psycho so I can kill him.” the ballerina had never been so determined before, not even before a new show where she was performing as the lead for the first time on opening night.

Matt lowered his head, feigning defeat.

“if I call him, and he says no, that’s it.” the ballerina squeezed Matt’s hands.

“I think we both know he won’t say no.”

and she was right, because Matt was already planning his next nighttime venture.

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messyyythoughts © 2022 do not translate without my permission, give credit if you repost, support always welcomed <3

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Lifeline

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: When Matt starts to shut down, your stubbornness saves him.

warnings: swearing, angst, panic attack description, pining buffoons, pre-relationship, Matt's mental illness and fear of abandonment

a/n: This is a short birthday fic for the wonderful @abucketofweird who wanted a fic similar to Renegade with Best Friends to Lovers. I hope you enjoy, my dear! 🥳🥰❤️

I know it's short and pre-relationship but there is plenty of angsty Matt! (Also, yes she calls him a million nicknames, but they're not ~explicitly~ together in this). Please let me know if y'all are tired of seeing me write crying!angsty!Matt because I know I write that a lot.

w/c: ~4k

Matt could still remember the day that the Devil had first emerged. It was before his accident, after witnessing a group of teens bully his elementary school classmate on her way home from school. Years of seeing his dad throw hits and his own unwavering moral compass had forged a new being within his own; his rage overtaking his consciousness, forming shaky fists and a flower across his face. 

At the time, he hadn’t known how to fight properly and had gotten his ass kicked. A few decades had passed and, though his ability had grown, his rage had stayed the same. 

Fury was a useful tool, most of the time. Allowing him to push through discomfort and injury until he’d taken down whatever evildoer he’d gone after that day. It was his wrath that kept him going, but it was also his biggest inhibition. 

The desire to beat powerful criminals bloody was overpowering. His gut boiled with anger anytime he heard someone crying for help, knowing that, more than likely, the only thing sparing them from that cruel fate was him—a blind Catholic with a chip on his shoulder and lacking self preservation skills. 

It was his rage that caused tunnel vision. Which in turn caused sleep deprivation, which led to more injuries. The cycle didn’t end there though, at least not recently. His tendency to prioritize his alter ego over his own health wasn’t something that could be solved by a simple nap these days. Not when he had people worrying about him, and when his efforts to meditate or find another outlet for his emotions remained futile. 

More injuries meant it was more difficult to hide them. A bullet wound in his stomach, a sprained ankle, these were more noticeable to his coworkers, to you. While you were eternally patient and understanding about his double life, his business partners were not. He tried his best to ignore Karen’s gasps and Foggy’s pointed stares every time he limped into the office or winced while pouring his coffee. Despite his efforts, it always aggravated him, fueling his rage and thus perpetuating the cycle further. 

This week, Foggy had snapped. Yelling at Matt for putting himself in danger, for jeopardizing their recent case—they’d had to postpone a meeting with the prosecution given the state of Matt’s face—and their firm. In return, Matt had lashed out. Screaming about the greater good and Foggy not trusting him. It quickly became an all out brawl, both men hurling insults at the other despite Karen warning them that they were going too far. But her intervention came too late. 

“You claim to be so worried about people leaving but I don’t see how that’s fucking possible when you try so hard to scare us off, Murdock. Guess what!? It’s working!” Foggy snapped, throwing his hands in the air with a huff. 

Logically, Matt knew Foggy didn’t mean that—at least not in the way Matt heard it—but his throat felt swollen anyway. His heart pounded, the argument sitting on his tongue dissolving as his mouth grew increasingly dry. Loosening his tie, Matt stalked to his office to gather his things. 

“You know what, I think I’ll work at home for a few days.” He spoke stiffly, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

“Matt,” Karen took a step towards him but he refuses to acknowledge her placating tone. 

“I’ll see you in court next week. I’ll drop off my opening argument tomorrow night.” Without waiting for their responses, he retreated to his apartment. 

With every step along the damp Manhattan sidewalk, his irritation grew. His brain was flickering back and forth between despair and indignation, his hands itching to hit something. Tonight would be productive, that much was clear. 

Though he usually waited until the late hours of the evening to go out as Daredevil, his argument with Foggy had ignited an impatient buzzing beneath his skin—his muscles clenching and anger bubbling until he caved to the Devil. It was risky, dashing from roof to roof in his suit at dusk, but his patience had worn out hours ago. 

The night felt endless, yet it was over far too soon. He raced through the streets, taking down thug after thug, until a serrated blade caught him off guard. With a jagged rip across his thigh, he made for his apartment—planning to crudely stitch the wound before finishing what he’d started. 

As he approached his loft, his ears locked on to a familiar heartbeat, its pattering mulling about his place as he grew closer. Foggy had sent in reinforcements, he supposed, though he wasn’t thrilled about it. 

Opening the rooftop door, Matt stomped down the stairs, hurling pieces of his suit across the space as he ripped them from his overheated body. Pretending not to care about the spike in your heartbeat, courtesy of his pounding steps, he tore the mask from his face, setting it beside the sink before filling a glass with water. 

Fidgeting with your sleeve, you approached him slowly, saying nothing as he downed a glass of lukewarm water before jutting his chin at you. 

“Say what you’re going to say, then leave.” His voice was harsh and deep, the Devil still fully in control. 

You inhaled slowly, not scared of his current state, but clearly unhappy all the same. “What makes you think I have something to say?” 

Matt bit back a scoff. “Foggy sent you, which means you’re on his side and are here to tell me off.” 

“On his side…Christ, Murdock.” You were a few paces in front of him, just behind the counter, your clothes rustling as you crossed your arms in frustration. 

“Why else would you be here?” Matt stormed around you and into his bathroom, unbuckling the bottom half to sew himself up. If anyone else had been here, he might have been more worried about modesty, but you’d seen him in more compromising positions than this over the years. 

Gritting your teeth as you trudged after him, your arms remained folded against your chest. “Because I care about you, asshole. Karen told me what Foggy said. I was worried.” 

Your heart thumped steadily with your honest admission, eliciting a pang of guilt deep in Matt’s subconscious. He remained silent, rubbing a damp cloth over his wound to clean it up before he attempted suturing it. At his lack of response, you scoffed, “Don’t know why I was so worried. You’re clearly taking it very well.” 

Spinning to face you, his lips curled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means exactly what you think it means, Matt.” You snapped back at him, regretting it when his jaw twitched in response. Sighing, your voice softened. “You are so strong, and I know that Foggy and Karen give you a hard time but they’re not entirely wrong. It’s ok to ask for help.” 

“I don’t need their help.” Matt muttered, leaning against the cold porcelain sink in the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” 

“No one is saying that you’re not.” You tried to reason, but he refused to listen. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Foggy was saying, actually. How would you even know? It’s not like you were there.” He bit out, resentment prickling through his words. 

Ouch. He was right. You weren’t there. Because you’d taken a new job across the city. And he clearly was still not ok with that fact. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” You spoke gravely, brushing away a smudge of dirt on his cheek with your thumb. He tensed under your touch, but didn’t flinch away. “But you know that I don’t agree with what Fog said, right? Regardless of whether he meant it, it was wrong for him to imply—“

Shoving your hand from his face, his lips formed a scowl once again. “What? That it’s my fault? That people leave because I make them? Maybe he’s right.” 

“Matt, that’s not true. You know—“

“Don’t tell me what I know!” He roared pressing into your personal space, eyes blazing with fury. 

Breathing evenly, you shifted your weight away from him. Not flinching out of fear, just a natural reaction to his behavior, yet the movement still stung. Retreating from you, he picked up the cloth and refocused on the gash across his thigh. 

“Go home,” He spoke your name coldly. This wasn’t a question, it was an order. 

“Matt—“ You started but he glared at you. 

“Go.”

You nodded, pacing back into the living room to grab your purse from the couch. “Call me if you need anything, Matty. I’ll be around.” You spoke softly, your soft footsteps fading as you left his loft. 

Biting back an irritated snarl, Matt tread into the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey. Taking a full swig, he pushed his guilt and pain aside and picked up a needle. 

Burying your face in the collar of your jacket, you scrunched your nose as a particularly fierce gust of wind smacked you. Soldiering forward, you sped down the street towards the dimly lit building you were aiming for. 

It might be a mistake to return to Matt’s loft, but you couldn’t leave him there alone when he was so distraught. At least, not in good conscience. 

You respected his request for space, absolutely—taking time to return to your own apartment and retrieve his worn Columbia sweater, which you’d stolen a few weeks ago and simply not given back. It was soft and oversized, for you at least, making it ridiculously comfortable. But it was clear Matt needed that comfort more than you did right now. 

After tucking the garment in your bag carefully, you headed back out into the blustery evening to pick up a large order of food from Matt’s favorite Italian place. 

If he still didn’t want you there upon your return, so be it. But the man wouldn’t go cold or hungry on your watch, dammit. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him to take care of himself, you just recognized that self-preservation wasn’t a priority for him when he was…like this. Brooding. Angry. 

In the decade and a half you’d known him, you had started to piece together Matt’s various moods and this was a common one. His heightened senses igniting something inside him that pulled him into fights all around the city. You couldn’t imagine the pain he felt hearing innocent civilians in trouble constantly. But eventually, he’d stop restraining himself. Sleep less. Eat less. Go to work, go out as Daredevil, and do it all again the next day—even when he was a jumble of exhaustion and bruises. 

In these moments, he was no longer your beloved Matthew Murdock. He was a candle, with a burning wick and a torch at his base. The wax slowly melting away, until his sanity was nothing but a distant memory. 

This was something you’d seen a handful of times when working with him and Foggy, even back when you three were just interns at Landman and Zack. It was the thing about Matt that you and Foggy argued about most these days. 

See, Foggy believed the solution to these episodes was to remove Daredevil from the equation altogether. You couldn’t necessarily blame the blond for thinking that, given how Matt’s vigilante antics impacted his work and his ability to be a good friend. 

Despite understanding Foggy’s concerns, your faith in Matt didn’t hinge on his nighttime activities. These periods of great stress were a sign that Matt needed support. Not an indication that he was no longer able to lead a double life. 

While the average person might snap or cry when they were overwhelmed, Matt would force himself to take more on. You assumed this was a symptom of the manipulation he’d endured during his youth. 

Matt hadn’t disclosed much about his childhood mentor, but you knew that he’d been encouraged to work through periods of distress, simply bottling up his feelings in order to ensure productivity. Given that he’d never had those beliefs challenged until well into adulthood, it was second nature for him to add more to his plate until he couldn’t anymore—whether that was because someone forced him to rest, or he was literally comatose. 

He’d confessed to you once—on another night like tonight when he was so tired of fighting everyone that he caved to your questioning—that rest wasn’t something that came easily to him. It was almost an enemy, in his mind, preventing him from helping as many people as he could. Resting meant he was a failure, and failing meant people would leave. 

This conversation lived in the back of your mind every time the dark haired man frustrated you. Every sleepless night spent pulling your hair out while you waited for him to text you that he was alive, every morning spent patching him up in the conference room because the walk to work had pulled his stitches out. Each and every time Matt’s other identity impacted your life, you reminded yourself that, in his mind, he didn’t have a choice. 

This time was no different. 

Though it probably didn’t help that Foggy had insinuated that he was thinking of leaving Matt. Not when Matt’s subconscious was desperately trying to pretend his life was balanced to keep everyone happy. Which is why you allowed yourself to be more stubborn than usual this dreadful evening, worming your way back into Matt’s home so he knew that he wasn’t in danger of being alone. 

Removing one ungloved hand from the safety of your fleece lined pocket, you yanked open the door to the restaurant, smiling softly at the hostess as her eyes met yours. 

“I have an order for pick up?” Giving her your name, you curled both hands back into your pockets, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you waited, somewhat impatiently, for your food. 

After what felt like an hour, the hostess handed you two bags stacked with containers, grimacing apologetically. “Sorry about the wait!”

“Not a problem!” You shrugged, grabbing the bags. “Thank you!!”

Dashing around the crowd forming behind you, your feet carried you the few remaining blocks to Matt’s building. Treading up the stairs slowly, you panted, taking a moment to breathe before making it to his door. 

Here goes nothing. 

You bypassed waiting for Matt to open the door, instead choosing to knock gingerly and use your spare key to unlock the door. 

“Matty?” You called softly, receiving no answer. 

Inhaling deeply, hoping you weren’t about to irreparably damage your relationship with Matt, you stepped over the threshold and into his space. Shuffling around the corner at the end of the hallway, you peeked into the loft, scanning it for any indication of your overworked friend—but there was no sign of him. No obvious one, at least. 

As you blocked out the muffled sounds of the city that had managed to penetrate the walls of the loft, your ears picked up a hushed sound from somewhere in the kitchen. A rapid whooshing—like panting, or choking. 

Rushing around the counter, your eyes widened in shock as you found Matt curled against the dark wooden cabinets. He was seated, but hunched over his knees, his hands tightly wrapped around his shins to keep his body in the position as he rocked back and forth. There was a jaggedly stitched line along his thigh, surrounded by mottled skin and goosebumps. Given his lack of clothing—he was only wearing his boxers—and the frigid temperature in the room, the poor man was shaking violently. A combination of his harsh breathing and his low body temperature, you assumed. 

As your presence became more noticeable, Matt tilted his head up, chin wobbling, eyes frantic and shining. Calling your name shakily, his weak plea almost made your own eyes well up. 

Crouching before him, you set the bags in your grasp aside, opening your palms to him. “It’s me, sweetheart. I’m right here. What happened?”

“D-don’t know. Can’t breathe.” Matt choked around the words, leaning towards you as you scrambled closer. 

“Can I touch—“ You asked, hesitant to take any major steps without explicit permission. 

“Yes. Please,” He sobbed, collapsing against your chest as your arms opened. 

“It’s ok. You’re ok, sweet boy.” You rubbed a hand over his back in a circular motion, using your free hand to guide one of his palms to your chest. “Feel my breathing?” 

Matt nodded against your chest, nails digging into your shoulder blade as he tried to get his breathing under control. 

“That’s my guy. Doing so good for me, handsome.” You praised softly, tracing your hand up his back and into his hair in the way you knew he loved. “That’s it, nice even breaths.” 

Unwinding your body from its squatted position, you sat on the cold floor, spreading your legs to allow Matt to fall into your lap. Perched across your thighs, Matt’s slowly stopped heaving. He was still covered in goosebumps and bruises, but his probable panic attack had been avoided for now. 

“There we go. Good job, honey. Feel a bit better?” You scratched diligently at Matt’s scalp, his skull knocking against your fingers with a nod. 

“Yes. Thank you.” He murmured, hot breath hitting your collar bone, a contrast to his icy skin. 

“Ok, sweets. Are you cold?” 

Another nod, making your lips twitch with a tiny smile. “Yah, stupid question. Here, put this on.” 

Pulling your bag over to you, you yanked out the sweater and handed it to him, mourning the loss of contact as he sat up to slip it on. After his chest was covered, his brow furrowed, a hand coming up to trace the text on the front of the hoodie. “My sweatshirt?” 

Cupping his stubbled cheek, you stroked a thumb over his jaw. “I brought it back. Thought you might need it tonight. C’mon honey, why don’t we go lay down, hm?” 

Allowing Matt to crawl off your lap, you drew him from the floor as you stood, laying your arm around his waist and holding him upright as he hobbled to his room. Tumbling onto the mattress, he haphazardly threw his sheets over his bare legs, curling into fetal position. His body was stiff, as if he was clenching every muscle to prevent writhing in pain. Sitting next to his waist, you fussed with the covers, drawing them more tightly around his rigid form. 

“There, that’s better. Just close your eyes and—“ you attempted to encourage the weary man to rest but his small voice interrupted. 

“You came back.” Matt spoke lowly, blinking back a new wave of tears. “You came back when I told you to leave.” 

“Do you need me to go? That’s fine, Matty, I’ll just—“ 

“No!” His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. “Please don’t.” 

“Ok, sweet boy. I’ll stay here. As long as you want me to.” 

Matt nodded once, tears trailing down his face again. “You came back.” No longer talking to you, it seemed that he was trying to make himself believe that he was no longer alone. 

Sliding down to face him, you ran a hand over his arm, letting him murmur silently to himself until he spoke to you again.

“I don’t think they’ll ever be happy.” 

“Who won’t be happy, handsome?” You asked quietly, propping yourself up on an elbow to study his face as he answered. 

“Foggy and Karen. Maybe you too, I’m not sure.” His voice cracked, tears pouring down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey, hey,” You shushed, drawing him back into your chest. “Oh, Matty—“

“What am I supposed to do?” His hazel eyes reopened, revealing a hopelessness you were shocked to see. “I hear people screaming for help and I…I can’t just lay here doing nothing. I don’t know how. And I try to explain but no one understands. I don’t know what to do,” When he uttered your name this time, it was a desperate request—to confirm that you understood, that you wouldn’t hold his actions against him. 

“Oh, Matt, honey, I’m so sorry.” You rested your chin atop his head as he sobbed into your collarbone. “Sweetheart, you are so good at what you do. You’re a fucking hero. No one is mad about you choosing to use every ability you have to help people, we just worry about you, sweets, that’s all. And, I can’t speak for the others, but you shouldn’t have to worry about making me happy, ok? As long as you’re alive—“

“He’s going to leave me.” Ah. That’s where his mind was getting stuck. The words were broken, Matt’s voice strained beyond recognition as he voiced his fear. “He’s going to leave me like you did.”

A lump of emotion clogged your throat, tears wavering against your waterline. “Matt, you know I didn’t leave because of you, right?”

He shrugged against you, body still trembling as he cried. 

“Matty, I adore you. I loved working with you and seeing you every day, sweets. I just couldn’t live on pies and hand-knit gloves in one of the most expensive cities in the country. I needed income, not an escape. I’m still here. I’m still yours.” 

Heaving out a shaky breath, Matt nodded. Caressing his cheek, you asked. “What did my heartbeat tell you?”

“Truth.” He whispered. The two of you sat in silence, your hand absentmindedly running through his mussed hair as his body stopped shaking. Just when you thought the fear of abandonment had been swayed for the night, he piped up one last time. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“About Foggy?” You clarified, biting your lip when Matt nodded. With a sigh, you brought your fingers to his silky hair once again. “Matt, I am not psychic, I don’t know what the future will look like for the two of you, but I know that Foggy loves you. So does Karen, and so do I. And you don’t leave the people you love. You talk it out, you forgive them for their mistakes.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Matt whimpered. 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. But I’ll be right here with you through it all, ok?” Pressing your lips to his forehead, you brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. “I don’t want to scare you, sweet boy, but I have to go into your kitchen for a moment. I brought some food with me that I’m going to put in your fridge for later. I’ll get you some water too. Anything else you need?” 

“Aspirin.” He murmured, blank eyes glossy with tears. 

“Of course, sweets. I’ll be right back.” With another brush of fingers over his scalp, you wriggled out from under him and hurried to the kitchen—shoving the food into his bare fridge while grabbing water and pills. 

He took the medicine you handed him diligently, his expression uncharacteristically blank. Draining the glass of water, he handed the empty cup to you without a word. You could see him slipping away into the recesses of his mind, trying to shove everything down once again, to handle it all himself. 

Sliding under the covers next to him, you wrapped him in a tight embrace as he buried his damp face in your neck. 

“Talk to me, sweets. What do you need?” 

“Just you.” Matt choked out, fisting your shirt in his hands as if worried you were imaginary. “Please.” 

“I’m right here. Always.” Kissing his crown, you ran a hand along his spine, humming softly as his breathing evened out. 

He wasn’t through the rough patch yet, but that was ok. You were going to be here regardless. And you’d tell him that every day until he believed you.

[imtryingbuck]

Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 726

Warnings: angst? forced marriage. Bucky's dads the worst.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Of course Bucky has thought about marriage, dreamt about coming home after a long day at work to his wife cooking dinner or happily playing with the kids, slow dancing with her throughout the house whilst the children are tucked in bed. Sharing his dreams, fears, stories and life with his other half, a wife who he can spoil with gifts and love.

A wife he can hold during the night.

Another dream he's always had, having children, he's not picky about the gender (not like he can control it) as long as they are healthy, and he's happy to have as many as his wife wants.

So yes Bucky has thought about marriage.

The dream of having a wife will be coming true sooner than he anticipated however being forced to marry a complete stranger is something he's very against, all he's ever wanted was to marry for love.

He's furious and feels betrayed by his father who just told him he has to marry one of the daughters of another mafia boss, that in marrying her it will secure an alliance.

Michael Murdock who's notoriously known for being ruthless and cunning. A man who happily gets his hands bloody, a man who rules his empire with an iron fist. From what Bucky knows of the man's family is that he has a wife Eliza and from what he's heard is that she's just as bad as her husband. They have two sons Brandon and Matt, and four daughters Carla, Olivia, Marie and Lucy.

Then there's Theodora, the daughter that he had with a mistress who died after the baby was born. However no one has ever seen her or even heard about her, most people think she's a myth. A story that gossipers had made up to keep people entertained.

The thought of being married to one of Michaels daughters made him feel physically sick. He had seen photos of them in magazines or on the internet of their latest trip to the plastic surgeon, or of their lifestyles.

Don't get him wrong he lives a lavish life but has never once flaunted it and he likes his women more natural.

The idea of being married into the Murdock family and having Michael as his father in law makes his skin crawl despite his father telling him that he'd always be protected.

Reluctantly getting into the car, muttering under his breath as he goes.

"James you need this, you've taken over the business now and you need a wife by your side. Stop acting like a child" his father George speaks from the other side of the Range Rover.

"I don't know her. She's not even going to want this."

"It doesn't matter what she wants son, you are the man of this marriage. Marry her, keep her wallet full, and have your mistresses and if she steps out of line just smack her back into place" he chuckles as he continues to text on his phone.

Instead of responding Bucky pushes himself further into the leather seat.

As the car pulls up to a huge manor that sits behind large steel fences, the double gates have an 'M' on each sides. Bucky notices that there are many high branded, expensive cars all lined neatly on the grey stone gravel. There's a marbled fountain in the middle that had neatly placed flowers circling around it.

The last time Bucky was nervous was when he was nineteen, it was he first official meeting he was holding on his own. No matter what situation he found himself in he was always calm and confident, but still sitting inside the warm, matte black Range Rover he's doing everything in his power not to be sick.

"Dad is this really necessary?" He tries, he knows it himself that it's pointless but he's still going to try.

"I swear you should have been born a girl with how much you bitch and moan."

"But dad this is my lif-"

"Stop crying it's your wedding day" George smiles sarcastically as the car comes to a stop in front of the many steps.

Bucky, his father and bodyguards are lead up the steps and into the high ceiling hallway, their greeted by Michael, who's standing there with a large grin on his aging face.

"Welcome to my home and family".

Next>

Tags: @sapphirebarnes

[maple-the-awesome]

A Boy? ||

Pairing: Platonic! Matt Murdock x Reader x MCU! Peter Parker

Words: 3,416

Overview: Matt isn't sure what to think when you ask him to be your friend's lawyer; surprised someone's actually wormed their way into your heart or protective because it's a boy. This is honestly one of my favorite fics I've written in a while. Matt would definitely be able to multitask between being a really good lawyer and a protective dad 😍

Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist 🤎 Requests

"I...need your help."

It's not unheard of for you to visit Matt at the firm every now and again, especially in recent months where you've almost become comfortable with the idea, so when he first recognized the pattern of your footsteps approaching the door, he thought nothing of it and instead prepared himself for one of your typical yet playful insults; the closest form of affection you've ever been know to show.

Even if taking a moment to consider the chance that you might be here to ask for something, he would've figured it to be something simple that comes with a stubborn bite to your words. Perhaps you lost your key to the apartment and have come to him for a spare or maybe you just need a few dollars to buy lunch. Aloud both outcomes do sound unlikely since Matt knows you're rather organized and calculated with your money after having a childhood of nothing, but he can't imagine any other reason you'd be requesting his help right now.

To his surprise, there's a noticeably quickened pace to your heartbeat and a quiet hesitation with your movements as you shut the office door behind yourself. You're afraid not embarrassed which isn't an emotion you don't often allow yourself to show and it's this awareness that raises concern in Matt.

Matt has known you for about two years now- seven years if you count the time passed during the Blip not that you were around for it-, but he'd be reluctant to say you're close, at least in a mutual sense.

You're dangerously headstrong, as he's learned, especially when it comes to your goal of being entirely self sufficient. You hate to admit weakness in any form, both physically and emotionally, thus you've developed the terrible habit of distancing yourself from others even if they have nothing except good intentions. While Matt can't justly critique you on a practice he himself is guilty of, he has tried his best throughout the years to earn your trust while reminding himself never to take your pushback personally.

You're rather young, only just hitting eighteen yet you've arguably been through more heartache than even he has which is certainly saying something. Orphaned then trained to basically act as a child soldier, it's safe to say you never had a normal childhood which ultimately influenced your personality and difficulty relating to others. When Matt- or better put Daredevil- first met you, you were barely more than a feisty teenager accustomed to only relying on yourself and living life at the mercy of none other than Wilson Fisk. You were cold just as those around you, but at the end of day, you were also just a shattered kid trying to survive; a little example of what's wrong with this cruel world.

You understandably hated Daredevil in the beginning, seeing him as the enemy you've been conditioned to destroy. You both had a few small run-ins with each other before one particular fight that ended with the building exploding. All you can really remember of that night was being alone and heavily injured within the flames, your 'friends' having long saved their own asses by willingly leaving you behind to choke on hazardous smoke. Next thing you knew, you awoke in Daredevil's dark apartment, the man in question explaining the situation after calmly stopping you from attempting to stab him with the pair of scissors left on the table.

Even though you had run right back to Fisk by sunrise, Matt knew there must be promise in you since you never sold out his location and his faith would prove true when he slowly yet surely managed to gain enough of your trust to help you believe in his word that he'd take down Fisk in turn for your cooperation. He kept that word, too, freeing you from the chains that held you down to a life of crime, however the scars that remained took far longer to even begin the process of healing.

Matt generously took you in, although you still struggled with plenty of old habits, the worst being stealing and getting into fights on the street. Whenever he'd confront you on it, a heated argument would ensue until you'd eventually run off, forcing Matt to go out looking for you upon your refusal to return home on your own. There were also the nightmares that plagued your sleep each night, often frightening Matt when he'd be out as Daredevil only to hear your blood curdling screams from back at the apartment, but you've always refused to share those inner demons even now.

Matt must admit that those early days truly tested him. He hated himself for thinking it, but at times he'd wonder if you both wouldn't have been better off if he hadn't nudged his way into your life to begin with. Before you, he was a single man who couldn't even keep a girlfriend and had not an ounce of experience being any sort of role model or father figure. Maybe the words you tended to scream at him were right. You don't need him, after all, he's just as broken as you; two brokens can't possibly make a right, can they?

Fortunately despite his insecurities and worries, it got easier. He had the constant support of Foggy and Karen while Father Lantom provided religious reminders as guidance. Overtime, your behavior shifted even if slowly. You learned that the apartment is a safe place and that there's always food in the fridge, so no need to steal. As you bonded more, Matt taught you to meditate to better control your emotions which also seemed to help smooth your nightmares. You even began feeling comfortable while in the presence of his friends which was a huge step forward.

Ultimately, Matt's proud of you and everything you've managed to overcome. Of course, it's not to say rough spots don't still present themselves, in fact the Blip itself has backtracked your progress slightly, although no one can blame you for that. You were terrified to learn you had disappeared for five years, the only good coming out of that entire situation being the realization that your dusting had destroyed Matt. Foggy explained that to you one day when Matt wasn't at the firm during your visit. According to him, his friend barely ate or slept, blaming himself for not somehow protecting you as he promised even if it really was out of his hands. It was this knowledge that made you feel loved for the first time in your life and you've since allowed yourself to finally trust Matt's care towards you (not that you've ever found a way to tell him that yet).

While you can't seem to find the words to express your affection towards the only parent figure you've ever known, you've decided to go to him for help towards your current dilemma which is the reason for your visit today, but irritatingly despite your trust, you find yourself nervous, your past habits betraying you with the fear that perhaps there's a ever so small possibly Matt will turn you away.

"What's up?" He raises an eyebrow, sensing your nerves which confuse him. He's certain he would've heard by now if Fisk is out of jail and there's no way you'd let anyone else on the street push you around. Maybe it's school? You don't tell him anything about school other than confirming your grades are good, so he'd be a little surprised if you ask for help studying, but he would hope you know he'll be happy to help if it's that.

You're chewing on your lip, debating if you should continue with your request. You truly thought you'd have no problem coming to him anymore and you know he's a good guy who can help, after all he's already done so much for you by taking you under his wing. Still, what if he gets mad because he has done enough for you and you have no right asking for more?

"What's wrong?" Matt changes his question, his voice softer now as he finally sets down his papers. He's growing more concerned, although he fights not to show it in case the emotion might scare you away.

"Okay, so um...There's...This boy..."

His face scrunches, but he's not sure why. One side of him wants to immediately direct you towards Karen, insisting she'd be a much better option for that type of advice than himself, however the other louder side feels a curd of anger inside his stomach, wanting to press on about why you're mentioning 'a boy'. 

What boy? Do you have a boyfriend? When did that happen? Yes, you're eighteen which many would argue is old enough to date, but it doesn't feel like it. You should at least be thirty before you date, right?

"A boy...?"

"Yeah- from school," that was a lie; a blatant one at that. You must've met him somewhere. Where? You refuse to say," he's not actually just any boy. He's...Well, he's my friend-"

Matt blinks, certain this is the first time he's ever heard you use the word 'friend' before. This 'boy' must really be something special to have you use such an intimate term towards him.

"-And he's run into some legal trouble recently."

Now Matt's lips are curled into a scowl he can't hide as he leans back in his chair with crossed arms. Oh no. A boy involved in legal trouble is not the type to be involved with you. Sure, you've had a lengthy criminal record yourself, but you weren't ever charged and are, what Matt would call, a victim. You're a good kid now even if you could still kick someone's teeth in if desired. No law breaking boy needs to be getting mixed up with you!

"What kind of 'legal trouble'?" His question is a little too stern not that he notices much, instead keeping his covered eyes directed to where he hears you standing. If he had a clear mind, he might've regretted that forceful tone once you begin fidgeting with your hands.

"He...Have you heard the news lately?"

So, this guy has gotten himself in enough trouble to be on the news? This conversation isn't going in a direction Matt likes," I have, but you'll have to be more specific. The news covers a lot of criminal activity."

"I wouldn't go as far as to call him a 'criminal'. He's innocent, he's just gotten the short end of the stick is all-"

"-And did he tell you that?"

"No- Well yeah, but I knew it already! I mean it when I say he's a really good guy, Matt. Like amazingly good; almost too good to be true, but he is! He'd do anything to protect this city because he's just that caring and sweet. He's...Well, he's, um..." Matt raises an eyebrow as you trail off, although he pays more attention to the way your body heats up and your heartbeat accelerates. 

Oh...

Oh...

Now Matt has a true dilemma on his hands. Until now, you've never mentioned having a single friend before, so one side of him wants to be happy with the knowledge that you, the most stubborn and distant person to exist on planet Earth (aside from maybe Frank), have fallen in love. Maybe it's not the most comfortable discussion and he can't deny he'd worry regardless of the circumstances, but if it's something that allows you to feel normal for once, then that's excellent. The only problem is he can't say he agrees with your criminal type. Why can't you be interested in someone law abiding?

Fiddling with your fingers, you miss Matt's silence as a sign of conflict and instead take it as him waiting for you to get to the point, thus you do with a quiet, meek voice,"...and he's kinda Spiderman..."

Matt blinks, caught off guard by your confession which had almost been muted by his inner thoughts," Spiderman...? The vigilante from Queens?"

You nod," I guess there's no harm in telling you his name's Peter Parker since the whole world already knows that now...Anyways I met him a while ago and we became friends, but...Well, you've heard what the news is trying to say about him, right? His identity got leaked and now they're trying to pin him as some sort of killer, but he isn't- I know he isn't. Peter's like you. He'd never kill anyone even if they're some crazed villain the streets would be safer without. I mean, you can tell he didn't do it just by how upset he is over all this!

"They're trying to ruin his life- not only his life, but also his friends' and aunt's...They won't let off and he doesn't deserve it. He needs a lawyer-a really good one at that. I thought that maybe...Maybe you could help him out, ya' know? You said us vigilantes have to look out for one another, right? So, could you help Spiderman? E-Even if just as one last favor for me? I swear I won't ask for anything else just...Can you please help him, Matt? Please..."

There's tears in your eyes at this point which is a rare occurrence usually only found on nights of particularly bad nightmares. This is one of those moments where it's clear you're only a kid. Standing in front of his desk, you keep your head bowed and hands clenched to the bottom of your shirt as you stubbornly fight to not get emotional, a fight nearly lost by that sniffle of your nose. Even after your nightmares or back before Matt saved you from Fisk, you've never been this scared. Of course, there's a clear difference from then and now.

This Peter Parker must really be something special. He must be able to bring a smile to your face by his presences alone, drawing hours of laughter from you over countless dumb jokes or helping you let loose by inviting you out with him and his friends, maybe even for movie nights at his apartment which might explain those few days over the last month where you didn't return home until after midnight.

Those nights he must listen to your worries, being the only person trusted with the details of your nightmares as he cuddles you close and promises to never let anyone hurt you again. He must make you feel like a giddy teenager, an experience that had once been stolen from you by people like Fisk. Around Peter, you aren't a child soldier or a dangerous killer or even a broken soul; you're (Y/n) (L/n), just a normal girl who'd do anything to protect the most precious thing she has to hold.

It takes you by surprise when Matt stands up suddenly, taking his cane from where it had been folded on the table and clicking it into place with a 'snap'," do you know his address?"

"H-Huh?"

"I'm assuming you know where Parker lives, correct? There's a lot to discuss if I'm going to help him with his legal troubles so it's best we get started immediately. Isn't that what you want?" Matt has a faint hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he walks past you to the door, only stopping with his hand upon the doorknob.

Your eyes follow him, the wheels inside your head turning as you process his words. Soon, you're beaming, a noticeable uplift to your voice with relieved tears being blinked back in your eyes," thank you, Matt!"

"Take a seat, Mr. Parker."

When Matt had announced the charges against Peter won't stick, the teen had been endlessly thankful. Between you finding him a good lawyer that didn't dent his pockets and said lawyer being able to remove his legal troubles, he's been giddy with relief and saw no issue with Matt's request to speak with him privately before his departure, after all, it's the least he can do for someone who's already helped him so much during his greatest time of need.

Even after being told to sit back down, Peter does so with a unfazed smile on his face," is there something else I need to be worried about? You said the charges aren't going to stick, so I should be good, yeah?" 

"Oh, I don't want to talk to you about anything related to the court."

Now Peter blinks in confusion, his smile taking a hit," oh?"

"I want to talk to you about (Y/n)."

"O-Oh..." Peter's confusion turns into a fiery blush, one that makes Matt's own face twist into a look of disgust he fights to hide.

"How long have you known her?"

"Um, about a year I think- Well, actually, I guess it's technically been about five years since we met before the Snap but-"

"-And has she told you about her past working for Wilson Fisk?"

Peter's heart noticeably skips a beat as he looks to Matt with wide eyes. His mouth opens in preparation to lie to his lawyer for the first time, denying that you'd ever work for Fisk because you definitely aren't some teenage vigilante he's been fighting alongside as Spiderman since the last year, however after giving his response some thought and studying Matt's careful expression, he decides to just be truthful.

"Yeah...Yeah, she has."

"Then you must understand how difficult it's been for her to trust other people after everything she's been through. I must admit I was surprised when she first brought you up. She was very adamant that I act as your lawyer and since then she's spent nearly every day asking about you. She's clearly extremely fond of you."

It probably isn't the best time for it, but a bashful smile crosses Peter's face, his gaze falling to his hands as he dwells on Matt's words. You? Fond of him? That's not allowed, is it? 

Of course, Peter's always had eyes for you. Ned and MJ tease him about it all the time. Hell, it's why Spiderman even decided to approach you in the first place. He had been utterly starstruck to watch some super hot vigilante swoop in out of nowhere and apprehend a pair of criminals before he could. In awe, he just had to walk up to you and give some incredibly lame joke that successfully resulted in you giving a goddess's laugh that numbed his heart. Since then, Peter made sure to become your friend (and biggest admirer), so to think you might actually be fond of him, too? Well, he could never be luckier!

"With that said, I wanted to thank you, Peter," the young hero is taken back by Matt's sudden words of gratitude," you make her happy; happier than anyone else has managed. Hearing her talk about you is the first time I've heard her sound like a normal teen, and if you were to ask her out, I'm certain she'd agree. I'll even give you my blessing to do so."

"A-Ah! Thank...Thank you, sir!"

"But-" Matt adjusts his glasses before suddenly leaning forward, his hands cupped together as a shadow crosses over his expression,"- just know, that if you ever do anything to break my daughter's heart, I'll personally ensure you deal with the Devil."

The breath in Peter's throat catches, his mouth opening and closing a few times in attempts to grasp onto some quick response which he's normally talented in delivering, but alas, nothing comes. Spiderman really shouldn't have to fear a blind man, but there's something about Matt's tone that sinks into his bones as a frigid warning that begs him to be smart, not dismissive.

Grabbing his cane, the lawyer calmly stands and walks past Peter, only stopping to pat a stern hand on his shoulder," good talk, Spidy."

It's cruel; the way Matt leaves behind a shocked Peter Parker while wearing a smug smirk of his own. He's not even guilty in the slightest, shown by the way he doesn't even care to rid of his expression when noticing you leaned against the wall outside the apartment door with crossed arms. He assumes by the harshness to your voice that your eyebrows are pinched downwards as you glare his way- a glare he's too familiar with feeling at this point to be bothered.

"Are you serious?"

"What?" He gives a mocked look of innocents that you refuse to buy.

Instead, you suck in a breath, fighting to ignore both your burning cheeks along with your irritation towards the lawyer and his poor attempt at playing dumb. Marching on by, you purposely bump into his shoulder, hissing under your breath,"...that wasn't cool, dad..."

[sapphirerogers]

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 2]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1

words: 6.3k

tag list:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen

"Mommy, look!" 

Minnie calls out from the living room and you look up from finishing up an invoice. She is plopped on the ground, surrounded by a sea of crayons, proudly holding up her latest masterpiece: a series of different colored overlapping circles. You, as usual, have no idea what you are supposed to be looking at, but that doesn't stop the support you give your daughter.

"That's so good, Mouse. You picked such pretty colors." She beams at you and you return the smile, your heart feeling so full. You love her so much and you want only the best for her and you hope - pray - bringing her father into her life is the right choice. 

Your meeting with Matt went so much better than you ever thought it could go. He wants to be in Minnie's life and that makes you nervously excited. You have absolutely no inkling of how things are going to change moving forward, and a huge part of you is terrified but another part can't wait for Minnie and Matt to get to know each other. You keep going over your admittedly short conversation trying to remember all the little tics you saw that reminded you of Minnie. You want to know what else she inherited from him. 

You tell yourself those thoughts are for later and force them away so you can get back to work. It is getting close to bedtime and you have a few things to tidy up before you can clock out. 

Luckily, Minnie has gone back to her drawing, scribbling away while Scooby Doo plays silently on the television and you are able to work in peace. Ten minutes later, you close out your VPN and leisurely stretch out in your chair, watching your little angel do her thing. 

You are worried about her reactions to the change. Unfortunately, one of the things she got from you is your anxiety - your little one's nickname is Mouse for a reason. She is a quiet timid little thing who loves to watch and observe - like a little church mouse. You joke you need to put a bell on her because she can walk right by you without making a single noise. Her quiet nature doesn't mesh well with strangers. 

You've been taking her to daycare more, hoping socializing will help, and it has, but that is worth other kids. You don't know how she'll react to a new adult in her life who she would have a more casual relationship with. You have no family and the few friends you have have known her since she was a baby. 

Minnie knows what a dad is but she's never asked where hers is and you certainly haven’t brought it up to her.

But now you have to. 

You need to figure out what the best approach would be. You know it has to be slow and steady, but you don't know if you should introduce Matt to her as her father or not. The biggest change she's been through is going to daycare and that took ages. She hated it.

She hates being around strangers for extended periods. 

Out and about? She is okay. She's shy and likes to hide behind your leg instead of talking to people, but she doesn't complain.

But when she has to sit and interact with someone new? She can get fussy. It's not just her being shy, she gets physically uncomfortable. 

She has no problems if it's just the two of you or someone she knows, but strangers? It can turn into a tantrum, depending on her mood. 

You've discovered a few methods to make her more comfortable. You have about fifteen pairs of child sized noise canceling headphones, your bag is full of little things to distract her, and she has her Pig. 

You think introducing her to Matt where she can sit and color and block him out if she wants is the best course of action and to achieve that, you don't think you can tell her the truth right away. She might feel some pressure to Behave because Dad is an authority figure. Not to mention what she would feel if she started asking questions; like why he hasn’t been around.

She's curious but she's also three and unpredictable. 

She could immediately go into tantrum mode. 

She could not care at all and want to color instead. 

You hope Matt understands all of this and doesn't want to jump right into being a Father.

Whatever that entails. 

A change in colors and tones on the television catches your attention and you push yourself away from your desk.

"Okay, sweetie, Scooby is over, time to get ready for bed." 

Minnie finishes her scribble then drops the crayon on the ground. You wait as she climbs up onto her feet and starts to pick up her mess - her crayons go into a pail one at a time. You don't know what goes on in her mind, but as long as she's doing what she is supposed to be, you don't rush her. 

There's no lollygagging with your sweet girl, anyways. Once the crayons are in their bucket, she puts that under the coffee table, then picks up her drawing pad and brings it to you. You scoop her up and start towards the bedroom, as she admires her drawings. 

"What do you want to read tonight?" You ask. 

"Spot!" is the instant reply and you should have guessed that. You've been reading the same book for over a week now, but you don't mind. You'd rather read the same thing over and over than hunt for something she does want to read for an hour. 

Getting ready for bed is something that usually goes smoothly and you are lucky tonight is no different. Minnie is already in her pajamas, so it's just turning down the sheets and getting her all tucked in before you start to read. You keep an eye on the time as you do - you have a half hour before Matt said he would call. 

If he does call. 

He said he would and you are trying to be hopeful that he will. You've been disappointed so many times in the past - not just by lovers but everyone. People promise to call, to text, to follow up and they never do. They say you can do something together then cancel at the last minute. You are used to that disappointment, but you don't want Minnie to experience that. You want her to feel loved and wanted.

You know it's not fair to Matt, but to you the call is a sort of test he doesn't know he is taking. 

Will he call? Will he call on time? 

The more you think about the call, the more anxious you get. There's too many thoughts starting to gather. 

The meeting could have been a fluke and now that he's thought it over, he doesn't want to be a dad.

Or he wants to be a dad but not with You. What if you are the problem? 

"Mommy," Minnie shakes you out of your thoughts, looking up at you with big brown eyes. "Next page!" 

You nod and force your focus back to the book, turning the next page and letting your daughter open and close all the flaps that hide different elements to the story while you read. It's hard to get lost in the simple words and story, but Minnie is used to her routine and by the time you reach the last page, she's leaning heavier into your side.

You place the book on her nightstand, trading it for her sleep headband. She tilts her head forward and you help get the band on and snuggly over her ears. 

"How's that feel, Mouse?"

"Quiet," Minnie replies, like she does every night, sliding down under her blankets. Her little hands tug at the band so the sleep mask part is over her eyes. You smile, forever grateful your little one likes to sleep. You wait while she settles, then kiss both of her cheeks. 

"Sweet dreams, my little angel." 

"Sweet dreams, Mommy," she replies, voice full of sleep. You triple check she's tucked in nice and snug and that Pig is within reach, then turn off the light. You leave the door open a crack, just in case, then return to the living room. 

There's a small mess leftover from dinner and you start cleaning that up. Usually, after you put Minnie down for bed, you'd enjoy a few hours of television or catching up on whatever you needed to, but after finishing the dishes, you don't know what to do. 

There's only a handful of minutes until the promised call time and all you can do is just stand in the kitchen. You debate going to get a notebook so you can keep notes, but you don't want to have the whole conversation about how you want to move forward over the phone. Maybe you jot down ideas of what you two want to cover in person? Matt might have questions you haven't even thought of yet. 

You should find a pen and paper. It's better to be prepared than not. You tell yourself that but you still don't move. You just stare at your phone.

As the seconds creep by your throat starts to get tight.

What are you going to do if he doesn't call? 

Would it be awkward to call him instead? Or is that overbearing? You don't want to come off as overbearing - that might make Matt view you in a negative light and that would definitely have consequences in his relationship with Minnie. You desperately want that relationship to be good and not be influenced by any issues the two of you might have. You would hate yourself if the reason Matt didn't want to be around Minnie was you. 

The thought makes your stomach twist. 

You're definitely not going to call him tonight if he doesn't call you. You can send a text in the morning - something with no pressure.

But he said he preferred calls instead of text. 

Would a call be accusatory? You feel like a morning call would be accusatory. 

You can push it to the afternoon, that would give him time to call in the morning, as well.

You're ripped from your paranoid thoughts as your phone screen lights up with Matt's name. Shock overtakes your system and it takes a moment before you scramble to answer.

You state your name as your greeting, totally trying to pretend you weren't just spiraling.

"Hey, it's Matt.. Matt Murdock." 

His words are soft spoken, on the edge of shy, and it throws you. You understand why his nerves would be rattled but you didn't think he'd advertise that. Your brain screams at you to comfort him and you focus on that instead of your own panic.

"Hey…um, how are you doing?" 

Matt chuckles into your ear, low and throaty, making the knot your stomach has become loosen a bit, "Adjusting." He pauses a beat, then adds, "I can't stop thinking about you and Winifred…Minnie."

Your cheeks burn.

You can't tell him you haven't stopped thinking about him either - that feels like a very weird thing to admit, even if it is the truth. 

You don't know what to say, so your mouth decides for you, blurting out, "I didn't think you'd call…"

"You didn't…?" The undercurrent of hurt in his voice makes you feel like you've kicked a puppy. You quickly backtrack.

"I have a tendency to overthink and get in my head," you say, hoping you aren't coming off like an idiot. "I worked myself up." 

You turn your back to the kitchen counter, then slide down the cabinets until you are sitting on the ground. You bring your knees up, using them to prop up your elbows. 

"I'm glad you did call," you admit, asking your mind to please stop, "I'm sorry, this is awkward, can we start over?"

"Of course," Matt's voice is soft in your ear, but you can hear him smiling, "Should I hang up and call back?"

"No, no, not that far back," you practically mumble, biting your lip. "How about…was your meeting okay? Can I ask that or is it attorney - client privilege?"

Matt hums, sounding like he's thinking over the answer, before answering, "No, that's not covered. It was pretty standard for that client - whether that means it went okay is up for interpretation. No one is in jail, so I would consider it a win." 

You aren't sure what that means, but you want to be supportive. "That sounds like a win." 

"What about you, how was your evening?"

The question makes you laugh a little, only because you think you live a very boring life, "Very quiet and calm. No one ended up in jail on this end either."

"So not a family of trouble makers?" Matt asks, a slight tease in his voice. 

You smile into your knees, replying with a shy, "No, I'm afraid we're rather boring. I hope that is okay."

"I think it's a win."

Oh, you forgot how charming he was. 

He carries on, voice dropping back to a softer tone, "What does a quiet and calm night mean for the two of you?"

You consider the question with a little smile before answering, "We usually start with a nice walk to the park. Minnie likes to play in the afternoon, there's less kids to hog the see-saw."

"She likes the see-saw?" 

"She loves the see-saw," you say, smiling at the memory of your daughter on the playground. "She likes to…bounce? The see-saw lets her go high. She's too small for bounce houses, so she gets her fix where she can." Matt huffs a laugh into your ear and you continue on, "After the park, it's standard toddler afternoon stuff. Dinner and a bath. Playtime and television before bed. I work from home, so I usually get a few hours in before Minnie gets put down for bed. Then, um, more work for me. Or paying bills. Online shopping. Adult things I can do from the couch." 

"You work from home?" Matt asks and you can't remember if you had previously mentioned that. Your whole previous conversation is now suddenly a total question mark. 

"Yeah, um, I work in billing. The company is in international shipping, so time zones aren't really an issue. As long as I log forty hours a week, I can break it up as I want. It makes being a working mom a lot easier." You nibble your lip, unsure about what to really say, so you say the obvious, "You have your own law firm?" 

"I do. You met my partners earlier, Foggy and Karen," he sounds proud, just a little bit, and that warms your heart. 

"I read about a few of your cases last night," you admit, "The papers said you help a lot of people."

Matt doesn't respond right away, but when he does, you find yourself smiling more. "We try to. People here are getting by paycheck to paycheck, they can't afford a lawyer when their landlords try to push them out so they can get someone in to pay higher rent. They need someone to fight for them, and this is our community - Foggy and I grew up here. This is our city." He pauses and you can picture him scrunching up his brow, "You said you saw the interview last night. You had time to read over our cases?"

Embarrassment courses through you. 

"Only what was in the news and I didn't read in depth. I just…" You shrug, even though you are talking over the phone, "I wanted to make sure it was in Minnie's best interest to reach out." You bite your lip again then, wanting to be honest with Matt, you add, "I mean, we only spent one night together and we didn't really discuss…much. I knew you were a lawyer, but you could have been like…a lawyer for some awful celebrity or something. If you were out there and the papers were saying you were vile I wouldn't have just…shown up at your doorstep. Metaphorically. I only have your work address." 

"That makes sense," Matt replies and you have the feeling he really does get it, "you want to keep her safe, to keep both of you safe. I'd do the same in your position. Actually…I guess I do need to do the same, because we don't really know anything about each other." He pauses, then teases, "Unless there's news articles about you I need to catch up on?"

You huff at the thought, "No, nothing that I am aware of." 

"Then we will have to do it the old fashion way."

"Lunch." The words tumble out of your mouth and you resist the urge to bang your head against the cabinets. "We, uh, mentioned lunch. We could use that as a starting point? Give each other our People Resumes."

Matt laughs a little and it's warm, not mocking. You still bury your face into your knees. 

"People Resumes - I like that. I have some pretty good references, if you need."

"I only have the one," you mumble, keeping your face hidden despite being alone. He laughs again.

"I think it's a pretty good one, though."

That makes you smile, "The best one around."

There's a beat where neither of you talk and you wonder what else to add.

"Will she be coming to lunch?" He asks, voice switching from confident and charming to slightly timid. Once again you are reminded of a kicked puppy and it makes your heart ache.

"I would like that," you start slowly and Matt seems to sense you have more to say, as he waits for you to continue. "I wanted to discuss it with you, first."

"Of course," his reply is so eager. "Anything."

"I was thinking…I think it would be best if Minnie gets to know you first before we tell her who you are. It's been the two of us for so long, I don't know how she'll react to a big change. I can introduce the idea to her over time, start talking to her about family and stuff while you two bond?" As you talk, the words start coming out a little faster as your nerves start to come back. "I think telling her up front might make her uncomfortable because like, you'll have a Title and Authority and that would override other things. I don't want to push her into anything she's not ready for yet." 

You press your face into your knees and wait for Matt's reaction. You can hear him breathing and the slight clinking of what sounds like ice in a glass and you hope he understands your concerns. 

He says your name so very softly and a shiver goes through you. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wait for the ax to fall.

 "I think that would be a really good way to do things," Matt practically breathes into the receiver. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and relief just washes over you. "I…don't want to scare her." He hesitates, then starts in a stronger voice, "did your articles mention that I grew up in an orphanage?" They did and you say as much. "I was older than a lot of the kids and the little ones were scared of that. Scared of being adopted by strangers. I remember being scared of that. I got placed in a few foster homes and I hated being around people I didn't know." He takes a breath and it's a little shaky, "I want her to want me as her father." 

Your heart skips in your chest and you bury your face into your knees more. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Matt. You have a good heart, that's what matters. You just have to get to know each other, spend time together."

Matt hums softly into your ear, "Not just her, you as well."

"Me?" You ask, confused. 

"You," he repeats. "I want to know the mother of my child. Of course I want to get to know you. You're the most important person in her life."

You just hadn't thought of that at all - your concern has been over Minnie. It completely makes sense that he would want to get to know you. He isn't just now in Minnie's life, but in your life.

You chew on your lips in thought, "Is…um.. Is there anything you'd like to know?" 

"How about," he says, after a moment of thought, "the equivalent of what you read about me? That way we are on an even footing."

That wasn't the answer you expected but it makes a bit of sense in your head. You think about what you learned in the papers about Matt Murdock.

You start off by saying where you were born then move onto simple facts, "We moved to Long Island when I was about five and I lived there until I was eighteen. I moved into the city for school - Empire State University. I didn't know what I wanted to do so I got a degree in business. I figured I'd have a good foundation with that, you know? I got a pretty decent job in accounting - I'm still there actually. I uh…am a billing administrator…"

"Your parents?" Matt asks tentatively, like he already knows the answer.

"Gone." You say quietly, but firmly. Your parents aren't something you want to talk about and you hope he understands that. "It is just Minnie and I. And now you..."

"And now me…"

You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes you start to smile. 

"I have no idea how to be a father," he admits after a beat.

"It's okay, I didn't know how to be a mother. I'm still learning - I've read stuff and some things don't apply to Minnie. Or the opposite, she does something and I can't find anything that applies? And it's not like I'm just gonna drop her on you and disappear. It's…I want you to be comfortable as well? That's why I think just meeting each other will be a good start. We can go from there? Do little hang outs and stuff and build up, if that's what you want," you know you're starting to ramble but you keep going. "I think somewhere she is comfortable would be good? There's a diner in Hell's Kitchen she really likes - we could meet there for lunch? If she gets too overwhelmed, I can give her something to distract her, but you can still interact with her? She's a bit shy around new people and pressuring her to really…um.. engage might be a lot? A big thing for her is parallel play, so I'm hoping maybe just hanging out around you if she's nervous might help until she's more comfortable?"

You close your eyes tightly, a little embarrassed at your dumping of ideas, but Matt takes it all in stride, giving a curious, "What is parallel play?"

You lick your lips before answering, "Being in the same space, but doing your own thing? Like two kids coloring together but not talking."

"Ah, I got it. I didn't know there was an actual name for that." There's another pause and you can hear ice clinking against glass again. You wonder if you should get up off your kitchen floor and get yourself a drink, but you decide against it. The only thing you should be drinking is water. "What is the diner?"

You tell him the name of the diner and to your surprise, he chuckles, "I know the place. It's on the same block as Foggy's parents' butcher shop. She has good taste."

"When she gets fussy and doesn't want to eat anything, it's something I know she'll always eat. She'll have her own booth by the time she's five."

Matt laughs again and you can feel all the anxiety you had before the call bleeding away. He's been open to everything you've had to say so far and there's been no hint of negative feelings. 

Maybe things will be okay.

"She can share Foggy's booth," Matt says, no idea your mind keeps trying to freak out over nothing. "We went there for lunch almost every day when we were working out of the shop."

"You worked out of a butcher's shop?" You ask,  thinking you must be misinterpreting something. 

"We did," he says, sounding a little sheepish, "I took a hiatus from…everything really and Foggy went to work for another firm. While we were reestablishing, his parents graciously allowed us to work out of their shop."

Part of you wants to ask about his hiatus, but the way he says it gives you a feeling you should leave it alone, so you do. You focus on another aspect instead. "So we've been going to the same diner, we just kept missing each other."

It is sobering to say - the father of your child was always right there, but fate let you skirt around each other for years. It hurts to think about, your mind whispering at you if you had just tried harder to look for him, you would have found Matt. If you had just seen him earlier, how different would things be? What if you had been there at the same time, but you just hadn't been paying attention to your surroundings? It isn't like he knew to be on the lookout for a fling from years ago - how would he have even noticed you? 

You wonder if he is thinking the same thing - that you probably missed each other because you weren't paying attention.

"Don't do that," your attention is yanked away from your guilt by Matt's strong voice, "I can hear you thinking, blaming yourself."

"Is it that obvious?" You ask quietly, cringing just a little bit. Are you really such a mess he can tell over the phone?

"You said you overthink and work yourself up. You got quiet, so I assumed and I guess I was right. There's no way you could have known and why would you have been looking there?" He sounds so sure you feel guilty over feeling guilty. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for."

You bite your lip then force your head up and away from your knees. You should get up and get a drink - change how your body is. Maybe it will help in keeping your mood from dipping back down. You take a breath and start to get up.

"Thank you…um.. What day would you want to meet?" You ask, trying to push past the awkwardness and into another direction. You hear him take a drink and decide you do want some water. You start to look around your living space, trying to locate your water bottle.

You spy it across the room in all its rainbow sticker glory and make your way across the room as Matt starts to speak, "I wish I could say tomorrow, but we have to meet with the D.A. tomorrow and I can't miss it. I hate that I can't miss it. But Saturday? Can we meet Saturday?"

You'd have a day to prepare. You would definitely need a day to prepare. "Saturday is perfect. Is 11:30 okay? That's when we try to have lunch."

"That is perfect," Matt replies, mirroring your own. "Saturday at 11:30." 

A giddy little shock goes through you - it's not just an idea anymore. Minnie will be meeting her father and he wants to be in her life. He's eager to be in her life. 

You never thought that would be the case. 

"Saturday at 11:30," you repeat, just to confirm and because you can. It feels good to say. 

"I feel like I should dress to impress," he says with a chuckle and you wonder if he is feeling giddy as well. 

"I don't think she will care, unless you have a shirt with a cartoon character she likes on it." 

There's a few seconds of silence, then Matt's soft curious voice is back, "What characters does she like?"

The question makes you laugh a little because your little girl changes her preferences at the flip of a hat, like any other kid.

"Right now? Scooby Doo and Oscar the Grouch."

"I don't think I have anything with those characters," he says with an amused huff, "but I'll see what I have."

You bite your lip, then let yourself be a bit teasing, "Do you have a lot of graphic tees?"

There's a long moment of quiet before Matt laughs. It's a deep rumble and you find yourself grinning as you grab your water bottle.

"I actually don't know. I don't wear a lot of t-shirts. I think a few have designs on them - at least a few Columbia ones. I wouldn't put it past Foggy to give me something with a cartoon on it, though," he muses. 

"I'm sure she will not judge you on your fashion choices," you point out, "She's three and doesn't understand what fashion is. If she did, I would be in trouble."

"Do you have a lot of graphic tees?" Matt asks, throwing the question back at you. It is your turn to laugh.

"I'm the proud owner of many graphic tees. It's practically the only thing in my wardrobe, top wise. The benefits of working from home."

"Unfortunately, court has a dress code. Or so I'm told. I don't think I've ever read it."

"Jury duty has a dress code," you point out, "It was mostly show up clean and not in athletic wear. I didn't get a good look at the lawyers, but I'm pretty sure I remember suits."

"Would you trust a lawyer in a graphic tee?" He asks and you have to pause to think it over.

"Going into their office? I don't think so, unless it was like casual Fridays. But if I met a lawyer in the street on their off day and they had on a graphic tee? I suppose so. Depending on what they are telling me."

"Do you often get your legal advice from random lawyers on the street?" You can practically hear his eyebrows raising up and your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.

"Of course not. I get it from Google. I can't afford a lawyer."

That earns you another bark of laughter. "I don't think that will be an issue any longer."

That sets off a little anxiety in your stomach. You don't want to think about needing a lawyer, whether it be Matt as your lawyer or a lawyer against Matt.

He doesn't seem to notice your dip in mood, not that it is particularly obvious, and moves to the next topic. 

"Speaking of, I haven't gotten the chance to look at the packet you gave me. It's there anything I need to get done before Saturday?"

You turn your mind away from the thoughts of lawyers and legal battles to something much more manageable: medical history.

"No, no, there's nothing that urgent. It's mostly just medical information - she's got some sensitivities and I want to make sure I'm prepared for anything in the future. The rest is just information for you."

Matt doesn't respond right away and you chance taking a swig of your water. 

"Sensitivities…?" There is a thick undercurrent of concern in his voice and you feel a little guilty for making him worry. 

"Fabrics and dyes and scents, that kind of thing? I haven't gotten her tested, but certain things just make her itch. Some foods, too. I try to stick to organic stuff and it seems to help a little. It isn't anything major, just a few changes when she lets me know there's something bothering her." You set your water bottle down as you talk, starting to walk around your small living room. "I read it's becoming more common in kids, because all the chemicals and stuff used in everything now. Some of the other moms at daycare have given me tips - laundry soap was the best one." 

You are reminded you actually need to do some laundry and as you walk, you grab the various throw blankets littering your apartment. 

"I see," Matt says slowly, still sounding concerned. "I actually prefer organic myself, I have some sensitivities as well."

"Any allergies?" You ask. You didn't have any yourself so it has always left you guessing what your little girl might react to.

"No, nothing that I know of. I'm not completely sure about family history, but it is something I can look into."

"I would appreciate it. I'd rather be overly cautious than not have anything," you say casually like you aren't completely obsessive about keeping your daughter healthy. 

As you make your way to the bathroom to grab dirty towels, phone between your shoulder and ear, he hums into your ear. "I think that is a good way to do things. I'll try to get the information back to you as soon as possible."

You don't want to chide him, but you can't help but frown a little, "Matt, you don't need to rush. I…was worried you wouldn't be…interested. That is why I put the packet together. I thought you'd want to deal with that instead of going to a doctor's office?"

"I'll go with you to the doctor's," he says instantly, "And I'll fill out the paperwork. It's something I want to do." 

You can't argue with that because you would be the same way. Still, you push, "I don't need it by Saturday. Please take your time?"

"Ok," he concedes but it feels like he is only doing so to appease you. But you will take it. 

You dump your laundry into the basket stored in the hallway with a little grunt. Almost immediately Matt is saying your name and asking if you are okay.

"Yup, yup, just trying to get some cleaning done while I can. Sorry for doing that in your ear."

"Do you need to go?" 

Your heart pangs with guilt at the question. You can feel the disappointment through the phone and you're quickly reassuring him, "No, I'm just picking up a few things, tidying up, you know. I will try to not -"

You are cut off as the door to the bedroom pushes open and Minnie shuffles out. Her headband is pulled down around her neck and she's rubbing at her eyes with one hand, the other limply holding Pig. You only just put her down so you are instantly concerned.

"Mouse? Is everything okay?" 

Matt says your name again, "what's going on?" 

You ignore him in favor of going to your daughter. She holds up her arms and you scoop her up, cradling her to your chest. 

"There's a monster outside," Minnie mumbles, burying her face in your neck. 

"There's a monster outside?" You confirm with her, still speaking into your phone.

"A monster?" Matt repeats, clearly confused, as your little one nods against you. 

"Okay, let's go check," you tell her, before finally answering the questions coming through the speaker, "Something woke Minnie up. I'm sorry, I do think I need to go now." 

"Is everything okay?" Matt sounds worried and something stirs in your chest at his concern. 

"It will be, we just need to go tell a monster to go home," you say, gently bouncing Minnie in your arms to soothe her, "Isn't that right, baby? We gotta tell him to go home."

She nods against you again, parroting in a sleepy little voice, "Go home."

You hear some rustling on the other end of the phone, the clicking of a door opening and the rush of wind. Matt must have stepped outside.

"Are you sure?"

His distress is sweet, in a way. You remember being terrified of every little upset when Minnie was a baby, but now you have gotten your groove.

"Yeah, we will be okay. It's just gonna take a bit to get her back to sleep," you say, carrying her into the bedroom. "I'll…um..we'll see you on Saturday? At 11:30?"

"Saturday at 11:30," Matt confirms. "I…" he trails off, then clears his throat. "Have a good rest of your night."

"Good night, Matt."

Minnie mimics you again, mumbling, "Good night, Matt" just as you hang up. You wonder if he heard it, or if it was cut off. 

You hope he did. 

You drop your phone off on the bedside table and bring Minnie over to the window. You are a few stories up and your bedroom overlooks an alleyway, as most do in the city. You hold your toddler with one arm and carefully unlock the window to open it about halfway. On the windowsill, there is a yellow mini spray bottle, covered in stickers like everything you own - you pick it up and offer it to Minnie.

She takes it, turning her little body to face the window. She aims it at the window screen and squeezes the trigger, sending out a little stream of Monster Repellent. 

"Go home, Monster," you say together. She gives another squirt before looking up at you.

"Is it gone?"

"Give him a few minutes and he'll be gone," you promise, taking the spray bottle and putting it back in its spot, "He's gotta pack up his Monster Suitcase before he goes home, but he won't bother you." 

She flops her head back down on your shoulder as you turn to bring her back to bed. 

"Do you want me to stay until you're asleep?" She makes an affirmative little noise 

You start the process of tucking her back into bed with Pig, kissing her forehead before helping to pull up her noise canceling headband. 

"Good night, Mouse."

"Good night. I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, baby. Sweet dreams."