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leahthesith · 3 days ago

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♡ CHAPTER THREE ♡

“The Offer” (Matt POV – 24 Days Until the Wedding)

"How does someone like her—gentle, good, steady—come from a man like that?"

Summary: Matt returns to the shelter to check on the girl he saved, telling himself it’s only that, not because of the gentle woman who runs the place. However, when a quiet comment from a volunteer reveals who she really is, everything shifts. Conflicted and reeling, Matt leaves with more questions than answers. But he doesn’t have time to spiral—because apparently her father has requested a surprise meeting. What Matt expects to be a favor quickly turns into a proposition—a deal. One he never wanted. One he can’t walk away from. And as the rain falls harder outside, Matt realizes: He’s already falling, too.

♡Trigger/Content Warnings♡:

~ Emotional manipulation

~ Power imbalance themes

~ Subtle coercion

~ Canon-typical angst and Catholic guilt

~ Discussion of morally questionable family dynamics

~ Dramatic emotional shifts (heartbreak/longing)

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Want to read on ao3? Available there too! https://archiveofourown.org/works/64668514

Matt surprised himself by staying longer at the shelter last night, but he tries to reason that it was only because it took a while for the rain and storm to calm down.

It definitely wasn't because he noticed she seemed to fear storms and wanted to ensure she was okay before he left.

At least he kept telling himself it wasn't.

It's definitely not because he caught himself thinking about how her voice could make even the worst storms fade into something soft, something safe. Absolutely not. He tries not to recall the gentle way her fingers and soft skin moved over his knuckles, or how her voice softened like she was afraid of waking something fragile and sacred inside him.

For one fleeting second, he allows himself the truth—that he liked how gentle she was, how careful, how kind. But he quickly buries that truth beneath layers of stubborn denial.

The next morning, he rolls out of bed and quickly dresses in one of his nicer suits—the one that fits him better than all the rest.

He tells himself that’s all it is—just to look nice. Not to impress her. Absolutely not.

He finished with his morning routine of getting ready, making sure to grab his glasses and new cane before heading out the door. The morning air still smelled faintly like last night’s rain—thick, damp, the city not quite rinsed clean, but it's New York, so it never fully is.

He made his way from his apartment to the shelter quickly, walking there quicker than he would like to admit. Once he found himself at the front door, he thought to himself, "It’s stupid to care this much. He’s just here to check in. That’s it," he paused to take a deep breath, before knocking, waiting in the most patient but impatient way he had ever. He expected to see her open the door and tried not to be disappointed when he could sense that it wasn't before the door slowly opened. He politely greets the older woman who answered the door.

"Hi, I'm Matt. I helped a girl find her way here after an incident in an alleyway last night. I just wanted to check in on her and make sure she was okay, if that's alright?"

The older woman smiled and gently nodded her head before realizing what she was doing and quickly answered verbally.

"Oh, uh, sorry, of course, right this way!"

Matt laughs a little and replies, "Thank you, you were nodding your head, weren't you?"

Matt senses the woman smiling sheepishly as she replies, "Yes, I'm sorry about that."

He shakes his head and laughs a little again as he gestures to signal that it wasn't a big deal, as he says, "It's fine, happens way more than you'd think it does."

The older woman guides him to the front desk, where she takes her seat behind it. She continues chatting with Matt. She offers politely, "Now, the only girl who came in last night was Elena. Was that who you helped?"

Matt frowns slightly as he explains in his usual polite tone, "She never told me her name. She was too afraid at the time, which I can't blame her for at all. It was later at night, and if she were the only one, then I'd assume it was her. How is she doing? She was pretty shaken up when I brought her here."

The woman nods, her smile faltering briefly before it brightens again and she replies happily, "Oh, she’s safe and warm now. Poor thing was trembling like a leaf, but the woman in charge? She’s got a real gift. Calmed her right down, like she’d done it a hundred times before.”

Matt’s jaw tightens, but he gives a small nod. He knows exactly what that voice sounds like when it’s soothing.

“Between the two of you, that girl landed exactly where she needed.”

He doesn’t reply. He can’t. Not yet.

The reminder that she truly is real just makes him freeze for a moment.

Before he can remember that he's in the middle of a conversation and reply to the woman, he hears Elena's voice. It sounds much more calm and relaxed, he almost doesn't realize it's her, she spots Matt as she comes through and rushes over to speak with him warmly.

"Hey! It's you! Thank you again, genuinely, you're a hero and truly saved me last night. If there's anything I can ever do for you, please let me know."

Matt nods politely, he doesn't like being called a hero or even being thanked for what he does sometimes; he does it because he feels like he has to. Sometimes it's a necessary reminder that God gave him a gift, not a curse, to hear and sense everything around him. He replies politely.

"It's no problem, Elena, I'm glad I was there to help and that you're feeling better."

Elena nods happily and gives Matt a warm smile before she runs off to resume what she was in the middle of before.

Matt lets out a quiet breath. He hadn’t realized how tightly his chest had been wound until she left.

The woman at the front desk watches Elena go, then turns back to Matt with a soft smile.

“She’s lucky you found her. And luckily, our director was still here last night—stayed way later than usual. Though, honestly? That is usual for her.”

Matt nods once, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“She’s got a good heart,” the woman adds warmly. “Didn’t get that from her father, that’s for sure.”

Matt’s head tilts slightly. “…What do you mean?”

The woman chuckles as she turns back to her desk, completely unaware of the weight she’s about to drop. She casually mentions the name—and suddenly, it all clicks for Matt.

“Let’s just say her family made their money in… less-than-wholesome ways. But he’s one of our biggest donors, and as long as the checks keep clearing, we don’t ask too many questions. I don’t think she’s ever believed any of the bad things said about him either. She’s too good, honestly.”

She doesn’t notice how Matt stills.

But he does.

Every muscle in his body goes taut.

Because he knows exactly who she’s talking about now.

And it hits harder than it should.

How could someone like her—gentle, kind—be connected to a man so ruthless?

Before he can say anything, his chest tightens again.

He hears her voice—light, sweet—carrying down the hall.

“Elena? I found the hairbrush and hair ties if you’re ready for me to braid yo—”

She rounds the corner and freezes.

Then, after just a moment, she brightens.

“Matt! Hi, I didn’t know you were here. How are you? How’s your morning been?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Her voice is still soft—familiar. Kind. Like last night never ended.

But something inside him has already shifted.

He forces a small smile. Not cold—just... distant. Measured.

“Just stopping by. Wanted to check on the girl from last night.”

He hears the slight stumble in her breath—confusion, maybe. Disappointment.

“Of course,” she says, her voice still gentle but a little quieter now, her excitement obviously dimming slowly. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“She seems like she’ll be alright,” he replies, nodding once.

The words are polite. Careful. But not quite warm.

And not once does he say her name.

She tries to joke again—light, playful. Like she did last night when he was quiet like this. Trying to pull him back toward her with a smile.

“Yeah, I think this’ll be a good place for her to stay for a while,” she says, then adds with a soft laugh, “Well... I’d offer to braid your hair too, but I don’t think it’s quite the right length.”

Matt lets out a dry chuckle. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Unfortunately.” He clears his throat, then shifts his weight. “Well, I just came to check in. Glad she’s okay.”

A pause. Then, flatly: “I should get to work.”

Her smile falters, and yep, there goes her excited tone. “Oh... okay.”

“Bye.”

He turns and leaves before she can say anything else.

He doesn’t need help finding the door.

His cane taps against the floor with practiced ease—just loud enough to cut through the air like punctuation. The tapping sound echoing from the speedy end of their conversation

And then he’s gone.

Once he's left the building and is a little further down the sidewalk, he finally breathes. In and out. Again.

“Why do I have the worst luck?” he mutters to himself.

Before he can spiral any further, his phone blares to life.

“FOGGY, FOGGY, FOGGY.”

Matt flinches slightly at the volume. He fishes it out of his pocket and answers.

“Hey, Fog.”

“Matt, finally,” Foggy says, out of breath. “I was about to come and track you down from wherever you stumbled off to myself—listen, I just had a call with someone who really wants to meet with you. Said it was business, but he sounded like the kind of guy who works for a guy who owns a yacht and a PR firm.”

A pause.

“Said it’s urgent.”

Matt sighs before he relents quickly, like he usually always does for Foggy, "Send me the address and I'll head there now if it's apparently so urgent."

Foggy doesn’t ask why Matt sounds off.

Matt doesn’t offer it.

He ends the call with a clipped, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

And keeps walking toward whatever this is— Already knowing it’s not going to be good.

As soon as Foggy texts the address, Matt flags down a cab with one quick wave and slides into the backseat, rain dripping from his coat as he slams the door shut behind him.

The city outside is still soaked—pavement gleaming under streetlights, headlights fractured into streaks across puddles. The rain has still been off and on, between just a little drizzle and a full downpour from the Heavens. The windshield wipers keep time with his pulse, uneven and sharp.

He gives the address to the driver, then sits in silence, hands folded tight on his lap.

The longer the cab moves, the more space he has to spiral.

He still can’t wrap his head around it. Her.

That man’s daughter.

He’s only met the guy a handful of times—always when something shady was brewing beneath the surface of his business. Always demanding. Cold. Entitled in that way people get when they believe money and power make them untouchable.

Never said thank you. Never paid the full fee. Always left Matt with a bitter taste in his mouth.

But that’s not what’s bothering him right now. It's never about the money for him anyway.

What haunts him is the memory of her hands—gentle, warm, careful—wrapping his own the night before. Her voice, soft like a prayer he wasn’t sure he deserved to hear.

What haunts him is the impossible contradiction:

How does someone like her—gentle, good, steady—come from a man like that?

The cab lurches slightly as it hits a pothole. Matt barely moves. He’s too busy grinding his teeth behind tight lips, his jaw locked with something more than tension.

There’s a faint hum of jazz coming from the car’s radio. It sounds warped—like the oncoming storm outside is trying to drown it.

Even with the new distance he's trying to put between him and her, as the cab slows down, he finds himself wondering if she's okay when he hears a distant rumble of thunder.

The cab finally pulls up outside the building.

Matt exhales once, slow and hard, before reaching for the door handle.

He doesn’t know what’s waiting inside.

But he already knows it’s going to change everything.

After Matt made his way inside, he was immediately guided to the elevator with an assistant who pressed the button for the highest floor. "What is he getting himself into now?" He wondered, someone with such high status shouldn't need anything from him, or so he thought.

A few of the pieces fall into place when the elevator opens, and he's greeted by none other than her father.

"Matthew, it's good to see you, please come and sit. We have some important matters to discuss."

Matt moves forward, quickly finding one of the open chairs in front of his desk as he replies politely, "Uh-huh, good to see you too, sir. What can I do for you? I was surprised you requested to meet with me here instead of coming to the firm."

Her father gives a nod, rising slowly from his chair behind the sleek desk. “I appreciate you coming, Matthew.”

Matt remains standing until gestured to sit. He finds the edge of the chair easily and folds his hands over his knee. His cane rests against the side of the armrest, much like a silent shield.

“I’ll get to the point,” the man begins, voice smooth. “Your firm’s had its ups and downs. Scrappy. Underdog charm. Good heart. Always try your best for your little neighborhood. You’ve done...a lot for people who can’t always pay you back.”

Matt says nothing. He’s used to men like this admiring that kind of thing...right before they figure out how to exploit it.

“You’ve also done good work for me. Helping clean up some of my... less flattering messes. You and your partner are very committed. Passionate. But passion doesn’t pay rent, does it?”

“We don’t do this for the press or even the money.”

“Ah, that's what I thought. Well, my daughter. The sweet girl she is...she has a similar bleeding heart. Runs that little shelter like it’s her mission from God, even when she claims to be non-religious. She's told me multiple times that she feels like she was meant to run that place.”

Something inside Matt twitches.

“She’s a good girl,” her father continues, circling slowly behind his desk. “Loyal. Soft. Too soft, sometimes. Which is why she needs someone beside her who understands how to handle the world when it’s not so forgiving. And you know this, yes? You met her last night when you dropped off the girl you helped.”

Matt tilts his head slightly. “I...yes, I did...but what exactly are you asking?”

There’s a pause. The kind of silence that feels planned.

“I want to propose an arrangement. You marry her. We make it public. The press sees a man of the people standing beside a woman who uplifts the vulnerable. You get a boost in attention, exactly what your firm needs. And you can also consider it part of what I owe you in legal fees, I get a...refinement of image. Everybody wins.”

Matt doesn’t move. But the tension ratchets up like a trigger being pulled.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m many things, Mr. Murdock. Funny isn’t one of them.”

Matt's fingers curl just slightly as her father continues.

“You marry her, and suddenly the headlines aren’t about tax evasion or shell companies. They’re about a reformed empire. A philanthropic legacy. And your firm? Becomes the most sought-after name in New York.”

“And what does she get?” he asks carefully.

Her father smiles faintly. “Security. Protection. Someone who won’t use her. Someone who’ll keep the place she loves most running, without interruption.”

Matt’s pulse spikes—but his face still doesn’t move.

He hears it. The implication behind those words.

“She wouldn’t be the type to ask for help; she likely won't ever ask you for much,” her father adds, pouring himself a glass of something neat, but doesn't bother to offer Matt anything, despite the bombshell he's dropping on him. “She believes the best in people. But you and I both know the world doesn’t run on hope. It runs on leverage. Donations. Influence.”

He lets that last word settle.

Matt knows exactly what this is.

Her father is offering the illusion of love in exchange for control. And if Matt doesn’t say yes?

He doesn’t have to threaten the shelter out loud.

Matt can feel the threat in the silence.

His jaw tightens. “Does she know? About any of this?”

“Not yet, she doesn't even know I've been a client of yours in the past, but I’d like to speak with her next,” he replies. “Separately. I want her to feel like she has a choice.”

Matt’s voice is low, cold as he stands slowly. “You mean like I do?... She won't want this.”

The older man laughs once, sharp and low. “You’ll make the right decision, Matthew. You’re not the type to let something good burn down. And she will. If she knows what’s at stake”

Matt’s voice is quiet, firm. “She’s not a bargaining chip.”

Her father lifts his glass in a mock toast. “No," her father agrees. “She’s leverage. But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve seen her work. Her compassion. She believes in something bigger than herself...Much like you, Matthew..." He pauses and points a finger at Matt before he continues, "But she’s also the future, and the kind of woman fully worth protecting.”

Matt steps closer, voice low, he doesn't flinch, but he feels something within him start to burn.

“If she agrees to this, it won’t be because of you. It’ll be despite you.”

Her father only smiles.

“That’s the plan.”

Matt leaves without another word.

The door clicks softly behind him, but the pressure of the conversation sticks to his skin like the humidity outside.

And the only thing louder than the thunder rolling overhead…is the thought repeating in his head: He’s going to say yes. Because she’d never survive what would happen if he didn’t.

Matt steps outside, barely noticing the rain that’s started up again—fine and cold, falling like it knows it’s not welcome, even as it sticks his hair to his forehead much like last night.

His hands are still curled into fists.

Was there ever a time they weren't?

"When she was bandaging them up for you last night..." The thought slips in before he can stop it.

He walks without purpose at first—just to move, just to breathe. But the sound of the rain against concrete, the echo of her father’s voice, the weight of what’s just been asked of him—it all pushes harder and harder into his chest.

The shelter. Her voice. Her hand resting on his just a night ago.

And now?

Now she’s a pawn on someone else’s chessboard. And he’s being asked to be the move that traps her there.

The worst part?

He knows he’ll do it. He has to do it. Because if he doesn’t… she loses everything.

And somewhere, beneath the press of it all—beneath the cold water on his skin and the ache in his jaw from how tightly it’s clenched—he realizes something that makes him feel even worse:

He’s already started falling.

Not for the version of her that her father tried to sell. Not even for the idea of her.

But just for her.

The one who braided scared girls’ hair and offered cookies and soft smiles to rain-soaked men who didn’t deserve it.

The one who held his hands so gently, like she was afraid to break him last night as she helped him.

And Matt Murdock?

He’s going to marry her to save her.

Even if it ruins them both.

All the while, outside, the rain still falls. Inside, something much colder has already settled. And in his chest, something soft is breaking.

He can't help but wonder, the thought already confirming his choice for him as if he didn't already know,

Will it rain on our wedding day?"

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littlebirdygirlywriting · 4 months ago

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This is beautiful! Mwah! Chef’s kiss!

Such a specific prayer. Hmmm. I wonder if anyone could be able to answer it. 👀😏

Neighbor

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're Matt Murdock's neighbor, and one night he hears you pray.

Words: Under 1k

A/N: I just be posting anything now lol wrote this in my notes app hope you like it!!!

The building was quiet most of the time, but unfortunately for Matt Murdock, that wasn't the case, ever. Most people couldn't hear apartments three doors down and the conversations that went on in them. But Matt could. And he could never avoid them.

He distracted himself from the outside noise with menial chores–cleaning whatever dishes were left in the sink, reorganizing glasses in the cabinet, and practicing his fighting. But when dusting and cleaning wasn't enough, when even the music he played couldn't drown out the noise, he tended to listen to a particular apartment: hers.

She lived alone. Right across the hall, diagonal from his own door. Of all the apartments he was forced to listen to day in and day out, hers was the most peaceful. The quietest. She didn't have loud conversations with anyone, she didn't have a dog who would bark in the middle of the night. Instead, she had a teapot on the stove that would whistle when ready; she spent most nights quietly flipping through pages of a book. She got up to that annoying phone alarm and trotted to the bathroom to get ready for work. Matt's not sure what she does, but sometimes he hears her come home late when he's about to get ready to patrol the streets as Daredevil.

Matt realized going over this in his head was a little more than creepy and trod the thin line of being a stalker, but his heightened senses and what they picked up on were unavoidable. The times he couldn't focus on anything else or tune out the other noises in the apartment he focused on hers because it was the most calming to his senses.

He's only run into her a handful of times on the rare occasion they both leave for work in the morning. One time, they both exited their apartments at the same time. She quietly waved good morning until she realized she waved at a blind man and then uttered a more audible "good morning." Most people would ignore the realization and awkwardly go about their day, but not her. She always made sure to say good morning from then on. Matt liked that–no, liked you.

Matt found himself eager to get home after work more often than not, in hopes of coming home at the same time as her. Anything to get a small interaction would be enough for him. Even if it was as small as her holding the door for him or wishing him a good night. He looked forward to these small interactions so much that if they didn't happen, Matt would have a much less than good day.

One night, though, when he was just about to let himself fall asleep after a rather rough night patrolling Hell's Kitchen, he heard her. He heard her in a way he hadn't before. From the hiccups, to the shaky breaths, and the lingering taste of salt in the air, he knew she was crying.

Matt shot up in bed as he began to listen more intently–what happened?

"Please, God," he heard her whispered prayer, "Please make sure I make it home safe and unharmed from work. Please. There's so much violence in this city and I'm scared to walk alone at night."

Matt took a shaky breath, gripping his silk sheets in his hands. She was scared, he confirmed. Well, rest assured, he thought. Tomorrow night, he would make sure she arrived home safely from work himself.

TO BE CONTINUED??? IDK.

#matt murdock #matt murdock fanfic #Matt Murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #whispered prayers #silent nights #Matt Murdock answering prayers #because really #he would do everything in his power to do that

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outoftheseine · 10 days ago

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- BUCKY BARNES FIC RECS 4 -

i’m so obsessed with catws!bucky you have no idea | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. torture and ptsd. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | part two | part three | main masterlist | also check my latest list: matt murdock pt 2

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the blade and the crown • knight!bucky barnes x queen!reader

↳ by @fandoms-writings (smut, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, secret relationship)

avoidance | chaos | strangers | power • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @ultralightpoe (angst, hurt/comfort, tw: ptsd)

illicit affairs • biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

↳ by @auroralwriting (enemies to lovers, age gap, angst, gangs)

between a dream | part two | part three • tws!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bcksbarnes (angst, comfort, fluff)

before i could say it • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @fawniswriting (angst, fluff, insecure!bucky)

lessons in lovemaking • bucky barnes x blackwidow!reader

↳ by @artficlly (smut, touch starved!bucky, fluff, angst, bickering, tw: trauma, sa)

foundations • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @vunblr (dad!bucky, fluff, a little angsty, smut)

not in that way • bucky barnes x fwb!gn!reader

↳ by @jaggedamethyst (smut, mutual pining, miscommunication, angst, fluff)

say don’t go • college!hockey!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @the-winter-spider (angst, mean!bucky, pining, smut)

wake up | part two | part three • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (very angsty)

the falcon, the winter soldier and static • bucky barnes x stark!reader

↳ by @theconstantsidekick

quiet down | stay quiet • roommate!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (smut)

the soldier’s keeper • bucky barnes x doctor!reader | soldat (part of the universe)

by @pome-seed (angst, kidnapping)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

be(tter) in reality with me • bucky barnes x pregnant!fem!reader

↳ by @t-lostinworlds (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

dear lover • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @johnkrrasinski (very fluffy, slight angst)

my girl • domestic!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucket-barnes (very fluffy)

the cure • bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @/bucky-bucket-barnes (very angsty, hurt/comfort, slowburn, fluff)

fast track • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @sidmakestuff (angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, insecure!bucky, little explicit)

the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, tw: harassment)

for as long as you need me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @whatthetumblfck (fluff, hurt/comfort)

worthy • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @duuhrayliegh (fluff)

softened by time • bucky barnes x gn!reader

↳ by @heyitsme1040 (domestic fluff)

his girl • bucky barnes x enchanced!reader

↳ by @roguerogerss (fluff)

enemies • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @ro-is-struggling (angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to friends, tw: trauma)

the same thing • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @appocalipse (angst with happy ending)

rest had seemed the sweetest thing • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @violentdelightsandviolentends (sooo fluffy)

i know you • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @oneofstarkskids (angst, fluff)

road trip • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @munsster (fluff, a little angst)

come find me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, hurt/comfort)

mercy kill • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (very angsty)

unspoken • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @maevedoodle (comfort, nightmares, fluff)

sweet like plums • cw!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @mandoalorian (smut)

summer breeze • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @orithyia-eriphyle (very fluffy, hurt/comfort)

safe space • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @helaintoloki (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, tw: ptsd, trauma, torture)

echos • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @brokenbarnes (very angsty but fluffy end, hurt/comfort)

trouble • bucky barnes x fem!reader /

↳ by @marvelwitchergilmore (enemies to lovers, fluff, fake dating)

a place to land • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @cheekybarnes (angst, comfort, tw: sexual violence, ptsd)

lost for words • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @daxisyzz (fluff)

his girls • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @artficlly (very fluffy, secret dating)

lovesick • bucky barnes x maximoff!reader

↳ by @ang3ltine (fluff, little angsty, tw: torture)

sparing you • beefy!bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

↳ by @sergeantbarnessdoll (fluff, slight angst)

love bruises • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @multiversediaries (very soft, fluffy, domestic!buck, a little smutty)

hole in the earth• bucky barnes x mutant!fem!reader

↳ by @em1i2a3 (smut, angst, age gap, hurt/comfort, tw: panic attacks)

only you, doll • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @billionairebratenergy (fluff, kind of possessive!bucky)

home with you • roommate!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (oh so fluffy, lots of pining)

creamy or crunchy • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

↳ by @marvelstoriesepic (so so so fluffy, protective!bucky)

mission mishap • avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

↳ by @mugglebornmarvelite (hurt/comfort, fluff)

bruised shadows • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @happy74827 (slight angst, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine)

what you do to him • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @xxthelovelyopossumiixx (domestic, smut)

scars to your beautiful • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @buckybarnesandmarvel (insecure!bucky, comfort)

blurred lines • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @ellemj (smut, angst, enemies to lovers, jealous,possessive!bucky, one bed trope)

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chvoswxtch · 2 months ago

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the head of the snake

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt murdock comes home to a stranger in his apartment.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug & human trafficking

word count: 2.3k

a/n: ahhhh happy born again day to all who celebrate!!! i'm so fucking excited to finally put this out. i'm so excited that so many of y'all are so excited. I hope y'all love this as much as I do. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[next chapter] | [series masterlist]

The unfamiliar heartbeat was calm. The rhythm was steady. The lungs expanded and collapsed in relaxed intervals. The blood was in no rush to pump through the highways of veins and vessels that branched throughout the body. For a split second, Matt almost thought the stranger that was in his apartment sitting on his couch might be asleep, but their heartbeat wasn’t nearly slow enough to be unconscious.

Matt had been standing outside the front door of his loft, which was locked, for several minutes. His head was cocked slightly to the side as he focused his heightened senses on the foreign presence in his home. All Matt could decipher was that it was a woman, and not one he’d ever encountered before. There was nothing about her that sparked recognition in his brain. He had no idea who she was, or how she’d managed to get inside.

Slipping his key into the lock as silently as possible, he twisted it to the left until there was a faint click, and as he turned the knob and pushed the door open, he braced himself for whatever, and whoever, was waiting for him.

His steps were calculated and careful, avoiding the worn wooden floorboards that creaked under even the slightest pressure of weight. He kept his back flat against the half wall that separated the entryway from the kitchen, stopping a few inches before it ended and made his presence visible in the open layout. He had the advantage that his couch faced his bedroom on the opposite side of the apartment, which meant her back was to him.

She hadn’t budged at all, her heart rate remained steady, and she sat comfortably with her legs crossed. Her head was tilted slightly towards the right, presumably looking out the two large paned windows that interrupted the aged rows of rust colored brick.

Keeping his footsteps silent, he slowly stalked towards her like a predator advancing on prey. Just as the toe of his shoe reached the edge of the area rug, she suddenly spoke up.

“You’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

Matt immediately froze, his right knee slightly bent in a halted half step forward. He hadn’t made a single sound, and he hadn’t picked up on any indication that she even knew he was there.

“Who the hell are you?”

There was a faint twitch at the edges of her lips. Amusement. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke again.

“You know, for a blind man, you’re very perceptive. But then again, you aren’t just any blind man, are you Matthew?”

The way she said his name was almost taunting, emphasizing the fact that she knew it, just like she knew where he lived, and apparently how to break into his apartment. As she subtly turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, he straightened up, squaring his shoulders as he clenched his jaw.

“Answer the question.”

She took her time as she stood up, smoothing her dress down with her hands, casually walking around the edge of the couch to face him. Matt clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his body tense as his heightened senses worked overtime to decipher if this woman was a threat. She stopped a few feet away, and he could feel her eyes on him, looking him up and down. He detected the faintest of a smirk at the edge of her mouth and the quirk of her left brow.

“Are you always this welcoming to your guests?”

Matt wasn’t used to not having the upperhand. It was unfamiliar territory, and he didn’t like it. Trying to tip the power dynamic in his favor, one that he was still figuring out, he took two bold steps towards her.

“Guest implies an invitation.”

There wasn’t a trace of fear, or even apprehension in her body when he advanced towards her. Instead, she let out a deep exhale through her nose and folded her arms over her chest.

“Fine. Since you’re not in the mood for small talk, I’ll skip the bullshit and cut to the chase. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Matt’s defensive stance faltered slightly, puzzlement creasing between his dark brows as he cocked his head to the side subtly.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We’re a-”

“I know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is.”

Matt countered, cutting her off, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. He knew exactly what the organization was and what they did. What he didn’t know was what the hell that had to do with him.

“Then why did you ask with that stupid look on your face?”

Matt pursed his lips in a firm line at her quick rebuttal. Everytime he tried to seize dominance over this new unfamiliar dynamic, the scales of power shifted in her favor. It was grating on his nerves in a way that had his skin feeling several degrees warmer and his suit jacket suddenly heavy and unbearable.

Beginning to shrug the jacket off his broad shoulders, he carelessly tossed it forward in frustration, landing perfectly over the back of the couch, a movement that did not go unnoticed by her.

“And what does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?”

“What, you think we don’t have a department dedicated to you street level people?”

In the midst of rolling his left sleeve up to his forearm, Matt abruptly froze, two of his fingers still tucked under the crisp fabric of his dress shirt and his thumb hovering over the folded fabric. The way she said it was so casual, but there was an undertone of implication, something extremely subtle but consequently unnerving.

She couldn’t possibly know.

Matt decided to do what he normally did in the courtroom when trying to get the other side to reveal their hand; he called her bluff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She let out a deep exhale of disappointment through her nose, giving him a pointed look.

“I thought we agreed to skip the bullshit.”

Everything about this woman Matt found exceedingly infuriating. Here she was, standing in the middle of his apartment, that she’d broken into, calmly dangling the idea over his head that she seemed to know exactly who he really was. If she did know, which Matt didn’t know how the hell she possibly could, that put the knowledge of his biggest secret in her hands, and it gave her a power over him he wasn’t ready to submit to. There was a feeling in his gut, like a sixth heightened sense, that whatever the reason was that this woman was actually here was about to alter his life in a big way.

Matt continued to roll the fabric up until it reached about an inch below his elbow, and he steeled his expression while he undid the button on the cuff of his right wrist and repeated the action of rolling up his other sleeve.

“What do you know?”

“Just assume I know everything.”

Letting out an aggravated exhale through his nose, Matt placed his hands on his hips and leaned his weight on his left foot, his fingers brushing over the leather of his belt.

“That is frustratingly vague.”

She could hear him growing more and more annoyed by the second, and see it on his face as well as in his body language. One of her brows lifted in amusement as the faintest of a smile graced the edge of her lips, and she tilted her head to the side in a gesture of faux confusion.

“Is it?”

The sound of bone grinding against bone as Matt grit his teeth in growing vexation made him twitch subtly in discomfort, the noise it caused like sharp nails being dragged across a chalkboard in slow motion in his own ears. He reached up to loosen his tie around his neck, yanking on the fabric like he was giving slack to a noose. He unbuttoned the small button of the collar with one hand, and the larger one beneath it, tugging the fabric away from his neck.

His indignation always seemed to turn into physical discomfort that made his clothes feel entirely too restricting and his skin too warm. The sweat that began to seep from his pores was like liquified anger trying to find a way out of his body when he wasn’t able to expel it with action.

“What do you want with me?”

“I don’t want you. They do. You weren’t exactly my first choice.”

The look of offense that flashed across his face almost pulled a genuine laugh out of her, but she kept her expression neutral, even though he could feel the way her lips twitched in amusement again. She turned to retrieve something from her purse and then took a step forward, holding it out towards Matt.

“Here.”

His curiosity piqued, Matt extended his hand, his fingers brushing over the smooth cardstock of a thick file that he grasped in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“A folder.”

Matt shot her a displeased look, his lips pursed as his fingers brushed over what felt like an embossed symbol in the middle.

“I meant what’s inside, smartass.”

“Paper.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Matt muttered under his breath, which did earn a real smile from her as her brows raised in surprise.

“Wow, your file said you were Catholic. Then again, I suppose taking the Lord’s name in vain isn’t the worst thing you do on a daily basis.”

“I’ll add it to the list for confession.”

Matt retorted dryly, cracking open the file as his fingers began to trace back and forth over the documents. Each section had a tab with a label that was also in Braille. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he would’ve been impressed by how meticulously organized the file was, and how accessible. A faint furrow creased the middle of his forehead as he read the contents inside.

It was a detailed file on a local Russian gang here in New York that Matt had been investigating for months now. It wasn’t the mafia that had worked for Fisk. Those brothers were a daydream compared to this new organization he’d been trying to take down. The Russian mafia’s primary focus had been drug trade, but the Krasnaya Pravaya Ruka’s operation was far more sinister.

A few months ago, a new player had seemingly seized control over the other crime organizations almost over night. With Fisk out of the way, the throne had been open for the taking, and while there weren’t many organizations left after The Punisher had wiped out the top three gangs in the city and Matt had disbanded Fisk’s entire operation in one way or another, there were still a few left fighting for power. But in the midst of the chaos, someone had stepped in, and they seemed to cast an even bigger shadow than Fisk ever did.

Matt had been tirelessly working his way through low level thugs dealing on the streets. The leader was smart, and clearly had the resources to operate efficiently enough to move millions of dollars worth of product around and the stealth to do it silently in the shadows. The drug dealers on the corners were just pawns, convenient pieces to move around to distract from the rest of the board. It took four whole months before Matt discovered what the real product was.

People.

The drugs were just a front for the human trafficking ring that had formed right here under his nose in the city. They were smoke and mirrors to distract local law enforcement, leading them down a never ending wild goose chase of one expendable dealer after another that had no real connection to each other. It left the NYPD, and Matt, consistently at dead ends. While they had been following the powder trail, humans were being imported and exported like mere livestock in cargo at the docks.

“Pier Nineteen. Saturday night, eleven-thirty. Bring your little red number.”

As she grabbed her purse and slipped it over her shoulder, turning to head towards the door, Matt’s expression twisted up in puzzlement and irritation. His hand swiftly darted out to grab her wrist, not hard enough to be aggressive, but firm enough to halt her in place.

“Whoa whoa whoa, I’m not going anywhere with you, not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

She’d stiffened when he grabbed her, and he heard her heart rate rise slightly, but not in fear. Her free hand subtly closed in a half clasped fist, a defensive motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Matt.

“If I give you a hint, are you gonna quit pouting?”

Matt’s lips quickly pursed in annoyance as he grit his teeth again. He let go of her wrist and let out another frustrated exhale through his nose.

“I’m not-”

“That trafficking ring you’re trying to single handedly take down? You’ve barely scratched the fucking surface. You want the head of the snake or what?”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @lfdybadgirlsdoitw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind

the devil and the widow soundtrack

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#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 fic #matt murdock series #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil series #the devil and the widow series #tdatw

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

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boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

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bellaxgiornata · 18 days ago

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Life Worth Living |Chapter One|

Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader Word count: 6.7k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor

Summary: All you'd ever wanted was your freedom–a chance at a "normal" life. Under the simple guise of Olivia Allen, you move to Hell's Kitchen in New York in an attempt to escape your past, but your past can't stay buried when your powerful and dangerous ex finds you. Forced to come to terms with who you are in order to protect the life you've built, you eventually learn there's secrets about yourself that you never even knew...

a/n: Some of you may recognize this as an old Matt x OFC fic I wrote a few years ago that's been on hiatus forever because I don't write OCs anymore. I'm completely overhauling this series and rewriting it now (I ripped out a few things and added over 1k to just this part). There's things I disliked about the original and I'd been contemplating back and forth on rewriting the series with a Reader, so now I'm undertaking the project since a vast majority on a poll I posted were interested. The original already stood at 240k, so there's a lot of content I'm polishing/rewriting. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kmc1989

Multiple leather straps were buckled over your wrists, ankles, and neck, the thick cordage keeping you secured to the reclined leather chair. Eyes darting around the familiar sterile room, the straps pressed against your skin, gripping tight like strong hands. There was a faint tremble running through your body in anticipation of what was about to happen as Doctor Barlowe finished placing the final electrode to your forehead. Focusing back on her, you desperately attempted to catch her eyes behind those thick, black glasses she always wore.

“Please,” you begged softly. “I don’t like this one. Please don’t make me do it again.”

Her hands paused for just a moment, fingers lingering against your skin. Her eyes shifted from where her hands had paused along your temple to your face, an unreadable expression on her own.

“Please,” you tried again. “I’ll–I’ll try any of the other tests, I swear. Just not this again. It…it hurts.”

“Now, now, hush 647,” Doctor Whitlock’s harsh voice echoed through the room.

The door closed with a solid bang behind him as he entered the testing room. Seconds later, he appeared just beside the place where your legs were strapped down to the chair. His expression was serious and stoic like always, not the slightest hint of sympathy anywhere on him.

“You know why we do this,” he told you.

Swallowing hard, the usual anticipatory fear began to swirl in your stomach as Doctor Barlowe took her place at the nearby machine. Turning your head against your chair, you saw a metal cart with a surgical tray placed on top. You recognized the two syringes filled with a familiar vibrant orange liquid laying in the tray, your eyes now fixated on them. Uselessly, you tugged at your restraints.

“647, let’s not make this more difficult than necessary, hmm?” Doctor Whitlock hummed. “You know what you have to do if you don’t like the pain.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the ID tag on his white lab coat obscured at the gesture. His eyes focused on Doctor Barlowe from where she sat at the machine beside you. “Administer the first dose of MGA.”

The younger doctor lifted one of the syringes and slid her chair across the tiled floor, coming to a stop beside you. Eyes snapping shut, you felt the sting of the needle in your forearm as she injected the first dose. Shortly after, the telltale burning raced its way up your right arm, igniting like wildfire in your veins. Your eyes clamped shut even tighter as your head slammed back onto the leather of the chair, a pained whine escaping your lips.

“Why don’t we increase the voltage a bit this time?” Doctor Whitlock mused aloud to Doctor Barlowe. “Maybe that will be the bit of motivation it needs.”

“No,” you pleaded between gritted teeth. “Please.”

“You can end the pain yourself, 647,” Whitlock answered. “If you don’t want to feel the shocks, stop them. Use your mind.” There was a pause before the sound of footsteps approached the other side of you, then Whitlock’s voice issued the order. “Begin, Barlowe.”

Sharp, burning pain immediately jolted your brain, your body abruptly tensing at the shock as the electricity coursed through you. Arms and legs straining against your restraints, the leather bit sharply into your skin. As your back arched involuntarily off the chair, your airflow briefly halted as the restraint around your neck bit so deep into your throat that the passageway momentarily closed. For a moment, you hoped you'd pass out just to have an escape.

But then a few seconds later–though it felt far longer–the pain disappeared and your body momentarily slackened in the reclined chair. Tears were stinging behind your closed eyelids as a light sheen of sweat began forming across your body. Breathing heavier, your veins still feeling as if they were on fire, your head weakly rolled to the side.

“Hmm,” Whitlock hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the monitor beside Barlowe. “It is showing more brain activity with the increased voltage this time.”

“There’s definitely a noticeable increase from the last time,” Barlowe agreed.

“Please, stop,” you whimpered. Eyelids fluttering open, you glimpsed Whitlock rubbing his chin in thought, his focus still on the monitor. You knew it was useless to beg because they never listened to you, but that didn’t stop you from trying. “No more,” you choked out. “Hurts.”

“Try again,” Whitlock ordered, disregarding you. “Increase the voltage.”

When another rush of electricity went racing through the electrodes on your forehead, a scream shot out of you before your body seized up at the pain. Your mouth clamped shut as bright white flooded your vision behind your closed eyelids. The pain was so strong, so pervasive, that you couldn’t think or feel anything else.

Eventually, the shock dissipated and a ringing filled your ears in the absence of the pain. Disoriented and worn, it took a moment for you to make out what the voice beside you was saying.

“It’s bleeding, sir,” Barlowe pointed out.

“Just bit its lip, it’s nothing serious,” Whitlock replied simply, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. “Though I suppose you should get the gag again, we don’t want it to bite its tongue off next.”

There was a rustle of movement in the room as you lay strapped to the chair, your body exhausted from the electrical shocks. Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks as you stared up at the white ceiling with its blinding bright lights above. Barlowe’s face came back into view, the clear mouthpiece they often shoved into your mouth when the electrical shocks had first begun now in her hand. Eyes widening, you sent her a pleading look, attempting to shake your head, but she kept her attention focused on the lower half of your face. Her gloved fingers roughly wrenched open your mouth before she forced the uncomfortable plastic inside. Choking back a sob awkwardly around the contraption, the hard edges cut into your gums.

“Let’s continue, shall we?” Whitlock said.

The electrical shock once more shot through your body before you seized on the leather chair, a strangled noise flying from your throat.

A scream escaped from your mouth before you bolted upright in bed, chest heaving as your breath came in hard. Momentarily confused and panicked, it took your brain a few moments to recognize that you were laying in your bedroom and not the testing room that often plagued your nightmares. A light sheen of cold sweat covered your body as you lay tangled up in the dark gray sheets of your bed.

It was only a dream–a memory.

“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen,” you murmured to myself. “Not The Facility. I’m home. I’m safe.” Closing your eyes tight, you drew your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them. “They can’t hurt me. Just a dream. Wasn’t real.”

Trying to focus your attention on your breathing, you inhaled slowly and held the breath. You counted to five before exhaling it out long and slow. Repeating the process, you continued for a few minutes until your breaths gradually became more even and controlled. Slowly, you felt your body begin to relax back into a calm state. When you opened your eyes again, wiping a hand over your sweat-dampened forehead, you began to disentangle your legs from how they’d twisted into your sheets while you’d been thrashing in your sleep.

Reaching over to your nightstand, you grabbed your phone. The screen lit up in the darkened bedroom, causing you to squint your eyes while they took a moment to adjust. It was only 5:37 in the morning–still early. Setting your phone back onto the nightstand, you rubbed the heels of your hands roughly against your eyes. You’d calmed down from that dream, but you were certainly too wound up for sleep now. With a huff, you threw the sheets off of yourself and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Raising your arms up over your head, you felt the pull of muscles as you stretched before making your way to your dresser. Opening the middle left drawer, you dug around for a sports bra and a pair of leggings.

Beginning to change, you removed the loose tank top that you’d been sleeping in over your head before slipping on the sports bra. Swapping your sweatpants for black leggings, you tugged them on before crossing the room to your closet and pulling the door open. Eyes landing on the navy track jacket hanging there, you pulled it out and tossed it on. Afterwards, you headed back to your nightstand and grabbed your phone before sliding it into the pocket of your leggings. You grabbed your earbuds next before heading out of your bedroom and down the short hallway outside of it.

The living room of your new apartment was still covered in shadows cast from the lights just outside of the large loft windows. Outside, the sun still hadn't risen quite yet, leaving the city dark and quiet–or as quiet as it could be for Hell’s Kitchen. Pausing by one of the large windows, you took a moment to enjoy the beautiful view of the city that you had from up on the sixth floor. This place hadn’t been cheap to rent, but it was worth it for that view while you worked–a vast difference from your life spent nowhere near a window.

But that’s not what you wanted to think about.

Sliding the earbuds into your ears, you turned and walked over to the entryway hall, stopping to lean against the wall before tugging on your running shoes. Before stepping out of your apartment, you grabbed your keys from the console table near the front door. Taking a moment, you locked the door behind yourself as your mind focused on only one thing.

You knew what you needed right now–an escape. Something to clear your head and refocus yourself. To keep your mind level for the day. As you headed down the end of the hall and pushed the call button for the elevator, you knew that a quick jog would do exactly that.

While you waited for the elevator to reach your floor, you pulled your phone back out and spent a moment looking for something to listen to during your run–something to distract yourself from your thoughts. A minute later, the elevator doors opened and you stepped inside, pushing the button for the lobby before slipping your phone back into the pocket of your leggings. Music began to play through your earbuds, but as the elevator lurched downwards, the jarring movement somehow caused your dream to resurface. Wincing, you raised a hand to rub at your temple as the memory of those shocks returned.

“If you don’t like the pain, 647,” Whitlock chided, “use your mind. Make it stop.”

Shaking your head back and forth rapidly, you tried to push the sound of his voice out of it. That was not what you needed right now.

“No,” you muttered to yourself. “No, you’re not here. Go away.”

“You were born for this. This is your purpose,” Whitlock’s cold voice said. “Be good and sit still or we'll get the restraints.”

Your jaw clenched at the memory of his voice, tooth grinding hard against tooth as your nails dug into the palms of your hands. The elevator doors opened with a ding that barely registered around the music playing in your ears as a mixture of emotions welled up inside of you. Stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby of your apartment building, you moved with a determined purpose straight for the exit. The second you were outside and your feet touched the sidewalk, you took off at a run.

Pushing your legs past their limit, you felt them beginning to burn after you'd been running for a while. But you ignored the pain building inside of them, your focus only on your breathing and the music in your ears. Everything else faded out around you–which was exactly what you needed right now. As close to nothingness as your mind could reach.

It wasn’t until it felt like your lungs were on fire inside of your chest that you finally came to a stop. Breathing heavily, you threw your hands up over your head in order to catch your breath while you walked at a brisk pace, your heart racing inside of your chest. You could feel a sharp pain in your left hip with each step, but the pain only served to further ground you in reality.

Just above the multitude of skyscrapers looming over you, the sun began to peak its way up over the city of New York. All the dark shadows of the night gradually were replaced with the beautiful orange glow of the morning light. And with that change from dark to light, you shoved your fears aside and took a right turn, heading back towards your apartment building. You’d need to sit down at your desk and start work in almost an hour, but you wanted a shower before you settled down for the day.

The walk back to your apartment had taken just under fifteen minutes since the traffic had picked up with the rise of the sun. With a clear head, you made your way through the lobby and back to the elevators, grateful when a man exited one and left it empty. Stepping inside, you pushed the button for the sixth floor before leaning against the wall of the elevator, running a hand across your forehead as it began its ascent to the top floor.

Retrieving your phone from the side pocket of your leggings, you turned off the playlist you’d been listening to before taking the earbuds from your ears. You felt better after that run, your mind and body both relaxed and that nightmare mostly forgotten. Which was what you’d needed to keep yourself calm and level today. You didn’t need to get emotional. You didn’t need to give into fear.

You were safe here.

When the elevator doors opened, you pulled your keys from the other pocket of your leggings, focused on your task of getting back to your apartment. Vaguely you were aware of a man knocking on the door across the hall from your place, calling something through the door. Out of politeness when you neared him, you sent him a smile before turning your attention to your own apartment door.

“Hey, you’re the woman who just moved in, right?”

Pausing at the man’s voice as you’d stopped in front of your door, your hand with your keys hovered over the lock. Your mouth twitched as you stood there with your back facing him, not having expected him to acknowledge you.

Normal people make small talk, you reminded yourself.

Letting your hand drop to your side, you plastered a friendly smile onto your face before turning around. The man who’d addressed you was unfamiliar to you, your eyes scanning over his shoulder length blonde hair and the bright, friendly smile on his face. He was dressed in a white shirt with a light blue tie, a gray suit jacket and matching gray slacks. In his hands he held a tray with two coffees and a brown paper bag that you assumed held some sort of breakfast food judging by the smell.

“Yes, just last week,” you answered him.

The man adjusted the bag and the tray of coffee in his hands before he crossed the small distance between you both in the hall. He held his now free hand out towards you, the friendly smile still drawn wide over his mouth. Eyes dropping down at the movement, you eyed his hand warily.

“My name is Franklin, but everyone usually calls me Foggy,” the man said.

He seemed either unaware or unconcerned with your stillness and hesitancy. Clearing your throat, you slowly extended your own hand towards his before giving it a brief shake.

“Olivia,” you replied.

It was a fake name, one you’d chosen for yourself not too long ago. It had seemed simple and you’d liked it–and you’d never had one before it.

Foggy’s smile somehow further widened in response. “Nice to meet you, Olivia,” he greeted warmly. “I was actually just waiting for my friend, Matt–he’s your neighbor. We work together.” He paused for a moment, straightening up as he readjusted his hold on the food and coffee in his hands. “We just started up our own law office, actually.”

Head tilting curiously to the side, you raised a brow as you silently studied him. He seemed genuinely friendly, albeit very eager to connect with you. You weren’t entirely sure why. From your experience, most people in the city weren’t this forthright. But before you could respond, the apartment door behind Foggy opened and drew both of your attention. You spotted the white cane before you caught sight of the man emerging through his apartment door. Your neighbor, you assumed.

“Ah, buddy, there you are!” Foggy exclaimed, turning and making his way back across the hall to his friend. He watched as the man locked his door, shifting the tray of coffee and bag of food in his hands once again. “I was just meeting your new neighbor, Matt,” he told him, his warm gaze returning to you across the hall.

Your neighbor’s head turned in your direction, the red glasses covering his eyes glinting in the overhead lights at the movement. For the briefest moment, his expression was entirely unreadable at his friend’s comment, but then a slow, friendly smile spread over his lips.

Something strange happened in that moment as he smiled at you. You felt an odd, soft vibration pass over your skin–as if you could feel him looking at you. Breath catching, the hair on the back of your neck slowly rose as a small shiver tickled its way up your spine. His smile briefly faltered before he recovered, your sharp eyes catching the minute movement.

“Were you now, Foggy?” your neighbor asked. That smile remained on his face, though it seemed slightly altered now. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

You stiffened when the man took a few steps in your direction, his cane lightly tapping along the floor. What he’d said was true, you hadn’t met him yet despite having been living across the hall from him for a week already. Though you had heard some loud banging late at night coming from his apartment on occasion, you'd yet to actually cross paths with him.

“I’m Matthew,” he said, stopping just before you and extending his hand in your direction. “But you can call me Matt.”

Eyes trailing down his face, you found yourself distracted by how attractive he was, your gaze scanning what wasn’t hidden by his dark glasses. Gradually, your eyes lowered, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and chest that were noticeable even under his black suit coat. Eventually your eyes dropped down to his awaiting hand.

Swallowing thickly, still aware of that strange tingling along your skin, you extended your own and wrapped it around his. His hand was warm and calloused as he gently shook yours, the sensation causing something odd to stir in your chest at the contact. You’d never felt that before.

“I’m Olivia,” you offered softly, still confused by him.

“Well, Olivia,” Matt said, a small grin tugging at his lips as he released your hand, “it’s a shame it took us so long to meet.”

Behind Matt, you caught the way Foggy rolled his eyes at his friend. “Can you not charm every beautiful woman you meet? Just once?”

You felt your cheeks heat at the implication in Foggy’s words, your attention shifting back to Matt as he chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at his friend, that grin still on his mouth.

“I do not charm them all,” Matt disagreed.

“You do and it’s weird, man,” Foggy countered. He looked past Matt, focusing on you with a conspiratorial look as he cupped his hand still holding the bag of food awkwardly around his mouth before he whispered, “It’s like his super power.”

“Flirting with beautiful women?” you questioned in confusion.

Matt laughed loudly in response, the warm sound filling the hallway. Foggy rolled his eyes, a smile returning to his face as he lowered his hand back to his side.

“No,” Foggy answered. “Knowing that a woman is beautiful is his superpower. He always somehow knows.”

You shrugged in response, finding these two men to be more enjoyable company than you’d first anticipated. “I wouldn’t exactly consider that a superpower. Seems a little useless.”

Foggy’s eyes lit up with curiosity immediately, a look of interest washing over him. “What would you consider the most useful one then? Because I personally think–”

“Fog, we should probably let Olivia go,” Matt said, cutting his friend off.

Foggy’s face fell, his shoulders dropping a bit. A sympathetic smile spread over your face in return. You were surprised to admit it, but you found yourself a bit disappointed that they needed to go. But unfortunately, so did you.

“I do need to actually get ready for work myself,” you agreed.

“Right, I’m sorry,” Foggy said, gesturing to your workout clothes. “You just finished a workout, you probably want to have a chance to shower without being late.”

“Well,” you admitted, “I work from home so I doubt I’d be late. But yes, I would like to grab a shower first.”

“Either way, we shouldn’t keep you,” Matt said, a charming smile on his lips.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled at them as the three of you exchanged goodbyes. While they headed down the hall towards the elevator, you turned around and unlocked your apartment, finding yourself missing the interaction already. It wasn’t often that you had an opportunity to connect with others.

By the time you’d gotten back into your apartment, you had a half an hour to quickly shower and dress before you needed to be logged onto your computer. Getting ready in a rush, you moved as if on auto-pilot, though your mind kept wandering back to those two men you’d just met. More specifically, your mind kept returning to your curious neighbor who quite literally made your skin tingle. You’d never before met someone who could do that before and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Once out of the shower and dressed, you headed back to your living room and over to your desk that was situated between two of the large windows. Your computer and dual monitors sat atop the oak desk, the surface of it featuring a herringbone pattern you’d been drawn to when you’d first seen it. Beside both monitors sat a pothos plant and a few potted succulents–because you'd developed a fondness for plants.

Reaching your hand out, you turned on your computer before setting your phone down on top of your desk. You still had a few minutes before you needed to be at work, which meant your run hadn’t made you late today. Settling into your computer chair, you began to pull up a handful of programs, logging into them and letting them start. But as you did, you could feel the exhaustion in your body from waking so early and your eyes shifted towards your kitchen. With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of your chair, deciding you’d make yourself a coffee before really starting the day.

Absently you set to work in your kitchen, grinding the appropriate amount of fresh beans into the portafilter before tamping the grounds down while your espresso machine heated. Then you slid the portafilter onto the machine and reached up onto one of the open shelves above you, grabbing down a mug to set underneath it. A double shot of fresh espresso began to pour out, the comforting aroma filling your apartment.

As you waited for the espresso to finish, you headed back into the living room and picked up the television remote from your coffee table. Switching on the television mounted along the wall, you settled on the news. There was a fluff piece currently on, discussing a new local business that had opened up today. Increasing the volume, you turned and stepped back into the kitchen and began to finish making your morning latte.

A few minutes later, with your morning caffeine dose in hand, you were ready to focus on work. You walked back over to your computer chair and set your mug onto a coaster before making yourself comfortable. Pulling up the first email of the day, you began to skim through it, responding to a co-worker of yours before moving onto the next email. As you worked, you listened to the background noise of the news until a particular story caught your attention.

“Breaking news on last night’s murder in Hell’s Kitchen,” the reporter on the television said as the news segment changed. “The woman responsible is now in police custody. Hope Shlottman is currently under investigation for two counts of murder–both of them her very own parents. The young athlete shot them both dead in an elevator last night, and despite video surveillance, she is still claiming to not be responsible for their deaths. Her defense? She says that a man told her to kill them.”

Tensing at the reporter’s words, your head slowly turned towards the television still playing across the room. There was a video of a young blonde woman being dragged out of an apartment building in handcuffs, blood covering the front of her. She was crying, her face red and splotchy with a twisted expression of genuine grief drawn over it. She kept repeating over and over: “It wasn’t me! He told me to do it!”

A cold chill ran down your spine as you sat there staring at the screen. The hairs along your arms rose, a prickle of fear running through you. Breath coming in a little sharper, you glanced around your apartment, eyes sweeping around the entirety of the space. There was no one else here, though. You were alone.

Coincidence, that’s all, you told yourself.

Rising from your desk, you made your way back over to your coffee table and snatched the remote from off of it. With a hard press to the power button, you turned the television off, your apartment falling silent once more. Pausing for another moment, you looked around your living room and kitchen, both bathed in the soft glow of morning light.

No one else was here.

Walking three blocks while carrying six full bags of groceries by yourself wasn’t easy, but that’s what happened when you spent the past week putting off doing any real grocery shopping. You’d only grabbed a few things for quick meals, choosing to order takeout most nights instead of cooking. But after work, you’d gone for yet another run to ease that feeling twisting in your stomach, and on your way back home you’d decided to stop to grab groceries.

Now, you found yourself struggling to navigate your way into the elevator with three large and very full grocery bags in each of your hands. Pushing the button for the sixth floor with your pinky finger, you willed the doors to hurry up and close. The plastic bags were threatening to cut off the circulation to your hands at this point.

Almost there, almost there.

Huffing a relieved sigh when the elevator reached the sixth floor, you groaned a second later when the doors felt like they were opening slower than normal. But as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, you paused. At the end of the hall was the blonde lawyer you’d met just this morning–Foggy, if you recalled correctly–and a pretty young blonde woman in a dress standing beside him. They were banging against Matt’s door and laughing loudly, and it was clear that the pair of them were obviously drunk. With a resigned sigh, you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid them, so you set off down the hall towards your apartment.

“Come on, Matt!” Foggy shouted, slamming his hand against the door.

The young woman loudly shushed Foggy between giggles, resting a hand lightly against his shoulder. Smiling wide, Foggy reached out a hand in return to her as he stepped back, waving at the apartment door.

“You try,” Foggy slurred to the woman. “Maybe he’ll listen to the pretty girl.” He leaned towards her and attempted to whisper, “Pretend I’m not here.”

Your brow quirked as you neared the pair of them. He'd just been banging on the door, there was no way she could pretend he wasn’t there. Unable to stop yourself, a small, amused smile slipped onto your lips as you neared your apartment door across from them.

“Matt,” the young woman called out, her voice cracking a little at the pitch as she leaned her weight against the door. “It’s Karen,” she continued, voice slurring. “And I’m very, very sorry about this. If I were you, I would not come to this door.” She paused, glancing at Foggy and giggling before she continued. “But I think I also drank the eel.”

Clearly forgetting the part about wanting to pretend he wasn’t present, Foggy began shouting again beside the woman known as Karen, his attention so fixed on the door that he hadn’t noticed you across the hall as you came to a stop in front of your own. Attempting to carefully set all of your grocery bags down so you could pull out your keys, you couldn’t help overhearing the commotion behind you.

“And we are now filled with mighty eel strength,” Foggy shouted, pounding on the door again as Karen broke into yet another fit of giggles. “Matt! Come on! We’re staying out until sunrise!”

A soft gasp came from across the hall just as you managed to slip your key into the lock.

“Oh, no,” Karen breathed out.

As you unlocked your door, you heard Foggy’s distinct voice call out your name.

“Olivia!” he exclaimed.

Eyes widening, you pulled your key from the lock, shifting your head over your shoulder towards the pair. Foggy was already stepping across the hall towards you, roughly clapping you on the shoulder.

“Do you know if Matt is home?” he asked.

A breathy laugh left you before you looked over at the door they’d been yelling at for a few minutes now. “I mean, he’s blind and not deaf right?” you replied. “I’m pretty sure he’d have answered by now if he was home.”

Karen let out a laugh from her place against Matt’s door. “She has a point,” she said, pointing a finger at you.

Foggy’s eyes dropped down to the bags at your feet, his brows furrowing for a moment. Then an overexaggerated look of surprise flew across his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you were carrying all of those!” Foggy exclaimed.

Without warning, he began quickly scrambling to take the grocery bags from off the ground, lifting them into his own hands. You stood there shocked, but Foggy completely ignored the dumbfounded expression on your face.

“Foggy, you shouldn’t just–” Karen began, but she broke off on a laugh at his overeagerness and didn’t finish her thought.

“Let me help you bring these in,” Foggy said, somehow holding all six bags in his hands as he looked up at you. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

Your lip tugged upwards at his words, a hint of a smile ghosting over your mouth. “But you’re not my neighbor,” you pointed out.

Foggy only sloppily waved a hand at your words, your eyes going wide as it looked like one bag was dangerously close to tearing.

“Potato piñata” he answered simply.

Looking over at Karen who had taken a few steps closer, you hesitated and contemplated the offer. They seemed harmless enough, just incredibly sloppy drunk. And it did feel nice to not be carrying six bags.

“Alright, fine,” you relented, turning and opening the door to your place. “I appreciate the help.”

Waving a hand at your opened door, you allowed the pair to enter first. You followed in behind them, closing the door after yourself and tossing your keys onto the console table. Karen and Foggy had already made their way into the kitchen, the pair laughing about something as they disappeared around the corner.

When you finally made your way around the entryway hall, you saw Foggy had already placed the bags he’d brought in onto the kitchen counter. He was pulling items out and curiously scanning them in his hands as Karen leant against the breakfast bar, her chin resting on one of her hands. But when you entered the kitchen and her eyes met yours, she stood tall and held her hand out towards you.

“I’m Karen,” she introduced herself, a friendly smile on her face despite the way her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol. “Suppose that’s important.”

You reached out, accepting her offered hand. “Olivia.”

“They mentioned you this morning,” Karen said as she released your hand.

Stepping over towards the counter where your grocery bags were at, you looked curiously back at her. “Who mentioned me?” you asked.

“Foggy and Matt,” she replied.

Your eyes turned slowly towards Foggy, watching the way he was eyeing a head of cauliflower in extreme interest. His cheeks were pink and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or embarrassment at what Karen had just told you. Slowly, your gaze traveled back to Karen who was grinning. Leaning against the breakfast bar, mimicking Karen’s relaxed posture, you found yourself unable to resist asking her for more information–you hadn’t forgotten the way your skin had oddly tingled when Matt had ‘looked’ at you earlier. That wasn’t normal.

“And what’d they say about me?” you asked.

She leaned in towards you as she spoke, that smile still on her face. “Apparently Matt thinks you’re sweet. And interesting.”

Feeling your palms beginning to nervously dampen at her words, you absently wiped them against your leggings. You knew that information wasn’t important. You didn’t do relationships. You’d only been in a relationship once and–well, you weren’t going to think about him. But apparently your racing heart and the heat creeping into your cheeks didn’t appear to care about that fact with what Karen was telling you about your handsome neighbor.

“He’s met me for all of five minutes,” you casually pointed out.

You pushed off the counter, focusing on putting away groceries now. Though you couldn’t completely ignore the way something pleasant unfurled in your stomach at her words.

“Well, Matt told us that he’d been trying to find a chance to bump into you in the hall for days now,” Karen continued, her smile growing wider.

Your hand momentarily paused on the fridge door, her words catching you off guard. Opening it, you knelt down and began unloading some fruit from a grocery bag into the fruit drawer. He’d been wanting to meet you for days?

“He said he’d…overheard you screaming a few times at night,” Karen added, her tone abruptly switching to something a little softer. “Said he’d wanted to check on you but that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard at that information as you placed a bag of apples into the drawer. He’d heard you in here? Crying out in your sleep? That did make you uncomfortable.

“Sounds like he’s paying far too much attention to my apartment,” you commented.

Foggy appeared beside you, cauliflower still in hand. He held it out to you and you took it, placing it in the appropriate drawer before he began handing you more vegetables from a bag on the counter.

“I told you,” Foggy began, his words still partially slurred. “He always knows when there’s a pretty girl. And usually he’s a sucker for the ones with questionable morals,” he told you, “but I think he’s got a bigger soft spot for damsels in distress.”

Snorting at his comment, you glanced up from your position on the floor in front of the fridge. “I am not remotely a damsel in distress,” you replied.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said, his tone already taking on a note of disagreement. “You are a young woman.” He waved his hand at you as if to prove his point. “And he says he’s heard you screaming a few times in the middle of the night–”

“I get nightmares,” you cut in defensively.

Foggy raised his hands in a placating gesture at your words. “I’m just saying, you sounded in distress. Ergo–damsel in distress.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated grunt before getting off of the floor and closing the fridge door. Making your way back to the counter with the grocery bags, you began grabbing more items out and putting them away in the pantry cabinet next.

“Unfortunately for him,” you began, trying to sound disinterested, “I don’t do relationships. Or one night stands. Especially not with…guys like him.”

“What’s that mean?” Foggy asked.

Closing the cabinet door, you turned and focused on him and Karen. They were eyeing you curiously now, both of them wearing serious expressions on their faces despite the alcohol in their systems.

“Flirts,” you answered simply.

A sheepish look crossed Foggy’s face at the word, slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll admit, Matt is pretty popular with the ladies.”

“Yeah, not my type,” you stated flatly.

Clearing the grocery bags from your counter, you could feel both Karen and Foggy watching you. You expected them to pry further about your dating history, or to question you more about Matt. But you were surprised at what came out instead.

“You want to come out with us tonight?” Karen asked you.

You paused at her question, not having expected it. Meeting her gaze with a raised brow, you stood across the counter from her.

“It’s just, I don’t feel like being alone in my apartment right now,” Karen said, the words practically spewing from her when she saw the look on your face. “And we were planning to stay out until the sun rose. Matt said you just moved to the city this past week, so I’m guessing you don’t know anyone here yet. So,” she paused, catching her breath before asking again, “would you like to come out with us?”

Biting your lip as her invitation hung in the air, you saw the hopeful look Foggy was sending you. It was true, you didn’t know anyone in the city. And having friends would be nice, it was something you didn’t usually get to have. But you also weren't great at relationships–the lack of experience from growing up in The Facility made sure of that.

But it was something you’d always wanted. A normal life. Friends. Maybe someday a normal, healthy, safe relationship. And you’d truthfully been antsy in your apartment all week, unable to really settle. If you stayed in, you’d most likely just go to sleep soon. Probably wake up from another nightmare covered in sweat and spiraling mentally.

…or you could go out with these two seemingly friendly individuals and attempt being “normal” for once.

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “I’m not doing anything right now.”

Foggy pumped his fist into the air while releasing an excited noise that startled you, causing you to jump on the spot before a light laugh fell out of you. You definitely liked him. Across the kitchen counter, Karen let out an excited gasp, clearly surprised you’d given her that answer.

“Really?” she asked.

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, why not,” you replied. “You’re right, I don’t know anyone here. Might be nice to make some friends.”

“Yes!” Foggy exclaimed. “I can absolutely, positively assure you that you will not regret making friends with us.”

Somehow, you had a feeling he was right.

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

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daredevils-stuffed · 1 month ago

Text

What was that sweetheart? -Oneshot

Matt Murdock x Reader

Prompt: Secrets, Lies, and well…Matt Murdock. If you’ve seen Mr & Mrs Smith. It’s kinda like that.

Tags: Closet sex. Very sexy. A little rough.

a/n: Happy Episode 3 day!!!

You smiled as you ended the call, slipping your phone back into your clutch.

"Drinks with a friend." The lie rolled off your tongue as easily as a breath.

It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Matt was always busy, always buried in cases, and he never pushed when you gave vague answers. You hated lying to him—really, you did—but it was easier this way.

If he knew what you really did when you weren’t wrapped in his sheets or tangled in lazy morning kisses, he’d never look at you the same.

Your heels clicked softly against the polished marble as you stepped into the ballroom, the air thick with expensive perfume, hushed conversations, and the quiet hum of a string quartet.

A room full of powerful people, criminals hiding in plain sight, corruption dressed in designer suits. And somewhere among them was the man you needed.

Your eyes swept the crowd as you moved toward the bar, shoulders back, chin high. Confidence was everything in places like this.

And then—

A shift.

A slow, creeping awareness slithered down your spine, sending the faintest prickle across your skin.

It wasn’t obvious. Not enough to make you stop, not enough to make you turn your head. But something in the air felt… off.

Like you were being watched.

You forced yourself to ignore it, fingers tightening around the stem of your champagne glass you acquired.

Focus.

Your target was standing near the dance floor, sipping an overpriced drink, eyes skimming over the room like he owned it.

He was older, wealthy, predictable. The kind of man who liked feeling important. The kind of man who would love being wanted by someone like you.

You took a slow sip of your drink and made your move.

The pulse of the music in the ballroom vibrated through the floor, but all you could focus on was the banker in front of you. His hand was at the small of your back, and his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in closer, almost too close for comfort, but you needed this.

You felt the familiar tension rise in your chest, the way you could almost taste the danger in the air. The man's cologne mixed with the scent of expensive champagne, but it was the distinct scent of leather and pine that made your heart skip a beat—Matt. You knew that smell better than anyone’s. But you couldn’t let an impossibility get distracted. Your target was talking, moving his lips, but all you could hear now was the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat in your ears.

The man’s hand slid lower, too low, and you tightened your grip on your glass, using the tension to keep yourself grounded. You weren’t going to let him get away with touching you like that. It was a game of seduction, a necessary evil. You leaned in and whispered softly in his ear, "Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

As the banker nodded and walked off, you gave him a knowing look. It was just a matter of time now.

——

"Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart. I’ll probably be at the office late."

The lie tasted bitter, but it left his lips effortlessly. It had to.

He hated lying to you. Hated how easy it had become. But the alternative—the truth—wasn’t an option.

If you knew what he was really doing at night, if you knew what kind of people he dealt with, what kind of violence he waded through, you wouldn’t just be angry.

You’d leave.

And Matt wasn’t ready for that.

The line clicked dead before he could linger on the guilt gnawing at his ribs. He exhaled sharply, pushing it aside as he tugged his tie loose and turned his focus back to the task at hand.

The banker.

The man he was after had a laundry list of sins, and somewhere in the depths of his corruption lay the key to bringing down a major player in Hell’s Kitchen. The plan had been simple: track him, listen, wait for the right moment to step in.

The rhythmic hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes against marble floors—Matt let the sounds wash over him, sorting through them with practiced ease.

But then he heard you.

It was subtle at first, just the faint trace of your perfume threading through the air. A scent he knew like the back of his hand, lingering on his pillows, his clothes, his skin.

It stopped him cold.

No. That’s not possible.

You were supposed to be out with a friend, drinking, laughing—safe. Not here. Not weaving through a crowd of criminals and elites like you belonged among them.

Then he heard your voice. Low, warm, laced with something dangerous. And that’s when he felt the first twinge of something ugly in his chest. Because you weren’t talking to just anyone.

No, you were talking to him. His target.

Matt's grip tightened around his glass. He forced himself to remain seated at the bar, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He had to be wrong. This had to be a coincidence.

But as he listened, as he tracked the steady rhythm of your breathing, the precise cadence of your voice—too smooth, too controlled—it became undeniable.

You were working him.

What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?

He turned his head slightly, pinpointing your location with ease. You were dancing with the target, your bodies pressed too close, the silk of your dress whispering against his suit. He could hear the way your heart maintained its steady rhythm, unbothered by the hands on your waist, by the weight of the moment.

But Matt was bothered, to say the least.

His fingers itched to move. To do something—anything. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t you. The woman he knew didn’t belong in a place like this, whispering in a criminal’s ear, making promises she had no intention of keeping.

But maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought.

Then he heard it.

"Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

No. Absolutely not.

Matt was on his feet before he could think better of it, discarding his drink as he moved through the crowd with quiet precision. He told himself it was because he needed the banker alive and he wasn’t sure what you were capable of.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

The truth was that he needed to know what the hell was going on with you.

And he needed to get to you before the banker did.

—

You could feel it coming.

The banker’s breath was warm against your skin, his hand inching higher, his body pressing just a little too close. You forced yourself to stay still, to let the moment build, to make him think he was in control.

But you were seconds away from shoving him off.

You needed him comfortable. You needed him compliant. You needed him talking.

You try not to look at him as he leans in.

His lips barely parted—

And then he collapsed.

A shocked noise left his throat as he slumped forward, the dead weight of his body falling against you before you could move. Your hands shot out, gripping his shoulders just in time to keep him from hitting the floor too hard.

Your heart stuttered. What the—

And then you saw him.

Matt.

Standing there, completely unbothered, like knocking a man unconscious was just another part of his night.

Your mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at you.

He just exhaled sharply—like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight—then reached down and slipped a USB from the banker’s pocket.

That snapped you out of it.

Your body moved on instinct. You still had a job to do.

"I’ll take that, thank you," you said smoothly, reaching for it. Staying professional. If he’s not going to say anything, you’re not either.

But Matt was faster.

His grip tightened, fingers curling around the device before you could snatch it.

You barely had time to react before he moved.

A step. A shift. A precise block as he stopped your attempt to take it.

You inhaled sharply, twisting, countering—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion, his other hand already anticipating your next move.

"Really?" Matt muttered, voice laced with frustration.

You smirked, twisting out of his hold and stepping back. "Afraid I might win, darling?"

His jaw clenched. "Not afraid. Just annoyed."

Then he struck.

It wasn’t a full-force attack—more like a dance. A game. A controlled exchange of movement as you dodged, deflected, struck, countered.

Your breath came faster, the air between you charged with something sharp and hot, something tangled between frustration and something else entirely.

Your foot hooked around his ankle—he caught himself. His grip slid up your arm, twisting you just enough to get the upper hand—

So you grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a framed photo on the desk—and threw it. At Matt. Your boyfriend.

Matt barely had time to dodge. The frame shattered against the wall behind him.

"Y’know, I needed him awake for the passwords," you snapped. Your head leaning back against his shoulder. It’s definitely Matt, not just a random clone. If it is a random clone, then they have got his smell just right.

"I have the passwords," Matt grunted as you jabbed him in the ribs.

You fought the flicker of irritation. Of course he did.

Then, suddenly—

You were locked.

Your back hit the desk, Matt pinning your wrists, his body flush against yours, his breath warm and too close. “What are you doing here” he whispers against your ear. His forehead bumping against yours with affection.

Neither of you moved.

The fight had stopped, but your pulse hadn’t slowed.

Your eyes flickered to his lips.

For a fraction of a second, you almost forgot where you were. Forgot that you weren’t tangled in his sheets, weren’t waking up to lazy morning kisses, weren’t supposed to do this here.

Your body leaned in instinctively—just like it always did when he left for work, when he whispered see you tonight, sweetheart against your lips before slipping out the door.

Matt inhaled sharply.

Then he stiffened.

"There are guards coming," he muttered, pulling you tight against him.

Shit.

Before you could react, Matt grabbed your hand, yanking you off the desk and pulling you toward the door. You didn’t have time to argue. Didn’t have time to question why your heart was still racing.

Because Matt was leading you straight out of the room—And into a storage closet. Where he promptly shut the door, pressed you back against the shelves, and exhaled like he was already regretting every choice that led him here.

You let out a breathless laugh. The door had barely shut before you twisted in his grip.

Matt was fast—always was—but you had trained for this.

Your elbow shot up, breaking his hold just enough for you to spin him around, slamming his back against the shelves instead.

A sharp exhale left him. Then a smirk curled at the edges of his lips.

"You’re enjoying this," Matt muttered.

You huffed, pressing your forearm against his chest. "Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult, Matty."

Matt tilted his head, brow arching. "I’m difficult?"

"Oh, so difficult."

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh—God forbid. Instead, he moved.

Fast.

One swift motion, and suddenly you were against the shelf again, Matt’s body crowding yours, pinning you just enough to make a point.

"You still haven’t answered my question," he murmured.

Your breath came fast. "Well you lied to me." You say with confidence, knowing full well that you also lied.

He just stares at you, not saying anything. It’s the kind of look he gets when you tell him a really stupid fact that he isn’t sure is true.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I’m here for a client."

Matt scoffed. "Really? What kind of client sends you to seduce a banker?"

You shrugged, as if you were talking about what’s for dinner.

"A very important one."

Matt’s jaw ticked.

"Try again."

You arched a brow. "Why? Not buying it, counselor?"

"Not for a second," he said flatly.

The tension in the air shifted.

Not anger.

Not hostility.

Something else.

Something warm and electric, something that hummed under your skin like a live wire, something that shouldn’t be there but was. Because no matter how irritated Matt was, no matter how much he hated the idea of you being here, you could feel the way his body responded to yours.

And you weren’t above using that to your advantage.

"Your turn," you murmured, lips brushing his ear. "Why are you here? Thought you had late nights at the office, darling."

Matt’s fingers twitched against your hip.

A hesitation.

A tell. A grin takes over your face. Matt exhaled sharply. "We aren’t the same. What we’re doing isn’t the same"

"Isn’t it?"

You leaned in, just a little.

Matt didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Your lips hovered close to his jaw, his throat. Right where he likes to feel your kisses.

Close enough that you could feel the way his breath hitched. "Seems to me like we’re in the same business, sweetheart."

"We are not in the same business," Matt growled.

"Oh, but we are," you said, fingers trailing up his chest. "Both lying. Both sneaking around. Both playing a game. Question is—"

You leaned up, lips almost brushing his. Pulling at his tie you distract him enough to grab the USB.

"Who’s going to win?"

Matt inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was hot and sharp and charged, like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. Your lips on his has never felt so good.

Matt made a noise deep in his throat, something between surprise and frustration, but he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t even try.

His hands found your waist, gripping just enough to pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangled around his tie, anchoring yourself to him, using it to drag him impossibly closer, to keep his mouth against yours as long as possible—

Until Matt broke away with a growl.

"Not fair," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked, breathless. "All’s fair in love and espionage."

Matt let out a short, almost pained laugh. "We are going to talk about this later."

"Looking forward to it," you purred. You bring him in for another kiss, this time deeper. You want him to forget why he is there. You know the perfect distraction. And you’re going to let Matt think it’s his idea.

Matt knew exactly what you were doing—trying to distract him. But he was more than willing to play along. To forget, just for a moment, why you were here in the first place.

His fingers bunch up your dress, teasing, deliberate. But he’s not gentle. Not tonight. He wants you to feel his frustration, to know just how much control he still has.

You whimper, loving every second of it as his fingers plunge into you. Desperate for more, you press your lips to his neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. But Matt’s focus is singular—to make you beg. To have you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands roam, grasping at him, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the pleasure clawing through you. He groans, his voice wrecked, his restraint slipping as you grind down on his fingers, chasing that unbearable, aching need. Gone are the slow, teasing nights—this is something raw, something reckless.

"Come for me, baby. You know you want to."

And you do. Hard. The world blurs, your name, your purpose—everything vanishing in a tidal wave of pleasure.

But you’re not done. Not even close.

You drop to your knees, ravenous, desperate to return the favor. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, but before you can take him in, his hand tightens in your hair, binding you in place. He sets the pace. You let him. You always do.

You do that thing with your tongue, the one that makes his breath stutter. The one that makes him lose himself. You want him to forget everything but you. And he does.

For a moment.

Then Matt exhales sharply, his grip in your hair tightening as he yanks you up.

"Come here," he murmurs, voice dark, dangerous.

Then he’s inside you. And there’s nothing sweet about it.

No slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, aching need.

You gasp, arching against the shelves as he thrusts into you—hard, deep, possessive.

"Fuck—" Your fingers claw at his shirt, searching for anything to hold onto.

Matt’s hands are everywhere—your hips, your throat, your wrists. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you feel every inch of him, every punishing snap of his hips.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice is a dark growl, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Wanted me to fuck you until you can’t think straight?"

You whimper, nails raking down his back.

"Wanted you to forget why you were mad at me," you admit, smirking even as your body trembles under his.

Matt grunts, his fingers wrapping around your throat—not to cut off your air, just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to remind you that you’re his.

"Oh, I haven’t forgotten," he murmurs, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down at your pulse. "But I’ll deal with that later. Right now—"

He slams into you again, harder, sharper, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Right now, you’re mine."

Your thighs shake as you grind against him, pleasure coiling tight, blinding. Matt knows. He can feel it.

"Come on, baby," he rasps, voice wrecked, grip tightening on your hips. "Let go for me. Let me feel it."

And that’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, white-hot pleasure consuming you whole. You shatter around him, gasping his name, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Matt groans, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat-slick skin. The air thick with sex and something else—something dangerous.

Then Matt chuckles—low, dark, smug.

"You still think you’re winning, sweetheart?"

You grin, breathless, lips brushing against his ear.

"I stole the USB five minutes ago."

Matt stills.

Then he laughs.

It’s not amused.

It’s not surprised.

It’s infuriated.

And it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing exactly where you're still sensitive.

"You really wanna play that game with me, baby?" His voice is a promise. A warning.

You smirk, tilting your head. "Oh, darling, I’m counting on it."

Matt hums, his lips grazing yours, his grip tightening.

"Then let’s see who breaks first."

#matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil: born again #foggy nelson #matt murdock #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x you #smut

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sunflowersandsapphires · 2 months ago

Text

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 · 8 months ago

Text

[[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

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 months ago

Text

A New Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fisk!Daughter Reader, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Fisk!Daughter Reader

Summary: The daughter of Wilson Fisk walks a dangerous line between power and passion in Hell’s Kitchen. When Matt Murdock confronts her in the bar of her father’s Presidential Hotel, warning her about Benjamin Poindexter—her latest entanglement—wearing the Daredevil suit and wreaking havoc, she refuses to play into his self-righteousness. Matt sees her making the same mistakes as Fisk, but she insists she’s always one step ahead.

Inspired by: @prince-septimus 's headcannon? oneshot? about this topic.

The city breathes like a beast beneath you—alive, hungry, always watching. Hell’s Kitchen was never yours, not really, but it wasn't his either. Not Murdock’s. Not Dex’s. Not your father’s. It belonged to the shadows in between, and you had learned to navigate them with ease.

And yet, even as you sat across from Matt in the sleek, dimly lit bar of the Presidential Hotel—now your father’s hotel—you could feel the weight of all three men pressing in around you. Your father. Your ex. Your... whatever Dex was now.

"You shouldn’t be here," you murmured, swirling your drink lazily as you avoided looking at him. "You shouldn’t have called me."

Matt smiled that infuriating little smirk of his, the one that made you want to either punch him or kiss him, depending on the day. "Then why did you answer the phone?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "Say what you need to say, Murdock."

"It’s about Poindexter."

You went still. A slow blink. A measured breath. "What about him?"

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. "He’s wearing my suit."

The words barely had time to settle before you scoffed. "And?"

His jaw tensed. "And he’s using it to tear this city apart."

You rolled your eyes. "Spare me the theatrics. You think I don’t know what he does? You think I don’t know what you do? The only difference between the two of you is a red suit and a self-righteous complex."

Matt exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You don’t see it, do you?"

You tilted your head, challenging him. "See what?"

"You think you’re different from your father. That you’re smarter than him, better. But you’re making the same mistake. You’re letting a man who was made to kill whisper sweet things in your ear, and you’re pretending he won’t turn on you when the time comes."

A slow smile curled your lips, sharp and cruel. "Oh, Matty. The difference between my father and me is that I don’t pretend he won’t. I just plan for when he does."

Matt’s expression darkened. "Then you know how this ends."

You reached for your drink again, raising it slightly. "Everything ends, Matthew. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy it while it lasts."

Dex was waiting for you when you got back to your apartment. Sitting on your couch like he belonged there, a knife in his hands, flipping it between his fingers with that eerie precision of his.

"Was he convincing?" he asked without looking up.

You let out a breath, kicking off your heels. "He’s worried about you. Thinks you’re unstable."

Dex snorted. "Takes one to know one."

You smirked, making your way toward him, settling onto his lap without hesitation. He let you, hands immediately resting against your hips, firm and possessive.

"What do you think?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "Am I unstable?"

You ran your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back just slightly. "I think you’re dangerous," you murmured. "And I think I like it."

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening. "Careful, princess. You might start sounding just like your father."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, barely a whisper of a touch. "Then it’s a good thing I never wanted to be anything else."

Dex’s breath hitched just slightly before he yanked you down into a bruising kiss, sharp and consuming, as if he wanted to mark you from the inside out.

You wanted him to.

Because Matt was wrong.

You weren’t your father.

You were worse.

#daredevil born again #benjamin poindexter x reader #matt murdock x reader #benjamin poindexter imagine #benjamin poindexter #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil #imagine #fanfic #oneshot #mattmurdock #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock imagine #charlie cox #wilson bethel

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gatorbites-imagines · 5 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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goldenlikedayl1ght · 1 year 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 · 6 months ago

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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 · 21 days ago

Text

by any means necessary

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt finds out who's pulling the strings at s.h.i.e.l.d.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and violence

word count: 2.9k

a/n: it wouldn't be a marvel series without a cameo. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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When Matt regained consciousness, he could feel the intensity of his blood pumping through his vessels too violently, causing an incessant throbbing on the side of his skull. With a quiet groan, he lifted his hand to tenderly touch the source of the pain, grimacing at the soreness. He felt a little off equilibrium, but as he fully woke up, he realized he was in a room he didn’t recognize.

He also realized his cowl was gone.

And so was his suit.

Before he could panic, his ears perked up at the sound of a familiar heartbeat. The room smelled sterile, almost like a hospital, but there was a unique blend of spiced vanilla intertwined with jasmine. A scent he’d come to associate with only one person. His sightless hazel eyes fixed over in the direction where he knew she was sitting.

“Where am I?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.”

He could feel her watching him, studying him. She was as calm as ever.

“There’s water and Advil on the table.”

Matt slowly pushed himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he’d been laying on, but he didn’t reach for the water bottle or the pills.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“I tased you.”

Matt whipped his head in her direction, his thick brows knitting together in the middle of his forehead as his lips parted. He hadn’t even noticed she’d had a taser on her wrist. God, no wonder that had been so fucking painful.

“And I knocked you out.”

Matt pressed his lips together in a firm line. She could see his sightless eyes blazing with untamed fury. He was pissed.

“If you’re looking for an apology-”

“I’d never expect anything decent from you.”

Matt snapped suddenly, rendering her silent for the first time since he’d met her. He could tell his words had struck a nerve. It was subtle, but he caught it. She sat up a little straighter, and her nails dug into her palms harshly.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna kill them.”

“Because it wasn’t your business.”

Matt turned his body in her direction, his expression pure vexation, although she could see a hint of disgust that sunk like a stone in her stomach, but she steeled herself against it.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You don’t think omission isn’t a lie?”

Matt asked incredulously, tilting his head to the side as his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“I never said we were going to do this your way.”

Matt let out a dry scoff, shaking his head as he let it drop slightly between his shoulders. He gripped onto the edge of the bed, clicking his tongue against his cheek.

“And is this S.H.I.E.L.D.’s way? Murdering innocent people?”

“They were hardly innocent. You know what they are. You know what they’re doing.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to execute them. That’s not justice. Whether you like it or not, there’s a system. There’s laws. They’re innocent until proven guilty-”

“Innocence is relevant to what side of the fence you’re on.”

Matt clenched his jaw so hard it made his teeth ache. His nostrils flared as his breathing became heavier. The more his temper became incensed, the harder his blood pumped in his veins, his throbbing headache now pounding like his head was being slammed against a brick wall repeatedly.

“That’s a dangerous way of thinking. You can justify anything with that logic, no matter how evil it is.”

“I don’t believe in evil, Matthew. There are horrible people in this world who do horrible things, for greed, power, or pleasure. It’s not my job to figure out which one it is. It’s my job to prevent it, by any means necessary.”

“Even if it means doing unforgivable things yourself.”

Matt’s voice was dripping with venom and disdain, his bruised knuckles going stark white as the skin became tautly stretched over the bone from his iron grip.

Her eyes narrowed when he looked at her like that. The accusation was clear as day in his tone.

“And you think what you do isn’t unforgivable?”

“I’m not a killer-”

“Well you’re not a fucking saint either. You think because of your little golden rule, and because you spend your days defending people in a courtroom, that excuses what you do at night? How many bones have you broken, Matthew? How much blood have you shed in your own city, in one way or another? How many people have you left permanently damaged in this self imposed crusade of yours? Because I can count at least four just from last night.”

Matt clenched his jaw tightly again, the bones of his teeth grinding against each other, the unpleasant noise making him twitch. He wanted to argue. He wanted to lash out, let his stubborn pride win out, prove to her that she was wrong.

But he couldn’t. Because deep down, she wasn’t wrong. And he hated that.

“If you want to throw on a costume and pretend that all the shitty things you do are committed by some darker part of you that you can’t control, then fine. That’s your business. My moral compass may not be as squeaky clean as yours, but at least it doesn’t change depending on which one of my personalities takes over.”

Matt was seething as he sat there, unable to formulate a rebuttal. He had nothing to combat with. They both knew it. She saw right through him, and that made him feel unsettled.

“Quit being stubborn and take the goddamn Advil. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.”

She swiftly stood up and turned to walk towards the door, her heeled boots clicking against the floor. Matt rubbed his hand down his weary face, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the shirt he was wearing. A frown tugged down the edges of his mouth, and he grimaced.

Cotton.

His previous frustration gave way to puzzlement. This wasn’t his shirt. He didn’t own anything cotton, it was too rough on his sensitive skin, like sandpaper. The shirt also felt two sizes too small. Brushing his hand over his thigh, he felt a blend of cotton and polyester, and his confusion mounted even further. These weren’t his sweatpants either.

“Where’s my suit?”

“In the duffel on the floor.”

Matt turned his head in her direction, cocking his head to the side.

“Did you undress me?”

“Did you want me to drag you through headquarters with your horns on?”

Matt’s lips parted to speak, and then closed abruptly, creases of confusion indenting his forehead.

“I don’t understand. I thought S.H.I.E.L.D.-”

“Only a handful of people know.”

Matt didn’t even realize how concerned he was about that until he felt the weight of relief lift off his shoulders. The idea that an entire government agency knew his secret was daunting, but hearing that only a handful of people knew made him feel more relaxed. But then his brows furrowed again as a follow up thought crossed his mind.

“So you brought me in naked?”

“You had your underwear on. But if anyone asks, you’re a civilian who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I stopped by your apartment and grabbed you some clothes-”

“How do you keep breaking into my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the rooftop door, and I know how to pick locks.”

The rooftop door. So that’s how she was getting in.

“Get dressed. Take the Advil. Someone wants to talk to you.”

Without another word, she slipped out of the room, leaving Matt with more questions than answers. That seemed to be a common theme in their encounters.

»»———　　———««

Matt grasped his cane in his right hand, tapping it back and forth on the floor as they walked down one of the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, his left hand grasping her elbow. He picked up bits and pieces of different conversations from passing employees, some of it generic small talk, some of it details of important operations. He never stopped to think about how much intel they must have, not just on New York, or even on this planet, but all the ones that existed beyond it.

Aliens were another thing Matt had never stopped to think about. He was a man of faith, he believed in God and the Devil, but the idea of alien existence had always seemed…silly to him. A childish ideology that required an active imagination and the ability to suspend reality in a limitless way.

But then aliens had come out of the sky and attacked New York in 2012. They were real. There was another god besides the one Matt had been raised to believe in that could conjure thunder and lightning, and he was real. People with abilities were real. And all of it made Matt feel small and insignificant and…human if he stopped to think about it too long.

“Y/L/N!”

A man’s voice boomed from behind them, his heavy footsteps echoing against the floor as he advanced towards the pair, pulling Matt out of his internal conflict. Beside him, she let out an annoyed breath.

“Not now, Owens.”

Suddenly a man appeared at her side, his hand reaching out to grip her arm to force her to stop walking, tugging her to face him. Since Matt was holding her elbow, the action forced him to stop walking as well, shifting slightly in the same direction. He stiffened at the stranger’s action, his grip tightening on his cane, taking half a step forward to intervene, but he felt her hand reach up to give his wrist a subtle double tap, a silent communication.

“I’m escorting a civilian.”

“He can escort himself.”

“No he can’t.”

The man looked down at her in annoyance before his blue eyes landed on Matt. He looked him up and down, noticing the dark red tinted sunglasses and the cane, managing to put two and two together. Clearing his throat, he stood up straighter and held his hand out, making an attempt to be polite after realizing Matt was blind.

“My apologies, sir. I didn’t realize you were…I’m Captain Scott Owens.”

Matt made no move to reach out and shake his hand.

“He can’t see that dumbass.”

The edges of Matt’s lips twitched in amusement at her blunt callout. Scott’s lips pressed together in a firm line as he looked down at her.

“It’s common courtesy.”

“What? To be polite to a blind man only after you notice he’s blind? I thought they raised you Southern boys better than that.”

Matt could sense the man’s blood pressure raising, and it took every ounce of self control to not snicker at her smooth verbal lashing. Her sharp tongue and dry wit were entertaining when he wasn’t the one on the end of it. Clearing his throat, Matt gave him a faint nod.

“Matthew Murdock.”

“Mr. Murdock, can I have a moment alone with Agent Y/L/N?”

“Whatever you wanna say to me you can say in front of him.”

“He’s a civilian-”

“He’s my lawyer.”

Scott’s face twisted up in confusion, his taupe brows knitting together as he glanced between her and Matt in barely concealed disbelief.

“Lawyer? We have a legal team.”

“And?”

“Why do you need a lawyer if we have a legal team?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Scott clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he stared down at her in disdain. His hardened gaze flickered between her and Matt before landing back on her.

“Fine. You want him to stay, he stays. He can hear all about how untrustworthy and conniving you are, although if he’s your lawyer, I’m sure he knew that already.”

“Is there a point to your rambling, or do you just really like the sound of your own voice.”

“Goddamnit Y/L/N, that was my fucking operation. My men are the ones who went undercover to gather most of that intel. It was my men that found out that Constantin was going to be there last night-”

“He wasn’t.”

“It doesn't matter. It was still my intel. You wouldn’t have had it without me. You wouldn’t have gotten Tarasov last night without me. And I can’t even fucking interrogate him because thanks to you, he’s in intensive care with a concussion and a bullet in the knee, breathing through a goddamn tube.”

Tarasov wasn’t dead. She hadn’t killed him. Matt felt some of the weight lift off his chest at that. It also made him feel slightly guilty about his outburst earlier.

“He’s not yours to interrogate.”

It seemed as though Matt wasn’t the only one that got pissed off by her unnerving calmness. Matt could feel how wound up Scott was, like he was seconds away from exploding.

“You fucking-”

“You’re arrogant.”

Scott had taken a step forward to get in her face, but abruptly paused at her indelicate comment. Pure offense twisted up his features as he stared down at her.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re arrogant. You wanna know why you weren’t chosen to lead this operation? Because your ego gets in the way of your effectiveness. Your pride causes you to make stupid mistakes, mistakes we can’t afford. And quite frankly, you don’t have what it takes. You can’t make the hard decisions that need to be made. This isn’t the Boy Scouts. This is the grey area between black and white. It’s messy, it’s complicated, and sometimes you get your hands dirty.”

Scott stood up straighter and squared his shoulders, glaring down at her with a dry scoff.

“I’m a Captain in the Army, you think I haven’t gotten my hands dirty?”

“I think you prefer to make other people pull the trigger so you don’t have to. And you fall back on shifting the blame to whoever your orders came from so that you don’t have to be the bad guy, because you can’t stand not being the hero.”

Scott took another step forward, letting out a dry humorless laugh as he stared down at her. Matt stiffened once again, preparing to intervene.

“And you don’t mind being the bad guy, that it?”

“No. I don’t.”

The way she said it made the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stand up. She meant it. Her heartbeat didn’t waver. It was more strong and steady than he’d ever heard it. Scott clearly hadn’t expected that answer either, or the intensity of her delivery, because her icy tone seemed to melt his anger, and he promptly took a step back.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. Unless you wanna come up and explain to him why I was late?”

She cocked her head to the side, and Matt could hear the taunting challenge in her voice. Whoever she was talking about, Scott did not want to piss off, because he immediately cleared his throat and backed off, shaking his head.

“No. We’ll uh…finish this later.”

Giving Matt’s arm a gentle tug, they continued walking towards the end of the hall.

“Who the hell is he?”

“Dimestore Captain America wannabe.”

“He’s a super soldier?”

“No. He’s just another blonde haired blue eyed white guy that did well in the Army, and now thinks he’s special. He’s also delusional enough to compare himself to Steve Rogers, and to even think that he’s worthy to be the new Captain.”

“I thought Sam Wilson was the new Captain America?”

“Sam Wilson is Captain America.”

“So what does that make Owens?”

“A narcissist.”

Matt let out a chuckle despite himself, following her into the elevator.

“Well, I think we‘ve finally found common ground.”

As they slipped into the elevator, Matt let go of her elbow, holding his cane vertically in front of his body with both of his hands.

“Director’s Floor.”

“Matthew Murdock does not have clearance for Director’s Floor.”

An automated female voice sounded through the speakers, and Matt’s brows furrowed in confusion hearing his name.

“Override and update access. Y/L/N, Y/N.”

“Confirmed.”

With that, the elevator doors shut, and they began to ascend.

“What was that?”

“Security protocol.”

“The elevator knows my name.”

“The A.I. security protocol knows your name.”

“How?”

“Facial recognition.”

“What if I don’t want my face to be recognized?”

Letting out a deep sigh, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“For fucks sake Murdock, I just gave you clearance that ninety percent of the people in this building don’t even have. Are you always this bad at accepting gifts?”

Matt opened his mouth to fire back, but then the elevator doors opened with a ding to signify their arrival, and a voice called out.

“Mr. Murdock.”

Matt’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. He’d heard it before. It was unmistakable who it belonged to. He hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the elevator, but he only took three steps forward. Steady footsteps grew louder in volume and closer in distance until they stopped right in front of Matt.

“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. Pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Nick Fury.”

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