#matt murdock rail me challenge

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[farfromstrange]

*sighs* *opens bedside drawer*

|| Good Girls Finish First ||

Matt Murdock x Afab reader

Warnings: The Hard Fucking. All the pet names. Praise. Minor denial, minor cum eating. All the good stuff.

Author's note: a follow up to the Kinktober Praise Kink fic that you guys seemed to really like 🥹

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

You don't know what's louder, the banging of the bed frame against the wall or the hard beating of your heart in your chest. The secondary thrum of hot blood pulsing between your thighs almost feels like it could drown them both out.

"Mmn… M-Matt!"

Your hands are bound tightly to the bed with his work tie, it feels like you've been here for hours. Yet you can't stop him, wouldn't want to, even with your safeword agreed beforehand. You're willingly prone for him, on your knees, your fingers white knuckled, gripping around the railing as much as you can to push back against him as his cock plunges in and out of you so fucking deep. There's so much sound, so many points of stimulation chasing and manipulating you both towards the peak of pleasure. The hot skin of his pelvis and thighs smack so loud against your ass every time he thrusts inside, and the creak and slam of the bed provide the baseline to your personal symphony of sinful, desperate noises.

Matt's ears burn with the sheer carnality of it all. You'd been quiet, shy, and restrained with him up until now, when he'd coaxed your desires out from so deep within you with simple, truthful words of praise.

Oh, and his fingers.

You opened up for him in ways he had only dreamed of, those kinds of dreams that left him panting, hard and wet, aching for you to admit what you wanted, to let go. He'd willfully been so patient as you became more comfortable with him each time you were together, content to let you lead, just until he saw that you needed that little push… a couple of words that flipped a hidden switch in you.

"Oh- oh fuck… harder Matt! Fuck me harder, please!"

He can't help the grin that splits his lips as he gives you what you want, slamming into your sweet warmth with relentless devotion. Even more of your slick wetness coats his cock and drips down his balls as his hand roams over your body, cupping and massaging each of your breasts, making your breathy little gasps clip off as he toys with them, his rough fingertips grazing over your nipples.

"Does that feel good? You like it like this?" He growls deep right by your ear, lips brushing the spot just under the love and sending electric shivers cascading up and down your spine.

He knows the answer even before your almost guttural moan hits his ears in response.

"Oh you're taking me so well," he breathes, struggling to contain the urge to release more of the wildness that's clawing to get out. Your pussy flutters maddeningly around his cock at the praise and he has to slow down. "Fuck sweetheart, so fucking good for me aren't you?"

His questions may well be rhetorical but you answer every one breathlessly, your back arching and thighs shaking at the delicious pull and push of your devil's wicked need within you. You'll never know how but he makes you feel all of life's contrasts. Goodness, depravity, trust, desecration, worship. Every one of them is a simultaneous offering and imposed need.

As the thought floats through your mind a loud whimper escapes you that causes Matt to halt. He caresses you tenderly, his lips a soft brush on your shoulder as he drapes himself gently over you. He might enjoy fucking you hard but he'd never want to cause you discomfort.

"Tell me what's wrong, do you want to stop?"

"I- I want to see you, need to see you…"

"Of course sweetheart." He kisses a trail down your back as he gently pulls out, his hands immediately reaching for the tie. Once your wrists are unbound, you gingerly turn to face him, body slightly stiff but leaning into the way his hands and mouth work to soothe you. You tilt your head to his and when your tongue slips between his parted lips you feel him moan, your fingers coming up to slide through his hair and push him by his chest, guiding him to take your place. He goes where you want him, ecstatic that you're asking for what you need.

You sit straddling his thick thighs, content for a moment watching the curl of his fingers slowly work up and down the length of his cock. He licks his lips, biting down on the lower one as he knows you're watching, sensing your own hand sliding between your legs.

"Mmn, is that better angel?," he almost purrs as he can hear the movement of your wet fingertips teasing your already swollen clit. You rock your hips a little against your hand, watching his grip tighten and strokes get faster, the fact he's lubricated by your slick just turns you on even more.

"Look so good, Matty, so pretty…" you whisper, inching yourself closer until the head of his cock is bumping against your folds. He holds himself back, eager to follow where you lead.

"Such a pretty cock…"

Matt chuckles, a faint blush creeping up his neck and he lets out a contented gasp as you reach for him, letting his own hand fall away as you take over, stroking him steadily and not missing the drip of precome that leaks from the tip. As you pull your hand up you smear it around with your thumb making it glisten and shine.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, eyes closing at the sensation.

"Matty, does it feel good?" You ask him, turning the tables on the game of praise he's been playing with you. He hums, and you can feel his cock throb in your hold as he gives over to your command. You keep jacking him off slowly. "Bet it felt good when you were inside me, didn't it baby?" you tease, rubbing him over your clit again and he groans, nodding as his brows knit together.

"Oh sweetie, nothing feels better…" he says.

You nudge forward so you're directly over him, lining him up with your needy pussy. His hands grab onto your hips and his mouth drops open as you sink down with a long sigh and he's filling you again. You clench around him making him gasp and dig his fingers into your soft flesh as you lean down, your voice a light whisper.

"Fuck me like this Matt, make me cum on your pretty cock." you tell him, your hand sliding back into his disheveled hair and tugging his head back as you begin to slowly grind your hips against his, your tongue licking a stripe up his throat. He gasps, swearing again, lips pulling up into a smirk as you ride him.

"Yeah, that's my girl," he pants out, his hips thrusting upward to meet yours, noting how you lose rhythm as he says it. "Mm, so beautiful, so fucking sexy. You know how it makes me feel when you tell me what you want."

You tug on his hair again releasing a feral growl from deep in his chest, fucking up into you harder with every stroke. You guide his hands them over your breasts, whining as he kneads them, feels them bounce as you fuck yourself on him.

"Please, please Matty, I want to cum so bad-" you keen.

"I know…" he moves you gently, placing a hand at your lower back to urge you closer and tilt your pelvis forward so you could get more stimulation rubbing against his body.

He licks his first two fingers, sliding them between you to gently rub little circles on your clit. "There you go angel."

It feels fucking amazing and you moan loudly, riding him faster.

"Nngh- that's it honey, just like that." Matt groans, "Take what you need."

The pleasure you're feeling is sublime as he fucks you, his fingers touching you exactly the way you need him to. It's an all-consuming, glowing heat at the base of your spine and he just keeps throwing on more fuel.

"Fuck, you're so good for me…"

You're practically wailing now, eyes glimmering with unshed tears that he can taste in the air. He knows when you're close, he always knows, so tightly wound that when he reduces the pressure of his fingers, only tracing delicately around your clit but not touching directly, you whine with an agonising need.

"Maaaatt!" You sob, your fingers grasping at his chest and hands, begging him for the orgasm that is held just out of your reach. He smiles with a smug satisfaction that you almost want to slap off his face but you can't, not when he's holding the key.

"Use your words sweetheart, I promise I'm gonna make you feel so good, just use your words for me."

You can only whimper in response, completely cock drunk as he changes the angle of his hips and starts hammering right into the spot in you that makes you howl and cry out. He's got you where he wants you, right on the precipice. He was playing with you, seeing how far he could take it, and you were about to explode.

Just one… last… little…

Push.

"Only good girls get to finish first, are you my good girl? Hmm?"

You moan, your entire body shuddering and shaking with how worked up he has you, knowing your weakness, how to make you melt.

"Y-yes Matty, yes…" you choke out, "I'm y-your good fucking girl!"

"You are. Now cum for me, kitten," he growls, feeling your pussy squeeze around him at his darkened tone. "let me hear you scream for me."

You were gone, sobbing with pleasure and relief rippling through your body as his thumb glides over where you need it most, breaking apart, screaming his name out as you cum, just like he asked.

Matt's hands hold firm to your hips, rutting into you, your soft, tight, velvety walls clenching around him have him giving up any sliver of remaining control he might have had left.

"You're mine, mine…"

"yours..." you affirm, lucid enough to watch wide-eyed at how the muscles in his jaw clench and relax, his lips parting to release his strained gasps, the deep heave of his chest, the way his abs twitch and contract with every uncontrollable spasm as he spills deep into you, his hips rolling and stuttering while he cums and doesn't stop fucking you until you tell him to.

You lie breathless on top of him, cheeks damp with tears, quiet murmurs from your lips as he places the most gentle kisses on your shoulder and neck. When he softens you shakily dismount, now highly aware of the mix of both your mess leaking from between your thighs. You sit up and he reaches there, gathering some on his fingers and bringing them up to your mouth.

You suck them clean without question, tasting you together on your tongue. He swiftly rolls you underneath him, giving you a gorgeous smile before dipping down and kissing you deeply.

Good girl.

.

.

Tags (if you ever want removed or added let me know): @phoebe-danvers @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

@hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fvcker @i-simp-much

[titconao3]

Hello I have a lot of feelings about Fratt and I’m endlessly grateful for your contributions to the pairing. I just want to know what draws you to them, what you love about them, how you got into the pairing, and what drives you to keep producing wonderful content for them?

Aw, thank you - i have a lot of feelings about Fratt too! About them both, separately, as /, or as &.

And now, brace yourself for word-vomit ;-)

i started with Daredevil, and Matt is a character that hits my buttons. i can ship him with almost anyone and anything, from socks to Foggy to naps to Elektra, bring it on. (Just not Karen Page, that’s not my personal jam - but to each their own ^_^)Matt being a cocky idiot who will throw himself into harm’s way and disregard his own well-being because Catholic Guilt ™ and Matt getting whumped is, uh. *grabby hands* He’s also So Dramat(t)ic - from backflips to emo-ing, from speechifying about god and justice to his “i’ll bleeeed for the cityyyyy” atttitude… *rubs hands* me like! He’s such a little shit too He’s also clearly suffering from depression (or bipolar disorder? the comics say depression, but i guess a case can be made for either), which i find… uh, yes. i can’t say i like it (poor Matty) but, just, yes.Plus i like hurt/comfort, okay? & DD is a whump-magnet of the highest, finest quality ;-)

Then Frank came by and i went uuuuuh yessss. The empty stare (and generally his body language; the immobility, the head movements, and then the sudden violence!), the difference in vigilante philosophy with Matt, his ALSO being a cocky idiot albeit in a different style, his bulldozer, one-man army style of fighting...  He’s clearly got Actual Brain Trauma from, you know, a bullet lodged there and has to deal with guilt from the death of his family, from sometimes loving being with his squad more than with his kids, from what he did as a soldier, etc.Frank can be emo-dramatic too, what with the whole “i am dead inside, i am just a tool of retribution, i am the mission and nothing else” attitude (we see through you, Frankie, sorry).He can be a real asshole too, and i like me some imperfect characters :DAND he comes with a cool cast of characters - Dinah, Billy, Curt, David…!

Both have a shitload of issues. Matt misses his dad (even when he rails against him in S3) and Frank has a well-developed dad instinct (is anyone reading Punisher Kill Krew? it’s hilarious and colourful and i promise Frankie goes ratatatatatBOOMpewpew at the baddies, but it also doesn’t take itself too seriously and Frank gives off the dad vibes AND the dog lover vibes ;-).Frank’s HE PROTEC and Matt’s “i’ll fight everything and anything!” (or is it the other way around?) go well together; they want the same thing, have the same goal.Plus, they can get on each other’s nerves; chatty lawyer and grunty Marine :DTheir rooftop conversation, with Matt chained up and trying to get Frank to open up, and Frank not being only this terrifying, violent monster but a guy with broken bits rattling inside! *clutches chest* And their various interactions after that - annoyance with some life-saving on the side. Aw ^_^

They have their little quirks, coffee or blind jokes and other little things that amuse me; they don’t like admitting they can’t do something, they can be terrible friends, they’re just perfect fic fodder, really :D

i also like the contrast between a guy who knows how domestic life works, how you take care of people, and occasionally (gasp) how you communicate (Frank’s surprise speeches at times…! like to Karen in that diner, bam Sudden Words) but who’s also a death-dealing machine and another guy who’s desperate for a family, who definitely craves being cared for (but NOT too much and only when he wants it, he’s a bit like a cat i guess ;-) and whose job is talking but who will always do his best to obfuscate, hide, or even lie because what will happen if i actually tell the truth? 

And: they’re both hoodie-wearers and both have been shown hiding under blankets. So, uh. Yes. That.

And on top of that, there’s the potential of team DD interacting with Mr. Punisher, especially Foggy (who was all Frank’s scary but also hot!!!) and Maggie (god save me from these guys! *gets the suture kit out*)

So there’s potential for feels, h/c, action, and humour too!Because, let’s face it, they can both be ridiculous sometimes ^_^ but it makes them human, interesting, and relatable!

There is Not Enough Content for them!

Also, for folks who are into smut, they do have great chemistry; but while i can and sometimes do write sex scenes when they feel relevant it’s not really my favourite thing in the world.Unless we’re talking post-deed CUDDLES :D

The challenge is to keep them as true as i can to my understanding of who they are: their flaws, their violence… and yet manage to give them an actual story that isn’t just we fought, we sexed, Frank left, Matt angsted, it never happened again because Frank’s a loner / Matt’s got too many issues / Frank “i’m a dead man inside” Castle won’t drag Matt into his world / Matt “Law & Justice and also my fists” Murdock gets hurt and Frank freaks out…i want to see how to make them work together, in part because i’m a wimp and i can’t stand downer endings and in part because can’t they have a little happiness too? (but not too much they’d disintegrate)Sure, i’d love to be able to write Deep Meaningful stuff, but basically i always end up doing domestic / fluffy / dog dads… stories.

...sorryy it got so long? i hope this answers your questions!

xxxxxxxxx

[pomegranate-belle]

So I finally finished @returnsandreturns ten song fic meme from weeks ago. The results include lots of MattFoggy, a hint of Kastle, a smidge of Elektra, and a Billy Russo cameo.

1. What is This Feeling?

Foggy knows his roommate doesn’t like him. 

And look, he’s blind so maybe Foggy should be nicer to him or something. But the guy’s, like — a huge asshole. He’s constantly criticizing Foggy -- his eating habits, his hygiene, his taste in entertainment -- or eschewing words altogether to offer up these just, scathing expressions. 

And Foggy tries, ok! He keeps the floor clear for Matt because honestly he’s not a dick, ok, he knows no matter what their issues with each other are, that’s no excuse to not accommodate Matt’s disability. But come on, when Matt complains that Foggy’s music — which he’s listening to through headphones — is too loud, he’s just bullshitting. So yeah, it might not be like, very cool of him, but he dislikes Matt right back.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Matt from being unfairly mega hot. In the end, that only really helps Foggy hate him more. Someone who’s that much of a dick should not be so pretty. Now if only Foggy could stop daydreaming about shoving him against a wall and kissing him, everything would be perfect.

2. Never Let This Go

Matt’s content. He is. Or... He chose this, at least. It’s what he wanted. To not have to worry that he was putting the people he cared about in danger. To not have to listen to every sense he has tell him that Foggy is pulling further away, that his trust in Matt is unraveling thread by thread.

And yet, he still finds himself crouched on the fire escape outside Foggy’s new apartment, hands clinging tight to the railing as he listens to Foggy’s sleeping heartbeat, the one familiar sensation in the whole building. The smells and sounds are different — expensive cologne, expensive clothing, expensive furniture, expensive food. It takes time to burrow past all that to Foggy, and it aches.

He wants— to be in there, to be Nelson and Murdock again instead of Daredevil alone. But the evidence is staring him in the face, and even if he can’t see it he’s got plenty of other senses to tell him — Foggy’s changed, and Matt doesn’t have a place here anymore.

3. Midna’s Theme

The rain is falling in sheets. Elektra knows she would be more comfortable inside. Dry, and warm. But here she sits, crouched on the edge of the rooftop like a foolish gargoyle. Just closes her eyes and tilts her head back and lets the rain cry for her, Lets the wind tangle slow, frigid fingers through her dark hair. She’s made her choices, all of them, and they’ve led her here. But that doesn’t mean she has no regrets. The wind swirls around her, in, out. She breathes with it, opens her eyes to watch a streak of moonlight break past the clouds. When the light vanishes again, so does she.

4. London (Live Version)

Karen knows she doesn’t belong here. The couples swirl around the glamorous ballroom like dancers in a tinkling music box. Everything glitters and shines. But like a dream, she weaves through the party, unnoticed by anyone. It’s as though she’s a mirage. Or maybe they are.

But she’s not here to watch the beauty, no matter how captivating it is. She’s here to find the truth and get out before midnight. She’s here to—

With a suddenness that pulls the breath from her lungs, her hand is grasped, and she’s tugged into a waltz. A moment later, her breath catches again when she looks up to see a familiar, rugged face. Frank’s expression is as impassive as ever, but there’s a twinkle in his dark eyes that makes her think he’s amused.

“You’re alive,” she breathes, hardly feeling the way they glide across the floor in wide, elegant arcs.

“Promised you,” he rumbles in that low, low voice that sends shivers down her spine. “Didn’t I?”

The ballroom could be on fire and Karen wouldn’t notice.

“Yes. You did.”

5. At the Beginning

The Matt standing across from him, here at the altar, is covered in more shimmering silver scars than Foggy could ever count. His nose is a little crooked now from being broken so often. There were times, so many times, that Foggy thought... But despite all the trials and dangers in their lives, he hasn’t lost Matt. No matter how many times they’ve walked away or been pushed apart, they’re here now.

There are laugh lines at the corners of Matt’s lovely mouth and the first strands of white in his hair. But when he grins, bright and joyful, Foggy sees him as he was at the beginning — scrawny, sheepish, in a dumpy hand-me-down sweater and two dollar shades. That smile, Foggy’s favorite smile, is still the same after all these years. And Matt is so, so beautiful.

Neither of them gets through their vows with dry eyes. But when he gets to brush tear tracks from Matt’s cheeks and kiss him, well, Foggy hardly minds.

6. Hello, Young Lovers

(Obligatory Bittersweet Time Travel AU)

Foggy watches from the window, leans against the frame and smiles sadly as he watches Matty and a young version of himself pull up short in front of each other. They’re both pink-faced and shy. Foggy remembers what that was like, the tongue-tied embarrassment, the eagerness, the desire to be close. Eighteen and knowing, somehow, that there could never be anybody else but Matt, not really.

He’d never seen the dopey smiles on his own face of course, but he imagines the one on young Foggy’s face matches. The two teens walk off together, talking and laughing, nudging one another. Foggy continues to stare down at the street long after they’ve passed out of sight, reminiscing.

His own memories of Matt aren’t always happy, but he still has them to wrap around himself as he hopes that he’s changed enough, hopes that the two kids strolling on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen below have a chance to lead a simpler, safer, longer life together.

7. Love is an Open Door

Foggy’s not expecting much of a response — he doesn’t, generally speaking, especially from guys as good-looking as this one — when he calls the man at the bar ‘handsome’. What he gets is a startled look and a sweet smile.

“Handsome?” He asks, like he’s not sure.

“Uh, Yeah. Do you not use mirrors or something...?”

The guy laughs.

“I generally get... Something else,” he tells Foggy, holding out a hand. “Billy Russo.”

Foggy shakes it.

“Foggy Nelson, nice to meet you, Billy.”

“Foggy, huh?” Billy tilts his head thoughtfully. “It suits you. Well, Foggy, can I buy you a drink?”

There is no way in hell Foggy’s turning down a drink from this guy. No way.

“I wish you would,” he says, trying to copy the coy little smirk that Marci and Matt both do so well.

It must work, considering the scorching look Billy sends his way as he absently waves the bartender over.

8. She (For Liz)

(fem!MattFoggy Into the Spider-Verse AU)

Matt is... Something else. Foggy’s known for having a fumbling manner and no filter at the best of times but Matt makes her practically incoherent. And it sucks, because all Foggy wants to do is spout gorgeous love poetry at her, anything that can capture how beautiful Matt is. How she makes the whole world shine. 

Every time Foggy thinks to herself, screw it, today’s the day I’m going to say it, today’s the day I’m going to tell her I love her, no matter how stupid I sound when I do... The moment Matt turns a dazzling smile on her or says something clever, Foggy’s courage just dries right up. How can she possibly risk losing this, losing the best friend she’s ever had? Matt’s brilliant and charming and totally badass and Foggy’s not sure she can live without her anymore. The words cut at the inside of her mouth like glass. It hurts to keep them in. But ruining her friendship with Matt would hurt worse.

Foggy’s a coward, and she keeps her mouth shut.

9. Doomsday

Foggy swallows. Listens to the rush of his pulse in his ears. Stares at the empty wall in front of him.

“No,” he says, because it’s the only thing he ever could.

The only sound he can form to disavow the impossibility in front of him. The wall stays blank. The portal swirling out of it only seconds ago is gone. And Matt is on the other side.

“I’m sorry, Foggy,” Danny says.

“Sorry, you’re—“ sputters Foggy. “You’re sorry! He’s gone! He’s gone and I’ll never see him again but hey, at least you’re sorry!”

“Foggy!” snaps Karen, and all the anger dissolves instantly.

“I’m.” He shakes his head. “I can’t. You have to take me back, I need— I have to get back to him.”

Danny can’t even meet his eyes.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, there’s no way back. I’m so sorry.”

10. She Is

(fem!MattFoggy Into the Spider-Verse AU)

The moment that Matt realizes she’s in love with Foggy, they’re in the middle of a study group, with three other people crammed into their dorm room. Foggy’s just cracked a stupid joke and is laughing about it. It’s the most adorable sound Matt’s ever heard, and it makes her tingle down to her toes.

She very calmly excuses herself, very calmly walks down the hall to the dorm bathrooms, locks herself in one, and proceeds to hyperventilate.

How, Matt wonders frantically. How did I not notice?

But she doesn’t have an answer. She’s thought, almost since the beginning, that Foggy was sweet and charming and funny and brilliant. She challenges Matt, makes her better, pulls her out of her shell. Foggy makes everything better. She’s easy to love. But that’s not the same as being in love with her. As wanting her. And Matt does want her. She wants Foggy’s silly, drunken cheek kisses to find her mouth instead. Wants Foggy to say, “you’re beautiful, Matty,” in the same besotted way she always speaks to her latest boyfriend or girlfriend.

Foggy’s not at all the kind of person Matt would expect herself to end up with. She’s always pictured someone sharp, hard, a bit broken — like herself. Foggy’s nothing like that, soft and warm and sweet. But she’s perfect.

“I am so,” Matt breathes hopelessly, “so fucked.”