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sunflowersandsapphires · 7 days ago

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Self-Indulgent Matt Comfort

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt has a trick or two up his sleeve when you are exhausted in the workplace.

warnings: None, this is the fluffiest fluff

a/n: I was absolutely exhausted today but I still wanted to write, so... here!

w/c: 1.1k

You weren’t going to yawn again. You weren’t.

After the second yawn in the last ten minutes, Karen was already eyeing you from her desk, her gaze raising the hair on the back of your neck as you clenched your jaw against the sensation.

You didn’t need to yawn. You were fine, just a little tired.

Maybe more than a little.

Weeks of strenuous, back-to-back cases and increasingly tumultuous periods of sleep had begun to weigh on you. Fatigue draped over your shoulders like ribbons of cement, urging you to slump forward until you were propped on one fist, practically faceplanted on your desk. The pile of paperwork you were slogging through wobbled in your line of sight, text sprawling off the page as your vision blurred. With a measured breath, you let your eyes flutter shut, your body rejoicing in the darkness for a moment before you forced them to open again.

You were used to this. Exhaustion was an old friend of yours, a constant presence in the back of your mind. This wasn’t a new struggle. So why was staying awake so remarkably difficult today?

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you shoved the thought aside. Given how much brain power you were using just staying conscious, you couldn’t exactly spare the time it would take to crack open that can of worms. A handful of hours and you’d be free to trudge home and collapse into bed. But first, paperwork.

Using two fingers to separate the top page from the remainder of the stack, you held it in front of your face, your lips moving mechanically as you read the bold letters. ‘MOTION FOR PARTIAL SUMMARY JUDGEMENT’ Motion for..what case was this? Oh right, Miss Owens. Her ex-boyfriend was claiming she misappropriated child support. Or was that the Howard case…

Completely lost in a jumble of names and case numbers, you didn’t hear Karen calling for you until it was accompanied by a tap on your back. The abrupt heat of physical contact made you flinch, a tiny shriek flying from your mouth before you could effectively silence it. Hands flying up to your rapidly heating face, you whirled around.

“I thought you heard me, I’m sorry–” Karen rushed to apologize, drawing her hand away from you as you cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying attention. What did you say?” The words tumbled out of your mouth almost incoherently.

Before Karen could repeat herself, a door opened behind you, a head of dark hair popping around the frame.

“What happened? Are you ok?” In his haste to respond to your embarrassing outburst, Matt’s crimson lenses had been forgotten, his vehement concern on full display. Blank eyes darting between you and Karen, he crossed the short distance to your desk, focusing solely on you.

“I’m fine, I just..zoned out and got startled.” You explained feebly, reaching for one of Matt’s outstretched hands. The dip between his brows only grew in ferocity at your lame excuse.

“Uh huh. Well, I had a question for you anyway so,” Nodding to you, Matt’s gaze flickered in Karen’s direction. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?”

“She’s all yours.” Karen smirked, holding her hands up and retreating to her own desk.

Confusion bloomed in your stomach as Matt and Karen somehow exchanged a look. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing. Got a minute to talk about the Owens case?” Something about the pacing of Matt’s response seemed..off, but your sluggish thoughts weren’t quick enough to discern exactly what was afoot.

“I, uh, haven’t finished prepping that motion for filing.” You admitted sheepishly, staggering to your feet with Matt’s help.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. We have another two weeks to respond to their newest complaint. I actually wanted your opinion on his testimony from the last hearing.” Drawing you into his office with effortless strength, Matt’s hand dropped yours and coasted over the small of your back. He clutched your waist gently, shutting the door with a swift tap of his foot.

“Oh.” A coil of anxiety you hadn’t noticed before began to unwind in your chest, your posture sagging until you were draped against Matt’s side. You’d expected him to scold you, to remind you how important it was to keep your full attention on the task at hand. “Yah, I can try to help.”

“Great, why don’t you sit, I’ll pull up the segment I’m thinking of.” Squeezing the flesh of your hip, Matt gracefully slipped from your partial embrace, rounding the large wooden desk in the center of the room.

Nodding absently, your fingers grazed the top of the chair in front of his computer, tilting it back before Matt stopped you. “On the couch, love. Much more comfortable.”

Something was definitely up. You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing at the smug lawyer. “And that matters because?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend and I want you to be comfortable?” Matt laughed brightly, arms snaking over themselves in a haphazard imitation of your own stance.

With a doubtful grumble, you settled onto the couch cushions behind you. The true reason for Matt’s actions was just beyond your grasp, one fired synapse away from clicking into place. Until you solved that mystery, you could handle a little forced comfort.

Balancing his computer on one broad palm, Matt chuckled as you remained stiff, refusing to give in to the inviting squishiness of the worn fabric. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re up to something.” You mumbled, scowling at him as he slid onto the couch beside you, throwing a sculpted arm over your shoulders.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Here,” Passing you an earbud, Matt’s fingers flew over his keyboard, queueing up the testimony in question. “His phrasing is…interesting. And I think he might’ve contradicted his statement from the original custody battle, but you’re more familiar with that case than I am.”

Placing the tiny speaker inside your ear, you tucked yourself into Matt’s side. As always, his heat encompassed you first, warmth radiating from him like rays of pure sun. Touch quickly followed, his left thigh sliding against yours, denim scratching over cotton. Positioning the laptop atop both of your legs, Matt’s thumb caressed your shoulder as he started the recording.

A smatter of voices prickled through the static, lawyers, clerks, and–eventually–the adverse. The monotonous call and response crashed over you in waves, threatening to siphon your dwindling awareness and lead you straight into slumber. You nudged Matt’s upper arm with your forehead, eyes fluttering shut against your will. “You tricked me. Wanted me to sleep.”

“You caught me.” Matt murmured, shifting to pull something from the back of the couch and tuck it around you. “You’ve been running on fumes this week. Rest for a bit.”

“Hypocrite.” Your scathing comment was hindered by the slurred edge to your speech as you drifted off.

A rumbling laugh shook Matt’s chest. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @daisy-arien0 @yarrystyleeza @silas-aeiou @harleycao @for-hearthand-home @chwlogy @valhallavalkyrie9

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souliebird · 6 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 27]]

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

Summary:

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

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

Police Arrest Three After Mass Protests in LA County

By C. Grant

Three people were arrested in Pasadena, California yesterday after a crowd gathered to protest the death of Sheila Pom. Police say the three individuals, whose names have not yet been released, appeared to be Enhanceds attempting to agitate the crowd. Witnesses claim one of the individuals was creating sparks with their fingers and threatening to start a fire, while the two others encouraged the behavior. Police have made no comment about these arrests and all questions about the incident have been redirected to a now defunct phone number.

Sheila Pom was killed in an officer-related shooting two weeks ago after neighbors reported her as a Dangerous Individual under the new Sokovia Accords Act. Pom, 23, worked at her uncle’s auto body shop as a mechanic while also attending online classes to get a degree in Engineering. She was also a telekinetic - someone who can move objects with their mind.

Pom was known to not be shy about her gifts. Pom was seen frequently lifting cars and trucks within garages without the help of equipment and is rumored to have once righted a tipped over semi-truck. Neighbors became concerned when Pom began using her gifts at home.

“We’d come home, and things would be floating up and down the street,” one neighbor said.

Another claimed Pom was unstable, and when she would become upset, things around her would begin to shake.

“I thought it was an earthquake until my TV hit the ceiling,” a source who lived in the same building Pom told GKTV, “I learned the next day her boyfriend broke up with her.”

Officers were called when Pom refused to return a motorcycle to the ground while working on it in a residential neighborhood. After a brief standoff, officers fired two shots, striking Pom in the head, and killing her.

Pom’s family claims she was unaware of the officer’s presence, as wireless earbuds were found near her body after. Pom was known to listen to music to block the noise of machines.

Protests began after the officers involved in the incident were cleared of any wrongdoing.

----

A full-page ad takes over your screen, and instead of continuing to read the depressing article, you close the tab.

There has been a palpable unrest in the news cycle the past week that is starting to leave you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You’ve noticed a shift in the general narrative tone and terminology used when discussing people who have superpowers.

Before Sokovia, before Lagos, before Connecticut, the morning shows would bring on people with amazing gifts and gently joke about them joining the Avengers as they made water fly around the set, but now those same hosts debate if they should be allowed to have the right to privacy. ‘Enhanced Peoples’ has been shortened to just Enhanceds and is now spit out like it is something dirty.

You don’t know when the conversation stopped centering around heroes and vigilantes and started being about everyday people, but it scares you that the change happened. There seems to be no official power scale about what is deemed ‘dangerous’ and your mind keeps zipping all over the place trying to justify different lines of thinking.

Does Matt fall under the category of Dangerous?

He is a vigilante, so by default the Accords are directed at him, but is it doubly so? If he was forced to reveal himself to the government, would they require him to wear a tracking device? Or would they try to lock him up?

Could he fight it in court, or would they whisk him away in the middle of the night and you’d never know what happened?

If Matt is deemed Dangerous because of his senses, and not just because he is a vigilante, would Minnie be considered the same?

With how intense and angry everyone is becoming you could see yourself having to take her in to be tested.

To be monitored.

And she is just a baby.

You can’t imagine how others must feel - people who are older, who are just trying to live their lives. The girl who was killed was just trying to fix her bike, like millions of other people do every weekend. She wasn’t going to other countries to fight terrorists. She wasn’t trying to use her powers to rule over others. She wasn’t hurting anyone.

But she was different, so they killed her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I need help!”

You’re ripped from your spiraling thoughts and look across the room to where Minnie is sprawled out on the floor. Her Starkpad is in front of her, and she’s set up Pig and Scooby so they are also peering down at the device and you know exactly what she is doing.

It is the same thing she has been doing for a week straight - playing a bootleg Muppet’s math game.

Since meeting Spider-man, all your little Mouse has wanted to do is learn math. She keeps saying she wants to impress him and make him proud, and you are in no way going to discourage her. Every day has been filled with counting and addition and subtraction and you are a bit amazed she has stayed so focused.

You are not going to complain at all about it - you are getting time to yourself while she has been glued to Elmo and Kermit.

You leave your phone on the dining table and head towards your daughter.

“You need help?” you confirm as you crouch beside her. The screen shows a Muppet you don’t recognize, along with various numbers floating around them, and up at the top, the equation that has your little Mouse stumped.

“I need help!” Minnie repeats as she scrambles up off her belly and into sitting. “I don’t have enough fingers!”

She holds up both her hands to show you all ten of her itty-bitty fingers and you make a sympathetic noise.

Mouse has been getting pretty good at using her fingers to help her with addition and subtraction, but on only one hand. She uses the index finger on her right hand to help count by pointing at each finger and hasn’t quite worked out she can use her fingers to point and count. That is okay, though, as you are happy to lend yours to her important cause.

“Okay, how many fingers do you need?”

You hold out your hands and she instantly begins to manipulate them.

“This one…this one needs three! One, two, three!” She pushes your thumb and index finger down so the other three remain up, then she pushes down the pinky of the other hand. “And this one is four!”

“So, three and four? What are we doing with three and four?” You ask, trying to not laugh at her determined face.

“We adds them!” She chirps, before starting to jab at your fingers, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! That’s seven fingers! Mommy, it’s seven! Three plus four is seven!”

“That’s right, it is seven. Which number is seven?” You direct her back to her game, where she triumphantly picks the correct symbol. The Muppet congratulates her before presenting a new equation.

Minnie squeals in delight before ripping the device off the ground and shoving it in your face, “I know this one! Mommy! I know this one! It’s three! Mommy! It’s three!”

You can’t even process what the question is before the screen is out of sight. Your daughter holds her Starkpad above her head, treating it like some war prize as she starts spinning and dancing around the living room.

“It’s three! It’s three! It’s three!”

You laugh at her antics, heartwarming at her pureness. How could anyone ever think she’s a danger?

“Are you sure it’s three?” You tease as you watch her.

She whips around to you, eyes scrunching up into a glare, and barks, “It’s three!”

“Okay, okay, it’s three.”

You push yourself up into standing just as Mouse returns to her spot. She drops her Starkpad to the ground a little harder than you would prefer, but that is why it has a big bulky case. She plops down in front of it and happily smacks the number three that is floating around the screen.

You let yourself watch her for a few seconds, silently bombarding her with all the love you feel for her. You want to wrap her up and live in this bubble forever.

Except, there is one element missing from your perfect moment. You wish there were a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a chin on your shoulder. You want to lean back against a muscular chest and lose yourself to eternity like that.

Instead of indulging those thoughts, you tell yourself to stop fantasizing and you make your way back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

Vegetable curry has been simmering on the stove for most of the day. It has been a while since you had the energy to make the dish from scratch, but you had a craving this morning and went all out. You’ve made curry for Minnie before, and she did not complain - though you think that is because her portion was mostly rice and hot dog cuts. You plan to do the same again tonight, and if she wants more sauce, you’ll give it to her.

You check your seasonings and give everything a stir to make sure nothing gets stuck at the bottom of the pot. The rich aroma tickles your nose, and you are glad you don’t have to wait much longer to treat yourself.

As you debate adding a pinch more salt, you catch Minnie sneaking towards you out of the corner of your eye. Her movements are slow and dramatic, and you pretend you don’t notice her. This ruse works, and you appropriately jump in fear when she suddenly tugs on your shirt.

“Up!” She demands and you oblige, scooping your daughter onto your hip. As soon as she is high enough, she cups her hands around your ear and leans into whisper, “Daddy saids the food smells yummy-yummy.”

She quickly dissolves into giggles, and it is infectious, so you end up smiling.

Matt hasn’t been over for dinner in a hot minute, and you are hoping to have a nice quiet family night, before he goes out on his Patrol. The plan is to watch a movie after your meal and Minnie has already prepared for this by dragging multiple blankets out to the couch. You just know she is going to demand a cuddle pile, and now that you and Matt are intimate, it isn’t something you are nervous about.

You just want to have a good time.

“Can you tell Daddy everything is almost ready?” you ask, even though you know Matt can probably hear you just fine.

Mouse, always eager to be helpful, nods and relays the message directly into your ear. You try to not grimace, and so it won’t happen again, set her down on the ground.

“Can you plug in your Starkpad so it can sleep for the night?”

She streaks off to do her newly assigned task, leaving you to start setting the table. When you were at the store, you bought Matt a bottle of beer - a brand you know he likes - and you set it at his designated spot. You’ve grown accustomed to just drinking water and juice, but you don’t want to push that on to him - not when he’s a guest and coming over after a long day of work.

As you start to make everyone’s plates, you hear the water in the bathroom turn on. You know Minnie knows the routine for getting ready for dinner and you just hope she isn’t trying to wash Scooby’s paws again. You are worried he’ll end up moldy and you aren’t sure what you will do if that happens. You peek into the living room and are relieved to see your daughter’s best friends have been relocated to sitting on the coffee table, facing the television.

You finish setting everything up just in time, it seems. Minnie runs from the hallway right to the door as you go to wash your own hands, and you rush to get all the soap off so you can help her open the door.

Matt is standing on the other side, looking handsome as ever in a gray suit. He looks like he’s had a busy day - his hair is windswept, and he is sporting a strong five o’clock shadow. There is a garment bag draped over his arm and his saddle bag looks a little bulkier than usual and you wonder if he ran some errands on his lunch - picking up his dry cleaning and such.

You barely have time to take in his appearance before Mouse is launching herself at him.

“Daddy!” She shrieks and Matt oh so easily swings her up onto his hip. “Daddy! We’re having vege-tuhble kermies for dinner! I helped make it! I cut up ALL the carrots! By myself!”

“By yourself, huh?” Matt confirms, a bright, warm smile taking up his entire face. “Soon you’ll be making us dinner.”

You step aside so he can come in and help to take his things to hang while Mouse soaks up his attention.

“No! Mommy makes dinner because…’cause she makes the bestest foods. I just help!”

“You are a very good helper,” you interject, “You keep a very clean workstation. A professional chef would be proud.”

Minnie beams at the praise, then a microsecond later, is wiggling in to be let down. Her feet hit the ground and she takes off running back toward the living room, probably to collect something to show off to her Daddy.

Matt takes the small break to turn his attention to you. A hand goes to your cheek, and instead of a brief ‘hello’ peck, he kisses you like he wants to turn and pin you to the wall. It catches you off guard, but you easily melt into it. You clutch at the lapel of his suit jacket and try to not moan as he nips at your lips. You open your mouth for him, but being the tease he is, he pulls back just enough to whisper against you.

“Been thinking about that all day.”

The words send your blood rushing - some north to your cheeks and the rest to your cunt.

He’d been thinking about you? About wanting to kiss you? Or has he been thinking about more than that - because you must admit, you’ve been thinking about it. You’ve had more than a few thoughts about what you want to do to him the next time you two are alone together and those thoughts were certainly very explicit.

“Matt…” you totally do not whine out but instead of replying, his grin just turns cocky. He pulls away as Minnie returns to the entryway, and you decide you need a drink of your water. You escape and Mouse starts showing off her latest masterpieces to Matt.

Food coloring, cotton balls, and popsicle sticks have proven to be a massive hit and Minnie has made a whole collection of things for Matt - there’s butterflies and flowers, a house with clouds, and various abstract pieces. You are sure his office is already filled to the brim with his daughter’s art, and you would not be surprised if he started to hang things from the ceiling when he does run out of room. He seems to treasure every little thing Minnie has given him and it warms your heart so much. You hope that love never runs out.

Somehow, Matt ushers Minnie back to the dining room while she shoves different papers into his hands and gets her up in her booster seat.

“I’m going to put all these in my bag, so they don’t get dirty or lost, okay?” He tells Minnie, who nods way too enthusiastically.

“Keep them clean!” And then, just like that, she switches from being excited her Daddy is there to being a hungry toddler. She whips around to face you and asks in an almost impatient manner, “Can I has my hot dogs now?”

You give her the go ahead as Matt returns to the table and takes his place. You quickly tell him the placement of everything, including his beer, then quickly add, “If you don’t like it, I have a few different things I could make you. Or we could order something.”

A brief panic runs through you when Matt scoffs. You think you’ve insulted him - having him come all the way to Chelsea to eat a dinner he won’t enjoy and having to find a substitute.

“I love curry and this smells delicious. I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, I’m hoping some of those leftovers on the stove are for me to take home and lord over Fog tomorrow.”

You flush at his sweetness and mumble out you’ll pack him some to go. This seems to please him, and he starts to dig in. Ever the little parrot, Minnie mimics him by shoveling food into her mouth with a big grin and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“It’s nummy!” Your little one declares, and even if she’s just eating plain rice right now, you’ll take it as a win. You know well she won’t eat what she doesn’t like.

“Speaking of yummy,” Matt starts, slow and deliberate, with his head angled towards you, “I was hoping we could go somewhere yummy together.”

You blink slowly at the statement, rolling it over in your mind and trying to dissect the meaning. Did he want to go somewhere for dessert? Maybe get ice cream or something? “Somewhere yummy…?”

“Mhm,” he hums, then his smile becomes a bit more sly. Even though you know it isn’t true, you feel like, behind his glasses, he is hungrily looking you up and down, “Somewhere like Uvas.”

The name doesn’t automatically generate anything for you, but after a moment, it dawns on you. Uvas in a Spanish restaurant near Central Park known to be high end and impossible to get into. It’s been in the local tabloids a few times for turning away minor celebrities who don’t meet the dress code. You’re mouth parts slightly in shock.

“What’s Oo-vuhas?” Minnie asks around her fork, her big eyes looking between you and Matt. “Do theys has yummy foods?”

“Oh, they have yummy food,” Matt teases. He then leans forward a bit in his seat and stage whispers to her, “It’s where I want to take Mommy for a date.”

“A date?” Minnie scrunches up her face at the word while your mind is still spinning.

Matt wants to take you on a date? To Uvas? You have never been anywhere that fancy or expensive as a date. Hell, you’ve never been somewhere that fancy, period. The nicest date you’ve ever been on was Hard Rock Cafe - which says a lot about your dating life.

“A date,” Matt confirms, smug and knowingly scheming. You can hear it in his voice as he tells Minnie, “That is where Mommy and Daddy go and have dinner together as grown-ups.”

Up goes Minnie’s hand into her mouth, but it stays there only a split second. Her eyes get impossibly bigger and filled with wonder, and she whispers, “Like Lady and Tramp?”

“Exactly like Lady and Tramp.”

“Mommy!” Minnie says a little too loudly, pointing her fork at you. “You gotta go to Oo-vuhas and be Lady and Tramp! You gotta!”

And at that moment you know you can’t say no, and that Matt knows that. You can’t tell your daughter you don’t want to be like Lady and Tramp. Not that you don’t want to go on a date with Matt - the idea gets you giddy and makes your stomach flutter - but you thought if it happened, it would be a coffee or something. Not somewhere where you can’t even afford to look at the building. The idea makes you a little nauseous, because you are sure you’d make an absolute fool of yourself.

But Matt looks determined and sure of himself. You are certain he asked in front of Minnie so that she could help bully you into saying yes to such a lavish date.

Luckily, your mind is working in overdrive, and you choke out, “I don’t have anything to wear. They have a dress code, don’t they?”

You don’t expect Matt to push his chair out and get up. Your throat instantly tightens up and fear shoots up your spine. Have you offended him? He clearly wants to do something with you and you’re over here hesitating. You must be coming off as a complete bitch.

You start to stand up yourself as Matt disappears into the entryway. You don’t think he’d just leave without saying goodbye to Minnie.

Maybe you can talk to him - explain that somewhere a little less grand would be ideal to start.

Before you can start to follow him, Matt is coming back to the table, holding up the garment bag he brought with him, still looking like the cat that got the canary.

“I thought you might say that,” he starts, his voice almost a little musical, “so I got you this.”

You stare dumbly at him, shock and confusion overtaking your system.

He got you something to wear? To Uvas?

No one has ever bought you clothes before - except your parents. Even when you were pregnant, the small amount of gifts you got were all for Minnie.

You distantly hear Minnie start saying something about presents, but it is all muffled under the sound of blood pumping through your ears. You step forward hesitantly and reach out for the zipper of the bag, your hand shaking slightly.

You expect it to be a joke. You’re going to open the bag and there’s going to be a clown costume inside, or a skimpy dress people like arm candy to wear, or something akin to a Burka.

You don’t expect a black floor length sheath gown. The silhouette is simple, but you can tell just by looking at it the quality of the dress is top notch. The fabric has a nice weight to it, and it is incredibly soft to the touch that you have the distinct feeling that it did not come from a dress warehouse or a department store.

This type of dress would come from a boutique uptown and would cost a few hundred dollars.

You are so caught up in admiring the dress, you don’t notice Minnie come up beside you until she is also touching the dress. Panic that she might have crumbs or curry on her fingers runs through you, but you force it down.

“It’s like a princess dress for Mommy!” Mouse cooes and you feel your face start to heat up.

You’ve never worn something so nice before and certainly nothing that would be fit for a princess, but it seems like Matt and Minnie are on the same page.

“Well, I want Mommy to feel like a princess.”

You want to hide your face, but you know you can’t, so you cover your mouth instead.

“Matt, this is beautiful. But this is so much, I can’t accept this.”

You know that while Matt is a lawyer, he’s still struggling a bit financially. If he had his way, you know he wouldn’t charge anyone for his services, and even though Nelson, Murdock, and Page has paying customers, they still have to stagger out their bills.

He shouldn’t be spending his hard saved money on you.

Matt sighs your name before gently draping the garment bag over the back of his dining chair and stepping towards you. Both his hands go to your waist, and you freeze up as he steps close enough to press his forehead to yours. Your heart begins to wildly beat when his hands slowly begin to rub your sides.

“Let me spoil you. To make up for all the dates I’ve missed. Please?” His lips dip into a small frown and you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

He’s gone out of his way for you, and you are being so ungrateful.

But it is so hard to say yes. Guilt is pooling in your stomach, and you just want to disappear into the shadows and be forgotten about. That is so much easier than Matt holding you, saying such sweet things.

You don’t want to ruin everything.

You close your eyes as you have a war inside yourself. All you have to say is ‘Yes’ and you’ll make Matt happy, but the monster inside of you keeps dragging your mind into a pit.

Matt wants to treat you like a princess, but how crushing will it be when he decides that is no longer the case? Can you take that?

The corners of your eyes start to sting and your monster starts to mock you for getting worked up over something as simple as being asked on a date.

Why can’t you be normal?

Why can’t you accept this?

Why can’t -

The thoughts cease as Matt’s lips press against yours, soft and sweet and tempting. You respond hesitantly.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes into your mouth, making you shudder. “You deserve it.”

“You deserve it!” Minnie chirps from beside your knees and you very suddenly remember where you are and what you were doing. You try to pull away from Matt, thinking Minnie hasn’t seen the two of you like this yet, and it might confuse her, but he keeps his hands firmly planted on your hips, not letting you go. You don’t try to fight it, instead, you turn your head away, trying to hide away in your shell.

You know there is no way you will win this. Matt is determined and he clearly has Minnie on his side, so, very hesitantly, and feeling like you are going to throw up at any moment, you nod into Matt’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

Mouse lets out a deafening cheer and you feel her dart away.

“LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP!”

Matt laughs at her excitement over something she doesn’t understand, while you tuck yourself into his hold, wondering how long you have before he ends up shattering your heart into pieces.

---

tags:

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

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

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

@Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #and then i met you #matt murdock x you

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

Note

I actually caught you when your asks are open this is spectacular

I know you write for Plastic Man, but I don't know about Negative Man? Larry Trainor, comics or show. So you can do this with either one you want.

Male reader who's similar to the invisible man – Not criminal, maybe backstory, but at least was a scientist who turned himslef invisible but a tad more realistic, blind but in the more Matt Murdock way, or just blind, I don't mind either. Hcs or anything else of any kind, but hcs would probably be easier.

I alao don't mind if it's ftm reader or the explicitly of it!! So sorry if this is all over the place. I didn't want it to be long😞

Lawrence “Larry” Trainor x Male reader

Headcanons

I don’t actually know a lot about Larry, so this is based off the wiki. The reader is also somewhat based off the 1933 movie The Invisible Man but with my own spin, since I wasn’t sure what else you might have been referring too, hehe. I hope my lack of knowledge still makes this good to read.

I got major Morticia and Gomez vibes from these two as i wrote.

You were no superhero, nor were you a villain. You were just a man who flew too close to the sun and got burnt on the way to discovery. The sun had so much to give, something you knew so many years ago before Superman appeared, and you learned his power source was the sun.

You barely kept track of when you were born nowadays, there was no need too. From what little you could gather, you didn’t age, you didn’t hunger or thirst, you didn’t even need to sleep. But you knew you had been around before radioactivity was discovered.

You had been around before the major superheroes became a thing, it wasn’t something that interested you a lot. There were a couple you knew, like Alan Scott, and Jay Garrick, you had even met wonder woman once or twice. But you were no hero.

So, it was no shocker that you didn’t know about this so-called doom patrol. How would you. Its not like you owned a tv, and you didn’t care much for the news stations on the radio nowadays. It was all ads and dramatic sound effects.

You were never sure what to call yourself. Alan used to call you a scientist, and Jay did too even though he hadn’t visited in a long time, at least it felt like a long time. But you had heard he got married and had kids, so of course that was more important. You still sent them both holiday cards though.

As a scientist you had studied radioactivity before it was discovered by anyone else. You had always had a habit of being consumed by your work, so when you climbed out of your pit of research, someone else had already claimed the discovery.

It didn’t matter though, as what interested you was the sun and the power you just knew it stored. Of course, it didn’t end well. Going invisible, blind, deaf, and losing pretty much every other sense hadn’t been on your list of predictions. But that’s what happened.

You could still see, hear, smell, and so on… in your own way. It was impossible to explain, but you didn’t truly exist the same way everyone else seemed to do. The radioactivity from the sun had given you other powers too.

But those powers weren’t used a lot. Why would you need to fly, or phase through things, or channel the power of the sun to blast somebody. You were anti-military and anti-government, that’s why they never supported your research and buried your existence from the history books, so you weren’t gonna fight.

When you finally learned about this so-called doom patrol you almost felt a little bashful, or could you say miffed? It was like one of them had stolen your entire look. Well, most of it anyways.

You were both wrapped from head to toe in bandages, though his seemed much thicker and sturdier than yours, like they were inlaid with something. And his clothing were more modern, and looked more practical.

What could you say, you were a sucker for the fashion you grew up with. So, what if your clothing, furniture and everything about you screamed Victorian era. Some of the younglings Jay brought along when he visited said you looked very “antique” and that “old stuff is in”.

You also didn’t wear shades like Mr. negative, Larry, you later learned, did. You were blind as a bat and had no physical eyes anyways, so why wear shades in the first place?

It was hard to explain how your body worked, it had the form of a human when you wrapped it, but it also… didn’t exist. You always just blamed it on the undiscovered art of radioactivity and science so advanced the world hadn’t gotten there yet.

It did look slightly entertaining to see you in your Victorian era dressing robe, in a pair of your best slippers with a glass of brandy you couldn’t really taste, beside Larry, who had very clearly seen better days.

Both being wrapped in bandages created a kind of comradery between you two in the beginning. Lary had thought maybe you were like him, especially when you explained how you got where you were, since his accident was based around radioactivity too.

Only for you to shock him, but unwrapping your head and revealing… nothing. Literally nothing. You even grabbed his hand and brought it to where your head would be, only for it to pass through it like nothing.

Your body seemed present when you wrapped it, a phenomenon you were still studying to this day. Right now, your results were pointing in the direction of it being mental, but who truly knew at the end of the day.

Larry hadn’t been willing to remove his own bandages for very obvious reasons, no matter how many times you told him it wouldn’t hurt you, and that it wouldn’t matter. You were raised too well to make any demands.

Instead, you pulled out your very old photo album and walked him through your family, happily pointing out pictures of yourself and how you looked, only scowling a little as he laughed at your hairstyle and outfits of the time.

In the end you touched him by accident. There was some accident in your lab that tore some of the bandages on his hand, and without a second thought you took his hand and wrapped it again. Obviously, nothing happened to you, you didn’t have a body that could be hurt, but it was still a shock for Larry.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Larry was as touch starved as he was. Not having any human contact for so long would drive anybody mad, except you that is, but you also were convinced that that was some mental result of your accident.

So, you didn’t turn him away when Larry would start appearing in your giant Victorian era mansion, far out in the mountains, so far away from anything that whatever radioactivity you worked on wouldn’t reach.

You also didn’t mind that Larry started searching you out for contact. He started small, just sitting closer to you as you had tea together, where it evolved to sitting up against you as you went through your papers, to Larry going as far as laying his bandaged head in your lap as you read aloud from one of your many books.

Larry was so sweet, in his own hesitant way. He even let you study how his own powers worked, but to no surprise you two didn’t reach a certain result, but neither of you had expected that.

Hell, Larry even got more comfortable going around in public, as you would hook your arms together and almost strut along, as if the wide eyed and sometimes hateful stares didn’t touch you.

That was also how you finally met the justice league. The only one that interested you was Superman, and he wouldn’t let you study him as much as you wanted. Your extreme studies of the sun at least caught Batman’s interest, enough for you two to have very long difficult conversations about science. You later learned you reminded him of his butler, which you took as a compliment since he was spoken so highly of.

The doom patrol wasn’t your favorite, you didn’t trust that Chief guy, and rightfully so. But who were you to tell Larry who he could and couldn’t forgive, you just made it very clear you weren’t gonna help that guy.

In the end, the relationship you two shared was strange, but soft in ways that was hard to put into words. Your first kiss took months to happen, as you didn’t have lips when you unwrapped your bandages, and Larry needed so long to grow comfortable to pull his off.

Holding hands, or tapping your foot against each other’s became how you expressed love. That, or giving gifts. You made place in your giant mansion for his many gifts, wanting to show them all off.

And Larry? Larry got a whole new wardrobe as well as many other trinkets he might need. You even dove head first into the tools and armor market, wanting to give Larry something to keep him safe. You couldn’t have cared less about the rest of his team, they weren’t really your friends, just Larry.

Those items might have gotten your usual Victorian flare to them too, even if they were sleek and modern in their abilities and storage. It was a bit like your way of marking Larry as yours.

It was still difficult for Larry to feel safe without his bandages in your mansion, not just because of how dangerous it was, but also because he found himself so hideous. You didn’t find him ugly, not at all. You also knew it would take Larry a long time to believe you, so you didn’t force him to accept it, just left the opportunity open.

You two made a strange but surprisingly strong couple, when you finally visited the outside world. Those few times were either to have tea with Batman’s very smart butler, or to blast somebody with the power of the sun for hurting your dear love. No matter what though, you always left an impression, not that you cared. All you cared about was leaving one with Larry.

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bellaxgiornata · 5 months ago

Text

Half of Forever [Three]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: break up, pining, idiots in love, angst with a happy ending

a/n: This is the final part of this little mini series. Enjoy the angst and the happy ending you've all been waiting for! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Stepping off the bus, you were immediately hit with the onslaught of rain heavily beating down on you from above. Ducking your head, you dashed across the sidewalk towards the nearest overhang for temporary shelter. As you darted towards the bodega, your dress shoes splashed water up onto your slacks as you ran through puddle after puddle.

Breath coming in hard once you'd reached the brief refuge, you took a moment to collect yourself. The rain continued to fall past the overhang, loudly pelting the sidewalk all around you. The handful of passersby toting umbrellas had you instantly wishing you'd grabbed yours before leaving your apartment for work today. But you’d foolishly forgotten to check the weather this morning.

Leaning up against one of the shop’s windows behind you, you heard the crack of thunder far off in the distance. A shiver ran through you, the chilled fabric of your drenched clothing clinging to your skin. Wiping a hand across your wet forehead, you let out a quiet groan as the weight of your predicament hit you.

What a horrible day this had turned out to be.

While you’d been on the city bus making your way home from the office, a storm had rolled in and a downpour had begun. Now standing here and looking out at the large puddles forming along the sidewalks and in the streets, you realized you had a long walk just past the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen and back to your apartment in this mess. All because you'd accidentally missed your actual bus stop, having been too distracted thinking about the reprimand you'd gotten from your boss just before you'd left work today.

Glancing down at your purse, you began to unzip the main compartment before reaching a hand inside. You pulled out your cell phone, your finger desperately holding down the power button as your eyes stared at the black screen and willed it to turn on. Except you knew it wouldn't because the battery had long since died. You hadn't properly plugged it into the charger when you'd gone to sleep last night, so by the time you'd gotten to work this morning and realized the battery was quite low, it had been too late to do anything about it. Your phone had tragically died in your purse some time before lunch.

Though realistically it didn’t matter that your phone was dead. It wasn’t like you could have afforded using one of your apps to set up a ride home even if your phone was working. Because unfortunately for you, you'd had the misfortune of falling ill two weeks ago and the unexpected doctor's bill along with the medication you’d needed had wiped out your measly extra bit of emergency cash.

“Goddammit,” you whispered.

Tears building in your eyes, you watched the rain continue to pour down around you as your chest steadily grew tighter and tighter from the stress of the day. The last thing you felt like doing this evening was spending a half an hour walking home in a storm, but you couldn't just stand here waiting beneath the shop’s overhang for it to end, either. You didn't exactly have a choice.

With a sharp exhale, you reluctantly accepted your fate. Pushing away from the window, you grudgingly stepped out from beneath the safety of your covering and straight into the downpour. You willed your legs to move at a speed faster than your usual pace as the rain once more drenched you. Though despite your increased pace, you certainly weren't tempted to run home because you knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway–you were already soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds.

Ducking your head to avoid the rain drops from further attempting to blind you, you made your way down the sidewalk. Jaw set firmly, you couldn’t help but internally chastise yourself for having missed your stop before internally berating yourself for forgetting to at least grab the small umbrella you usually kept in your purse. You hadn't put it back after the last rainy day when you’d left it out to dry by your front door.

You’d only managed to make it two blocks while silently fuming to yourself and steadily growing colder in your drenched work clothes before you’d finally become completely overwhelmed. Once more you felt the tears threatening to fall as they welled in your eyes, steadily blurring your vision. This time you didn't think you could hold them back. Gritting your teeth, you rushed towards the nearest overhang on a building up ahead before turning your back to the sidewalk, not wanting the rest of the city to see you publicly breakdown. Burying your face in your hands, you let yourself finally cry.

It felt like things had not been going well for you for a while now–for years if you were being honest–and it felt like today had been the culmination of it all. Your job was awful and barely paid your bills. You hardly had any free time to spend with your friends anymore, and your dating life had only increasingly grown more depressing and lackluster. The apartment you'd once loved you had eventually grown to hate because it held the ghost of Matt everywhere you looked–at your kitchen table, on your couch, in your bed, beneath the spray of your shower.

You should have never come to the city. You should have gone anywhere else instead of giving into your dreams of some brilliant, happy life out here. Some fantastic life full of excitement and love. Because that wasn't the reality of your life in Hell’s Kitchen. Not anymore.

The tears continued to stream down your cheeks, your face still buried against your palms. Biting your bottom lip, you at least attempted to keep your sobs to a volume softer than the rain heavily falling around you and the distant rumbling of thunder. You felt pathetic standing here on the sidewalk crying in a storm in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen.

The sound of your name being called suddenly registered in your ears between your quiet sobs. Your body tensed instantly; you hadn't anticipated anyone approaching you out here let alone someone who apparently knew your name. But when they said your name again, the voice coming from just behind you this time, you knew exactly who had spoken.

Hunching further in on yourself, you felt your heart drop to the ground by your soaked feet. As if your bad day needed to get any worse, now it had. He was the absolute last person you wanted to see right now, the one who haunted your dreams most nights. Roughly wiping the heels of your hands over your eyes, you tried to dry your tears. Because of course if you were going to run into your ex, it had to be when you were embarrassingly at your lowest. Trying to brace yourself for whatever this encounter would do to your already battered heart, you swallowed the lump forming in your throat before cautiously turning around.

If you thought you'd been prepared to see Matt standing there soaked from the storm, you were certainly wrong. The sight of him in his fitted suit with his hair a damp, dark mess clinging to his forehead hit you like a tidal wave. Beads of rain were sliding down his cheeks, just past his red glasses. The corners of his lips were downturned among a darker scruff of beard than you ever recalled him having back when you’d both been together. Both of his hands were squeezing his cane tight between his fists, his dark dress pants wet and clinging to his thighs that had grown far thicker over the years.

With trembling lips, your eyes slowly traveled back up to his face, once more meeting the harsh crimson of his lenses. Teeth clamping down harder on your bottom lip, you fought back the sob threatening to spill forth as more hot tears slid down your cheeks. A sharp pain twisted in your chest, right where your heart resided. He’d grown more handsome with age, though that shouldn’t have remotely come as a surprise to you. He'd always been beautiful.

“What–what are you doing here?” he whispered, his dark brows sinking beneath his glasses. “Is something wrong?”

Your own brows dipped together in confusion before you finally looked around you, taking in your surroundings. It didn’t take long for you to realize where you’d accidentally ended up. Turning your head over your shoulder, you spotted the address on the familiar-looking building. It was Matt’s apartment building. Eyelids slowly lowering, you exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked again, concerned. “Did…you need help?”

How utterly embarrassing this whole situation had become. He thought you’d come here on purpose . For his help as Daredevil most likely. Wincing, you slowly returned your attention to his beautiful, worried face. That sharp pain seared straight through you at the sight of him.

“No,” you whispered, an embarrassed heat burning up your neck. “I didn’t realize exactly where I was.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, his eyebrows still furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You didn’t come here intentionally? You weren’t looking for me?”

Wincing once more, your eyes dropped down to your wet dress flats as you shook your head. Why couldn’t you have paid more attention to where you were going? Hell’s Kitchen was such a small area and it wasn’t like Matt would have ever left it. You should have been navigating your way home better in the rain so that you wouldn’t end up crying in front of his apartment building.

“No,” you awkwardly admitted. “I was distracted on the bus. Got off on the wrong stop. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where I was in the storm, I was just trying to get back home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Matt’s shoulders visibly drop at the information. Not entirely sure what to make of that, you kept your gaze averted as a chill ran up your spine. Your wet clothes certainly were not helping this situation.

“Oh,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry. I thought I recognized it was you standing here and I thought that you…nevermind.”

“No, it’s my fault,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Sorry. I–I didn’t mean to bother you by showing up like this. It was entirely an accident.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the pair of you, that nauseating feeling you remembered from the night when he’d ended things with you years ago rising to the surface and uncoiling in your stomach. After this unexpected encounter, you knew you’d be trying and failing to move on from him all over again.

“I’m just–just going to go,” you stammered. “I should get back home anyway.”

Gripping your purse straps like a lifeline, you turned in the direction back towards your apartment. Though you’d taken two more steps before Matt called your name over the roar of thunder. You paused, eyes falling shut at the sound of his cane tapping along the sidewalk as you kept your back to him.

“You can’t possibly walk home in this,” he stated. “It’s not safe.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice. My phone’s dead and I don’t have money for a cab anyway,” you confessed awkwardly. “Faster to walk home than anything else at this point.”

You could feel his presence just behind you before you even heard his voice, the hair on the back of your neck prickling at his proximity. Your heart was beating in an agonizing rhythm in your chest with him so near after years of you both being apart. It had been so long since you’d last seen him, since you’d last heard his voice. Every second of this was sheer torture.

“I’ll call you a car,” he offered. “I can pay for it. I can’t have you walk home in this. How much do you need?”

“No, Matt,” you declined, sharply shaking your head.

Turning back towards him, you were surprised to see he’d already pulled his wallet out of his dress pants, his fingers running over the differently folded bills. A surge of emotion welled up within you at the sight, the feeling becoming almost too much to bear as the tears pricked at your eyes again. He never had much but he was always eager and willing to try and help everyone he could. One of the many things you'd always loved about him.

“I’m not taking your money,” you told him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Well I can’t let you walk home in this,” he stated again. “I won’t let you.”

A small, sad smile tugged at your lips as you watched a frown form along his own. As a few tears once more snuck their way from the corners of your eyes and burned warm trails down your cheeks, you saw Matt’s hand grip his wallet tighter in his fist.

“What’re you going to do, Matty?” you whispered. “Hold me here against my will?”

His lips thinned out along his face, his dark brows once more pulling together. Ever so subtly you saw him shake his head. With the sad smile still on your face, you nodded slowly.

“Yeah, exactly,” you murmured. “I need to head back home now before this storm gets worse. Goodbye, Matthew.”

Feeling your heart break for a second time, you turned around and stepped out from beneath the overhang on his building and back into the downpour of rain. Ducking your head, you continued down the sidewalk, not even bothering to wipe the tears from your face as they mingled with the drops of rain racing down your cheeks.

What a horrible day this had turned out to be.

Biting down sharply on your lip, you tried hard to muffle a sob now that Matt was here. But as your heart brokenly beat in your chest, you knew you couldn't hide a damn thing from him behind you. You never could.

As you took another step forward, something caught your elbow and tugged you backwards. Stumbling in a half turn, your right foot splashed into yet another puddle as you came face to face with Matt. His eyebrows were still tightly knit together, partially lowered beneath his lenses. His mouth was twisted in uncertainty as you stared back at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Come up to my apartment,” he offered quietly, releasing your elbow. “You can get out of this storm and I can dry your clothes while you warm up in some blankets.”

Shaking your head slightly at his offer, you knew you'd never be able to accept it. This brief encounter was already painful enough, you didn't want to prolong it any further.

“No, Matt, I can't just–”

“Please,” he pleaded, cutting you off. “Please just come up.”

You stood there with your lips parted in surprise at the earnestness in his voice. Droplets of rain continued to travel down his cheeks, and you saw one bead of water currently clinging to the tip of his nose, mere moments from falling.

“Matt, I can't,” you repeated.

“Why?” he demanded, taking another step towards you. “Tell me. Tell me why you can't come up with me.”

You grimaced, your heart clenching tight in your chest as he continued to drag out this encounter. Tears continued to spill forth from your eyes as you stared back at the desperate expression now spread across his handsome face.

“Why are you doing this, Matt?” you whispered. “Can't you tell how much this is killing me right now? Just standing here talking to you? Now you need me to explain why I can’t just go up to your apartment, too? You really need me to–”

“Because it's killing me, too,” he confessed in a rush before you could finish.

For a second you swore your heart stopped beating at what he'd just admitted. Blinking the rain from your eyes, your mouth fell open in shock. You weren’t entirely sure what to make of that truth, but a part of you began to hope for something right then that you knew you probably shouldn’t.

“Wh–what?” you breathed out.

“I've thought about you,” Matt began, emotion thick in his words. “Over the years, I've thought about you. I can't–can't stop. I've tried, I really have. But I just…I sometimes feel like your presence is still there,” he continued, gesturing his head towards his apartment building behind him. “On occasion I can try to trick myself into thinking that you are–by ordering your favorite takeout or using that soap you always loved. The one with sage and citrus.”

A hesitant smile spread on Matt’s mouth, something melancholic in the way his lips had only marginally curved upwards. Swallowing the lump that had started to form in the back of your throat, another chill raced up your spine as you stood there in your soaked clothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you fought down the shiver that was beginning to lightly run through you.

You’d quite literally often dreamt of this moment with Matt. You'd often hoped that one day you’d run into him again somewhere and he would apologize, tell you that he still thought about you. That he still wanted you. But now that he was saying things you’d always wanted to hear, you didn’t quite know how to react. This moment still felt like one of your many dreams.

“It never works for long, though,” he continued softly, voice just louder than the rain. “Because the scent always fades too fast. And I can’t fake the sound of your heartbeat. I can’t–can’t recreate your scent on my bed sheets or the warmth of your body next to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your trembling lips together as you tried to staunch the flow of tears. You couldn’t believe what he was telling you. A few years ago he ended the relationship–a relationship that had been going so wonderfully well. Sure, there had been issues, but overall you two had fit so perfectly together and everything had just felt right. You’d talked about a future together–moving in, getting married, and whatever might come next. Until one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he’d just walked away from it all.

“Then why, Matt?” you whispered, opening your eyes and focusing back on him. With the tears filling your eyes, he’d grown a bit blurry standing there before you. “All those years ago, why did you end things? If you’ve been here all this time feeling exactly like I’ve been feeling for years then…what was the point?”

Matt ducked his head almost shamefully, one hand releasing his cane before rubbing it across his mouth. Nerves swirled in your stomach as another crack of thunder tore through the distance, the rumbling sound accentuating the pause that felt agonizingly long.

“Because I was scared,” he finally confessed, his attention seemingly fixed on the sidewalk–though you knew his senses were fixed on you. “I’d never quite felt how I did for you for anyone else before. One time I thought I did and she…left me. But it wasn’t just a fear of you leaving…”

Matt trailed off for a moment, growing silent as the rain continued to pour down. Your heart was in your throat as you waited for him to finish his thought.

“It was a fear of who I felt I was becoming when I was with you,” he finished softly. “Of what I thought I was losing.”

Eyes narrowing in confusion at Matt, you squeezed your arms tighter around your shivering body. “What do you mean?”

He raised his head, his rain speckled lenses focusing back on you. “We spent a lot of time together, remember? Specifically in the evenings? Before things ended?”

Gaze averting to the ground, you tried to recall the end of the relationship. He had in fact stayed in more frequently. You remembered sharing meals together after work and taking walks at the park. Scheduling date nights on the weekend and staying up late beneath the sheets. It hadn’t been every night, but he had significantly begun to spend more time with you just before he’d ended the whole thing–which had only added to your confusion at the time.

“Yeah,” you answered, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes. “I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I feared I was changing into someone else,” Matt answered slowly, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I thought I was losing the other half of myself in our relationship because I had begun to spend less time as Daredevil. So I–I pushed you away to try to prevent myself from fully losing myself. And I used that as an excuse to run from my fear of you leaving me.”

"T hat's what you meant by not being able to be yourself with me?” you asked, everything finally beginning to make sense. “Oh Matthew,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “You were never losing Daredevil. Not at all. You never once stopped helping the people who needed it. The nights someone was in danger or something was happening, you still put on the mask.”

Licking your lips as you paused, you could taste the salt of your tears among the droplets of rain. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky behind Matt, just above the tops of the buildings. Seconds later, another roar of thunder punctuated the silence.

“What I think you were doing was learning balance in your life,” you told him. “Learning to be both Matthew Murdock and the Devil.”

“I know,” Matt agreed gently, nodding his head. “But I realized that three years too late. And I'm–I'm so sorry for that.”

Swallowing hard, you felt your heart hammering beneath your arms still wrapped around your chest. “And I never wanted to leave you,” you added, voice cracking as you spoke. “You were my forever, Matty. I told you that.”

A muscle visibly jumped in his cheek, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he couldn't decide on a smile or a frown. Taking another hesitant step, Matt closed the gap between you both. Gazing back at his red lenses, you felt your breath begin to come in sharper now that he was right there .

Without warning his hand reached up, timidly coming to cup your cheek in his palm. As if on instinct, you leant back into his warm touch, the feel of it sending a shudder through you for a reason other than the contrast from the cold. His thumb softly swept outwards, gently brushing away a few teardrops from your cheek. You felt like you couldn't breathe as the pad of his thumb afterwards began to affectionately stroke a line along your cheekbone.

“Please come up,” he begged. “Let me help you.”

Eyes closing, you tried to focus on formulating a thought. But it was hard to think with him touching you, with him pleading for you to let him help you. Inhaling a breath, you'd been about to respond, but then you felt him lightly press his damp forehead to yours and your eyes flew open.

He was so close. His hot breath was falling against your lips as it left his own parted ones. The sensation was dizzying, making it hard to focus on almost anything else. Beneath the arms still tightly wrapped around your chest, you could feel your heart accelerating to a worrying speed.

“We can talk,” he told you. “About everything. I have more to apologize for, I know. I just–just want to fix the mess I made. If it's not too late.”

Exhaling a slow breath, you let his words wash over you like the rain itself, cleansing the years worth of pain that lingered in your heart. Gradually you nodded against his forehead, catching the way he sucked in a sharp breath at the little movement.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll come up.”

With the way your eyes had been fixed on his lips, you caught the faint smile that slipped onto his mouth the second it did. Something shot through you like a bolt of electricity at the sight of it. Matt's nose affectionately and timidly bumped yours, a small gesture that brought a rush of feelings straight to the surface along with a confession that bubbled right out of your mouth.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “So much.”

“I missed you, too, angel,” he murmured, thumb brushing away another tear along your cheek. “I've never stopped missing you.”

Matt shifted his head, his lips accidentally grazing yours as he did. A soft whine you had no control over snuck out of you, the sound drawing another sharp inhale from Matt as his nostrils flared. Your hands curled into fists against your body as he leaned in, just barely touching his lips to yours. Eyelids slowly falling shut once more at the feel of his breath washing over you, you sighed in frustration when his mouth still remained at a distance.

“ Matt .”

You breathed out his name like a plea, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. It was quickly becoming far too difficult not to touch him.

“Tell me you haven't thought about this, too,” Matt nearly demanded. “Tell me you don't want me. Just one ‘no’ and I won't–”

Losing control, your hands flew away from your sides and landed on Matt's soaked suit coat, balling the wet material in your fists. “Yes,” you answered him. “I'm telling you yes , Matthew.”

There was a moment, a brief one, where Matt’s face hovered in the space just before yours. Your breath was coming in sharp and hard as you watched him, aware he was probably reading your body for whatever he needed to hear. You knew the exact moment he'd found what he was looking for because his expression shifted just before he launched himself forward at you.

Stumbling backwards into the wall of the building behind you at the force of Matt's enthusiasm, your eyes snapped shut the second his mouth was on yours. Hands snaking their way up his chest, you wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in the damp strands of his hair. You pulled him flush to the front of yourself with a faint gasp, his soaked body deliciously heating the front of your freezing and drenched one.

Matt's hand on your cheek held you in place against the brick wall behind you, tilting your mouth to the exact angle for him to easily connect his lips to yours over and over in a heated passion. The pair of you struggled to catch your breath each time he pulled away, your gasping breaths loud in your own ears despite the storm still raging. His other hand landed on your hip, roughly grabbing it as he kissed you. You could feel the way it shook against you, as if he was struggling not to do more than just hold you there.

“I’m so sorry, angel,” he whispered against your lips.

His mouth was immediately back on yours, relentless in his determination to make you feel just how apologetic he was. Your own mouth was hungrily matching his pace, the rain forgotten as you tried to express the longing you'd been tormented by every single day since he'd left you.

Fingers gripping his hair, you took advantage of the seconds in between kisses. “Don’t you dare–” you broke off as his mouth slammed back onto yours again, “–break my heart again, Matthew,” you finished when he pulled back.

Matt paused at your words, breathing hard as he gazed back at you, the rain continuing to wash over the both of you. Nearly out of breath yourself, you couldn't help but admire how perfect he looked standing there completely soaked with his flushed cheeks and the small smile gracing his swollen lips.

“Never,” he promised. “I hate myself for ever hurting you like that. And it’ll never happen again, I promise you that. The pain of those last three years was torture. Punishment. And I promise we'll talk, angel, we will, but…”

His voice trailed off and your eyes darted back to his lips. The lips you missed, the lips that brought you comfort in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment you understood him completely.

“But not right now,” you agreed.

Yanking him back towards you with the hand still tangled in his hair, you swallowed the resulting soft growl of his down, kissing him with all the longing that you'd bottled inside for the past three years. Matt didn't hesitate to match your passion and enthusiasm as he pressed you further into the brick behind you, your back arching into him just as another rumble of thunder tore through the night.

What an unexpected day this had turned out to be.

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler @islayhawkin @slyregg

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 11 months ago

Text

wildest dreams - m. murdock

a/n: i have literally not been inspired for two weeks then i was STRUCK with the urge to write this. guys. i am so proud of this one i am not even going to lie. this one is dedicated to @bunmurdock because i am literally always thinking about professor murdock.... i really hope you guys enjoy this one, because i enjoyed writing it :) warnings: SMUT! inappropriate dynamic, P in V smut, so much cursing, lots of inappropriate thoughts and pining, power dynamics, dirty talk, reader does an edible and is high for a small part of this fic, reader isn't stupid in this one! she is just horny! she is also deaf, and there is yapping of readers daddy issues word count: 6.3k likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 summary: you have a huge crush on your professor and spend many days desperate for him. pairing: professor!matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: wildest dreams - taylor swift (taylor's version) "i said, "no one has to know what we do"/his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room"

You could treat him better than any of these other horny grad students.

Seriously, that is your only conscious thought watching this man move around the front of this lecture center. You’re not dumb, you know everyone sitting here wants him—Those who are attracted to men want to fuck him and those who aren’t seek his approval. But you are built different, you’re also lacking a major sense, besides, your brain runs ramped with disgusting thoughts about the man.

Today’s focus is on the man’s outfit. It’s his last class of the day, and it shows. His clothes are a bit more wrinkled, and his hair is messier than it had been when he started the day. But most importantly, his jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, meaning you have a phenomenal view of his torso.

He wears a white button down, with the cuffs of the arms rolled up to just below his elbows, the bottom of the shirt tucked into the waistline of his pants. The shirt is tight, maybe a little too tight, especially around the arms. Maybe it’s because he works out. Or at least, you assume he works out.

That brings us to his tie. Oh, his tie. It’s nothing special—a pure black tie, just hanging from his neck. Your mind wanders. It starts at the dissection of a key court case in the subject of minimum wage, but from there, it starts drifting to his tie.

You think about the tie moving back and forth above you as he thrusts into you, brushing against your face, pulling on it to bring him closer. You think about that soft half chuckle he does, before he says something dirty like—

“Did you have something to add?” His voice right in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Fuck. You were not paying attention.

“Uh, No, Professor..” Your face is a deep red, embarrassed. You wish you could take off your hearing aids to stop listening to all the giggling from around you, from peers who are thrilled that Professor Murdock’s little (not-so) secret admirer got called out for her staring.

“Hm,” he taps the table in front of you, “Then I want you paying attention.” He says, before going back to his lecture. You could die right there. Everyone is laughing at you. He embarrassed you.

Okay, so you have no proof that he’s ever wanted you in the way that you’ve been so god damn desperate for him, but it’s still crushing that he’d single you out in that way. That maybe while you were increasingly needy for him, he found you fucking annoying, in such a way that he felt the need to embarrass you in front of your peers.

You want to melt—Melt into a puddle with just your boots and your hearing aids left behind so you never have to face him ever again. That’s why you’re so relieved when he dismisses class right on time (Well, right on time for him. He always ends class five minutes early to leave room for questions) and you quickly gather your things.

Because of the sheer level of embarrassment he has caused you, the other students in the class who want him try to flock to him, sensing that you no longer have the confidence to engage with him—But your desire is still there, as you messily shove your things into your backpack. You turn when you’re finished, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Your face is still flushed, part because you’re embarrassed, part because you are out of breath from rushing. But you are faced with the view of your professor, all alone. Your breath hitches when his hand moves up to the top of his tie, as he smooths it out, running his fingers down the fabric.

“I read your essay on the expectations of the courts and law versus the realities of it. I loved it. The argument using Gideon versus Wainwright to justify the existence of the right to counsel as a civil right and not a liberty was fascinating, especially considering your other arguments about how race, class and gender play into those realities. Well done. I thought it was some of your best work.”

Your face is flushed for a new reason now. Wasn’t this the same man who was mad at you for not paying attention?

“I thought so too.” You confess, and he just smiles. He loves that you’re confident in your work. You’ll make a great lawyer one day.

“Oh, and,” He digs through his leather satchel to pull out some notes, running his finger over the folder tab to make sure he has the right folder, “Here are the printed copy of our notes from the last few lectures.” It’s part of your accommodations that professors give you a copy.

“Thanks, Professor.” You smile gently, reaching out to take the papers. Your hands meet and as you grip the notes, the tips of your fingers just barely brush against his. Neither of you say anything. Neither of you let go.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.” He starts, “But you’re bright—Smarter than most of your professors, I bet. And I don’t want you to fall behind.” He says softly, and without saying it, you know he’s worried because of your hearing. He was disabled in law school once upon a time, and he recognizes your potential.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, softer than your voice usually is. “I get it, really. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He says gently, letting go of the papers now. As you clutch them close to your chest, his hand goes back up to mess with his tie again. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know how wild it drives you? He must. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you on Thursday.” You agree, and that’s when you leave the classroom.

As the door closes behind you, he listens intently. He hears your nervous heartbeat, could practically feel the heat radiating off you. But he knows your routine by now. You’re about to start playing music, and he likes knowing what sort of mood you’re in as you leave his class.

A smile spreads across his face when he hears the opening notes of that new Hozier song, ‘Too Sweet’.

• • •

You are a straight A student. You study days in advance for exams, you write elaborate study guides and most of all, you do not miss class, unless you are dying (no, seriously, the last time you missed class you were rushed to the hospital, sick with pneumonia after a big exam, which you aced). So, when you’re not in Matt’s class on Thursday, he tries not to panic.

You’re a grown woman, he tells himself, and he doesn’t have an attendance policy, having told the class on syllabus day that he trusted them to know when to come to class and when they should go lay in the sun or stay home with a bad cold.

But you once came to class doped up on cold medicine with a mask on, just because you didn’t want to miss any important information. He heard it before you got to class, so he faked a family emergency to cancel class early that day. He could hear your rattled sigh of relief as the other students flooded out.

And he knows for a fact you didn’t show up today because of how fucking loud you are; You don’t mean to be, but he can hear the light buzzing of your hearing aids, and you wear these big work boots that stomp even when you’re trying to step lightly. And he heard neither buzzing nor stomps today.

Oh, your boots. He’s spent years with everything being too loud, but he just can’t help but think about the boots—What color were they? What were their texture? He has this fantasy that lives at the very back of his mind of putting you in heels, heels too big for anyone let alone a girl who only wears clunky work boots, that way he would have to help you, take care of you, and it is a fantasy that will probably live at the back of his mind until he dies.

Sure, he’d probably get married, settle down with someone his age and never worry if she might be dissatisfied with an older man, and she’ll be quiet. No hearing aids, no big boots. They’ll have kids, they’ll be happy together. He’ll still go to you when he can’t sleep, and no one will ever know.

Wait, what was he doing? Oh, right. You weren’t in class today.

His fingers move over the keyboard to look you up in the system. He clicks on the audio assistant to read him your information. It reads out your first and last name, middle initial, then your grade in his class (A+), your accommodations (Notes, time and a half, things like that), your birthday, and—

Wait, he takes a moment, and his fingers go over to his braille calendar, realizing that you’re taking a day off because it’s your birthday. A laugh escapes his lips, because how silly was he being?

His fingers move again to find your email address. He debates for a moment before adding the subject line, “Absence Today.” Then, he erases it and changes it to, “Class Today”, hoping you wouldn’t freak out before reading the email.

And just for a moment, he lets himself dream. He writes the following email to you,

“Hey, sweetheart—

Happy Birthday. I’m so happy you’re taking a break, you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. Are you doing something fun for it? Going out and getting wasted? Hooking up with some college guy who couldn’t fuck you properly?

If I could, my birthday gift to you would be a day spent with my face buried between your pretty thighs, although that might be a birthday gift to me and not to you. I’ve always been a selfish man, and you seem to be something I am entirely selfish about. I want your hands tangled in my hair, tugging on it as I taste you. I want you all to myself. I didn’t hear the buzzing of your hearing aids or the clunking of your boots, and I felt this striking yearning.

I can’t stand being around you without having you. It’s torture.

Happy Birthday,

Matthew.’

He thinks about it for a minute, before completely erasing the email, and sending you this one instead:

‘Missed you in class today! We went over the reading for Chapter Seven. Happy Birthday! Professor M’

He sends it, and then rubs his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. He is completely enamored by you, and it is so unfair. You’d be in class on Monday, he told himself. He’d see you then, and it would be like getting his fix of you.

Then, he turns to the distraction of trying to grade papers. It won’t work. He’ll still have you on his mind all day, and there will be no relief in sleeping. Hopefully he’ll dream of that long day between your thighs.

• • •

Truth be told, you were not drinking and fucking some random guy when Matt emails you. You were cuddled up in bed, giggling and eating snacks, so many snacks, because, well, you took an edible with a bunch of your friends and now are high out of your mind.

Some animated shows are on in the background, and when your phone buzzes, you pick it up and almost melt when you see the email from your favorite professor. You start giggling like a kid, your fingers clutching your phone as you read the email over and over again.

One friend looks up to you from her place on your floor and asks, “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer at first, but then you nod, and pull your blanket close, imagining Matt’s arms around you. Your brain paints you a picture of him holding you against his chest and gently playing with your hair.

It’s a nice fantasy.

• • •

For being a law student, you really fucking hate it sometimes. Okay, that’s not true. You love being a law student and are so excited to go out into the world and make that difference. But you’d be lying if you don’t sort of contemplate dropping out and getting a sugar daddy over certain assignments.

Maybe Matt is in the market. Then you shake your head to get the thought out of there, before opening your laptop to check your professor’s office hours. The one that assigned this assignment is an old bat who does not have office hours except for during your other classes on Fridays.

Then, you look at Matt’s office hours. He has office hours right now. You click the pen in your hand a few times, thinking. Contemplating. Would he want to see you at this point? Would you be able to control yourself?

You give the question you’re working on one more time before you lean down and grab your boots, starting to lace them up. Then, you pack up your bag, heart beating nervously over what—Asking him for help with an assignment?

You make it all the way across campus, the whole time worried about if you’ll walk in on your professor with some other girl. You almost laugh at that thought, because you think you’re silly for how dramatic you are about the man.

You stand down the hallway from his office for a few minutes, just contemplating. You could just turn around and not at all open the possibility of being around him, and everything stays the same. Nothing changes, and your relationship with your professor maintains it’s strictly professional relationship.

You walk towards the door, knocking on it before holding your breath.

“Come on in,” He calls from behind the door. Now or never. You open the door, and smile in his direction.

“Hey, professor,” You greet, a soft smile on your face. His tie is loose around his neck. You blink away whatever daydream your brain wants to dive headfirst into.

“Hey,” He greets, “I don’t think you have any assignments due, so what’s up?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction. As you think about it, you realize that you do not need help with an assignment.

“This is going to sound like a lie. But I had trouble with this assignment earlier, and suddenly I walked in here and realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You explain, but you make no attempt to turn around and leave.

“Let me guess,” He starts, gauging by what year and academic proficiency you’re at, “Professor Reid’s estate planning class? That assignment about the will and testament of an old lady with a marriage less than 90 days and estranged kids?”

You groan and take a seat in one of the chairs in his office. He laughs in response, shaking his head.

“That old bat.” You roll your eyes. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to cheat on your final.” He tells you, and you give him a perplexed look.

“What?”

“Well, for the final, there’ll be a question about a super niche argument on inheritance. Just cheat on it.”

“You’re a professor, telling me to cheat?”

“I cheated on it,” He shrugs. You suddenly remember that he used to go to school here and has taken all the classes you’re struggling with right now.

“You’re being unprofessional.” You tell him, and he smiles again. Your heart skips a beat, and somehow, his smile grows. As if he knows exactly what sort of effect he has on you. As if this is all a game he likes to play with you, his eager and willing participant.

“Okay, forget that I told you to cheat on Reid’s exam. We have to talk about something, it would be awkward to just sit here in silence. Uh, what did you major in in undergrad?”

“English. I minored in Disability studies.”

“So why Law?” He asks curiously, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, before resting them on his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I’m tired of being poor.” The answer slips out before you can really stop yourself. He laughs again, and something in you stirs. As if making him laugh is the newest way you feel good about yourself. How twisted is that? “I’m being serious!” You laugh too, unable to contain it.

“I’m sure,” he promises, “I grew up poor too, I was sick of it too. But if you’re going to be a lawyer—”

“You need to have respect for the law and the people taken advantage by it,” You finish, “I get that, really, I do. And I want to help people. I want to go into divorce law and help all the poor and battered women like—” You’re forgetting yourself. You’re forgetting that this isn’t a date and that this man is your professor.

“Like..?” He prods you to finish, curious. He is on the edge of his seat about you. This is more than he has gotten of you in the past few weeks you’ve been taking his class.

“Like my mom.” You finish suddenly looking for something to do with your hands. Anything, really. “But the check that comes with it isn’t exactly deterring me, you know?”

“I get that,” he says earnestly, “I was an orphan, one of those dirty scrappy ones you feel bad for,” he does that half chuckle that makes you want to go over there and kiss him. “Never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was young. So, I get it. Being poor and wanting to do better for yourself. For your parent who sacrificed for you.”

But it clicks for him, the hidden meaning behind your ambitions. You have daddy issues, and he can tell that’s part of your crush on him. Though, he’ll never say it to you. He’ll let it be something unspoken between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you do get it.” You smile softly. But this is dangerous. So so dangerous. The two of you are dancing this dangerous line—Well, more like you’re damn well dancing clear over the line and ignoring it. But you don’t know how to stop it. Maybe you don’t want to stop it.

“Well, uh, maybe you could finish that assignment while we’re here.” He clears his throat, straightening his tie and you try to connect the wires in your brain to focus on the assignment. You pull it out of your bag and place it on his desk, smoothing it out a bit. Matt gets up and starts to wander around the office, and you look at him curiously. “I think better when I can move around.”

You should’ve known that much, you have stared at him doing lectures, wandering from end to end of the rows and rows in the classroom.

“Yeah, totally,” You nod, focusing on the assignment. It’s on paper, the old bat refuses to use online assignments. You’re practically flying through the assignment, and it’s at the point where you are forgetting your company. In fact, you really don’t notice him.. Until you lean back and stretch, jumping when you realize that Matt has taken a spot right behind you, his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward. You’re practically leant up against him.

“See? Was that so hard?” Your face flushes, his voice right next to your ear. He has to know; he has to know how you’re affecting him. You tilt your head a bit, and your eyes are level with his chin. His stubble moves as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t smell much like anything… except the faintest hint of clean sheets and this slight scent of mahogany. It would go perfect with a whiff of whiskey.

“No,” you say quietly, and he almost shudders at the feeling of your warm breath against his cheek. “Not at all, Prof—”

“Call me Matt.” It’s almost begging. You’re kind of into it, but that’s not surprising given how incredibly attractive you find him.

“Okay.” You say quietly. He has reduced you to one-word answers. The two of you stay quiet for a while. You’re unsure what to say. Matt is contemplating his options. Anyone could walk in on the two of you like this. The door isn’t locked, and you want to bring this up, but the words die out in your throat. His head tilts a bit towards you, and you get a glimpse at those perfect lips of his.

“You know—” He starts, but before he can get any farther, you lean in and kiss him. You kiss him intensely, your hand on his cheek, and for once, you are not filled with regret at a bad decision. He doesn’t react at first, and for just a second, you’re nervous.

Then, He kisses you back, letting out this deep hum as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head to get deeper into your mouth, and his hands make their way down to your hips. He focuses for a second, before wrapping his arms around you to pick you up and sitting you on his desk.

His hands trail down as the pair of you kiss, landing on your thighs. His fingers rub back and forth, and you gasp when he squeezes your thighs. He grins and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your clunky boots hit against his desk and he practically growls at the sound. He pulls away, his teeth biting your bottom lip as he does.

You’re completely out of breath, and so is he. He stumbles back a bit, his lips swollen and bright pink from kissing you. He wipes his mouth as he pants, and inhales deeply. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing the hair that has fallen onto your face.

“We..” he mumbled gently, running his hand over his chin. “Holy shit, kid—”

“Don’t call me kid—”

“Listen,” he goes over to you and brushes the hair from your face, “That was.. it was phenomenal, but someone could’ve walked in on that, and.. Fuck, if we do that again, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” he confesses, his hands on your cheeks.

“When I was staring off into space last week, I was thinking about your tie.” You tell him, your hands are finding the base of it now. He tilts his head, curiously.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Was daydreaming about it brushing against my face as you fuck me.” You could swear his face is red. You grin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking the tie from you and bringing the tie up to brush against your cheeks, “Like that?” he teases, and you laugh back. Dick.

“Mhm,” You giggle, and your hands find his, wrangling the tie out of his hands, and tugging on it, before bringing him in for another kiss. He inhales deeply as he kisses you, taking the taste of you in for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m serious, sweetheart, this is dangerous.”

“Sweetheart?” You grin. He takes your chin and grips it between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey. Pay attention.” He says, and you want to argue that saying things in that low gravely tone will not help you pay attention, but you can tell he’s serious. That he wants your attention focused on him, this is important. “Listen. I like you. I like you a lot, but we have to be careful if we want any of this to go further. We have to be subtle and watch our steps.” He says softly.

“Okay.” You promise, “Okay, we should be careful.” He smiles gently and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Good pup.” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I like ‘pup’.” You like sweetheart too, but your stomach flips when he calls you pup.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He grins. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you said we have to be careful.”

“Okay, then I’ll give you my address and you can come over.” He shrugs. “I know how badly I need you, I can only imagine how you feel.” He hums, and you grin.

“Okay, Here, give me your phone.” Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. You put your number in with your name, sending yourself a quick text before handing the phone back to him. “There. Send it to me.” He steps back so you can hop off the desk, before putting your homework back in your bag.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you close, just to kiss you again.

• • •

Your hands are shaking as you drive over to Matt’s apartment. You’re so full of desire for him, and you take a second after parking the car to adjust your hair and makeup. Luckily you had no plans with your friends so it’s not like you’re hiding anything from anyone.

Are you about to sleep with the professor you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester? Hopefully. You take a quick glance down to the apartment number he sent you before climbing out of the car, locking it behind you.

Then, you manage your way through the building, finding yourself in front of his door for the second time tonight. You hesitate. Though, you’re not sure why. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you’re terrified that this is going to be bad. Or maybe that you’re scared you’ll be bad, and he’ll hate you.

Maybe you just need to get over yourself. Although, you can’t really do much more convincing because Matt swings open the door and grins at you. You almost die at the sight of him. His tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned by three buttons.

“You’re so hot,” You blurt out as you hand him a cheap bottle of wine you picked up on the way here.

“You’re cute,” he hums, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the apartment, leaving you giggling as he closes the door behind you. You look around his apartment, your eyes catching on the giant billboard. You’re standing in front of the window when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips gently kiss your neck, up and down, biting your shoulder gently. “Enamored by the billboard, sweetheart?”

“Your windows are so big, probably a lot of light in here during the day.” You say softly, and he smiles against your neck.

“Mhm, one day, I’ll fuck you against those windows—”

“Matt,” You groan, but he just shushes you and kisses your neck again.

“I know, pup,” He hums, “But don’t worry, I’ll show you a very nice time, hear all those pretty noises you can make for me.” You blush, turning to say something to him but he wraps his arms around your waist again, before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to his room. You’re laughing all the way there, before throwing you onto the bed.

“Mean.” You accuse, but he shrugs.

“You’ll get over it, sweetheart, I promise.” He hums, and you sit up on his bed. He stands between your legs, leaning down to kiss you gently, his hands finding your cheeks again. He kisses you like this for a few minutes, before slowly kneeling in front of you, never breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss. You pull away from the kiss to study him. He tilts his head, his hands finding your thighs to rub them again as he did in the office. “What?” he asks gently.

“I spent all those lectures only being able to study you from a far.. Just let me really look at you for a while..” You request. He grins gently as your fingers run over his stubble again. Your hands move up to his glasses. “Can I take these off?” You request, tilting your head.

Matt hesitates, just for a second. He’s not really used to it, to someone truly wanting to see him, every part of him. But he trusts you, wants you to see him. So he nods, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ as you pull off those circular red glasses, gently folding them and setting them down somewhere safe.

Then, you take a good, long look at his eyes. They’re this deep brown, almost black, irises that are drop dead gorgeous. The skin around his eyes is scarred, but the scars are old, yet, you rub your thumb gently against that scarred skin. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his eyes, first the left one, then the right one.

He leans up and kisses you after that, his hands slowly making their way down your legs. Your hands find his buttons of his shirt starting to undo them. He pulls away from the kiss, before slipping off his button up, throwing it away somewhere in the room. Your eyes drift down to these scars on his collarbones, and your fingers run over them. Then, you notice other scars on his skin, and your hands find those too.

“Your boots are so loud,” he hums, and you’re taken back by it.

“What?”

“Your boots.” He hums, “I hear you stomping around with these things on, they’re.. Like a bell, you know? I like knowing you’re around.” His fingers go down to the laces of your left boot, slowly untying them. Then, he does the same with the right boot.

He pulls off your boots, before running his fingers over your socks.

“They’re multicolored. Bright and patterned.” You confess, and he grins, before pulling them off. Then, he stops, realizing you have another pair of socks on. He blinks, before starting to laugh.

“You have two pairs of socks on?” he chuckles, your face flushing.

“My boots are just a little too big!” You tell him, and he laughs, resting his head against your thigh. He finishes taking your socks off, before working on the buttons of your jeans. When he finally gets those undone, he pulls off your pants, throwing them somewhere close to his now abandoned shirt. His hand comes up to rub you through your panties, and he lets out a scoff as he does.

“So wet for me, pup..” He mumbles, coming up to gently kiss your cheeks and then your jaw, as you whine. “I know, baby, I know,” he says softly, rubbing your clit gently. You whine gently at the feeling, gripping his wrist. He chuckles softly, kissing you to shut you up a bit.

He pulls his hand away from your throbbing cunt to pull off your tee shirt, throwing it wherever. He starts to kiss you as you fiddle with the buttons of his pants and pull them off, letting him step out of the before he casts them away.

You grin into the kiss, before he pulls away.

“What? What’s got you so giddy, pup?” he asks, a grin on his face too.

“Briefs,” You hum, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Thinking about your professor’s underwear?” He teases, leaning in to bite your neck. “Dirty, dirty girl.” He grins, and you swat at his shoulder, which causes him to laugh. He likes having fun with you, even if it’s not inherently sexual.

His hands come up to run gently over your skin, trailing from your hands up to your shoulders, and then all the way to your ears, where his fingers gently run over your hearing aids. It’s a nice gesture, really, but as soon as his fingers brush over your hearing aids, you immediately retract, the feedback shooting through your skull, uncomfortably.

“Ow—” You cringe, leaning your head back to try and get away from his fingers. He cringes, hearing the feedback, not as badly as you do but knowing it’s there and that you’re in pain pains him.

“I’m sorry,” he coos softly, his fingers moving down to cup your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t realized—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You hum, tilting your head to kiss his palm gently. “It happens, It’s why you should never touch them while I have them on.” You shrug. He leans down and kisses your stomach a bit, before going back to kiss you again, deepening the kiss a bit before roughly shoving you back on the bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, caging you in between his legs, as he slips his tongue into your mouth again. He kisses you with passion and need, and it drives you entirely too wild. As he pulls away, one hand comes up to grip your chin, before he leans down with his head against yours.

“Want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” He asks gently, his voice sweet as honey as he talks so obscenely to you. You whine, finally getting what you want after weeks and months of waiting. He just smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, puppy, you gotta say it to me.” He requests.

“Yes, I want you..” You groan, bucking your hips a bit at the thought of him finally fucking you.

“Want me to do what?” he asks, innocently.

“Want you to fuck me, please..” You request, and this finally seems to satisfy him. His hand comes down to unhook your bra, throwing it behind him with the rest of your clothes, before his lips begin to travel downwards, kissing down your jaw and neck, before he’s kissing the valley of your breasts, his hand going down to rub your clit again.

He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wetness soaking through your underwear and listening to your moans. His hands begin to work to take off your panties, and as soon as those are gone, your hands come up to his briefs, wanting them gone.

“Off, off, off—” You huff, and he laughs as he slips them off. Then, he reaches over and grabs a condom from the bedside table, but you grab his hand, shaking your head, “No, no—I’m on the pill, promise.”

“You sure?” He asks gently, and you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sure.” You nod, and then you’re kissing him again, your hand going down to stroke his cock, and he gasps into the kiss, before chuckling. He pulls away to mutter out to you--

“Needy girl,” he purrs, before moving to kiss you again. As you’re kissing, he slips his cock into you, and you moan into the kiss, tensing at the feeling, “Relax for me, pup.. So fucking tight for me.” He groans, his hand coming down to swat your thigh. “Relax.” He tells you, his voice sterner this time.

You nod, trying to form a more conscious thought than the pure bliss you feel, your hands wrapping around his neck, scratching down his back a bit. He groans softly, as he starts to slowly thrust into you. He is using every ounce of self-control he has, resisting the urge to absolutely violate you.

But he’s trying to be gentle, be nice.

“Faster,” You gasp out, your fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He does that half chuckle, and it makes you whine as he begins to speed up.

“Beautiful little pup..” he says lowly, “Been staring at me.. Wanting your professor so badly these past few weeks, dirty little thing,” he hums, “Fuck, so.. fuck..” Your legs are beginning to shake the longer and harder he thrusts into you. “So fucking good for me..” You whine into his lips as they crash into yours, one hand going down to rub your clit gently, the stimulation too much for someone who hasn’t had sex this good, ever, but especially because you haven’t had sex at all in the past.. well, six or more months.

“Matty, ‘m..” You can barely get the words out as he fucks you harder,

“I know baby, come on, cum for me, pup,” he coos, his thrusts nor rubbing slowing down, maintaining his pace. Within a minute, you’re coming with loud moans into his ears, and he’s following suit shortly after, coming deep inside you.

But for the few minutes after the two of you finish, he continues his thrusting, relishing in the pretty moans and the sound of his deep thrusts into you. Eventually, he slows down, remaining deep inside of you. He pulls you close, kissing you deeply before flipping the pair of you over, and holding your legs close to stay buried deep inside of you.

For a few minutes, there are no words spoken, just deep, frantic pants and sweaty skin against each other.

“You know, that was as good as I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.” You pant, “Better, even..” He laughs and nods.

“Me too..” he kisses you softly. “Let me take you out somewhere.”

“I thought we had to be careful..”

“We’ll go away somewhere then. Just the two of us for the weekend. I need to be with you, I can’t get enough of you now that I’ve had a taste.. Besides, I haven’t even eaten you out. Now that, that is going to be fun.” He grins, and you swat his arm.

“Evil, mean man!” You gasp, and he just laughs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, pup, let me make it up to you,” he hums.

“How?”

“Calling you pup a few times, ordering Thai food and teaching you how to suck me off?”

“I know how to suck you off,” You scoff.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, leaning in to kiss him. Then, lips still against yours, he whispers, “Prove it, pretty puppy.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x hoh!reader #professor!matt murdock #daredevil smut #matthew murdock #smut

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consciouscarrot · 4 months ago

Text

day 20 - skin to skin cuddling [m.murdock]

matt murdock x fem!reader

content warnings; angsty fluff, panic attacks, minor and brief self harm (scratching at face and chest during panic attack), non-sexual nakedness

notes; ngl i kept forgetting that he was blind when i wrote this, so if you notice anything about him seeing smth, no you didn’t. very late bc i was v tired

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

matthew wished that you weren’t like this, not out of any selfish wants, but because he couldn’t bare to see the petrified look on your face when your anxiety got the best of you, and your body shut down.

he’d gotten back late from patrolling as the devil, rushing home when he’d gotten close enough to hear your desperate gasps for breath and pounding heartbeat. he’d found you on your knees, upper body curled in on itself and hands clasped over your chest, trying to claw away the terror wracking over you.

he’d knelt down next to you, purposefully breathing loud and slow, hoping you’d eventually be able to copy his pattern. he hated the way his blood soaked hands tarnished your soft face, crimson smearing over salt-stained cheeks when he begged you to calm down, wanting you to focus on his face instead of whatever thoughts your anxiety had gripped its claws into tonight.

you blubbered out apologies, voice cracking as you begged for him to make it stop. you dug your sharp nails into your face, dragging them down to your chest, desperately attempting to bring yourself out of your panic with pain.

he quickly grasped your arms, large hands smothering yours, hoping that you’d use him instead. blood trickled from the thin cuts, split flesh reddening as you cried out, squirming in his hold.

“breathe with me, slowly, honey,”

he took a big, deep breath, counting the seconds in his head, before holding it for four, then exhaling. he repeated that over and over again, patiently waiting for you to copy him, squeezing your hands in gentle encouragement when you eventually did.

the two of you breathed together for a long time, your heart steadily calming down as shakes began to wrack your body, exhaustion flooding over you.

he never stopped the exaggeration of his breaths, waiting for you to be ready to move, knowing that any unwelcome touches or movements could set you off again, that you needed to be in control after going through something so debilitating, stripping you of all your power.

eventually, you lifted up slightly, only having enough energy to whisper a soft ‘bed please’, clinging desperately to him the best you could in your exhausted state.

he picked you up, careful to hold your head against his shoulder so you wouldn’t lull it backwards, walking over to his bed and placing you down on it. he could smell the iron on your clothing and skin, having transferred off of him.

he kept your same tone, quietly telling you that he was going to take off both your messy clothes, only continuing when you sleepily nodded your consent, hair mussing against the pillow.

he stripped you down completely, then himself before quickly wetting a washcloth in the bathroom, cooing when you whimpered your complaints of him leaving you.

dragging the warm, damp material across your skin, paying special attention to the scratches, wiping away the small droplets of blood that had collected along the lines. he watched some of the tension begin to ebb from your body, previously tense muscles slowly relaxing at the soothing motions, finally feeling safe and secure now that he’d returned home.

he barely bothered with cleaning himself up, deciding that he couldn’t bare to be so far from you for even a second longer, figuring that he could just wash the sheets later that day, after you’d had some much deserved rest.

he slid under the covers, bare skin pressed against yours, wrapping his strong arms around you. you sighed contentedly, breath warming his chest as you thoroughly attached yourself to him, snuggling forwards to make sure the two of you were as close as possible.

“thank you, matty,”

“it’s okay, always gonna protect my girl, even from herself,”

his hand stroked strands of hair out of your face, thumb sliding down the bridge of your nose, wincing inwardly at the feel of your inflamed skin, metallic scent clinging to the self-inflicted scratches.

kissing the top of your head, he encouraged you to lean into the crook of his neck, face pressed against the tender skin. he rubbed up and down your naked back, intently paying attention to the way your chest expands and contracts, listening to your soft breathing, silently praying that it wouldn’t begin to pick up again.

of course, he wished that you didn’t have to go through this, hating every second that you gasped for breath, despising that your mind was reeling with self-deprecating thoughts and worries of terrible things that most likely would never happen. but, he did selfishly love the moments after, where you were too tired to resist his doting on you, where you let him take care of you fully and you would spend hours wrapped up in his arms.

he fell asleep to your soft snores against his chest, limbs still entangled together as he heard the city begin to wake, falling into a deep slumber with nothing to worry about but you.

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chvoswxtch · 11 months ago

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like a prayer

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: you want matt for dessert.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: I haven't written for our favorite dumbass in awhile, and after finishing another rewatch of dd, he was heavy on the brain (pun intended). this song came on the other day and I immediately thought of matty, so here we are.

word count: 1k

i’m down on my knees / i can take you there

Matt hadn’t even had a chance to shut the front door to his apartment behind himself before you were pushing him up against the wall, claiming his mouth in a deeply sensual kiss, blindly fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His cane slipped from his right hand, falling to the floor with a loud clatter that echoed in his silent apartment, and the dessert you’d gotten to go was also long forgotten, haphazardly tossed onto the side table in the entryway so Matt’s hands could find their home on your waist instead.

Before Matt’s brain could even catch up to what was happening, you’d pushed his pants and briefs halfway down his muscular thighs and sank down to your knees below him. The second the warmth of your mouth enveloped the sensitive head of his cock, Matt’s jaw went slack, and his head fell back against the wall behind him with a soft thud.

Instantly, every single one of his senses was completely overwhelmed. Your soft hands grasped onto his thighs and he shivered feeling a chilled raindrop that had been lingering on your knuckle slip down onto his heated skin. The bold scent of espresso in the tiramisu that had been abandoned on the side table was overpowered by the fragrance of arousal seeping through the thin cotton material of your panties. That combined with the aroma of your warm spicy perfume intermingled with remnants of fresh rain, and the natural scent of your skin that was just uniquely you, was knocking Matt out of equilibrium.

Matt’s fingers slipped into your roots, tangling into your tresses to give them a gentle tug while a soft grunt tore from his throat. Your tongue felt like velvet gliding along the underside of his cock, flicking over a pulsating vein, swirling around the tip in a slow and seductive manner. Matt was a giver, but God, so were you. The way you took your time and savored the taste of him and the feeling of his heavy cock against your eager tongue was torturous in the most tantalizing way. Your mouth was just as warm and wet as your cunt, and sometimes Matt struggled to decide which one he preferred being inside of.

He couldn’t stop himself from tenuously shifting his hips forward, slipping a few more inches of himself past your welcoming lips. The way you moaned around him had him shuddering, and he whimpered at the way the vibrations of your own pleasure traveled throughout his entire nervous system, causing his toes to curl in his shoes. He gripped harder at your roots, earning another erotic moan from deep within your chest, and even though Catholic guilt was practically embedded in his DNA, the raw hedonistic desire he felt was far more powerful, and you didn’t seem to mind that he was taking over to subtly fuck your mouth.

God, your mouth felt like pure heaven. Matt knew he didn’t deserve to be let through the pearly gates of your soft lips. He was a sinner, and he didn’t deserve to be blessed and absolved by the saliva coating his cock and dribbling down your chin. Only an angel as sweet as you would welcome the Devil somewhere he had been banished from. Matt’s moans were growing in volume the closer he got to gratification. He was being selfish, God he was being so fucking selfish right now, taking complete advantage of your selflessness, but your pussy was practically dripping onto the floorboards beneath you, and he could taste just how much you enjoyed having his cock in your mouth on his own tongue.

You wanted this. You wanted him. And Matt couldn’t deny you if he tried. If you wanted the moon and Saturn, and every single star in the sky, he’d find a way to get them for you.

Matt’s mind was blank. He couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his own labored breathing and racing heartbeat, your soft moans of raw enjoyment, and the way the material of your soaked panties rubbed along your wet folds when you shuffled closer on your knees. Feeling his tip reach the back of your throat and your nose flush against his pubic bone, he began to recite a prayer of your name, loud enough for the entire building to hear. The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened and contracted, and if the wall behind him hadn’t been supporting the burden of his body weight, he would’ve collapsed and joined you on his own knees right then.

His hips stuttered as wave after wave of his gratitude coated the back of your throat, which you were all too eager to welcome, swallowing every drop of his generous offering. Matt let go of your hair, opting to hold the back of your head gently instead, using you as an anchor to tether himself to avoid getting lost in sensory overload. He let out a desperate whimper when your warm mouth escaped him, exposing his softened cock to the drastic change in temperature in his apartment that had goosebumps spreading along his bare flesh. He was panting heavily, like he’d been trapped under a current and had finally breached the surface in search of oxygen.

With his senses so overwhelmed, he didn’t notice that you’d risen from your knees, and his body jolted in surprise when he felt your soft hands caressing his scruffy cheeks. He immediately encircled his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, burying his face into your neck to inhale your scent deeply. He needed to ground himself. He needed you. A soft noise of appreciation sounded in the back of his throat when your fingers slipped into his hair, your nails faintly scratching at his scalp in a way that had him faintly moaning into the juncture of your neck where your throat met your collarbone. Your breath was warm against the shell of his ear, and despite how heated his skin was at the moment, your sultry whisper sent a shiver down his spine.

“Ready for dessert now, baby?”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejloveb0t @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts @starsm00n @mentallyunstablebish @spiritofthewriter @merleisapartygod @powellssaturn @geeksareunique @urlocalgeek

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock blurb #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil blurb #daredevil smut

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writingdumpster · 1 year ago

Text

first impressions

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: none I think

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

word count: 1.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was not months,” you said sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you moms like me,” Matt said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, umm…” You started stuttering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do bring in cookies,” he grumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you think I won’t?” Matt asked.

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

“You want to go ring shopping tomorrow?”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock imagines #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #charlie cox x reader

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kalinara · 4 months ago

Text

(X-Men #14, Fall of the House of X #1, X-Men #1 - 2024)

So one of the things that I've been wanting to blog about since I went back to my origins to be a full on Cyclops-centered comics blog again, is how delightful (and maybe a bit delightfully dysfunctional) I find the modern Jean Grey and Scott Summers relationship.

You probably have an idea of where this is going already, given the number of top/bottom jokes I've made about the two. (Technically they're probably domme/sub jokes, but it's funnier to use the other terms. Also, I'm pretty sure they engage in telekinetic pegging.)

So I'm putting it behind a cut, because it's long and rambly, and with additional scans. But nothing in it should be a surprise.

Anyway it really is genuinely fascinating to me.

First of all, I'm very happy with the modern, and I think ORIGINAL, interpretation of the Jean Grey - Phoenix relationship, where the Phoenix is, always has been, and always will be, a part of Jean Grey herself. I always thought the possession/replacement story was unnecessary, and it's far more interesting to look at it as Jean all along.

But more importantly, given my focus, is that I'm delighted at how this has shaken out into this absolutely fascinating Goddess-Mortal dynamic between these two characters.

I chose the panels that I did for this post, because I feel like they really illustrate Scott's side of their relationship dynamic. You have poor Jean, who fears her power and what she might do, and constantly tries to atone for the damage she'd done in the past when she'd lost control of herself* (and I want to get back to the Dark Phoenix Saga, in a bit). And then you have Scott, whose reaction to the fact that his wife is maybe the most powerful being in the universe appears to be "my wife can beat up the entire universe, and it is fucking awesome!"

I mean look at these panels. The first one is from Judgment Day, a story that could prompt so much meta in its own right. We've seen how the Progenitor works at this point - he judges the vast majority of people and finds them wanting. A lot of times the root of his judgment seems to be based either on the character's own guilt and sense of failure (see e.g. Steve Rogers and Matt Murdock), or their complete apathy and disinterest in improvement (see: Charles Xavier). Scott seems like a sitting duck for the first kind of judgment: he IS prone to self-hatred and is haunted by his bad decisions and mistakes.

But he does something unexpected: he denies that the Progenitor has any right to judge him at al. He's willingly given that authority to only one person. And she's not here right now. And he PASSES.

Sadly, the Progenitor does end up throwing this back onto Jean during HER test:

(A.X.E. - X-Men #1)

Sadly, Scott's dead right now and not really able to clarify. But we as readers can go back and look at that top panel. That is not a man who is petrified of his wife. He may well sleep in the lair of the red dragon, but he LIKES it that way.

Basically, Scott Summers passed his Judgment Day test for being a massive submissive. And I love that.

And we see the "only my wife can judge me/would you like to meet her" thing again when Scott's on trial in Fall of the House of X.

And it's fascinating in context, because only a few issues before, he and Jean were on the outs, and she basically DOES judge him:

(It's probably wrong how hot I find it when she holds back his powers like that. It's like power-bondage or something.)

Anyway, this is from X-Men #23. In two issues, he'll be captured. She'll be DEAD. And everything goes straight to Hell. And yeah, they've implicitly resolved their issues before hand (since he's agreeing to leave the X-Men with her in Hellfire Gala), but it's still very sudden.

But in that panel, up there, he has no doubts at all. They were on the outs. She's dead. He's been tortured. And still, facing a kangaroo court, he's completely unwavering in his faith in her.

It's lovely.

Sentimentality aside, the key takeaway here is that he's not afraid of her. Even now, when she's fully integrated her power and is up in space re-igniting stars, he's not afraid of her. I'm actually not sure if he was even afraid of her in the Dark Phoenix Saga. Afraid FOR her, yes. And he certainly recognized when she lost it and tried to talk her down (and seemed to be succeeding, until Xavier interrupted!).

We do see, at one single point, Scott express any kind of feeling of inferiority to Jean. And that's in that truly delightful From the Ashes, Infinity storyline where, when she's freeing him from telepathic captivity, he shows her the hidden files in his mind - how he'd fantasized about them growing old together, and how he knows that won't happen now.

(I love the infinity comics, but it's so hard to blog with them, you know?)

But yeah, Scott's one point of vulnerability with regard to the inequality in their relationship has nothing to do with power. He just doesn't want to be forgotten.

So anyway, I included the last scan because, vulnerable issues aside, overall, he really does seem to enjoy the fact that his wife is the more powerful cavalry, who'll happily come to save and/or avenge him and is very happy to use that against anyone he wants.

It's cute and even a little childish in a fascinating way. "My dad can beat up your dad." Only it's wife, instead of dad.

(Look, I've already done the meta about Scott Summers dating people who parallel his many abusive father figures. The fact that both Emma Frost and Jack Winters have unbreakable diamond alternate forms ALONE...well...)

But we are talking about a man who hadn't really been a child since the day his parents' plane crashed, who bounced from abusive situation to abusive situation, without any hope of rescue (even from the father who was STILL ALIVE in space somewhere). It must be an incredibly heady feeling to be able to say, "YES, my wife is bigger than you and will ALWAYS come to save me."

It might be a bit of a gender subversion on the whole historical romance novel premise of the abused servant girl getting to run off with the warlord who would kill everyone who looked at her wrong.

(I also suspect there's an element of "Okay, fuck it. Everyone's blamed me for everything for so long, including me, that I'm just going to bend over and let HER punish me. And that's IT.")

As for what Jean gets out of the deal, well, she's got someone who will never be afraid of her, who admires every time she lets loose with her power, and thinks she's beautiful and amazing, and helps keep her connected with her past, her self and humanity, not by trying to rein her in, but by providing her with basic human comforts (like an unnecessary space ship), simply to make her happy.

Let's just hope that nothing ever happens to him. Because, well, as I've said before, the thing that most adaptations miss about the Dark Phoenix Saga, is that it's never been about a woman being too powerful for anyone's good. It's about a woman who gets repeatedly gaslit, manipulated, mentally fucked around with, who then watches the man she love get hurt and (apparently) die without being able to do anything about it.

...well, I'm a whump fan who likes seeing powerful ladies wreak havoc to rescue hurt and vulnerable men. So I know what I would like to see happen...

#scott summers #cyclops #jean grey #phoenix #this might be an incredibly incoherent relationship manifesto #I couldn't actually think of an ending for this so there you go #that man can't top a pool deck

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

Text

EXTRA CREDIT

professor!matt murdock x student!female reader

co-written with @hailey-murdock

word count. 4185

synopsis. you’re a struggling law student at columbia and seek out help from your temporary professor, matt murdock

warnings. 18+ only!! sexual & taboo content, legal age gap, semi-public sex, praise, unprotected sex but matt pulls out. mdni

notes. collab with my bestie @hailey-murdock if you’re seeing this first on my account, check out hers too <3 link

Students often find themselves in need of that extra boost to achieve their desired grades or attain additional credit towards their coursework.

And that was the case for you - never did you think you would end up at Columbia trying to earn your law degree.

Now in your senior year, you needed extra credit, and none of your other professors wanted to help.

So you went with your last chance, Professor Murdock. He just started teaching a couple of months ago. But you quickly grew fond of him. Based on what you knew - he took on the Frank Castle case alongside his partner Nelson but lost the case. Maybe the case downshadowed their firm and made everything fall apart.

Who knew? But that made no difference to you. You knew what you wanted and needed. The way to his office made you dizzy, and you didn't know what to expect. You needed him -no, that was wrong- you needed his help.

The moment you stood outside his office, you saw him standing over his desk with his sleeves rolled up. His muscular forearms displayed in front of you. The tie loosely hung around his neck.

His red-tinted glasses cover his soft, beautiful eyes that you've only ever seen once before. He looked almost angelic - and you finally understood the saying 'sight for sore eyes.' Matthew Murdock was truly a sight for sore eyes.

The way his fingers ran over the braille on the paper on the table made you have many unholy thoughts about the man that could change your life. It made you think how his hand would feel around your throat while thrusting inside you from behind. Or if he could feel how tight your wet cunt was around his fingers. No, snap out of it. It was a sin to think such a thing of a man 15 years older than you.

But Matt sensed you there at his door. He had actually heard you when you walked inside the building. The sweet scent of your perfume hit his nostrils stronger than a punch he would take at night on his nightly activities.

Matt thought you already smelled sweet until he noticed a change of scent. It was more of an intoxicating fragrance - seeping into his skin and staining his memory with your powerful smell, immersed in your essence.

The way you wet your lips was just like beauty drops from the shyness of your lips. Nectar flows of desire with your heartbeat. Matt was hypnotized by the smell of your arousal in the air, making his pants feel tighter.

He was snapped out of that trance when he heard the sweetest sound he could ever hear: your voice. He stood there for a good minute, thinking of all those times he had heard your extremely short skirts rustle against the soft breeze, how the fabric would rub against your skin every time you were near him.

The smile on your face or the light scent of your orgasm from the night before still lingered on your skin, and it drove him mad. Did you have any idea of what you were doing to him? All those times your voice would change around him, the slightly whiney pitch making him want you more.

The soft touch of your hand on him when you would help him through the university campus, guiding him through the buildings, even though he had a cane and memory of the directions. Matt desired your touch on his skin, not on his suit. He couldn't corrupt a sweet, innocent thing like you. Or at least he thought so before.

After you managed to calm yourself down, you walked inside his office. Matt looked like he was about to explode. He was red, flustered, and sweating, and you grew concerned. "Professor? Are you okay?"

"W-what? Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just thinking. Is there anything I can do for you?" Matt sat in his chair and moved himself to hide his growing erection under the desk. It was so wrong and unprofessional for him to act like this around you, his student.

Your eyes ran down to his lap, and if Matt wasn't blind, he could see how your pupils grew wide. Matt Murdock wasn't small. No, he was big - bigger than you had imagined before.

It was disgusting and perverted to think of your professor when you would seek pleasure late at night, hand rubbing your clit and moaning out his name as you came.

You cleared your throat before continuing. "I've had a hard time understanding torts. I've tried and tried, but I just don't get it. I've been to everyone else, and you're kinda my last resort." You awkwardly chuckle, scuffling your feet.

"And you didn't come to me first?" he playfully questions, stroking over his stubble as if he's trying to assess you.

"No-- well, I didn't want to bother you, you know? You're only here temporarily and--" you trail off.

"I was just messing," he interrupts, a soft smile lining his lips. "Sit," he nods, gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. "I'd love to help one of my favourite students."

"One of them?" you snicker, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. "That's disappointing. I thought I was your favourite," you smile, your tone sweet as you lay your textbooks on the oak desk.

Your eyes remain fixed on him, and you notice an expression you can't quite place - a face that's unreadable.

You sighed dramatically, "Please, Professor, I need your help-- badly. I need you".

The small noise ran a chill down Matt's spine. It made it cock twitch underneath his slacks. He made a fist to bite onto it, to make sure the moan that was about to escape from his throat wasn't heard.

The way you begged for his help made him feel pride in his chest, his famous smirk surfacing onto his face. Would you sound this desperate in the bedroom? Matt thought to himself, and his thoughts carried on.

"Professor?" you repeat, your ask falling upon deaf ears.

"Yes, sorry, forgive me, sweetheart. But back to the topic, I might have something that can help. Let me quickly look for it." He opened one of the drawers and ran his fingers over the braille to know the assignment.

But while he was so concentrated on the paper, you were a flustered mess. Matt Murdock, your professor, had called you 'sweetheart.' It was like honey the way the word rolled off his tongue. Your thighs pressed together to try to calm the ache between your legs.

The way your scent hit Matt's nostrils was like a hard punch he'd receive on his nightly patrols. A groan left his throat, and he tried to mask it with a cough.

"Sorry, I had this assignment planned for the class but never gave it out. You have a week to do it. When you pass, you'll have your extra credit." Matt handed you your assignment.

"'When,' I think you mean if. But thank you so much for your help professor. I don't know what I would do without you." You knew you could count on him, although you were nervous about the outcome.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're smart and talented. You have a long way ahead of yourself. I know you can do this. If you need help, please come to me. I'll be at your disposal."

Matt would have given you the extra credit without hesitation, but he wanted you to have a valid excuse to see him. He needed to see you again.

"Thank you again. And I won't sell myself short." You gently smiled at him even though he couldn't see your beautiful smile.

"Good girl. The sooner you start, the better."

If you weren't blushing earlier, then you certainly would be now. The praise made your knees weak. Your panties are soaked and uncomfortable. The sensation needed to be taken care of once you got back to your dorm.

"I- uh. Yes, sir," you nodded quickly.

It made you even redder that you couldn't make out a coherent sentence. Matt, that cheeky bastard was enjoying every single moment of this. It fueled his pride and ego, his smirk wider by the second. His erection was starting to become painful. The way you called him sir had him over the edge.

He felt himself about to cum in his pants like a teenager. Matt needed to desperately do something about it and he couldn't with you there in his office, not yet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you"?

Yeah, you can fuck me on your desk, you thought. You let out a sigh as you released your bitten lip and responded "No professor, thank you so much. I'll do good, I promise." And with that, you left his office.

Your scent lingered in Matt's office, he could taste it on his tastebuds. Once he knew for sure you were far away from his office, he closed the door and locked it. He sat back down in his chair, quickly fumbling with his belt to take it off and pull down his pants just enough to take out his cock.

He rolls over his swollen cock with his roughened palm, stroking himself to you, sinful and utterly shameful thoughts of you. Thoughts and notions that made him question his moral code. He knew he shouldn’t be touching himself to you – a student, his student, but he was on the brink, too far gone to stop now. He imagined the noises you’d make, the way you felt wrapped around him, he anticipated the way you would come undone beneath him.

But the overwhelming pleasure made Matt forget everything about his moral code. He knew he would go to hell for his double life and all his sins. But you? Oh, you were his greatest sin, you were the cherry on top of his ticket to hell. His lust and desires wanted him to feel ashamed but Matt did not care.

The small whimpers Matt knew he could pull out of you only made him harder. Matt wished it was your soft and delicate hands around his cock instead of his calloused hands. He knew he could treat you better than any of those stupid college guys. Only looking for their own release. Pathetic and selfish were the two things guys at college are. After three thrusts, they'd be done, but Matt? Oh, the stamina he has is way beyond what you could ever imagine.

He was a real man who knew how to make you fall apart for him within seconds. The amount of times he could bring you to reach your release. You poor small thing, probably haven't had your sweet cunt eaten out. Maybe even hadn't been given an orgasm.

Matt wanted to ruin you for any other person who would have you. No - you're his. You belong to him. Corrupting you would only add another sin to his list. The more he thought of you, the more he grew closer to coming. Matt's lip was bleeding due to how hard he had been trying to keep his moans and groans quiet.

Matt squeezed his cock tightly imagining that it would be your cunt squeezing him while you come for him, screaming his name. And just with that he came all over his hand and shirt, the sensation was making his senses go overload. A small whimper escapes his mouth.

Matt reaches out for something to ground himself back again, but he's found with nothing. He needs you- Matt needs you there to comfort him. What? No- he made a deal to cut all forms of relationships. No friends, no love interests, no nothing. What about you then? That was a different situation and he would use you for his own pleasure. There's a difference, Matt thought to himself.

He felt confused, humiliated, even. His mind slowly started to clear, and then he began to round up the pros and cons, weighing what would do more harm. But you were still consuming the logical part of his brain, and all he could muster was an exasperated sigh, dropping his face in his palms like he was soothing himself. He just had to make it through the week.

You've been doing everything you could to get that extra credit - staying up late, turning down every party invitation, just doing everything you could to get a good grade. All you wanted was for your efforts to be noted and appreciated. You just hoped your professor could notice how hard you were trying and give you something to prove your efforts.

You haven't seen him all week, practically counting down the days to his handsome face again, and today was finally the day.

He had a relatively busy schedule, so instead, he asked you to see him at the end, just before hometime -when he knew it would be empty-

All day you had an anxious pit in your stomach - wild butterflies fluttering around your throat from how nervous you were. You just had to make it until 5 pm, that was all.

The time finally rolled around, and you began to make your way to Matt's office, uneasy footing carrying you to his door. You collect yourself briefly before knocking, tapping in a rhythmic tune.

"Come in," the voice called from behind the door.

"Hi," you smile, stepping into the small closet-like room. "You said to come back at 5."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Take a seat," he smiles, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat when you realise just how close you would be sitting to him, much closer than you were expecting, though you weren't complaining. But you do as told and take a seat.

"How did you find it?" he breaks the momentary silence, crossing his leg towards you.

"Eh," you sigh, sweetly laughing. "Wasn't awful. But I did it, so that must count, right?"

He lightly chuckles, adjusting himself in the chair almost like he was leaning into you - his body language very much interested. "That's good. How do you think you did?"

"I'd like to think I did good."

His pretty smile resurfaces at your reassuring words, and your thighs instinctively clamp together, your body having a mind of its own.

"That's great to hear, sweetheart," he nods. "Oh, while I have you here. This computer has been making a weird sound. Can you take a look for me?"

"Of course," you smile and scooch closer on your chair, perking yourself up as you lean over, accidentally knocking him in the way. "Sorry," you mutter, patting his arm apologetically.

Matt exhales, your delicate touch sending him into a frenzy. "Sorry about the mess-- books everywhere. I really should clean it," he murmurs, shaking his head like he was trying to redirect his blood flow. He continues to blabber, feeling the strain in his boxers once more. "I'll get around to it."

"It's okay," you whisper, breath catching in your throat again when you feel his knee brush over the back of your leg. "It's no problem." This time, you sounded more desperate than you would've liked - pathetic almost.

He abruptly adjusts his seating position, his hardened crotch hitting against the cheeks of your ass causing you to stumble forward, splaying over his desk for a brief moment before spinning back around to face him.

He's big, you think to yourself. Your eyes widen when you realize the position you are in. Matt wanted to do more by assuming that you were excited or maybe nervous as he heard the hammering beat of your heart.

Besides, it wasn't like you were pushing him away. Maybe you did want this after all, the sweet nectar scent between your legs confirmed his theory. Matt leans in closer towards you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, "Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?"

You couldn't form any words, it was embarrassing. The need to have Matt's hand between your thighs to ease the ache was starting to fill your mind. A pathetic whimper fell from your soft lips as you nodded your head 'yes.'

His calloused fingers run over your knee, up your thigh, "Oh you sweet thing, I haven't even done a single thing and you already can't speak. Use your big girl words. Is this okay?"

"Y-yes," it was barely audible. The shade of crimson grew darker on your cheeks the more Matt touched you. His left hand gripping your thigh, while his right hand was on your hip, slowly creeping up your chest to your neck. It only made your arousal leak through your panties how his large hand covered your entire neck.

Matt's body heat radiated onto your skin with how he had you caged against his desk. He couldn’t get enough of how soft your skin was, even softer than the silk sheets on his bed. You were like a drug, his addiction.

His hand moved to grip your jaw to look at him, he leaned in to kiss the soft lips of yours that he's craved to kiss, to have wrapped around his cock. Sucking him while he'd grip your hair, guiding you, being his good girl. Matt's cock twitches painfully under his slacks.

"W-what if someone sees us?" You wanted to kiss Matt, badly, but that didn't mean you wanted to get caught.

"Nobody's here, sweetheart. Don't worry that pretty little head of yours."

Before closing your eyes, you saw the smirk that Matt had grown to flash at you lately. God, how you wanted to make this man feel so good.

His thumb brushes over your chin, tilting you up to face him once again, his smirk slowly faltering as he closes the distance, angling you to meet his lips. He kisses you with more vigour - more passionately than before, like he was desperate, finally kissing you like those times he's dreamt of.

His palm around your jaw slips behind and into a loose fist of hair at the back of your neck, holding you still and deepening the kiss as he presses his chest into yours, pushing you back into his desk.

You hop onto the edge of the desk and slip your hands around his waist, finicking with his belt as you eagerly try to undress his lower half.

He parts from the kiss breathlessly, chuckling as he shakes his head. "Not about me, sweetheart," he smiles, removing your hands from his waistband. He brings your hands to his lips and places a delicate kiss on the back of each. "It's about you."

Matt hastily clears the desk surrounding you, emptying the space for you to lean back. You do as asked, falling back and resting on your elbows as you gaze up at the handsome man standing between your spread legs.

His hands trail your bare thighs, grazing up the goosebumped skin until his fingertips reach the frilled edging of your underwear. A gentle smile lines his lips as he brushes over the small wet patch of fabric, his thumb tracing your folds through the dampened material. His grin widens as he outlines the mound of your clit, teasing at the nub with small, soft circles.

On any other occasion, Matt would've taken the time to work you up, to appreciate you - to coax out a couple of orgasms beforehand, but time was not on your side, and what you had was limited. He just wanted to give you a small taste of what he had to offer you, hoping you'd want to come back for more. All he wanted today was to satisfy a slither of his hunger while making you feel good - all while going uncaught.

He returns his attention to you and slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly dragging them over your hips and down your thighs. He balls the damp, slinky fabric and shoves it in his desk drawer for "safekeeping," as Matt lightly put it.

"If we had more time, sweetheart..." he trails off, shaking his head at the thought.

"I don't really understand law-- I'll be back again soon," you reply, tone flirty and breathless as you shimmy down on the oak desk, adjusting to accompany him. "Might need some more extra credit."

"That's good-- I can do that," his voice hoarse as he urgently unbuckles his belt, unzipping his fly. "I've got plenty more. Anything you need."

He pulls his cock out over the waistband of his boxers, keeping most of himself covered in the off and unfortunate chance of getting caught.

You perk yourself up higher on your elbows and glance down at him, eyes bugging out your head when you see his thick, swollen dick twitching in his tight grasp. He wasn't your first, but his size certainly was.

Matt lazily rolls over his cock, massaging in a few beads of precum as he situates closer, standing between your legs with his thighs pressed into the back-side of yours. He pushes his dick through your folds, collecting your wetness on his head, slick lips parting around his girth.

"If it's too much, let me know," Matt reassures, stroking your thigh with his spare hand.

"I will," you eagerly nod, wrapping your hand around his cock, slowly guiding him into you.

He stills, allowing you to take what you want, letting you take it little by little til you're full solely of him. His thick cock stuffed into your perfect, pretty pussy - warm walls melting around him as you twitch and whine on the table.

"That's it-- doin' so good," he coos, brushing comforting circles over your tummy, the action as if to soothe you. "Feel so perfect."

Matt slowly drags out a few inches and pushes back in, doing it repetitively as if to stretch you out, slowly fucking and filling you. One of his hands trails back to your waist, gripping your skin and gently tugging your body to meet his lazy, uneven jabs. The other placed calculatedly over your pubic bone, thumb swirling over your clit in a movement that juxtaposed his sloppy thrusts.

The dingy room is full of stifled moans and muttering praises - wet, squelching noises accompanying the lewd sounds.

It all began to feel like too much, as if Matt was pressing all your buttons at once - doing everything to get you off as fast and hard as possible.

"Quiet, sweetheart. I can't be giving everyone extra credit," he hushes, continuing to leisurely wind his cock into you, going nice and slow. "That's only for you, sweet girl."

He leans over your body, swallowing your whimpers with rough kisses as if he knew you were close - like he was taking precautions, not wanting others to hear.

His thrusts never falter in motion, giving you what you want, not changing a thing as he brings you to your ever-longing high.

"Cum on my dick," he murmurs against your lips, resting his forehead on yours, softly panting. "That's it, that's it, that's it, that's it."

The internal balloon in your stomach wears thin, and you do as instructed - cumming around his thick cock as you entrap him to your body, caging him in a bear hug. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling moans and cries as you let go.

"Sound so pretty," he whispers, peeling himself from your grasp. "So, so pretty."

Once you come back down, he stands upright and yanks his cock from the perfect warmth between your legs, rolling over his reddened head as he spills his release on your inner thigh, mumbling curses and praises about how good you make him feel.

Matt quickly tucks himself away, and his cheeks flush a light pink as he slips his hands into yours, pulling you up and helping you up. He sits in his chair and rolls it closer to you, pulling out one of his desk drawers and collecting a pack of tissues.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, wiping the tissue over your thigh, cleaning the cum.

"No," you reply immediately, shaking your head. "Not at all."

"Good," he grins, throwing the tissue in the can by the window. "We'll keep this as our little secret?"

"Absolutely," you sweetly laugh. "But, I should be going. My roommate's waiting on me."

"Of course, sweetheart," his grin widens, nodding understandingly.

He helps you to your feet and adjusts your skirt, smoothing over the fabric. As he does that, you sort out your upper half - straightening your top and fixing your hair.

"Oh-- my underwear," you giggle, feeling a slight breeze.

He playfully tuts, clicking his tongue as he buckles his belt. "I'm keeping them for a few days. Will you give you a reason to come back."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and reach for the door handle. "I don't need another reason."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

matt taglist: @hailey-murdock @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @redecoratestan @kpopgirlbtssvt @scarletsloveletter @princess-pebbles-things @messymissy @schneeflocky @readerhead @thegreengoop @charmedkim @queerponcho @simplyreflected @kinglokisqueen4ever

#fic #collab fic #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matthew murdock x fem!reader #matthew murdock smut

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trulyunholy · 5 months ago

Text

a northern wind

daredevil x reader

rating: M

word count: 3.5k

notes: this is only my second daredevil/matt murdock fic, and this one was intended to be a one-shot but i’m kind of obsessed with the idea of it. it came from my unhinged obsession with the black suit and i’m not sorry.

The acrid smell of cigarettes lingered outside, wafting out the propped open door of the bar. Sounds of drunk laughter and clacking billiard balls could still be heard as you took in a deep breath of the fresh, cool autumn air. You pulled your jacket closer to your body against the slight chill of the wind.

“You sure you don’t need a ride?” Laura called to you as she stood halfway out the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you told her over your shoulder. “Just have fun and be safe, okay?”

“You stay safe, too! And text me as soon as you’re home,” she added before she stepped back through the doorway and out of sight.

One drink. That’s what the two of you had met up for at the beginning of the night. But then Laura ran into some of her friends from work, and one drink turned into several, followed up by rounds of shots.

You enjoyed the company, always enjoyed the chance to get out of your own head for a bit. But you had work early in the morning, and staying out until sunrise was not on your agenda. So you decided to walk home. It wasn’t a far walk, and it wasn’t terribly cold.

The smell of smoke finally cleared the farther you got from the bar, taken over by the smells of the city. Gasoline from the street, fresh bread from a nearby bakery, and the faintest smell of garbage somewhere in the background of it all. You loved this city, loved the closeness of everything and the ability to hide yourself among so many people.

The wind bit at your face, which was still feeling warm from the alcohol. The only sound above the monotonous bustling of every night was the surprisingly steady footfall of your boots on the sidewalk.

A different sound caught your attention several minutes into your walk, though. It was a distant sound, like feet shuffling quickly and men talking loudly. Your hand, shoved into your coat pocket, wrapped tightly around the small container of pepper spray, the one you kept with you anytime you were out by yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel safe here, it’s just that you never wanted to take a chance.

Your grip grew tighter the closer the noise got. Then you saw them, a group of men ahead of you, running in your direction. The panic in your chest was short lived, though, as soon as you realized they weren’t running at you. They were running away, from something or someone that was chasing them.

The men scuffled and nearly fell over each other trying to escape whatever was pursuing them. You stopped, frozen in place, unsure of whether to watch the action unfold or to run away yourself. But as soon as the group came across an alleyway about one hundred feet ahead of you, they turned into it sharply, out of sight.

A flash of movement followed, nothing more than a dark blur in your watery vision. You couldn’t make out any shape or feature, and your drunkenness did you no favors. The sounds of a fight came from the other side of the building in front of you, grunting and hits landing on flesh.

You knew you should’ve run. You should have turned around and left and gone as far in the opposite direction as you could. But you didn’t. You were curious. The alcohol had impaired your judgment far more than you first thought. The men, who seemed to have posed no threat to you anyway, had all run off by the time you rounded the corner into the alleyway.

Only one person remained, leaning on the brick wall of the building and nearly doubled over, catching their breath.

You’d heard the stories of vigilantes taking over the city, or superhuman strength and mystical powers. There wasn’t a person you knew who hadn’t heard them. But you weren’t sure you believed any of it. Tales of invincibility and magic seemed too far-fetched.

But in Hell’s Kitchen, the local watchdog felt more believable. Nothing more than a man who dressed in black and beat the shit out of criminals that the justice system couldn’t catch. It still sounded like fiction, but it was at least in the realm of reality.

Now, though. Now you were sure the stories were true. A man in all black, breathing hard after chasing some group of ne’er-do-wells. Maybe the stories were true.

“Holy shit.”

Your voice seemed to startle him, and his stance changed, tensed and taut like a cat that was cornered and ready to flee.

“Wait!” you called out to him, voice admittedly a little too loud.

You weren’t sure why you asked him to wait. He had no reason to listen to you. But you were fascinated, hypnotized by this mystery man, this myth come to life.

To your surprise, he did stop. The air was as tense as it was harsh, beating on the exposed skin of your face. A heavy weight began to build in your chest as you realized you had no idea what to say, what to do.

“Are you…?”

What the hell were you going to ask? ‘Are you that superhero guy I keep hearing stories about?’ ‘Do you really run around town all night and just fight crime like it’s your job?’ ‘Who are you under that mask?’

Everything sounded ridiculous in your head. You were fumbling over your own thoughts, trying to think of something, anything to say to keep him there. Why, you weren’t sure.

Giving up on any question you could have formed, you took a step toward him instead. He reacted fast, poised like a threatened animal, ready to flee or to pounce, you weren’t sure which. But looking him over, taking his n his body underneath the black, his sharp jaw below the mask, you weren’t sure which you were about to do, either.

“Are you real?” you asked, cursing yourself immediately for the clumsiness of your words, the slight slur in your voice.

He smirked, though, his lips twitching up into the faintest of a smug smile you could barely see in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“Well, this isn’t a dream, if that’s what you’re asking,” he shot back, his voice low and smooth as velvet.

“That’s not what I was asking,” you replied, fighting through the haze of inebriation. “Though I don’t think this scenario would be classified as a dream.”

“A nightmare, then,” he added easily.

As you took another cautious step closer, you saw his body relax a little, his muscles loosen from the tension of fight or flight.

“Yeah, a nightmare, then,” you said teasingly, though you couldn’t hide the curiosity there, too.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of what you’d just seen or the one-too-many shots you’d had at the bar, but you felt bold, bolder than you had any right to feel. You kept walking toward him until he was an arm’s length away. He didn’t move an inch, still as a statue, his head cocked in a way that made you think he was curious, too. When you stopped, you looked him up and down, admiring the glisten in the exposed skin of his throat.

“My kind of nightmare, too,” you said. “Or maybe it is a dream.”

His expression was hard to read with his eyes hidden from view, but the way his tongue shot over his lips, the way his lips began to form a bold grin, you could make a pretty good guess.

“You dream about this kind of thing often?” he asked, his voice somehow lower now. His tone was teasing, testing, lofty. “Of approaching strange men in dark alleyways?”

“Only the cute ones.” Your heart was beating hard in your chest now, and you could feel a heat rise to your face, rush through your body. “Or the heroes.”

“So which am I?” he asked, his tone daring you to answer.

“You tell me.”

Face warm against the chill, body tensed and stomach tight, you closed the space between you with one final step. But the moment you reached a hand toward him, unsure of what you were even going to do, his hand on your wrist in a heartbeat, scaring you half to death.

“Don’t.” His voice was demanding now, his grip strong against you, and his velvet dark voice sent sparks through your veins.

“Okay,” you conceded quickly, though his words did nothing to deter you. “A man with a secret. What do you have to hide?”

Your question wasn’t accusatory. You weren’t demanding any information. Somehow you knew he wouldn’t give it to you even if you were. His grip on your wrist did not loosen, and his mouth fell into a tense line.

After a moment, silence broken only by the sound of your breathing, he let go. As soon as he did, your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers tracing his collarbone jutting out from under the slick black fabric of his shirt. A heavy breath escaped him at your touch, as if he could feel the heat inside of you escaping through your fingertips.

“I don’t have to see you to kiss you, do I?”

He remained still as your fingers trailed across his chest, up, up, up, until they found a place on the back of his neck. His skin was hot and almost sticky, and you could feel the softness of hair peeking out from underneath his mask. He had no response, the smug attitude from only moments before disappearing as he swallowed hard.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked as you leaned in closer to him, your voice barely above a whisper.

A long, silent moment slips between the two of you as you wait for his response, your fingers digging into the back of his neck with the slightest hint of pressure.

When he finally answered, his voice was almost lost behind the pounding of your own heart in your ears. But the hot puff of breath and the movement of his lips told you everything you needed to know.

“Yes.”

Another beat, another silent second before you broke the tension and kissed him. His lips were unmoving underneath yours, still, unsure. But when you closed the space between your bodies, too, thighs against thighs, chest against chest, he relaxed into your touch.

Muscle and skin was warm underneath your touch as your hand slid down to his shoulders. Fingernails dug through fabric into skin, and his reaction to the slight pressure seemed huge. His arms were around you quickly, one hand finding a place on your lower back. He straightened himself, and when he pushed away from the wall and into you, you nearly had to stretch to reach him. And you decided you would do whatever you had to do to reach him again, to chase after the head-spinning high of a simple kiss.

Heat rose in the pit of your stomach, your heart taking too much space in your chest with just how fast it was beating. When he kissed you again, it was different, it was something hotter and hurried. His lips parted, and you took the opportunity to explore, to lick and to taste and to take. When he did the same, and you felt the wet warmth of his tongue, you couldn’t resist nip him. It wasn’t a bite, not really, and certainly not enough to hurt. But he pulled back anyway, his mouth settling into a sort of frown. Surprise, you think.

“Sorry,” you offered, intonation like a question.

But then his smirk was back, lips tilted into a devilish smile that sent chills down your spine. Before you knew it, your back was against the brick and he was pinning you there, hands on your hips, digging into the wall. You tried to find his face with your hand, desperate to touch him again, but he stopped you again.

“Relax,” you told him, breathless. “I’m not interested in unmasking you.”

After only a short moment of consideration he let go, and his hand found your hair instead. His palm cradled the back of your head, fingers twined through your hair as if he’s holding you there, as if he’s making sure you don’t get away.

You didn’t want to get away.

“What are you interested in?” he asked as he leaned in close, his breath hot on your face despite the visible cloud that forms in the night air.

“Whatever you’ll give me.”

Your eyes flicked back to his lips, then to the black of the mask over his eyes, only inches away. You wondered how he saw through that thing, considering you couldn’t see his eyes at all. But in the moment, you didn’t care. Not while his hands were back on you, his body pressing yours into the rough brick, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

A little too roughly, his lips crashed back into yours, the fingers in your hair pulling as they tensed. A short moan escaped your lips at the feeling, and he nearly growled his approval at the sound, a rumbling that sounded like it was coming from deep in his chest, something primal and feral and full of need.

Suddenly you decided that you needed more of him, that you had to have as much of him as close to you as possible. Your hands snaked around his body, roaming down his back before grabbing his ass and pushing yourself even closer to his. Something hard dug into the softness of your belly, but you didn’t stop to figure out what it was.

It almost hurt, the way he kissed you so hard you felt like there would be no air left in your lungs, the way he wouldn’t let you break away for air. When you did try, he pushed you back into the wall, his hand on your head cushioning it from the brick. And he held you there, his lips never letting up, lips and tongue and teeth all melding together into one warm, wet sensation. You’d never been kissed like that before. You had a feeling you might never be kissed like that again.

Anonymous hookups in bar bathrooms wasn’t foreign to you, but this, this felt different. There was a fire burning bright and hot in your stomach, seeping heat out of your every pore. There was a passion, a desire behind the man’s every movement that was hard to describe. He could take you right here in this alleyway and you knew you wouldn’t feel a bit of shame afterwards.

His hands moved from your head to the back of your neck, and you nearly gulped in the cool night air as his fingers traced feather soft trails down the fabric of your coat. He leaned down and kissed you again, but it was softer, slower, with no less heat behind it than before. It was just a different heat, a simmer instead of a boil. But it was just as hot.

He pushed your coat open and had his fingers in your waist in the same motion. His hand felt cold through the fabric of your top, but the goosebumps erupting across your skin had nothing to do with the cold. His teeth caught your lower lip and he bit just hard enough to sting, and the noise you made was closer to a whimper than a moan. You were already falling apart, and you should have been embarrassed. But you weren’t. Somehow it only spurred you on more.

His hand found your hips and his nimble fingers immediately pushed up your shirt. You nearly flinched when he made contact with your bare skin, but you didn’t mind, and he didn’t stop. You were hot, you couldn’t breathe, and you had never been so turned on in your life.

Rough fingers on exposed skin, touch light and fast and he mapped you out. You had no idea what you were doing, making out with a total stranger in an alleyway in the middle of the night. Was it the alcohol, the adrenaline, the fact that this man in the black suit risked his life to save people and bring justice to a city that so desperately needed it, and just so happened to look damn good while doing it? Not even an hour before, you were doubting the validity of vigilantes in the city. Now, you were eager to repay the hero for the risks he took nightly.

You were finally able to catch your breath as his mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, and he started a trail down your neck, kissing and licking and biting in turns. Rough stubble tickled your skin as you closed your eyes, desperate to focus on nothing but the sensation of his mouth as he found a spot at the base of your neck that had you squirming underneath him. You were getting so worked up, so desperate, you could feel the heat growing in your stomach and the desire building between your legs.

Mouth still at the pulse point on your throat, his hand finally rested at the waist of your pants, fingers testing the fabric, dipping underneath and tugging carefully. Throwing your head back wantonly, a sting of pain rang through your head, but it barely even registered. Everything you were feeling was becoming too much, and you couldn’t help but moan again, this time louder and without regard for anything else around you. You heard the man chuckle into your skin, a dark sound that you were sure came from the way he was pleased to be tearing you apart.

Your eyes still closed, your hands felt wildly for any purchase they could, landing on the expanse of his back. When his fingers moved on your waistband, and you could feel his fingers lingering by the button of your pants, your breathing was hard, your heart was beating so fast it hurt, and your fingernails dug into him hard. It wasn’t intentional, but when he let out a low moan so beautiful it shot straight to your core, you knew you had to do it again. So you did, scratching lines down his shoulder blade and into his spine. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you could feel hot breath on your skin. You felt delirious.

Then your phone rang. It was so piercingly loud in the quiet of the alleyway that you nearly screamed, startled. The stranger jumped, immediately putting space between the two of you.

“Shit!” you cursed, trying to remember which pocket you’d stuffed your phone into before leaving the bar. When you finally found it two rings later, you cursed again at the lit up screen. It was Laura. “I’m sorry, I gotta take this,” you told the stranger without taking your eyes off the screen.

When you answered, your ears were immediately hit with the quick, loud voice of your friend, demanding to know where you were and why you hadn’t texted her yet. You sighed, wanted to roll your eyes, frustrated at her even though she didn’t know what she had just interrupted.

Laura was still going on about something, her words almost slurred to the point of incoherence, when you turned to address the stranger. What the hell you planned on saying to him, you weren’t sure. But when you turned around, he was gone. You were alone in the alley and he was nowhere to be seen. No evidence that he had ever been there in the first place, save your open coat and mussed hair.

You didn’t know what you expected. You sighed and told Laura that you’d call her back as soon as you got home. You were only a couple of minutes away from your apartment anyway. As you hung up and shoved the phone back in your pocket, you wrapped your coat around you again, smoothed down your hair, and headed back to the sidewalk. Your boots hit the pavement hard as you walked, but you could barely hear them over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You weren’t sure whether to feel disappointed or excited or incredibly turned on. In truth, you felt a mixture of the three churning uncomfortably in your stomach.

You kept your eyes up as you took the last few blocks home, looking around in an inane hope that you might catch sight of him again.

Part of you hoped that he’d find you again, that you could finish what you started. If all the stories were true, you knew he was still out there, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he watched you as you walked home, if he watched you as you got to the door of your apartment building. The brass doorknob was cold in your hand as you hesitated to turn it, looking around one last time. Nothing but lamp posts and telephone poles and the darkness beyond it all. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on your back when you finally opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the building.

——

this hasn’t been proofread by anybody but me, so sorry for any errors or inconsistencies. comments and constructive criticism is always welcome!

find it on ao3 here!

#daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock reader insert #no use of y/n #black suit supremacy in this house

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sunflowersandsapphires · 7 months ago

Text

Finding You

Small Creatures, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings: minor swearing, misunderstandings, awkward meetings

a/n: there isn’t a ton of Matt in this chapter, but there will be MUCH more of him from here on out. We are running straight for the hurt, comfort, angst, and fluff of this story, y’all. As always, please reply and reblog! And a huge shout out to @zomtart for helping me create this AU!

w/c: 4.5k

You couldn’t shake the feeling of him.

A tight coil of smoke, constantly twisted around your every limb. Your dreams were now hazy with clouds of ash, the bitter taste of charred organic material blanketing your tongue when you woke.

On the surface, he was dangerous, filled with a rage that burned more intensely than any flame in this realm. You understood that it was meant to scare you, to create distance. But, you were drawn to it like a newly hatched moth–seeking its warmth and light, not shying away from its destructive power one bit.

Whether your intense longing was due to your bond or simply a lack of self-preservation, you weren’t sure.

Walking home after the Devil snatched you from the jaws of death, it all suddenly made sense. One of those “you have to feel it to believe it” kind of things, meeting your soulmate. Your steps were unsteady and too light, like your weight was constantly fluctuating as you moved, or you were being carried along by an external force. You felt thoroughly inebriated, oxytocin and dopamine saturating every cell.

With each wobbly pace home, your chest pulsed with clipped waves of pain, like you’d been bruised. But even the dull ache couldn’t ruin the pleasant floaty feeling carrying you back to your place.

At points in your life, you’d heard musings. Of what it was like to be bonded with another. Though none of them had ever truly made sense until now.

You were torn, unsure of how to feel about it all. On one hand, knowing he existed was comforting. You weren’t crazy or damned or any other awful thing people sometimes said about marked souls. On the other, watching him creep away from you in terror was definitely a blow to your ego.

It was possible he’d had to go take care of something—there was never a dull night in the Kitchen—but given how your mark was radiating a concoction of doubt, shame, and another feeling you couldn’t quite place…it was probable he was truly not interested. You needed a clear answer, though. Whatever his decision was, you’d respect it, but you needed to be sure before giving up on him.

Therein lay the issue. How could you ask him for a clear answer when you didn’t even know his name? You had no idea where to begin looking for him, or if he could even be found.

And what would you say if you did find him? “Hi, you clearly want nothing to do with me but apparently we are destined to mean something to each other so here’s my card”?

What if he was in love with someone else? He could be married, have a family..oh god what if he was married–

A familiar voice called your name, snapping you out of the trance you’d apparently been in. Ripping your gaze away from where it had been listlessly staring at your coffee cup, you met your friend’s amused look with a sheepish laugh.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Imogen shook her head fondly, clearly not actually upset that you’d zoned out.

“Nothing more important than whatever’s on your mind. Spill,” She giggled, poking your arm with a manicured finger.

You groaned, pulling your exposed limb out of harm’s way. “Midge, it's nothing–”

“It's not!” Crossing her arms, the woman across from you gave her best attempt at a stern mom stare. “You've been out of it all day. We've been friends long enough for me to recognize when you're stuck in your head. So tell me, what's got you in such a funk?”

Sighing, you dropped your chin to your chest, overwhelmed with indecision. It's not that you expected Imogen to react badly, but how much could you tell her? I mean, he was a vigilante, a criminal. Would she truly be ok with that?

Taking a leap, you allowed her to clutch your hand, your nerves settling slightly under her encouraging gaze. “I may have met my soulmate last night?”

As if an earthquake had suddenly struck Manhattan, the two flimsy cups standing on the table quivered as the table vibrated beneath them. Your friend had erupted with joyful movement, kicking her feet and gripping your hand painfully tight as she shrieked gleefully.

“WHAT!? WHEN? HOW? Tell me EVERYTHING!” Eyes boring into yours with more enthusiasm than you'd ever held for something, Imogen beamed at you.

As much as you appreciated her zest for life, the other patrons in the small cafe were glaring daggers in your direction, apparently not willing to risk hearing loss for a stranger's happiness. Sending them an apologetic glance, you lay your free hand on Imogen's.

“Hun, I love you, but people are staring.” You chuckled, flicking your eyes to the annoyed regulars behind her.

“Alright, alright, I'll try to contain myself,“ Midge rolled her eyes. ”What's his name? Is he cute? Oh gosh, I shouldn't have assumed it was a he–”

Shaking your head, you patted her hand reassuringly. “'He' would presumably be correct. He sort of..helped me out last night.”

“Helped you out how?”

Deciding on an altered version of events, you left out the part about him donning a mask and saving you from certain death. Two birds, one stone in terms of things Midge would worry over.

“I was trying to snap a picture on the roof of Ink 48. He saw me struggling to get in position and..spotted me? I guess? When we touched...god, Midge. You weren't kidding.” Your voice was breathy, your heart pounding as you thought of his beautiful smirk, his warm hands.

“It's..indescribable.” She agreed, her smile softening as she studied your love struck expression. “What's his name?”

Averting your eyes, you felt a haze of lingering doubt settle over you. “See, that's why I've been out of it. We connected, forged a bond or whatever you want to call it, and he ran away. I..didn't get a good look at his face and I have no clue what his name was so I'm kind of at a loss.”

“Oh sweetie,” Midge pouted, dragging her chair closer to wrap an arm around you. “No leads? He wasn't wearing anything with a company emblem or an ID badge?”

“No, and honestly..I don't even know if he'd want me to track him down. I mean, he ran, Midge. Full on beelined outta there like I had the plague. He could be married? Or just not interested?” Your voice trailed off. You were at a loss, that much was clear.

“Or!” Imogen interjected, her voice optimistic as always. “He was surprised and he panicked. I think we both can relate to that.”

You raised a brow at her in disbelief, but Imogen was undeterred. “Babes, it's a big thing, finding your soulmate. Cut the poor guy some slack! He's probably nervous just like you are.”

“It's possible.” You relented. “But I still don't know if I'll ever see him again.”

“You will.” Your all-too-positive companion shrugged, withdrawing her hand from your hold. “You're way too capable and determined not to.”

“You're too sweet to me.” You scoffed, heat fluttering in your cheeks.

“I'm just being honest!” She giggled, tossing back the rest of her coffee. “C'mon.”

“Where are we going?” You laughed, draining your coffee so Midge could toss both cups in a nearby waste basket.

“You're going to show me exactly where you met him and we'll see if there are any cameras or other things we could use to track him down.”

Steps faltering, you blinked in shock before scurrying after your friend who was confidently traipsing out of the store.

Shifting the strained handle into the crook of your elbow, you angled your body so the weight of the large bag bumped against the flesh of your hip, rather than knocking into unsuspecting strangers. One solid kick from a passerby and the carefully stacked contents would topple–either into the street or onto you. Regardless, you’d have a mess on your hands and you’d be out a solid chunk of money. Take out wasn’t cheap these days, dammit.

You just hoped the hefty bill would be worth it.

It had been almost a week since your run-in with your soulmate and you were still mostly at a loss. Despite Imogen's confidence and your combined dedication, you were no closer to knowing his identity. Your failure to find anything definitive at the scene was partially because nothing had been left behind and almost entirely because Midge was still under the impression you were looking for a standard nine-to-fiver.

You weren't quite sure how to come clean, not when she'd spent so much of her free time over the past few days accompanying you to the same street, scouring the crowds for anyone who might look familiar to you. But, until you knew whether he wanted you in his life, you were hesitant to confess the one thing you did know about him.

After the third day of returning home empty-handed, you'd cut your friend loose. Telling her you were going to regroup before trying again. As lovely as Midge was, she was as clueless about the Devil's whereabouts as you were.

The internet, however, was chock full of fanatics and critics overly willing to share the opinions they had about him. In general, the city appreciated his efforts--the local message boards and blogs brimming with praise and gratitude. You couldn't help but feel a gleaming rush of pride with every compliment, appreciating the citizens for recognizing the man's work.

Of course, there were negative threads too. Calling Daredevil a threat and a coward. Screaming at him to give himself up, leave the crime-fighting to law enforcement. At first, you'd engaged with those users too. But, after one argument sparked so much rage you almost shattered your laptop screen in an effort to remove yourself from the fight, you began to ignore anything less than positive. Whether because of your bond or your genuine admiration for your soulmate, the disapproval created a primal urge to protect, to defend. Standing by wasn't an option, so you put blinders on to filter out the objections.

As a whole, however, the online forums were helpful. There were a few sites dedicated to tracking local vigilante news, allowing you to assemble a makeshift map of places the Devil frequented. You'd reached out to a few of the more active users to see if they could help you, but pretty quickly realized that the claim 'daredevil is my soulmate' was probably more common than you'd originally thought. So, for now, your feeble, hand drawn maps would have to do.

Unsurprisingly, Daredevil seemed to have a flexible schedule that mostly revolved around where he was needed. The idea of staging a crime, or intentionally putting yourself in harm's way did occur to you, but you weren't that desperate quite yet. And you doubted that would be well-received. Instead, you categorized locations by number of sightings and planned to work your way down the list.

Tonight, you were starting just before sunset for the roof of a building near the Clinton Community Garden. According to your limited research, the crimson-clad vigilante was often spotted between 47th and 50th street, around the intersections of 9th or 10th. A decent area to start with for sure, given that it was pretty central within Hell's Kitchen, and 10th street was a haven for petty crime.

Two failed attempts to buzz into apartment buildings later, someone finally answered your request over the intercom, unlatching the door for you. Dashing up the stairs two at a time, your stomach was in knots by the time you found a roof access door. Your every breath was measured, laden with doubt in the wake of so many possibilities. Pulse racing, you gulped in the humid evening air, bending at the waist to allow blood flow to your brain.

You'd been so nervous to confront him, you'd neglected your own needs. Dehydration and low blood sugar were only exacerbated by this obnoxious heat. Cringing at the realization, you paced to the edge of the roof, settling into a cross-legged position with your back against the squabby brick perimeter. With the back of your hand, you swiped at the beading sweat along your brow, doing your best to mop it up.

Now for the fun part. Waiting.

Patience was a virtue that didn't always come easily to you. Especially when your anxiety stepped up to the plate. Twiddling your thumbs, anticipating every possible thing that could go wrong only made time pass more slowly. And it wasn't as if there was a deadline you were inching towards.

Not a set one, at least. The food you'd brought wouldn't last forever, though you were hoping the thermal bag would keep it from spoiling too quickly. If it didn't, well, you'd feel pretty foolish for bruising your arm carrying the sizable thing around town.

Lifting the strap from where it was currently digging into your shoulder, you set it carefully on the ground, peeking inside to inspect the contents. Everything looked ok, thankfully. A bit banged up from the journey, but mostly unharmed and definitely just as tasty.

Relaxing into the prickly surface holding you upright, you scanned the skyline, admiring the wash of pinks and oranges slipping between skyscrapers. You hadn't wanted to tote your camera around in addition to all the food, but you were regretting that decision now. Somewhat remorsefully, you pulled a paperback book from an outside pocket on the tote. Imogen would be thrilled you were finally starting it.

The book was better than you'd expected. A historical fiction novel about the Nazi invasion in France–something you knew very little about. It managed to keep your attention for nearly 90 minutes, though you did take brief breaks to stretch and scan the horizon for a familiar figure.

As much as you wanted to stick it out, the food wouldn't last too much longer. Knee-deep in a mental quarrel with yourself about whether to give up for the night, your stomach dropped–yanked by an extreme force as if you were driving over a massive hill. It was intoxicating, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Scrambling to your feet, you teetered on wobbly legs, nearly faceplanting on the concrete. All sense of balance had been ripped from you, as if the flat roof had been replaced with a trampoline, bouncing with every step you took. Before you could regain your bearings, a shadowy figure appeared at the opposite end of the roof.

His chin was angled down, mirrored fists clenched on either side of his broad, menacing stance. In the sliver of remaining sunlight, you could make out his sharp jawline and pink lips–your heart fluttering as they parted.

“You shouldn’t be up here.” He strode toward you, graceful and precise. Far more coordinated than you felt at the moment.

“Please,” You murmured, focus lost in the glow of fading light lining his body, a flexible halo around him. “Please, I-I just want to talk.”

“Are you sure you have time?” Stopping his approach about 10 feet from you, his mouth twitched with a smirk. You were surprised to sense humor in his words. “Seems like you might be late for your dinner plans.”

Chuckling weakly in response, your face flooded with heat. Something about his presence made your brain melt into soup. His confidence and cocky attitude stole the explanation right off your tongue, leaving you to stand there uselessly until he nodded to the rectangular bag lying at your feet.

“Oh, sorry, um,“ Scurrying for the shining handle, you pulled it into your arms, extending it out to him. ”I brought this for you actually.”

In a remote corner of your stomach, a tiny curl of something warm unwound. Surprise, then a much stronger sensation, not unlike fondness or gratitude. A mix of both perhaps?

“For me?” As he whispered, you couldn't help but smile. Those sudden emotions, they were his, not your own. The hesitant acceptance continued into his rasping voice.

“If you will accept it, then yes. As a thank you. For saving me and, well, for everyone else you’ve saved.” You answered, taking a step in his direction.

Hands shooting up, blocking an incoming hit you hadn't thrown, his guard slid back into place. With each inch you moved forward, he withdrew, like there was an invisible barrier forcing the two of you apart.

“I don't do this for handouts.” He growled, shoulders squaring off. You'd spooked him somehow.

“I never said you did.” You shrugged, sending him a soft smile. Retreating towards your end of the roof, you drew the bag towards your chest. “I just wanted to thank you, and to ask you a few questions. I figured they would be easier to swallow if I had something for you in return.”

Tilting his head at you, Daredevil flexed his fingers, no doubt fighting the urge to lock them into fists. His tongue dipped between his lips, sliding over the lower as he pondered. “What sort of questions?”

A bubble of pride rolled up your throat at the idea you'd gotten this feral cat of a man to trust you, even marginally. “About the other night. Nothing about your identity or anything, and if they seem too invasive you don't have to answer them at all. I'll respect whatever boundaries you need to set, but I would have regretted never asking. Does that make sense?”

The stubby horns on his helmet arced in semi-circles as he nodded. “I think so.”

“I just...did you feel it?” Grimacing as the question slipped out, you tried to clarify. “I mean, that's a horrible way to ask that but, er, when you..caught me, I think something–”

“Yes.” He interrupted you, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

Another coarse nod. “Yes. I felt it.”

“Oh my god,” You'd expected this answer, but you were still dumbfounded. “I thought maybe I was just crazy.”

“You're not crazy.” He huffed, a glimpse of his teeth shining in the city light as he smirked.

“So, that means we're...” You trailed off, not wanting to scare him away with the word.

The Devil stilled, his jaw quivering as his teeth grit together. The fragile peace you’d somehow achieved began to crack.

“It's ok!” You hurriedly reassured him. “I don't, I'm not–”

Tripping over your words, you held up a hand. After a deep breath, you tried again. “It's up to you what we mean to each other. I didn't come here to nag you, or demand things from you.”

“You didn't?” The question was posed as a statement. He didn't believe you.

“Not at all. That wouldn't be fair. To you or..well, to the other people in your life. I just wanted to know if it was real and to show my appreciation for the other night.” Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watched as his posture slumped slightly.

“You didn't,” He sighed, crossing his arms. Holy shit was he hiding saplings under there? “You didn't have to do that.”

Swallowing harshly as you collected your thoughts, you giggled nervously. “I know, but I wanted to. Can't be easy to eat while flipping around the city.”

Another puff of breath, a hint of laughter. “What exactly is my reward?”

Chewing at the flesh of your lip, you fumbled for the zipper. “Well, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I brought a few options. They're sort of all over the map.”

Laying out the thin cotton blanket you'd packed, you withdrew a myriad of plastic containers and lined them up, describing each as you went. “Gnocchi and bolognese from Il Tinello, very hearty and comforting. If you want something a bit different, an Alice sandwich from that shop 'Toasties'? And, if you don't eat animal products, seitan satay from Plant-Blossom.”

“You weren't kidding.” The Devil remarked, creeping towards the edge of the blanket. “You ventured all over the city for this. You didn't–”

“Please don't feel bad!” You rushed out, stomach sinking at the guilty little pout on his face. “I was looking for something to do. Besides, you deserve a decent meal for sticking around to hear me out.”

“As much as I appreciate it, it's more food than I can eat.” The man protested, crouching beside the edge of the blanket, not quite crossing the boundary yet.

“I'll have some of whatever you don't want. And, if we still can't finish it, well I'm sure there's someone around here who will take it.” You reasoned, settling atop your folded legs. Despite your nerves, you kept your voice steady and your stature unassuming, not wanting to activate the man’s “scary Devil mode” again.

“Thank you.” Kneeling on the concrete, the vigilante cocked his head at the lineup of options, fingers dancing over his thighs hesitantly. His gravelly voice diffused into a murmur, showering you like a spray of glass beads. Cool and solid, steady as rain.

You nibbled at the inside of your lip, smiling softly as the treacherous defender of the city flushed pink in the pale golden hue of the sun. Despite his harsh exterior and skeptical nature, you were swooning at the glimpse of the man behind the mask. He was passionate and humble, truthfully taken aback by your gratitude. “I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be thanking you. So, are you hungry?”

Lips splitting with a beautifully subtle grin, the Devil nodded. “Always.”

Satisfaction tugged at your heart, making you crinkle your nose as you held back a proud smile. “Help yourself!”

You hadn't been lying to him, the array of options was for his benefit; it wasn't much of a repayment if he didn't enjoy the food. As his hand reached for the first take out container, you realized there was something in it for you as well. In addition to him answering your brief question, and spending more than a moment nearby, you'd end up learning about him.

Something as simple as choice of meal wasn't overly revealing, but it confirmed some suspicions you had about your other half. He wasn't adventurous for the hell of it, his decisions–though seemingly rash–were purposeful and thought out. You understood the enticing pull, the desire to stick to your routine or things you already knew.

Bruised fingers popped the seal on the gnocchi, cradling the warm plastic tub with a fond glance in your direction. “Did you happen to bring silverware?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment swatting at you as you scrambled for the utensils in your bag. “Oh gosh, yes, I am so sorry–”

“Don't apologize.” A comforting weight settled over the back of your hand, the rough pad of a thumb brushing over your knuckles. Tearing your eyes away from the packets in your grip, your mouth hung open in surprise as Daredevil tenderly swiped his finger over your skin. You froze in place, scared that the smallest twitch would ruin the moment.

Face slackening with realization, the man dropped your hand, sliding a set of plastic silverware out of your loose grip. “This will work. Thank you.”

Shoulders hunching, he pointed his body away from you, still kneeling rather than fully relaxing into a seated position. Busying yourself with your own plate of food, you tried to shove down the disappointment that gnawed at you, your fragile consciousness unable to stave off the feeling of rejection as he turned to face the city.

“Has it been busy tonight? The crime fighting, I mean?” You posed the question, hoping to bridge the literal and metaphorical gap once again widening between the pair of you.

The man opposite you hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before he spoke. “Not too bad.”

“That's good. Hopefully you'll be able to get some rest, then. If you need rest, that is. I mean, if you don't have a day job that would make it easier but how could you afford to live in this city? I guess you could probably bounce around and evade capture, but that sounds exhausting. How do you–” Cutting yourself off, you clamped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I am so sorry. I really didn't mean to ask about that, I'm just nervous which tends to make me ramble.“

Scratching at the back of his neck, Daredevil curled further in on himself. “I, uh, I guess I can't blame you for being nervous.”

“Oh, it's not your fault.” You promised, shaking your head violently. “I'm sort of like this with everyone. Lack of experience, I guess.”

Studying you for a moment, his lips briefly flickering with a smile. “I understand that. People are complicated.”

“Understatement of the century.” You huffed, a familiar blossom of warmth pooling in your chest when he echoed the chuckle.

Sitting in cozy silence, you ate quickly, stealing peeks at the muscular man every so often to gauge his discomfort. As much as you wanted to believe you were making progress, the rational side of your brain recognized the finite nature of this exchange. It was likely that he didn't intend to do this again. This was a favor extended to you for your appreciation.

As darkness descended on the skyline, cloaking the stark angles in shadows, a tightly wound knot of sorrow clogging your throat as you tried to finish your sandwich. Choking down the last bite, you lifted the final plate.

“Don't suppose you'd want any of this for the road?” Ignoring the tremble in your words, you began folding the blanket, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure,” He gently accepted, prying the container from your grasp and taking extra care not to make contact with your skin. “Thank you, again.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” You croaked around the lump in your throat, coughing to clear it. “Just, be safe out there.”

Giving you a sad smile, the masked man nodded firmly. “I’ll try my best.”

Swaying awkwardly as you stood, shouldering your bag on the way up, your mind raced through its entire vocabulary in an attempt to find the words for a proper goodbye. You’d interacted with this man for less than an hour, yet he meant the world to you–but telling him that would be weird, wouldn’t it? You really needed a manual for these things. A roadmap to help you tread lightly, avoid landmines. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure the whole “my soulmate is a vigilante” thing wasn’t common enough to warrant an expert.

“I, um, I’m going to head home before it’s super late. But, here–” Rushing through the excuse as quickly as you could, you held out a tiny rectangle of cardstock, holding your breath while he slipped it from your outstretched fingers. “My phone number is on there if you, er, if you ever need it.”

Chin dipping towards his chest, he cocked his head, studying the scrap of paper. “I appreciate it. Be safe getting home.”

“I will.” You vowed, blinking back the building sheen across your vision. “Take care of yourself.”

Before you could stumble and say something he didn’t want to hear, you made your exit.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04

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souliebird · 27 days ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 31]]

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

Summary:

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.8k

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As the clock ticks over from morning to midday, the city is ravaged by the first storm of the season. Howling winds force the sheets of rain to fall near horizontally while lightning streaks across the sky over the bay. Run off threatens to flood the subways and sewers and power has begun to flicker in certain neighborhoods. The news is advising everyone to stay indoors, and it seems that for once the people of New York are listening.

But the weather is none of your concern as you drag your nails over Matt’s scalp. From your spot on the couch, you watch with satisfaction as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and you have a distinct feeling he is holding back an absolutely filthy moan. You’ve begun to learn just exactly what he likes, so to get out the noise you desire, you guide your fingers towards his temples, then rake your claws through the dark hair there.

The reaction is instantaneous. He presses back into the couch, pushing his head against you more as a low pleased noise escapes his lips.

“Daddy, don’t move!” Mouse chastises from where she sits on the floor in front of him. One of his large hands is laid across her lap and your little one has been oh so carefully turning his nails a lovely shade of ballerina pink.

“I’m sorry, angel,” the man melting into your touch mumbles, “Mommy’s hands just feel really good.”

To emphasize his point, you begin to flex your fingers, gently scratching Matt’s head and treating him like an overgrown cat. As he leans more into your hands, you flash a mischievous grin to your daughter, sending her into a fit of giggles.

Deciding you have had your fill of physical teasing for the moment, you dance your fingers to the back of Matt’s skull before flattening them so you can smooth down his neck and across his shoulders. You hunch forward for better access, then push your hands down his bare chest, stopping when you’ve reached his pecs. You’ve angled it so you are loosely draped around him, with your lips beside his ear.

“How about I make us a snack while you finish up with Daddy?” You ask Minnie, who eagerly nods in response.

“Apples, please! Thank you!”

“Okay, I’ll cut up some apples.”

As one last little flirt, you dig your nails into Matt’s chest before you begin to pull away. As if not to be outdone by your playfulness, he turns his head and quickly plants two kisses on your cheek.

Minnie lets out an absolute squeal of delight while you feel your entire being heat up with slight embarrassment and anxiety. While you’ve been nervous about possibly confusing her with public displays of affection, Matt has had no qualms about it, and you are starting to think he is on the right track. Mouse has been positively thrilled about your developing relationship and seems to be the biggest cheerleader for it.

You are terrified for her for when it inevitably comes to an end, but you tell yourself it won’t affect her relationship with Matt. You are determined to see to it that no matter what happens between you and Matt physically, it will not be detrimental to your daughter.

As you move away from the couch and head to the kitchen, you tell yourself it is okay that she sees her Mommy and Daddy kissing. It is a normal thing for a child to experience and it isn’t like you are being lewd or inappropriate around her. Light teasing is perfectly acceptable, and you have been teasing Matt, after all.

Still, your heart pounds in your chest as Minnie returns to playing manicurist.

“You gots to keep your hands super extra still, or I’ms gonna get pink all over them.”

“I’ll keep them super extra still,” Matt promises and you have a feeling he is going to be true to his word. You know that with all of his training and abilities, he can probably keep his hand from moving even a micrometer and he is not one to disappoint his little girl.

You pluck two apples from your fruit bowl and bring them to the sink to wash. You have become much more thorough in your rinsing, now overly hyper aware of things like pesticides and wax. You might not taste such things, but the two other members of your small family can and it is your responsibility to make sure everything is as clean as can be. You have a new special produce brush, and you scrub at the apples until they practically sparkle, enjoying the sounds of Mouse and Matt bonding as you do.

“This finger has more ouchies,” you hear Minnie advise. “It’s gonna need…gonna need three more kissies to make it better. Ands a shot!”

“And a shot?” Matt asks and you peek over your shoulder to see your daughter nodding in response.

You don’t fight the smile that comes to your lips and turn back to your task.

You are pretty sure Matt’s knuckles are permanently scraped up from his nights out as a vigilante. His hands are covered in dozens of small, barely noticeable scars.

Unfortunately, many of his other injuries aren’t as easily overlooked. There is currently a large bruise poking out from the top of his pajama pants along his hip and the moment it was seen, Doctor Minnie jumped into action. While she didn’t question where it came from, she did prescribe kisses and bandages to remedy it, and once a pink band-aid was placed on it, Matt let her know he was all healed. You could tell he had felt extremely guilty that she had witnessed the byproduct of his late nights out and you have the feeling he is going to be even more cautious about letting people leave marks on him.

But if that is what keeps him safe, you are more than happy to let your daughter unknowingly guilt trip him.

You take your time in slicing up the apples. The nail polish you purchased is quick drying, but it does need a minute or so to work and Minnie isn’t the fastest at applying it. You watch as she practically doubles over Matt’s left hand as she works, and you can see her little tongue stuck out in concentration. To her credit, she’s only gotten a few smudges on his skin, and they will be easy enough to peel off when dry.

You guess he must sense you watching him, because Matt flashes you a nice big smile. “No pictures to share with Foggy this time?” he asks, the joke clear in his voice.

“I don’t want him getting jealous and coming over to crash our spa day,” you reply with your own smile. “Unless that is what you want?”

Minnie’s head shoots up and her lips turn down into a little scowl. “No Froggy! I don’ts have green! I gots to get green for Froggy’s!”

You do in fact own green nail polish, but you are not going to correct her over this. Instead, you get curious about her color associations.

“What about Auntie Karen? What color would you do her nails?”

Minnie screws up her face in thought before declaring, “Orange! Auntie Karen and Mister Frank are orange and Max is blue! Like his collar! He’s gotta match and be pretty!”

“And Mommy and Daddy are pink?” Matt confirms, holding up the hand that is already done being painted and wiggling his fingers.

“Yeah!” Mouse practically shouts. “‘Cause it’s my favoritest and yous are my favoritest peoples. But I gets sparkles ‘cause they are pretty.”

“Can I get sparkles next time?” the wonderful man that is her father asks and by the way Minnie’s face lights up, you already know the answer.

“We can match!” Then, with the quickness only a toddler can achieve, snatches up the hand she was working on and hunches back over it. “But you are pinks today! So, you can match Mommy!”

You feel warm and pleased at her words. It is hard to feel anxious when she is so excited about you and Matt being a pair.

You admire your own nails as you fetch a plate to put the apple slices on. You had done yours and Minnie’s last night in preparation for your spa day, and while they are simple, the pale pink your daughter picked out is truly a flattering color.

You return to the living room with a plate of snacks and set them on the coffee table before sitting on the ground beside Matt. You watch as Minnie finishes up lacquering his pinky, giving a small applause when she finishes.

“You did such a good job, Mouse.”

“Thank you very much!” She replies, beaming up at you. She thrusts the polish brush and bottle at you, and you close it up tight while Matt holds up his hands and spreads out his fingers.

“I feel so fancy. Thank you, princess.”

“You’re welcomes, Daddy!” Mouse replies before whirling around and grabbing an apple slice to shove into her mouth.

You shake your head fondly at her antics before reaching for your own snack. As you do, Matt playfully bumps his shoulder into yours and holds his hand out in front of you, palm down. Thinking he is asking for a piece of apple, you take one and offer it out.

To your surprise, he shakes his head.

“I think the good doctor prescribed me three kissies for my fingers. Do you mind fulfilling that order?”

Once again, you feel your body heat up, but instead of the expected embarrassment, it is a pleasant, warm feeling. You bite your lip, then, delicately and very much shyly take his hand in your free one. You guide it up to your mouth, then, counting out loud as you do, place one, two, and three soft kisses to his knuckles.

The smile Matt gives you is brighter than you’ve ever seen it.

Your heart clenches in your chest and your throat gets tight - not from anxiety but from him literally taking your breath away. For the briefest of moments, all you can see is him and his beautiful happiness. His emotions reach out and wrap around your soul and without even realizing it, you are returning his smile.

Not wanting to break the moment with something stupid, you slowly turn his hand, so it is palm up and place the apple slice into it.

“This should help, too,” you breathe out, unable to take your gaze off of his face. “An apple a day and all that.”

His expression softens and he gives the smallest of nods as he replies just as quietly, “Thank you, darling.”

A giddiness you are not used to runs down your spine and you finally force yourself to avert your gaze. To keep yourself from blurting something out, you mimic your daughter and bite into your apple slice.

Ever not aware of the emotions swirling in the air, your daughter stands up, another apple slice in her hand, and declares, “We’s should do face masks now!”

Grateful for her suggestion of a distraction, you quickly agree, “Face masks sound perfect. Do you want to do the sheet masks or the clay one?”

Minnie toddles around to the other side of the coffee table, where all your spa day supplies are laid out. You have a caddy of nail polish, a caddy of hair supplies, and a caddy of different facial treatments. This is not Mouse’s first rodeo with self-pamper days and she expertly starts going through the different types of masks available. She pulls them out one by one, examining the packaging carefully before discarding the non-acceptable ones.

You chew your snack silently while you watch her sort through them, curious which she will choose for each of you. The first one to be set aside is a sheet mask that has a tiger face printed on it, then there is a Hello Kitty one, and finally a panda. She pats her pile triumphantly before putting the ones not deemed worthy back into the caddy one at a time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done a face mask,” Matt comments as he finishes a second apple slice. “What do they do?”

“They moisturize your skin,” you say just as Minnie chimes, “They make you softs!”

He laughs, and ever the good sport, agrees to let you put one on him.

Minnie, of course, wants to be Hello Kitty, and you get assigned to be a panda, leaving Matt as the tiger. As you explain to Matt the procedure and what exactly you are going to be doing to his face, Mouse grabs the television remote and brings up one of her cartoons. She knows the mask should stay on the length of one episode, but first she must choose what is acceptable for a relaxing time.

As she makes her hard choice, you help Matt apply his mask. You guide him to tilt his head back, then gentle as you can, lay it out.

“It doesn’t smell nearly as bad as I thought it would,” he hums as you begin to smooth it out.

You don’t respond, instead focusing on making sure there are no wrinkles and that the mask is touching as much skin as possible. Under your fingers, his eyes flutter close and you hope he is finding the day as relaxing as it is meant to be.

In front of you, Mouse has selected the short she wants to watch and has turned her attention to her mask. She clearly needs no help as she rips it open and begins to unfold it. She is far less gentle with it than you are and practically smacks it onto her face. It is too big for her, but she doesn’t care, and as soon as it is partially where it needs to be, she flops down on her back, arms and legs spread out.

“Ahhhh,” she sighs out, content as can be. You have no doubts she is enjoying her day of pampering.

You are as quick as your little one to get your mask on, but much more precise. Once it is patted down, you sit back down beside Matt, a hair’s breadth away from his shoulder, and close your eyes.

The coolness of the mask is something you do find relaxing. In a strange way, it helps to center you and block out all the external stressors in your life. Sitting against the couch, you feel like you are in your own little world.

At least, until Matt’s hand finds yours and he laces your fingers together.

Once again, he has your breath catching in your chest.

Karen’s voice sings out in your head before your anxiety has a chance to process things and your free hand shoots up to wrap around the gem hanging from your neck - the one you have yet to take off since it was put on.

She called it a confession. She said he glowed when he spoke about you.

Was it similar to the glow he had when you kissed his fingers? Or the one you felt when you fell into his arms in your kitchen?

Does he get breathless over you? Does his heartbeat wildly enough to make him dizzy?

You can’t see how you could possibly cause those types of reactions in him - you aren’t anything special. You know you are No One and the only person in the whole universe who would choose you still has trouble putting on her own shoes.

But, if you make Matt happy, in any way, isn’t that a good thing?

Isn’t that what you want? To make someone happy?

If him holding your hand and kissing your cheek makes him light up like it does, why should you deny him of it? Afterall, you like it, too, even if it confuses you.

You know that eventually it will all come to an end, but you don’t want it to be because you keep being so skittish about his affections. You fear you will inevitably hurt him if you keep acting the way you do because you know the one thing Matt wants more than anything is to be a Family.

If anyone is going to be hurt by this relationship, it is going to be you and you will not have it any other way.

You give the ruby one last squeeze as you make up your mind. As you let your hand drop down into your lap, you scoot that millimeter closer to Matt and slide down a bit so you can rest your head on his shoulder. It is a little awkward, but it isn’t the worst thing in the world - especially when he squeezes your hand tight and drops a kiss to the top of your head. Moisturizer gets in your hair, but that is perfectly fine.

You stay tucked against him as the cartoon plays out on the television. You half listen to it and half focus on Matt’s thumb rubbing over your knuckles.

As soon as the credits begin to roll, Minnie is bouncing up and ripping off her mask.

“So refreshing!” she cooes, rubbing her hands along her cheeks.

“It is,” Matt replies, letting go of your hand to remove the sheet from his face and you do the same with your own. “I wouldn’t say no to doing that again.”

You take up the trash from the face masks and go to toss them as your daughter decides the next course of action. She is back at the caddies, going through the hair supplies, looking for who knows what. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Matt push himself up, so he is sitting on the couch.

“What if we give Mommy a massage?” he asks and before you can even process what is being said, Mouse is cheering and agreeing.

“Mommy! Come sits so we can massages you! I can do your feets!”

You stare dumbly at them for a few seconds, letting the suggestion wash over you, before you cautiously make your way back to Matt and sit on the floor between his legs. Mouse instantly plops right in front of you and demands that you put a foot in her lap, so you do as you are told.

As she pulls off your socks and begins to tug at your toes, Matt’s hands smooth over your shoulders. It is different from the massage you gave him all those nights ago - he clearly knows what he is doing. He finds a knot right away and with a few circles of his thumb it is melting away. You quickly become putty under his hands.

Your little one is just as determined as Matt is to make you relax, though she doesn’t know the techniques. She rubs her little fist over the arch of your foot as hard as she can, and it actually feels really good.

You could very much get used to this treatment.

You lose track of time as they work you over, though you are sure it must only be a few minutes. Minnie makes you trade out your feet while Matt moves to your neck, and he teases the base of your skull with his nails, making you smile.

You can understand why he enjoys it so much.

Then suddenly, Matt’s hands freeze, and you feel him still behind you.

Before you can ask what is wrong, he is telling you the answer, “Someone just taped something to your door. They are putting it on all the doors in the building.”

You figure it is your landlord doing some sort of maintenance announcement, but curiosity gets the better of you and you get up to go see what it could possibly be. Minnie is at your heel as you go.

“I can help you read it! I’m learning big words now!”

“You are learning your big words,” you praise. “Soon you’ll be reading to me and Daddy. Have you been practicing your Braille?”

Her curls bounce as she nods vigorously. “I knows the whole alphabet!”

You don’t think that is quite true, but you like her confidence. She has certainly been very keen to learn math and reading since meeting Spider-man. You are pretty sure she’s going to fly past the expected milestones for a four-year-old soon enough.

You are cautious as you open the front door and sure enough, a notice is posted there. You snatch it up, then quickly close and lock the door, leaning against it as you read. At your side, Mouse reaches up for the paper, wanting her turn with it, but you ignore her for the moment.

You feel the color drain from your face, and you read the words out loud so both Matt and Minnie know what is happening, “‘Starting Sunday at eight am, the water in the building will be shut off as we repair the pipes connecting to the city’s water supply. We expect the repairs to be finished by Friday and for the water to be turned back on by Saturday morning. We are sorry for the inconvenience.’” You crumple the paper in your hand and groan, “No water for a week?”

“We can’ts drink water for a whole week?” Minnie exclaims from your knee, sounding put out as you feel. She yanks the notice from your hand and runs right to her Daddy to show it to him. “We’ll die! We needs water! Mommy loves water!”

Matt is prepared for his daughter’s onslaught and scoops her up, so she is on his hip. He takes the paper from her as he makes his way back to you and holds it out to return it. You take it with a sigh. “You won’t die, sweetpea. And Mommy isn’t going to not have water. You can come stay with me for the week. It will be like a long sleep over.”

“I love sleep overs!” Mouse says, despite never having spent the night away from the apartment.

You know better than to try to argue with Matt on the subject and the fact is you can’t. You don’t have the funds to rent a hotel room for the week and if Matt was not here to offer his place, you would pretty much be screwed. You would have probably ended up staying and dragging Minnie down to the bodega everytime she needed to pee and using bottled water to give her a bath.

But that doesn’t mean the monster in your chest is happy about it. It is already crawling up your spine and undoing all of Matt’s work in making you relax and there is nothing you can do to fight it. All you can tell yourself is everything will be okay and as always you are panicking over nothing.

You push yourself off the door and go to Matt and Mouse. You squeeze her little arm while you lean in and place a sweet kiss to Matt’s cheek, determined to let him have his Family.

“I’ll go start packing our bags.”

---

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

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

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

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

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

#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you #daredevil #matt murdock x you

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