#this reader is a human disaster

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Gentle Touch

Installment 1 of The Catlike Tendencies of Matthew Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt doesn't know how to ask for physical affection.

warnings: none that I can think of!

a/n: long story short this is inspired by my wife’s orange cat. He loves her but only tolerates me most of the time, unless I’m the only one home when he wants attention. However, he doesn’t really know how to cuddle with me since we don’t do it often so he just awkwardly lurks wherever I am until I invite him closer. It happened earlier and I thought it was hilariously Matt-coded so I wrote this. (It’s set in the Of Oak and Ivy verse because I love them, but you don’t need to read that story for this)

w/c: 2.3k

You were absolutely enthralled in the story Foggy was telling when the noise caught you off guard. A small puff of air, sounding almost like a voiceless sigh. Glancing toward Matt who was the closest to you, one look at his stony expression told you it had come from him. He was clearly irritated, despite his face being blank. You’d known him for long enough that you could tell when something was on his mind. 

Maybe he’d heard this story too many times? You leaned more heavily into his arm, which was parallel to yours. 

Turning your attention back to Foggy, you flinched with a laugh as he gestured wildly when concluding his story, spraying beer at you from his mostly full bottle. 

“Geez, Fog. Reaching your limit already?” Matt smirked, his icy exterior fading away as you giggled beside him. 

“He is, he’s all flushed. This is just like that party at the Beta house sophomore year.” You shook your head, looking at Karen with an exasperated expression. “Have they told you the possum story?” 

Smiling gleefully, Karen shook her head. “The possum story?” 

Both Matt and Foggy groaned, protesting and blushing furiously, but Karen was adamant. And who were you to not indulge her?

“In the fall of our second year at Columbia, Matt and Foggy got absolutely plastered on some disgusting concoction of cheap alcohol and Hawaiian Punch,” You began, rolling your eyes as Foggy gagged across from you. 

“God, even the thought of it—“ The blond mime-retched. 

“Yah the smell of Hawaiian Punch still makes me nauseous.” Matt shuddered next to you. 

Karen stifled a giggle as you continued to illustrate just how inebriated you’d found them when you’d come to pick them up. “I was studying and had sat the party out, but offered to drive them home when Fog called me screaming at someone to chug alcohol. I figured they’d both be in no shape to get home.”

“You were correct.” Foggy nodded. 

“I don’t remember anything from that night, but I assume I was the one chugging.” Matt grimaced, laughing sheepishly. 

“So I drove over to the house, somehow got ahold of Matt and managed to convince him to herd Foggy and himself into my car. When they get there, they’re holding this bundle, right? I figured it was dirty clothes or something. But as we were driving home the clothes start hissing.”

“Oh, NO!” Karen cackled, propping herself up on her elbows as she listened to the story. 

“Oh yes. Naturally, I ask Fog what he’s holding and he says ‘my dog’.” 

“We didn’t have a dog,” Matt clarified, looking incredibly guilty. 

“No you did not.” You squeezed his arm, hoping he could hear in your voice that you had no resentment over the incident. “Foggy unwraps the thing a bit and introduces it as ‘Spot’. But instead of a dog,”

“It’s a possum.” Karen finishes for you, nearly in stitches over her coworkers’ mortified faces. 

“An angry one at that. I have no idea where it came from or how they managed to catch it, but there it was.” You shook your head, still amazed at their ability to wrangle the creature while piss-drunk. 

“What happened to it?” Karen asked, and the men erupted. 

“That’s classified.” Foggy stated firmly, lips pressed together. 

“A story for another time,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Don’t tell me you killed it!” Karen gasped, whirling to look at the out of them sternly. 

“Of course not! No possums were harmed in the making of this story, just mildly inconvenienced.” You assured her. “They’re just clamming up because they can’t remember whose fault it was that it got loose in the science hall.”

Trailing off into a fit of laughter, Karen was quick to follow you as the two men started arguing, pointing fingers. Sitting back and enjoying the show, you shot Karen knowing glances as Matt and Foggy fought, no real heat behind their words. 

You’d had so much fun that night, reliving one of the funniest moments of your college years, that you’d completely forgotten about the aggravated sound. Until about one month after, when you were sitting next to Matt on a bench in the courthouse. 

The case he and Foggy had been working on was tedious and full of metaphorical landmines that threatened to ruin any shot your client had at escaping her abusive husband. The entire firm had been on edge, struggling to keep everything in order. Given your lack of steady employment at the moment, you’d been helping out wherever you could, and had been working this case from day one, right alongside Matt. Which is how you’d ended up beside him rather than Foggy. 

The blond had flown out of town a few days before to attend an extended family reunion, leaving the rest of you to man the fort, so to speak. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Matt had been increasingly temperamental leading up to the ex parte hearing. His normal reserved demeanor had rapidly been replaced by a moody, antagonistic version of him–driving poor Karen to her wit’s end. 

After Matt had incited a screaming match over a spilled cup of coffee, you’d told her to take her lunch early, giving her a couple hours where she didn’t need to walk on eggshells. The plan seemed to be working so far, Matt responding with less hostility to your persistent support rather than Karen’s eager suggestions for an aggressive approach. Something about this case had rubbed Matt the wrong way. His invisible hackles were standing on end, posture almost bristling as he sat beside you, twisting a white-knuckled fist around his cane. And, though you understood why Karen was pushing for another solution, you agreed with Matt that this needed to be handled quickly and quietly. 

Scowling at the floor, Matt’s joints rolled beneath the delicate skin of his hands. His jaw was clenched, shoulders curled inward, as if he expected the judge to request a fist fight to grant the protection order. Christ, that could not be comfortable.

Carefully, slow enough to not spook him when he was in this state, you slid the pads of your fingers over the back of his hand. Prying his firm grip off the handle of his cane, you cradled his massive, calloused hand in your lap. He visibly relaxed at the touch, twisting to face you as you traced gentle patterns over his skin, careful to avoid the line of freshly healed cuts on his knuckles. Your curiosity would have to wait for now. There was no way he was in the mood to explain those.

A breathy rumble sounded in his throat, akin to a sigh but less obvious. The same noise he’d made all those days ago at Josie’s–the quiet indication that something wasn’t right. 

Bottom lip jutting out in sympathy, you squeezed his fingers with your own. “It’ll be ok, Matty.” 

He swallowed roughly, hazel eyes darting around behind his red lenses. You could practically see the thoughts forming in his mind before he buried them, the stress forcing him back into bad habits. Sweeping your fingers over his wrist, you studied him, satisfaction thrumming in your chest when his breath hitched. “Hey, talk to me, trouble. What are you thinking?”

“It’s not going to go well.” His voice was pitched low, angry, but there was a brief undercurrent of fear within it. 

“We don’t know that.” You chastised lightly, knowing this pessimistic streak was a coping mechanism and not confirmation he’d become a nihilist. 

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? It’s like every officer is laughing at us. We’ve already lost.” Watching Matt, the perpetual optimist, crumble at the thought of things not going the way you’d planned nearly broke your heart. 

“Oh trouble, don’t say that.” Threading your fingers with his, you knocked your knees together. “It’ll be ok. Even if the judge doesn’t grant the order today, we won’t stop trying, right?”

“No but she needs legal protection now. Truthfully, she needs an armed guard.” Matt spoke bitterly.

“We can get her temporary protection.” You suggested.

“They’d never grant that for a simple DV case. Besides, those are his coworkers. Do you really trust them to keep her safe from him?” Matt scoffed, raising a brow at you. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you jabbed your pinky into the flesh of his palm. “I wasn’t suggesting we go to the police, Matthew. You and I both know how little good that would do.”

Deflating as he realized you weren’t being as naive as he suspected, Matt frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone knows the flaws in the system.” You reassured him. “But I do. To some extent, at least.”

He hummed in agreement, but said nothing. 

“What’s really bothering you?” At your insistent question, Matt’s face flashed with rage, his spine straightening as he tried to pull out of your grasp, but you held fast. “Don’t you dare, trouble. Please, talk to me. It’s eating you away, I can’t sit here and let that happen.” 

Sighing harshly, Matt ran a hand over his face. “I just..this case feels different. I don’t know why. But if we can’t help her…”

“All we can do is try our best.” You reminded him. 

He let out a single humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” 

When you let his hand drop, he made that pitiful, choked noise again. 

“What?” You asked, slightly worried. 

“Nothing. Just tired.” He lied, wrapping his hand back around the handle of his cane.

It was only once you were truly together that you realized what that specific sound was meant to signify. 

Since you’d officially started dating, or rather labeling whatever you two had as a relationship instead of dancing around each other, that stupid noise had cemented itself in your life. It seemed like Matt was making it every damn day and it was driving you up a wall. 

Not because Matt wasn’t entitled to his feelings or to expressing said feelings. But because your brain registered that the sound had a specific meaning, and you could not for the life of you translate it from a mere Matt-ism into a language you actually understood. Every little quirk and charm about Matt inherently made sense to you, they always had. Yet this little growling exhale seemed out of your reach. Not to mention, anytime you tried to ask him what was up, he shut down faster than a computer chip dunked in pool water.

Sitting on his couch as he typed on his laptop, he snarled out that sound, eyes darting towards you and away before you could blink. Brows furrowing, you peered at him over the top edge of your book. A muscle in his cheek twitched, a blaring omen that he was holding himself back from saying something. 

“You ok?” You asked, nose scrunching as Matt brushed off your concern. 

“Yep. Hungry.” He grumbled. 

One word answers. Great start. Really breaking down his walls there, champ. 

“Oh, gotcha. I’ll order something. Have a taste for anything in particular?” Setting your book across your thighs, you opened up a delivery app on your phone. 

“No.” 

“Okay...” You drawled, stifling an eye roll at his grouchiness. “How about that Lebanese place we liked?” 

Receiving nothing but a thumbs up in response, you submit an order before Matt reached another stage of hangriness. 

Once Matt had eaten half of his shawarma, he was more agreeable. Smiling and chuckling sweetly as you read him cheesy snippets of your romance novel. Crawling across the couch until you were seated beside him, you stretched over his lap to snatch a piece of pita bread for your plate of hummus. Matt blew out a breath, tickling your ear as he grunted. Now that you were close, you could hear the shrill, whimpering undertone. Hidden, nearly silent, as if the growl was to compensate for the whine, to conceal it. 

Craning your neck towards him, you planted your free hand on your hip. 

“Alright. Out with it.” 

“Out with what?” Matt gave his best ‘befuddled’ impression, but you saw past his feigned innocence. 

Snorting, you prodded his firm chest. As your finger connected with his solid pec, he whimpered again, this time almost moaning. Something clicked. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” You gasped. “You are not making that sound instead of asking to cuddle.” 

Blushing furiously, Matt dipped his head, ashamed–though he made no attempt to deny the allegation.

Laughing incredulously, you tossed your plate aside and settled into Matt’s lap, threading a hand into his hair. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Matt rumbled happily, leaning into the touch until his head landed against your chest. Clutching his face between your palms, you trailed soft touches over his cheeks, around his ears–scratching tenderly down his neck when he practically melted beneath your fingertips.

“You could’ve told me that’s what you wanted, all this time…” Shaking your head, you planted a kiss atop his thick hair. “Why suffer in silence?”

“Didn’t want to force you. It’s been different. Since..everything.” 

Snuggling in close, you maneuvered his chin with two fingers, kissing him deeply. His stubble brushed over your skin roughly, making you smile. “You can always always ask, trouble. No need to be a martyr with me.”

“Sorry,” Matt murmured against your lips, chasing your mouth with a mournful noise as you pulled away. 

“Don’t be sorry. Now come here.” Tugging him on top of you, you laughed brightly as he squirmed over you, finally relaxed when his face was tucked against your neck. “That’s it. Better?” 

“Much better.” He whispered, going limp under your touch as your fingers stroked up his back.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @shouldbestudying41

[courtforshort15]

A Matter of Opinion

Pairing: Matt Murdock x femReader

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: A tale of disagreements, egging each other on, and a general disregard of the other’s opinion.

Trigger warning: So much fluff it might as well be cotton candy

Masterlist

“So what you’re saying is…you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

From across the room, Foggy snorts.

The gloating smirk falls from Matt’s face, quickly replaced by a look of confusion. “What? That’s not at all–”

“That’s what you literally just said to my face.”

Matt scoffs, waving his hand in dismissive action. “I definitely didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“You told me you don’t trust my opinion, Matt,” you say with narrowed eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. You stare him down, knowing that while he can’t see it, he can certainly feel it. With a mild look of alarm crossing his face, Matt leans back on his left foot as if the force of your stare actually unsettles his balance. 

He clears his throat. “Well, not when it comes to–”

“Ah ah ah,” you cut him off before he finishes his sentence. He rolls his shoulders, standing up straight, files of case notes at his fingertips from where he stands next to the table. Matt tilts his head, still looking incredibly confused. It takes everything in you to not walk out of the room and leave him to sweat it out. “You either trust it or you don’t.”

“Come on, you know that’s not at all how I meant it.”

“How are we jumping from not trusting you to not wanting to be with you?” he asks as his face shifts to one that’s a mix of incredulity and slight anxiety, voice growing steadily louder. He takes a small step forward, frowning when you take a step backwards.

“And if you don’t trust my opinion, then how can you trust me?”

“So you admit that you don’t trust me.”

“I didn’t say-”

“And if you don’t trust me, then why would you want to be with me?”

Matt groans and tosses his head back in a gesture of God help me. “Sweetheart–”

“Foggy,” you call to the other man in the room, not bothering to shift your head in his direction, eyes still locked on Matt’s tense form in front of you as you ignore the pet name. “Did you or did you not just hear Matthew say he doesn’t trust my opinion?”

Foggy snorts again, the sound of rustling paper sliding throughout the office as he picks up his folder. He doesn’t bother looking up as he shakes his head in amusement. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

“Come on, Foggy,” Matt says, his tone bordering on exasperation. “You gonna let her tear me down this like this?”

“Not getting in the middle of it,” Foggy repeats with a wide grin that suggests he’s enjoying watching Matt be put on the spot. Foggy moves into your field of vision as he noisily slaps a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I love you, but she scares me. I’m playing Switzerland on this one.”

“I’ll get in the middle of it,” Karen cheerfully chirps from the conference room table as she picks up her own laptop and begins gathering her stuff to take back to her office. “I’m siding with your girlfriend on this one, Matt. You threw yourself under your own damn bus when you told her that you had better taste than her.”

Matt groans loudly as you send a bright smile her way, catching her wink and flashing one of your own. “Thanks, Karen. Your tab is on me tonight.”

“I did not say that,” Matt says as he runs an agitated hand through his dark hair. You bite your bottom lip in amusement, always secretly pleased at the way you’re able to rile him up, well aware that he’ll get you back at some point this evening. “You all know that I–”

You interrupt him with a smirk. “You said, and I quote, “Why would we go to that awful pizza place she likes when I have a much better option for us? You know I have a better sense of taste.””

One masculine and one feminine set of laughter match each other from the other side of the table, further fueled by the pained look on Matt’s face as his words are shot back at him. Karen and Foggy are helpless to stop the giggles at their friend’s misfortune. He flounders for a second as he flushes, and you briefly consider taking it easy on him.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Matt tells you, his tongue sliding out as he ran it over his lips, the telltale sign of anxiety. “I just thought that we should go to the restaurant off of 37th. I’ve walked by it quite a bit since it opened and it smells amazing. So much better than–”

All sympathy for the devil leeches out of you with a snap. “I dare you to finish that statement.”

“I’ve been to where she’s talking about, Matt,” Karen pipes back in. She finishes picking her stuff up from the table, curled blond hair sliding over her shoulders as she flashes a smile your way. “It’s pretty good.”

“No offense, Karen,” Matt says with a shake of his head, red lenses glinting from the office light, “but you’re not from New York, so you don’t know what good pizza is.”

Karen raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and you can’t help the cackle of glee that escapes your lips as Matt digs himself further into a hole. “You really want to go there, Matt? I think you’re sadly lacking in allies right now.”

“You chose her side, Karen. We’re not allies right now anyway.”

“Maybe not,” she says with a happy shrug of her shoulders, lips splitting her pretty face open in laughter. Her blue eyes glint in a sense of amusement that barely hides her sharp ability to tear a man down a few pegs. It’s one of your favorite things about her. She crosses the room with her laptop tucked in one arm, folders in the other hand. “But it doesn’t mean we’re enemies. Just take back what you said about her opinion on pizza places sucking.”

“She’s from Chicago!” Matt growls in frustration. “Of course it does.”

You throw your head back with a loud laugh, enjoying the look of your flustered boyfriend, finding the conversation too funny to even be offended. “New York doesn’t own the market on good pizza, Matthew. Why can’t you just–”

“There’s just something about Chicago pizza that isn’t right,” he cuts you off with a look that suggests aggravation. He shakes his head emphatically, hands on his hips. “The ingredients are wrong, the spices and sauces just don’t match together all that well. It’s a travesty.”

“You act like you know all there is to know about food and what things go together and what don’t.”

“I do!” Matt cries out as he suddenly throws his hands in the air. “I literally do. And even without my senses I’d know that nothing beats New York pizza.”

“So arrogant,” Karen quips. “Can’t bring yourself to admit that others simply have different tastes than you.”

“Karen, you eat your pizza with ranch. You really have no room to talk.”

“Pizza with ranch isn’t bad,” you throw in, sending Karen a wink as you shrug your shoulders in a display of casual nonchalance. “I’ve been known to enjoy it a time or two.”

Matt turns to the other man in the room, one hand gesturing towards his friend in frustration of being all but ganged up on. You can’t help but snort at the motion that seems entirely too desperate for the situation. “Foggy, back me up here.”

Foggy laughs loudly. It’s the kind of laugh that offers no pity or effort to console, just a laugh that tells the room that Matt is on his own. “No can do, my dear friend. I am an equal opportunist when it comes to pizza. A pizza connoisseur, if you will.”

“You all are crazy.”

“Says the man who only eats ice cream if it’s plain vanilla,” you say as you raise your eyebrows, watching the man. His mouth drops in a sharp sense of betrayal, as if you were giving away a private secret that no one else in the room is privy to, though you know both Foggy and Karen are completely aware of his extremely picky eating. 

“I eat sorbets, too,” he says defensively, hands back on his hips. From behind red lenses, you see his eyes narrow.

“Sorbet is not ice cream.”

Matt tilts his chin up. “It is a sweet and tasty treat that you put in a freezer and later eat with a spoon. It counts.”

“Ice cream is dairy based. Sorbet is fruit based. Big difference.”

“I’d hardly–”

“You’re so lucky you’re pretty, Matt,” you coo suddenly, taking a few steps in his direction and reaching up to touch his heated cheeks with the back of your fingers. “You had a late night last night, didn’t come to bed until three. I can tell you’re tired and not thinking straight. Maybe we should go home instead of going to dinner so my beautiful Matty can take a nap.”

“Isn’t this a form of gaslighting?” Foggy whispers to Karen in the background.

Matt gently pushes you away with a growl of annoyance even as his lips twist up in the beginning form of a smirk. “I’m fine. It’s not my fault your pizza sucks.”

“That’s super rude of you, Matthew. I hope you’re prepared to sleep on the couch tonight.”

The smirk falls. “Sweetheart–”

“You two fight like an old married couple,” Foggy interjects from the other side of the room, finally on his way out of the conference space, mouth tilted in a grin that doesn’t bother hiding her extreme amusement. “Just propose already.”

You flush, eyes wide as you give Foggy and Karen a look that’s both panicked and pointed. “We haven’t even talked about marriage yet–”

“Shut up, Foggy,” Matt hisses as you’re talking, a severe frown aimed at his friend. “You know the ring is still being sized, so I’m not–”

Your mouth clamps shut as his words hit you, effectively cutting off the rest of your response to Foggy and Karen, and Matt immediately freezes when he realizes what he’s said. The energy in the room abruptly shifts, silence sharply cutting through the laughter and teasing argument. You don’t turn to him just yet, instead letting your round eyes take in the hand that Karen had slapped over her mouth and the pale face of Foggy who clearly hadn’t expected Matt to respond the way he did. Between Karen’s shocked face and Foggy’s look of guilt, it’s enough to cause you to swallow sharply, goosebumps lighting up and down your skin.

Matt clears his throat softly, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice how tense his form has gone, his white dress shirt straining slightly at his shoulders as he holds himself stiffly. “Can you—can you give us some privacy?”

Foggy and Karen leave with jerky nods of their heads and exit the conference room without a word, though they both take multiple glances back. When they’re gone, you finally manage to turn your face back towards Matt’s, taking in the flushed skin and eyes that have suddenly lost their glasses. He doesn’t speak, though he opens his mouth and closes it a few times as if he has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it. 

The silence is almost nerve-wracking, so you put an end to it.

“So…” you trail off, raising your eyebrows as you study him fondly, eyeing the way his hand twitches at his side, glasses held in a tight grip. “There’s a ring?”

Matt nods his head slowly, tongue poking out to run slighty over his bottom lip. His eyes flutter closed for a quick moment before he takes a deep breath and snaps them back open.  “Yes. There’s a ring.”

A wide smile blooms across your face, and you’re unable to reign in the joy that pulses through you. “Is there…a specific question that’ll go with that ring?” you ask as your hand reaches out to finger one of the buttons on his collared shirt, your tone teasing. The action is instinctive, one you often use to catch Matt’s attention and encourage to step forward closer, and it receives the same response as always. Matt’s lips shift into a soft smile, the one he so often gives you in these quieter, more intimate moments, and all at once, the nerves fall away.

“Of course there’s a question,” he responds with a brief nod of his head, the apprehension in his eyes shifting to something warm in his blank gaze. “Is there an answer that you might have?”

You tilt your head in consideration and pretend to ponder the question. Matt’s eyes blindly trail over your face, a barely noticeable hitch in his breath betraying a mind that, despite the small grin lighting up his face, is on edge in anticipation.  “Yes.”

Matt raises an eyebrow at your one-word answer. “Yes, as in there’s an answer? Or yes, as in…you’re saying yes?”

“What do you think it is?”

He tosses his head back with a groan. “Sweetheart, don’t play with me. What are you–”

“Y–”

“If I might interrupt for just a moment,” Foggy’s voice calls out from his office, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just cut off your answer to Matt’s question, leaving the two of you standing close to each other with Matt growling in annoyance under his breath even as your lips curve into an amused smile. “As best man, I’d like to offer the suggestion that pizza not be served at your wedding. And–”

The conference room door is quickly slammed shut in a brief flash of long blond hair as Karen opens her mouth to yell at the other man. “Shut the hell up, Foggy, before I cut your tongue off and make you mime your opening argument to the jury.”

Foggy makes a startled choking noise of horror before he manages to squeak out, “yes, ma’am.”

When Matt’s satisfied there will be no more interruptions, his head turns back towards yours from where he had been glaring daggers in Foggy’s general direction. A small smile tilts the corner of his mouth up as his body relaxes, no doubt having heard your mouth open with a yes before Foggy rudely had cut off the full word.

“You were saying?” he asks as he steps further into you and presses the heat of his body into yours until all you can feel is warmth.

You send him a teasing grin before it changes abruptly into a false frown. “You know, I actually just lost my train of thought,” you say in mock sadness. “What were we–”

“Holy mother of God,” he mutters under his breath. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“If you’re referring to our pizza argument, you’ll recall that I never dissed New York pizza the way you dissed Chicago pizza. You’re the one who—”

“Shut up,” he huffs in barely restrained amusement, reaching out to settle his hands on your shoulders in a failed attempt to change the tone of the conversation. Eventually he just gives in, eyes lighting up as he shakes his head. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“Technically, you haven’t actually asked any–”

“Marry me.”

“Honey, that’s still not a question. That’s a demand.”

Matt’s hands pull your face to his, angling your head up so that he can press his lips to yours as swiftly as possible before pulling away just as quickly. “Will.” Another kiss. “You.” A nip to your bottom lip. “Marry.” An open mouthed kiss as you giggle against his lips. “Me?”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out, Matt’s matching grin the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen as he pulls away. It’s a question you don’t even have to consider the answer to, but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease him for it. “Of course I will, but–”

Dark eyes widen drastically. “There’s a but?”

“Hush, Matthew. You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Matt gives you a frown that is far too exaggerated to be actually offended. “I can’t believe your answer to my marriage proposal was yes, but.”

You roll your eyes fondly as you reach out to tap his cheek in soothing matter that feels more like a teasing gesture. “Yes, I will marry you, but on one condition.”

He openly gapes for a second before he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Name it.”

“We ditch these losers and have our own naked pizza party at home.”

“I am NOT a loser!”

“Yes you are, Foggy.”

The smile on Matt’s face is nothing short of blinding, even as the other two object in the background. “I happily agree to these terms, but from the place I suggested.”

“You’re prepared to die on that hill, aren’t you?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. “You gave your condition, I gave mine.”

“You drive a steep bargain, Counselor, but I accept.”

[superbreadsoul]

DON’T BAIL ON ME

Matt Murdock x Reader

DISCLAIMER: The following story is purely fictional and is made for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story.

WARNING: Heartbreak, no happy-ending, Matt is emotionally constipated, Reader is unable to take responsibility as well. Elektra (cuz she’s hawt).

WORD COUNT: 5119 WORDS

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

Matt’s voice trembled with concern as he heard her step through the door, sensing her eyes downcast, her posture tense. He had been pacing for what felt like hours, his mind running wild with worry. The clock on the wall mocked him with every passing second. He hadn’t heard from her all day. He hadn’t seen her since their plans had been set.

"Hey, sweetheart," he began, his tone more gentle than usual, but heavy with the weight of unspoken fear. "I was worried about you. Where have you been?"

Her response was quiet, almost reluctant, as if she was debating whether or not to let him in on the truth. "At the hospital."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart skipped a beat. "What? Why? Are you okay?"

His feet moved instinctively toward her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she stepped back, a wall of frustration and hurt suddenly building between them. He halted, sensing the shift, his worry now mingling with confusion.

"Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "I was visiting Barry."

There was an unmistakable edge to her words, and Matt froze, the weight of her response settling in. Barry. The name stung. He had heard about Barry—her ex, the doctor— the one she couldn’t quite escape, the one who always seemed to pull her back in. He had known this day would come. He just hadn’t expected it to feel so… personal. Little did he know, that wasn't what she was seemingly hesitant about.

"Oh," Matt said, his voice trailing off as he tried to keep his composure. He noticed a familiar scent around her, something sweet and floral. "You—smell nice."

She blinked, her lips tightening into a thin line. “Really?” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I wanted to smell nice for our date. Thanks for showing up, by the way.”

Matt’s heart clenched. The biting tone in her voice stung, but it was nothing compared to the way the truth had just hit him. His sightless eyes bounced, full of remorse and regret. His mind raced, desperately trying to piece together where everything had gone wrong.

"Oh sweetheart," he whispered, his words catching in his throat. "I’m so sorry. It… it slipped my mind. I’m so, so sorry."

He stepped forward, his hands reaching for her, but she pulled back slightly, the distance between them growing, thick with unspoken anger.

"Are you?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. She glanced up at him, the vulnerability in her voice almost too much for him to bear. "Are you really sorry, Matt?"

Her question hung in the air, and for a moment, he was speechless. All he could hear was the rapid beat of his own heart, and the deafening silence that followed. He had forgotten their date. He had let her down. Again.

Matt’s breath hitched as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more sincere tone. “Y/N, is something wrong?”

The words were tentative, but they were filled with an unspoken plea for her to let him in, to let him fix this, to let him make things right. But she only stood there, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Matt had known her long enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. But this—this was different. This was something deeper, something he couldn’t fix with an apology alone.

"Natchios."

The name dropped from Y/N's lips like a stone sinking into the silence of the room, heavy and uninvited. It echoed through the small space, reverberating off the walls and into Matt’s chest, where it lodged like a shard of ice. The very surname that had haunted him for years. The one name he thought he had left behind. The name of the woman who had once ruled his world in a storm of chaos and passion—and who, no matter how hard he tried, was never truly gone.

“What?” Matt froze, his blood running cold, his breath caught in his throat. The dread settled in, slow and suffocating. He had thought he could outrun it, that he had buried that past deep enough for it to never resurface. But now, standing before him, was Y/N, looking at him with eyes that said she knew, and with a smile that barely disguised the hurt and the bitterness.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a bitter, almost rueful grin. “I was so caught up with the trial, I didn’t realise it at first. I’d never heard a name so unique. Then I thought, hey, actually, I have. I’ve only ever known one person with a name that unique. She had a pretty unique personality too. Elektra Natchios. Huh.”

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat prick at the back of his neck. Her words stung deeper than he could have imagined. There was no hiding now, no pretending that this wasn’t happening. He couldn't see it but he knew that Y/N was no longer looking at him with the gentle affection of someone who had shared quiet moments of love. Now, she was looking at him with something else: pain. And the realization that everything he had tried to protect her from had come crashing down.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed at him, her gaze sharp and cutting, as she began to recall their past. “God, I hated that stupid Chevy Belair Coupe she used to drive around to pick you up. Then you’d get in the passenger seat with a big smile on your face, bunking all your classes.” She chuckled, but the sound was hollow, edged with something bitter and pained. “And I wouldn’t hear from you for days. Three days, Matt. I didn’t hear from you for three damn days.”

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to apologise, to explain, but the words felt useless. How could he explain any of it without dragging her deeper into the mess that was his life with Elektra? 

Elektra. 

Just the thought of her made his stomach twist, but the worst part was the knowledge that Y/N had been right all along. He had never fully severed the connection with Elektra, and now, it was here, in front of him, like a spectre from his past. 

Y/N’s eyes flashed with an icy determination. "She’s here, isn’t she? Like Stick? You can come out now.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and accusing. Matt’s breath hitched, and before he could protest or stop it, Y/N’s gaze flicked toward the door of the bedroom. The silence that followed was oppressive, and Matt’s heart sank as he knew exactly who would walk through that door, already hearing her heels clicking. He didn’t need to say a word. He didn’t have to.

From the shadows of the hallway, Elektra emerged.

“Hello, Y/N,” Elektra’s voice was smooth, almost amused, like she had been waiting for this moment, anticipating the fallout from Matt’s past finally catching up with him.

Elektra’s steps were confident, every movement exuding the kind of smug self-assurance Matt had never been able to shake. She stood tall in the doorway, her presence dominating the room even as she leaned casually against the frame. There was a faint, cruel smile playing at the edges of her lips as she looked past Matt to Y/N. 

Matt’s stomach turned. Elektra had always had that way of walking into a room like she owned it, like everyone in it was just another pawn in her game. He hated that about her. He hated the way she always made him feel like he was nothing more than a fool to be played with. 

“Elektra,” Y/N said, her voice tight with controlled fury. "I should have known you’d be here. Always lurking in the shadows, making everything more complicated than it needs to be."

Elektra’s eyes gleamed with something cold, calculating. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just here to see Matthew, just like I always have been.”

Matt’s chest tightened. “Y/N, I—”

But Y/N held up a hand, the air shifting as she did, silencing him before he could finish. Her eyes, once soft with affection, now burned with a mix of pain and anger, and he realized, too late, that this was a breaking point. A fracture in their relationship that couldn’t be healed with empty words.

“What? You’re sorry?” Y/N asked, the disbelief thick in her voice. “For what, Matt? For still being tied to her after all this time? For letting her come back into your life, into our life, like nothing ever changed?”

Matt took a step forward, but it was like walking on a tightrope. Every word he tried to say felt heavier than the last, his voice faltering as he reached for her. “Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

“It never is,” Y/N snapped, her voice a mixture of frustration and grief. "You’re still lying to me, Matt. You’re still lying to me, even now.”

Y/N’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, a sharpness that immediately cut through the tension in the room. “Matt and I need to talk, so I’m sorry, but I’d like you to leave.”

Elektra didn't flinch. She gave a soft, almost mocking smile, the same smile Matt had once found irresistible, traced it with his own fingers, now a twisted reminder of everything he was trying to move past. “Alright.” She didn’t hesitate, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she turned toward Matt’s bedroom, making her way back into the shadows of his life.

But before she could slip out of sight, Y/N’s voice stopped her cold, the words laced with authority. “—The apartment.”

Elektra paused mid-step, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but it was quickly masked by that same smug composure.

Matt opened his mouth, but his throat tightened as the reality of the situation began to settle in. He had never heard Y/N so resolute, and despite everything he wanted to say, he knew that this wasn’t his battle to fight. Still, he hated the feeling of being stuck in the middle. “Y/N—” he started, his voice soft, trying to diffuse the tension.

“—You speak when I ask you to speak.” Her voice cut through his words like a knife, leaving no room for argument.

Matt flinched, a sigh escaping him. His frustration built inside him, the weight of being trapped between the two women he cared about—one from his past, one from his present. He dropped his head, hands on his hips, trying to control the burning anger bubbling within him. The last thing he wanted was this kind of confrontation, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? A situation of his own making.

Elektra, as if sensing Matt's turmoil, gave him one last smirk before she silently walked out, her footsteps echoing as she left the apartment. But even with her gone, the tension in the room was suffocating. Y/N stood there, arms crossed, her eyes trained on Matt, who didn’t move. The silence stretched between them like a chasm, filled with things unsaid.

“I’m not gonna have a one-sided conversation, so can you please turn around?” Y/N’s voice was stern, but there was an underlying hurt that Matt couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, Matt turned to face her. His jaw was tight, the weight of her gaze almost unbearable. For a second, he was relieved that he wouldn't have to see that scathing look on her face Foggy always talked about. He knew what was coming next, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asked, her tone softening only slightly as she tried to understand, but the confusion in her eyes was clear.

Matt opened his mouth, the words caught somewhere between guilt and frustration. “About what?” he asked, feigning ignorance, but even to him, the question felt hollow. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the door where Elektra had just left, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she listed out the things that had been gnawing at her. “About Stick. About Elektra. About everything that’s been hanging over us since the moment we got together. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her words hit harder than she probably realised, and Matt’s breath faltered. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to share it. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he had hoped—no, he had needed—to believe that he could keep his past locked away. That Elektra, Stick, and all the messes of his old life would stay buried, far from Y/N. But he had been fooling himself. And now, here she was, asking him the one question he couldn’t dodge.

“Because you walked out on me before I could tell you,” Matt said, his voice thick with frustration, his hands clenched at his sides. His sightless eyes were wild, somewhat searching for hers—waiting so that she might tell him that she understood, or at least would understand, if he could just explain it all.

Y/N didn’t flinch at his words, but the hurt was unmistakable. She stood there, her arms still crossed, her gaze unwavering. She had always been so patient with him, so understanding. But this—this was too much. 

“You think I walked out on you?” she asked, her voice tight, trying to keep the trembling anger at bay. “You think I just left? You’re the one who shut me out, Matt. You’re the one who didn’t trust me with the truth. You kept me at arm’s length, and now I’m supposed to believe it was just because you couldn’t find the right time to tell me?”

Matt took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a frustration that was barely contained. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice lower now, softer but still heavy with regret. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to drag you into that world. But you—you wouldn’t have understood. You wouldn’t have accepted it.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she stepped closer to him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Matt. You don’t get to keep things from me because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. I’m your partner. You tell me. You trust me.”

Y/N’s voice was laced with frustration as she tried to make him understand, but Matt could sense that her patience was starting to wear thin. “Besides, I was rightfully upset—”

“—Is there a point to this conversation?” Matt interrupted, his tone sharp, his shoulders tense. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to keep spinning in this cycle of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. He just wanted it to go back to the way it was. He wanted everything to feel normal again.

Y/N blinked, her expression one of bewilderment and frustration. “What do you mean, ‘is there a point’? Matt, of course, there’s a point! I want you to talk to me!” She said the words with an exasperated urgency, as if she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting it.

Matt’s jaw clenched, and he turned away for a moment, trying to steady himself. “There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N. Besides, you made it clear yesterday that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, and Y/N’s chest tightened. The memory of last night—the way she’d stormed out, the way Matt had closed himself off—was still fresh. It felt like a betrayal, but even more so, it felt like the same pattern she had been trying to avoid. He was slipping away from her, like he always did.

Her heart pounded as she stared at him, frustration bubbling up again. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, her finger gesturing towards him. “You just brush it all off. It’s like you won’t even try to understand why I’m upset!”

Matt’s eyes flashed, frustration building in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it, how to make her understand that his silence wasn’t about her, but about the things inside him that he didn’t know how to talk about. “What?” he snapped back, unable to hide the rawness in his voice. “What do you want from me, Y/N?”

“God! It’s always one step forward and ten steps back with us!” she nearly shouted, her voice full of pent-up frustration. “It’s always the same thing! You do something, and I pull away. I do something, and you pull away. We can’t keep doing this, Matt! I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one trying to hold this together.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t just her—that it wasn’t always her fault. But the truth was, his own insecurities were starting to drown out the words. His fear of being abandoned, of losing her, was starting to seep into every crack of their relationship, and he didn’t know how to fight it.

“We talk, don’t we?” Matt said cynically, crossing his arms as he looked at where he assumed her eyes were, his expression closed off. “I’m right here standing in front of you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she shot back with a bitter laugh, the sting of his words landing harder than he’d realised. “As opposed to how lately, every conversation I have with you is towards your back?” she said, her voice full of incredulity. “You’re physically here, Matt, but you’ve been gone for a while now.”

Matt flinched at the accusation, the weight of her words cutting deep. He opened his mouth to argue, but the frustration in Y/N’s voice silenced him before he could speak.

“What the hell does that mean?” he snapped back, his confusion mixing with his growing anger. 

Y/N’s words were sharp, cutting through the air between them like a blade. “It means you avoid me!” she deadpanned, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “It means your first instinct is to run away from me the second things get a little bit rough.” She pointed directly at him, her eyes narrowing as she squinted up at him in disbelief. She rocked her hand in the air, as if to emphasise how often he pulled away, how shaky he could be when things weren't easy.

Matt’s heart beat erratically in his chest as she spoke, the truth in her words hitting him like a freight train. She wasn’t wrong. He had always pulled away when things got tough. His instinct had always been to retreat into the safety of silence, of isolation, of not facing the things that scared him the most.

“I don’t run,” Matt muttered, his voice low and defensive. “I—”

“You do,” she interrupted sharply, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’m not an idiot, Matt. I can see it. You shut down. You turn away. You make yourself small, and you expect me to just stand here and wait for you to come back.”

Matt stood there, frozen for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a weight he couldn’t escape. His breath was shallow, his chest tight. The things Y/N was saying, the things she was pointing out, weren’t easy to hear, but they were the truth. And deep down, he knew it.

“I don’t run!” Matt growled stubbornly in denial.

Matt's chest tightened, his jaw clenching in anger. He couldn't stand hearing it, especially not from her. "Okay? That is neither here nor there," he snapped, immediately brushing her words aside, shaking his head in frustration. He was done with the conversation, or so he thought. He wanted to put the walls back up, to shield himself from the rawness of the situation.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, the sarcasm in her expression all too clear. "Okay, well, here we are, Matt," she said, her voice dripping with frustration and mockery. "What do you wanna do? How do you wanna handle it, huh? Do you wanna fight for us, or do you wanna bail?"

She pointed toward the door, her hand shaking slightly with the intensity of the moment, as if to punctuate her question. Her voice rose in frustration, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. She paused, studying him as the weight of his silence seemed to hang in the air. But as she watched him, something softened in her gaze. She saw the vulnerable look in his eyes—the quiet uncertainty he wore so well. And despite the storm of emotions she felt, her heart ached for him.

With a heavy sigh, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to raise my voice,” she said quietly, the sharpness gone from her tone, replaced by something more tender. The fight was still there, but beneath it, there was love. She stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for him.

Y/N placed her hands gently in his, her touch soft and warm. She needed him to hear her, needed him to understand. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice steady now, but filled with a quiet urgency. “I want you, Matt. In all your sweet, yet rugged, devilish glory,” she said with a small, affectionate smile, even as her heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid. “I want to be here when your nights get rough, and I want to be the first thing you feel in the morning.”

She cupped his cheeks, her fingers soft against his skin as she looked into his eyes and feeling the intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. Her gaze softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sniffled, her voice trembling. "Look, you think your crazy life, your past, everything that’s happened to you, is going to scare me away or something… but that’s not true. You’re so wrong."

Her chest tightened, her heart aching at the sight of him—of the man who had always been so afraid of being too much, so afraid of dragging others down with him. “Because there’s nothing out there, nothing in here, that scares me as much as the thought of losing you.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper now, but the weight of her words struck him with the force of a wrecking ball. "Trust me when I say… people like you and me, we don’t get the chance to love like this, Matt. I stay. I don’t run. Because I love you."

The confession hit him like a punch to the gut. She had said it. She had finally said it, and her words hung in the air between them like a lifeline. She had chosen him, despite everything. Despite his fear, his past, the mess he carried around with him. 

Y/N’s voice was soft, tender now, as she spoke again, the love in her tone so raw it made his heart ache. “I love you so much that all I can ever think about is you. There’s no version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.” Her hands tightened around his, pulling him closer, even as she sniffled again, the tears starting to break free from her eyes. “So I’ll stay right here. You can push me away all you want, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.”

Matt’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words, the weight of her confession crashing over him. She was here. She was choosing to stay, despite the chaos, despite everything. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something so raw, so real to him. 

But even now, he found it hard to believe. He was so used to people leaving, to pushing others away before they could hurt him. The idea that she wouldn’t walk away, that she wanted him, despite his flaws and his broken pieces—it was a foreign concept. 

He shook his head, as if trying to clear the fog in his mind, but the truth was, he was terrified. Terrified of letting her in, terrified of what would happen if he let himself truly believe that someone could love him—want him—after everything.

"I..." His voice cracked as he tried to speak, but words failed him. He reached up, touching her hands, still holding him so gently, and his gaze softened as he aimlessly searched where he assumed her face was in wonder, listening to her heart for any sign of doubt. But there was none. There was only love. A kind of love he had never known, never imagined he deserved.

Matt stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest as Y/N’s confession lingered in the air between them. The weight of her words was suffocating, like a tidal wave crashing over him. He had never expected this moment to come, and now that it had, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Her love for him, so pure and raw, left him paralyzed, caught between the fear of being loved and the fear of losing her.

His mind raced, his emotions a tangled mess. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. His fears—his insecurities—gripped him like chains. Could he really let her in? Could he really let someone love him after everything he had done, everything he had become? And if he did, what would that mean for her? For them?

Y/N noticed the struggle in his sightless eyes, the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, and her heart sank. She had poured herself out to him—had told him, for the first time, how much he meant to her—and now, he couldn’t even return the sentiment. She frowned softly, her own pain growing as she took a small step back, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Matt?” She searched his face, looking for something, anything, that would tell her that he felt the same. “Did you hear me?” she repeated, the desperation creeping into her voice. “Say something. Please? Matt?”

The silence between them stretched on, thick with the unspoken. Matt’s brow furrowed, his hands trembling slightly as he struggled to find the words that felt right. But there was nothing—nothing that could explain the tangled mess of emotions inside him. He opened his mouth, but only half-formed words came out. 

“I—uh—I can’t do this right now,” he finally said, his voice shaky with regret. “There’s a lot going on, and I—I can’t—” His words faltered, a deep ache filling his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her. But the weight of his dual life—the mask he wore, the life he led as Daredevil—was so heavy, and he wasn’t sure how to balance it with what Y/N was offering him. The fear of losing her, of not being enough, of the danger he brought to everyone around him—it all swirled in his mind.

Y/N’s heart dropped at his words. The dread that washed over her was instantaneous, a cold, sharp wave that made her feel small and foolish. She had laid herself bare, had trusted him with a part of herself she didn’t give to anyone else, and now—now he was pulling away. 

"Oh," she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips as the weight of disappointment settled into her chest. A hollow ache took root there. She had given him everything she had, all her love, all her hope—and he couldn’t even say it back. The look in his eyes was enough to confirm the one thing she’d feared most: he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t willing to let her in. 

Her hands instinctively pulled away from his, the absence of his touch like an icy wind. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the regret in his eyes. Instead, she looked away, her heart breaking with every passing second. She felt so stupid for believing, for thinking that maybe this time, with him, things could be different. That maybe, just maybe, he could love her back.

“I don’t—” Matt began again, but the words felt too heavy to say. He sighed deeply, his own heart aching as he heard the stutter in her heartbeat. He didn’t want to hurt her; glad he couldn't see that look of brokenness in her eyes. But he knew he had to do this—he had to finish what he started with Elektra, had to be Daredevil first. There was too much at stake. He was torn between the man he wanted to be for her and the one he had to be for the city.

“I have to go,” he said reluctantly, his voice low and filled with regret. His eyes softened for a moment, the weight of the moment heavy in the space between them. “I need to finish something. I need to... do what I have to do. I’ll come back, okay?”

The words sounded hollow to Y/N, and she felt her throat close up as the tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t look at him now, not like this. Not when he was so distant, so unsure. Her voice cracked as she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“Okay.”

It was the only thing she could say, the only thing she had left. Her heart was in pieces, each one slipping further away from him with every word he spoke. She wouldn’t fight him. She couldn’t fight him. Not now. Not when he was already running. 

She didn’t look up as he left, didn’t want him to sense the tears that slipped down her cheeks, the raw pain she could no longer hide. All she wanted was for him to stay, to choose her, but the cold reality was that she didn’t know if he ever would.

Matt hesitated at the door, his hand on the handle, but the moment lingered for just a second longer. He tilted his head, ear faced to her direction, his face a mix of regret and guilt, but he didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t.

And with that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing in the quiet apartment, her heart aching with the realisation that love—real love—might not be enough to bridge the chasm between them.

The End.

[blackshadowswriter]

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

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You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════

AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

[farfromstrange]

Can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request. You and Matt are fighting, you kick Matt out of bedroom. Matt sits outside the bedroom door and hears you crying yourself to sleep. Maybe there is a happy ending

Hi, nonnie! Thank you so much for your request (and I apologize for the delay). I hope you don't mind that I put my own spin on it. I got heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's "You're Losing Me" which I can't seem to get out of my head. I felt it to be the perfect foundation for your request. Still, I stayed as true to it as I could, and since you said "Maybe there is a happy ending" I ended it kind of on a hopeful note. I hope you like what I made out of this and that it's anything like what you've imagined!

You're Losing Me | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: You and Matt get into an argument and you throw him out of the bedroom with a choice to make. You cry through most of the night as Matt sits in front of the bedroom door, contemplating and hating on himself until you can't take it anymore.

Warnings: Angst, relationship problems, Reader feels neglected because of Daredevil, Matt Murdock is an idiot when it comes to his feelings, talk about breaking up, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: This song isn't even released yet and it's killing me inside...

You had planned for a normal evening with him. Dinner, dessert, and a nice bath. You promised each other that today, you would take the time out of your day to spend time together. If it isn’t your work, it’s his, and if it happens to be neither, it’s usually his hunger for justice that ends with you alone in your shared apartment at night. You get it you do, and you support him with all you have, but tonight was so important to you and he promised you he would be there, that he would put Hell’s Kitchen on hold for just a few hours of normalcy in your chaotic lives, and he still didn’t show. 

You feel neglected. Part of you feels bad for wanting him to choose you over the responsibilities that are on his shoulder, but you have needs too. You’re a human being that craves the touch of your boyfriend and his undivided attention every once in a while. It’s not a bad thing.

You know what you’ve signed up for, and you don’t often complain, but you asked him for one night where you can show each other how much you truly appreciate each other, without you having to patch him up after a rough night of patrol and him thanking you with endless kisses, and it hurts that he couldn’t even be there for an hour or two because something in the city called him and he had to be there. 

“Everything okay?” he has the audacity to ask when he comes home, luckily unscathed, and finds you brushing your teeth in the bathroom. You don’t greet him, even though he initiates a kiss, and your distance makes him grow significantly more suspicious. There have been only a handful of times when you’ve given him the cold shoulder, let alone refused to let him kiss you. Something isn’t right, but it infuriates you to no end that he can’t even make the connection himself after you’ve practically begged him to stay with you. 

He thinks you can be so easily swayed and that you’ll just take and take and take until you’re okay with being second place, but he is wrong. This time, he is so wrong, alarms are blaring all around him to showcase just how wrong he is, and even with his sensitive ears, he can’t hear them. 

“Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asks. 

The audacity to blame it on your well-being seems to come from a place of genuine confusion, but for someone who prides himself on being perceptive and always knowing what you need, he’s missed a billion too many hints. Not just today but for weeks; your feelings have been eating away at you, and your fear of losing him grows alongside the anger that makes it hard for you to even look at him without crying. 

As you look around the apartment, you remember talking to him about how the different colors of the billboard give the place its unique beauty. He’d laughed and told you that you were the first person to think so. You remember telling him that it fits him, the colors and the milky windows and the almost nostalgic flair that his home carries. You’ve lost count of the many kisses shared in the lights of the color wheel instead of the artificial yellow of the ceiling lamp. The vibrations of the billboard are more comfortable to his heightened senses than those of the lightbulbs covering the apartment, he’d told you, so from the day you started dating, you’ve barely used the light switch and relied on the funky little ads that play in front of your windows every night. 

But of what worth is seeing the beautiful colors if the person you used to describe them to is barely present anymore?

You let out an almost bitter laugh and turn to his confused frame in the door. “I wanted you here,” you say. 

Matt nods, but his jaw is clenched and he looks as stern as always. “I told you, the city needed me,” he says. 

“But I needed you too.”

You’re growing tired of repeating the same few words over and over again. It’s like he refuses to listen or even acknowledge that your emotional needs are important to you and that you simply want him by your side because he is the man you love. Every time you tell him, he tells you he loves you, but you’re not sure if you believe him anymore. He can’t tell that this is killing you inside, even though he should. He used to, once. He used to be so attuned to your needs that he would drop everything, but for a while now, something has been missing, and you now realize that the thing missing between you is him, but he simply won’t come back to you, no matter how tightly you cling to him and try to pull him back from the abyss. 

He doesn’t even seem to realize that he is slowly losing you. Your heart aches and it wants to stop beating; it wants to stop beating just for him, but you know that your soul is dependent on him, which hurts even more because no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape, and he will keep on ignoring you until it breaks you. 

You know he doesn’t mean any harm. He loves you, he does, but you both have different ways of showing it and you both love and crave certain things in very different ways. When he’s not Daredevil, he’s sheer perfection, the best boyfriend you could ask for, but then nights come around and you realize that begging for his attention is something that should not be part of a healthy relationship. 

But God, you don’t want to give up. You want him to see you, just once, and you want him to listen so you can fix this before it’s too late. And you are so close to turning your back and saying goodbye, shattering both of your hearts in the process. You don’t want it to come to this, but if he keeps this up, you see no other way out to keep your heart safe. You’re getting tired of healing your own wounds while also treating his. At this point, finding a pulse in your relationship is getting harder and harder by the second.

As you stare into the dark apartment behind him, the red of the billboard dancing in patterns along the leather couch, you wonder if it’s time. 

“It’s always them and never me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “and it hurts.”

He senses the vulnerability in your voice, and his eyebrows furrow as he swallows the lump in his throat. his heart aches at what you’re implying. The calm sound of your voice almost breaks him. “I don't understand,” he whispers back. 

You smile sadly at him. “I know you don’t.”

He calls your name softly, but there is a hint of frustration behind his voice. “You know that I’m the only one who even thinks about doing something against all the pain out there, right? I’m the only one who fights. I’m there when no one else is, and the people are dependent on me. Terrible things happen at night here and I have to do something! I can't just leave people to die for dinner or- or a movie night that I can't even enjoy. That's not how it works. I- It's not my fault, I just have to do this, and you should know that by now. I can't change who I am…”

It’s always the same. His words brush past you like a gush of wind. He’s talking, but you don’t hear him. You’re flatlining, and your relationship fades before your very eyes. 

“Matt,” you stop him before he can talk himself further out of your life, “if you keep going at this pace, you’re going to lose me sooner or later. You’re going to lose me because you’re already in the process of doing so,” you say. “I’m not asking you to stop or change who you are, I’m just asking for you to be there from time to time when I need you to just be my boyfriend. I need you to fight. I need you to put in an effort because this relationship can’t survive if we both don’t give the same. Lately, it feels like I’m the only one who’s fighting, and it’s making me feel so alone.”

You gave him everything, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the bleeding, and you hope he finally sees the scars his behavior has left deep within your soul. 

He doesn’t move. You throw your hands up. “Just say something, do something, anything! Just fight for me,” you beg. 

Nothing. 

You swallow your tears. He’s like a rock, unmoving, and his unfocused eyes are darting around wildly. You don’t care. You brush past him into the bedroom, grabbing the pillow and blanket from his side of the bed. You toss it to him worldlessly, meeting his sightless gaze. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

You cut him off, “If you can’t listen to what I have to say, I don’t want you in bed with me. Think about what you want. If you love me, truly love me, you show me, but if you don’t… well, make your decision. I won’t sit by and take it any longer. I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, wait!”

The bedroom door slams into his face and he is left with his bedding in the cold space of the living room. He sighs, dropping his forehead against the milky glass, calling your name, but you don’t answer. 

He slides down the wall, hearing you climb into bed with heavy limbs. His mind begins to reel, and he finally begins to realize too late that he screwed up. He took you for granted, and he gave up fighting for no other reason than simply because he’s never been more scared. 

Matt is so in love with you, it hurts. He’s felt you pull away before, but he tried not to let it get to him. That was a mistake, as he now realizes. He would never prioritize being Daredevil over you, but he’s not sure how to tell you without sounding like an idiot. You accept him, all of him, and you support him unconditionally. That can get overwhelming for someone who’s not used to being accepted. All he wants is to be seen and do the right thing, but every time he does, he goes about it the wrong way, and the same people he’s vowed to protect end up getting hurt. 

He tried to give you space from the buy life he’s leading to show you he cares, but he now realizes that his attempts to keep you safe backfired and might as well have sabotaged his relationship with the best thing that has ever happened to him. By trying to keep you safe, he’s involuntarily pushed you away. Your love has never been anything short of perfect. You have never been overbearing or pushed him beyond his limits. It’s what he appreciates about you; your blind faith in him is what keeps him going.

But he’s been blind in more sense than one, not realizing how much effort goes into a healthy relationship, and he realizes now that the unique circumstances that surround your life together require even more effort. You’ve been fighting in his war, taking care of him, catching him, and he’s viewed everything through tunnel vision for so long, he forgot that, to keep you and to make you happy, he has to fight just as hard. 

His hand touches the glass of the bedroom door, the shadow appearing on the other side, but your eyes are closed. He opens his mouth to whisper your name. It’s then he realizes you’re crying. He can hear you sniffle, trying to muffle your sobs that break free into your shared pillow. It smells like him and you, and the scent seems to be overwhelming to you. Still, you won’t let it go. Your tears roll off the green silk, mixing the salt with the sandalwood of his cologne. 

Matt wants nothing more than to breach the barrier, storm inside and hold you. He wants to apologize, he wants to make things right, but suddenly, words don’t seem enough anymore. He’s not sure how to tell you exactly how he feels because he never has before, and his inability to do just about anything makes him afraid of what’s to come. He doesn’t deserve you, he’s losing you, and a big part of him plays with the thought of letting you go so you can move on and find someone who can give you exactly what you need and deserve. Because he can admit his mistakes all he wants and promise to be better, but he is his biggest enemy and his biggest saboteur; he knows that one day, he will break any promise he makes and then you’re going to be twice as crushed. He can’t do that to you. He loves you, but he can’t hurt you any more than he already has.

You’re both sick. The air is thick with your shared pain and the fear of losing what is most dear to the both of you, but hearing you cry because of him makes him want to throw himself off the nearest cliff or hide somewhere and never come out again. He doesn’t deserve someone else’s love if he can’t give it back the way the other person deserves, and you’re truly a diamond compared to him. You’re the most precious gift he’s ever received, as is your love, but this is no way to treat someone as good as you. 

All you’re doing is for him to say something, to fight for you, to risk something and come back to you, and he can’t even do that. He’s so lost in self-pity and the sound of your tears, he finds himself drowning. 

Your tears carry on for what feels like hours. The agony is etched deep into your bones. You’re exhausted, your muscles ache, but the sobs just won’t stop. He’s so close yet so far away. Of course, you can see his silhouette outside, his hand against the glass, and his lips moving with unspoken words. You need him, but even so close to you he is so far away. 

Though as you think about it, there has to be a cure for even the worst of illnesses when it comes to a relationship just like yours. You’re sure there is something. If only Matt would see it too. He’s so caught up in himself, he makes your symptoms worse, but you love him too much to let him give up on you, even though you’ve never been more tired of fighting. 

You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your hand finds his against the glass. He can feel your warmth through the cold and he sucks in a sharp breath. 

You have become a sad song, but every sad song can be turned into something hopeful, can it not? You would have never considered yourself a positive person, but as you see Matt cowering in front of the bedroom, clearly conflicted, you know he wants to fight, he just doesn’t know how to deal with himself amidst something incredibly new to him. 

His voice sounds hoarse when he speaks up. “You know, I see you in my own kinda way,” he says. 

“What’s that mean?” your voice is almost entirely gone from crying. 

“You’re everything to me, I just don’t know how… I didn’t think it would be this hard. On my end. I didn’t think it would take so much from me to make this work, but I… I want to make this work. But I can’t, and you deserve so much better than that.”

He’s crying too, you can hear it. You want to touch him, but you’re not quite there yet, so you sit down against the door, your back to his, only the glass protecting you now. 

“You’re right, I deserve better,” you say, “but that doesn’t mean I need someone else.”

“But maybe it’s better.”

You hope he’s not being serious. “Don’t say that, Matthew.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

You almost don’t catch his words, but when you do, the sob that follows breaks your heart. 

He ruffles his hair, removing his hand from the glass. Your vicinity hurts. He doesn’t want to lose you, but sometimes you have to lose what you love. 

“You can’t decide that this is over just because you don’t want to hurt me,” tears of your own start forming again, “that’s not how adult relationships works. I know you’re not used to being loved or being in a stable relationship, but that’s why fighting is so important. So please, baby, let us fight.”

He sniffles, covering his face with the crook of his elbow. 

“They say you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, but I don’t even want us to go this far,” you say. You’re being so open and vulnerable with him, and every word spills the purest truth. 

Matt wipes his cheeks. “Are we too far gone?” he asks, waiting for an honest answer. He knows you would never lie to him. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t take me back either. I’m complicated and I can’t promise that I can keep all of my promises because I screw up. A lot. It’s just who I am. That’s why I said you deserve better.”

“I deserve you, Matthew.”

“No, you deserve better. That’s what I said. A pathological people pleaser. You can’t say that’s something you want to grow old with. And I’d understand if you said it wasn’t. Maybe the vision of us was more of a fever dream, anyway.”

The door slides open. Matt looks up, his eyes are red, his cheeks stained with tears, and his resolve cracks some more when he feels you towering over him, then sitting down next to him. 

You take his hand in yours. “I only need you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I told you to fight for me, and you didn’t walk away, so I know you want this. I just need you to admit it, I need you to promise that you’ll try, that we’ll both try. I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you to show me that you want this. I just need you to try.”

Your touch sets his skin on fire. He whimpers when he feels your fingertips brush his cheek. “I want to try,” he says, “but I don’t know how-”

You shush him again, your name a fleeting breath on his lips. “That’s all I need.”

“What?”

“I just need you to see me and show me how much you care. Just try, that’s all I’m asking for you. Everything else… we’ll figure it out. I’ll find the faith in us again, you just have to choose me.”

Your eyes are hopeful, he can feel them. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. Your salty tears mingle and you melt into his touch, only for the moment, only until he pulls away and tries to look into your eyes as he says, “I will always choose you.”

And then you’re diving right back in. This time, you initiate the kiss, but he is more than eager to return the display of affection. His hands caress your face, almost as if you’re so fragile, you might break under his touch. And maybe you might. You have lost sight of each other and you need to find it again.

“I choose you too,” you break off the kiss to say, “because I love you, Matthew, and I don’t want to give up on us.”

His nose nuzzles against yours and you succumb to the magic of his lips once again. It’s his way of telling you that giving up on you is the last thing he would ever want to do, no matter how badly he screws up, and you are more than willing to run back into his arms and let him hold you through the night because finally, oh finally, you got what you wanted, which is simply him, not just a piece but all of Matt Murdock, and he swears not to leave your side until sunrise. 

And this time, he keeps his promise, his head resting against your chest and your limbs entangled as you begin to heal, together. 

[your-not-invisible-to-me]

UM HELLO ?

[yarrystyleeza]

The 1: You Would've Been The One (M.M)

Matt Murdock x female!reader

Religious settings (at the beginning), implied intimacy, misunderstandings, alleged cheating, things going south, sadness, break—up, exes but pining, no happy ending.

Summary: on an August rainy night, you walked by Josie's and the memories came rushing back in your head.

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: this idea popped in my head when I was recalling 'the 1' lyrics and I get the first and last scenes in my head and I almost cried. This will get a second part from Matt's perspective. Not very proofread but I'm trying to fix it :')

Drop after drop, the rain sweetly bounced off your shoulders as you strolled down the street. The rain makes the sound of sizzling rice from a distance. The ground is glistening, it smells earthy despite you're walking in New York. The city always looked beautiful when it was raining. It was calm, quiet, and cozy. You'd snuggle into one of the walls and they'd embrace you warmly.

Splashing the little water puddles forming on concrete with your steps, you kept walking on the sidewalk to prevent getting water in your boots.

Your hair is damp and your skin is flushed and wet. It's not fall yet, but you loved this time of the year.

Beams of light flared through the partially fogged glass, people's warm breaths created a tepid and pleasant atmosphere.

Your eyes peer inside for an unintended glance and you see him there, sitting at one of the tables with his two friends around him.

Your heart palpitates as if you were hit by a truck and thrown on the side of the road. Broken, bleeding, crying, dead.

Why did it have to end?

Two years ago. After attending the Mass on a Sunday morning, you went to a coffee shop nearby to meet one of your friends at noon.

You sat alone for a while and waited. You called your friend and she told you she had an emergency and couldn't call you. She apologized and you hung up. You ordered coffee and waited for your order.

The bell at the door rung and it caught your ears, you glanced up from your phone and you saw him walk in. You recognized him. He always attended Sunday service, you've often seen him sitting at the last couple pews, he'd always stay after the Mass. You'd watch him kneeling, hands gathered at his forehead in a praying fist.

You've seen him crying a couple of times and you wondered what a good—looking —in the sense of kindness because you've seen it—blind man would've done that would make him snivel and tremble the way he did.

You would've never expected what he cried about. Not in a million years.

He placed his order and you saw him walk in your direction. He took a seat in front of you. It was astounding. You cleared your throat. His head shot up and he himself was astonished to find out that someone was sitting on the other side of the table.

The eleven in the morning sunlight casted upon the side of his face as he sat by the window in front of you. The beams crept into the corners of his gentle face. His eyes sparkled behind the red blinds and you later learned that they were hazelish brown.

"I'm Matt." his voice still vivid in your ears as if he just said it. His voice was gravelly but sweet. Warm. It made your stomach churn with butterflies that you died to keep from rising once again.

You often thought if he did that on purpose, if he intended on sitting in front of you the way he did, if he knew you before you knew him.

It makes you smile. He chose you. Above all. At least for once.

The next Sunday, he stopped you as you paced between the pews on your way out. He asked if he could grab some coffee with you—after learning that you too attended the Sunday service.

You sat together and talked about almost everything. He kept flashing smiles at you and you kept falling deeper. You knew he was going to be the death of you. And how you wished to die in his hands.

Where did it go wrong?

The haunting memory of his lips marking your being, worshipping every inch of your existence. The words he never stopped telling you. The 'I love you's and the 'you're mine's. The sweet flirts and the tempting ones.

You were his death and his living, you were his vigor and his redemption, you were his eyes and his hands and his being, you were his everything.

Heart, head, body and soul. He loved all of you. He wanted all of you, the same way you did.

You accept—hell, you wanted both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, you wanted the lawyer and the vigilante, you embraced both his darkness and daylight, you were in for the deep and the high, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

If he died you'd die with him, and if he lived you'd live for him.

So why did it all go wrong?

A year of going back and forth, bickering and talking, stitching and love-making, dating and staying in, dinners and brunches, kisses and touches. You did it all. You've never been better.

But then he decided to make it even better.

Saturday night at Josie's. You sat with him and his friends to grab some drinks and bond. Foggy and Karen walked to the island to grab refills when he grabbed your hand, slowly, gently, sensationally and adeptly.

You turned to look at him, a little taken aback by the touch—a little taken off guard. He stood off his seat and knelt to the ground. Red blinds off and his face is so red and torn by a smile, tinted with a bit of uncertainty, of fear but of excitement about the unknown, too.

Maybe he was afraid you'd reject it, or maybe he rethought it and found it was too early. You never knew.

"Will you marry me?" you look at his free hand—but it wasn't that much of free. He had a ring between his digits and his thumb, placed so close to the finger that shoots straight to your heart.

You said yes.

He promised to love and cherish you, till death do you apart.

He never lied, though. Because one night, you died, and to you—he died, too, both of you died.

The night it all went wrong.

He told you he had a mission later that night, but when he returned—he didn't have his red suit on. He wore a tuxedo, instead. You imagined this was how he'd look on your wedding day.

He'd wait for you at the end of the aisle next to Father Lantom as your father escorts you to your spot, your white dress makes you look like an angel—no, you were an angel, that's what he always told you.

You'd look onto both sides, both families are present, all smiling and happy. Your mother is crying—but she's happy, too, she's always wanted to see you in white and this is your day.

You look back straight. Matt is grinning, his bowtie is a little crooked to the side but his hair was combed perfectly. Foggy and Karen are standing on each side along with your other friends—your bridemaids and groomsmen.

Both of you recite your vows perfectly, almost knowing them by heart. You're now a husband and a wife. Even death would never do you apart.

Until you saw the red lipstick print on the white collar of his dress shirt.

Both your brain and heart shattered, you almost heard glass breaking. Maybe it was the glass of water you had once carried in your hand when you walked out of the kitchen to meet him at the hallway.

That's when you really noticed the other details. His loosened bowtie. His wrinkled collar. And the reddened nail marks on the skin of his neck.

Your stomach sunk. The cold crept up your fingertips to fill your body. Your eyes remained fixed on him. Did he thought you wouldn't notice?

You were terrified to ask how he got to look like that. Not from him, Matt never scared you, he was always gentle and kind—but from the things he might have done to get to this point.

There was another woman.

The next events were a blur. Your ears were clogged, you were crying, you threw the ring in his face, you barely put any proper clothes on, you walked away and out of his life.

It was raining. Just like tonight.

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

You sob. The heavy dew showers you—hiding your tears, to console you, to let you know that you're not the only one crying tonight—the sky is crying, too.

You felt heavy. Head and heart, and clothes. It felt cold to think of it all.

You hug yourself tighter. You glance back for the last time. You walk yourself home.

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

taglist: @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat @bellaxgiornata @1988-fiend @babygirlmurdock @c-mrdck @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bunmurdock @loveroftoomanyfandoms @everythingsf1ne23 @shiorimakibawrites @shouldbestudying41 @lazyxsquirrel @munsonownsmyass @mindidjarin @v4leoftears (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for reading! 💞💞💞

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

organized fanfic with links to chapters, for easier access (ongoing)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case. Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that? What happens when you get involved in Fisk's business and Daredevil's lies against your will?

Clash in the Court

The Losing Team

Start Of Something Better... or Worse?

Shadows of the Past

Not Again

Strange Thoughts

Into the Ring

Union Allies

Bitter Company

Innocent Get What They Deserve

Mixing Business

Coffee Delusions

Crack in the Walls

Back when it all made Sense

Karma is a...

Breaking rules is fun (and dangerous)

The Big Call

Unexpected Encounter

Things are about to change

Old Friends, New Beginnings

Jealousy, Jealousy

In the Blood

Smoking Day

Time is a Fragile Thing

King's Right Hand

Chasing Wind in the Dead of Night

Deadly Dance

Chasing Wind in the Dead of Night, pt. 2

World on Fire

I don't want to be a part of this

Grasping the Straws

Better if you Do

Lawyers, Guns and Money, pt. 1

Lawyers, Guns and Money, pt. 2

Man-Eater

Interlude

bad idea, right?

Poisonous Affair

Nelson v Murdock

running away is all I know

Guilty Crimes

Field Day

my world was falling apart

The ones we left behind

not the best lawyer, but a goddamn good criminal

Daredevil

All 'thanks' to the Devil

this might've been just a dream, right?

Another night in Hell's Kitchen

of first dates and men

Bang

Dogs to a Gunfight

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

when the long night inevitably ends and the previous social structure has crumbled and both westeros and essos are in chaos, do you want characters who genuinely care about creating meaningful change to be in power, or do you want them to die/not be in power because “feudalism is bad” and therefore these characters who derive some of their authority from the class they belong to cannot hold any power after the long night bc that somehow contradicts one of asoiafs most prominent messages. (despite the fact that many of our main characters suffer due to the current social systems in place)

personally, i’d prefer it if the characters who are able to see the good in the undesirables of society (and protect/empower these undesirables) are able to live on in order to restructure society in a way that protects all people.

to be frank, i don’t think it’d even be possible for the world of asoiaf to return to feudalism after something like the long night occurs.

but the thing is, society needs structure and humanity will naturally restructure itself whether people like it or not. so when spring comes, i want the characters who wish for a better tomorrow for all people to be in power in order to create a better world.

so to everyone who thinks that certain characters being in power only perpetuates the cycle of class violence and oppression, i’d like to ask you what you think is a better alternative way for asoiaf to end.

[coffeeandbatboys]

Rainy day attack (Matt Murdock x Reader)

had a cute idea for a fluff/humor scenario.

Warnings: tickle fight! Fluff, some light intimacy but totally sfw.

You were royally bored. It was Sunday, which meant you were supposed to go to the park with Matt, but the weather had other plans.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

He sat at the couch with his computer and earpiece in, so he'd be less likely to focus on your skipping heartbeat as you began to form a plan. After being around Matt for as long as you had, you developed a good idea of how to figure him out.

You casually positioned yourself behind him, working your fingers through his hair as an excuse to stand there. He sighed happily at this, oblivious to what was about to happen.

All at once, you crept your hands down to his sides and began tickling. A half laugh, half startled cry left Matt's lips, and you couldn't help from cackling yourself.

" Oh my God Matty..." You barely breathed out. "You sounded like a dying chicken!"

But you quickly realized what a mistake you made. While you were in your doubled over state, Matt turned around, grinning like an adorable idiot. "Oh y/n...you asked for it."

He lunged to the right, but you effectively dodged him, running around the couch to his left. You attempted to catch him from behind again, but he spun around before you got the chance to do so. Facing each other, you began tickling each other's sides relentlessly. However, in one clean move, Matt swept your feet out from under you, placed both palms flat behind your shoulder blades, and carefully lowered you to the floor.

"I win." He grinned again, shifting above you so you wouldn't suffocate.

"Even in a tickle fight...you still manage to make sure I don't get hurt." You breathed heavily, tears of laughter pricking your eyes.

"That's my job, sweetheart."

After a second, your lips met in a soft kiss, parting only to go back for more smaller ones. He sat up, allowing you to get up as well.

"God I hope we're still like this when were old. I never want to get tired of you." Matt chuckled.

"Me neither, Matty. Me neither."

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[courtforshort15]

These Broken Things

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 6,200

Summary: Matt Murdock is exceptionally good at closing himself off and pushing people away. It's a bit of a breaking point for you, even while you pray it's not the end.

Trigger warning: talking about death and assault, angst with a hopeful ending.

Masterlist

"I told you to drop it."

"Drop it?" you exclaimed, following him into his apartment and down the long hallway, the lights of the bilboard lighting your ways, hues of blues and pinks playing across the suit jacket of the man in front of you. "You want me to drop it?"

"Yes, leave it alone. Nothing's wrong."

You threw your hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief at this point, seconds away from pulling out your hair strand by strand. "That is biggest pile of dog shit I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Matthew."

He spun on his heels so fast that you nearly ran into him, only just managing to shift your weight to your back foot in order to stop your momentum from taking you forward. The frustration on his face and narrowed eyes caused your eyes to widen, taken aback by his anger.

"I'm fine. Stop asking me what's wrong." His voice was low, a damn near growl, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown that was so unlike him it was startling. Your mouth dropped, voice caught in your throat temporarily, as you stared at him. Satisfied at your silence, Matt spun back around, stomping into his bedroom.

You and Matt weren't unused to spats between you from time to time, but this was the first time he had ever had a look on his face that looked like that.

You steeled your spine, letting your anger rise up past your shock, as you followed after him, only just managing to avoid knocking your knee on his coffee table in your haste. Standing at the entrance to his bedroom, arms crossed over your chest, chin tilted up in defiance.

"No," you growled out, "you don't get to talk to me like that and then walk away." Matt ignored you, and you watched as he yanked his tie off before swiftly unbuckling his slacks.

His actions alone told you that he was getting ready to go out for the night, despite the fact that the city wasn't completely dark yet, people still out and about on that chilly October evening. You knew him well enough by now that when his blood was up, like it was now, he needed the city to provide him with criminals he could bloody his fists on.

Sometimes you weren't sure who need Daredevil more; the city, or Matthew Murdock.

"Matt." He continued to tear his clothes off until all that was left was his boxers and scarred skin. "Matthew."

He finally tilted his head in your direction, chest heaving rapdily. "What?"

You raised your eyebrows as you stared at him. "Seriously? You're just gonna go out and not even try to finish this conversation?"

Matt scoffed, blank eyes all but rolling. "We're not having a conversation. You asked me what was wrong, and I said I'm fine. Anything you've said after that is on you." He didn't wait for a reply before he walked around you and exited his the bedroom, heading towards the closet under the stairs where he stored his suit. You turned to watch him, but otherwise remained frozen to the spot, completely taken aback.

"When did you get so mean?"

Matt finally faltered.

He kept his back to you, but you watched him run a hand briefly through his hair, pale hand shaking slightly in the dim lighting of his living room. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, reaching out to open the closet with a loud sigh. Once it was open, he knelt down and hastily swept his suit up.

He still didn't say anything, and a lump caught in your throat, anger replaced with the spark and sudden growing fire of panic.

"You've become so distant, Matt," you started, hating how your voice shook as your hands fell to your sides and clenched into tight fists. "You don't call as much, you haven't touched me in weeks, and I can't even remember the last time we slept in the same bed. What is going on?"

"Everything's fine."

Your heart was racing now. "Don't...Don't give me that. Everything is clearly not fine."

Matt was nearly done putting on the suit, currently finishing up the last fastenings as you stared at him, begging him to tell you what was wrong. But Matt was a man who bottled things up so tightly that raging thoughts and feelings were sometimes too compressed to ever escape. He'd gotten better recently, the layers of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen slowly peeling back for you, but things didn't always work the way you wanted them to.

Tonight was a prime example.

"I don't know what you expect me to say, then," he muttered, the words loud enough to be heard in his quiet apartment.

You refused to let things go. "Maybe just some explanation for why things have changed? Did I do something?"

Matt gave a loud sigh, one you immediately flinched at, huddling in on yourself before the breath even completely left his body. It was a sigh of annoyance, a sigh of disinterest, a sigh of unadulterated irritation.

"I really need to leave," he said as he very easily ignored the question, sitting on the steps to his rooftop access to tie his black shoes. "I'll call you later."

"No."

"No?"

"No," you repeated, fingernails digging into your palm as you struggled to take a breath. "If you decide to walk out that door in the middle of this, don't bother calling me."

He paused, helmet in his hand, his face a twist of incredulity and aggravation as if he couldn't understand what you were saying. You held your ground, your feet planted from right outside his bedroom, doing your best to eye him down as you bit your lip in anxiety.

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked, voice betraying his disbelief.

"No," you denied immediately, then frowned. "Well...maybe? I don't know, Matt. I don't know what to do here."

"To be clear, you're asking me to choose between you and Hell's Kitchen," he said slowly, taking a small step towards you. "You're asking me to choose, when you've spent so much time promising you'd never do that."

"I'm not asking you to choose!" you exclaimed loudly, your panic manifesting in frantic words. He looked agitated again, and it took all you had to push the tears back from where this conversation had led to. "I'm asking you to stay here and talk to me before going out."

He shook his head, scoffing, while finally slipping his helmet on and turning his back to you, ready to head up the stairs. "I don't have time for this."

"God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore." A stray, pathetic tear finally rolled down your face, and you swore you saw him stiffen, shoulders stilling and hand clenching on the banister. You knew he could taste the salt on the air, knew that he was aware tears were sliding out.

A few weeks ago you would have expected him to immediately apologize for causing you to cry, any argument dead on his lips as he held you to him, apologies and words of comfort whispered into your ears. With the feeling of utter heartbreak, your head lowered when you realized you didn't know what to expect from him anymore.

With a profound sense of sadness, and before he could respond or walk away in his apparent urgency to go out to prowl the city, you left instead, crossing through his living room and walking down the long hallway. You didn't hesitate when you pulled his front door behind you, too drained to stay behind for a second longer.

He didn't follow.

--------

It had been eleven days.

Eleven days and nothing.

No phone calls. No daytime drop bys at your office with a cup of coffee or an offer for lunch. No midnight hellos through windows, black clothing lit up by the moon that hung in the sky.

But you'd given him what he had perceived as an ultimatum, hadn't you? And you hadn't been the winner.

You'd always known Hell's Kitchen came first. It was something you both loved and hated about him. Long nights spent wondering if he was safe, hours spent stitching him up and putting him back together, countless tears shed when thinking about all the pain he put himself through for a city that would never truly appreciate the blood and sweat he gave for it. And all of it was worth it, if it meant his face was the first thing you saw in the morning, the first voice that said your name.

But this fight hadn't even been about Hell's Kitchen, had it? It had been about something else. It had been about him, and whatever was bothering him that he was unwilling to share with you. It had been about him not letting you in, not fully. After a year together, you thought he would have seen through the anger and panic to the real cause of your distress, rather than deflecting and getting meaner and meaner with each word carelessly thrown from his mouth.

Your fearless, reckless vigilante, whom you loved so much, had shut you out so suddenly and thoroughly without a single word as to why.

It killed you to think about it, but some part of you quickly became convinced that it had been done to distance himself from you in preparation of a break up. It was easy to see things that way when you considered his lack of affection, attention, and the way he'd let you slip out of his apartment without a word, tears slipping down cheeks heated with the exertion of begging him to fight for you.

That's what the voice in your head was telling you, at least. And with every day that went by, the voice got a little louder until it was screaming how much of an idiot you were for holding onto him. Perhaps this was the break up, now that you thought about it. Perhaps you walking out and him not following was the only ending necessary, though it seemed so anticlimactic.

His silence was so very telling. Maybe he thought no words were needed at this point.

And so you spent your waking hours doing anything and everything you could to keep your mind off of him, desperate to spend time outside of the heartbreak coursing through your veins like wild fire. You spent your days with your nose buried in your work. Deadlines you had pushed off were suddenly met way ahead of schedule. You spent your evenings catching up on your recorded TV shows, red wine in one hand, take out in the other, tissues on your coffee table in case of any unwanted appearances of tears. Your apartment was rearranged and scrubbed clean from head to toe.

Twice.

On day nine, you had placed his things in a duffle bag on the floor next to the door, ready to hand it off when, or if, he ever came by for it.

You had ignored the tears that swam in your vision as you did it.

The evening of day eleven found you in bed early, too exhausted and emotionally drained to even try to make it through your favorite ABC drama, curled up in a ball in an effort to keep as much of the world away from your, decreasing the amount of vulnerable skin that was available for bruises. Your arms were wrapped around the pillow you held to your chest, ignoring the thought that the pillow had at one point smelled like him.

You were very nearly asleep when a quiet tap sounded at your kitchen window, startling you for a quick second. You didn't have to think about what it could possibly be, the sound one that you've heard hundreds of times, though it had been absent lately.

Your heart rate spiked, as it always did when he was near, but this time it was in anxiety. It was almost embarrassing that your body reacted to him so obviously. He knew you in the most intimate way possible, each flush of your cheeks or flash of arousal lighting up a world only he would ever be able to navigate.

But tonight, you weren't really interested in him having any sort of access to you and what you were feeling.

"Go away, Matt."

Your voice was quiet, even to your own ears, but you knew he would be able to hear it all the same.

The tap sounded again, this time followed by the creak of a window that was trying to be opened from the outside. He was used to letting himself inside your apartment at night, even if only to crawl into bed next to you to drift off to sleep by your side, arms wrapped around you so tightly that you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You could practically feel his confusion as he realized that for the first time since you had met him, the window was locked.

The tapping came again, this time louder and more insistent, and before you even knew what you were doing, you were heaving yourself out of bed and making your way into the kitchen.

You threw the window open halfway, noting vaguely that he was perched on your fire escape in black clothing, not unlike what he used to wear before the red suit, his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt but face open and pale in the dark.

"Are you bleeding?"

Matt frowned, clearly thrown off by the question. "No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Why--"

"Then kindly get off of my fire escape." Your hands rose to bring the window back down, and in shock, Matt almost missed sliding his hands under to keep it open.

"Wait!" You stopped pushing the window down, not because you wanted to hear what he had to say, but because you knew your strength was no match for his. "Wait, please. Let me come in."

"No, thanks."

"We should talk, sweetheart."

Though you had spent the last few days preparing yourself for something like this, it didn't stop the cold feeling of dread that poured itself down your spine.

"There's no need, Matt," you said, making every effort to keep your voice as even as possible. "I already know what you came here to say."

"I don't think you do. Please, let me in."

"Look," you started tiredly, tugging on the braid that was resting over your shoulder. "We don't need to do this. Things aren't working out, I get it."

"That's not--"

"You've made it pretty clear that this isn't what you want anymore, and that's fine," you continued, looking away from dark eyes that were all but pleading with you, trying to avoid falling into the man who had seemingly let you walk out of his life. "It would have been nice for you to break it to me gently rather than pushing me away as violently as you did, but it doesn't matter at this point."

"Sweetheart--"

"Don't call me that."

"I didn't come here to--"

"You didn't need to come here at all. I got the point, really."

"Will you just let me talk?" he demanded loudly, yanking the window all the way up, apparently done with being outside while you were inside.

You took an automatic step backwards, leaving more than enough room between the two of you as he let himself in. As always, his presence was larger than life, and in your tiny kitchen, you found it overwhelming in a way it hadn't been before. You found yourself stepping behind the kitchen table, effectively placing it between the two of you.

You didn't miss the way Matt's body lurched in apparent grief at the motion.

An awkward silence settled between the two of you, and it seemed that Matt was struggling with what to say, despite the way he had demanded to let him speak.

"What do you want, Matt?" you asked quietly, eyes finally making their way back to his face. "I haven't been sleeping well and I'm exhausted. I'd like to go to bed."

"I needed to talk to you," he repeated, his blank, beautiful eyes aimed at your chin.

"I already said it wasn't necessary," you shrugged. The impassive tone you took was empty, but that didnt mean it was convincing. "Things got ugly, but it's over now."

"Things aren't over now," he said adamantly, moving around the table, hands lifting to reach for you. "Please, just hear me out."

"I don't...I don't really know if I want to," you said honestly, quietly. Matt flinched, and you knew it was because your heart hadn't skipped on a lie. "This went on for weeks. I gave you so many opportunities to talk to me. I begged you to talk to me. All you did was...ignore how it was hurting me. I don't want to hear whatever lame excuse you're going to come up with."

"I swear it's not an excuse," he pleaded. "I just...I just needed some time. And space."

"Sure," you shrugged again, struggling to maintain the level of calm and rational. "I can understand needing that. I don't know what was bothering you, but you didn't even give me a chance to understand. And now you're...what? Here to officially break up with me? I kind of already figured it was over, seeing as how it's been eleven--"

"Break up?" Matt looked alarmed as his eyes widened. "Is that what you think I'm here to do?"

"Nothing ever good comes from a conversation that starts with "We should talk," Matt."

He took another step around the table, and it took everything in you not to flinch away. Matt had never touched you with anything but gentle hands, and while you weren't on great terms at the moment, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him.

"Sweetheart, that's not--"

"I love you, Matt," you told him bluntly, cutting him off with a hand raised in front of you, telling him to stop his movement in your direction. "But if the past few weeks were anything to go by, you're not willing, or maybe not able, to let me in. And I don't want to be with someone who hides so many pieces of themselves away from me. It's lonely, and I'm done with it."

He looked absolutely crestfallen, and suddenly resigned. You took a deep breath and soildered on, even as you felt your heart breaking in your chest.

"I'm sorry, Matt."

"No," he croacked out, shaking his head abruptly, eyes sightlessly dancing around the room as he licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I never meant to...have things end this way."

"It's ok." It wasn't. "There's a bag of your things over by the door." You tilted your head toward the duffle bag.

"My...things?"

"Yeah," you responded quietly, gesturing to the door with a hand that seemed limp and lifeless. "Tshirts, hoodies, your extra pair of glasses."

Matt paused for a second in surprise before he walked over to the door, a clumsy gait to his steps that you had never seen on him in the year you'd known him. With obviously shaking hands, he bent down to pick up the bag. His breathing had changed, you'd noticed. It was the breathing of someone about to have a panic attack. You grimaced, hating watching him like this.

Before, you would have comforted him. Held him and played with his hair and whispered how much you loved him in his ear.

But now, you were tired, and knowing what the past few weeks had been like, you honestly weren't sure if he'd even like having your hands on him.

He may have pushed you away first, but here you were shoving him away, too, if only to avoid any further pain on your end. Even if he didn't feel the same way about you as you did him, it was still a painful conversation for both parties.

"I'll swing by on Saturday to grab my stuff," you whispered. Matt let out a shaky sigh, accompanied by a hesitant nod of his head. "I'm going back to bed. Please shut the window behind you."

You left him standing in your kitchen, dark head bent sadly, scarred hands gripping the bag in his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

-----

Saturday rolled around too quickly for your liking. You had gathered one of your large duffle bags and a backpack to take over to Matt's apartment, unsure of just how many things you had over there.

You both had been toying with the idea of you moving in, so naturally quite a bit of your things had accumulated at his place. Work clothes. Sweat pants. Shoes. Your favorite bathrobe. Little bits and pieces of you slowly blending in with his, a subconscious way of laying down the building blocks for a life together.

With a sigh, and a mournful look at the run down front door you'd come to love, you let yourself into his apartment, taking in the scent of the man who had become your rock in a life that had always felt a little unsteady. You knew that most Saturday afternoons were spent catching up on cases with Foggy at their favorite diner, so you didn't expect him to be home.

You walked down the familiar hallway to the living, but abruptly froze when you took in the sight before you, eyes widening in shock.

His place was a mess.

One of his kitchen chairs lay broken next to the wall, clearly having been thrown against it. There was a giant fist-sized hole in the wall next to his bedroom that was shaped exactly like his hand, so you didn't need to guess whose it was. The trash hadn't been taken out in days, it looked like, and beer bottles were scattered along the counter.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

It took you an hour, but you picked up and took out the trash and recycling, and scrubbed down the kitchen. Dishes were washed and put away. Counters wiped down, floor swept. He was a grown adult, more than capable of picking up after himself, but seeing his place in such disarray made you...sad.

You made your way back to where you'd dropped the duffle bag and headed into the bedroom, a place you'd spent so many nignts with him wrapped around you, beneath you, on top of you.

Hands on your hips, you ignored the way your eyes pricked with tears, and thought about where to start first.

You didn't hear the front door open and close, nor did you notice Matt's presence behind you until he called your name softly. Startled, you took a deep breath before you turned around slowly and braced yourself for the second part of a conversation you didn't want to have.

You were scared he would ask you to stay. You were even more scared that he would outright ask you to go.

"Hey."

"Hey," he echoed.

"I'll just...give me a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair. I'm almost done grabbing my stuff." Matt inhaled sharply, head tilting away from you as you spoke. With a frown of your own, you turned your back to him, walking over to the table on what had been your side of the bed.

You placed the duffle bag on the bed and continued placing items into it, not bothering to be organized or have the items be thoughtfully placed. Your extra phone charger. The book you always told yourself you'd finish reading. Your favorite necklace you always forgot you had on until you were snuggled under the covers, forced to sleepily place it on the table to avoid leaving the warmth of him next to you.

You knew you had his total focus, so you did your best not to tear up while you packed your things. This was hard enough as it was, and as much as he had hurt you, you didn't want to make things more difficult for him than it had to be.

Eyeing the shoes you had left next to his closet, you walked forward to scoop them up. They were your favorite pair of heels, and you had worn them the last time you'd gone out for a nice dinner, his hand laced tightly in yours as he helped you keep your balance on the uneven New York City sidewalks, quiet laughter and declarations of love pressed against your cheek. While you both were always, always busy, you still found a way to make time for each other as often as you could.

The thought caused you to sniffle unintentionally as your lip quivered ever so slightly. You rubbed the heels of your palms to your eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered your body on both inhale and exhale. Matt let out a soft whine behind you, and you knew without turning around that he was wanting to pull you into him. He always made that sound when he could tell you were sad and on the verge of breaking down.

Or, at least he used to want to pull you into him before the last month or so, back when he would still touch you and pour his affection and love into your skin. Now, you weren't so sure what he wanted.

"I'm fine, Matt," you told him, voice shaking. You swept up the rest of your shoes into your arms and walked them back to the duffle bag on the bed. "I'll be done here in a few."

"No."

Your head snapped up to look at him incredulously. "No?"

He shook his head adamantly, blank eyes aimed somewhere around your abdomen. "No, don't go. You can't go."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Where was this attitude when you let me just walk out without a word two weeks ago?"

Matt opened his mouth but didn't say anything, merely licking his lips and tilting his head to the side for a moment.

You sighed in disappointment, shaking your head bitterly. "That's what I thought." Using shaking hands, you zipped up the full bag and moved to leave the room.

Matt quickly blocked you, placing himself in between you and the door way, his body just a few feet from yours as his eyes settled on your chin. "Please, just hear me out."

"Matt--"

"Just give me a few minutes, okay? I need to tell you what happened."

His face was flushed with what looked to be mild panic, and you couldn't tell if it was panic at the thought of you leaving, or panic at having to let out whatever had been bothering him so much that he'd thought the best solution was to violently push you away. Maybe it was both.

You took a few steps back from him, nodding silently, as you tried to put some space in between the two of you. Placing the bag back on the bed, you crossed your arms over your chest, willing to hear him out, but not wanting to stand so close to him. This was bound to be painful, anyway you cut it, and having him within arm's reach would most likely make it worse.

"Go ahead, then. If it's just another lie, I'm walking out and never looking back."

Matt nodded jerkily, licking his lips again like he always did when he was nervous. The corner of his bottom lip was split open, and you cringed when you noticed it. Even in your pain, even in your anger, you hated seeing him hurt.

You watched as he opened his mouth and shut it a few times, as if he was still unsure if he actually wanted to speak. Your frustration grew with each second he didn't say anything, your nerves fraying more and more the longer you stood in front of him.

"If you're not gonna actually--"

"Just...hold on," he said, desperation seeping into his voice. "I'm trying to think of the best way to say what I need to say."

"Why? What could be so bad that you--"

"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago." The words tore their way out of his mouth so suddenly that you weren't sure who was more surprised by them; him, or you. You faltered, all of your irritation and anger and bitterness in your body stumbling to a screeching stop. You looked at him, your jaw dropping in shock, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

"What?"

You'd been face to face with him for the past two minutes, but you felt like you were seeing him for the first time since you'd realized he was in the apartment with you. Your eyes took in his appearance, wincing at his bruised knuckles, a black eye that seemed to be fading, a long jagged scratch on the side of his throat. Matt looked so sad, so lost, as his sightless eyes seemingly focused on the floor next to his feet.

You had been prepared for a bullshit excuse, while still simultaneously hoping for something that would save your relationship with the only man you had ever loved. But you hadn't been expecting...this.

A shiver when down your spine as you stared at him in growing dread.

"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago," he repeated shakily. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously, tugging at the dark strands that were ready to be cut. "I was...I was a few blocks away when I heard a man yank her into an alley, a gun in his hand."

You stared at him, horrified. You knew the sorts of things that went on while he was out. Human trafficking. Drug busts. Muggings. Assaults.

Matt didn't like talking about it most of the time, and you didn't like pressing him on it if it made him uncomfortable. But to hear something like this come ripping itself out if his mouth was extremely jarring and you found yourself terrified of what he was going to say next.

He took another deep breath.

"I heard her scream, heard how he slapped his hand over her mouth to quiet her, heard him cock the gun and dig it into her stomach." Matt was fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie as he spoke, and a part of you longed to take your hand in his, wondering if it might calm his restlessness. You held yourself back, though, not yet trusting your feet to move you forward without stumbling to the ground.

"He demanded that she give him her purse, which she did, of course. But then he ordered her to unbutton her shirt, and she refused."

Your heart hammered in your chest, face growing paler by the second.

"She tried to push him off of her, and he got mad and...pulled the trigger. I was still a few blocks away." Matt walked forward as if he were in a trance, unfocused eyes glazed over, hands feeling around for his bed. It alarmed you that he was so distraught that he was relying on his hands alone to navigate his bedroom, the rest of his senses so wrapped up in a horrifying memory. He took a seat, sinking onto the mattress with a heavy, pained sigh.

"When I got there, I could tell she wasn't going to make it." He briefly shut his eyes in a grimace, an intense full-body shudder wracking through him. "The guy was gone, but I didn't bother going after him because I knew I needed to stay with her. Make sure she wasn't alone." The breath he took was so shaky, and you found yourself finally able to move as your forced yourself forward, kneeling at his feet once you were in front of him. Your hand was grasping his a second later, suddenly unwilling to let him relive this alone as he tore himself apart to finally let you in.

"I held her as she bled out," Matt choked out, as if it was suddenly difficult to breathe. You gripped his thigh, and did your best to rub soothing circles into the muscle that lay under his jeans. "I tried to stop the bleeding, hoping I was wrong, that she could still make it, but the blood was coming out too fast and there was nothing I could do. She was sobbing, begging me to save her, and I couldn't."

You didn't know when you had started crying, but you had to take your hand off his leg briefly to wipe your eyes to clear your vision. His hand shook in yours.

"And she..." Matt paused again, taking another deep, gasping breath. "She reminded me of you."

"What?" you asked, immediately confused, mind scrambling to comprehend what he had just said, suddenly frantic to make sense of what he had just told you. "What do you mean?"

"She reminded me of you," he repeated quietly. "Roughly the same height. Similar accent, the one that only comes out when you're upset. A blouse made of the same material you wear so often. And she...she used the same shampoo."

Matt's hand lifted to wipe at the tears on his face as he struggled to speak. "This woman I didn't know was dying in my arms. And...and even as I tried to comfort her, all I could think about was you. All I could think about was...what if you were in trouble, and I couldn't get to you in time?"

Your mind twisted and turned as realization finally hit you.

This.

This was what had been driving him away from you, this belief that he would never be the kind of man you needed. This was the root of it.

"Matt, love. I'm fine. I'm here."

"I know you are," he let out, hand still trembling in yours, and steadily getting worse. His unfocused gaze landed on your forehead, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes up close. "But even before this happened, this is something I would think about often, something I still think about often. The thought of...of not being good enough or quick enough or strong enough to stop something bad from happening to you."

Taking a deep, unsteady breath of your own, you reached your hand up to cradle his cheek, and he immediately turned his head slightly to kiss your palm, needing the affection only you could provide.

"I trust you with my life, Matt."

He nodded with his eyes closed, swallowing before he spoke. "I know you do. But this...this was so real. It was just literally staring me in the face, this idea of losing you. And while I'm panicking and thinking about you, this woman is dying in my arms. And I can't even give her my full attention to comfort her, because I'm imaging someone else dying in front of me, and I couldn’t handle it."

You made a soft, mournful noise, and unable to stop yourself, you stood up and pushed his shoulders back from where he had hunched in on himself, before settling yourself in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, with one hand reaching up to slide into his hair. With a shudder, his arms came up around you, holding you to him in a grip that you knew would leave bruises.

You'd let him leave marks all over your skin if it meant he would take even one ounce of comfort from you.

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, cheeks pressed together, trying to match your breathing to his, and vice versa. You rubbed your hand soothingly up and down his back, avoiding any areas that seemed tender. You felt a raised ridge of skin near his left hip and knew it meant he'd needed stitches recently.

You grimaced, wishing you'd been there for him, even if he hadn't wanted you to be.

"Why were you pushing me away, Matt? All I want is to be here for you," you told him gently when his breathing seemed to have settled a bit. You pulled back a bit to hold his face in your hands, where you used your thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears.

His grip tightened and he leaned into you, seemingly trying to keep as much contact with you as he could. And even while he tried to get as close to you as physically possible, you half expected him to pull away from you again. Instead, he surprised you by pushing on, at last tearing down that final barrier.

"It was hard being around you," he admitted softly. His hand reached up to massage the back of your neck, a habit he had started when he was trying to assure himself you were next to him. "I was having such awful nightmares and I didn't want you around while I slept. You sliced your finger open three weeks ago, and all I could think about was you bleeding out all over me. If I hugged you, the smell of your shampoo would bring me right back to that alley, so I started avoiding touching you. And the more you got upset, the more angry I got. But not angry at you, angry at myself for making you feel that way."

You listened quietly, ignoring how your eyes were watering, and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest.

"I was hurting. And because I was hurting, I struggled being around you, to the point where it started hurting you, too. It just became this vicious cycle that I didn't know to stop, and all of a sudden it was too late and you were walking away."

You didn't say anything as you took in what he was telling you. You continued to hold him, lips occasionally brushing over his cheek as your hands continued to run gently up and down his back.

"I'm sorry this happened," you whispered, your voice catching. "I'm sorry you went through that, I'm sorry that I got upset."

"No, sweetheart," he brought a finger up to your lips in an effort to shush you. "Don't...don't apologize. This isn't on you."

"But--"

"No," he repeated firmly. "I should have said something. I was wrong for pushing you away like that. I...I wasn't...I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to handle it, and I took it out on you. On our relationship."

Your lip quivered. "You can't do that, Matt."

"I know."

"No, you don't know," you told him. "I'm not even talking about how it made me feel. I'm talking about you. I want you to be safe, and loved, and cared for. You deserve those things. You deserve to have someone there to hold your hand and be there for you. But I can't...I can't be there for you and help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

Matt was nodding while you spoke, eyes shut tight as he listened. You knew there was a voice in the back of his head telling you he didn't deserve those things, would never deserve them, and it broke your heart.

You tilted his head towards you and leaned in to press your lips gently to his. He let out a sigh as he brought a hand up to grasp your cheek.

"I'll always fight for you, Matt." He let out a shaky breath at your vow. "I'll always fight for you. Even if I'm fighting you against you. But I...I need you to fight for me, too. Okay? You can't let me walk out that door again. I need to know you're not going to just push me away like that again. You can yell and cry and ask me for anything, everything you need. But don't let me go."

"I won't, I won't do that again," he promised as he continued to stroke your check with his thumb. "I should never have let that happen. And I should have never waited so long to come after you. I love you."

You kissed him again, a little firmer this time, but no less tender. "I love you, too."

Silence took over again as you continued to sit there. You focused on the way his hand was now running up and down your arm gently, while the other brushed at your hip from where it was wrapped around you. Cradling his face in your hands, you placed a series of kisses on his face; his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks. With each kiss, you felt a sliver of tension bleed away from him, until at last he seemed to sag in relief.

You eyed the duffle bag that was still on his bed, grateful that he had come home when he did so that you could have this talk. You weren't sure how you would have handled living in a world without him by your side. It had only been a year, but you knew this was something you wanted for the rest of your life. Knew that he was someone you wanted for the rest of your life.

You were willing, oh so willingly, to do whatever this man needed, whatever he asked of you.

Glancing at the bathroom door, an idea came to you. An idea that might be a good place to start, no matter how small and insignificant it would seem. Without much thought, you decided to act on it, desperate to help him in whatever way you could.

"Let me go, Matt." You gently pushed against the arms that held you to him.

"What? Why?" You didn't miss the way the panic seeped into his voice.

"Just...let go. Let me get up." Confused, he slowly and reluctantly released you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead, before standing up and walking towards the bathroom. You heard him get up behind you.

"Where are you going?" You knew him well enough to hear the anxiety creeping in, this time more insistent. You turned around, kicking off your shoes as you did so. Your shirt was pulled off and thrown to the floor at his feet, and your pants soon followed.

"I figured we'd start with a shower."

"A...shower?"

"Yes. You're going to help me wash my hair until you can't smell my shampoo any longer, and then you're going to keep talking to me and let me cuddle you the rest of the afternoon. You coming?"

For the first time in weeks, the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on his face, though it was brief and utterly bewildered, as his own shirt hit the floor. Matt stil look bemused, but he went along with your idea. He took a few hesitant steps forward until he was right in front of you.

Rough hands gripped your cheek, pushed your hair back behind your ears, and tilted your head forward so that he could place a gentle kiss to your forehead. With a soft sigh, he reached down to grasp your hand, and you let him pull you into the bathroom.

[rancidpancakebatter]

🎥 For Matt Murdock, said by the reader (because we all know Matt could sense these kind of things...and that he can't see lmao), "When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew."

You Knew - [M.M.]

Pairings: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Summary: You grew up with Matthew, but how long have you loved him?

Word Count: 2.3k words

Content: Very brief allusion to sex at the end

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long but here you go. I hope you like it :))

I am slowly making my way through my asks, so I thank you all for your patience

Thinking back, you don’t think you’ve ever been happier. You were currently sitting on the couch, reading a book. Your legs were stretched out under a soft throw across Matt’s lap, while he was going over some case files. 

He brought some tea to his lips and his other hand continued to run across the page. The afternoon sun washed him in a beautiful amber hue. You wish to cradle his face the same way the sunbeams did. 

“What?” You blinked a few times before you realised Matt had said something. “You’re staring.”

You chuckled, knowing he wasn’t upset, merely teasing you. “It’s nothing.”

Matt only hummed and you went back to your reading. Well, you tried, but as you stared at the words, your mind drifted. 

Saint Agnes was the only home you knew. You never knew your parents, only the sisters who raised you. The story of the child hero who lost his eyesight saving someone’s life was one all the children knew. Hell’s Kitchen didn’t get much good attention, so this kid was kind of like a symbol to you all. 

You remember when Matt first arrived. He was quiet and kept to himself. Many of the other kids would whisper about him when he would pass and you knew he could hear it. Some of the boys complained about his nightmares, said he was possessed. You refused to believe that. 

One day on the playground, Matthew got corned by two boys. One took his cane and when Matt pushed at them the other slapped him, his glasses flying off. You ran up to one of them and turned them around. 

“What is your problem? Are you brain-dead? Is that it? What? Did you find out that even blind he’s at a higher reading level than you?” One of the benefits of growing up here: you knew everyone’s buttons and how to press them effectively. Bradley was practically a neanderthal. He was insecure about his intelligence and used brute force to get his way. 

He turned on you but before he could even raise his fist Matt swung, knocking him off kilter. By then, enough shouting had happened to alert one of the sisters to the commotion and you were all escorted to Sister Mary’s office. 

After that, you and Matt were thick as thieves. You were always getting into trouble. Kids could be brutal and you watched each other’s backs. You were more quick-witted while Matt was a better fighter. Together you made an unstoppable team. 

But you both grew up. Matt left for college and you lost touch. You always wondered what had happened to him. You stayed close to home, you continued to do volunteer work at Saint Agnes. That’s where you met him again. You were delivering some donations from a clothing drive when you noticed Maggie slinking around. 

Old habits die hard. You felt like a kid again as you followed her through the halls, speculating about where she was going. She was looking over her shoulder a lot, so it must have been something big. You wondered what the sacred sister was up to. 

You heard her scold some children before they ran into the hallway. You caught them in the hall and asked them what was in the room. 

“Some guy. We thought he was dead but then he woke up.”

“Yeah, he looks terrible.” 

They took off when they heard other footsteps in the corridor. You hid behind a corner as another sister moved down the stairs. 

Your feet carried you to the door, listening from just outside. 

“I need to change your gauze,” You heard Sister Maggie say, “Preferably without you flailing around like an idiot.”

You heard clinking and a zipper. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. You were always pissed off. Of course, back then, you were just a boy who lost your eyesight.”

Your mind started spinning. A blind guy, hidden away in the orphanage? You knew it could be anyone but you couldn’t stop thinking it was him. It was obviously someone Sister Maggie knew. The description fit your old friend too well for it to be a coincidence. 

You had seen in the paper that Matthew was a lawyer now, responsible for taking down Wilson Fisk. It seems over the years his wit had become more scathing. You were proud of his sharp tongue. 

You enter the doorway, your curiosity getting the best of you. Your steps were quiet and both of them seemed too wrapped in their conversation to notice you. You looked over the body, though you couldn’t see the face. 

“Congratulations. You finally caught me.” You knew that voice, you had heard it on the news. You stepped closer and his battered face was more than enough proof.  

“Matthew?!”

You helped him recover in the church basement. You caught up on life and all that he had been up to. You listened to his self-pity monologues and his declarations against god. You were much more sympathetic to his righteous anger than Maggie was. You helped him set up his punching bag and kept him company. You even got to meet Karen, though the circumstances they were under were quite frightening and deadly. 

Since Matt’s recovery and the revival of the Daredevil, you and Matt became a lot closer. You fell back into your old ways. You felt comfortable with him, like falling into a distant memory. You didn’t realise just how much you had missed him. 

He introduced you to Foggy (and reintroduced you to Karen in a much safer and calm environment) and you were glad they were in his life. He seemed happy around them, less rageful than you remembered him.

Matt leaned on you a lot as he slowly brought himself back to life. You helped him clean his apartment, find a good Devil-to-Matt ratio, and process the betrayal he felt from Margaret’s actions. 

Now you were dating Matt. You don’t really remember how it happened. One day you were friends and then the next you were sharing sweet kisses and holding each other as you slept. It was the most natural progression you had ever experienced.

​​You’ve never been happier. Matt was kind and sweet. He doted on you and made you feel special every day. Even in mundane moments like these, where he had to bring work home, he was still spending time with you. 

As he was reading he was rubbing your leg over the blanket. He looked almost holy in the evening sun. Matt seemed so relaxed lately, it was a look you enjoyed on him. For most of your time knowing Matt, he was full of rage. But now, he seemed so warm. He was just so amazing. 

In this moment you realised something. “I love you.” 

Matt’s hand stopped on the page for just a moment, “I love you too.” 

He said it so nonchalantly. As if he had told you this a million times, not like he was saying this to you for the first time. You sat up, shocked by his response. When you pulled your legs away from him he sat up straighter, a look of confusion on his face. 

“What?” He asked you for a second time today. 

You blinked at him dumbly as your mouth gaped like a fish. “Wh- eh- You…you love me?” 

Matt's confusion melted into a blinding smile. “Yes. And you love me; have for a while now.” 

He had to bite back laughter as you continued to gape at him. “But I’ve never said that before. How did you know?” 

Matt grabbed your hand, “I’ve known since I met you.” 

“You’ve loved me since we were kids?” Matt did laugh at that. 

“No, but you did.” You smacked his arm as he continued to laugh. 

You think back to the first day you met. It was after the fight. You sat outside the office on a bench with Matt waiting for your turn for questioning. He was a mystery to you. He was normally quiet, keeping to himself. You were the same in that regard. 

You preferred to stay in the background and learn from your environment. It had done you well. You wondered why Matthew had chosen to live in the background. You felt yourself worrying for him, closely eyeing his cheek where you saw a welt slowly growing. 

You had to admit he was pretty. His features were soft despite the permanent scowl on his face. His hair was kinda shaggy and you thought his sunglasses were cool. You mentally traced the silhouette of his face. 

Mathew was older than you by two years. He was a “big kid” and you wondered if he found you annoying. Many of the children here did. You played around with the idea of him becoming your friend. You weren’t sure what that would look like but you wanted that. 

You felt your stomach twist when you thought about how he had fought for you. It wasn’t a particularly unpleasant feeling, but a new one. Something about this boy was magical. You wanted to learn everything about him: his favourite colour, his favourite book, his favourite toy. Maybe he didn’t play with toys at all. He was nine after all. You wondered what he did for fun, if not playing with toys. 

Matt tilted his head and you wondered what he was thinking. You knew that was his confused/thinking face. A small smirk spread across his face before he turned to you. You held your breath, hoping he couldn’t feel you staring at him. You stayed that way for a while before he turned his head back to the wall, chuckling.

It hit you then. He was right. 

“You smiled…” Matt’s laughter was calming down.

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t believe this man. 

“On that stupid bench…when I saw you I fell in love,” You laughed in disbelief. “And you smiled because you knew." 

On his face was a similar smirk. Little Matty wasn’t as far in the past as Matt pretended he was. You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at the man in front of you. Not when your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest. Trying to escape the confines of your ribs and land in the hands of the man you loved. The man you loved. The man you have loved since you were seven years old. 

You brought your hands to his face and crumpled as you felt him melt into them. “You smug bastard.”

Matt chuckled, his unfocused gaze on you. “A smug bastard that you love.”

You chuckled as you brought your lips to his. It was soft, sweet. It was everything you needed. Matt’s hands rested on the side of your ribcage, his smile ever-present. You leaned back, breaking off the kiss but not going far. 

“I love you, Matty.” You felt his hands fall to your hips. 

“I love you, (Y/N).” He closed the space between you and this kiss was a bit deeper. You felt like you were on cloud nine. It all felt so surreal. Suddenly a thought crossed your mind and you pulled away. You laughed when Matt whined, chasing after you. 

“Wait, I’ve loved you since we were kids. How long have you loved me?” A faint blush decorated Matt’s cheeks. He pretended to think about it and you smiled at his antics. 

“Let’s see…I knew I loved you when you were sending me off for college. I remember you were trying your best not to cry. And you wouldn’t let me hug you until I was getting in the taxi because you said you wouldn’t let me go otherwise.” He chuckled at the memory and you felt tears pooling in your eyes.  

“When we did hug goodbye, I found it much harder to let you go than I anticipated. It took all of my resolve to do so, and I released it was because I did love you.” Matt pulled you into his lap and you moved your hands from his face to wrap them around his neck. 

“I don’t remember when I fell for you. Probably when we were teenagers. I don’t know for sure, though. I do know,” He said as he moved your hair out of your face before resting his hand in its place. 

“That I have loved you for a long time. I don’t think I ever stopped. I know that I never will.” He swiped his thumb under your cheek, collecting a tear that had escaped. 

“Alight, alright,” You said through a sniffle. “You win.” 

He laughed, his smile creating wrinkle lines across his face. “Of course I do. I get to kiss you, hold you, and love you. Every day that I wake up in your arms, I am winning.” 

You roll your eyes at him and call him a sap. “It may be sappy, but it’s true nonetheless, my love.” 

You are absolutely positive he could sense how your body responded to the nickname. Nothing got past him. Not the way your breath caught in your throat. Not the way your heart beats harder. And certainly not the way your body temperature rises. 

You felt his other hands trace circles on the skin of your hip. You weren’t sure when he had weaselled his hand under your shirt but you couldn’t be bothered with that. “You’re too cute…my love.”

“Matty…” It was a plea. You burned for him. You thirsted for him and knew he was the only thing that could satiate you. 

“Yes, my love?” He teased.

He knew what he was doing. He was making you putty in his hands. You leaned forward and kissed him with hunger, with passion. It was words you didn’t know to say. It was feelings you couldn’t express. It was an encrypted message that you hoped he could decode. 

He received the message loud and clear. “I say we take this into the bedroom and I can show you just how much I love you. How does that sound my love?” 

Before you could even respond he was picking you up and carrying you across the room, your giggles floating through the air.

Tag List: @heejinw0rld, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

[blackshadowswriter]

Make It Better┃ Matt Murdock

Summary: You've had nothing but bad experiences with men and periods, something Matt will not stand. He's determined to make it better for you, and oh, he succeeded.

Words: 3,840

CW: period stigma (dickhead men being assholes about periods), smut (nipple play, clit stimulation, praise kink, aftercare)

AN: I've been seeing quite a few period comfort fics with Matt on here, and the writers were all like "my period just started, so I wanted to write this," and like, are our cycles all aligned? Because me too bitches, and I decided to join the party ✌

Periods. Menstruation. That time of the month.

Call it what you want. There was no disguising the harsh truth once a girl got hers—that periods were plain misery.

Your old Sunday school teachers from middle school when your parents dragged you to church told all the girls how their monthly menstruations were a blessing from God, a sign of fertility and womanhood. All of the class had gazed up at the nun preaching this with expression ranging from amazement to apprehension to downright horror.

You were one of the last group, and you had found out soon enough that you were right. Despite all the praises that nun had sang to God for "blessing" the girls with their periods, there was no hiding the fact that periods were downright torture.

There you were on a Friday night in the present, thinking of that nun and her insistent voice ringing with memory in the back of your head: "Remember, girls, always thank God when your monthly menstruation begins for God has blessed you with fertility of a woman."

Bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit, you thought.

And there you were, curled up in bed, cursing that nun in your head with language that could have given the aurora borealis a run for its money.

Dull throbs of agony worked its way from your lower abdomen all the way through your body, resonating to your back, to your chest, to your thighs. You were tangled up in the sheets in the fetal position, unwilling to move any more than was necessary at the moment even though such movement would be inevitable. You'd already ran through three tampons, and your period had just started this afternoon.

The first and second days were always the worst.

A miserable noise escaped your lips as you rolled over slightly onto your boyfriend's side of the bed. Speaking of which, he should be back from work soon—

The sound of the front door opening met your ears, paired with the familiar tap of a cane echoing through the living room to the open door of the bedroom.

"Sweetheart, I'm home!"

Any other day, the low timber of Matt's voice would have had you springing up from the bed or the couch or wherever you'd nestled and racing into his arms. Today, however, you simply burrowed further into the bed, groaning.

"Sweetheart?" Matt appeared at the doorway, the concerned furrow of his brows evident as he made his way to your side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just...bad day," you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow you had buried your face in, unwilling to face the embarrassment of telling Matt what was going on. While the two of you had been dating for months now, this was the first time you'd gotten your period since you moved into Matt's apartment with him. This was an unfortunate side issue you admittedly hadn't been thought about when you agreed.

"Yeah?" The bed dipped down slightly where Matt sat down next to you. His calloused fingers were in your hair a second later, gently scratching your scalp. The heavenly feeling of his hands in your hair usually had you purring and curling against him, but all it did today was make you whine. "Tell me about it then?"

You sighed softly, shifting your position as you uncurled your legs to stretch them out. "Just everything bad in genera—Matt? You alright?"

He had gone stiff, his blank eyes darting around and his mouth set in a hard line. In a second, his hands were around your waist, hauling you up from the bed and dragging your form towards him.

A disgruntled huff flew from your lips at the sudden movement. You wound up in Matt's lap, which was something you usually wouldn't protest against, but the situation in your bitch of a uterus sent a fresh wave of pain stabbing in your abdomen. "Matt!" you complained. "What's going on?"

"Where is it?" Matt demanded, his ever gentle hands roaming up and down your waist and skimming across the sides of your thighs as if looking for something. "Who did it to you?"

"Did what?" you asked in confusion.

"I can smell it," he growled, teeth slightly bared as he hunted for the perceived threat. "Who hurt you?"

"N-no one hurt me," you said, utterly bewildered, watching him search for any sign of injury along your body even though there was none. Perhaps this was just a clever ploy to feel you up. You reached up to tap the side of his cheek. "I think your bat senses are acting up, Matt."

He softened at your touch, but his hands remained persistent, roaming across your legs. Oddly enough, his touch was centered in the general area of your hips and thighs as he skimmed for any hurt. That was only further cementing your theory of him just trying to get handsy. "I can smell your blood, sweetheart," he rumbled. "Where are you hurt? Tell me who did it to you."

You froze. "Y-you...can...smell..."

Matt's head tilted to the side. "There's blood around the area of your thighs," he murmured. "Who hurt you?"

Realization washed over you like a bucket of icy cold water. You slumped forward with a groan, pressing your palms to your forehead. Embarrassment was searing its way through your face, turning your cheeks bright red. "No, Matt, no," you sighed, grimacing as you searched for a way to explain. "I'm not hurt. No one hurt me. I'm...I'm fine."

"I can smell blood," he insisted. "You're hurt."

"I'm not hurting," you groaned, tipping your head forward to bury it in your hands, wincing when the movement only amplified your cramps.

Matt's brow furrowed as he tilted his head further towards your chest. Oh shit, you thought as you realized he was listening to your heartbeat, likely hearing the lie in your words that you weren't hurting while your cramps were mowing down every nerve in your fucking uterus.

His hand stilled on your left thigh, and he slowly rubbed a circle into your skin with his thumb. "Why won't you tell me, sweetheart?" he asked softly. "I can tell you're in pain, I can smell the endorphins. What's wrong?"

You flopped backwards onto the bed with a wince. "'M not hurt," you mumbled sullenly. "They're just cramps."

"Cramps?"

Burying your face underneath to pillow as if it would hide you from your humiliation, you grumbled, ""M on my period, Matt."

Your legs were still resting across Matt's lap, so you felt the moment he stilled at your words. You cringed beneath the pillow, waiting for one of the inevitable responses you had heard from men all the time: ew, that's disgusting, get off me, go away—

"Oh," he said softly, a faint note of what sounded like relief in his voice. That made no sense; why would he be relieved? He should be disgusted, he should be grossed out, he should be telling you to get off his bed.

The bed shifted around you, and Matt's legs slid out from underneath you. Your eyes closed in resignment, but at least him just leaving was better than him kicking you out, you decided.

Instead, an strong arm snaked around your waist, and the comforting feel of Matt's warm weight was draped across your back. He pulled you into his chest, spooning you as he wrapped his arms around your scrunched-up form. His lips ghosted across the side of your neck to press a kiss along your jawline.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed in your ear. "Are you alright?"

Your brain took a few seconds to adjust to the fact that Matt was still here, Matt hadn't run away, he hadn't asked you to leave, he was cuddling with you instead of treating you like some disgusting animal, he was still here—

You frowned and rolled over onto your back to look up at him. "Why aren't you running away?"

"Why would I?" Matt asked, confused. His tone, sincere as it was, only served to befuddle you even further. He really, truly saw no reason to leave you. How?

"I'm on my period," you said slowly as if his radar hearing hadn't heard it loud and clear the first time.

Matt nuzzled his face against your neck, tangling his legs with yours. "And?" he murmured sleepily.

"I thought...are you not, you know...grossed out?"

"Why would I?" he asked again, his fingers coming up to stroke the side of your face. "It's just blood, isn't it? Sweetheart, you can't possibly think that blood would scare me away? I bleed every night." His voice was tinged with amusement.

"It's different," you mumbled, turning to hide your face against his throat, pleasantly surprised when he let you. Gentle hands slid up into your hair, stroking the back of your head tenderly.

Matt hummed in disagreement. "How so? Blood's blood."

"It's..." You huffed out a sigh of frustration. "God, Matt, do I really have to explain how periods work to you?"

"I did pass high school biology, thank you very much," Matt laughed.

"Then you do know that my bitch of a uterus is currently pouring buckets of blood out my fucking vagina?"

An amused smirk lifted the corner of his lips up. "That wasn't exactly how they phrased it in school, but I guess the general idea was the same."

"How are you still here?" you demanded. "Why aren't you leaving? Or kicking me out of the bed or—or—"

A dark shadow crossed Matt's face, any trace of humor disappearing from his expression. He licked his lips slowly, and when he spoke, his words were tainted with restrained anger that you understood wasn't directed at you. "Have others done that to you before? They kicked you out of the bed?"

"Um...well, all of my exes were grossed out," you mumbled, watching the corner of Matt's lips tighten in displeasure. You had no idea why he was so angered by this new information—was that not how all men treated periods? "Some just had varying levels of reactions."

Matt curled his lip, teeth clenching and eyes burning with fiery fury. "I hope none of them ever find themselves in Hell's Kitchen," he said darkly. "Or I'll be having a talk with them at night."

You had no doubt Matt wasn't referring to a nice little innocent-blind-lawyer-here-to-help talk. Most definitely, more of a break-your-bones-as-the-devil kind of talk.

"Why?" you asked, infinitely confused. "I mean...I thought it was normal for guys to, you know...react like that."

Matt scoffed harshly. "No," he growled. "Those exes of yours are all assholes." He stroked the side of your face tenderly and dipped his head down to kiss you, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the anger thrumming below the surface in his body. You tilted your head up to return the kiss, your head still caught up on the fact that holy shit, he was still here, he hadn't run away.

"I love you," you sighed against his lips, feeling him soften against you.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured. Matt nuzzled against your neck, trailing kisses along your throat as he entwined his legs with yours. His arm slid firmly around your waist and pulled you into his chest, kissing your lips again.

Eyes fluttering shut, you relaxed in Matt's arms, savoring in the feel of his heavenly soft lips against yours. You were just getting comfortable, all cuddled up against him when another vicious cramp rolled across your stomach. A sharp whine at the pain falling from your lips broke the kiss as you drew your legs up to your chest with a miserable groan.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow. "Stupid—fucking—cramps," you hissed.

Matt rubbed your back sympathetically. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I wish I could make it better." You could hear the frustration at his helplessness in this situation bleeding into his voice.

"Yeah, I wish you could too," you mumbled, pressing the heel of your palm against your closed eyes as if the darkness would minimize your pain. Alas, it did nothing except make little stars pop up behind your eyelids from how hard you dug your hands in. "It's fine, Matt. This happens every month. I'll live. I'll just...ride this out until it's done."

"I don't like it," Matt grumbled. "I don't like you being in pain.

"'You can't do anything about it," you reminded him gently, shifting in bed to look at him, hiding a grimace at the throbbing cramps the movement brought. You reached up to brush your fingers along his cheek. "It's not like you can go all Daredevil on my uterus. Which wouldn't exactly help anyways."

A thoughtful hum vibrated against your skin as Matt pressed a kiss to your shoulder, running his fingers along your arm. After a few moments of consideration, he said quietly, "You know...I read something the other day. About periods."

"Yeah?" You lifted a teasing eyebrow that you knew he could feel if not see. "And what exactly, Mr. Murdock, were you doing reading about periods?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Doesn't really matter," he said evasively, and your eyebrows traveled further up your forehead. "I read that oxytocin can help relieve period cramps."

"And?"

"And..." Matt nudged you over on your back, hovering his body over yours and dipping down to kiss you. "You know what releases oxytocin?"

"'M—not a—scientist—Matt," you complained as he started pecking you on the lips like a fucking bird. "I don't know—cuddling probably?"

"Mhm," he agreed, easing up on his insistent pecking and trailing his lips down to your throat. "That's one. What else?"

"You're not my 9th grade biology teacher," you huffed, grimacing through more cramps and drawing in a pained breath through clenched teeth. "What else releases oxytocin then, professor?"

Matt lifted his head from your neck, and the devilish grin he flashed you was practically dripping with sin. "Orgasms," he said with a perfectly innocent face.

You blinked. "Wha—Matt!"

Your question dissolved into a yelp when Matt yanked you towards him suddenly, bracing himself on his elbows over you, one of his hands cupping your jaw as he kissed you languidly. His insistent tongue slid into your mouth the second you opened it to him, the molten heat of him melting into you. Despite yourself, you let out a strangled moan, your own hands reaching up for him.

"Matt," you panted against his lips. "I can't—I'm sorry—not right now, I'm on my period."

"Oh sweetheart." He cradled the side of your face in one hand and slid his hand down to your thigh thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip before dipping his head down towards yours, his lips hovering an inch from yours. "You don't think that'll stop me, do you?"

"Mhm," you mumbled between his kisses. "Matt—'M bleeding—'s not gonna be pretty—"

"Well, lucky for me, that won't be a problem, will it?" Matt asked, that hungry, ridiculously hot smirk cropping up again as he dragged your lips back to his, hands gliding up across your waist. You had gone to bed in a pair of panties and an oversized shirt, and clearly, Matt was taking advantage of your lack of clothing.

Not that you were complaining in the slightest.

But the fact still stood that there was enough blood pouring out of you to fill the goddamn Nile River.

It was hard to form a coherent thought between Matt's insistent kisses and his exploring hands, and you wanted nothing more than to just melt into his arms and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you. Normally, that was a good enough plan but not on your period. You would bleed all over Matt's silk sheets, and you didn't think Matt could handle the smell nor you the embarrassment.

"Matt," you whined as his hands got more adventurous, sliding up underneath your shirt to gently massage at your skin.

"Shh," he murmured, nipping lightly at your neck while one of his large, calloused hands found their way up to your breasts. You arched into his touch when he brushed his fingers softly over your nipples, a breathy moan escaping your lips despite yourself. "Just let me take of you, okay? Let me make it better for you, sweetheart. Let me help you. Can you do that for me, honey?"

"I—fuck," you gasped when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, your sensitive body reacting instantly to his touch. Heat coiled between your legs, and you automatically tried to squeeze them together, but Matt was still cradled between your thighs.

But he felt the way you clenched around his broad hips, a low chuckle sounding in your ear. "Sounds like you want it, sweetheart," he mused, switching to cup your other breast in his hand with a reverent murmur of your name. "Don't fight it—it's okay. Let me make it better, okay?"

"Fuck," you groaned, instinctively grinding your hips upwards into Matt's. "Yes, yes, okay. Fuck, yes, Matt."

The sinful smile he gave you made it all worth it. "Good girl," he praised softly, grin only widening when you whimpered at the name. "Let's get this off now, hmm?" he purred, tugging at your shirt.

All too eager, you practically ripped it off your body with a panting groan as Matt lowered himself down so that his body molded against yours, the almost burning heat of his mouth gliding up across your stomach to your breasts. He sucked one gently, swirling his tongue around your oversensitive nipple before switching to the other while you moaned above him. Your breathless gasps of his name only urged him on further as his fingers danced down towards the waistband of your panties, skimming across the soft skin of your hip.

"Matt," you groaned when he curled his fingers in the fabric, ready to tug them off. "I—mphm—gonna get blood on—on the sheets—"

"Don't care," he said absently, shifting down the bed to settle between your legs, already sliding your panties down your legs. "'S just blood, and they're just sheets. I want you."

Before you could even begin to comprehend just how much that one statement meant to you, Matt's fingers were diving into your folds, swiping across both blood and wetness before bringing them back up to circle your clit achingly slowly. A broken whine spilled from your mouth, the first caress of pleasure coming after days of pain and cramps like a glimpse of sun breaking through clouds.

You gasped Matt's name in both praise and plea combined, nearly writhing when he finally applied more pressure where you desperately needed against your sensitive clit. Hips bucking up into his hand, you let out a needy moan, eyes rolling back into your head while he worked his fingers in the magical way only Matthew fucking Murdock could.

"That's it, sweetheart," Matt cooed, speeding up the pace of his fingers. You could hear the absolutely sinful sound of your slick against Matt's fingers as he stroked you faster. "You're doing so well for me. Just let go, I got you."

The praise had you panting and gasping like each breath was the last one you could take. Fiery pleasure was scorching its way across you, starting at the point where Matt was touching you so well and burning across every nerve in your body like a supernova exploding into existence.

"So close, sweetheart, just let go," Matt encouraged, gliding his fingers over your swollen bud. "Come for me, sweetheart."

And then, he slid a hand up your body to roll over your nipple at the exact moment he brushed his fingers up against that spot on your clit, and that was it. You cried out, Matt's name echoing on repeat in the bedroom while molten heat rolled across your body in a tidal wave, days of pent up stress melting away as you finally gave way to pleasure. Your body trembled as you came down from your orgasm, and your head fell back against the pillows with a blissed out moan.

"Mm...Matt," you slurred, still drunk on the feel of your slowly receding pleasure.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he called, sounding oddly distant.

You peered blearily at the doorway, only now realizing that he had disappeared from the bed. Your heart sank, lazy afterglow of pleasure giving way to gripping anxiety once more. God, this was what you had been afraid of. Even Matt, as wonderful as he was, would also be grossed out by your blood all over him, something you couldn't blame him for—you probably looked like an extra for the Walking Dead down there. No wonder he had left. Your head flopped back down, an empty feeling worming its way into your chest.

But then the bed shifted again under Matt's weight, and you looked up, confused once more, to see Matt sliding back in bed with you, a warm washcloth in hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked you, his now clean hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "I heard your heart going up. What happened?"

"I..." You watched in a state of half disbelief and half awe as Matt gently wiped away the blood smeared along the insides of your thighs with no disgust, no judgement, no desire to hastily sweep away the evidence—just sweet, genuine care. On a normal day, this would warrant a thank you, a gesture of affection in return, or just anything to thank him like a normal person would.

But this wasn't a normal day, and you promptly burst into tears.

The cloth was all but abandoned on your leg as Matt moved back up to cradle you against his warm, broad chest without a word.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm not usually this emotional, I swear—"

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face. "It's okay, I know."

"It's just—" you sniffled, blinking back more tears. "None of my other boyfriends did this. They all treated me like I was dirty or—or contaminated, and I thought you were leaving me, but you've been s-so good to me."

"It's the least I could do, honey," Matt assured you, tilting your head up to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "Because I love you, and I want to help you any way I can."

"I love you so much," you mumbled against his lips, slumping against him in peace before you sat up, realizing something. "Oh God, Matt, I'm sorry, I didn't take care of you, I meant to—"

""Hey, hey, no," he soothed. "It's okay, that was about you. You needed it, don't worry about me."

"But—"

"No," he said firmly. "I'm good, sweetheart. Now, let me clean you up, and we can go to bed, alright?"

"....Okay," you agreed quietly when Matt gave you that stern look that you knew meant he wouldn't budge on this.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were curled up in bed like a pair of koalas, legs entwined and arms around each other. You nuzzled further into Matt's arms when he dropped a kiss into your hair.

"I love you," you murmured sleepily. "How did I get such a wonderful boyfriend?"

You felt Matt's lips turn up into a smile where they were pressed against your forehead. "Hmm, I don't know, but I'm sure your boyfriend doesn't deserve you."

"Stop it," you scolded, reaching up to cup his cheek. "If anything, I don't deserve you. You take care of me so well, Matt."

Matt smiled, his blank eyes fixed on your face as he turned his head to kiss the inside of your wrist lightly. "Always, sweetheart," he vowed. "I love you."

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AN: Funny how the smutty fic is the first Matt fic I post even though I have so many swimming in my drafts. Almost like it's a sign of some sort 🤔I'm working on those req though, I promise, guys

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

[farfromstrange]

Tupperware | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: A conversation about kitchen supplies leads to something more...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), multiple orgasms, aftercare

Word Count: 6.7k (This is a literal Smut Beast)

A/n: Yeah, whatever you think the title means in context, I guarantee you, this is different. But also, maybe not. I found this in my drafts because it was originally planned as an FG One Shot, but I decided to just throw my plans off the board and turn it into a reader insert (I've written this a while back, but I reread and edited it). Funny story: I found this writing prompt and it reminded me of the accent I have and how I say Tupperware (and how everyone in my State says Tupperware, the German version ofc), and I found it funny because that is definitely something I did when I said it in English for the first time. Anyway, enjoy!

The couple sat on his couch, the lights of the Billboard growing more distinctive as the sun started to set. He was working on the paperwork that had piled up over the days while she was reading something on her laptop. The steady typing of her fingers synchronized with her steady breathing. He didn’t mind the sound of her working. He enjoyed the carelessness of it all. Just two people seeking the comfort of each other’s presence while doing two completely different things. It wasn’t weird, it was productive.

At some point, he reached for her leg that was poking his side and placed it in his lap. She smiled at the casual, domestic action. His fingers stroked her calves absentmindedly while his mind continued to occupy itself with the information on the case that reached in through his headphones.

He heard her laugh at something. He smiled as he asked, “What?”

“I was looking for some accessories for our kitchen,“ – his heart bloomed at the pronoun, – “And now Google is trying to sell me  Tubberware,” she stated. “I don’t even use Tubberware anymore.”

The headphone fell from his ear.

“What are you saying?” Matt asked.

His lip twitched, more in disbelief than amusement, but it was also weirdly adorable, the way the ‘b’s’ rolled from her tongue.

“Say it again,” he told her.

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Tubberware,” she said, remaining serious and clueless throughout.

“Say it again. Slow.”

“Tubberware.”

“Slow, very slow– actually, say the first syllable.”

Her frown deepened. “Tub,” she said confidently.

Matt bit his cheek. “Wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“I thought I caught that. You’re saying tub. It’s P.”

He had to keep telling himself not to laugh, but it was so incredibly hard with the pout on her lips growing by the second.

She removed her leg from his lap and sat upright, laptop moving dangerously close to the edge of her thighs. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Tupperware,” he stated. “Tupper.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “It’s Tupperware?!”

He couldn’t hold it any longer. The laugh rolled off his lips like a serenading song. “It’s Tupperware, always has been, always will be,” he choked out.

The pout came back, stronger than before. A frustrated pout. This was entirely different from the confused and irritated one. “I thought it was tubberware because it kind of looks like a tub,” she muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he laughed.

“It looks like a tub,” she said.

“I know it does. I’m sorry.”

“Stop laughing at me, you dick!”

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… say it again. Please. For me.”

“So that you can make more fun of me?” she asked. “No thank you.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I promise. It just sounds so cute when you say it. Do it for me, please. I want to hear it again.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of laughing too. She was supposed to be mad at him, but she somehow couldn’t because looking at it from this angle, she realized how stupid it was. Tubberware. It was hilarious, even.

“Tubberware,” she said again, trying to breathe through the fit of laughter bubbling in her throat.

Matt laughed. “Again,” he begged.

“Tubberware.”

“It’s so cute, I can’t-“ his voice cracked.

“I hate you!”

“I know you want to laugh,” he titled his head knowingly, “so laugh.”

“No,” she said.

“Please."

“Don’t tell me what to do,” but at this point, she was already laughing. The sound he loved so much grew louder by the second.

Her stomach hurt. His did, too.

“I’ve been saying it for years,” she said between breaths. “And no one’s ever told me. Oh, God!”

“I’m sorry,” said Matt. “I didn’t mean to… Tubberware.” He giggled. “It’s adorable.”

“Shut up!"

"I'm sorry, I'll stop." He wiped some more of his laughing tears.

Grateful for his attempt to compose himself, she nodded. "Okay,” she turned back toward her laptop, “While we’re already on the issue, do we need anything else?"

He threw his head back, thinking. “We could use some new spatulas,” he said. "And lunchboxes. Tupperware has some great choices, you should take a look."

Her laugh died into a smile. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“What I’m saying is, we’re not getting Tubberware.”

“Why not?” He cocked an eyebrow. “They’ve got great kitchen stuff and it’s easy to use. You know, for me as a blind man…”

“Matt Murdock, are you one of those Tubberware grandmas?” It was her turn to laugh.

He pouted. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, we need to talk about this.”

“No, I’ve got work to do. You should buy what I just said. We definitely need that.”

“Alright, let me see what Amazon has," she said.

“No, we'll get it from Tupperware," he retorted. "I've been using nothing else for years."

“That's not my problem. There are cheaper options. Amazon, same-day delivery.  Why do we have Prime if we don't use it? And don't say because of the Podcasts, we have Spotify, which is ten times better."

“Tupperware has better quality.”

“I'm buying the spatula and the lunchboxes from Amazon, end of discussion.”

There was a playful smile on his lips, already telling her what he was about to say next was merely a joke. “You’re not the man of the house,” Matt argued. “As the man of the house, I dictate where we buy our kitchen supplies.”

She gasped, her mouth hanging wide open as she processed his words. Even though it was a joke, she couldn't help but feel slightly offended at even the prospect. Shaking her head, she cocked her eyebrows at him and said, “And as the woman you depend on to suck your dick, I strongly suggest you think about what you just said.”

He bit his cheek. “Oh, so we’re going there?”

She smirked. “I thought you could handle it, tough guy.”

“Okay, that’s it!” He tossed the case file aside, tore the laptop from her hands, and pulled her into his lap in one swift motion.

Matt was always the first to suggest a gentle game of teasing, but he barely had any tolerance for it. He was always the first to get riled up, no matter what. Perhaps she should have thought twice about her words, but it was so much more fun to see him like this than give in too soon.

He rolled her hips down into his, his fingers sure to leave bruises as he guided her along his slacks. The moan she let out was guttural.

Matt bit down on her earlobe. “Mouth off on me again and this is all you’re gonna get for the next week,” he said.

Her thighs fluttered around his own. The heartbeat between her legs bounced off his muscles. The room suddenly grew too hot to breathe the toxic air in.

“On second thought,” she began, though when Matt’s lips wandered from her ear to her neck and down to her cleavage, the words got caught in her throat.

He ran his hands under her shirt. Her skin was hot. The rough callouses of his fingers pulled the fabric aside until it slipped off her shoulders.

“No bra,” he smirked. “Nice.”

She whined. “I really need to buy kitchen supplies now, Matt,” she tried again.

He sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth. If they were hard due to the cold air in the apartment or because his touch sent her into overdrive she wasn’t sure, but once he was on her all she could think about was his stupid mouth on her tits.

Her nipple slipped off his tongue with a pornographic plop. “I want you to do as I say,” he said.

“You can't use your bedroom voice when we're talking about the apartment. Oh, fuck!”

He slapped his hand flat on her ass.

“You were saying?”

She wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his perfectly wet lips.

“Stop teasing me.”

Matt leaned back from the mess he made on her chest, eyelids fluttering innocently, hands rested on her hips again. “You said you needed to buy kitchen supplies,” he said.

And he was instantly back in his teasing mood, believing he finally got the upper hand.

“I lied,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. You really need to buy kitchen supplies.”

She huffed. “Fine, guess I’ll do it myself.”

He wanted to laugh.

Her shorts accompanied her shirt on the floor. Half naked, she plopped down next to him on the couch again.

Matt choked on nothing at all, her scent thick in the air. When her thighs moved, the sound it made was wet, hot, and sticky. He loved that sound. He loved it most when it was as close to his ears as possible, squished between those perfect thighs that made the sound unbearable.

She threw her head back, throat exposed. She sighed. Her fingers ran over her body, barely touching, only testing the waters. All hairs on her body stood at full attention, the ache between her thighs thudding so hard to the point where she could hear nothing but blood in her ears. Her heart sped up, half because of embarrassment, the other half because of excitement. She wasn’t sure what was stronger. They’d never done anything like this before and she doubted he’d even let her. Up until this point he hadn’t done anything but listen closely though, fists clenched around the soft fabric of his slacks close to his crotch.

Her fingers ghosted over the waistband of her panties. Black silk. He liked the feeling of lace on her, but after some time it began to tickle and he hated the way it itched at his skin, so she barely wore lace anymore. He had his hands on her at all times, she had to adapt.

Matt’s hand shot out instantly. Her fingers barely breached her panties and he already had enough. “Don’t you dare,” he said.

“Why?” she challenged. Her voice was nothing but a series of breaths.

“Because it’s mine.”

“If you won’t touch me-“

He shoved his fingers down her underwear.

“Fuck!” Her head fell even further down the armrest.

“You were saying?”

“I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“Why?” his thumb stopped over her clit. “Why should I give you anything?”

“Because I will buy or- or do anything you want from now on, I promise!”

“Watch your tone, sweetheart,” he bellowed.

“Please,” she squirmed, searching for any kind of friction. His hand kept her hips restrained without even trying, any move grazing her just enough to make her body jolt, but not nearly enough to be pleasurable.

“Hm,” he hummed.

“Please?”

“Okay,” and he pressed his thumb down so hard, she swore she saw stars dance around her clouded vision.

She moaned just the way he liked it. “Fuck.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Matt resumed his work. Even though his pants were painfully tight, he acted like nothing had happened. “I need to finish this paperwork,” he told her. “I won’t ignore my responsibilities just because someone decided to be a needy whore today. So if you want to cum, you better stay quiet so I can concentrate.”

His thumb worked its way up and down her clit, circled, and drew patterns she’d never seen before. She bit into her bottom lip until it drew blood.

He knew her body better than anyone else, better than herself even. He knew what she liked, what made her squirm, what she didn’t like, and what could make her body shake instantly.

Her body was an altar. He had every last inch mapped out to perfection. Her skin was soft like a sunny day in spring and it smelled salty like the sea, sweet like the field of flowers in Central Park, and distinctive like summer rain. Every time he touched her, he was on fire. The temperature in her body changed with every flick of his fingers. Every hitch of her breath he caught onto. She didn’t even have to tell him to keep going, he simply knew.

Matt worshipped her body like he would kneel on the bench at church. She was a row of burning candles before the cross and he knelt before her like a pathetic disciple willing to do anything to please the divine being.

Her stifled moans through the palm of her hand drove him crazy. Usually, he was a lot more composed than that, but it was late, he was overworked and he was horny, and he couldn’t concentrate with the wetness of her arousal lying thick in the air. He licked his lips to taste it. He tasted the air like a starved man.

Matt growled. “Fuck this,” he said.

She protested silently when he retreated his thumb. She sat up against the armrest, staring at him. His hair stood in all directions from the hand he ran through it, his lips plump, seeking friction.

“Come here.” He grabbed her hips and placed her back on his lap, legs on either side of his thigh. “I need you close to me,” he breathed into her mouth as they met halfway. “Ride my thigh.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Ride my thigh. Be a good girl and ride my thigh. You want to make yourself cum, hm? I’m giving you an opportunity here, unless, of course, you’re too pathetic to do it yourself. Do you need me to help you, hm?”

She swallowed again. “Please,” she said.

His hands gently began to roll her hips against him. “Like that?” he asked.

The moan she let out was answer enough.

“Feel good?”

She bit into her lip, nodding wildly.

“Use your words,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

Her head fell on his shoulder, hand seeking something to hold onto behind him at the back of the couch.

The silence earned her another hard slap on her ass.

“Answer me.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Feels good. Keep going, please.”

Matt smirked. “Good girl.”

The leather was dented under her fingers. She held onto the couch for dear life. His hands guided her hips deliciously over his thigh, the fabric of his slacks mixed with the silk of her underwear sliding against her sensitive clit over and over again driving her closer and closer to the end.

She saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Her eyes rolled back. The pressure in her lower abdomen began to build slowly but steadily. She involuntarily sped up, sloppily fighting against the slow pace he’d set. He would’ve stopped her if he hadn’t been so riled up already, so he let her. He let her chase for the sweet relief the knot in her stomach prepared her for.

“Matt,” she whined his name.

One of his hands began to stroke her back. “I know,” he said. “I know, baby.”

Her thighs twitched around his, her entire body shaking underneath his touch. It was all too much. His rough hands on her hot skin, his fingers digging in sure to leave bruises, and the gentle coax of his hand on her back, stroking innocently to help her through it. His touch was too much to bear.

Matt instantly reached out when she threw her head back. The moan sounded delicious in his ears. He caught her head with his hand around the back of her neck, making sure she wouldn’t fall over and hurt herself. She clenched around nothing, thighs threatening to close but his own kept them open.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn’t crying, not at all. The tear came from a place of pure pleasure. Her body couldn’t handle it. The sensations he put her through left her speechless every time he touched her. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat was dry.

His thumb drew circles on the back of her neck. He brought her back to earth after it just shattered before her very eyes.

“Fuck,” she choked out.

Matt guided her back into his chest and she took the support gladly. His heart beat against her bare breasts. The bulge in his pants became painfully clear once she regained feeling in her limbs. It brushed her thighs where it lay between his own.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“That was…” she couldn’t find the right words.

“I know.”

She didn’t quite trust her legs when she twisted to swing the one between his thighs over the other one. She kept her hands on his shoulders to straddle him without falling over.

Matt tilted his head, eyes searching for hers. “What’re you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Looks like you need some help,” she stated. She played with his belt buckle.

“It’s fine. You know I don’t need anything in return for making you feel good.”

“I know, but I want to. That looks painful.”

In one swift motion, she pulled the belt out of his slacks and tossed it aside.

Matt chuckled at her eagerness. “You are insatiable, you know that?” he dove in to kiss whatever bare skin he could reach.

His lips sloppily kissed down her neck and up again, chasing her lips. She kissed him back as hard as she could. Their teeth clashed, tongues fighting each other for dominance, knowing he’d win anyway. He swallowed every breath she took, sucking her dry and breathing new life back into her mouth.

She opened the button on his pants, trying hard to pull it down enough to get his aching cock out of them.

He caught onto her plan. Shifting his hips, she managed to reach into his boxers.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?” she blinked at him.

Matt reached for the hem of her panties. His fingers flexed.

Rip.

She gasped. The silk fell to the floor in nothing but flaps of fabric.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

“Fine.” In response, the buttons of his dress shirt flew in all directions. She ran her hands down his chest, satisfied with the ripped front of the shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He chuckled. “That’s fair.”

She kissed down every exposed sliver of skin on his torso. Her tongue ran over the jagged scars, the freshly healed bruises from a couple of nights ago. He was beautiful. With the billboard casting a pornographic red light on them, eyes closed, he looked like the child of an angel and a demon. His entire existence was ephemeral, his body a wonderland.

She sucked one of his perky nipples into her mouth. He arched almost entirely off the couch.

“I love you,” she breathed against him.

She liked the way the words sounded. For someone so afraid of admitting her feelings not so long ago, she’d come quite far. It had become her new favorite thing to say. Though the true weight of the statement came in the moments they were intimate. She could chant the same three words to him all day, but the second they were close to each other, touching where only they could touch, those three words regained their true meaning. It was sweet, almost innocent. The kind of love everyone wished for. An endless spiral of butterflies danced around in their stomachs.

Matt chuckled. The very same sound turned into a moan once her teeth dug into the flesh around his nipples.

“I’m worshipping you now,” she told him. Her kisses traveled down his body.

Her warmth on his chest disappeared. Instead, the hot trail of kissed lead to the opened button of his slacks. Her tongue played with his belly button, the happy trail leading into Neverland.

She kissed each scar on either side. “Perfect,” she hummed. “I don’t deserve you and yet you’re mine. This is mine. Only mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine,” she kissed the lower part of his stomach. “Mine,” her lips landed on the hem of his boxers. “Mine,” it was an animalistic growl. She pulled down his underwear swiftly.

Matt didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. He was so in awe of the way she touched and spoke of his body, he listened to her for the sake of having her praise him over and over again. The words carried innocence in their sinful ways.

He choked on air. His scars long forgotten, her mouth opened around its original destination.

“Lord have mercy!” he grabbed a fistful of hair.

Her tongue licked a thick stripe down his shaft.

Matt was a religious man. He prayed regularly and went to church and Sunday Mass. He swore never to take God anywhere other than he needed to be, but that woman and her cursed mouth made him see God in the fiery land of his unseeing vision. What they were doing was outright sinful. He knew he’d go to hell for saying the lord’s name in vain. He’d go to hell for everything he’d ever done and yet, while that was the truth, he didn’t care because, at that moment, he was living. He was alive. He’d gotten used to the thought of going to hell, seeking penance almost every day since. With her though, something had awakened inside of him. He couldn’t let it go. The Devil inside of him wanted to play.

Her mouth danced perfectly to the gospel of his moans, he forgot who he was. He tried hard not to push her head further down his cock, although the warmth of her throat sent him into pleasurable overdrive.

The cold air hit the head, falling from her lips like a wet towel. “It’s okay,” she said. “Take what you need.”

It was all the confirmation he needed.

His hips bucked up into her throat. She had laid off the gag reflex the first time she had his cock in her mouth, knowing the act alone could turn her on for more than one day. She could cum from simply touching him, hearing the dirty sounds slip past his swollen lips, and she’d be more than okay with it. The sounds he made were heaven’s gift to her, she was sure.

His cock twitched against her throat. She braced herself, eyes already closed. 

“Stop,” he choked out.

She instantly sat back on her heels, naked and worked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all.  I just… I need you.”

His chest heaved with the denied orgasm. The one he had denied himself. Anticipation rutted through his veins.

She swallowed the precum mixed with spit inside her hollowed-out mouth. The skin tingled. “You want me to-“ she pointed to his lap.

Matt sensed the motion. “If you want to,” he said. “But you can lay back and let me do all the work if that’s what you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Her thighs trapped his. She’d never been so comfortable doing that before. She was completely naked on top of him while he sat there, half-dressed, eyes searching for what he couldn’t see. Blood rushed to her cheeks. The position was compromising.

He pulled the hair from her face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I don’t know what I’m doing but yeah, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Mine,” he licked a stripe up her pulse point. “Mine,” the spank landed right on her ass. The next touch of his fingers made her shudder. Her cheeks flooded red with blood. “And mine,” he parted his fingers between her thighs to spread the lips of her pussy wide open.

Part of her wanted to scramble away. He couldn’t see but he could feel everything. It was just about the same as having him watch every inch of her body closely. Every last crevice he wanted to memorize. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her brain refused to function. She was entirely bare to him.

“Matt,” she said his name.

“You’re beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her again. Passionate, loving. “Remember our safe word?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me.”

“Red.”

He flicked the switch. “Okay, good girl,” the dark sound of his voice made all the embarrassment vanish. Instead, heat shot through her core. “Good girl, having your good little cunt spread for me. Just want to look at you the way I can. Want to see what’s mine. Want to feel how wet you are from riding my thigh. Oh, look at you!” he smirked. “This is turning you on, isn’t it? Your heart’s going crazy and you’re literally dripping.  You’re making such a mess on my good pants. You want to make a mess on my cock now too, don’t you? You want to be my good little slut and ride my cock?”

She only whined.

His hand slapped across her ass harder this time. The collision stung. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Use your words or I’m leaving you like this.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice came out sobbing. “I’m sorry. I want you inside of me. I want to be your good girl, I promise.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, please! Please fuck me, Matthew. I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Don’t cry.” He wiped her cheeks. “I know I’m good, but no need to cry. You’ll get what you want. Want to make you feel good, hm. You deserve it for always being so patient.”

“Yes, I’ve been patient. I’ve been good. So good.”

He laughed. “You’re already so dumb for me, baby. You sure you can take this?”

“Yes!”

“What’s your color?” The always caring Matt Murdock peaked out from under the dark, sex-crazed facade only she got to see.

She shuddered. “I-“ words came harder than they should have.

His head titled. Worry spread across his face, ready to take back whatever he said.

“Green,” she eventually managed to say.

She only wanted the ache between her thighs to be numbed. She wanted him so incredibly deep inside of her, she could feel him bulge her stomach, everywhere he could be inside of her.

Matt smirked, and it only grew darker from there.

“Good girl,” he praised again.

She slapped her hand on her mouth. He bottomed out quickly, without warning. He penetrated her without thinking twice about it, burying himself so deep inside of her, he could feel her walls contracting around him with every inch. She sucked him in and she screamed. She was sure she screamed. Her hand was the only thing keeping the neighbors from knocking on their door. His name slipped from her lips like a prayer, like she was singing his name in church and the word echoed off the walls for everyone to hear. Except no one was supposed to hear this. It was just them. This was their safe space. They could be however they wanted to be like this, and only then they could touch each other so sweetly when the world wasn’t watching them and they didn’t have to worry about anything other than themselves.

The sound was new, even for Matt. He too was sure he let out the nastiest sound known to man, but unlike her, he had no intention of masking it. He bottomed out and he chose to stay like this for just a little while longer, waiting for her muscles to relax, waiting for her to enjoy this.

The impatient roll of her hips eased his worries.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

She breathed through her nose, “Okay.”

“Then ride me.”

And she did.

She started with a slow pace, taking her time to adjust to his size. Every inch of her felt perfectly filled out. He managed to reach parts of her she never could’ve found on her own. He had this way with her body, it was like a high that never ended, the endless train on the river of sugar rush.

Her eyes trailed up his body. Head tilted back, his eyes fluttered with every thrust of her hips. One arm flexed with the pressure he applied to the leather seat, the other was placed softly against the flesh of her hips. He made sure she knew he was there if she needed him to take control, though, at the same time, the move seemed almost domineering, leaving her no choice but to do as he wanted. She was completely at his mercy. Even the slightest touch made her cave. He knew it and she knew it.

If he’d told her to drive to hell with him, she would have.

The slow and steady pace felt like heaven to him. Her hips drew patterns to chase that spot so very deep inside of her, only he could reach it. The swirl was delicious around his cock, the hot, soft flesh of her insides rolling against him, up and down and up and down. He listened to her heartbeat, strangled breathing, and the goosebumps on her skin. Moan after moan escaped her lips, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hold it anymore. He filtered out every hint of discomfort or frustration. What she liked, what she continued doing, and what just didn’t seem to work. She explored herself without even realizing and it turned him on even more. He could’ve sworn he felt himself getting harder inside of her if that was humanly possible.

His ears only picked up on rushing blood and labored breaths. There was nothing else but the feeling of her body, the scent of sweat, and bittersweet arousal on his lips and tongue. He was entirely enveloped in her. Everything was about her. Her body, her wetness, her heart. The heart between her legs, loud and dominant.

She whimpered at the sight before her. Matt Murdock in all his glory, half naked with his shirt ripped at her fingers, fabric, and skin clutched between her nails. Sweat coated his forehead, mouth slightly agape. His lashes fluttered around his unseeing eyes. She didn’t even have to move. If she wanted to, the sight would’ve been enough to make her come undone in a matter of seconds. He was so comfortable in her presence, his shoulders slouched in absolute relaxation as her movement urged him closer to his own release.

The next time her hips rolled down into his, he met her movements. His hips jerked up with a purpose. That purpose lay deep inside of her and he knew where it was. The thrust from underneath made her cry out. The spongy spot inside of her danced with euphoria as the head of his cock brushed against it.

He chuckled breathlessly. “There it is,” his head stayed hung over the back of the couch.

She braced herself. The new wave of pleasure only spurred her on. The way he dove impossibly deeper into her with every brush against that sweet spot had him reeling, gripping the leather for any kind of support. She followed close behind, her hips beginning to move as if her life depended on it. With every thrust, she sped up. Although her legs slowly grew tired, all she could feel was the tingling knot deep in her stomach blossoming into a beautiful flower and waiting to blow.

The hand that had once laid around her waist landed around her throat instead. The leather wasn’t nearly enough to keep him composed if that was even possible.

Hell’s Kitchen always haunted him. Noise and smell followed him home, and the sound of innocent people getting hurt kept him from falling asleep most of the time. He couldn’t tune it out. The city was a part of him. Even asleep, he dreamed of all the bad that was out there and all the things he’d done in his life, the things that lead him there, the people he’d hurt. The city never slept and neither did he, not really.

Though with her, for the first time, he was able to breathe. She overwhelmed his senses to the point it almost became unbearable. Her touch singed his skin yet calmed his mind down to the point he could tune out everything else and just focus entirely on the woman atop him. Sight was overrated. He didn’t need to see to know the way she moved was graceful in itself. Everything she did, she did with passion. The rolls of her hips were angelic. With her head thrown back, sweat and tear all over her face, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever come across. He could feel every inch of her, smell her, taste her. The whole wide city disappeared in the wake of her existence.

She was his salvation. He was drowning.

“Matt,” she sighed. His name rolled sweetly over her lips like she was singing him to sleep.

He squeezed his fingers around her pulse point. The pressure caged her in, sending moons across the stars in her galaxy. She reached for his wrist, not sure if she wanted to keep him or push him away. The tingling traveled from her stomach into every last crevice of her being.

He twitched inside of her. His muscles tensed. She rolled against him again, chest to chest. Hard nipples brushed against each other.

She dove in for a taste. Sweat had nestled into his stubble. Air was overrated. She kissed him until her lungs had nothing left to give. Until there was no other way but to swim back to shore to take a deep breath.

They’d fucked before. They had sex before. They’d done a lot of things. Whatever this was though, it counted as neither. Time was of the essence. Not too little, not too much. Just the right amount of time, simply savoring each other, getting to know each other as much as humanly possible in the most intimate sense. Subconsciously, they’d both been carrying way too much pressure. It showed in the way they craved each other. Starving animals in the middle of the desert preying for sustenance.

She scratched her nails through the hairs on his chin, leaving red marks down his throat. He groaned ever so softly into the depths of her mouth.

“I love you,” she said. His name came in serial moans. She breathed hard, heavy. Lost all sense of space and time, as if she couldn’t even believe it herself.

Matt tasted the salt on his tongue, wet strains of tears carried from her drenched cheeks to his. She was crying, whining, begging, and as lovely as it was to hold her like this, the words were the last straw to destroy his composure completely.

“I love you.”

He flipped her over like she was a doll, easily handled, thighs opened to grant him the space he needed to get between them. All the while his hand remained on its throne around her throat.

She moaned. The red lights of the billboard shone at him from behind, fading into hues of purple and blue with each thrust. His hips brushed against her clit every time he dove forward, hard and relentless, deeper and deeper. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. The lights became a distant memory. Nothing mattered but the hot pressure inside her lower abdomen, his weight on her, the twitch of his cock against the spot inside of her at the same time he brushed the spot outside of her and all eventually just became too much.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me!”

She forced her eyes open. He loved it when she looked at him, vulnerable, exposed. And though she tried hard to obey, his pace made it almost impossible to keep her eyes open long enough. Not much longer and the only was about to snap.

“Who do you belong to? Who’s making you feel good?”

“You,” she gave him the answer he wanted. “Always you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Me, only me. You’re-“ he thrust his hips forward, “Mine. Mine.” he dug his teeth into her shoulder.

She sobbed. It was too much. Too good, too much. Her entire body was on fire.

“Matt, please.”

Waiting for permission, anything.

Fingers intertwined above her head on the armrest. She clawed onto him. His hand traveled down between their bodies, catching her clit just right between his fingers. Just a little more. Circles and triangles and more circles.

“All of this is mine, understood?” his face buried in the valve of her breasts. “I’m so in love with you,” he said. “So fucking in love with you.”

The Billboard outside exploded in fits of color. The coil snapped. She gave up the little control she had left, clinging onto him, shocks of pleasure wreaking havoc. Her pussy clenched around him. It was tight, so tight, and she kept him there until she could milk all he had to give her.

Matt stiffened. His mouth stayed open in a silent moan. Sound only came back to him once he came, hard. All the pressure from the week before unloaded and he fell on top of her, moaning, panting. His body vibrated with the aftershocks. The heat inside of her walls sucked him in until every last drop was spent, dripping along his softening shaft, out of her. 

The world stood still.

“I love you,” the admission blew hot against her sternum. Her hands raked through his hair, holding him.

She sighed blissfully. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Matt was a sensitive person after sex. During, he took control. He hardly left her any time to breathe or think. After though, the world came crashing back in, his senses so overwhelmed by everything, he just needed someone to ground him. His mind wasn’t back yet, ears rushing with blood and every nerve in his body straining. The only thing keeping him sane was the beating of her heart against his ear.

Not sure if she could trust her legs just yet, she gently rolled them over. “Come on,” she whispered. “I’ll clean us up.”

He lay there, eyes directed at the ceiling. Her warmth disappeared only to be replaced by a lukewarm washcloth on his stomach.

She helped him out of his pants. The cold air of the apartment eased the burning.

He had regained most of his consciousness by the time she laid back on top of him. The sofa wasn’t spacious and for the first time, he was glad there was no space for her to move anywhere but his bare chest. The skin-to-skin contact made the sudden awareness less unbearable. He needed to focus on the feeling of her. He needed to remember what it felt like to breathe.

She traced patterns on his skin. Eventually, she asked, “You okay?”

“Thank you,” he said.

“You know, I love you too. More than anything.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you,” she looked up at him. “I don’t just love you, I’m in it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He couldn’t help it. “Oh,” the tears flowed freely.

“Hey-“

Matt choked out a laugh. “You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said. "And I don't even know why I'm crying because I'm not sad, I'm happy."

Her eyes softened. She touched his cheek gently. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, kissing her palm, down to her wrist, and back up.

“I was thinking,” she broke the silence.

“Dangerous,” he muttered.

“Hey!” she slapped him only slightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

“I was thinking,” she began again. “How about, you and I,” her fingers traveled down his exposed chest, “take the day off tomorrow, stay in,” she kissed his throat, “and have absolutely filthy sex everywhere in this apartment until I can’t walk anymore.”

He moaned. “That won’t be so hard,” he said.

Needless to say, he didn’t buy any kitchen supplies that day, the day after that, or the day after that. Truth be told, she never got the chance to buy them.

“We can start today.”

The second they stepped into the shower, her chest was pressed to the cold tiles as he took her from behind.

Even if she’d wanted to, the throbbing between her legs the next morning made shopping for something as useless as kitchen supplies an impossibility. And as she sat on the kitchen counter in the morning, back arched with his head buried deep between her thighs, she realized she wouldn’t regain feeling in her limbs anytime soon.

[qu1etwolf]

Mysterious Strangers

Synopsis- Mysterious black clad man saves you from a group of would be assailants.

Word count - 1,515

Ship - Daredevil x fem!reader

Warnings - Typical violence, mostly fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N - Welp, this is my first Matt fic. Just a small little blurb. I was bored and not feeling great and this came out so......I hope yall like it.

You knew you shouldn't have been out this late. Not in the Kitchen of all places. It was an obscenely late hour, but your sister had called and your niece was sick with some kind of flu. She didn't want to leave her to walk the few blocks down the road to the 24 hour market for cold meds so she asked you. The joys of living in the same apartment building as family. 

The bag crinkles in your hand as your feet shuffle across the pavement. You accidently send a rock skittering across the ground, the sound echoing as it bounces across a grate. This city is never quiet. But the little stretch of alleyway between you and your building is almost always empty this late. 

You grip the bag a little tighter and step into the shortcut between the buildings.

"'Ey, whatcha doing out this late at night, honey?" A voice dark and dripping with malice calls out from a few feet behind you. He had clearly waited until you cornered yourself. 

You drop the bag and reach for the can of pepper spray you keep in your pocket. The same time your hand curls around the small canister, three more men step into the alley behind the large bulk standing at the end of the alley. 

"Look, boss, she's alone. Has some fight in her too." One of the other men chuckles and nods toward the canister in your hand.

The ringleader opens his mouth to say something else, but is suddenly silenced by a fist from a shadow you hadn't even noticed was there. You scramble back a few feet, fear nearly choking you from the inside. 

The lean masked man who threw the punch was moving with expert precision, landing a heavy kick to the center of a second man's chest. After the very audible crunch of someone's nose breaking the crowd of assailants scrambled as quickly as they could at a dead sprint away from your savior.

The assailant walks surprisingly softly toward you. He holds his hands up at his sides as if to seem harmless, though you know better. His form is covered head to toe in black with the exception of his lower face.

"Hey. You alright?" His voice was strangely gentle. "You're okay. I promise."

You blink wildly as you slowly slide the pepper spray back into your pocket and reach down to grab the bag that crashed down beside your feet. You don't take your eyes off of him. The strangest thing about this man standing in front of you wasn't the calmness he seemed to bleed out of his pores or the fact that he was completely ignoring his own injuries as if he hadn't taken a few punches to the face himself - the evidence of which was dripping down from the corner or his nose and from the small cut on his jaw.

No, the strangest thing was a mask of thick black fabric covering his entire face with no possible way he could see through it.

"You must be in shock. Come on, I'll walk you home. Make sure you get there okay. Alright, sweetheart?" You nod at his insistent tone and then laugh quietly at yourself when you realized he probably couldn't see it.

"Yeah, okay," you rasp out. "I have a first aid kit, too. And coffee."

While you couldn't see the entirety of the man's face, the smile he flashes you is blinding before he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and takes the bag out of your hand. 

You started down the alley and took a shaky breath. "You're….that guy everyone calls the Devil of Hell's Kitchen aren't you?"

His laugh came out a little nervous. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You know…you're not as scary as everyone says."

Right before you reach the door to your building he places a hand against your lower back. "Here's your bag back. I hope whoever it's for feels better. I can smell the menthol. Sick husband?"

"Niece," you say, as you accept the bag. "Wait. Smell the menthol?"

"Yeah, don't ask. You stay out of these alleys from now on. It's no good for your health. Got it?" He smiles again before stepping back away from you.

"Oh hold on there, mister. You're still bleeding. Just let me get this care package to my sister and I'm patching you up. No arguments. It's the least I can do."

He starts to mutter something about being fine but a pointed huff from you shuts him up with a chuckle. "Fine, fine. I could probably use that coffee anyway. It's been a long night."

He follows you like a scolded puppy though the door and up the stairs. You unlock the door to your apartment and usher him inside before rushing upstairs to quickly hand off the supplies to your sister. She lifts an eyebrow at your clear and obvious distress, but doesn't ask questions.

"I promise I'm okay. I'll call you tomorrow and explain. Right now I just want to get some sleep," you respond to her worried face.

"Alright, sugar. If you don't call me by noon I'm coming downstairs myself, got it?" She sternly nods at you after you agree to her terms before she closes her door.

You open your door to the smell of coffee already brewing and make a small surprised sound. 

"Thought I should go ahead and put a pot on, how was your niece?" He says from the center of your kitchen holding two white coffee cups, black cloth still covering his face almost like a blindfold.

"She was sleeping. Not to sound rude but…how do you see out of that thing?"

"I don't." He laughs abruptly at your question. "Before you follow that up with another question, yes, I'm blind. My other senses are just…very good."

You shake your head at that admission from him. Before grabbing a cloth from a drawer and dampening it in the sink. "I'm going to wipe the blood off your face and see if anything needs tending to. Okay?"

He nods after filling both cups and taking a sip of his.

You reach up with the cool cloth and swipe it down the edge of his cheek and under his nose. He cringes at you and grumbles.

You flinch. "Sorry! I was trying not to hurt you."

"No, no, no. That cloth is really rough. Feels like sandpaper. Like I said, senses are very good." He reaches over and pulls the cloth from your hand, patting the spots on his face much more carefully than you did. "The one on my cheek could use some doctoring, but my nose is fine. Didn't even break it." He stretches and rotates his torso almost cat-like, the barest hit of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "A little bruising here and there, I don't hear any cracked ribs. They really couldn't hit for nothing."

"Hear any cracked ribs?" You blink at him after composing yourself from watching the languid movements he made while checking over his body.

"Yeah, the bones sound…different if they're broken. You said you had a first aid kit?"

Five minutes later he was digging through the small box you sat on your small two person table. "You really should update this thing, a lot of the stuff in here is expired. I've got a friend who's a nurse. I'll see if she has anything spare and bring it by." He talks to himself as he grabs an alcohol pad and a small adhesive bandage from the messy contents.

He could have just as easily affixed the bandage himself but instead he smiled and handed the things to you. "Would you mind? I mean, you know, blind and all."

You shake your head and let out a sharp laugh before, much gently than earlier, wiping along the cut on his cheek with the alcohol pad. You carefully cover it with the small bandage and pat his cheek affectionately. "There. Good as new."

His smile grows just a tad bit wider as he stands and rolls his shoulders a little. "Yep, good job, doc. I'll get if I can grab you some better supplies for that depressing thing you call a first aid kid. Who knows when I might need tended to again? I'd better get going though. Take your niece to Metro-General, she sounds like she has a sinus infection, not just a cold. That cough sounded rough. I'm sure she'll be fine, though."

You blink at him and nod slowly, once again forgetting that he couldn't see you. "I…uh…sure, I'll tell her in the morning. Thanks."

All you saw was a flash of teeth in a broad smile before he vaulted out your window and onto your fire escape. He was gone by the time you got to the window to look. The only evidence he had even been there was the still hot, half-empty mug of coffee sitting beside the neatly repacked first aid kit on your small kitchen table.

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