#matt murdock x afab!reader

[farfromstrange]

Enduring | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, chronic (lower abdominal) pain, mentions of spotting (blood), self-loathing, allusions to Doctors Not Listening To Patients With A Uterus, health anxiety (warranted), non-sexual intimacy, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proof-read

Summary: You’ve been experiencing chronic lower abdominal pain for years regardless of the point in your menstrual cycle. Some days, it’s worse than others, but when the first heatwave of the year hits New York City and you have another flare-up, your day takes a sudden turn for the worse. Thankfully, Matt is there to comfort you in any way he can.

WC: 3k

A/n: Even though I tagged my tag list, don't read if this could be triggering to you! So, I know pain is a very sensitive subject and everyone experiences it differently. I used my personal experience with pain and chasing a diagnosis to write this. That doesn’t mean it’s the only experience. Lower abdominal pain can have many causes, which is why advice from a medical professional is often necessary. That being said, I know how hard it can be to have been born into a female body and be treated like my pain is worth less for whatever reason just because I was born female. There is no shame in standing up for yourself in a man’s world that completely disregards women’s health. I had to learn it the hard way to the point it has taken a toll on my mental health, so I just needed to write a little comfort piece for my own peace of mind before my appointment on Monday. I wrote this for the sake of getting it out of my system, meaning it’s probably not perfect, but if you can relate to what I said in any way, feel free to read it and make up your own mind. (I will not be posting this on AO3 for now. I hope you can forgive me for that.)

Matt always knows when something is wrong with you. 

Sometimes, he can smell it. Other times, it’s the way you taste when you kiss him or the sweat that clings to your skin, or when he goes down on you and your essence is slightly tangier than it was the day before. 

Matt knows when you’re ovulating because the changes in your hormones make him go crazier than he already is for you, and he is familiar with the metallic scent of blood when you’re on your period. He can tell when you start sweating more often, when your muscles tense up more than usual, or when you are slightly more emotional. He knows before you even do because he has to. 

You are miserable almost every day, really, but more often than not it happens around the time of your period. So, he pays close attention to the signs. When the painkillers stop working, or when you get more tired, or when you stop moving around as much. When you tell him you’re fine even though he can feel the muscles of your abdomen tensing under his touch when he hugs you. When he can tell you have been crying and he wasn’t there to help. He has to know because you need him. 

You’re not entirely dependent on him, of course; you have lived on your own before and while it was hell, you pushed through somehow. With him, you don’t have to be alone on the days you can’t get out of bed because the pain keeps you locked in a fetal position, or on the days you have to cower on the bathroom floor until you’re too weak to move. Matt has reached a point of knowing you where his four working senses don’t play much of a role in telling what kind of a day you’re having; he just knows. 

Tonight, he senses it when he comes through the door after work, finally escaping the raging heat from the streets that made him feel like he was dying on the commute home. He instantly loosens his tie to get some air into his lungs, feeble fingers working desperately to free himself, but it doesn’t take a second longer for him to realize something is wrong. It is nothing but a mere hunch—some kind of aura that emits from somewhere in the apartment that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He calls your name, frantically searching for your heartbeat. Through the rattling of the fridge as it tries to keep up with the rising temperatures inside, he makes out the rapid drumming of your heart against your ribcage. If you’re not dizzy yet, he thinks, you soon will be. 

Upon hearing you huff from the kitchen floor, Matt doesn’t hesitate tossing his bag mindlessly into the nearest corner, followed by his keys before he makes his way to find you. He’s overheated, itchy, and sweating through his clothes, but not anywhere near as desperate as he is to get to you. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

Hearing the sound of his voice, you realize that what felt like five minutes must have been hours spent on the cool kitchen floor. You can’t even remember how you got there. The hours have blended into minutes, the tiles digging into your sweat-coated skin. You’re curled up in a ball, wearing nothing but one of Matt’s loosest shirts. You couldn’t stand the feeling of a waistband around your stomach, so you took your pants off, changing into the oldest pair of cotton underwear you could find. It’s all soaked by now, and part of you wonders if you did finally get your period or if your pores just decided to drench you for the fun of it. 

Everything hurts. Your muscles are tense, yet at the same time they are so incredibly weak, you don’t react when the front door opens. He’s worried, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It is as though the pain has made you entirely apathetic, coiling in your lower stomach and spreading into your legs like a parasite. All you can do is succumb to it. 

Matt’s feet come into view. The purple cast of the billboard outside falls upon him, painting the shadow of a halo above his head. It’s ironic, really; the man you love as your knight in shining armor, a Catholic looking like an angel in artificial neon light. 

His gentle voice reaches for you, “What’re you doing on the floor?”

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows it is futile, but even that question you don’t know how to answer. What are you doing on the dirty kitchen floor?

You clear your throat, trying to sound nonchalant when you answer, “It’s too hot up there.”

He crouches down. “Just too hot?”

You sigh. “No.”

It was a good day until it wasn’t, and then you were in pain again and all the days you spent feeling a little more like yourself are suddenly gone with the wind. The tears wrap a noose around your neck for the second time today, your eyes burning with faint resistance. Every time you think it gets better, it gets worse again. And every time you try to pretend that maybe things are looking up for you and it isn’t as endless of a pit as you thought, the exact opposite proves itself. You’re tired; you’re in pain and you’re tired and you feel so silly for letting it dim the light Natt pointed out a few days ago that he had so deeply missed, but there is only so much hope you can have.  

This isn’t the first time he has found you like this, but it truly never gets easier. Hearing the strain in your voice, the quiver in your entire being as you try to catch your breath, telling yourself not to fucking cry. It never gets easier to know how much you beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Because the doctors that were supposed to listen failed you, and now the road to relief is paved with bricks you can barely climb over. You are on your way now, finally, but the future is still not certain. In the end though, what kills him the most is that he can’t help you. 

Matt reaches out, his hand shaking as he aimlessly brushes his fingers over your forehead. “Cramps?” he says.

You nod weakly. 

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, and that is when the glass overflows. 

With a click of his tongue, he wipes the first of your tears away. His brown eyes bore into your soul, completely bare in front of him. Your body is like a complex crafted melody only he knows how to decipher.  

The tears quickly form a barrier between you and the tiles. Matt tilts his head. The faintest hint of copper clings to your skin. “Did you get your period?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Just… some spotting.”

“Explains the blood.”

He is way too nonchalant about it, you think. The way he accepts your version of normal even though you feel like a failure trapped in a body that refuses to work like it is supposed to.

“How’d you get here?” he asks again, his voice so soft you want nothing more than to hide your face from him and cry some more. 

He refuses to let you go, gripping your chin to the point it almost hurts. “I was trying to do the dishes and then–” a broken sob gets stuck in your throat. “It hurts and it’s hot, and I can’t breathe.”

He gently cradles your face in his hands. “I know,” he says like he can read your mind. And maybe he can.

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I couldn’t stand anymore, so I laid down. On the floor,” you tell him. “I just… I didn’t get anything done today.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does. I–”

He cuts you off, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t. I can wash the dishes, but I can’t replace you.”

His dedication hurts. You used to be called sensitive and not worth the drama, but with him, you count, and that hurts because you are barely hanging on by a fragile thread. You don’t know how to ever give back to him what he has given you. The countless nights you patched him up after he got his ass handed to him do not seem to matter much compared to what he does for you. 

He studies your erratic heartbeat for a moment. “You want a heating pad?” he offers. 

You physically cringe at the thought of a hot water bottle when the entire city could function as one, and you are quick to deny, “Too hot.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.” He brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Have you taken anything yet? Advil? Naproxen?”

You growl. “You know none of the pills they gave me fucking work!” 

He doesn’t seem deterred by your tone. All he does is smile softly at you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, nothing’s helping,” you retort. 

“That why you’re lying on the floor?” 

Another tear rolls down your cheek and past your cracked lips. “I told you. Nothing helps.”

Snapping at him for only trying to care may be petty of you, but there is nothing you loathe more than feeling so utterly helpless. 

Matt moves closer, your words pearling off of him like he is made of stone. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I try something else?”

The voice in your head is screaming, what else is there to do? You are tired of trying everything and nothing ever working. Two more weeks until you will meet with a new doctor, but those two weeks might actually kill you. That’s what it feels like, anyway. 

He sighs, “C’mere.” Without another word from you, Matt slides his arms under your sticky frame and lifts you off the ground. His skin offers a stark contrast from the cold kitchen tiles, but he’s clean, and he smells like home. Not this place, not this city, but him. 

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” is all he tells you. 

Your brain is too slow to even dare protest. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on unsteady legs. 

“May I?” he asks. You nod, but even as he pulls his shirt over your head, he doesn’t once let go of you. 

You close your eyes. The pain in your abdomen is dull yet searing. You try to focus on anything else, but just when you think it’s getting better, it breaks through again, burning through you like a wildfire on the blade of a hot knife. And that makes you sad. It makes you so sad and angry you don’t know what to do with yourself. You want to scream and cry and tear the apartment apart, but you’re exhausted and tired and you know that if this pain keeps rippling through you, you might fall apart. 

You hate when he sees you like this. When you’re falling apart and there’s nothing either of you can do, and you blame yourself even though there is nothing to blame yourself for. Matt knows that. You sometimes wonder if you are a burden to him and he just won’t tell you because he doesn’t know when to stop. To stop caring, to stop helping, to stop trying to change everything. But then again, he has always told you that loving you isn’t a burden. If you get lost in the what ifs, you might actually fall apart.    

“I’m gonna start a cool bath,” Matt murmurs next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts with his gentle baritone of a voice. “Just stay here.” 

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. The thought of immersing yourself in cool water, even for a few minutes, seems like a small mercy. 

Water starts to run in the distance. His belt hits the floor, followed by the fabric clinging to his skin. You’re afraid you might get dizzy if you open your eyes. Dizzy because of the pain. Dizzy because of him. 

The cabinet behind you rattles when he reaches for it. “Claire gave them to me, but you took these before,” he says, skillfully working on the cap of an orange capsule. “They’re a bit stronger than Advil.”

You don’t protest, you simply let him place one of the pills in the palm of your hand. He is right behind you with his hand on your waist when you take them, swallowing with a handful of water. There’s nothing sexual in the way he touches you, just a tenderness born from years of knowing each other’s bodies inside and out. 

Maybe that is why you could never be a burden to him; he has felt like one for most of his life, and the last thing he wants is for his love to feel the same way. And he needs you to remind him that he is everything to you, too, his hands never wavering when they find your skin. You’re his lifeline as much as he is yours.

The cold water hits the inside of the bathtub, pattering down like raindrops on a windowpane. Matt gently tugs you closer to him and guides you toward the tub. At first, when he lifts you in, the cool water is a shock to your overheated skin, but it doesn’t take long for you to welcome the change in temperature. 

He eases you between his legs once he is sat, your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hands come to rest on your lower stomach, close enough to allow you to pull your legs up to your chest. It’s the only position that doesn’t hurt. 

You remember nights spent crammed in the same position, not because of you but because of his nightmares. The roles were reversed then. When it’s too hot outside, he needs the world on fire to burn a little less bright. Today, you finally realize what he must feel like on days like these. 

“How’s that?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod. “Better,” you whisper. Better isn’t perfect, but the pain is just dull now, and the gentle movement of his fingers against your sore muscles lulls you into a state where you can breathe. It’s not perfect, but it is as good as it gets. 

Your head falls back against his collarbone. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him.

He shushes you, lips moving to your temple. The gesture is supposed to say, don’t thank me. But it feels wrong not to. 

You lift your head enough to look at him, finally, your eyes fluttering open to look back into his hazel orbs. “Matt…” 

“Yeah?” he breathes. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you confess. It’s a truth you’ve grappled with, the stark realization that his presence has become indispensable. It is a burden, to be loved so fiercely, as much as it is an addiction. Because a life without him seems like a sheer impossibility you don’t ever want to face again. 

Matt holds his lips against your skin, smiling. “Good thing you never have to find out, hm?”

You chuckle weakly. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“Then I’ll be sick of you for a few hours,” he says, “and you’ll be sick of me ‘til we’re not.”

Your eyes roam his face for any indication that he might not be telling the truth. “That easy?” you ask. 

He nods, fingers coming up to find your lips. He touches them for a moment, exploring the soft skin there. Instead of kissing you though, he halts.

“What?” You frown. 

Matt shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re gonna be okay,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

A whimper breaks from your chest. He believes it wholeheartedly, but it is incredibly hard to hear it out loud because you don’t believe it. You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way,” you whisper. “I wish I could be… normal.”

Again, he nods, fingers brushing over your cheek to catch a stray tear. “You are normal,” he insists softly. “Your pain doesn’t make you any less. And ‘cause I know how strong you are, I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Even if I’ll be ill for the rest of my life? Even if I–”

“Of course,” he stops you. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. Not ‘even if’ but regardless of whether it’s endometriosis or… or something else. Your pain is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. I love all of you.”

There is no stopping the avalanche of tears that is forced down the hill by his words. They hit you harder than an arrow to the heart. 

You crack under the weight of your emotions. “I love you,” you whisper. Those three words mean the world, but they feel inadequate to describe what you feel. 

“I know,” says Matt. “I love you too.”

The once open wounds of the blood you shed just to find him are nothing but scars now—scars you can learn how to live with once you accept that there is nothing wrong with you. Being a human being with an illness, both mentally and physically, doesn’t make you any less worthy of love. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of life. 

With Matt by your side, you are no longer alone in this. You have him, all of him, and that makes all the difference. 

Matt Murdock (Angst) Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @abucketofweird

Also tagging: @moncherriis

[courtforshort15]

How Sweet It Is (to be loved by you)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader

Word Count: 3,300

Summary: Matt Murdock is the sweetest man you’ve ever known.

Warnings: Sweet and gentle smut. Yup, good old College!Matt taking care of reader during her first time.

Masterlist

Matt Murdock is a lot of things.

Intense.

Passionate.

Intelligent. 

Resilient. 

Beautiful. 

But your favorite thing that he is...is sweet.

No one should be that happy to attend a grueling class about civil law, but Matt has always been the exception, not the rule, throwing everyone off their axis, time and time again.

He is sweet in the way that he walks you to as many of your classes as he can, hand linked with yours, despite the fact that sometimes you think it should be the other way around, that you should be the one guiding him to his own classes, helping him navigate through the crowds of students and finding an empty seat in a lecture hall. But Matt Murdock knows the campus like the back of his hand, so you don't worry about him making his way to where he needs to be, knowing he’ll make it just fine on his own with a backpack thrown over his shoulder and a charming smile lighting up his face.

He is sweet in the way that he stays up late to help you study for exams. He helps you prepare note cards, quizzing you on facts and terms that he has long since mastered. He is two years ahead of you in the law program, and while he has plenty of homework and papers he could be working on, he always makes sure you're settled and confident in your own knowledge and abilities before he moves on to his own assignments.

He is sweet in the way that he rubs your back and whispers soothing words into your ears while you're in the middle of an anxiety attack, hands clenched in his t-shirt and helpless tears sliding down your face through wet eyelashes, trying and failing to match your breathing to his. He asks you what you need from him, what he can do to make it better, and when you tell him that all you need is for him to hold you, he keeps you pressed up against him for the rest of the night and into the morning, hand rubbing up and down your back in a motion that reminds you of the way your father used to comfort you through thunderstorms. 

He is sweet in the way that when he kisses you, it's with everything he has. You are his sole focus, the only thing he is thinking about when his mouth is on yours, soft lips shifting between petal light and the kind of passion you’ve only ever seen on a movie screen. The hands he roams over your body vary in their pressure, vary in their intensity, but they are always soft and ready to slow down and ease up if you need.

He is sweet the first time he's inside of you, the first time anyone is inside you, and you can’t think of anyone you’d rather experience this with first.

To be honest, you can’t think of anyone you’d rather experience this with ever.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his mouth ghosting over yours as he helps you remove your pants, tossing them to the carpeted floor in his bedroom, the off-campus apartment he shares with Foggy a far cry from your cramped dorm room. Your shirt and bra soon follow, a gentle movement of color that lands somewhere behind you.

"Yes," you say in reply, reaching for his own clothing and failing miserably to remove them, fingers trembling in nerves and a level of eagerness you haven’t felt before. He steadies your hands, raising them to his lips to press a gentle kiss to the knuckles, before he takes his shirt off himself, exposing broad shoulders that already carry so much weight on them, though the weight never dims the smiles that he sends your way. 

It's not the first time you've seen him without anything covering his chest, having spent time pressed against him as he gently tore your boundaries down through smooth skin and patience as he waited for you to be ready for this exact moment. But it's the first time you've seen him like this, bathed in the moonlight that's streaming through the window, face a mixture of anticipation, excitement and the flash of hunger that’s been appearing on his face more and more often.

You know that if he could see, he’d find the exact same look staring back at him. 

He's sweet in the way he leans into you and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, a thoughtful and wordless way to remind you that he's going to take good care of you as the pair of you move into this next step of your relationship. You can feel his want pressing into your abdomen, an aching testament to his desire for you, but you have no doubt that he’d stop if you asked him to, your name on his lips shifting from passion to comfort immediately and without question.

You have no intention of asking him to stop tonight, though.

Matt's lowering you to his bed before you know it, placing you so that you're on your side facing him. He's pressed against you in a way that leaves little to the imagination of how much he wants you, and you can’t help but rock into him, savoring the small gasp that leaves through his parted lips. His skin is nearly scalding, but the heat barely registers because the temperature matches yours, and how can he burn you anymore than you’re already burning? 

He is sweet in the way he pushes your hair back behind your ear, wanting full access to your face, fingers trailing down your cheek and cupping your jaw so that he can lift your mouth towards his, dark eyes fluttering shut. The hand slides into your hair once his lips have captured yours, cradling the back of your head in his palm, the pressure tender even while it’s firm.

With your free hand, you slide your fingers into his silk boxers, marveling at how the skin is somehow unbelievably softer than the fabric. It matches, you suppose, the texture of his skin as gentle underneath your fingertips as the sound of your name leaving his lips. Your hand slides lower so that you can grasp him fully, and while it's not the first time you've held him in your palm, it's still the first time you've been ready to cradle him in a different part of your body. 

He helps you push his boxers down his hips before he slowly removes your own underwear, fingers pausing to draw a few circles on the inside of one of your thighs, and the movement is more sensual than you could have ever imagined. You are completely bare to him in a way you haven't been before, and though you know he can't see you, you delight in the way that he already knows your body far better than you do.

Matt has spent time tracing every bump and scar of your body, reading them as easily as he does the bumps of braille on a piece of paper, studying every reaction you have to his hands on your body. He has learned to use each sigh and gasp and movement to his advantage as he pushes you to a peak only he can give, and you can do nothing but moan in his ear as he whispers words of love and praise into your skin.

He is sweet in the way that he gently coaxes your thighs apart, fingers urging you to open for him, voice quiet in your ear to once again ask if you're alright with the way he's touching you. You kiss him in response, offering him a level of comfort that comes with another wordless reply of your shy but enthusiastic consent, and his hand settles between your legs and over the place that aches for him the most.

"You're so wet for me, sweetheart," he breathes against your cheek as he lifts your leg to lay across his hip, encouraging you to sink closer into his side as he slowly slides a finger into you. Your body accepts him as eagerly as it had the first time he had touched you weeks ago, and you’re helpless to do anything but sigh and press further into his hand. You're not exactly a stranger to his fingers inside of you, but this time the intention is to not only make you feel good, but to also prepare your body for the rest of him, and the knowledge causes goosebumps to creep up and down your arms.

He adds a second finger, and the stretch causes a gasp, which he quickly swallows down as he leans forwards to press his mouth against yours. His breathing is in sync with yours, a steady in and out that’s increasing in its frequency as the two of you further explore the flesh and bone and muscle that you've laid out for each other.  

He encourages you to finally roll over so that you're fully on your back, and once you're settled, he hums in contentment. Leaning down, Matt allows his mouth to trail down your jaw, down your neck, and over your breast where he pulls a nipple lightly between his teeth, laughing lightly as you arch into him. He adjusts his body so that he's stretched out above you, though most of his weight is resting on the arm and hand that's been placed next to your head, always so careful to not hurt you or cause any sort of discomfort. 

He always treats you like stained glass, though not in a way that suggests you’re fragile or easily broken, but in the way that says you’re far too precious for him to ever let go of.

"You're such a good girl for me," he whispers, and he's just loud enough that you don't have to strain your hearing to make out what he's saying. The praise causes your face to flush hotter than it already is, and you can't think of a coherent reply, too lost and too dizzy with the way he’s making you feel, the way he’s playing your body like a violin. Instead, your fingers drum a light pattern on the shoulders they've wrapped around, and he shudders at the contact. 

You love knowing that his body is every bit as sensitive as yours when it comes to your fingertips tracing over his own skin.

He is sweet in the way he continues his journey further down until his mouth is above where he knows you ache for him. With no thought of himself, he lays down on his stomach, resting his weight on his elbows, and uses the fingers on one hand to part you. His mouth is on your clit a second later, tongue lightly circling around it, and you moan quietly, his name on your lips. The sound must spur him on, because while he starts out soft and tender, his mouth gradually speeds up and increases in intensity.

He wrecks you with his lips and tongue and fingers, and it's not long before you're gasping through your release, one hand grasping his bedsheet so tightly you're shocked you haven't ripped it, the other hand buried in his hair. Somewhere along the way he had placed an arm strong as steel over your abdomen in an effort to keep you still while he tore you apart. 

Matt makes his way slowly back up your body, pausing here and there to place kisses along your hips and abdomen and chest, lips glistening even while they open in a smile that somehow is a combination of smug satisfaction and a look that is so soft and affectionate it makes your heart stutter.

"You okay?" he asks again, the dry fingers that hadn't been inside you softly caressing your cheek. His eyes are glazed and unfocused, but you look up and admire the color and the way they almost seem to dance around your face. You’re not sure how you’d ever survive without him, this man who had asked to share a table with you in the crowded library just six months ago, this man who had the ability to make you feel so seen despite his lack of sight. 

"More than okay," you whisper back, your voice breathless as you lift your own hand to run it through his dark hair. He takes the opportunity to kiss your fingers as they trail down his cheek and briefly over his lips, smiling as he does so. 

"Do you still want to--"

With a quiet laugh, you pull him down for a full kiss, tongue immediately pushing into his mouth that remains slightly parted in a grin, and he echoes your brief huff of laughter. It quickly turns into a moan, as does yours when he grinds his hips into you before he reluctantly tears himself away, a small smirk appearing on his face. 

Matt reaches over you to grab a condom off of his night table, and you watch as he sits back on to his heels to slide it on, briefly mourning the thought that you won't feel the silk of his cock pressing into you, but you figure one day you’ll get to that point. There's no reason to rush it now. 

He is sweet in the way he checks in with you again, hand returning to your cheek, an easy way for him to map out the expression on your face. He smiles when his fingers run over your lips, no doubt discovering your own smile that you're wearing, the one that you seem to wear solely for him. You nod, quietly giving your consent once more, and he wordlessly helps you to spread your legs wider so that he may fully lay between them, the heat of skin settling almost completely into yours.

He drags his cock through your folds, catching your earlier release on the tip to slick the way, and with a deep breath, he pushes in. There's a slight burn at the stretch, but you embrace it wholeheartedly, knowing it’s simply the stretch of Matt finding yet another way to make himself home within you. Touching Matt this way, feeling him this way, is something you've been thinking about since the first time he kissed you.

He is sweet in the way that he goes slow, patiently waiting for you to adjust and feel comfortable, and it's not long before he's seated completely inside you, hips snug against yours. He leans down to kiss you, red lips caressing yours softly at first before it shifts into something that's a little more heated, a little more passionate, perhaps a prelude for what’s to come. 

"You're doing so well for me, sweetheart," he says against your mouth, and the words make you sigh in response, hips once again tilting up to rock into him, and he retaliates with a slight withdrawal and careful push back in, causing you to close your eyes with a quiet gasp. "You feel so good. Does it feel good for you, too?"

"Yes," you tell him truthfully once you reopen your eyes, hand running down his back, the skin just as soft as the front of him and warm to the touch. "You feel perfect."

You feel his mouth split into a grin against yours, and you can't help but let out another quiet groan when he pulls out of you slightly before sliding back in. He is beautiful like this, pressed against you, cheeks flushed, damp hair resting on his forehead. You reach up to push his dark hair away from his face and trail your fingers down his cheek, and even while he continues to slide in and out of you, he turns his head to press a kiss against your wrist. 

You've heard many terms used to describe what you're experiencing with Matt. 

Having sex.

Screwing.

Fucking.

But none of those accurately or even come close to the feeling of this. You've never liked the term making love, finding it somewhat cheesy for whatever reason, but here in the moment with him, nothing else sounds more right, nothing else captures what it feels like to be with him like this. The way your bodies move together is selfless, seeking the other's breaking point, savoring each breath that's gasped out, each slide of skin against skin. 

He is sweet in the way he makes sure you come first, fingers running down your body to eventually press and rub over your clit, a slow grind meant to both make the moment last while also sending you rushing towards your peak, one that gets closer and closer with every thrust and press of his hips against yours. With his lips hovering just above yours, barely half an inch away, he tells you how much he wants you to come for him, tells you how perfect you feel underneath him and wrapped around him in every way you can be. 

He rests on top of you for a few minutes afterwards, sweat soaked skin pressed into sweat soaked skin, and the weight of him somehow still feels weightless, as if holding him to you like this is the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls out with a gentle kiss to your forehead, you can't help but reach for him again, despite the fact that he only takes one step away from the bed to throw away the condom. You're back in his arms a split second later, and the world rights itself once more.

When he tells you that just once will never be enough for him, that he will always need this with you, that being inside of you is the first place he's felt at home in years, you absolutely shatter. The way your clench around him, crying out his name, sends Matt to his own release, his lips immediately crashing to yours in effort to touch as much of you as possible. 

"I love you," he whispers into your ear, pulling you as tightly against him as possible, angling your head so that it rests on his shoulder, yanking up the top sheet to cover you both as he gently presses your face into his neck. It's the most vulnerable part of his body, and he exposes it to you, no questions asked. 

"I love you, too," you tell him quietly. Your hand moves to where he's wrapped his own around your waist, lacing your fingers with his. It's not the first time you've said the words to each other, but this time there’s the feeling of added weight to it that you're not sure to describe other than to say that it just feels like more.

He is sweet in the way that those words continue to fall from his lips as easily as breathing for the rest of your lives, despite the hardships and complications and revelations that come along the way. He is still sweet in the way he walks you to places you're more than capable of walking to by yourself, simply so that he can have just a few extra minutes of being next to you. He is still sweet in the way he stays up with you the nights before big cases you're up against, even while he's exhausted and being bandaged up at the kitchen table. He's still sweet in the way he holds you during anxiety attacks, and the way he kisses you like it's the first time his mouth is on yours.

He is still sweet as he slides a wedding band on your finger in front of friends and family, promising to love you and give you all that he has, day in and day out, asking with dark eyes and cherry red lips for nothing but the same promise in return. He’s no longer hesitant in the question, an early life of abandonment having given way to the endless love and commitment you’ve pressed into his skin over the years.

Even through various frustrations and tears, you’ve found yourself forever unable to be anything but sweet to him in return.

[audreyclimbs]

foreseen in shadows- chapter one

chapter summary: cassandra returns to her apartment, and after a brief encounter with her best friend, she reflects on her night.

word count: 3.3k

TW: allusions to sexual assault! canon-typical violence, foul language

to access the entire story: foreseen in shadows masterlist + masterlist

I slipped in through my bedroom window as silently as I could, but the rain slicking every inch of my body had a different plan for my return to the apartment. In other words, I faceplanted on my hardwood floor—hard.

“Fuck,” I groaned under my breath, drawing out the vowel as I turned onto my back.  My eyes clenched shut as pain ached in every square inch of my body.  Exhaustion had settled into my bones hours ago, my body not yet adjusted to the demands of this new “night shift” of sorts on top of my day-to-day schedule.  Now, it was all I could do to scrape myself off of my now-slippery floors and shut the window before the rain blew in and soaked my bedroom.

As I turned around, I saw the hallway light flick on through the bottom crack of my closed door.  Dammit.  Could anything go according to plan tonight?

“Cassy, you okay in there?  Did you fall?” Jaimie’s voice called out from outside my door, groggy and scratchy with sleep.  She started to turn the doorknob.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Uh— I’m naked!”  I yelped, my voice pitching unnaturally high.

To her credit, she did pause.  “Girl.”  Her voice, though tired, was a perfect deadpan.  “There’s nothing there that I haven’t been subjected to multiple times before.  Why the fuck are you naked at… what the hell time even is it?” She muttered, trailing off and pausing briefly.  “At 3:30 in the morning?  Oh my God, do you have someone in there?”  My best friend gasped, the sound of shuffling giving away how she was now pressing herself closer to the closed door as if to listen for clues.  “You bitch!  What have we said about telling each other when we have—”

“I don’t— no, no one is here!  Don’t have someone!”  I blanched.  Why didn’t I just go with that, the fuck—  “I got sick, so I’m just changing into fresh clothes.”  That’s believable enough, I guess.

I watched as the shadow of her footsteps shuffled back to a normal distance from the doorframe.  “Aww, I’m sorry, Cass.”  I am such a piece of shit.  Guilt chewed away my bones at the sincerity in her voice.  “Do you want me to make you some broth?  Or.. or I can run out and get some of that juice you like?  I think the Petersons’ place down the street is still open for a little—”

My words came out in a rushed blur, “No, no it’s okay, seriously!  I appreciate it though.”  I began struggling to strip myself of the drenched clothes that clung to my body like a second skin.  The relentless aching of my muscles certainly didn’t make matters easier.  “I think I’m just gonna go back to bed and try to— uh— sleep it off.”  Hopping on one foot as I attempted to tug a boot off, I reached my dresser and leaned my back against the strong oak frame.

Jaimie hummed empathetically from the other side of the door.  I could practically see the distinct furrow of her brow, her hand coming up to run through her blond tresses.  The air came a little easier into my lungs now that I didn’t run the risk of her stumbling across the state I was in.  Drenched to the bone, beaten up in a way I’ve never been before— I couldn’t imagine the terror and worry that would take my best friend by the throat.

Her shuffles back from the door almost didn’t reach my ears.  “Well, if you need me, just come get me.  You know where I live,” she called out, yawning at the end of her sentence.  

“Will do— thank you,” I replied, drawing out the last word to serve as my farewell until the morning.

Her footsteps finally retreated from my doorframe, and the hallway light flicked back off.  Now, the only light in my room was the faint glow of streetlights streaming in from the rainy streets.  I kicked off the last boot and finished tugging off my long-sleeve shirt, tossing it in the vague direction of my hamper.  I’d pick it up in the morning and do a load so that I had something to wear when I go out again tomorrow night.  Or rather, tonight, I guess?  I resisted the urge to groan dramatically at the realization that I would have to go do all of this all over again sooner rather than later.  I couldn’t stop now, especially after whatever that encounter with the blind-but-not-blind guy was.

I so do not have the energy to begin processing that beatdown.

My back slid against the smooth, cool wood of my dresser as I sunk to the floor, head tilting back and eyes sliding shut.  Pain radiated in constant, throbbing waves from my jaw, my ribs, my legs.  

What the fuck even happened tonight?  It had started simply enough.  As simple as you can get when it’s your debut as a… vigilante?  Technically, I guess I’d fall within that category.  But I didn’t break the law, so do I actually?  Okay, I did technically assault a man, but he was about to assault a minor, so does that count?  I need a lawyer or something.  Is there a vigilante rubric I can grade myself on?  

As my eyes closed, I thought back to the start of my night.

Who am I even kidding right now?  Vigilante or not, nothing that happened tonight could fall within any category of normal.

---------------------------------------

1:55 A.M.

I crouched against the exhaust pipe that protruded from the rocky terrain of the rooftop, arm wrapping loosely around it in case my feet lost their purchase due to the torrential downpours currently soaking the streets of the Upper West Side.  

“What am I even doing right now?”  I muttered to myself.  

Deciding to take to the streets as a start, I released my grip on the pipe and dropped myself onto the fire escape below, landing in a crouch before rocking to my feet with the momentum of my brief fall.  The fire escape creaked and groaned, its joints squeaking from lack of use as I began lowering myself from ladder to ladder, moving diagonally as I tossed myself quickly and used each bottom rung as a monkey bar of sorts to propel myself to the next tower of fire escapes, steadily making my way down to the street.  

Upon reaching the last fire escape before the side of the building gave way to the street, I used the last of my momentum to swing off of the bottom rung and roll onto the rough concrete below, tucking and rolling as my feet made contact.  I quickly rose to my feet and began walking slowly to the street running perpendicular to the last few yards of the alley I had chosen for my descent.  As the distance between myself and the street began to close, I could hear the bustle of nighttime traffic and the relatively sparse nightlife roaming the streets of the Upper West Side.  Finally, the alley gave way to the street, and I looked around, orienting myself to where I now stood.

I turned left out of the alley and walked to the street corner, eyes squinting through the rain to read the sign of the street running parallel to me.  85th Street.  I hadn’t realized how far I had wandered in my nighttime escapade, but I couldn’t stop now.  I didn’t know how, but I knew I was meant to help.  Someone, somewhere, somehow.  The visions still flashed across my mind every time I closed my eyes.  So much blood, so much grief, and I knew that I had some way to stop it.  If I could see this coming, however far off it may be, then I could stop it, right?

Feet pivoting to turn my body around, I began walking further away from my apartment and toward whatever trouble awaited me tonight.

2:45 A.M.

It had been almost an hour.  Nothing.  Weariness crept into my mind as I continued wandering and pacing through the streets of the Upper West Side.  There was a certain kind of liberation that came with the pitch darkness of the night.  The mask that draped across my face, hiding my identity from someone or something— though I truthfully didn’t know what— didn’t seem to faze any passersby.  Then again, it was New York City.  I had learned fairly quickly that genuinely nothing could make this city’s inhabitants bat an eye.  

A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered how Jaimie and I had outright gawked at the absurdities we witnessed on our first day in the city before starting at Columbia.  It had been four years since then, and we both had changed so much, but I doubted either of us would ever be truly acclimated to this place.  Jaimie, in all her blunt and brutally honest glory, had yet to return to our shared abode in the evening without some story about some odd person she had seen out and about.  

Then, I saw it.  As I passed by a fairly normal-looking man, maybe a few years older than I, it began.  A sudden, frigid sensation passed over my skin as the world before me blended with the vision beginning to form in my mind’s eye.  The inky, misty scene began to unfold, voices drifting in various levels of clarity and volume, colors and shapes drifting and floating in and out of focus outside of the man standing before me.  

“I said, get on your knees,” he spat out, hands coming forward to shove harshly on my— her— shoulders.  

A sob tore from my lips in a voice that was not my own.  My— no, her hands, a milky white and freckled complexion that did not match my tanned, olive skin, shook in front of me as they came up to protect my face futilely.  The sleeves of her black jacket were muddy and dirty, evidence of a likely tumble to the wet ground of the dark alley she was now trapped in.  The dumpster pressing against her back effectively shielded her from the sight of passersby.  

(Not that anyone would glance twice even if they did see the scene playing out before them.  God help me, I fucking hate New Yorkers sometimes.)  Ripping myself from my bitter thoughts, I tried to focus on the milky, foggy scene before me.  The tears welling in her eyes did nothing to aid my vision through her eyes.

“Please,” the girl croaked out, and I could feel the hot tears streaming down her cheeks as if they were my own.  “Please, my mom is waiting up for me.  I won’t tell anyone, I— I s-swear,” the last syllables of her words trailed off in a hysterical cry, fear practically oozing from every fiber of her being.  

In my own mind, rage and indignation flared as the premonition continued to play out.  

Through teary eyes, she lifted her head and I saw the face of the origin of her fear.  It was the man I just passed by.  Blindly, I willed my body to turn around in the present and walk in the direction he had been going.  I prayed that I didn’t hit anyone as I moved unseeingly through the streets.  Focusing back on the vision as best I could while also trying to devote some of my attention to the present world, I watched as he began reaching for a knife strapped to his belt.  Oh God.

Desperation bubbled up in the girl’s throat, and I willed my present body to breathe deeply— to keep the barriers between us up and not give in to her emotions.  The man’s lips curled sadistically back, but they slipped back into a growl when she began scrambling backward.  He lunged forward and went down to the ground with her, body pinning her down as his hand holding the blade positioned it to the side of her neck.  His other hand came up to grip at her hair, and I felt a harsh pain to the side of my head as he tugged on her long, wet hair.  Rain dripped off the bridge of his nose and fell onto her forehead, and his breath fanned hotly across her face, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the October night.  

“I told you to get on your knees,” he panted, a manic sheen crossing over his eyes.  In the present, my skin crawled.  “But did you listen?  No, no you didn’t.  You know what happens,” he pressed the sharp edge of the blade into her throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to stir a new wave of panic and fear in her.  

It was getting harder to stay in the vision and keep walking through the present, but I needed to know.  My autonomy in these visions was still weak, but I was getting better at controlling them— at making them play out instead of flashing chaotically behind my eyes like they did the first several times.  

Then, I felt it.  He pressed his hips down, and I felt the bulge press into her outer thigh— my outer thigh.  Bile crept up in her throat, and I willed myself to take deep breaths through my nose as I kept walking, vaguely seeing his form walking ahead of me.  It took everything in me not to pull out of the vision right then and throttle him with every fiber of my strength, but I kept walking.  Kept trying to see through her eyes— just a few more seconds.

The girl screamed and I felt it rip through my vocal cords, a harsh and desperate cry of terror.  She sounded so young— only a teenager.  The man shook her harshly and hissed in her ear to stay quiet.  Then, with his other hand, he reached down and fumbled for his belt—

I barely ripped myself out of the vision before I slammed into a lamp pole.  For fuck’s sake, Cassandra.  I scrambled back and found the man again.  Because of my clumsy error, he had gained a few extra feet on me.  I let him have it, trying to appear casual and we walked— together, though he didn’t know it just yet— through the night streets.  He paused, so I paused.  The man’s head whipped left and right, and I saw him focus on a distant bodega.  The street corner he had stopped at was on the opposite side of the intersection from the small shop, but he watched it steadily.  At that moment, I realized that he hadn’t been wandering at all.  He positioned himself next to a streetlight, arm coming to rest against the green, painted metal.  In the brief pause, I took a moment to observe him as best I could from the somewhat substantial distance between us.

He had a black zip-up hoodie on, the hood of which was pulled over his head.  His pants were just jeans, and I strained to see where exactly he had the knife I had seen in my vision.  One of the faults of my new abilities had to be the clarity— or rather, lack thereof.  If I focused with all of my strength, then I could usually get the scenes playing behind my eyes to clear up.  More often than not, however, that just wasn’t possible due to the present’s demands of my attention.  The jacket ended just past his hips, effectively blocking my view of his belt.  No matter, I’d figure it out soon enough.

A bell sounding from the bodega drew my attention across the intersection.  A young girl with fiery red curls stepped out, waving goodbye to whoever remained inside.  

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Lopez!”  She called out cheerily as the door snicked shut.  Then, she began walking away, pulling the hood of her black jacket up over her hair.  

Oh. 

The man ahead of me began following her, subtlety clearly gone in the wind.  Internally, I begged the girl to turn back— to go back inside and wait, to walk home with the man inside who she seemed to trust, to do anything.  She kept walking, arms crossed tightly across her chest to fight the harsh, whipping October air and rain.

His pace picked up, and the horror washing over me was far colder than the frigid rain currently soaking through my clothes.  He was gaining on her quickly.  I broke into a run, blindly crossing the street and praying that I didn’t get hit.  Then, he reached her and grabbed her through the hood of her jacket by those red curls.  Her scream was muffled by the arm that came up around her, presumably cupping over her mouth.  They backed into the alley to their left, and I sprinted as quickly as I could, rounding the corner and barrelling into the alley.  

This monster would not have her.  Not ever.

The man’s head whipped around to face the sound of my approaching footsteps, and before he could react, I yanked on the collar of his hoodie with all of my might.  Luckily, his grip on the girl broke, and she stumbled forward.  I released my hold on his collar and let momentum take him the last few feet into the wall behind him.  With blind instinct, I whipped my leg around to slam the flat of my foot into the soft part of his side below his ribs.  A groan slipped past his lips, and he doubled over but recovered quickly and stumbled in my direction. 

“Go!  Run!”  I screamed blindly in the young girl’s direction, hoping she would understand despite my gaze never leaving the monster of a man before me.  From the corner of my eye, I saw her figure dart behind me and out into the street.  I sent up a silent prayer that she would go back to the bodega.  That she would get home safe.

In my moment of distraction, the man managed to land a clumsy blow to my shoulder.  I stumbled back, grunting from the force.  Based on the uncoordinated path of his fist, I guessed that he was not experienced in combat.  Good.  My fighting left much to be desired, but I at least remembered most of what I learned during my time in Columbia’s Women’s Kickboxing Club.  I willed myself to recover quickly and assumed a somewhat awkward fighting stance.  I was rusty, sure, but not as bad as him.  

With a swift inhale, I wound my core tight, swung my leg around, and hit my mark on that same soft spot.  This time, it did the trick.  The monster gasped as he tried to regain the breath I just kicked out of his lungs.  I kept on him and wound my other leg around to strike his opposite side.  He fell to his knees.  A small, sadistic part of me was satisfied at the dark irony of this situation— at the fear he was now feeling, rather than inflicting on an innocent teenager.  Blind rage took over the forefront of my mind, and I kept landing blow after blow until he was nothing more than a crumbled mass on the wet floor of the alley.  I stared, eyes wide, and air finally came back to my lungs when I spotted the rise and fall of his chest.

A rustling sound from the dumpster behind me pulled me back to the present, and I stepped back shakily.  Has my heart always been this loud?  Trembling breaths shuttered in and out of my wet lips, and my hands shook violently as I reached up to wipe the rain from my eyes and brow.  A quick scan of my surroundings somewhat eased my worries about being seen or attacked, and with that, I took off running.

[pastafossa]

(puts hands together and inhales)

I read this on AO3 the other night and when I tell you it fried my brain in the best way, I am 100% serious. This is SO fucking hot, and Matt. Matt. Breaking. The-

I want to howl at the fucking full moon outside my window I just

and the ties, the ties the ties hE WAS SO INTO IT

AND THEN UP ON HIS-

(incomprehensible feral noises)

In conclusion, well done

Bound (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Sequel to Relax Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB! Reader Word Count: ~4400 Rating: 18+ Warnings: Bondage, nudity, full naked male character, partially clothed female character, female gaze, female masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex (male and female receiving), face sitting, unprotected sex, p in v sex, swearing, dirty talk, begging General Masterlist / Matt Murdock Masterlist Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @waywardxrhea, @parker-murdock A03

Special thanks to @visionsofcarnality for some dialogue assistance and @shouldbestudying41 for beta-reading.

Bound

It had been an impulse, born of fantasy. But being in his arms gave you the confidence to ask. Matt had immediately agreed. Both that night and the next morning, when you made sure his agreement wasn’t the product of him being half-awake and sated. It wasn’t. He seemed intrigued by the idea, visibly excited that you had outright asked for something you wanted in the bedroom.

But for all that excitement, carrying out this fantasy took some preparation. For one, the only ropes in the apartment were his Muay Thai ones. Which hadn't been chosen with anyone’s comfort in mind. Furthermore, they were stained faint rust from blood. Both of these factors combined into a no on using them for bedroom fun from you.

It hadn’t taken you long to find something that looked suitable online. Silk ropes with premade loops for the wrists. Which ought to be strong enough to hold Matt without irritating his skin. Or yours. You had the feeling, if this went well, Matt would ask to use these ropes on you.

Which you weren’t opposed to. Just the idea of being entirely at Matt’s mercy had you squirming.

And you could get it in red. Daredevil red. It was like a sign.

The second hurdle was safety and aftercare information. Matt wasn’t adverse to a little pain in the bedroom. He made it very clear that he enjoyed it when your nails raked down his back when he fucked you. Or when you pulled his hair while he ate you out. But there was a difference between that and causing him actual harm. Which you never wanted to do. 

You wanted Matt to enjoy this. Even if you never used those wrist ropes again, you wanted him to look back on this night with fondness.

A couple days later, everything was ready.

You had gotten off work before Matt today. You spent your time well, preparing for the night to come. You put fresh sheets on the bed. Moved one of the chairs from the living room into the bedroom, positioning it at the foot of the bed. Set out all of the necessary supplies on the bedside table. Then you got yourself ready.

You took a shower, scrubbing off the grime of the day. Then you dressed yourself. You had thought long and hard about what you would wear. You wanted to drive Matt crazy. You had considered lingerie but the only appeal that held for Matt was when he was touching you. Which both of you had enjoyed in the past. But that wasn’t the plan. Not this time. But then you thought of something perfect.

You picked up one of his button-down shirts, specifically the one he had worn yesterday. It still smelled like him. You slipped it on and did up the buttons. And that was your entire outfit. You hoped the combination of no panties and his scent on your skin would turn Matt on.

You were making dinner when he came home, softly returning his greeting like this was an ordinary evening. You knew your outfit was a success when you felt Matt wrap his arms around your waist, his firm chest molded to your back. You smiled, feeling the already growing erection pressed against your ass.

“Smells good,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck.

“Dinner’s almost done,” you said.

“That also smells good,” he said, kissing your neck. You felt that familiar rush of heat south. His hands rubbed your stomach where the waistband of your panties would have been had you been wearing any. His grip on you tightened. “You aren’t wearing any underwear.”

You made a humming sound of agreement. He made that deep rumbling moan, his hips pressed more firmly against you.

“Little minx,” he growled, nipping at your neck. You shuddered. It was almost instinctive to offer him more access to your neck. Something he immediately took advantage of, trailing kisses down your neck. One hand slide down from your waist, moving under the hem of his shirt to move up your thigh. Headed straight for your mound. It was tempting to let him continue. Very tempting. You knew how talented those hands were.

But not as tempting as your plans.

You put your hand over his, halting his movement. And before he could start worrying, you said softly, “I was thinking something a little different tonight, Mr. Murdock.”

It didn’t take him long to connect the dots. You felt his cock, still pressed against your ass, twitch. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning in his arms enough to look at him. “If you are still willing?”

“I’m willing, Mrs. Murdock,” he said. “I am very willing. Now?”

“You don’t want dinner?” you asked, teasing him.

“Maybe later.” He kissed you. It was a very thorough kiss, sending a wave of toe-curling pleasure down your spine. Fueling the growing wetness between your legs. Matt moaned into your mouth, then drew back far enough to whisper, “I have a different hunger.”

Good point. You did too. Dinner could wait. You turned back around, then leaned forward to turn off the burner. A process that had Matt making another small moan as the movement pushed your hips even more firmly against his. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom,” he agreed.

As he turned to go, feeling unusually confident, you raised your hand. Then swung it forward to smack him across that glorious ass. It wasn’t a hard hit but he still jolted. He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Having fun, sweetheart?”

“You know,” you said. “I rather think I am.”

He chuckled but continued toward the bedroom. You followed him, admiring how good his ass looked in those slacks. Not as good as it looked without them but still a sight worth seeing. That you were gifted with it every day never lessens its impact.

Matt had started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked, pulling it all the way off as he went through the doorway. Tossing the shirt in the general direction of the hamper, he immediately turned his attention to his belt. In less than a minute, his slacks and boxers had joined his shirt.

The sight of your husband naked was nothing new. But it never failed to get your heart racing or your cunt clenching desperately around nothing. You had the feeling it always would. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him a little.

“Eager, Mr. Murdock?”

“I’m not the only one,” he pointed out. His voice sounded mild, almost conversational, but his eyes were dark with hunger. A hunger that grew when he licked his lips. Watching his cock swell in response to the taste of your arousal in the air only brought a fresh wave of slick to coat your thighs.

“Where do you want me, Mrs. Murdock?” he asked, his voice growing huskier with each word.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to control yourself. It was difficult. His voice had always given you the tingles but that husky tone? That went straight to your cunt. Being naked did nothing to diminish Matt’s smug confidence. If anything, it had increased. He knew perfectly well that he was good-looking. That you found him attractive. And that you would be remembering just how good he could make you feel with that smirking mouth. What pleasure could be gotten from those large, warm hands. How much you loved his cock buried inside you.

You didn’t deny any of that. You couldn’t. But there were other things that you wanted. That you craved.

You wanted to give Matt the same pleasure he gave you. Wanted him to feel your hands over all of his body, caressing every sensitive spot with your fingers and mouth. To leave little marks scattered across his flesh like he did yours. You wanted to suck his cock. How and where Matt had gotten it into his head that you didn’t enjoy having your mouth on him was beyond you.

“On the bed,” you ordered. Your voice had turned breathy.

Still smirking, Matt turned to obey. Once again putting his ass on display. He had the best ass that you had ever laid eyes on. Perky and round, each cheek more than an ample handful with you grabbed it. Firm but still enjoyable to squeeze, to dig your fingers . . . honestly you could spend hours waxing poetic about how beautiful his ass was. But today, you simply raised your hand and gave him another solid smack against his ass.

He wasn’t surprised this time. Knew he was doing, turning his bare ass to you like that. The look he gave you over his shoulder was all kinds of smug. “Sure that you don’t want another one, sweetheart?”

“I’m good.”

The smug grin widened. “Positive? I know how much you love grabbing my ass.”

He is such a cocky little shit, you thought with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. It was the grin that solidified your resolve. One way or another, you were going to wipe the smug off of him. “Get on the bed”

“As you wish.”

Could there be some extra sway in his hips? You wouldn’t put it past him. Especially when he was already being a smartass. But it might have been your imagination. It wasn’t like his ass needed anything extra in order to draw your eyes. It was a little disappointing that sitting down hid that glorious ass from your sight. But only a little. The rest of his body was just as beautiful.

After Matt had pulled his legs up on the bed and moved closer to the headboard, you picked up the wrist restraints from the bedside table. Drawing Matt’s attention in that direction. His head canted slightly to one side, brow furrowing a little as he tried to make sense of the new addition.

You picked up the wrist rope from the bedside table, drawing Matt’s attention in that direction. His head canted slightly to one side, brow furrowing a little as he tried to make sense of the new additions there. “A knife?”

“Yes,” you said. “In case of emergencies.”

In the event that you couldn’t get the rope loose afterward. Or you had to release him quickly. Like if he heard someone getting murdered. Or some other reason. The silk restraints were pretty and hadn’t been the cheapest thing but you would gladly sacrifice it if necessary.

He nodded, then held out his left hand with an expectant look. You slipped his hand into the loop, then pulled it taut before repeating the process with his other wrist. A gentle push against his shoulder was enough to communicate your desire for him to lay back. You raised his arms over his head by the connecting rope which you tied around one of the headboards’ wooden slots.

“Think that can hold you?” you asked. Matt made a thoughtful humming noise, then gave his bonds an experimental tug. The loops tightened around his wrists but the knot held. Even a stronger pull failed to loosen the knot. It did succeed in distracting you a little. You couldn’t help it. Watching those big muscles of his flex had always gotten you worked up.

A fact that Matt was well aware of you. You could see it in that confident, smug smirk. Hear in his voice as he answered your question, “Seems like it.”

“Color?” you asked, momentarily ignoring his smugness. When you had discussed doing this, Matt had agreed to use the spotlight system.

“Green.”

His tone made it clear that he thought the answer was obvious. But you rewarded him for answering the question regardless of how silly he found it. Cupping his head in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then another to each check which was dusted pink. You found indescribably adorable that something so chaste could make him blush when the filthiest of dirty talk didn’t even phase him.

You kissed him again, pressing your lips against his. Licking softly into his mouth, you worked your hands into his hair. Massaging his scalp with your fingertips until you felt the tension that had built up over a day of lawyering ease. You greedily swallowed every single one of the low moans Matt made into your mouth.

He tried to chase your lips when you pulled away but stilled at the gentle pull of his hair. You admired your handy work. He looked so beautiful like this. His pink lips kiss-swollen, hazel eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Soft and pliant was one of your favorite looks on him.

“Color?”

“Still green.”

“Good,” you said, straightening up and moving down the side of the bed toward the chair.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Just over here,” you said, sitting down on the chair.

“Why so far away, sweet girl?” Matt asked. Some of his earlier smugness creeping back into his voice. “I can tell how much you want me.”

He wasn’t wrong. You did want him. And you knew from previous experience that riding him turned Matt into a whinny, desperate mess. But you wanted him to be that desperate mess before you rode him. And you thought you knew exactly how to do it.

You had chosen the perfect spot for your chair. It gave you the perfect view of his beautiful body. Allowing your eyes to survey the feast before you, you unbuttoned his shirt and draped it open. Matt’s hands made an aborted jerk against the rope. You had to suppress a smile. He knew you were practically naked. And he seldom could resist the opportunity to touch your skin, to cup your breasts in his hands . . .

Your own hands cupping and squeezing them didn’t feel the same but it did feel good. You sighed softly, spreading your legs. This time Matt couldn’t stop himself from pulling on the rope but it held, keeping his hands up near his ears.

“Still green, Matty?” You asked, one hand sliding down your body.

“Yes,” he said, his voice resonating with the deeper gravel of the Devil. You shuddered, felt your cunt clench desperately. A rumble almost like a growl erupted from his chest.

“Is that all it takes?” he asked through a tensed jaw. “To get you so fucking wet? My voice?”

“Partially,” you answered, then gasped as your fingers brushed against your clit. The little nub was already swollen, aching with need. Rubbing gentle circles onto it, you moaned. At the sound, his cock twitched. You moaned again, imagining that weeping cock pressed against your cunt, the head nudging your clit . . .

“Partially?” Matt rasped. “What else, sweet girl?”

You didn’t answer at first. You ran your fingers through your soaked folds, traced your entrance. Building anticipation.

A faint whine escaped his control. “Tell me, sweet girl. What’s going through that pretty little head?”

“Your body,” you started, then cut yourself off by slipping a single finger into yourself. The room was so quiet that the wet squelching noise was obscenely loud. So was the cracking sound that some distant part of your brain was alarmed by. But the rest was too occupied by the network of veins popping into high relief across his muscles as the rope strained to keep Matt’s hands where they were. By the feeling of your finger pumping in and out of yourself.

 It felt so good. But not enough. Your cunt was used to Matt’s fingers. Which were longer and thicker than yours. You worked a second finger into yourself. You let out a loud groan at the stretch, the feeling of fullness. Much better. Then added, “What I want to do with you.”

Matt let out a second, louder whine. “Fuck, you smell so good . . . Can I taste you?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Your other hand abandoned your breast for your clit. “Not this time, baby. Maybe later.”

He actually whimpered, squirming on the bed. No more smugness out of him. You relished it. Up until his restless legs blocked that beautiful cock from your sight.

“Don’t spoil my view, Matthew,” you said, stern as your breathy voice would allow. “I want to see your cock.”

He whined but lowered his legs. You moaned, increasing the pace of your fingers as you imagined that cock buried deep inside you. Imagined him fucking you into this chair. Your fingers inside you couldn’t replicate that feeling. Not thick enough but . . . you increased the pace of your fingers in and out . . . chanting out his name as that familiar warmth built and built . . .

You cried out his name as that warmth crested and exploded into pleasure. Matt thrashed against his bonds as you rode out your orgasm. As the fluttering around your fingers began to subside, you slipped them out of yourself. Your legs were a little shaky as you stood. But they held your weight as you moved toward the bed.

Matt’s struggles stilled as you got onto the bed. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched. He looked so beautiful. Chest heaving, eyes wild . . . the weeping head of his cock was almost purple . . . your mouth watered.

“Sweetheart, please,” he begged. “Let me taste you. Let me fuck you.”

“Not yet,” you said, as you crawled up between his legs on your hands and knees. “I have something else in mind. Color?”

“Green.”

Matt couldn’t contain a cry when you gripped his cock in your hand.  Another cry escaped as you licked a long, flat strip up the length to the head. There you gave him short, teasing laps. Much like the way he liked to tease your clit with his tongue. Trying to catch every drop that leaked out of the tip. Under the hand on his thigh, you could feel his muscles tense and twitch.

“Please, please,” he begged, seemingly only able to say that one word.

The sound Matt made when your mouth engulfed the head of his cock was nearly a scream. Another loud cracking sound accompanied it but you ignored it in favor of the choked moans that followed you swallowing down as much as his cock as you could. The little jerks of his hips when he couldn’t quite stop himself from trying thrust deeper into your mouth as your head bobbed up and down. A self-control he lost when you hummed around his cock, the vibration drawing another loud cry from his throat.

“Fuck,” Matt groaned out, a sentiment he repeated when you cupped his balls, gently fondling them in your hand. “Fuck . . . shit . . .  fuck . . . g-gonna cum.”

Your only answer to this warning was another hum again, louder this time. Screaming out your name, he spilled down your throat. You suckled at his cock, once again trying to capture every last drop while he squirmed and moaned. Only when his whimpers started sounding a little pained did you pull off his cock.

“Color, baby?” you asked.

“Green,” was his answer but he didn’t sound certain. Nor did he look certain when you lifted yourself up on your knees to get a better look at his face.

“Lie,” you said. “Want to try again, Mr. Murdock?”

He shuddered, his spent dick twitching in a valiant effort to rise again. “Green. F-eels good. But  . . . sensitive . . .”

You felt a surge of pride at making your lawyer husband so blissed out that he was struggling to string together a sentence. Even the nagging feeling that something about the sight in front of you wasn’t quite right couldn’t dispel it.

It wasn’t until you had crawled up his body to press another kiss to his forehead that you realized what was bugging you. Because his hands were kneading your ass. How . . . his hands that were supposed to be tied up . . . You looked again and wanted to sigh.

Technically his hands were still tied. The silk rope was looped tightly around his wrists. But the middle section that had been tied around the headboard wasn’t anymore. Largely because that piece of headboard was broken. Snapped right in the middle. The rest of the headboard seemed fine . . . . your mind boggled. You knew Matt was strong but sometimes just how strong still surprised you.

“You broke the fucking headboard.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, not sounding sorry at all. “I can’t hear you over how nice your ass feels.”

You rolled your eyes. Then gasped as one hand abandoned your ass to snake between your legs, drawing your attention to the throbbing ache there. Your cunt was no longer sated. A deep moan rumbled out of his chest as his fingers ran through your soaked folds. “Can I taste you now? Your body is screaming at me, sweet girl. All I can smell is how wet you are for me.”

“I don’t know -” you started but was cut off by a moan when those fingers found your clit. Fuck, he was so good with his hands . . .

“Please?” he begged, an element of whine creeping back into his voice. “Let me taste you. I’ve been good.”

Aside from the headboard, he had been . . . and the thought of having his mouth on you brought fresh wetness to your thighs. Something that made Matt’s hand on your ass tightened its grip. “Please, sweet girl.”

“Alright,” you said, then tried to move off of him. Only for his hand to tighten their grip again.

“No, not like that,” he said. “Sit on my face.”

Your cunt clenched. It had been a while since you had done that particular act . . .

“Please . . .”

“Alright,” you agreed. “You’ve been a good boy. You deserve a reward.” 

You crawled forward until your knees were on either side of his head. Then you gripped the top of the headboard (and hoping that it wasn’t also broken) and carefully lowered yourself toward his face. If you had any doubts about how eager Matt was, they were quickly dispelled.

Fingers digging into your ass, he devoured you. His grunts and moans mixed with the noisy slurping sounds as his tongue sought out every single inch of your folds. Then he moved down to your entrance, lapping and sucking while you panted. Pants that turned into a squeal as that wonderful tongue dipped inside you. You didn’t know what felt better. Fucking you with his tongue or his nose grinding against your clit. Your hands clamped tightly around the headboard. It was taking everything you had to hold yourself relatively still.

You whined when he shifted, his mouth pulling away from your cunt.

“Don’t hold back, sweet girl,” he ordered, his voice having that deep, raspy purr that it only got when he was drunk on sex. “Ride my face, crash me between these beautiful thighs, pull my hair . . .”

As if to punctuate that demand, his lips around your clit and sucked. You couldn’t have stopped yourself from grinding on his mouth if you had wanted to. And you didn’t want to. Especially when he rewarded this by moaning. You all but screamed. The vibration felt so damn good . . . 

When he did again, this time you screamed. Your thighs were shaking. Close, you were so close . . . You grabbed his hair tightly in one fist, desperate to keep his mouth where it was. He groaned loudly into your cunt, pushing you even closer to your peak.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you said. Not even caring that you were begging. All you cared about was the pleasure coursing through your body. About that mouth alternating between kissing and sucking on your clit. About the sounds of pleasure coming from the man beneath you, the near-bruising grip he had on your ass. About feeling your cunt clench desperately. Until you fell over that edge.

Matt’s arms remained locked around your shaking body as his tongue greedily chased every single drop of your release. You were unable to keep your head up, resting it against the arm still holding onto the headboard. Until his tongue’s lapping on your clit started dancing over that line between pleasure and pain.

You whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Matty, enough.”

He made a disappointed whine but after one last kiss to your clit, he pulled away. Despite how wobbly your legs felt, you managed to heave yourself over to his left side. Matt almost immediately plastered himself against your back. Even with his wrists still in the loops, he wrapped his arms around you. You had to smile. Octopus mod had been fully activated.

You had gotten the wrist restraints off when you realized that wasn’t the only thing that had gotten activated. He was hard again. His hips were making small rocking motions against your ass.  His newly freed hands fondled your breasts as he nibbled at your neck.

You pressed back against him. “Do you want to fuck me, baby?”

“Can I?” he asked. “Please?”

“Yes,” you said. Despite two orgasms already, your cunt was eager about the idea.

Lifting your top leg back over his, you felt his cock press against your entrance. Then he was inside you. Sinking deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed. Moaning against your neck, he began to fuck you. Each thrust was slow but deep. You moan, feeling yourself already back at that edge. Matt wasn’t going to last either. His thrusts soon became faster, the rhythm sloppier. One brush of his finger against your already oversensitive clit pulled you over that ledge for the third time with a cry. A strangled groan against your neck, then with a powerful thrust Matt was coming inside you.

For a while, you both remained where you were as you caught your breath. Matt succeeded first, hissing a little as he slipped his cock out of you. You were pretty sure it was sheer stubbornness that propelled your husband onto wobbly legs and lurching toward the bathroom. Channeling your own stubborn streak, you dragged yourself over within reach of the bedside table. Specifically the bottle of lotion you had placed there earlier. You had reached it just as Matt returned, damp washcloth in his hand.

While he cleaned up the mess he left between your legs, you inspected his wrists. The wrist restraints had left pressure marks but the skin didn’t look irritated. You insisted on applying the lotion anyway. But afterward, you both settled into your profession of blissful puddles. Cuddling puddles as sex had in no way disabled Octopus Mod. Quite the opposite. Which was perfectly fine with you.

[pastafossa]

"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, 🔥)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE

LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT

Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew. 

No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. He’d bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that you’d have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess. 

In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. You’d never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was… too giving.

Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth. 

“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m so hungry,” he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day. It’s the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. I’ll make it good for you, you know I will. Don’t you want that?”

It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted. 

“No,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. “I don’t want that.” “Lie,” he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze dropping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Mm, big lie.” “...Alright, so maybe I always want that,” you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. “But right now I want to suck you off more.” 

And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after he’d already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. He’d been a melted, purring, barely coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldn’t do it again. 

His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful you’d been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. “You…” His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. “You want that? Over me going down on you?” “Why is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?” You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. “Come on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.” 

He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a growing flush on his cheeks, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. “Please?” Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You weren’t above begging if you needed to. “I need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, can’t you?” “Or…” He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go,  his mouth parted and wet. “Or we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.” Oh. 

Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. “Why, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didn’t feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. “Are you blushing?” “No,” you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldn’t deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. “Or… yes, I… Would that be… too much? Your senses—”

“I’ll be fine. I may have…” He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. “I may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and… taken care of myself. I’d been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.”

The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because he’d spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what you’d done to him. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell me—” “God yes, please, please, Matt.”

You didn’t bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Matt’s mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.

The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Matt’s fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name. 

“Oops,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re paying for those,” you grumbled. “Happily.” He side stepped around you, and by the time you’d turned he was already on the bed,  rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked. 

“Shit,” you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laid out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” “Get up here and ride my face, sweetheart,” he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. “Do it before I drag you up here myself, because I’m not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.”

It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity he’d given you. 

You hit another brief snag, however, once you’d crawled over to him. You’d ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a moment’s consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, “fuck it,” and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Matt’s free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didn’t really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.

Matt, however, had lost his patience. 

With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in days. 

You both let out a sharp moan, Matt’s far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Matt’s mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. He’d told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, he’d consider that death a victorious one. 

“Mm—Matt, oh god, please,” you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.

 Apparently satisfied that he’d taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. “Taste so good, sweetheart, all mine,” he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.

Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Matt’s moans against your cunt growing stuttered and hoarse. It likely wouldn’t have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thick thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself. 

Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what you’d wanted to do. 

You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didn’t like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.

“Relax.” You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. “Just-just trying to get to you.” He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didn’t matter, because you’d finally maneuvered yourself to where you’d wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth. 

It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a second’s hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Matt’s cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since you’d gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.

“God,” he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. “Ah-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, just—”

Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.

You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was… relative. 

Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, he’d yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, he’d buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until he’d managed to worm his tongue inside you.

Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. He’d burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you weren’t much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.

No.

No, you wanted to ruin him too.  Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didn’t matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, you’d need one more thing. So, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didn’t slide your fingers inside him—something you both hadn’t tried quite yet—but you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him. 

His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time he’d thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was making—whimpers and broken moans, slurred pleas—so you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, “Fuck, Matt, please!” 

Your begging dragged him up out of his haze, and he hunted for your clit with his lips and tongue, licking at your cunt until he finally found it. He closed his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy wound up pushing you the rest of the way. Matt’s tongue lapped sloppily against your clit, and with a moan that matched his, you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating, whimpering his name around his cock. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him. 

You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Abruptly he moaned, dragging your hips back down. “Don’t stop,” he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadn’t quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully come down left you shaking, clawing wildly at his thighs, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in an iron grip.

Don’t stop. 

There wasn’t much you could do but follow the instruction. 

You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the velvet softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet… he couldn’t resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that you’d had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you slipped on hand down between his legs again, grinding your finger hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head snapped back against the pillows, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets. He brokenly cried out your name, his thighs trembling, but you didn’t care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear. 

You weren’t sure who was more startled when he came—you, or him—but  either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound you’d never heard from him before, one part shout and one part high, hitching moan, the sounds rising falling with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasn’t much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against his cock and that spot inside him to drag it out. You didn’t stop until his sounds grew pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. The sudden return of pressure against your clit made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted he’d managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.

“Matt,” you choked out, not even sure what it was you needed—his hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him, be it his chest or his abdomen. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give. 

Matt’s head was still thrown back on the pillow, his wet mouth hanging open as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look. It was one you usually only saw when you’d really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, out of order, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. He’d need some time to come back to himself, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what you’d done—Matt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your body—would be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasn’t as good as Matt, but it was good enough.

Or… that’s what you thought you’d do, until Matt’s head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.

Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.

“Matt,” you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. “I’m-I’m fine, just, unh, gonna fini—Matt!” 

Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed. You abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and groping around the bed to feel out how you’d fallen, his eyes burning and wild. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew you’d have a mark there tomorrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasn’t the part of you he’d been aiming for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own hands wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You canted your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. “Here!” you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. “Here, Matt, right—”

He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. His furious, messy lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation you’d been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, moaning and mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss. 

Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break. 

“Matt,” you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. “Matt, that’s—fuck—I need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!”

The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didn’t get very far, though. All he did was tip his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump.  

You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to focus, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. “That,” you wheezed, still panting, “was… we need to do that again. But in… in a while.”

He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion who’d just had a meal. He hadn’t moved from your thigh, his face still shining and absolutely drenched. Then he grinned. The expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I take it you’re ok, then?” You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his wet cheek. 

He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like touch was what he wanted. 

“You wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?”

He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you against him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He nosed around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. “You’re drunk as hell,” you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. “You’re legitimately pussy drunk. God, I love you.” He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping down to lay against it. The rest of him followed shortly thereafter as he settled down on top of you with a long groan of satisfaction. He rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip. He kneaded clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. “Mhm. Love you, too.” 

“Little more coherent?” “Mm. You taste good.” “So do you. Don’t make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.”

“Mhm,��� he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. “I promise. We’ll share.”

[kitkatpadywaks]

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Key: 🔥Smut - 💢Angst - ❤️Fluff - 💀Dark Themes - 💕Slow Burn - ❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort - ✔️Complete(Series) - ❌Incomplete(Series)

Last Updated: 10th December 2024

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[https-murdock]

senseless - matt murdock

matt murdock x reader

summary: matt knows he experiences your body differently to your experience with his, he just wants to show you what it’s like to be senseless.

warnings: smut! porn with plot, oral (f receiving), afab!reader, but one mention of ‘good girl’, no use of y/n. - 18+ MDNI

word count: ~1.2k

enjoooooy - L

Matt is a giver, a lover down to his soul - including when you’ve had a stressful day, you’re overwhelmed - all he wants to do is relax you - make you come as many times as he can, feel you in any way he can.

You’re in your shared bed - a place where you allow the dark to seep in, trying to find peace and solace in a space of stress. Matt is above you, your legs on either side of his hips, his large forearms falling around each side of your head as your breathing becomes more strained.

Nothing else needed to exist for you to feel peace when he brought that feeling so easily. The way matt could bring you back to earth, make you feel so good that your brain couldn’t compute another thought.

“Just let me take care of you. no lights, no sound, just me.” he speaks into your ear, voice trailing off into a whisper toward the end as the hair on the back of your neck sticks up. “You can experience it the way i do.” he says, again in all but a whisper but you know what he means - he wants to to experience sex the way he does, experience the way he fucks you without all the other senses - nothing to distract you. All focus on him.

Matt can hear how fast your heart is beating, smiling to himself knowing this effect on you can only come from him, his touch. All the lights are off, there is no sound apart from your shared breathing and the slight movements as he inches down your body.

It feels like ice as his fingertips dance further toward where you’re pleading for him to be. “where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, the dark once again hiding his face from your sight, yet somehow you can still sense the smirk when he speaks. He knows where you need him, he just wants you to say it, to tell him. “matt please…” you whimper, voice coming out as barely a whisper, eyes staring toward the ceiling, wishing his dark eyes could bore into yours each time his fingertips smoothed lower. “You gotta tell me, love.” he laughs gently, stopping to take a hardened nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling around it as he listens to your breath hitch.

“Matt-shit-… need your mouth.” you mumble, almost ashamed to ask for what you want, what you need.

“mmm there she is.” Matt smiles as he takes the other nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing slightly as your back arches into his touch. His strong hand takes the other breast at the same time, tugging and pushing the flesh. You wonder if this is more for you or more for him, but you know regardless he’ll give you what you deserve.

Matt slowly inches down your body, leaving hot kisses behind, lowering himself between your legs. His lips leave kisses on the insides of your thighs, the only sounds you can hear are your lips letting go of moans as you gently say “fuck, feels so good.” letting him know how right he’s doing by you.

“‘m so hard already sweetheart, haven’t even tasted you yet.” He says, mouth slowly grazing your glistening pussy, your heart racing so fast you think it might leave your chest.

No words leave your lips, as hard as you try. his tongue reaches down to lick a stripe up your wet folds, hot breath fanning across your skin. “oh my god.” you breathe out, voice louder than you expected it to be as you hear matt softly laugh to himself. Your whole body feels like it’s been set alight as he slowly circles your clit, lips enclosing around it as his hands grip into your hips with that strength that sends you mad.

His lips don’t stop, sucking softly and being replaced by gentle licks with his tongue as he relishes in the reactions he gathers from you. From between your legs all he can think about is the taste of you on his lips and his fast he can get your heart going - how relaxed you’ll be after he gets you to let go.

He moves two fingers to your entrance, teasing you gently, knowing you need one final push toward the cliff you so desperately want to fall from. “is this ok? is this what you want?” he says, voice gravelly with lust, making you feel dizzy. “fuck, m-matt yes… holy shit.” you moan, hands moving downward to hold his hair as he slips his fingers inside you, your nails slowly running over his scalp, making him moan against your clit as he continues his assault. The vibrations of his moan run through your skin, back arching again as you can feel a coil tighten in your stomach. He can tell you’re close, he knows you’ve already forgotten about the stress of whatever happened earlier, all focus now on his mouth, his hands - him in general.

“You sound so pretty when you talk to me.” he speaks, “love when i hear you use your voice, sweetheart.” Using his teeth to graze over your clit, listening to the way the whole place is silent bar the sounds he’s making in your wetness.

“I’m so close, fuck” you let out, hand gripping onto the sheets below you as the other holds onto his messy hair harder than previously, making him lick and suck more fervently than before. “i know, i can feel you. let go sweetheart.” he says, fingers moving faster inside your walls in a ‘come here’ motion, hitting that spot only he can find within you.

He can feel how close he’s gotten you by the way your walls tighten around his fingers, gripping him and sucking him further in. You can feel the coil beginning to spin out, body bursting with the need to let go.

As your eyes flutter closed, pins and needles beginning in your toes and blood rushing to your ears, you can feel the pulsing start as your orgasm pulls closer. “I’m gonna-“ you start, unable to finish the sentence fully as he moans again, finally pushing you over the edge as all you see is white in comparison to the black darkness of the room around you both.

Your moans and his sounds are again the only things audible in the bedroom, hands gripping the sheets so hard you would be concerned about ripping them if you weren’t so far off the planet with how he’s making you feel.

Matts mouth hasn’t stopped his movements, pushing you to where you need to pull his head away from you with overstimulation.

“Good girl.” is all you hear, ears slowly beginning to hear again, feeling him kiss your stomach gently.

“Wonder how many more i can get from you…”

—

tagging a couple people just cause it’s my first one!

@bunmurdock @lambmurdock @sunflowersandsapphires

[courtforshort15]

AHHHHHHH!!!

I cannot recommend this fic enough. It is amazing and the slow burn was fantastic!!!

Go read it now!!!!

--

Matt Murdock/Reader - Black and Midnight Blue: “Brick by Brick” - New Chapter Excerpt! :)

HELLO HELLO here i have an excerpt from my Matt/Reader fic on A03 called Black and Midnight Blue!! This is an unreleased chapter coming out on Sunday:) The FULL chapter is a tad spicy however this excerpt just hints at some spicy things. anyway hope u like xox

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41053290/chapters/102893784

Black and Midnight Blue - Matt Murdock/Reader - on A03!

Chapter 36: *Brick by Brick

—-

Matt laughed, his head leaning chidingly toward yours. He paused, though, eyes going a shade more narrow. “Matty?”

You blushed, grinning right back.

“Hey, I figured if Stick of all people gets to call you that, so do I.”

He shook his head. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” you purred, whispering your lips along the scruff of his jaw. “Because I think it suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm,” you kept on, drifting your lips up closer to Matt’s ear. The muscles at this side of his neck flickered just slightly as your heated breath drifted over his skin. “I think it especially suits you when you act as needy as you did just a minute ago.”

One other thing you’d noticed about Matt Murdock: he was never averse to a tease. In fact, it seemed as though it was a welcome challenge, a source of titillating entertainment for his sharp mind and sharper senses.

Not surprising, law career and all.

From where your head was positioned, you jaw Matt’s jaw tense out, his cheeks stretch back in an open, grinning breath of a laugh. You twisted your own smiling lips together. At his chest, your fingertips traced up over drying sweat, trailing a line up to his neck - where you swirled the tip of your index finger over his skin. You opened your already-parted lips to speak, but Matt’s voice cut through the silence first, more sultry and warm than you were expecting.

“And when you act as needy as you did just a minute ago?” He purred, tipping his head so that those plush lips would offer their sound right into your ear. “What should I call you then?”

A laugh escaped you. “Call me whatever you want.”

“No, no,” Matt chided, his hand at your hip tapping you lightly. “I want to know what you like to be called.”

A shiver wound its way up through your body. Matt didn’t let up, not even when he absolutely heard the rate of your pulse move slowly into speeding territory.

“I know you like your name, and I know you like ‘sweetheart,’” he hummed into you, stubble grazing your cheek, “but I just want to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

Your tongue darted out over your lips. Even the sound of his voice was enough. Didn’t matter what name he used it for, not with you. Especially not when he was so very close, and so very warm.

“I do think I remember, though,” Matt kept on in the same rasping, sultry tone, “that you don’t seem to mind praise.”

At that statement, your breath hitched. That night, the night where the stitches you required were just numerous and deep enough for Matt’s help to be an absolute necessity - that was the night where his words of affirmation had drawn up sensations within you that drove further than the prick of a suture. And, of course, this was evidently something he’d remembered. You didn’t need to see Matt’s mouth to know how wide his smirk was.

“Maybe I’ll just make sure to remind you how good you feel, smell, sound - or just how good you’re doing for me. How’s that?”

Your cheeks dimpled and blushed, no matter how hard you tried to fight the expression. 

“I…” you started, faltering as Matt pressed his fingers deeper at your waist, drew his lips so close to your ear that your skin tingled in their presence.

“Like you said,” he declared, low and gritty and wanting. “I know you well enough by now.”

—-

HAHAH WOOP RELEASING SUNDAY

[madschiavelique]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟏

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x vigilante!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : you’d met them, became their teammate, and the one night you got severely wounded, they took you to their place to patch you up.

⟢﹒ content warnings : i am not a doctor nor do i have any knowledge on how to take care of wounds like that properly so very inaccurate patching up session, mentions of blood, wounds, mentions of needle (to saw reader’s wound), afab!reader, stubborn reader, but stubborn frank, no use of y/n, not proofread

⟢﹒ word count : 7,2k

⟢﹒ note : this is the first part of a 2shot where the second part will be a smut with hunter/prey dynamic ! have a good read <;33

⟢ next part : here

The clouds were brown tonight, covering the inky blackness of the sky like a mass of cotton gathering up the streetlights of Hell's Kitchen. Everything seemed to be reflecting off a lake, the puddles of rain from earlier in the day having settled on every rooftop in the city in a myriad of mirrors.

It was quiet, abnormally quiet even. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly your typical idyllic holiday destination; on the contrary, it was the place to flee if you had the chance. Crime had its patch on every street corner, and not a single day or night went by without something happening.

But now, nothing. No problems. No calls for help. Just the calm of an evening. 

Sitting on the edge of a roof, your legs dangling boredly in the air, you listened to your little radio set beside your thigh, hoping that one of the police stations would report a problem. But everything was peaceful.

It had already been a few months since you had taken on the attire of the night, taken on the role of vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, and every evening you found yourself chasing crime out of town like a broom sweeping dust out of the way.

It wasn't necessarily an easy rhythm. After an already long day at work, you usually tried to get some sleep before starting your patrol. You'd realised that although there was no particular time for crime, most of them started after midnight.

But it was already one o'clock in the morning and there was nothing to report. You wondered whether perhaps you were doing your job as a vigilante too well. If you did, this kind of evening was set to happen, because if you did eradicate every crime all at once, there wouldn't be any left for later. The bitter reassurance that, unfortunately, crime, born since the dawn of time, would only die with men, gripped your heart.

The pace of it all was sometimes exhausting, but the advantage of all this was that you weren't really working alone any more. At first, the idea of joining forces with anyone to bring justice to the world of night seemed complicated, for several reasons. 

Firstly, coordination: having team-mates implied having a certain connection so that even without words being spoken, everything ran smoothly. 

And secondly, attachment. An environment like this where every night can be your last if you don't keep a minimum of vigilance can prove destructive. It would be too painful to lose an ally, and even more so if it was your turn to leave and they found themselves grieving.

But colleagues - no, partners? Friends? Whatever, the allies you found on certain nights were probably the most resilient human beings you'd ever met, to the point where the very thought of them dying was impossible. After all, when you're working with two people who have both withstood a bullet to the head and who are sure of themselves, you can't help but feel safe - or very small and miserable in their presence.

You had met them on patrol when the sounds of banging and groans of pain could be heard in an alleyway. Immediately, you had split the sphere of your personally modified Bolas and had helped in the fight after observing the side you had to take. Recognising criminals had become like a sixth sense, but above all you had recognised Daredevil's outfit in the semi-darkness and the silhouette that appeared to be that of Frank Castle.

You were familiar with the work of both of them, had seen enough of their appearances in the newspapers and heard their actions on the radio enough to know that the two men fighting the dozen or so others below were none other than these two.

You had helped them, immobilising a man here, strangling a man of the thread of your bolas there, while the two acolytes were both taking part in the fight. It was only at the end of the latter that the barrage of questions began.

"Who are you?" was of course the first question Matt asked.

"Who do you work for?" was the first question Frank raised, naturally.

It didn't take too long for you to explain that crime was swarming around the city like cockroaches in a dirty carpet and that you wanted to clean up just like them.

Frank was suspicious, Matt was calm, and you were sweating buckets, dreading their every reaction. They weren't exactly idols to you, but you had great respect for them.

It was when Matt agreed that you were sincere and that there was nothing to fear about you that Frank relaxed a bit, without letting go of his grouchy and suspicious attitude. You'd assumed at first that Frank wouldn't appreciate such a radical change of routine that included bringing a new member into the evening vigilante group, but Matt had assured him that having one more person would allow them to be more effective.

And soon, you'd be meeting up from time to time in the evening if you were lucky enough to bump into each other. 

First, you didn't reveal your identity immediately. There was a kind of silent agreement between the three of you on the subject. Of course, Frank's identity was no longer a mystery, but Matt's remained particularly anonymous for a long time.

Once enough trust had been established for Frank not to grumble at you at every given occasion, you were officially introduced.

You learned that Matthew Murdock was a blind lawyer with very heightened senses, and that Frank Castle lived with him, taking on a series of remote jobs under a different identity since his name was not really known in a very positive way. 

You didn't see each other outside of work, often too busy with your own lives to find time to see each other, even if you didn't discuss your free time... at first anyway.

You had exchanged phone numbers, in case an emergency arose and you suddenly needed help. Your exchanges were very cordial, sending addresses or locations when help was needed or to investigate something suspicious.

The first much less professional encounter was on a more turbulent night than the others, when you were cut badly on the leg, flank and arm, with an additional cut to your lip from a punch. 

According to Matt, your costume was similar to the one he wore when he first started as Daredevil. Dark clothes, something to hide your face and combat boots, needless to say that with just these to cover you up, you were extremely vulnerable.

When the fighting stopped, you didn't even have time to wince in pain that Matt was already beside you with a glove off and removing his helmet as Frank observed the situation.

"How bad is it?" Frank had asked, tilting his head to the side as the fabric covering your body darkened with blood.

"As bad as it looks to you and feels to me," Matt sighed as his fingertips brushed the skin of your side.

"It's all right," you assured them, moving slightly away from Matt and his touch, "really, it's fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you can barely walk properly." Matt had asked, obviously knowing that no, everything wasn't all right.

Probably because he'd used that speech over and over again himself, that and the simple fact that your body looked like a cute little pinocchio with a nose extended to its ears.

"Yeah yeah, no big deal - argh!" you started before Frank put his hand on the gaping wound in your arm. “Hey!”

"No big deal, eh? If it was no big deal ya wouldn't be reacting like this."

"It's nothing, really." 

You had no idea if you sounded convincing… well, from the look on both their faces, you weren’t. Frank crossed his arms over his chest, looking you up and down as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You felt tiny under his gaze like that, barely lifting your eyes to look into his. There was a dark insistence in his stare, and you could tell he was frustrated, only whether it was about you or the situation in itself you weren't sure.

"What d’you say Red ?" he said after seconds that felt like minutes.

You turned to Matt, his gaze fixed as usual on a point in the void. But that didn't stop his eyes from being expressive, and the rest of his face reinforced them. You watched in the half-light the way his jaw muscles twitched in the lamplight and your heart fell in your stomach.

"Our flat is closer to here than hers," was what he ended up saying.

Your heart went right back up your chest as you blinked fast, frowning at the sentence he had so casually said.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, "how do you know I'm-" but you didn't finish your own sentence before starting the next, "you followed me all the way to my place?"

Matt put both hands on his hips with a sigh, biting his lower lip before finally answering.

"We had a bit of a scare the other night when you were cut on the shoulder. We just wanted to make sure... that you got home okay."

Your lips parted in surprise, shifting then from Matt to Frank, who was looking at his feet as if the ground was far more interesting than anything he had to say at the moment. You weren't sure how to feel about that.

In a way, you found it strange that they'd followed you home without telling you anything about it, but Matt with his keen senses would probably have known where you were sooner or later. Besides, it was well-intentioned, and the sudden thought that they cared about you - no, about your state - was surprisingly heart-warming.

"In any case," Matt continued, clearing his throat, "ours is a lot closer than yours, and in your current state, you could do with some treatment when you get there."

"I'm not planning to stay the night, am I?" you laughed nervously.

"Why not?" said Frank, raising his eyebrows and his shoulders in one gesture.

From now on, victory would go to the one with the most convincing argument.

"Well, I've got work tomorrow," you began, already thinking about the pain you'd have to endure in the morning when you woke up. 

You could still feel your warm blood clinging to your clothes, and the sensation was becoming increasingly unpleasant.

"Say you're unwell, isn't far off the mark," Frank replied, pointing with a lazy wave of his hand at your body.

"But I don't have any clothes to spend the night in." You retorted, although the argument was easily contradicted by Matt's remark.

"We'll lend you some, it's no big deal," he assured you.

"I don't have a toothbrush," you retorted, as if that couldn't possibly be of any importance in this setting.

"We're not Cro-Magnons, we have backup ones," Matt laughed softly.

It was becoming a little more complicated to come up with relevant arguments. The blood loss was making you dizzy, weak, and preventing you from standing properly without grimacing every second while focusing all your attention on each cut and the intense burning sensation it gave you.

It wasn't so much that you didn't want to go, because on the contrary you found yourself enjoying their company more and more. It was simply the fact that...

"I'm afraid of imposing myself on you and bothering you." You said, looking away.

You were colleagues up to now, people who shared a common interest in justice, and you didn't mind their company. Only, you'd added to the mix completely unexpectedly. They'd already been working together before, even living together. You didn't know a great deal about their private lives and here you were, the millstone, getting hurt in the middle of a patrol and not being able to make a move without everything hurting.

You turned towards them again. The look on Frank's face was like the typical reaction of a human being who has just witnessed the greatest absurdity of all, while Matt's mouth was half-open in surprise. It almost seemed to you that saying that simple sentence had been a mistake.

"That's it, you're coming with us," Matt confirmed.

"Definitely," Frank affirmed as he approached you and placed one of his hands behind your back.

"Hey wait-" you had no say in the matter, though, as Frank's second hand came up behind your knees and lifted you off the ground.

Your hands barely grasped the back of his neck, wincing as you writhed in pain. You wouldn't have minded being carried. The fatigue of the evening weighed on each of your limbs as if they were full of lead. 

You knew how to walk, one step in front of the other like most, and the suddenness of being lifted so easily into the air felt funny. You couldn't help fidgeting, caressing the hope of finding a position more comfortable than one that made you feel every inch of your skin open to the night air.

"Stop movin’ like a chicken ‘bouta have its throat cut," Frank grumbled as the two of them started walking.

"Put it on the ground and the chicken will calm down," you breathed through clenched teeth of discomfort.

"It's not a very long walk, I promise." Matt reassured you.

You huffed, clutching the collar of Frank's jacket to prevent yourself from squeezing the back of his neck too hard and getting another remark. You were torn between the uneasiness of the stir he made with every step, which you felt in every wound, and the new comfort you found in the embrace of his arms.

You felt so... safe that way. And not just with Frank, because you felt the same sense of tranquillity with Matt. They were both involved in your life in such an unusual way and they still managed to make you feel comfortable.

You'd never been so close to him, snuggled up against him and held in his strong arms. As close as you were to his body, you could smell him. A mix of cool and warm. 

He carried the smoky but crisp scent of the night, the fresh but dark air, like the smell of a just-cut apple leaving its cool scent on the blade of the knife that has just sliced it. And all of this was strangely relieving. 

Your eyes drifted to his neck, which was inevitable considering how close you were to it. Your gaze focused on his Adam's apple, ready to be covered by his perpetual stubble, letting your eyes slide up to his marked, strong jawline. You weren't in the habit of observing someone so closely, especially when that someone was handsome. 

The journey across his face continued, passing from his full lips, to his nose bumped by the many blows he must have received in the face, to conclude this pleasant silent voyage with his eyes. Beneath a pair of stern eyebrows were two onyxes, shyly illuminated by the few street lamps on the deserted streets you were travelling through. You had seen them turn black like those of a shark that had smelled blood. 

If you didn't know that look would never be meant for you, you'd be afraid of them.

You'd spent enough time with them in combat situations to know that their rage alone could bring a man down with a look. You hoped you'd never have to pay the price of it.

But this close, you didn't feel in danger, although the very idea that such dark eyes of vengeance and bitterness and death might pass over yours made you shudder.

“You’re staring, little one,” Frank remarked, his gaze never wavering from the path in front of him.

Too embarrassed by your own behaviour, you nestled your head on his shoulder, resting your forehead on it as your neck and cheeks heated up. You felt a little foolish as you felt your heart beating frantically between your ribs, and the very idea that Matt could undoubtedly hear it made you want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground and disappear.

When were you going to get to that bloody flat where you would - hopefully - never again have to be so close to one of them without your thoughts getting carried away ?

Your wishes were granted, as you soon found yourselves standing in front of a door that Matt habitually opened, letting Frank go first as he pressed you closer to him to get through the doorway. With a single breath, his scent invaded you more and more until, for a few moments, your thoughts were focused on nothing but him.

The sudden closeness of him made you feel your cheek brush against the nape of his neck, cool in the night air, but enough for your own skin to heat up slightly.

Internally, you were slapping yourself in the face. Now was not the time to let yourself be bewitched by your colleagues, although the fact that you would be spending the night with them would intensify those thoughts.

Your reflections kept you prisoner enough that you didn't realise until you'd climbed the stairs that you were about to enter Matt's flat. No... their flat.

This reality dropped into your stomach like a heavy stone. They're together, so don't try or think anything that might disappoint you. Tonight... It's just business. It's just help they're giving you, that's all it is.

Perhaps it was a cruel lack of affection that made you repeat all this to yourself, but whatever the case, your inner monologue gradually died down as your attention was drawn to the inside of the place.

It was big, really big for a flat, and for a moment the idea of Matt and Frank being rich occurred to you. It wasn't until Frank moved further into the living room that your eyes fell almost painfully on the neon lighting that illuminated the whole room.

And the more you looked, the more the charm of the place intensified. Of course, the neon had to be a problem. And yes, the walls had faded wallpaper and cracked paint. And maybe the windows could have done with a bit of a wipe down.

But the cosy atmosphere the flat had was delightful. The warmth that greeted you as you entered was gentle and reassuring. You noticed that there was little smell in the flat, nothing too strong at least so far. 

"On the sofa, she's already lost enough blood for the evening," Matt pointed out as he left for his kitchen.

Ah, right, Matt's senses, you almost forgot. The reason for the absence of perfume or overpowering scents in their flat was surely that it could prove abrasive on his olfactory sensitivity and generally on his senses.

Frank didn't hesitate for a moment, gently lowering you onto the leather sofa, which you felt sink under your back. The sudden change of position made you wince and whimper, the pain of your wounds hitherto camouflaged by your comfort in Frank's arms resurfacing to inflame your skin.

Frank watched you for a moment, frowning as he observed with serious eyes the dark stains that soaked through the various fabrics of your outfit. Without a word, he walked away, and a few seconds later Matt appeared in your field of vision, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.

"We're going to need you to take off your top and trousers, do you think you can do that?"

The heat rose to your cheek, making you realise that with those wounds on your body, it was inevitable that you would end up naked if they wanted to do anything to help fix you.

You pressed your teeth into your lower lip, keeping it prisoner for a moment and grunting as the gesture made you reopen your little wound. 

"I'll try," you croaked, trying to unclench the hand that had been glued to your side until now. 

The bleeding seemed to have eased, the blood slightly caking to your hand as you pulled it free with an exhaled whimper. The sudden contact of air on your skin felt like an icy slap, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm yourself.

Your head tumbling back on the comfortable leather, you tried to get your hands to the sides of your T-shirt, pulling at the fabric. The material rubbed against your gaping wound, and you gritted your teeth as you breathed heavily.

Matt swallowed, clenching his jaw before kneeling in front of you.

"I can help you, if you don't mind," he offered, his hands coming to rest on your ankles as he began to remove your shoes.

Your reflex would usually have been to say no, your determination to achieve everything on your own without help from others blocking such opportunities. But the more you thought about it, the more the taste of resignation grew in your mouth.

At the rate you were going, getting undressed would take a considerable amount of time, time that Matt and Frank could probably have spent doing something more interesting than helping someone like you. So you gave in.

The blood from your split lip spilled back into your mouth, your tongue running over the cut and burning you. Wrinkling your nose in pain and breathing through your teeth, you nodded vigorously as you readjusted yourself on the sofa.

Matt sat up straight on his knees and faced you, his hands first feeling the leather of the sofa to find your thigh. He gently skimmed along the fabric, his hand brushing the wound on your thigh and making you grunt slightly.

"Sorry," he murmured softly. "The bleeding seems to have stopped," his confirmation letting his hand travel up to your waist. 

His second joined in, avoiding the path of his twin again, and finding the sides of your top.

"Can you put your arms up for me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you took a deep breath. Then you did the seemingly impossible by lifting your arms. Your shoulders felt like they were made of lead, and your whole body seemed to be made of nothing but aches and pains.

When the fabric and movement rubbed against the wound on your arm, which you had barely raised, your hand instinctively came to press against it, letting a small, contorted whimper escape from your lips.

Matt let out a sigh, but he didn't seem exasperated or annoyed, more concerned or sharing your pain. Just then Frank came back into the living room, a first aid kit in hand as he came up beside you.

"We're going to have to cut your shirt off," Matt warned.

You sighed, feeling deeply incapable. When did taking off a shirt become so complicated? Every cut on your body was starting to burn severely, and you felt like throwing yourself into a lake of ice water to soothe the pain.

Frank pulled the scissors out of the kit, sitting down next to you and letting the sofa sink beneath him.

"We'll get you a new one," he promised as the cold kiss of the scissor blades touched your skin for a moment near the wound on your arm, bringing a short-lived respite.

Frank tugged at the fabric to pull it away from your skin, then after a few scissor strokes tore the material of your t-shirt as if it were paper with a sharp tear.

The cold skin of his fingers, still covered in the cool of the outside air, came to rest on your skin, and it was as if night met day, as the moon touched the sun with its fingertips, illuminating each of its craters and cuts.

Meanwhile, Matt unbuckled your belt gently, unbuttoning your trouser button at the same time and pulling on the fly until his fingers brushed the birth of...

"Sorry about the whisky but we didn't have anything else," he said apologetically as he took hold of the edges of your trousers.

"Aren't you guys sponsored by first aid kits at this point?" you asked through clenched teeth.

Waiting for Frank to move the scissors away from your skin, you raised your pelvis so that Matt could slide your trousers down more easily. 

"There hasn't been any disinfectant in any of them since last night," he explained with a small smile.

The scene was strangely intimate, Frank's hot breath spreading across the back of your neck as he cut off your shirt, and Matt's hands sliding your trousers down your thighs.

You couldn't help but let out a grunt as the fabric of your pant leg brushed against the wound on your thigh, though Matt was doing his best not to cause you any discomfort, whispering small apologies as he did so.

You then realised the context of all this, and the heat rose to your cheeks when Frank threw the last shred of your old T-shirt somewhere in the background: you were in your underwear in front of them.

For a moment, their fingers on your body felt much less professional. The passage of their digits over your skin left behind a trail of sparkling powder underneath.

Placing a towel under your thigh, Matt indicated to Frank the bottle of alcohol which he uncorked.

"This might sting a bit," Matt advised just before Frank started pouring the cool liquid over the wound on your arm.

You stifled a muffled gasp, your thighs trembling slightly from the heat of your wounds. Matt's face scrunched up, his hands resting on your thighs in the hope of easing your pain or distracting you from the excruciating sensation you were going through. As for Frank, he didn't seem to give a damn, his face filled with his constant annoyed neutrality.

You had wondered several times whether Frank hated you, or whether it was difficult for him to stand you. Whatever the case, he didn't seem to have you in his heart. Maybe it was mistrust, but whatever the reason, he seemed irascible towards you.

He continued to pour the contents of the bottle quite generously onto your side, your eyelids closing so tightly that you felt you were seeing stars. You gritted your teeth so hard that for a moment they cut off your hearing, then released the tension.

"It's almost done," Matt murmured in the hope of encouraging you.

Frank ended up cleaning your trembling thigh. You brought your hand, closed into a fist, up to your mouth, biting the skin of one of your fingers to channel the pain.

Your head jerked back, breathing heavily as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. The worst had undoubtedly just passed.

You heard them rummaging around in the kit, and as you straightened your head, you saw them pulling out needle and thread.

"No pain killers," you managed to say as your mouth felt almost pasty.

Frank chuckled, preparing the needle properly.

"Gotta get this done first, no painkillers for your princess ass now."

You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh.

"Silly me to assume you'd care." you mumbled, already feeling the discomfort from the alcohol on your gaping skin soften.

"It' all be over soon," Matt asserted, his thumb running over the skin of your thigh.

"And I who was looking forward to living in agony for the rest of my life,' you breathed.

Frank brought one of the armchairs closer to the sofa, needle in hand.

"Gon try and be gentle, softy." he added, the little nickname making you scoff.

"No, Frank, being gentle isn't your area of excellence. You shine mainly in murder and mutilation."

He raised his eyes to yours, still red and wet from your previous pain and reflecting the famous 'gentleness' he had shown in his actions. He frowned, but this gesture was unexpectedly accompanied by a smile mixing surprise and amusement, stretching his face in a way you'd never seen from him before.

He brought the needle up to your thigh, grasping the skin with his large hand as firmly as gently. He pierced it, making you wince at the sensation. 

"Just gonna pretend I didn't hear that," he finally said, his concentration seemingly unwavering.

But the simple idea of saying this when this same man was stitching you up at the moment only enchanted you for a short moment. He had a needle in his hand that he could very well stick anywhere but in the wound that needed to be closed. And although it was an immensely small needle, you were well aware that anything can become a deadly weapon if you have the will to use it. 

So you said nothing, letting that little irritation fade away as you let yourself be stitched up. The pain was bearable in the end, nothing too horrible. It was better than going home and cauterising the whole thing with your straightening iron.

Now that the pain was more bearable, your attention eventually drifted to something other than that feeling, and more to the rest. The feel of their fingers on your body brought a whole new sensory experience, causing a warm cloud to settle in your belly.

Matt straightened up, your thigh already missing the presence of his hand on it. He sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your arm without injury.

"Your lip's cut," he remarked.

"It's not the worst thing on the menu," you laughed nervously, immediately regretting your gesture as your smile stretched your lip and reopened it again.

He fumbled for the kit, taking a cotton ball and grabbing the bottle to soak it in.

"Here," he said, his hand coming to take your chin tenderly and turning it towards him.

He pressed the wet cotton to your wound, and you hissed as your nose wrinkled in pain.

"It might sting a bit when you drink," he murmured.

The proximity gripped your heart, Matt's face close enough to yours that you felt his breath hit your skin gently and evenly. You tried to calm your racing heart in your chest, swallowing as you let him finish disinfecting your lip.

You took the opportunity to watch him more closely, to see the way his stubble ran gracefully across his jaw, the way his brown eyes watching the empty space were full of softness, the way his lips, which you were used to seeing outside the mask, were full and pink.

He seemed incredibly gentle, and if you didn't spend some nights a week in his company fighting crime, you'd never have bet he was fighting like the devil himself: unleashed, full of rage, the taste of revenge and the desire for a better balance blinding him beyond measure.

"You'll take our bed," Matt said, Frank just finishing stitching up your thigh.

You immediately frowned, your lips parting.

"Since I'm on the couch I might just stay on it," you laughed nervously as Frank moved to the wound on your waist.

His hand grabbed your hip and pulled you to the edge of the sofa, looking up at you: 

"Sit straight and still," he says in a tone calm but firm enough to convince you that he wouldn't repeat that command twice.

You straighten up slightly, letting him come and stitch up the wound in your side.

"Of the three of us, you're clearly the one who needs comfort and rest the most, not us," Matt continued, placing the now useless cotton wool on the table.

"I can assure you that I've rarely been on a sofa as comfortable as this one," you added.

You'd invite yourself into their home unannounced, they'd take care of you, and on top of that they'd make you sleep in their bed while they slept elsewhere?

"Do we really have to drag you there?" asked Frank, tugging at the thread.

"And let me squirm and ruin all your previous efforts on my wounds?" you huffed as you looked into his eyes, a muscle near your eye twitching as Frank continued his work. "I'd ruin your sheets, that's really not necessary."

"Listen-" Matt started, but you stopped him.

"No," you assured him, turning to him, "and anyway I can already feel sleep stalking me."

Frank breathed in as he opened his lips to speak and contradict you again, but you stopped him.

"Really," you assured him, "I'll take the sofa."

Frank bit his cheek in irritation, obviously not so happy to know that someone in this town shared being so stubborn. He turned to Matt, who also didn't seem to be enjoying the situation any more than that.

"Alright, but there's no way I'm going to hear you complain as soon as you wake up, is that clear?" finished Frank as he tied the thread over the cut in your abdomen.

"Scout's honour," you sighed.

As Frank started your last cut, Matt got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass. He filled it with water, while you and Frank seemed to be engaged in a stare-down between two obstinate, stubborn people.

"Thanks Matty," you thanked sincerely, taking the two delicious items in your hand.

He seemed surprised by the nickname, a nervous chuckle forming a smile on his lips.

"I'll grab you some clothes," he replied as he left for their shared room and began the process of changing his costume.

You placed the tablet on your tongue, then brought the glass to your lips. As promised, it stung. A cloud of red diluted on the contact with your lips, and as you observed it you wondered how you would justify it to your boss.

You sighed, reminding yourself that you should email them first thing in the morning to let them know you were absent. All you had to do the next day was explain that you'd been attacked in the street for stealing your bag, but you'd managed to get away, and that in a state of shock you didn't feel like coming to work the next day. This would probably do.

Frank finished stitching you up fairly quickly, and when he cut the last thread he still looked at you with that annoyed look he never seemed to shake off.

"Thank you, Frankie" you thanked, using the nickname in a more playful tone than you had with Matt.

He let out a single sharp breath from his lungs before getting up and leaving in his turn for the bedroom, from which Matt emerged in much more... normal clothes.

It was the first time you'd seen him in civilian attire, in a simple hoodie and jogging bottoms. Your eyes went wide, your mouth half-open for a moment, and you had to blink several times to pull yourself together.

"Here," he said, placing the pile of clothes next to you on the sofa. "Do you think you can stand this time?" 

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and everything else didn't burn as much as if hell itself had invited itself under your skin, you tried to stand up. You wanted to avoid any sudden movements, but eventually, with a bit of effort, you managed to straighten up and start pushing on your legs to get up.

Your knees trembled slightly from the stress and everything else that had gone with it during the night, and just as you thought you'd be sprawled out on the floor in the next few seconds, tasting the parquet floor, Matt grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

"Hey, take it easy little fawn, we don't need you damaging your nose on top of everything else," he laughed as he steadied you, letting your legs wobble a little more before you felt comfortable enough to stand.

Your whole body hurt like hell. And no wonder: in addition to your various cuts from the evening, your body was dotted with clouds of bruises that would make all the blueberries jealous of their colour.

"Let me help you," he finally smiled gently as he picked up the T-shirt from the pile.

He helped you into the top, taking care not to let the fabric come into contact with your freshly stitched skin.

"I'll need to borrow one of your shirts tomorrow when I leave," you said with a small smile, "mine's had a bit of a problem."

Matt laughed softly as he poked his head into your top. " May it rest in pieces."

You laughed softly at his little joke, slipping the rest on and feeling his hands roam over your covered skin, the size of the t-shirt far too big for you and reaching the top of your thighs.

Matt lowered himself to his knees in front of you, and you looked down at him as he rolled up the sweatpants so he could slip them around your ankle, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you could find some support.

The vision was heady, taking hold of your heart like an intoxicating scent you want to chase down so you can bury your whole face in it and never leave. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, to let them get lost in its meanders, to let your nails graze his skull before tugging lightly on it... 

But you pulled yourself together, the thought once again creating a warm cloud in your lower belly as he straightened up and pulled the fabric up your legs, his fingers brushing your skin as if you were a statue forbidden to be touched.

"You're gonna have to see that with Frank though," he said as he tied the two laces around your waist, "it's his shirt."

That's how the same smell you'd first smelled when you were in his arms came back to mind, but you remained stoic, preventing yourself from grabbing the collar of the shirt and bringing it up to your nose.

"Challenge of the year," you sighed, smiling though, "thank you. For all of this."

"That's normal, it would be a shame if our partner found herself unable to exercise," he reassured you.

The word sent a shiver up your spine and into your cheeks.

"Red?" called Frank from the bedroom.

"Coming," he answered over his shoulder before turning away from you.

You sat back down on the sofa, tiredness beginning to weigh heavily on your eyelids. You lay down, the multiple events of the evening knocking you out more easily than any sleeping pill. 

You had no trouble falling asleep, even with the neon lights on, even without a blanket, and even when the two of them came back into the room.

When you woke up, your back felt like it was sinking into a cloud. The surface you were lying on was soft, and when you turned on your side, your hand came to rest on a material that was not at all like the leather of the sofa: silk.

You propped yourself up gently on one elbow, observing the place you were in, and that's when you realised: they'd moved you into their bed while you were asleep.

"Bastards," you muttered, and bit your cheek to stop the little smile forming on your lips from breaking out.

A funny feeling sprang up in your heart, making it light and rosy. But that feeling quickly faded as you sat up straighter and your whole body ached. You felt like you'd just come out of a washing machine, all tossed and turned.

You stood up, trying to stretch but stopping immediately when the pain from your stitched-up cuts threatened to reopen. You didn't want to mess up their clothes, you'd probably never forgive yourself if that happened.

You came out of the bedroom and found Frank and Matt talking in the kitchen. Matt turned to you, sending you a smile.

"Good morning," he offered.

You were limping lightly, and bent slightly, walking slowly towards them through fatigue and pain.

"At last the groundhog graces us with her presence," Frank grumbled, turning to you.

"Am I rather not a sleeping beauty ?" you returned with a smile, "I wonder if sleeping beaty had a breakfast date when she woke up. I mean, look at me this is such a tempting offer," you said as your posture could easily have been a cross between an old lady and a pregnant woman, leaning on your hip, alternating between the curve of your back and the arch of it, making your whole body crack into a grimace of relief.

But surprisingly, they both smiled at your joke, and the awkward silence you might have expected or the abrupt change of subject to move on never came. But that didn't stop you from apologising on the spot.

"I'm sorry, I don't want my words to sound inappropriate, but I know that you two... well, you're..." together was the word you were looking for, but your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Try again, you thought. You'll end up rowing champion if you keep paddling like that. But Matt immediately reassured you.

"There's nothing to worry about, and besides, on my side you have to be forgiving when you don't have the 'pause' button."

Right, you thought, even though the heat was rising to your cheeks and neck enough for your cool hand to come and rest on it, massaging it nervously.

"I find you singularly witty, Red," Frank said, arms folded across his chest.

Of course, there was nothing new under the sun about Frank. His sharp tone brought you back to solid ground in no time.

"How are the wounds?" he asked as he turned to you, his eyes lingering for a moment on the fact that you were wearing his shirt.

"Very well," you assured him as you lifted the sides of your shirt to show the one on your side and the one on your arm, turning back to him, "I think the blue really brings out my eyes, don't you?"

He smirked, and you couldn't quite work out whether it was genuine annoyance or amusement. It all seemed a bit too perfect, and that's when it hit you.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, looking for where they'd put your trousers where your phone was.

"What is it?" asked Matt.

"My boss," you said, searching the hallway and finding your trousers there, "I didn't tell him-"

"We called him this morning," pointed out Frank.

You stopped in your tracks, turning back to them.

"You what ?" you questioned.

"We called him," Matt informed, "we told him that we were close to you and that after you were mugged last night in the street you decided to stay home for the day out of shock."

"You-"

"It's all sorted, you don't need to worry," Frank grunted, taking his drink in hand, surely in search for you to shut up and let him enjoy his morning cup of coffee.

You stood there like a houseplant in the middle of the living room, and Matt invited you to take a seat for breakfast. Bemused, you took a seat and the three of you ate and chatted for a while.

Matt mentioned taking you to see a guy he knew so that he could cover you up with something other than such a simplistic and obviously flimsy outfit that could put you in danger again.

And after breakfast, you left at the same time as Matt, who was leaving for work. You said your final goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Little did you know the proximity of last night would change many things.

⟢ next part : here

[fettuccin-e]

Leave It Like A Brand

Kinktober Day 1: Love Marks

Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (wrap that shit irl fuck them kids), Matt's filthy mouth, secret relationship, a massive amount of hickeys like it's a lot (w/c: 885)

A/N: Happy Kinktober to all who celebrate! I am going to make a concerted effort to complete it this year, and I will be doing it with plenty of different characters. The absolutely amazing @flightlessangelwings has created this kinktober prompt list that I'll be following, so if you'd like to see a certain prompt with a certain character, let me know! I hope everyone enjoys the fact that I kicked off this lovely month with our dear Matty.

It’s like he can’t control himself when he’s got you like this. 

No one is supposed to know, he’s supposed to leave no evidence, and yet, when you’re squirming beneath him like this, slick with sweat and begging him to fuck you deeper, harder, faster, Matt just can’t fucking help it. He leans down and sucks dark, dark marks into the soft skin of your neck. Maybe they’ll fade by tomorrow, he thinks, and Foggy and Karen won’t notice at all. You and Matt will go back to being friends, colleagues, and no one will be ever the wiser.

He tries to tamp down the slight disappointment, the longing that grows in his chest.

You curl your fingers into his hair, panting as he bites marks into your skin. You can’t be doing this with him, it’s been going on far too long. Falling into his bed, night after night. What would your friends say if they knew?  You don’t even know what this thing you’ve created with Matt even is, nor does Matt.

But God, he feels so good. Fucking into you so deep, warm and heavy on top of you as he sucks bruises into your skin. Like a brand, you think, like ownership. You want him to own you, in so many ways. 

“Matt, oh my god,” you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your pulse point, relishing in the sound of your heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He mutters against you, his voice dark in your ear, like pure unadulterated sin. He drives his hips further into yours, pressing the tip of his cock into the little spot inside you that makes you claw desperately at his back.”You like me marking you up like this? You like having my cock so deep?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Matt- oh please,” you throw your head back into the soft silk pillows, and Matt growls, dragging his teeth down your neck before biting savagely on your collarbone. He hikes your thighs up further around his hips, your back pressing into the mattress as he pounds furiously into your needy pussy. And god, the way you scream for him feels like heaven in and of itself.

You’re getting close, he can tell. He always can. It’s in the way you’re practically gasping for air, your hips twitching to meet him thrust for thrust, trying to work yourself over that peak. Your skin is slick with sweat, salty on his tongue.

“You going to cum for me, beautiful? Make a mess all over me? You’re so fucking tight around me, baby-” he gasps as you clench hard around him, practically strangling him as he fucks into you. “Wish I could do this all the time, gorgeous. Want to be in this pussy all the fucking time.”

Your back arches off the bed when he takes a hand off your thigh to press a mean thumb into your clit, rubbing quick circles into it and making you feel like you’re going to fly off the bed. “Fuck!” you practically scream, lurching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “‘S too much, fuck it’s too much, I’m gonna-”

“Fucking cum for me, angel.”

And you do. God, you do, your cunt squeezing around his cock, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as you gasp soundlessly, like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Your pussy gushes around him, sticky and wet and dripping down him. Your scent invades his nose, makes his head spin in a way that no one else ever has. Your hips buck up involuntarily as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it, baby, good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My good fucking girl, take what you need.”

“Need you to cum, Matty, please,” you whine. You work your hips against him in an obscene little circle that makes him feel more animal than man. His cock throbs.

“Fuck, yes-” he gasps, hunching over you, clutching your thigh tight enough that it will leave bruises there, too. Bruises that only he will see, the ones that no one else will ever see. Just you and him.

“Cum deep, please-oh fuck, Matt,” you whisper, before you bite ruthlessly into the hard tendon in the crook of his neck, deep enough that it must be painful, that it’s absolutely going to leave a mark on his skin. Your brand, your ownership.

He growls at the sting, his cock twitching as he finally floods your pussy with his cum. It feels like heaven incarnate, claiming you in the purest way he can.

As you both settle, chests heaving against each other, he tugs a sheet over you both. He hears your heartbeat steady and tries to match his with yours, tracing the bruises he left on your skin. You trace the bite mark on his neck.

“Little too warm for a scarf, don’t you think?” you murmur.

“Hm?” He tugs you closer, nuzzling into your hair.

“I’m just saying,” you say, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t think I can hide these marks from Fog and Karen anymore, so why even try? Might be time to come clean.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he smiles against your mouth. “Does this count as permission to leave even more of them?”

[angst-cravings]

candy necklace

summary: you find a candy necklace and decide to wear it for matt. groping ensues.

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader

words: 2.2k

an: smut (18+, mdni), pwp, fem & afab but no use of pronouns, and no use of y/n, also my first smut ever

based on a tik tok post that has since been deleted </3

cw: sex, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v penetration

Matt had been having a hard time at his job lately. Both jobs. He had papers and folders in the living room messily strewn around him, and dark bruises were peeking out from his lazily rolled-up sleeves. The stress was oozing off of him and permeating the air. It was almost thick with tension, and he felt it suffocating him. His face falls into his hands, and he sighs deeply.

You were going out with your friends tonight, and half of him was disappointed, but half was relieved. He hated it when you saw him like this. When you were gone, you could be carefree and enjoy yourself. And not worry about him. 

He heard you rustling in the other room to get dressed. The softest hint of perfume hit him, along with… sugar? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, distracting him from the weight on his back. 

You pad barefoot into the living room, adjusting your necklace so the tie is on the back of your neck. 

“Do you want to feel my dress to get an idea of how I look? It’s black.” You walk towards him, smiling. Matt directs his head towards you and returns the smile. You can see the bags under his eyes, and his brown eyes almost light up as he acknowledges you. His tie is fully untied, draping around his neck and down his chest. His disheveled state is admittedly attractive but makes your heart break. You hate seeing him like this, not because he can’t handle it, but because he beats himself up too much while he does. All you wanted was for him to relax and take the night for himself, but you knew after the week’s stress, “taking the night for himself” would mean fighting the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen, not relaxing in bed as you’d want him to. But you had a plan. 

Matt stands, places his hands on your shoulders, and starts roaming. He begins at the straps, his coarse fingertips floating across your bare shoulders, causing goosebumps to litter your exposed skin. His hands move down the body of your dress, and he feels your every dip and curve. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling heat rush between your legs. You watch as Matt runs his tongue across his lips, and you know he can taste it in the air. As his hands reach the hem of your dress, he grabs your ass and smirks.

“Short.” 

You hesitantly nod. “I, uh, I’m wearing a necklace too. You should feel it.” You look directly into his eyes and hold your breath. His eyes have darkened, turning from soft and comforting to dark and hungry. He cocks his head and pulls you even closer before raising his hand to your throat. His rough fingers gently trace around your neck, the sensation causing you to sharply inhale, and you swallow under his fingertips. You study his face to try and discern his reaction. 

“And what’s this?” He knows. You recognize this face. He’s playing with you. 

“It’s… candy.”

“You were going to wear this out?” His eyebrow raises, his lips betraying the slightest hint of amusement. His voice is mostly humorous, but you hear the overt undertones of posessiveness.

You choose not to answer his question. “Do you… want to taste it?”

His hand falls, and your neck immediately feels cold from the absence. He grabs your chin and lifts it to expose your neck, giving him access to your skin and necklace. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation, and you feel his warm breath hover across you. The pulse between your legs begins to grow, and you place a hand on his chest to ground you. 

His nose hits your neck first, almost tickling you, and he wraps his mouth around a candy ring next. It tastes sweet and slightly salty from your skin, and he snakes a hand down to the small of your back for stability. Your heart is pounding, and you shiver from every brush of lips against neck. An almost silent moan parts from your lips, and Matt pulls away.

“It’s sweet.” He smirks and goes in for another, this time latching onto your neck and sucking on both you and the necklace. You gasp, and you feel your knees turn to jelly.

Matt gently pulls you onto the couch, his grip firm on your waist, and you fall into him. You reposition yourself to straddle his waist, and you feel your dress ride up your thighs as his strong hands plant themselves onto your hips. He moves his mouth from your necklace and starts kissing your neck, gently sucking and nibbling on your sensitive points. You moan as he hits the spot on your neck that he knows all too well, and you can’t help yourself. You start grinding your hips down against him, only a few layers between the two of you.

Matt groans, an erection already in his boxer briefs from the taste of you in the air. His hips buck up against you, and his hands begin to roam up and down your dress. One of his hands hovers over the hem of your dress.

“May I?” His voice is breathy and quiet, but you hear the need punctuating his words. Work has been his main priority for the past few weeks, so he’s been pent up for a while. And so have you.

“Please.” You start unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his chest, and you take a second to admire how it rises and falls as his breathing starts to get heavier. He pushes the skirt of your dress up to fully expose everything from your waist down.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so wet for me already.” He rubs a finger over the ever-growing damp spot on your underwear, and you can see him lick his lips and taste the air. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, and you watch as the pupils of his eyes completely blow out. His chest rises as he inhales, breathing your scent in, and he silently curses under his breath as his erection further strains against his pants. 

You whine as he starts to rub your clit through your panties, and you are compelled by your body to grind against his hand. He uses his other hand on your waist to guide you through, helping you rock your hips back and forth against him. 

“Please, Matt,” you whine.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” His voice is playful, but his words are stern. 

“I need you, please, fuck me—I need more.” 

His hand instantly moves away, and he flips you onto the couch. The cool leather almost stings against the burning heat of your skin. 

“You know, your necklace tasted good, but I know something I would much rather taste all night.” He grins as he moves down your body and slots his head between your thighs. Your hands immediately twist in his hair. The reaction is almost ritualistic after experiencing this bliss so many times before. Matt pulls the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, letting you kick them off from your ankles and fall to the floor. You hungrily watch as he starts to go down on you, as he leaves long strokes with the flat of his tongue. Your head slumps against the arm of the couch as your eyes reflexively slam shut from the pleasure. Matt snakes his tongue inside of you, fully tasting you and your arousal. His nose clumsily nudges against your clit, and he lets out a soft groan as the taste takes over his senses. 

“Fuck, Matt…” You let out breathy moans, and your fingers tug at his hair, pulling him closer. He focuses his tongue on your clit again, and he inserts two fingers into you. His fingers are calloused and thick, and you immediately clench around them, eliciting a groan from Matt. His fingers crook and quickly hit the spot inside of you, and your hips buck into his mouth as you moan. He continues voraciously, and all thoughts vanish from your mind. The combination of his fingers, his tongue, and the gentle rumble of his moaning begins to build an orgasm deep inside you. 

Matt notices and increases his efforts, fucking you as moans spill out of your reddened lips. You tighten your thighs around his head, and you hear a quiet groan from Matt. If it had been earlier in the night, you might have been concerned you’d hurt or suffocate him, but you can’t think straight.

“Fuck, Matt, I’m close, I’m so close, I–” Your words almost trip on themselves as you say them as the buildup releases, and your muscles start to pulsate around his fingers as you moan his name. He guides you through your orgasm, licking up all of your juices and savoring the taste on his tongue. You gently pull him away and feel arousal building again as you watch him wrap his mouth around his fingers to savor the taste. 

“God, you’re so fucking good for me, sweetheart. Taste and feel so damn good,” Matt sighs, rising from his position on his knees. 

You move to get on your knees in reciprocity, but he stops you.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. I fucking need you right now.” His voice comes out ragged and hungry. Your taste is heady, and he seems almost drunk on you. He swoops you up into his arms as if you were weightless and carries you to the bed. He’s impatient but ever lovingly gentle, and he peppers kisses along your body as he nearly rips your dress off. He lingers at your throat as he bites another piece of candy off, and you giggle, having almost forgotten the thing that sparked this. You admire Matt as he strips down the rest of his clothing, ogling his gorgeous, toned body. 

Matt lets out a sharp hiss as his cock is finally released from its restraints, a bead of precum forming at the tip. You swallow at the sight of it, never having gotten over how big he is.

“Fuck, Matt, baby, I need you,” You whine, already soaking wet again. 

“Shh… I know, sweetheart, just one moment.” He climbs onto the bed, his arms framing your face and his legs slot between yours. He slowly slides into you, and you immediately let out a moan. 

“Sweetheart, you’re so tight for me,” Matt’s voice is laced with underlying tension as he restrains himself from going too fast, “You just feel so fucking good.”

After a few seconds of adjusting, you gently tap his arm to signal that you’re ready for more, and he fully buries himself into you. 

“God, Matt, I need you, please,” You start to shift yourself needily to get any friction. You ache from the overstimulation of your recent release, but the sting of pain mixes with pleasure in a way that just begs you for more. 

He immediately responds by moving into a familiar rhythm, angling his hips to hit every spot inside of you, eliciting moans from both of you. “God, you feel so good, sweetheart,” Matt half-whispers half-moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You whine into his ear as a response. You wrap your arms around him, digging your nails into his back, and he relishes the grounding feeling with your name falling from his lips. You were excited to see the marks on his back later, a reminder of tonight and your claim on him. 

One of his hands reaches down, and you feel his thumb start to rub your clit. Your body immediately reacts, your muscles tightening around him in a vice-like grip.

“Please, Matt, fuck, your dick feels so good,” you moan, “more, please.”

He responds by fucking you harder, faster. You feel the coil in you become tighter, spurred by your earlier climax, and your moans become almost pornographic as you experience what you imagine to be the most pleasure you could ever feel.

“Matt, I’m close, please, can I,” you beg, voice filled with impatience.

Matt’s voice is husky and exhilarating. “God, please, sweetheart, cum for me.” You feel his hips start to stutter, and your muscles begin to clench and flutter around him. You moan so loudly the neighbors could probably hear, and you don’t think you mind. This isn’t the first time your ecstasy has disturbed their evenings, and there hasn’t been a complaint yet.

After a few more thrusts, Matt pulls out of you, panting. As you come down from the high, you’re suddenly keenly aware of the sticky sensation on your neck from the mix of candy and saliva and the gush of his cum running out of you.

“So, uh, do I need to let you go out with your friends now?” Matt questions, a tinge of disappointment lacing his words. You giggled.

“Well, honestly, I changed my mind a little bit ago. Maybe we should just hang out for the rest of the night.” 

You had decided far before you had gotten ready that night. You figured he needed a break, and this was a good excuse for him to let loose.

A grin quickly spanned across his face, and he gave you a sweet and gentle peck before he ran to the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean you up. 

~

“So... can I ask what was up with the necklace?” You feel his voice rumble deep in him, mixed with his heartbeat, as your head rests against his chest.

“Oh,” you laugh, “that was just for you. I saw it in a shop and thought you might have some fun with it.”

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you��re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[freelancearsonist]

Sensation

Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Rated MA for 2k of pure porn with barely any plot, consensual blindfolding, dom/sub dynamics (Matt punishing reader), oral sex, piv sex, all the sex

1,975 Words

A/N: as always thank you to my love @shakespeareanwannabe for being my best beta reader (and for the prompt ofc) 🖤 i wrote this in one sitting at like 10PM so sorry if it sucks LMAO

“This is a punishment,” Matt reminds you, his breath heavy enough against your ear to send a shiver down your spine. He knows it, of course–if your eyes weren’t firmly covered with his tie, you’d be able to see the smirk that slowly spreads across his full lips.

In your defense, you’re not sure how exactly he expected you to behave tonight. He had you get all dolled up so he could take you to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and of course he was the most edible thing in the entire establishment. It’s his own fault for looking so damned fine, really. If he hadn’t worn that sleek, form-fitting suit with that blood-red tie (the exact one now being used as your punishment blindfold), you wouldn’t have had to misbehave. And really, kissing him deeply in front of the whole restaurant wasn’t that bad. Even if you did grab his ass a little a lot. How could you possibly be expected to keep your hands to yourself?

Not that you’re really complaining about this punishment. Your eyes may have been the thing to get you into trouble in the first place, but every sensation is heightened so much further without their use

For instance, the way his hands trace down your thighs. Normally it’s nothing more than a touch to you, a mark of the journey on his way to where you really want him. Tonight, it’s more than that. It makes your body jolt ever so slightly when his hands first make contact, and then you notice the intention of his feather-light pressure as they move. It’s meant to drive you crazy, and it works perfectly. Normally, it would take more effort to get you squirming. Yet this simple touch rips a completely involuntary whine from your throat. You hear him chuckle, and you know he’s eating this up. Part of you wants to rebel, to not give him the satisfaction of witnessing you enjoy your punishment. But the other–larger–part of you wants nothing more than for his touch to continue.

You don’t have to ask–he’s gracious in that aspect. This time his hands work their way up, gliding over the smooth expanse of your stomach to his target. He revels in the gasp you emit when his fingertips dance under the curves of your breasts, almost but not quite touching in a way that makes you want to growl and beg for more.

But begging isn’t what’s on his mind tonight. He’ll give you anything you want without making you ask–Matt’s goal is stimulation.

And that’s why he wastes no time cupping your breasts in his hands, running the roughly calloused pads of his thumbs over your taut nipples. It feels divine; the perfect mix of friction and pressure. 

You’ve known from your first romp in the sheets together that your boyfriend is talented, especially when it comes to bedroom activities. He’s never failed to make you feel euphoria beyond your wildest dreams. But you’ve never appreciated his skilled hands as much as you do in this moment.

And then his mouth takes over for the hand that slides up to idly hold your neck–not applying pressure, just resting there as a subtle reminder of his power over you–and you swear you’re dying. You must be halfway out of your body and on the way to heaven because nothing should be able to feel this good. Especially not something as simple as his ever-so-soft and wet tongue gliding smoothly in a tight circle before laving directly over your nipple.

You jolt from the sensation and his hand is quick to shoot down to your hip, a steadying pressure to keep you in place as he continues the assault with his mouth.

It’s a lot, the combination of his hands and his mouth on your delicate skin. Especially with your senses tuned and stretched tight as piano wire. But it’s not too much, and he knows it. He knows he can keep pushing, and he wants to. He’s curious exactly what your breaking point will be.

Matt is rarely impatient, but he is now. The feeling of your trembling muscles, the scent of your neglected arousal, the sound of your panted breaths–it all drives him wild with desire. He’s aching and desperate for you in a way that he’s tried to train himself never to be. Patience is a virtue, after all; but there’s nothing virtuous about Matthew Murdock when he has you like this.

He trails his tongue down, down, down; only pausing for a moment to suck a deep velvet mark into the flesh of your stomach. It’s worth the reaction that comes from you–simultaneously trying to squirm away yet push closer to him. He loves you like this, so carnally unraveled. There’s not a thought in your head–a head that’s normally swirling with genius and creativity–which is such a luxurious rarity. He’s proud of himself, really, for his ability to unwind you so easily. 

He takes a moment for himself, soaking in your scent and sounds as he settles himself between your spread thighs. There are few places he loves to be more than right here, with your legs wrapped around his head and his tongue buried in you.

There are few places you love for him to be more, too. Especially like this, with every nerve in your body on high alert. The anticipation is deadly–without your sight, you never know when his next touch is coming. It’s maddening, entrancing, arousing. You don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed of how wet you are; not that he would ever expect you to be. Matt is never quite satisfied until he has you dripping enough to necessitate a sheet change once he’s done ruining you.

You’re halfway there already, and he can’t deny himself any longer. You owe him, really–he had to skip dessert after your little display at the restaurant so he could drag you home.

Maybe he has a thing for your possessive nature. He doesn’t really feel the need to put a label on it.

The first light flick of his tongue against your waiting core is hardly enough to feel. Perhaps under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t feel it at all. But like this, with every ounce of your being wound tight with anticipation, it feels like a hot bullet of pleasure slicing through your cunt. It makes you whine and squirm, necessitating his large hands to come to your hips so he can hold his dessert in place.

The second flick of his tongue isn’t really a flick but more of a drag. Hot and languid, savoring the sweetness of your want for him. It’s Matt who moans this time–deep in his throat, completely unconscious. He can’t help it, not when you taste this good.

He really does want to drag this out. He wants to take his time making a meal of you, savor every second of your taste on his tongue. But he’s desperate, and teasing is out the door when he gets like this. There’s no time for you to prepare before he’s delving in, drinking from you like you’re his fountain of youth. 

It’s harsh, the sudden overload of sensation. It makes you writhe under his strong grip and gasp for breath as you try not to shatter into a billion pieces. It makes your thighs clamp around his head, holding him into place as a plea for him to not stop, to never stop. It makes your stomach churn, muscles aching from how tightly your internal coil is wound.

It makes you tumble over the edge with barely a second’s notice.

A fresh wave of wetness meets his greedy tongue as he basks in the sound of your moans and sobs, and suddenly he’s starting to wonder if this punishment isn’t for him. It must be, because the deep ache in his balls and the way his pants have tightened so unbearably can’t be anything but a punishment.

He’s eager to remedy this situation as his soft lips trace gentle kisses into the meat of your thighs, giving you a short reprieve from the onslaught of stimulation. Emphasis on short–all the while he’s unbuckling his belt and hastily shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs, too desperate to take the time to bare himself for you.

“Ready?” He asks, taking the time and attention to set a gentle kiss on your chin as he positions himself between your legs.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Words, baby.” That stern tone of his could make you do literally anything.

“Yes,” you say, and he’s balls deep before you’ve even finished the word.

It’s nothing short of overwhelming. The sheer size of him, which is already daunting on a regular day, is nearly unbearable. He’s stretching seemingly every inch of you, bullying your body into accommodating his girth. You feel his tip kiss your cervix, and it makes tears of pleasure prickle at the corners of your eyes.

In his favor, he does give you a moment to recover from the sudden shock of his intrusion. And then he rolls his hips–not even pulling out, but somehow managing to get even deeper. You feel him so completely it’s almost as if he’s in your god damned throat. And he relishes it; the salt of your tears, the hitch of your breath, the tremble of your chest.

He draws out almost completely, then bullies his way back in. Your cunt squeezes so tight around him that he actually swears–your good, sweet, church-going Matt curses the heavens for making you so tight and wet and willing. Because even as he sets his harsh pace, slamming into you with something akin to ferocity, you don’t complain. You take every inch of him with gratitude, nails scratching down his back because your blissed-out mind needs some form of purchase.

The blindfold really isn’t doing anything for you at this point; your eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that you hardly even register it’s there anymore. Your mind can’t focus on a single sensation, but it processes everything–the slick glide of his cock pounding into you, the slap of his thighs against yours, his mouth trailing panted kisses over your neck. There’s so much sensation that it overwhelms you, turns you numb as you clench even tighter around him.

He almost asks if it’s too much, although the thought of stopping now makes his gut ache. But there’s no need–as soon as his thumb sweeps lightly over your clit, you’re shattering. The pleasure of it makes you shake and cough, like your engine’s on its last leg and you’re about to break down on the side of the road. Your cunt weeps with the stimulation, soaking down your thighs and his until there’s no hope of redeeming these sheets. 

Matt doesn’t let up until your contracting muscles go limp, just in time for him to spill deep inside of you with a final harsh thrust of his hips. It’s warm and hot and the perfect sensation to end on, even as he slowly eases his length out of you so he can flop down next to you.

There’s nothing but the sound of heavy panting for a moment or two, and then Matt’s fingers find your face so he can undo the tie wrapped over your eyes. Then his lips are on you again; this time pressing gentle kisses over your sore eyelids.

“You okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You’re not quite sure how to express just how okay you are. You decide on, “The only punishing part of that will be if we never do that again.”

He laughs as he pulls you to cuddle against his chest, because he’s thinking the same exact thing.

THE END

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[outoftheseine]

- MATT MURDOCK FIC RECS -

(here is to my favorite lawyer by day and vigilante by night)

brief note: most fics contain canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, assault etc.) so please be aware of them.

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

please don't be mad • matt murdock x fem!reader all i need is you

↳ by @chvoswxtch (angst, smut)

matt murdock x age gap!reader

↳ by @multiharlot

15 ways to love matt murdock • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings

ONE-SHOTS/BLURBS/HC'S

strawberry rhubarb • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (blood, torture, forced nudity)

these broken things • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, mentions of murder and blood)

steal my warmth • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @devils-dares (very fluffy)

discordant • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (angst, sex trafficking)

always here • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @blackshadowswriter (hurt/comfort, angst, nightmares)

like real people do • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (angst, hurt/comfort, nightmare trope, tw: panic attack, mentions of trauma and child abuse)

jealousy • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @devils-dares (jealous!matt, allusions to smut)

care packages • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @chvoswxtch (very fluffy, mentions of violence)

how sweet it is (to be loved by you) • matt murdock x afab!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (oh very sweet, smut, virgin!reader)

green is the color • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, but happy ending, reader is insecure of her relationship with matt)

angel • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @peterman-spideyparker (so much angst :(, death)

sincerely, anxiety • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings (so fluffy, i related too much)

never an ear strain away • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amchapel (fluff, honestly i smiled a little too much while reading this)

it's in the details • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @onewholikesthings (fluff)

you are in the kitchen humming • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @shadesofsteve (veryy fluffy, a little hurt/comfort)

always so good with the kids, and kids absolutely love him • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @yarrystyleeza (this was so sweet :'))

the comfort of your relationship • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @slightlypossessed (so much fluff, i love soft fics like this)

small acts of kindness • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (fluff, mentions of sensory overload and anxiety)

thinking about • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdocksluvrr (such a cute drabble, fluff)

halo not included • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @undiscovered-horizon

more • college!matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (smut, virgin!reader)

without you • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @foli-vora (so much angst, can't wait for part 2!)

bruises • matt murdock x gf!reader

↳ by @goldustwomun (angst, injuries, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort)

first of many • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @coalix (smut)

what's your middle name? • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @thegingerwriter (fluff and smut)

make amends • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @honeycombstrawberry (assault, angst but fluff, hurt/comfort)

again and again • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms (angst, blood, comfort, fluff at the end)

"i no longer know where i end and you begin" • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (this was so so cute and comforting, just fluff)

tracking the devil • matt murdock x enhanced! reader

↳ by @mattmurdocksscars (angst, injuries, ex lovers)

wanting • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @coalix (i LOVED this, angst but happy ending)

afterglow • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (so. much. angst but happy ending)

stray • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (fluff)

[shiorimakibawrites]

What a Way to Go (Kinktober Day 3)

Personal Masterlist for Kinktober 2023

FlightlessAngelWings' prompt list can be found here

Day 3 - Overstimulation

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 890

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving), referenced vaginal fingering, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected p in v sex, bondage, begging.

Tagging: @flightlessangelwings

What A Way To Go

Matt lapping at your entrance was obscenely loud in the near-silent room. The only other sounds was your labored breathing and his happy grunts. He seemed determined to find every last drop of slick, if the way his tongue had started to prod every single fold was any indication.

That clever tongue flickered over your clit. It was merest touch, so light that under normal circumstances, you would whine that he was teasing you. This wasn’t normal circumstances. This was after two orgasms. One from his mouth. The other from his fingers. So that delicate touch to your clit was enough to make you scream.

It was so good. It was too much.

You tried to squirm but his arm was keeping your hips pinned down to the bed and his hand around your thigh was keeping your legs spread wide from him. Your hands, tied to the headboard with his tie, spasm rhythmically. Especially when he did it again, pushing you toward that edge for the third time.

“Baby, please . . .” you managed to panted out. You weren’t sure if you were begging him to stop. Or to keep going. You were dancing that line between pain and pleasure.

For moment, it seemed like he might grant you mercy. He pulled his mouth away from your cunt and lifted his head. But those pouty lips of his, glistening with your slick, were smirking. A familiar devilish smirk. While you watched, he slowly ran his tongue of his lips. The deep moan he let out while he did it only added fuel to the growing fire between your legs.

“Tapping out already, sweetheart?” he asked. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He used the devil voice on purpose. He knew what that voice did to you. Bastard, you thought as your cunt clenched around nothing. A reaction that only got worse when his arm left your hips to brace against the bed and start to push himself up. Watching all that muscle flex and the veins pop into high relief . . .

Then he rose to his knees. Putting his beautiful body on display for your hungry eyes to trace down his torso from his broad shoulders to his hard cock. Knowing you were watching, he wrapped his now his hand around his cock. He hissed at the feeling and another bead of pre-cum began to run down his cock. The sight had your cunt clenching again. Seconds ago, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to continue. Now you were desperate from him to be inside you.

“Baby . . . ,” you whined. If your hands had been free, you would have been reaching for him.

“What is it, sweet girl?” he asked, his hand beginning to stroke his cock. “Are you still tapping out? Or does your pretty pussy need to be fucked?”

You moaned, squirming. There was no way he didn’t know the effect he was having on you.

“Words, sweet girl,” he chided. “Tell me what you want.”

“I-I want you. . . ,” you panted. “To fuck me. Please, baby, fuck me, fuck me . . .”

Your begging was cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a searing kiss. You could taste the faint tang of yourself but your attention was soon drawn to feeling of his cock rubbing against your folds. Coating himself in your slick and swallowing your moans from every brush of the head against your sensitive clit.

Then he entered you in one fluid thrust. You had to pull away your mouth to let out a sound that was halfway between a scream and a sob. Your toes were already curling, your legs trembling. Your eyes filled with tears. Then he began to thrust and you couldn’t hold in the sobs of pleasure, tears running down your face.

It was so good. It was too much.

“Baby,” you begged, tugging frantically at your bonds. “Please, please . . .”

Matt reached up and freed your hands. Which immediately latched into his shoulders, your nails digging deeply into his skin. He moaned and thrust harder, pounding you into his bed. All you could do was hang on.

It was so good. It was too much.

It didn’t take long for your inner walls to start fluttering around his cock. You were already babbling nonsense interspersed with his name. You were almost there . . . almost . . .

“Come for you,” he grunted. “Come on my cock, sweet girl.”

That tripped you over the edge. You screamed his name as you came. He moaned deeply as your cunt clenched tightly around him. Then let out a muttered ‘fuck’ as your cunt continued to spasm around his cock as he started to chasing his own release. Within seconds, he was spilling inside you.

You don’t know how long you lay there. Time had lost all meaning. But you noticed his hand cupping your breast. You noticed his mouth trailing kisses down your neck. You noticed when his cock, still buried inside you, began to swell and twitch.

“Got a fourth orgasm for me, sweet girl?” he purred before starting to suck a mark on your neck. You whimpered. He was going to kill you . . .

But what a way to go . . .

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

I’m participating in Kinktober 2023 this year using this list by @flightlessangelwings​ . If you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on this post or send in an ask.

Day One - Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Overstimulation ; impact play; fingering; nipple play; dirty talk—praise and degradation

Day Two - Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Public sex (car sex); role playing; blowjob; cum play; fingering

Day Three - Diego Jimenez x Reader

Warnings: Reader is the monster; vampirism; mention of drug use; mention of alcohol consumption; blood drinking (because vampires); vaginal sex

Day Four - Santiago Garcia x Reader

Warnings: Public sex; sex pollen; rough sex; unprotected sex; creampie; hair pulling

Day Five - Jax Teller x Reader

Warnings: Table sex/desk sex; enemies to enemies who fuck; vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Day Six - Josh Lyman x Reader

Warnings: Lots of dialogue!!; phone sex; power imbalance; dirty talk; praise kink; masturbation

Day Seven - Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: Morning sex; fingering; oral sex; safe sex; vaginal sex

Day Eight - Rafael Barba x Reader

Warnings: Cockwarming; restraints; spanking; impact play; Dom/Brat dynamics; choking; rough sex; oral sex; vaginal sex; cum shot; cum play

Day Nine - Nathan Bateman x Reader

Warnings: Rimming; fingering; masturbation; pegging; blowjobs; cunnilingus; praise kink

Day Ten - Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: Stripping; car sex; clothed man/partially clothed woman; grinding

Day Eleven - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Warnings: Blindfolding; hide-and-seek/prey-play adjacent; blowjob; cunnilingus; vaginal sex; unsafe sex; creampie

Day Twelve - Will Miller x Reader

Warnings: Established relationship; fluff; formal wear; oral sex; safe sex

Day Thirteen - Jim Kirk x Reader

Warnings: Anonymous sex; public sex; oral sex; spit as lube; safe sex

Day Fourteen - Oberyn Martell x Reader

Warnings: Prostitution/sex work; canon-typical sex work; dirty talk; sub Oberyn Martell; hair pulling; restraints; orgasm control/denial; masturbation; breeding kink; oral sex; gag use; unsafe sex; creampie

Day Fifteen - Duke Leto Atreides x Reader

Warnings: Free use; semi-public sex; oral sex; fingering; unsafe sex; creampie

Day Sixteen - Indiana Jones x Reader

Warnings: Role reversal; period-typical attitudes toward sex; vaginal sex; riding unsafe sex; creampie

Day Seventeen - Ben Miller x Reader

Warnings: Praise kink; dirty talk; blowjob; fingering; grinding; semi-public sex

Day Eighteen - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Masturbation; mutual masturbation; fingering; handjob; vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Day Nineteen - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Somnophilia; Bradley 'I Eat Pussy for My Own Pleasure' Bradshaw; anal sex; anal plug; safe sex; vaginal fingering

Day Twenty - Benny Borracho Magalon x Reader

Warnings: Sex toys; fingering; blowjobs

Day Twenty-One - Harvey Specter x Reader

Warnings: Hate sex; oral sex; semi-public sex; table sex; spit as lube; safe sex; negotiating tactics that would get you disbarred

Day Twenty-Two - Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Reader is an older virgin; fingering; oral sex; loss of virginity; vaginal sex; safe sex

Day Twenty-Three - Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: Dirty talk; vaginal sex; cunnilingus; fingering; unsafe sex; creampie; breeding kink

Day Twenty-Four - James Bond x Reader

Warnings: Exes; domineering James Bond; fingering; choking; hate sex; mostly naked woman, clothed man

Day Twenty-Five - Shiv Roy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Infidelity; mentions of previous adolescent antics; mirror sex; oral sex; fingering; grinding; semi-public sex

Day Twenty-Six - SithMaster!Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Sith Master!Obi-Wan; Sith Apprentice!Reader; Power imbalance; Force-choking; deep throating; grinding; masturbation; choking (without the Force); degradation

Day Twenty-Seven - Christopher Pike x Reader

Warnings: Fluff; yearning; kitchen sex; vaginal sex; improper use of buttercream

Day Twenty-Eight - Andromache of Scythia (The Old Guard) x Reader

Warnings: Intercrural Sex/grinding; nipple play; fighting; light degradation

Day Twenty-Nine - Don Draper x Reader

Warnings: Semi-public sex; fingering; vaginal sex; unsafe sex; creampie; gagging with clothing

Day Thirty - Jake 'Hangman' Sersin x Reader

Warnings: Oral sex/cunnilingus; face sitting; Jake 'I Get Hard When I Eat Pussy’ Seresin

Day Thirty- One - A Thank You :)