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thesalemwitchtries · 7 months

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Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter Two

Word Count: 3,190

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries sustained through physical assault (no implication of sexual assault at all, so maybe goons beat reader up in her apartment, but they weren't total pricks about it?), There is mention of a man being a creep towards young girls and physical violence against him because of it, the girls are fine, mention of distrust of police/government, Also I didn't change Mrs. Cardenas' existing dialogue, but for everything I created it's in Spanish, because the broken English being spoken when two other speakers are present and when she understands English just fine and then also being killed off for white male plot reasons... none of that sits right with me, so she speaks Spanish and Foggy is accommodated by Matt and Karen, as is perfectly common in an American setting I feel. I know that it was for an English speaking audience but still, subtitles or something. Also when they address her in Spanish they call her Sra, just because I've never spoke to someone in their native language and used an English title, it just was too weird for me to write it that way idk.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

Also I am not a native Spanish speaker, I've been studying it for a long time, but I've been practicing French and Arabic more lately, which sometimes are all jumbled together in the Non-English half of my brain, so if you see something wrong or funky, please let me know, I would rather be corrected than go around not knowing, especially since it's my favorite language.

Another person might have struggled to focus when faced with the amount of turmoil that Matt Murdock was currently against. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for those who cared about him, Matt had been capable of excellent focus ever since he was young. Beyond being able to tune out any extra input or hone in on the important bits, when Matt cared about something, he could drive out everything except for his goal.

His problems with Fisk, the Russians, keeping Claire safe, that could all wait until after work. For now, his attention was locked in on the nervous woman who’d walked into their offices, claiming to have been directed there by Brett’s mother.

Karen helped to translate as Mrs. Cardenas spoke, given her soft voice and more gentle demeanor, Matt felt content to let her do the questioning while he listened in. According to Elena, two weeks ago men came to her apartment building and tore into the walls with sledgehammers, leaving many people without power or water. Their landlord refused to answer them or help, and when they went to the police, they were told that there was nothing to be done, it was an issue for the city to solve.

A whole building of people and families, left completely on their own. They deserved to have hope that justice would be served on their behalf. Nelson and Murdock could give them that, though it may take a few months in the courts.

The case that Mrs. Cardenas had brought them was daunting, to say the very least.

Armand Tully had a reputation as a predatory landlord. His properties were rent-controlled by the city, which was the only protection that tenants had against his greed. Buildings crumbled under his purview. Leaky pipes, faulty wires, and poor security all combined to leave only the most desperate candidates willing to build their lives in his apartments.

Tully presided over another twist in the cycle of poverty, ensuring his tenants had to spend their own money on these repairs and legal fees, money that could’ve been saved to afford a better landlord.

Worse still, no one could fight Tully. He kept barely within municipal code, and allowed other suits to be tied up in civil courts for as long as possible before doing the right thing. Matt and Foggy had detested running into his cases when they were interning, it felt like a betrayal of their roots.

To Matt, Wilson Fisk was like a blackout rolling through Hell’s Kitchen. Even when Fisk wasn't the direct cause, the increasing spread of darkness through the city was emboldened by his mere presence. The worst sides of everyone around him were encouraged, their greed and cruelty nurtured to monstrous levels.

People feared the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for the pain left in his wake, but he wasn’t the one inspiring lowlifes like Tully to start smashing in the walls of family homes. All for a quick buck and an investment opportunity.

Elena’s voice wavered as she explained that the tenants had exhausted all of the options that they could. They were desperate, and it was a relief for Matt to know that at least he was still capable of making one right decision, it could even be easy.

Talking with Claire had him questioning if he really was doing more harm as the Devil than good, it certainly hadn’t been good enough to help protect her last night. However, if Matt hadn’t decided to leave Landman & Zack, he would be defending an asshole like Tully against a vulnerable woman like Mrs. Cardenas right about now.

Maybe he wasn’t doing the right thing as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, in fact he was pretty sure that he wasn’t, but he couldn’t stop. The work had to be done, and if the city was going to paint people with sin, Matt would prefer it to paint him. If it did, then the people who deserved better could finally have better. Matt Murdock would be there in the daylight, always ready to listen out for the weak, to help them the way that God and his father wanted him to.

Karen walked around the table to offer Mrs. Cardenas a box of tissues. Meanwhile, Foggy was already moving on to next steps, thinking aloud about strategy; “This says Tully offered them 10,000 dollars to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.”

While that’d be the easiest solution, Matt knew before she spoke that Mrs. Cardenas wouldn’t go for it. He could hear her head and gold earrings shake in unison, and a whiff of aerosol hairspray accompanied the resolute motion.

“No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes,” she pleaded, barely holding back her tears while trying to get them to understand her position. Matt already understood, he wouldn’t want to leave his home either.

Matt remembers when aliens tore a hole in the sky and started smashing Hell’s Kitchen apart— as if anyone could forget something like that. He’d been sheltered with Foggy in their broom closet of an office at Landman & Zack, desperately trying to understand what was happening, worrying about the Nelson’s, and dreading the possibility that he may die before passing the bar. Below the more urgent panic, as the trembling ground and ear-splitting attacks slowed into one of the worst headaches of his life, Matt worried about Hell’s Kitchen, his apartment, if there would be even a scrap of home left to return to.

He had prayed for a long time that day. Just as he was about to reassure her, Mrs. Cardenas took a shaky breath and continued speaking.

“Hay algo más. Los obreros, son solamente un ‘city issue’. Pero, uno de mis vecinos, Ms. Charlotte, ella fue… atacada por ellos.”

“They attacked her?” Karen gasped, pen almost falling from her grip. She and Foggy exchanged a frantic look, and Matt’s back straightened, posture growing as stiff as the curl of his frown.

“Pienso que si, pero no me digas lo que sucedió—”

“She thinks so, but her neighbor won’t tell her what happened,” Karen translated, stumbling over the words a little in her shock.

Mrs. Cardenas grabbed another tissue from the box that Karen had provided for her as she spoke, explaining that she thought that her neighbor had been hurt while standing up to the workers.

With Karen intermittently translating for Foggy, Elena explained that once, an older man had been following some of the building’s young girls home from school. Rumor has it that when Charlotte found out, she began walking home with them to keep them safe. One day the creep dared to say something inappropriate, and Charlotte maced him. She then allegedly stomped so hard on one of his hands that the story says she broke every finger. Allegedly.

He never returned, and she leads a pigtailed parade into the building almost every afternoon.

Elena figured maybe Charlotte had tried to stop the damages, having been one of the only younger adults there that day, working from home. Many of the working tenants were out, leaving only children, older residents, and few others. People had been scared, many of the children down Elena’s hall had gone to hide in her own apartment. Mrs. Cardenas also swore that she’d seen Charlotte injury-free just that morning before the workers arrived.

“La próxima día, la ví en el vestíbulo. Charlotte tuvo moretones en la garganta y las muñecas, y en el pómulo— la piel está rota.” Mrs. Cardenas spat out the list of injuries as if they stung, jerkily motioning to her own body as she spoke. Karen turned her mouth into the palm of her hand and closed her eyes, Foggy looking between her and the stone-faced Matt.

“What does that mean? Guys, what happened?”

Foggy’s question was absorbed into the tense silence of the conference room.

Matt pulled his hands from the table and tightly knotted them in his lap. It was good that his glasses shielded the old woman acrost him from the full force of his glare, Mrs. Cardenas wasn’t the intended recipient of his rage. No, it was someone else entirely that he’d be searching for that night. The Devil had heard its name being called, and wanted nothing more than to punish the kind of worm that would beat a young woman in her own space. His fingers twitched, knuckles turning even whiter from the force of his restraint.

“Seriously, what did she say?”

Sensing the lump in Karen’s throat, Matt took it upon himself to answer Foggy’s question as best he could through the gritted frown on his face. He translated what Charlotte looked like when Mrs. Cardenas saw her in the building lobby the next day, from the bruises on her neck and wrists, to the one on her cheekbone that came from a hit so hard that the skin had split open.

“Jesus, and they still claim that these were contractors? Maybe brutes for hire, but certainly not plumbers.” Foggy scoffed, shaking his discomfort off in the only way that he knew how. Unknowingly, he’d set the Devil to work inside of Matt’s head, achingly familiar with the work of hired goons. Maybe there was more at play here. Or, you could be obsessed and paranoid.

“Did she say anything about what happened? Give some story or excuse?” Foggy asked, leaning in across the table. Karen picked her pen up again, turned to a fresh page of the notepad and copied down the injuries that Elena had described. The gentle scratching filled Matt’s ears as he thought. He arranged a tentative plan of action, the rest of the day could be spent on gathering information, and once the sun had fully set, he’d let the Devil pick his favorite of all the violent thoughts running through his head.

“Excuse? No, no. Ella no hablará con nadie sobre eso. Intenté muchas veces, y nada. Brett, el hijo de Bess, lo vistió, sin uniforme, sin placa. Pero ella, no… no budge.”

Shifting in her seat, Karen turned toward Foggy and Matt, head bowed towards the table as she spoke; “She won’t talk to anyone about it, Brett Mahoney visited without his badge and uniform, but she still wouldn’t explain.”

“Sra. Cardenas, por qué Charlotte no se ha ido a hacer una denuncia? No es ‘city issue’, eso es criminal, asalto con agresión.” Matt asked, wanting to know why an assault charge hadn’t been filed. Were there more cops on Fisk’s payroll then he’d thought? Maybe they’d dismissed the charges to cover up what had been done.

“Si, yo sé, y le dije. Nada.” Mrs. Cardenas spread her hands in defeat as she explained that even though she’d explained this to Charlotte, it had done nothing.

“Mrs. Cardenas, if those men hurt her, why won’t she file a report?” Foggy asked, brow furrowed as he tried to understand this neighbor. There were many reasons why victims of various crimes didn’t come forward, maybe if they could help to ease her fears, then they could move forward with charges.

It would certainly make the civil case more valid if they were also filing criminal charges against the workers.

“Pienso que está herida y tiene mucho miedo. Más por los funcionarios que los obreros. Ella fue tajante, no quiere hacer una denuncia, no quiere hacer nada sobre eso.”

This wasn’t good news for the civil case. Injured and scared, Charlotte wasn’t willing to file a report because she was more afraid of the officials than of the workers returning. She was firm about not doing anything. Matt wondered if someone had already convinced her not to step forward. Like that one scumbag had said, there’s gonna be another light in another window.

“Sra. Cardenas, vamos hacer todo que podamos. Foggy hablará con su abogado de la gentador esta tarde, y hablaré con tu vecina sobre sus opciones para ayuda. Estarámos en contacto.”

It was such a relief to hear that something would be done, to have a plan, and Elena sighed, reaching across to squeeze Matt’s hands, “Gracias, Senor Murdock. Muchas gracias.”

Karen led Mrs. Cardenas out of the office, and Matt explained to Foggy that he was going to be spending his afternoon speaking with Tully’s lawyers on behalf of the tenants.

“Tully’s lawyer?” Foggy asked, exiting the conference room hot on Matt’s heels, “Do you know who reps him?”

Matt grabbed his cane from the corner, not even attempting to hide his laugh before he turned back around, “Yeah, I know.”

“Landman and Zack!” Foggy insisted, arms gesturing at his sides in a way that agitated the air, the smell of anxiety wafting towards Matt. Apparently deciding that Matt didn’t quite get it, Foggy leaned forward, voice straining with hushed emphasis, “Landman and mother-freakin' Zack, man!”

Karen and her soft perfume breezed through the door behind him, having guided Mrs. Cardenas to the taxi waiting for her on the street below.

“Ooh, sounds impressive.” She made her way to her desk with the notes and information from their meeting, “Are they looking to hire?”

“Oh, you wouldn't be happy.” Matt said, gesturing to Foggy with his cane, “We used to intern there.”

“Oh, right.” Karen bobbed forward over the desk, how could she have forgotten about the first thing that Foggy brought up whenever the cooling fall air came in through cracks in the windows, or when the lights flickered, or if Matt breathed too loudly. Karen had made the mistake one of her first mornings on the job of thinking out loud about how nice a bagel would be for breakfast. Matt had groaned from his open office, and before she could ask, Foggy was suddenly opining in the reception space about a place where there were all the free bagels that you could eat, every. single. morning.

Foggy flicked his hands around in annoyance, defeat and coating his dry words, “And they offered us a job, a great job. Which we turned down to go off and save the world. Now they hate us.”

Karen and Foggy shared a smile as he finished his speech, all of them knowing that he wouldn’t change a thing, even for free bagels. As much as he complained about their circumstances, Matt knew that he loved what they were doing, that Foggy wouldn’t have survived long in a place like Landman and Zack.

Letting Foggy in was easy, it was impossible not to really, and staying friends with him was even easier because Matt saw that Foggy was one of those people that was effortlessly good. Unlike him with his devilish shadow, Foggy didn’t have to struggle to make the right choice. Greed and desire could tempt as much as they wanted, he wouldn’t cave, even if he pretended differently. When he knew something was wrong, Foggy Nelson would not do or endorse, and having him by his side always made Matt feel more at ease.

Already, he was moving away from sarcastic complaints, turning back to Matt so they could start working on a plan for how to approach this case. “We'll need to load for bear if we're gonna take them on.”

“I'll hit the precinct to check for complaints against Tully.”

Foggy’s panicked objection was cut off by Karen calling out, “Is that before, or after you go talk to Elena’s neighbor like you said you would?”

He released the hand that he’d had on the doorknob, he’d been so close to leaving. Unfortunately Karen seemed to have her own radar for picking things up, and she wasn’t always keen on offering slack. Matt could sense, but was in no way fooled by the innocent tilt of her head. Beside him, Foggy’s eyes narrowed. Just one step and he’d have been out the door, no such luck.

“After,” Matt nodded, having to accept defeat, “Thanks, Karen.”

“No problem,” she chirped back, mirroring the sarcastic smile that he’d given her. Hands spread between the two, Foggy abandoned his professionalism in favor of once again being annoyed at Matt Murdock.

“Wait, wait, hold on. How is it that I’m going to Landman and Zack, while you go and talk with the damsel in distress?”

It’s not as if Matt could say that he was going to speak with the neighbor not just for the case, but also for an illegal extracurricular activity where he would be using his super senses to try and identify the assailants. Matt sighed, shifting on his feet. Half-truth it is.

“Well, from what Mrs. Cardenas described, it seems like the only way that Ms. Tanner would answer the door for a man in a suit is if he looked like he needed help. What was it that you call it again?”

Foggy threw his head back, groaning for a long moment before facing Matt again. Though his face spelled his disapproval, his eyes shone with the reminder of their first meeting and love for his friend.

“The ‘wounded duck’, you’re gonna wounded duck yourself.” Foggy said, one hand on his hip and head bobbing. His free hand leveled an accusatory finger at Matt. “I swear she better not be hot, because this is becoming cosmically unfair. You need a new phone for all of your girls, and now I’m going to play chum while you’re off being a hero.”

“Chum?” Matt laughed, hearing Karen tilt her head in confusion, before her hair rustled with a shake and she focused back on organizing the new files. There were maybe three whole files in the whole cabinet, but Matt could hear her moving them around repeatedly on slow days. So, almost every day.

“Yeah, chum!” Foggy burst out, leaning forward to hiss out a plea to Matt, “I can't go to L and Z alone. They're gonna shark attack me, Matt. Look at me, I'm delicious.”

“Well, take Karen.” Matt said through his chuckling, pointing over at the woman who had been trying to mind her own business.

“I-I mean, yeah, if she wants to.” Foggy stumbled and shrugged, taken completely unaware by Matt’s suggestion. His heart raced despite the way that he was trying to play it cool, and Matt fought off a smirk.

“Oh,” Karen straightened with her own surprise at the action, before tossing her hands up. “Sure. Never seen sharks feed up close before.”

Matt chuckled as they all prepared to leave the office, “Try not to splash too much. It attracts 'em.”

“You both are so funny.” Foggy huffed in mock despair as he turned to grab a coat. The two just laughed louder. “That piece of notebook paper on the door has my name on it first, you know. Which means that only one of you is allowed to mock me at a time.”

Already out in the hall, Matt called over his shoulder, “Of course, that’s why we were taking turns.”

“Oh wounded duck off, Matt!” Foggy cried, and the laughter of his friends followed Matt all the way down the stairs and out onto the street.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil #slim ficc #matt murdock #dreaming of a grave #doag #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock x enhanced!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil x female reader

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souliebird · 7 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 9]]

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

Summary:

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

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Words: 4.8k

"Matt…how did you know where the window is?"

The words leave your lips and the entire mood of the apartment shifts. Matt's frame stiffens and fear begins to course through you.

If the answer to the question was simple, he'd have no reason to react like he got caught in a lie, but that is exactly what he is doing. His posture is screaming that he knows you've realized something you shouldn't have, and it scares you. It scares you so much because you don't want Matt to be someone you can't trust.

You want so so badly to trust him. Everything was going so well, and you don't want it to be ruined so early. You haven't prepared your heart for that disappointment and instinctively you wrap your arms around yourself to stave off any potential pain.

"I can explain," Matt says, voice quiet and on the edge of pleading. He's looking at you with his own fear on his face and it triggers you to step back and away from him.

People have told you before that they can explain - that you are in the wrong for simply not understanding them - and it always ends with you hurt. So, you close your eyes and duck your chin to your chest and brace yourself for the metaphorical blow, whatever it may be.

But there is only silence.

No more than a minute of nothingness passes, but it feels like an eternity. You force your eyes open and are shocked to see Matt looking absolutely devastated. Instead of standing tall and confident in himself, like you are so used to seeing, he has completely deflated. His shoulders are slumped and his head hung. You can practically feel the self hating energy coming off of him - it is something you are so familiar with.

Guilt pools in your belly. You can't hurt him because of your distrust of others and past experiences - he's given you no reason to think anything he's doing is malicious or only self serving.

So, you take the ball back into your court, squeezing your eyes back shut and taking a deep breath before asking, "should…should we sit?"

You hear him inhale sharply and you really, really hope you are doing the right thing.

"Please?"

He sounds like he's trying to not beg, and the knot forming in your stomach squeezes around your heart.

"Can we sit on the couch?" You ask, motioning to it. You finally allow yourself to look at him again to see him nod. You lick your lips and hesitantly add, "it's about five feet to your left," before going to sit yourself. By the time you are sitting, Matt is at the back of the couch and moving around the side to sit next to you. You watch as his fingers brush along the back and arm, too anxious to dare to look at his face or the giant lasagna stain on his chest.

You let him settle before asking again, in a calmer tone, "How did you know where the window was? And that it was open?"

You feel so accusatory, but he's told you before he has absolutely no light perception and in the panic of the moment, he closed the window without any hesitation or confusion.

He rubs his hands over his knees before removing his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. He then leans back into the couch, while turning to face you, and to be respectful, you turn so you are facing him, though you keep your eyes down cast to your lap.

"I was a child when I lost my eyesight," he starts slowly, and you try to keep your stomach from clenching. "And whatever it was that got in my eyes, it enhanced my other senses. It took what remained and pushed them past what normal people should be able to do. I could hear conversations from blocks away. I could figure out what people had for lunch the day before by the smell still in their breath. I could feel what was happening around me, based on air movement on my skin. And now…. Now I can…I can use all of that, all those inputs, to act as kind of a 3D map to determine things. Like a sonar, but instead of just sound reflecting back, it's a bit of everything. I can't see with my eyes, but I do know what is happening around me. That's how I knew where the window was. I could feel the breeze coming in. I could hear where the noise came in more clearly, versus the slight muffling of the wall. I could sense where the couch was based on the same factors."

You take in what he is trying to tell you and nod just a tiny bit. What he is saying makes sense - kind of. You know it's possible for other people's senses to strengthen when they lose one, but not nearly to the degree he is explaining. It is a hard concept to wrap your mind around. But you try.

You can tell he's not used to explaining this and you can also tell he's waiting for you to be angry or upset with him. It's a feeling you are so very used to experiencing yourself - that you did something wrong, and the other person is going to leave. It's like it's tangible in the air.

You force your gaze up to Matt's face. His hazel eyes are truly windows to his soul, and he looks so scared that you are going to explode on him and your heart aches for him. You're by no means angry about him not telling you about this upfront - it's clear he's had issues with that in the past and it's not like you deserve to know all his trauma and secrets from day one just because you had his child.

But you are still confused and do want to understand.

You turn so are facing him even more fully and force words from your throat, "Can I ask you some questions?"

Matt nods his head, jerky with it, "Yes, anything."

You can tell he means it, and that eases your own anxiety. You rub at your thighs, needing to transfer your internal anxieties outward, and go for the first thing that comes to mind.

"You said…you can hear blocks away. What does that mean? You can hear everything in like...a two block radius?" You ask, hoping you aren't sounding like an absolute idiot.

Matt's lips twitch, like they want to go into a sad smile, but he keeps his face firmly in 'kicked puppy' territory, "A little more than two blocks. I haven't…tested the maximum range, but if I stand in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, I can hear almost all of it. Sort of - I learned to filter and push things into the background so it's not constant input. If I focus, I can hear the couple down the street debating about what they want for dinner. I can hear everyone in this building and the next. But it isn't just..." he trails off for a moment, biting his lip and wrinkling his brow. Like he's trying to figure out the right words. You wait, not wanting to rush him.

"It isn't just a macro experience; it is also micro. I can hear the way the pipes in your kitchen are creaking. The way your shirt brushes against your skin. The differences in your breath as you exhale…I can hear your lungs expand and contract. I can... Hear your heart - it was beating fast a few moments ago but it's started to calm. Or you're trying to keep calm. I can... Tell your adrenaline and fear are still high. You're nervous and I don't blame you."

Your brows scrunch up in disbelief, "you can…hear my heartbeat?" You look down at your own chest, reaching up to place your hand over your heart. You can feel it beating rather hard, but as Matt said, you feel like you are calming down now that the two of you are talking.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he confirms, then adds, "But I don't go around listening to those sorts of things. I try to give people their privacy."

That makes sense to you - you wouldn't want to constantly have to listen to people's body functions.

The thought triggers another question.

"Why aren't you a doctor?"

Matt opens his mouth as if to answer, then pauses as his expression morphs into bafflement. "What?"

"Why aren't you a doctor?" You repeat, then motion at him, "I mean, based on what you said, wouldn't it make sense to be a doctor?"

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, reminding you of a fish, before he shakes his head, finally, finally starting to smile again, "I, uh, never considered it. I've always wanted to be a lawyer, since I was a kid. I wanted to help people." He leans forward slightly, putting his elbows on his knees, "You learn I can hear your heartbeat and you ask why I'm not a doctor. Are you not…freaked out?"

"I mean, a little, yes," you admit with a shrug, "but also…" you look back down to your lap and clasp your hands together, squeezing a little too tightly, "You're telling me and…we're talking like adults about it. I get why you didn't tell me, and it's not like…it's not like it's something terrible. It's weird but…it's not the weirdest thing?" You bite into your lip, then, because your nature is to put everyone else's needs in front of yours, you can't help but ask, "Is there anything I can do to make things easier? I mean, is there anything in here that's too loud or something? Something I can adjust to make you more comfortable?"

He seems to need a minute to process what you are telling him before he shakes his head, "No. No, I've spent my life adjusting to everything." He takes a breath before his voice becomes a little softer, "I didn't want to hide this from you. Foggy and Karen know the truth and were helping me come up with a way to tell you that makes sense."

"You did a good job, it made sense," you quickly confirm. That makes him smile, just a little.

"I'm glad... they are also helping me make a binder, like you made for me. About everything," he mimics you, motioning to himself. "I'm hoping it will help you with Minnie."

You're confused at first why your daughter is mentioned, then the wheels quickly begin to turn.

Memories flash in your mind of Minnie saying things are too loud - all her weird little complaints you've heard since she started being able to articulate - and your stomach starts to turn as things start to slot into place.

She inherited Matt's senses.

It makes so much sense and you very suddenly feel like you need to throw up.

You scramble to stand up, clamping your hands over your mouth. Matt shoots up so he is standing beside you, reaching out to touch your arm while saying your name in concern.

"She's been trying to tell me,” you choke out. All of the emotion of the day is crashing into you. Your eyes are stinging, and you can feel the tears gathering.

You've been such an awful parent.

How could you have not listened to what she was saying? Toddlers say weird things, but she's been consistent about what she tells you and you thought it was just her imagination or exaggerations.

What has your poor baby been putting up with?

The thought of her suffering because her senses are being overwhelmed and you not helping her pushes you over the edge and you begin to cry.

Tears start to pour out of you and only years of training has you strangling the sob that tries to escape as well.

You see Matt move through blurry eyes and suddenly you are wrapped in his arms, tucked under his chin like Minnie had been.

"It's okay," he whispers into your temple, holding you firmly against his chest. You want to struggle because you are not used to being held when you cry. You aren't used to being held at all. You aren't used to crying around other people.

All of it is so much and it just makes you cry harder, awkwardly standing stiff as a board while Matt tries to comfort you.

"It's okay," he repeats, and you manage to shake your head, because none of it is okay. It isn't.

You think of all the tantrums that have resulted from her being overstimulated and try to imagine how awful she must have been feeling. You get headaches from things being just a little too loud and that has been all of her life - and you have no idea how much she can hear. Can she hear blocks away like her father can? How many horrible things has she heard that you don't know about?

How has it shaped her?

"Hey, hey, look at me," Matt says so softly you barely hear him over your own choked sobs. His hands go from holding you to his chest up to your face and he cups your jaw, gently forcing you to tilt your head up towards his. You squeeze your eyes shut, too ashamed of yourself to look right into his face. "You are an amazing mother. You care so much about Minnie and doing right by her. You said she's been trying to tell you and you've been listening. You have been. The headphones you got her? They do help. I promise you they help. Everything you do helps."

There's a gentle pressure against your forehead, and you realize Matt is touching his to yours. You can feel his nose brushing against your own. "I asked her at the park the other day what helps when things start getting too loud. Do you know what she said?"

You shake your head because you have no idea. You didn't even know they had talked without you present.

What else didn't you know about your daughter?

"She listens to your heart. When things get too much for her, she finds the thing that centers her and soothes her and that's the sound of your heart."

You try to process his words but it's another gut punch to your emotions. It's a swell of love for your sweet little angel with a mix of horror because how often has she needed to center herself on you?

Matt smooths his thumbs over your cheeks, pushing away tears that are still streaming down them. "You take such good care of her. It blew my mind the first time we were all together, that you're so attentive and loving. You care so much. I didn't understand how I was so lucky that you were the one I got to have a child with. Someone with such a good heart. I thought you must have been mistaken because I certainly don't deserve you. I don't deserve Minnie. But you let me in and I have been praying that I can be a fraction of what a good parent you are. Minnie loves you so much. You've done so good with her. You didn't know about her senses, but how could you, and you still did so much to help her. And now that you do know, I know you'll do everything within your power to help her. And I will as well. I promise. It's okay. She's okay."

You try to focus on Matt's words, but it is so hard. Your crying is quickly cascading from emotional crying to being completely panicked anxiety crying.

You aren't used to being comforted. You aren't used to people telling you it's okay and you did good. It's confusing and you don't know how to act. You don't know what you are supposed to do.

Are you supposed to calm down? How do you calm down? How do you just stop crying?

And his hands are so warm on your face. They are surprisingly rough, but they feel good, petting you so gently. He's so close everywhere - you're still right against him from when he was holding you. You can taste his breath.

It feels like he's right on top of you - he practically is - and you suddenly can't breathe. It feels like your esophagus has locked up and you can no longer swallow air.

Fear surges up your spine and before it can take hold, a low resonating bong goes through your mind, telling you to go get a glass of water.

It's something you've trained into your mind, taking years to perfect.

To prevent a panic attack, drink a glass of water.

"I need water," you manage to say before pulling away from Matt and go purposefully to the kitchen, ordering yourself to not rush. You have a specific glass you use on these occasions and pull it from the top shelf. You hear Matt follow you into the kitchen, but you force yourself to focus on getting out your water pitcher and pouring your glass of water. Your hands are shaking and water is splashing on the side of the glass.

Once it is full, you refill the pitcher and put it away, before returning to your glass. You drink slowly, taking a sip, swallowing, taking a breath, then repeating. Matt keeps his distance as he waits for you. He looks concerned and he keeps flexing his hands and you have to avert your gaze because it is making you anxious again.

Tears are still streaming down your face but with each breath, you regain control of your emotions. You pull them back in and reorganize your thoughts. First, you must deal in facts.

Fact - Matt has enhanced senses due to the accident where he lost his eyesight. Fact - Matt is Minnie's father. Fact - Minnie inherited Matt's enhanced senses. Fact - having enhanced senses can be overwhelming for your daughter and it causes tantrums.

These are your facts, one of which is a problem, the over stimulation, and you need to find a solution to it, but to find a solution you need to know the trigger.

You finish your glass of water and set it in the sink to wash later, then turn to face Matt. He looks so worried, but now that you are looking at him, he perks up - attentive and waiting for you to address him.

You wonder what signals your body is giving him - can he sense your change in demeanor?

"Do you know what upset her at dinner? Why she started crying?" You ask, hoping you don't sound like a complete mess.

Matt nods quickly, ready to explain, "the building behind us on this block's fire alarm started going off. Based on what I can tell, a rat chewed through a wire and set it off somehow. The second tantrum was from a fire truck arriving - it had it's sirens going off "

You stare at Matt in wonder. You heard none of that. The window was wide open and you didn't hear a siren at all, and if you did you automatically put it into the background of your mind.

"It was on the other side of the block," he says, like he knows exactly what you are thinking, "and we're facing the wrong direction. There's no chance you would have been able to hear it."

Your hands clench into fists at your side, dread starting to build up inside of you and threatening to pull more tears, "how can I protect her from things I can't hear?"

Matt's face softens into something understanding. He hesitantly steps forward, and as he reaches for you, you understand his love language is touch. He's trying to comfort you through touch, and by extension, comfort himself. This must be horrible for him, you realize with a start. He told you this big secret and you proceeded to freak the fuck out on him.

He needs comfort as well. He needs someone telling him it's okay.

You're being so selfish again.

He touches your arm and begins to ghost his fingers up and down it, barely pushing at the sleeves of your T-shirt. The back of his fingers are rough, but the sensation isn't terrible. You are still so unsure what you are supposed to do, so you take a breath and take a small step closer to him then decide the best course of action is to ignore the petting.

"You can't protect her, but we can help give her the tools to protect herself. She was born with it and has adapted naturally. I had to be taught and have had a lifetime to learn. That's why I want to make that guide for you. I fully intended to tell you everything, and still do," he ducks his head and becomes almost sheepish, “I was just…trying to do it in the right way?"

You absorb his words and let them roll around in your mind, ignoring for now the implication there are more people with enhanced senses than just Matt.

"You can teach her?" You confirm after a few moments.

"We can both teach her. I told you before, you've already helped so much. No one has ever gotten me sound proof headphones - and certainly not a dozen different pairs. We can talk to her together and she can tell us what she needs," he says and it does sound like he's thought this through.

And that brings you comfort.

He has a plan. He's coming at this prepared and with research and consultants.

He's committed.

You don't need to search for a solution because he already has one.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and your shoulders relax.

A literal sigh of relief.

"Thank you," you whisper and Matt quickly shakes his head, but before you can say anything, the larger red stain on his shirt catches your eye again and your Mom brain activates. "Matt, your shirt!"

He looks down at his chest, clearly confused by the sudden change in conversation and tone, "what about my shirt?"

"There's lasagna all over it. It's going to stain so badly. Here, let me get you another shirt," you pull away from him and start hurrying towards the bedroom. You wipe at your tears as you call back to him, "I think I can still get the stain out. It's still wet."

In the bedroom, Minnie has rolled over and is now face down on her bed, sprawled out like a starfish. You know from that she will not be awake until morning. She must be so exhausted, your poor Mouse. Guilt swirls in your belly and you vow you're going to learn to help prevent this.

You're not going to let her suffer any longer.

You look away from your daughter to rummage through your dresser. You grab one of your largest T-shirts and quickly leave the room, lest you disturb your daughter. You head back down the short hallway to the main living area, hoping what you got will be big enough for Matt.

You look up from your musings as you come around the corner and freeze.

Matt's taken his shirt off.

You are very intimately aware that he was in shape before, but this is a different level. His muscles are well defined and his biceps are at least as big as Minnie's head. You've never seen someone with v-cut abs in person and you feel your cheeks start to heat up because you are only human and your brain is definitely short circuiting.

You force your eyes away from how his hips disappear into his pants and up his chest.

There are scars, all across his torso, long and deliberate. They don't look surgical, even with the sight symmetry of some. Going over one of the smaller scars on his right side is a nasty bruise that seems to wrap around to his back. It looks painful and at least a few days old by the coloring.

Your instinct is to ask if he is alright, but you clamp it down.

You understand.

You understand this extension of trust, silent and hopeful but terrified, and you take it and cradle it to your heart. He will tell you in time. You have to trust him.

You have to trust whatever is blooming between the two of you.

But does he really need to be so insanely hot? Was it not complicated enough?

Matt calls your name, breaking you out of your thoughts. He sounds more than a little smug.

"Sorry, it has been a long day. Um, I think this will fit you," you step forward and hold it out, asking as you do, "Do I need to tell you where it is or…?"

He shakes his head with a chuckle, and you wonder how many times people have asked him such questions, "You can just toss it at me. It's okay, I understand."

You feel rude but do as you are told. He catches it easily, and after turning it over in his hands to orient it, pulls it on.

"What's it got on it?" He asks, rubbing his hands over his chest to feel the screen print, unintentionally emphasizing how broad he is.

You blame your slight delay in response on your exhaustion.

"It's... got the word 'cosmos' on it with a galaxy print behind it. It's from that old science show with um...I don't know his name. I just remember something about the universe being a pie?" You answer, wishing you'd actually looked at what you had grabbed him.

But Matt nods anyways, like he understands what you mean, "Carl Sagan?"

The name rings a bell, and you shrug, honestly not remembering in the moment, "I think that's it, I never was a big science person but the shirt was free..."

He chuckles at your answer and you have to look away from him, shuffling towards the couch instead. It isn't fair how good he looks. The shirt is one you wear every so often to sleep and now you very much understand the trope of men enjoying women wearing their t-shirts and you've already experienced too many emotions today to try to process that.

You plop down and put your head into your hands. Exhaustion is creeping into your bones and your eyes ache from crying and it feels like you've been hit with the emotional equivalent of an eighteen wheeler. You feel the couch dip as he sits beside you and a moment later, Matt's fingers are tracing up and down your spine. It feels like a feather and instead of locking up at the touch, you find yourself slumping more.

"How're you doing?" He asks and part of you wants to laugh.

"I don't know," you admit, "it is a lot to take in at once. I just want to make sure I'm doing the right thing - with Minnie. With you. Not just with…your senses, but with everything. I don't want to mess up."

"You won't mess up," Matt assures you and he sounds so confident that you want to believe him. "Things might not always be easy, but you won't mess up. I believe in you."

You don't know how to respond to that. You haven't had anyone tell you they believe in you in so long. It sends this sort of warmth through you that you don't understand and the only thing you can think of to do is hide your face more into your hands.

He doesn't press for more as you both sit there. The silence somehow isn't awkward, even as minutes start to creep by. He continues to run his fingers up and down your back and it doesn't take long for your eyes to start to feel heavy. You tell yourself to get up, you still have to clean up the mess from dinner, but your body doesn't listen.

You just want to sit.

All you want to do is just sit.

You'll get up in a minute. You just need to recharge. You keep telling yourself that, even as you feel your body start to sag and your thoughts start to fade in and out. You don't notice as your exhaustion starts to take over and you begin to drift - and you don't notice as Matt helps you lay down on the couch or when a blanket is draped over you.

As your thoughts finally allow sleep to take over, the last thing your mind lets you process is the brush of lips against your temple and gentle words whispered against your skin.

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

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farfromstrange · 1 year

Note

Hi Lisa, can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request?

Reader is learning braille and reading a smut book. Matt is a little annoyed that you don't put this book down when he gets home and smells you getting wet reading it. One day he is home earlier than you and he starts reading this book and masturbates while doing so and at that moment Reader comes home.

Nonnie, thank you so much for your request! I was planning for this to be a short one, but I got carried away...

Sweeter Than Fiction | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: You get a new book to learn Braille and Matt is curious about what you're ready (because why is this book getting more attention than he does?)

Word Count: 4.2k (how???)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, this is Matt we're talking about, slight voyeurism (?), slight Dom!Matt, not proofread

A/n: I have no words. My inner whore took over.

You’ve always admired how Matt navigates the world even with one of the most crucial senses missing. After he told you about the accident and how his other senses were heightened beyond average capacity, you thought he meant it in a way that made up for his loss of sight, but you soon realized you were wrong.

Matt had to learn how to blindly navigate his way in the world just like any other blind person. He goes out at night to fight criminals, sure, and he has an impeccable way of knowing your body’s every quirk due to his enhanced hearing and sense of smell, but beneath all of that, he is still blind and he needs his world more accessible than you do.

When you moved in together, you made sure not to disturb his system. He labels the jars in the kitchen and the food containers in the fridge. You got used to it, and now even add labels to your leftovers so he knows what you had–to be fair, that is something he can use his other senses for, but it makes it easier for him when he’s too tired to focus.

But it doesn’t stop there.

You make sure everything always goes back to where it was, even when it comes to clothes. You told him where you keep your things and developed a system that fits you both best, and you made your world more accessible for him as your universes merged, and now you’re living together in perfect harmony.

You would point out things to him whenever you go out, and he would listen to your detailed descriptions. Your voice has always been the most beautiful sound on earth to him, and he hears a lot of things every day. A lot of cruel things, too. You’re not like that. You’re not harsh or annoying, you’re calm and just perfect.

He gets lost in you, not just the sound of your voice. Even sweeter than your voice though is the way your body responds to him, and he makes sure to use every last trick up his sleeves to satisfy all four of his working senses, and all five of yours.

Sex with Matt is phenomenal. He pays close attention to detail and he knows what buttons to push to drive you crazy, and he shamelessly uses his heightened senses to his advantage every time you’re together. That also means your love life never gets boring. You can be sweet and gentle, but sometimes you indulge in the most primal needs that drive you, and you lose yourselves in each other.

A few weeks ago, you told Matt that you wanted to learn Braille. He was taken aback at first; Braille itself is complex to learn, but you are always eager to broaden your horizons, and when you told him that you desperately want to understand some of the things he reads with his fingers, he caved. You want to do this for him, and the love you show him is almost too much for his scarred little heart.

You have been busy for days now, your mind reeling with the alphabet and the different sensations under your fingers as you navigate the Braille book you bought to learn the letters. After that, you started experimenting with his Braille typewriter, and once you felt comfortable enough to read something a lot more… challenging, you decided to put your newfound knowledge to the test.

Braille may be complicated, but you feel so much better about yourself now that you can keep up with Matt. You’re not as fast and you still mess up some words, but even he told you that you’re getting there, and he showered you in kisses and ‘I love you’ for your effort. But you want to do it. You want to learn, and you want to do it for him because you have never loved a man more than him.

The book you found is a little unconventional, to say the least. You’re not sure how long it’s going to take Matt to find out, but you found the ad online and you ordered it because it is the kind of book you like, even though you haven’t read one of these in Braille before.

Matt is good in bed; you’re not lacking anything, and you know that if you’re desperate, all you have to do is spread your legs and he’s between them in seconds, even when he’s currently halfway across the city. He always comes when you need him, physically and emotionally, and that’s what makes your relationship so much fun.

You didn’t buy this particular book because you’re lacking something in your sex life–you could have just watched porn if that was the case–you were simply interested in how it would be to read something a little more erotic than the teaching books Matt left you with, and so you bought it.

Amazon delivered it on the first day after ordering it, and you opened it while Matt was in court, probably arguing his way through every case, charming every juror, and intimidating the prosecution–you can only imagine his demanding tone and the way he stands with his hands on his hips, showing that Matt Murdock does not live to mess around. He does everything with precision, and it makes you clench your thighs when you think about it again.

Surprisingly, the book is easy to read, and it is good. Your fingers trace the delicate dots on the paper, your eyes closed as you visualize the scenes. With every sentence, the need in your lower stomach grows. You’re lost in another world, and you’re oh-so-horny.

Matt comes home triumphant with another win under his belt, but he’s tired from being on his feet for so long, and he barely had any chance to eat or had coffee today, so his body is in a weird state. He needs rest and sustenance, but most of all, he needs you. Not in a sexual sense, at least not yet, he just needs some kisses, a hug, and attention.

After some time with you, you made it mandatory for him to ask for what he wants, and while he still struggles with that sometimes, he’s grown to love your affectionate nature, and he allows you to take care of him whenever he needs it.

That’s where you seem to have heightened senses; when it comes to his well-being, you’re always the first to recognize the signs and act accordingly.

He’s so in love, he could burst, and it makes him the happiest he has ever been.

Stepping through the door, he listens for your heartbeat. It’s slightly elevated, but nothing serious. You’re sitting on the couch, your fingers gliding over the paper, and he figures you’re learning your daily dose of Braille again.

He only notices the slight change in the atmosphere when he drops his bag and removes his jacket to feel the air in the apartment. He takes a deep breath. Usually, you smell of his body wash and soap and some kind of flower or vanilla, but today something else seems to dominate your naturally perfect scent. And it shoots straight to his cock.

You flinch a little when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. His head is buried in your neck. He wasn’t wrong; the air is thick with the sweet and metallic tang of your arousal, and he licks his lip to taste it. Whatever your fingers are gliding over, it isn’t one of his textbooks.

Still, he doesn’t act, he just relishes your warmth. He waits. You sometimes forget he can smell you and hear the changes in your heartbeat and the distant pulse between your legs when you’re aroused. It makes things more fun, but today it doesn’t seem to be because of him that you’re horny, and it makes him frown a little.

He wants to have your attention, not that stupid book.

You cradle his cheek, but your eyes remain glued on the pages before you, which is ironic because they’re just dots, he knows that better than anyone, and yet you’re very focused on that text.

“Hi,” you murmur. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Matt replies, snuggling closer. “Just very long.”

The dramatic sigh goes right over your head. “Maybe you should take a shower then,” you suggest. “There’s leftovers in the fridge that you can eat.”

His lips press to your cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You are still not putting the book down.

“Take a shower with me,” he’s pulling all the registers, but you still won’t budge.

“Already did,” you say.

He interrupted you during the best scene in the book so far, and that’s what you want to get back to.

Matt’s lips move to your neck. “Then take another,” he says.

“My hair will get greasy.”

“Tie it up.”

“No.”

He pouts. Since when has he become worth less than a book? One that gets you wet, no less.

He gets jealous easily, he would never deny that, but he thought he would be better than a book. He never thought he could be envious of one, either, or of the language he had to learn how to read because he lost his eyesight. He never thought he’d see the day he would become envious of a few pages with dots on them, but he is, and when you happily indulge back into your back while he gets ready to shower, passing you half-naked and still not eliciting a reaction, he gets frustrated.

He makes a plan.

The next day, you’re at work, and he has some time to spare. The paperwork is done and Foggy sent him home earlier while you texted him you had to work late, and that he could cook or order food and you would just warm it up after.

He makes his way to your side of the bed and grabs the book you took with you last night.

“Let’s see how good you really are,” he says to himself.

Matt always thought you to be a person with impeccable taste, but he never thought it would extend to your choice of erotica books. He’s never read the ones you usually keep around–he can’t read them, obviously–but this one, he can read, and his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

He’s done the things you’re reading about, but it still sends a flush straight to his cheeks. The rest of his blood instantly travels between his legs.

It’s not the story itself or the words, it’s the faintest scent of your arousal still lingering on the paper, and suddenly you’re right next to him, whispering these sweet words into his ear, and his hand finds its way into his slacks he hasn’t yet taken off.

The smell of your pussy gets him high. You taste as sweet as you smell, and if he could dive deeper every time he eats you out, he would. He has explored every inch of you he can, but it can’t ever be enough, not with you.

His hand turns into yours as he traces his fingers over the pages wildly. He’s so painfully hard; all he had to do was think about you spread out on the bed like the lady in the book, your nails raking over his skin and your cunt hugging his cock as he pounds into you hard like the man in the book does, and he’s done for.

He can’t control himself. He knows it’s wrong because it’s not just the text, it’s you he’s jerking off to like a teenage boy, but you smell so good, the memory of your voice sounds so sweet, and he can’t help but imagine the feel of your body as he works himself higher and higher and higher with his own fist until his cock aches and his balls tense up with his impending orgasm–and then it is roughly taken from him as reality seeps back in.

And it is your fault.

“So that’s why you were so needy last night,” you say. Your voice isn’t quivering. You’re not shocked.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom, and your eyes trail over your boyfriend’s disheveled frame. His cock is hard, weeping in his hand. There is pre-cum everywhere. His thighs are shaking, and the orgasm that had been building fades away. His fist doesn’t loosen, but his eyes point in your general direction as shock and embarrassment flood his cheeks.

He looks beautiful with his cock in his hand. You’re desperate to reach out and help because he hasn’t done anything bad, has he? But then you look at the book–your book–he’s tracing his deliciously thick and calloused fingers over, and you click your tongue.

You should have known he wouldn’t let it slide that easily that you got off from a book while he was so obviously desperate the night before.

Matt swallows. “You were so wet,” he says, his voice sounding more like a growl than a husky whisper. “You were so wet, I could smell you the second I got in the door.”

“And when you realized it wasn’t you who got me so wet?” you question.

The mattress dips until your weight as you crawl toward him.

He tosses the book aside. “I was jealous,” he admits. He meets you halfway in the middle of the bed, his face close to yours now.

“Jealous?” you ask.

“Yeah, jealous.”

“Of a book?”

“Can you blame me?”

You bite your lip when he smirks at you like a devil – the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, that’s who he is, and he is yours. Always, forever, but especially right now.

He manages to look adorable yet irresistible every time; you can’t help but stare back at his cock. It’s still hard, just resting against his stomach, and he has no shame. He knows what he’s doing to you. But you’re also not having a much different effect on him, it seems, because when you reach for his face and press your lips together, he moans.

His nerves are on fire. Even the simple act of kissing manages to shoot straight to his throbbing cock, and your hands are magical as they work through his hair next, along his scalp, and down his neck where you only seem to pull him closer into you.

He flips you over so you’re on your back underneath him. “Tell me,” he says between gentle nips to your neck, “What exactly turned you on so much about that book to get you so fucking wet without even touching yourself?”

You want to snap at him that he was getting off on it too just as you came in, but then his hand slips into your pants and your underwear, and you moan instead.

“And you’re wet again,” it’s a statement he makes as he smirks into your neck, his fingers parting your slick folds and testing the waters. You’re soaking, he can tell, but he already smelled it when he flipped you over.

You arch your back into his touch, chasing more friction. He complies. His middle finger starts circling your clit. “Did watching me jerk off get you so desperate?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Oh, you’re dirty, aren’t you?”

“Matt–“

He kisses you to shut you up, his middle finger speeding up. He paints the most colorful masterpieces over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Matt plays your body like a fiddle, and your moans are the melody.

“What was your favorite part?”

“What?”

“The book,” he asks, “What was your favorite part?” His finger slips from your clit, between your folds, and right to your entrance. “Was it this–”

Your eyes roll back when he inserts the first finger into your tight cunt.

“Or when he did that–” Matt slides another finger in, curling them up at the same time to brush your G-spot.

Your lips part in a lewd moan. “Fuck!” Your fist tightens around the silk sheets. “Matt, please…”

He keeps fingering you at an agonizingly slow pace, just like the scene in the book, but he puts the cherry on top when he ghosts his thumb over your clit.

“What was it?” he asks, head dipping to capture your lips. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me and I’ll show you something sweeter than fiction.”

His silver tongue will be the death of you one day in more ways than one.

He thrusts his finger faster now, slowly reaching the pace you yearn for. With every thrust, he massages the spongy spot inside of you just right, and you’re moaning and whimpering beneath him as he works you closer and closer to the edge within minutes.

He knows your body inside and out, and you fall victim to his games every time. He wants to hear the cacophony of your moans; he thrives off of hearing the effect he has on you, and yet it’s never enough. He wants more. He’s greedy. He wants to listen to you moan and scream for him until your voice is hoarse, the sheets are soaked and your pussy is stuffed to the brim with his cum. He’s only satisfied then, but it doesn’t last long because as soon as he smells you again, he will worship at your feet all over again until you’re a cockdrunk mess and can’t walk straight for a week.

Your eyes fall on the book that’s now on the floor, his lips ruthlessly attacking your neck, his fingers moving faster and faster and faster–your orgasm is about to crash in, but you manage to cry out, “Page fifty-eight!”

Matt stops, pulling away slightly to feel your eyes on him. His hazel eyes turn black. “Is that so?” he asks.

You nod.

“Alright…” He pulls his fingers out of you.

You scramble to get out of your clothes while he does the same, but he’s impatient, and soon enough your shirt is a ripped mess on the floor, and he’s towering over you again.

Your hands trail over his chiseled torso and the many scars that never fail to fill you with wonder for the man he is, the wars he fought, and the battles he survives, and you take a moment to feel each other up. It’s always like this; no matter how intense it gets between you in bed, the first few seconds are spent with you touching each other, feeling the goosebumps you cause on each other’s skin, and only when you’re fully satisfied in that regard do you focus on what other needs you find brewing within you.

He kisses you hard, his hand wrapping around your neck possessively, and he pulls you closer. You moan. His tongue slides into your mouth. You surrender to his control.

His large hand keeps your thighs spread wide open as he thrusts his cock into you. He doesn’t wait; like on page fifty-eight, he thrusts into you, and he throws your leg over his shoulder without a warning or a moment to adjust.

You wrap the other leg around his waist. The pace he keeps is brutal, and your breath gets stuck in your throat as you let out a lustful cry, followed by a string of curses because damn him for knowing exactly what to do.

This is better than anything you could possibly read. The angle is perfection, and with every hard thrust, he buries his cock to the hilt inside of you. He fills you up to the brim, and every time he pulls out, he makes sure to drive back in just as fast.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but you don’t want him to stop. He keeps stroking the fire inside your belly. Your head is void of any thoughts. His moans reach your ears, and you clench around him; he always sounds so sweet when he’s being vocal for you, showing you he’s enjoying this as much as you are, and it encourages you to let every last sound tumble from your lips.

Skin slaps against skin in the dimly light bedroom. The silk of the sheets sticks to your sweaty body. Matt hoists you up suddenly as he gets on his knees, and that wasn’t in the book, but he still pulls you forward to meet his cock ruthlessly. Your back arches so far, you feel like you’re floating. Luckily, he thinks about putting a pillow underneath to make it more comfortable for you. Though it’s not the ache in your muscle you can focus on.

Your walls contract, hugging him even tighter, and the way he throbs sends shivers down your spine at the same time his moans cause your body to shiver even more.

The coil in your stomach is so tight, and with every thrust, it keeps growing bigger and bigger and bigger until the glass is threatening to overflow. He doesn’t look like he intends on stopping, and when you open your eyes, the sight is enough to make you convulse underneath him.

His head is thrown back. You’re half-resting on his muscular thighs. With every thrust of his cock into your tight cunt, his abs tense up. The light falls upon his body, and he’s glowing brightly in the colorful serenade of the billboard outside. He thrusts harder and harder, and his muscles do the lord’s work in stimulating you. He’s absolutely divine, and you could stare at him forever without getting sick of him. Especially sweaty, with his eyebrows furrowed and lost so deep in pleasure as the noise of the world fades into the background, he looks ephemeral. You want to stay like this with him forever.

His hand splays across your stomach, pushing down where his cock seems to be, and the added pressure makes you clench down on him so tight, you’re sure you might burst any second now. Feeling his cock bulge your belly is too much.

His thumb rubs rapid circles over your clit, and his pace falters. He falls back over you, hugging your thigh around his waist as he turns to deeper strokes, and you try to lean into his touch as much as you can, meeting his thrusts.

Your jaw slacks, moaning into his ear. He kisses you in return, his hand coming back to rest around your neck, and your vision blurs with the pressure in every part of your body.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he grunts, “I know you want to. C’mon, come for me.”

You tangle your hand in the pillow above your head, the other digging into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood, but it’s all you can do when the full power of the held-back orgasm crashes into you, and all lights go out.

Your body convulses, your walls flutter uncontrollably around him, and you are sure that your scream echoes in the room and reaches your neighbor’s apartment, but it feels too good not the let the world know the name of the man who is making you feel like heaven and hell at the same time, driving you over the edge like a man on a mission–because that is precisely what he is.

His fingers dig into your thighs, leaving their marks, as do his lips on your neck. He grunts as your orgasm washes over you. He fucks you through it, the tightness engulfing his cock just right, and with one last hard thrust to your G-spot, his legs shake and he comes too, his hot seed spilling into your needy cunt as you take all he can humanly give you, sounds, liquids and all.

You find his lips, swallowing his moan of your name. The kiss is more a clashing of teeth and tongue instead of anything else, but the closeness is exactly what you both need.

Matt fucks his cum deep into you as he always does, making sure not a single drop is spent, and only when you’re about to squirm away from the overstimulation, he stops stroking your clit and stops thrusting, and he drops on you.

Your lungs open to grasp a deep breath. “Holy shit!” you choke out.

He takes a moment to return to his body. The world spins until it doesn’t, and he can finally move his limbs again. Your heartbeat coaxes him back to consciousness, allowing him to lift his head and relish in the way your hands cup his sweaty face.

He’s never himself after sex, it takes a few minutes, and you’re more than ready to be the one to coax him through the aftershocks. You always do.

“You okay?” you ask him softly.

He nods. “Fuck,” is all he can say.

“Yeah.”

You cradle his head in the crook of your neck. Silence settles back in between you.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You smile, pressing a kiss on his scalp. “And I love you,” you answer.

Another beat of silence passes. “Oh,” he says, and you can feel him smile against your collarbone this time when he tells you, “Next time you read porn, make sure to tell me exactly what you’re reading so we can do that again.”

A chuckle passes your lips. “Oh, Matty,” you stroke his hair, “That can be arranged.”

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #smut #lizzi writes #requests

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outoftheseine · 1 year

Text

- MATT MURDOCK FIC RECS -

(here is to my favorite lawyer by day and vigilante by night)

brief note: most fics contain canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, assault etc.) so please be aware of them.

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

please don't be mad • matt murdock x fem!reader all i need is you

↳ by @chvoswxtch (angst, smut)

matt murdock x age gap!reader

↳ by @multiharlot

15 ways to love matt murdock • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings

ONE-SHOTS/BLURBS/HC'S

strawberry rhubarb • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (blood, torture, forced nudity)

these broken things • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, mentions of murder and blood)

steal my warmth • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @devils-dares (very fluffy)

discordant • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (angst, sex trafficking)

always here • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @blackshadowswriter (hurt/comfort, angst, nightmares)

like real people do • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (angst, hurt/comfort, nightmare trope, tw: panic attack, mentions of trauma and child abuse)

jealousy • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @devils-dares (jealous!matt, allusions to smut)

care packages • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @chvoswxtch (very fluffy, mentions of violence)

how sweet it is (to be loved by you) • matt murdock x afab!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (oh very sweet, smut, virgin!reader)

green is the color • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, but happy ending, reader is insecure of her relationship with matt)

angel • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @peterman-spideyparker (so much angst :(, death)

sincerely, anxiety • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings (so fluffy, i related too much)

never an ear strain away • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amchapel (fluff, honestly i smiled a little too much while reading this)

it's in the details • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @onewholikesthings (fluff)

you are in the kitchen humming • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @shadesofsteve (veryy fluffy, a little hurt/comfort)

always so good with the kids, and kids absolutely love him • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @yarrystyleeza (this was so sweet :'))

the comfort of your relationship • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @slightlypossessed (so much fluff, i love soft fics like this)

small acts of kindness • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (fluff, mentions of sensory overload and anxiety)

thinking about • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdocksluvrr (such a cute drabble, fluff)

halo not included • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @undiscovered-horizon

more • college!matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (smut, virgin!reader)

without you • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @foli-vora (so much angst, can't wait for part 2!)

bruises • matt murdock x gf!reader

↳ by @goldustwomun (angst, injuries, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort)

first of many • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @coalix (smut)

what's your middle name? • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @thegingerwriter (fluff and smut)

make amends • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @honeycombstrawberry (assault, angst but fluff, hurt/comfort)

again and again • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms (angst, blood, comfort, fluff at the end)

"i no longer know where i end and you begin" • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (this was so so cute and comforting, just fluff)

tracking the devil • matt murdock x enhanced! reader

↳ by @mattmurdocksscars (angst, injuries, ex lovers)

wanting • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @coalix (i LOVED this, angst but happy ending)

afterglow • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (so. much. angst but happy ending)

stray • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (fluff)

#fic recommendation #daredevil #matt murdock #charlie cox #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murderdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x female!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut

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curlycow01 · 1 month

Text

Quiet

Pairing: Matt Murdock X reader

Summary: Matt helps you when you're at your lowest

Warnings: Hints to depression, self-loathing

____________________________________________

Sometimes you'd have days where you go quiet, lock yourself in a room and just stay there, trapped in your thoughts. you wouldn't move for hours, just sit there on the floor, eyes emotionless as your thoughts suffocated you.

You heard the door opening. Matt, you thought. He doesn't deserve you. A pathetic person like you shouldn't be with a man like him, perfect in every way.

As soon as Matt stepped inside the apartment, he sensed that something was off. Your heart was beating at a slower pace and your breathing was shallow and irregular. He puts down his bag and cane and goes to your room. He knocks on the door. "Sweetheart?" "Are you alright?" When you didn't respond, he turned the knob of the door and enters.

The lights were switched off, and the only source of light was the sunlight seeping in through the windows. You were sitting on the floor, with your knees to your chest. Matt crouched down beside you. "what's going on?" he asked in a comforting tone. You didn't reply, the thoughts in your head were getting louder. He exhaled softly. You were having another depressive episode. It broke his heart, he hated when you suffered like this.

You add more stress to his life, he already has enough on his plate being Daredevil. The pessimistic voice in your head taunted. Matt gently took your hands in his calloused yet warm ones. "Hey......talk to me" He asks, in the same comforting tone. You took a deep breath before speaking. "I....uh..." He waited patiently for you to find the words.

You mumbled in a low voice "I'm not a.......good enough person for you......or a good person in general" Matt heard everything clearly, thanks to his enhanced sense of hearing. He rubbed the inside of your wrists. "Why do you think that?" Your gaze is on the floor. "I just add to your list of problems, and you already have a huge responsibility, being Daredevil and protecting the city-"

"No" He interrupted firmly. "Look at me" it was a request. He took off his red glasses. You gazed into his hazel eyes, never really meeting yours. "You're not a problem, not for me or anybody else." He gently put one of your hands over his heart, and you could feel the steady and rhythmic beating of his heart as he continued to speak in a low voice.

"You are kind and empathetic. You care for people and understand them in a deeper way, and I love that about you." He took a small pause. "You're the most important person in my life. And I would choose you over everything else, even Daredevil and Hell's Kitchen." His heartbeat didn't falter once. Matt truly meant everything he said.

He heard your heartbeat spike up as his words finally sunk in. "Really?" Your voice cracked. Tears clouded your vision. "You're alright" Matt whispered before leaning in and wrapping his arms around. You returned the embrace and hugged him back tightly, as if he'd disappear if you let go even for a second. You buried your face in his chest as silent tears streaked down your cheeks, wetting his suit.

"You're okay" He whispers "Don't think even for a second that you're worthless. You're not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." His voice slightly cracked. You pulled back slightly, eyes still glistening with tears. "And I'll say it every day till you believe it. Till you believe in yourself." You sniffled and gave him a small nod. The tears had taken your voice away. Matt gently pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead as you closed your eyes, back pressed against his front.

Matt listened to your heartbeat slowing down as you drifted off to sleep in his arms. No matter how unworthy or unlovable you feel about yourself, he would always be there for you, the light during your darkest days, giving you all the love and support you deserve.

#daredevil #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #comfort

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

Pure (Matt Murdock x Fem!Virgin!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I’ve strapped on my slut pants for this one. How I got this idea, I don’t know. All I know is that I had it, wrote it, needed to take a cold shower in the middle of writing it, and finished it. I think it’s even a little funnier after this last episode of She-Hulk, especially since I wrote it before I saw it. Is this self-serving? Yes. Is this also the perfect alternative fic option for me to include a gif of Bed Matt™️ when I wanted to but didn’t for another fic? Also yes. Enjoy, sluts (affectionate)! :)

Summary: After Matt overhears a conversation between you and Karen, his feelings that he holds for you already take on a new life, and his thoughts won’t rest until he sees them through.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual friends pining but neither of them know it until they know it, swearing, smut (virgin reader, nervous/excited reader, oral - f!receiving, fingering, sloppy kisses, P in V, praise kink! praise kink!, soft!dom!Matt (did I use that right?), Communication King Murdock, light corruption kink?, unprotected sex--if I’m gonna do a corruption kink, I might as well go all the way on it), cutesy cuteness because I just love seeing Matt happy.

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 5,957

Matt’s not sure what word he’d use to describe you—one single term seems impossible to ascribe. Every time he tries to think of one, it never seems to capture your essence. You’re the furthest thing from selfish, and you only want to help those around you. You’re like light, a soothing breeze on a warm summer day.

One day, he’s talking with Father Lantom, finally having taken the old priest up on his offer of a latte at a chat. When the word “pure” falls from his lips, Matt immediately thinks of you—your kindness, your laugh, your optimism, and your heart. Everything about you is pure, and only enhances every last thing that you do.

But when Matt overhears you talking with Karen the following week, both Foggy and him up to their necks in casework, he comes to realize just how true that connotation is.

“So,” you hum, a lithe tone up-pitching your voice. “How’s everything going with you and Frank.”

Karen blushes and laughs, shaking her head as she files paperwork while you print. “We’re doing good. We went to Coney Island last night.”

“Cute. Did he win you a giant stuffed animal?”

“Actually, yeah. A giant frog.”

“That’s so sweet, I think I’m gonna get a cavity from the story. A full night just playing carnival games?”

“Well, we kind of cut it short. We went back to my place, and, well.”

It takes a second for it to click for you. “Oh.”

“C’mon, (Y/N)! You know how it is. That giddy excitement, especially when you haven’t had a chance to see one another in a long time. You get handsy with each other, he whispers something in your ear . . .”

You nervously clear your throat, and Matt can hear you nod your head as you work to organize the papers printing on the braille machine. Your heart is racing. “Y-Yeah,” you breathe. “Of course.”

Karen notices your shift in tone. “(Y/N), you have done it, haven’t you?”

“Well, um . . .”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I—,” she tries to backpedal.

“No, Kare, it’s fine. It’s just something I’ve done yet, that’s all.”

“Can I ask why?” she asks hesitantly.

Matt can hear you shrug.

“It’s a big step,” you say softly. “And I don’t know . . .”

“Is it like a religion thing, or—?”

“No.” You pause, unsure how to explain your mentality, mortified when your brain plays a ‘What if?’ situation with the idea and your crush on Matt. “If I’m not good at it or . . . I don’t know. It’s the idea that they could just leave the next day because they don’t like me anymore or because I wasn’t good enough. I’ve been rejected for less. I don’t want that to be added to the list of reasons why. To know that they’d stay is important for me. So far, none of them have or have wanted to.”

Matt feels his heart sink while Karen shuffles, unsure of what to say.

“I know the right guy is out there for you,” she settles on. “And I’m sure when you find him and when you’re ready, you’ll know, and it’ll be great. So great, you won’t be able to walk right.”

You let out a soft sigh; with your dating history, you’re not entirely convinced that her words are true, but you appreciate her sentiment. “A girl can only hope, right?”

He’s so caught up in what he just heard, Matt barely registers your footsteps moving towards his office. A gentle knock on his door brings him into the present and away from his thoughts.

“I’ve got those files for you,” you say. “I can put it in the case folder if you want and you can get to them when you’re ready.”

Matt clears his throat and straightens. “I can take them,” he says with a little tilt of his head and a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Matt,” you say, placing them in his open hand before you walk back to your desk.

After overhearing your conversation, Matt can’t prevent his mind from wandering. He’s thought about maybe asking you out before, but he’s been worried that with everything he is, everything he does, he’d ruin your friendship. But now that he had overheard this conversation? Not only does he wonder what it’d be like to kiss you, but now to feel your body under his, completely at his mercy as he is the first person to explore you in the most intimate of ways, his hands being the only thing to give you support as he ruts into you, feeling you clench him tightly. Having you sit in his lap, bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, your face buried in his neck as you moan and whine just for him. Bending you over his desk, leaning over you to kiss down your spine, marking up your flesh . . .

“Are you even paying attention to a word in saying?” Foggy says. Matt couldn’t tell God Himself the point at which his best friend and partner entered his office he’s so lost in thought.

“Sorry, no,” Matt says sheepishly.

“Who is it this time? That short lawyer with the curly hair heading the new GLK/H office in SoHo?”

He chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “No, not her.”

“Well, I expect the full details when you’re a little less horny.”

“Sure, Fog,” he appeases. “What’s up?”

“I have some things for the discovery on the Christiansen case. Turns out the McNeils were a little less honest than they lead us to believe . . .”

“Thanks for staying late,” Matt says, casually leaning against his office door frame, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long gone somewhere in his office with a few buttons undone.

“No problem, Matt,” you smile, adjusting at your desk to turn and smile at him. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You always do more than you’re ‘here for’, (Y/N).” He pauses and licks his lips. “You know how much I appreciate you, right? Everything that you do, both for your job here and what you do outside of work.”

“Thanks, Matty,” you say softly, his words making a warm feeling spread across your skin.

He leans away from the doorframe, slowly walking toward where you sit, his hands in his pockets. “You want to get out of here? We could grab a bite, if you want.” His fingers graze over his watch. “It’s late, and I can’t go starving my favorite employee.”

You laugh, the pads of your chair gliding across the floor as you stand up and move toward him. “Don’t let Foggy hear you say that.”

“Eh, he doesn’t count. We’re partners. You’ve stepped up in an incredibly huge way since Karen started at the Bulletin full-time. Nelson and Murdock would’ve sunk without you.”

A blush burns at your cheeks as you dip your head. “You’re giving me too much credit, Matt. It’s all you and Foggy.”

Matt lifts your chin with his finger, gently urging you to look at his face, to stare at his eyes behind his the red lenses of his glasses.

“You’re too good for everyone, you know that? Pure,” he says softly, his voice hitting a low register. “If people can’t recognize that, they don’t deserve you.”

You’re afraid that your words will catch in your throat while your heart races. “Are you saying that you deserve me?” you whisper.

“I’d love to think I do, but, you’re far too good for me. But I’d like to stick around—find that answer out for sure.” He takes a half step closer, feeling your body heat pour onto his frame. “Tell me to stop,” Matt breathes, his voice hitting a sinful timbre as his hot breath tickles your skin. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Matthew, I . . .” you whisper, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your thoughts straight.

You shouldn’t. He’s your boss.

He’s your friend.

But you want him.

And he wants you. First and foremost, he wants you for who you are and how you make him feel.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never had your heart race so fast and your brain short circuit like this.

“Words, angel.”

Those two words make you lose all self control as you crash your lips to Matt’s, your arms flinging around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and tugging at the strands. Matt moans against your lips, pulling you impossibly close as he leans forward to meet your kisses. Your bodies spin around, pinning you between him and the wall as you exchange passionate embraces. The metal of Matt’s glasses creak between the force of your kisses. Matt’s tongue deftly slides into your mouth, needing to taste every inch of you. Your noses smush together as Matt tightens his grip on your waist, keeping your body in place as he pushes against you. This feeling of his hips against yours is enough to send goosebumps all over your body, parting your lips in a moan that allow him to capture your bottom lip between his, his teeth tugging at the flesh. You’re both breathing heavily as you stand in the office.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Matt admits, tucking some hair being your ear. His hand gently slides down to your neck, holding onto you softly before leaning forward to kiss you again. His tongue parts your lips once more, making the kiss a little sloppy and wet. His lips are as soft and plush as a new pillow, easily clouding your thoughts and judgement.

“Matt, wait,” you stop him, your hands on his chest to create some distance between the two of you, your chest suddenly feeling too small for your beating heart.

Oh no, he thinks. I fucked up, and I fucked up bad.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m sorry, I—,” he starts, but you halt him with some soft taps to his chest.

“No, Matt. It’s just . . . Well, I’ve never . . . I haven’t . . .” You dip your head, embarrassed at the moment, just like you have felt every time you’ve gotten to this point before. Unlike the other times, however, there is so much more weighing on this for you—this is Matt. “I don’t want to just be a fling for you, Matt. I can’t be a fling. I . . . I care about you too much.”

Matt hears your heart race faster, your entire being on the verge of becoming a complete and utter mess. You’re not sure at what point you started to have feelings for Matt, but you know that they’re there and they’re strong—the fact that he even reciprocates them in the slightest is exciting and terrifying. But at the same time, you know that Matt has quite a reputation, and you don’t want to be just another name on a long list of ladies.

Matt moves one of your hands directly above his heart, holding your other firmly in his. “You could never be a fling. You’re so much more to me than any relationship I’ve had before. It’s only you. And I want to show you just how much I mean that.”

Matt’s words wash over you like warm water from your shower head, His heart beats steadily with each word, the posture of your hand on his chest a silent, wonderful reassurance that he means everything he says. You capture his lips with yours, the embrace languid and tender but absolutely brimming with burning desire. He smiles down at you after your lips part, his nose brushing against yours. “Then I guess the question is if you can keep your hands to yourself long enough for us to make it back to my place.”

The door to his loft isn’t even closed before you bring your lips back to his, pulling him by his shirt collar and into your body, snaking you hands over his shoulders and onto the back of his neck when you feel you have him close enough. Matt’s hands slide down your body and under your thighs, lifting them up around his waist. You moan in delight into his mouth, his lips moving to your neck to nip, suck, and lick at the think skin that you are all too eagerly offering him. He tosses his glasses on the table by the door as he walks your bodies from the entryway to the bedroom. Matt’s attempt to gently place you down on the mattress is skewed by his own growing desire, turning the motion into more of a toss, your body bouncing up and down on the furniture.

Matt kneels at the edge of the bed, volleying kisses back and forth on the inside of your legs. Pushing up the fabric of your flowing skirt, he gains access to your thighs, becoming a little more aggressive with his ministrations, nibbling at the skin, licking down the little stings that accompany it. You let out breathy little sighs, each press of Matt’s lips against your skin making your heart race in a glorious fashion. Each kiss moves higher up your leg, spreading new branches of goosebumps and warmth all over.

That when you feel it—an overpowering wetness between you legs, trapped in your panties.

“Matt,” you breathe. Internally panicking that you’ve started your period far before you were supposed to, you wanted to push Matt away to save your embarrassment. But Matt knows exactly what really happened—it’s a sign of your enjoyment, your eagerness for him, your want. You really are so pure. Part of him feels guilty for making a move on you like this no matter how readily you accepted him, no matter how you both feel for one another, but the thought of being your first, being the one to tarnish that pristine virtue, to make you his, it makes him rock hard.

His hands snake up your thighs and push them wide open, letting your scent hit through his nose, permitting through your panties.

“Matt,” you try again, begging God above or whatever supreme being is there to spare you any further embarrassment.

“You smell so pretty for me, angel,” he groans, brushing his nose on your clothed core. “Can’t imagine how you taste.”

Matt presses soft kisses to your clothed core, pulling a whine from your lips.

“Your panties are so soft,” he mutters, nipping at you through the soft, thin fabric some more. “I bet your cunt is even softer.”

Dragging his lips up your panties, he grasps the hem of your underwear with his teeth, slowly pulling it down your hips and off your body. You watch the movement as Matt seductively works, and you’re shocked to find the inside of your panties void of any red color. Instead there is just a large damp spot in the middle and a long string of a clear something coming from you and to the fabric. Once your underwear is midway down your thighs, Matt uses his calloused fingers to slide them off of your body, letting the fabric pool on the floor between his bent legs and the bed.

“I want you to tell me how it feels,” Matt whispers, his hot breath fanning across your glistening folds as his nose brushes up against the top of your pubic mound, placing a little kiss there in anticipation. “I want to hear those pretty little sounds fall from your lips, okay?”

You don’t even get a proper chance to really comprehend or answer his question. Matt’s lips are on you in a second, pressing a soft, open kiss right on a special bundle of nerves that make you moan and your heart sharply skip a beat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he smirks, gently grazing his hands over your exposed thighs. “That feel nice, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathe, looking down at him, the sight of his face between your legs sending you absolutely wild. “Do it again.”

A devilish smile grows on his lips before he complies to your request, this time adding light sucks to the way he wraps his plush lips around your clit. You can’t help the needy moans that fall out of your mouth, keening for more attention from his lips. You can feel Matt’s lips pull into a big smile as he continues to work his mouth. He pulls away for half of a second before licking a stripe up your folds. You whine, your back arching off of his mattress while your head tosses to the side. It’s like you’re not in control of your body while Matt’s lips are on you, twisting and turning into the pleasure. Matt has to use his forearm and one of his strong hands to pin your hips down to the mattress as he eats you out like a starved man. The combination of licks, sucks, and kisses turn you into a whimpering and moaning mess. When he lightens the embraces, you think you’re getting off easily. What you don’t expect is for a finger from Matt’s free hand to lightly brush up against your glistening folds. You suck in a hiss at the sensation, causing Matt to glance back up toward you while his finger continues to move up and down.

The sight is something glorious. His fluffy brown hair is disheveled and the tip of his nose, lips, and chin are covered in a marvelous slick from having his face buried between your legs. His honey hazel eyes are warm as they focus just to the right of you, making you feel safe as you cross a boundary you can never come back from.

“If you enjoyed that, angel, I think you’ll like what comes next,” Matt teases, his voice low with lust.

Dragging his fingers back down, you feel him at your opening. His fingers, absolutely covered in your arousal, gently push your lips open as he feels you; then, he carefully prods your entrance with his middle finger, pushing in slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan as you feel him, slowly moving his finger in and out of you.

“Tell me how that feels, angel,” he urges, unable to stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to your hipbone.

“G-good,” you exhale, closing your eyes to focus on the way that he manages to sneak his finger a little bit deeper in you each time.

“And do you like this better?” Matt punctuates his question with a curl of his finger, the tip of his digit scraping against your wrinkly walls and hitting something soft and spongey that draws an intense moan from you. A deep chuckle rolls from Matt’s lips and coats your warm body like honey. “Is that a yes, sweetheart? I need you to try and use your words for me.”

“Better,” you whine, writhing against his arm. “More.”

“More.” The way he coos my words back to you is somewhere between a question and amusement. Regardless of his exact tone, Matt carefully slides another finger in you. Rolling your head from one side to another, you let out a low groan, basking in how amazing the sensation feels as Matt manages to hit something so spongey and wonderful, increasing the pleasure with each ministration. You can’t but help the way that your toes curl and your back arches when he puts his mouth back on you. Your hand shoots towards his head, fingers tugging at his hair to keep him close. You’re an absolute mess as Matt works you, and you have no idea how or what to focus on more—his fingers or his mouth. What does begin to register, however, is a tightness in your tummy, a fluttering. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on, but you know that the longer that Matt works, the way that his touches set your body on fire, the more prominent the feeling gets.

You wine as he removes his fingers from you, his mouth kissing everywhere but where he had been thoroughly inspecting the real estate. Pushing your dress up and off your body, Matt wastes no time kissing as much of your gradually exposed skin as possible. Once the fabric is pushed over your head and off of your arms, Matt peppers kisses all over your collarbone and neck as he pulls your bra down and off, just avoiding your lips as he changes locations.

“You’re going so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his hands finding a home on your waist as he finally brings his lips to yours. “But that feeling you had? That good one in your tummy? I want to be in you when it finally lets go. Will you let me do that, angel?”

Matt barely has a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt “yes” and bring his mouth back on yours. The kiss is deep and needy, and he lets you undo his shirt and feel all over his sculpted figure. You don’t know what takes over you, but all you know is that you need Matt in every way, shape, and form possible. Matt finishes the work you started, wriggling off his white button down as he paints kisses all over your chest. His senses are in overdrive as he comes in contact with the supple skin of your breasts, his nose filling with a cocktail of your fruity body wash, your skin, and the thin sheen of sweat that has emerged on your body. While the noises you make as you move against his sheets is a beautiful symphony, the way your heart sings for him is the best thing he has heard in his entire life. Its rhythm is one of elation and tenderness—pure.

There’s that word again.

Even as you lay under Matt, completely at his mercy as the two of you engage in an activity that should pollute the very core of the term, but still manage to embody the fullest extent of the word.

As the thought crosses his mind as he brushes the tip of his nose up your skin to rejoin your lips, that’s when the thought comes to him.

You’re it for him.

“I thought I was the one who’s supposed to get flustered,” you chuckle breathily, your hand moving to caress his cheek.

A smile pulls at Matt’s lips, bringing those beautiful crinkles out for your enjoyment. “I just want to remember this,” he explains softly before pulling you in for a lusty kiss, a moan falling from his lips into you. Matt gives your swollen and tingly skin a few more tender kisses before leaning back on his knees, undoing his belt and ridding himself of all fabric below the waist.

You suck in a gasp when you see his cock out, hard, painfully taut, and leaking. All for you. Matt shifts his weight to his left, twisting his body to reach for the nightstand. You take his hand in both of yours, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Angel, I—,” he starts, but you give his hand a squeeze.

“Matt, I want this,” you keen as you try to calm your excited breathing. Everything feels right. “I want you.” You pull him back into you, and he lowers himself over your body so his hair tuft flops in front.

“Are you sure?” God above, is his voice so soft when he says that question. It’s brimmed with excitement, affection, tenderness, and nerves.

“I’m sure,” you confirm as his thumb gently strokes back and forth on your cheek. The pad of his digit roams to your bottom lip, letting him feel just how soft it is. You open your mouth slightly, and Matt can’t help but slide his finger in, letting you capture it and envelope it in warmth. Now, it’s Matt’s turn to moan as he feels your tongue swirl around his finger, letting his mind wander to what your mouth would be link around his cock.

That question will have to be answered another time.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to be buried as far as he can possibly get in you.

Pulling out his finger, he presses one more kiss to your lips before adjusting himself between your spread legs. You've gotten even wetter for him, if that's at all possible, and the smell of it drives him up a wall.

"I'm gonna go slow, okay?" he tells you. "I want to hear those beautiful nosies from you, angel, but you need to stop me if it hurts and you need some time. Can I hear you promise me that?"

"Promise," you whisper, your heart racing in an out of control pace. Matt takes one of your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours in an effort to soothe you.

"Good girl," he coos. You feel a deep blush burn at your cheeks and your heart race as you squeeze his hand involuntarily. "You like that, huh? You like when I call you my good girl?" Just like earlier in the night, your brain short circuits when the name falls from his lips once more. "Oh, I think l'm gonna have fun with that," he teases, bringing your entwined hands to his lips for a kiss.

Carefully, Matt moves forward, and you can feel the head of his cock press against your opening. He pauses for a beat before he continues to press forward, making you a whimpering mess with each movement. With each gentle push into you, your pleasure grows.

"Wait," you squeak when the burning stretch becomes too much. "Hold on a second."

"That's my good girl," he praises. "Doing what I asked, using your words. Tell me when you're ready for more, angel."

As you take your time to adjust, Matt brings your wrist and forearm up to his lips, kissing, sucking, and nipping at the skin, licking down each mark he makes in an effort to soothe the sting.

"More," you swallow.

"Kisses, angel?" he smiles against your skin. "Or cock?"

"Cock," you breathe. "I want more."

Planting a kiss smack dab in the middle of your palm, Matt continues moving his hips forward slowly, letting out a low grunt as he pushes deeper in you.

"Oh, God, Matt," you moan, the sting of intrusion having turned into something only of pleasure. "Oh, so good.”

"So perfect, sweetheart," he sighs as his face controls in pleasure that matches your own. A low rumble falls from his chest when he bottoms out in you, somehow managing to fit all the way inside.

"Talk to me," he hums as he leans back over your body, kissing up the curve of your side and up and over your breasts, up the column of your neck, and finally to your lips.

"Move," you beg, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth before you press kisses up his jaw and to his ear. If that's what him pushing in felt like, you want it all. Over and over and over. "I-I need you to move."

A blissed-out smirk falls across Matt's lips before he kisses you hungrily, one hand resting on the side of your neck while the other weaves through your hair in the back of your head.

"You're doing such a good job taking my cock like that," he praises as he slowly beings to set a rhythm, the drag of his length against you unlike anything you have felt before. "Such a good girl for me, letting me spread you wide and take you. God, angel, you’re doing so good, taking me all the way like that, nice and deep.”

How Matt is forming coherent sentences is fully beyond you at this point. Maybe it’s because he’s done this before, maybe it solely something he’s doing to keep you calm as he pushes through his own pleasure.

“So tight, angel,” he grunts, his hands sliding up your thighs towards your hips. “Oh, you feel so good. Fuck.”

You moan and whimper with each one of Matt’s thrusts, and you yank him down on top of you, desperate to feel every last inch of him against you. He groans but quickly lets out a little chuckle, thrown off and endeared by your excitement as he cages your body below his.

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

“Y-Yes,” you moan, moving your hands along his incredibly soft skin. You paint a trail of kisses all along his shoulders, collarbones, and neck while he keeps on rocking into you. His hot breath tickles your skin as his beard brushes goosebumps all over your body while he tries to match you embraces. Matt whispers and grunts little praises into your skin, never faltering to let you know how good you’re doing for him.

“M-Matt,” you whine, your nails digging little crescents into his back. “S-Shit! Mmm!”

“Words,” he grunts, his ability for full sentences now starting to escape him.

“God, you’re so deep!” you cry, your eyes fluttered shut as you absorb the pleasure he gives you as your words being to slur together. “So big.”

Matt tunes into your body, listening to how the blood rushes through your veins down to where your bodies join together and your heart races. He knows you’re not going to last much longer.

“Angel,” he pants. “Angel, it’s okay.”

“Matt!” you cry, your voice curving up in pitch. You’re so close, he can taste it—and it drives him wild.

“I know, angel, I know. You’re gonna feel so g—fuck, that’s nice. So good for me.”

“Matt, I—.”

“‘M right here,” he assures with a kiss. “Right here. Let go for me, angel. Let me hear you.”

With a few more thrusts, an intense pleasure rips through your body, unlike anything you have felt before, and far better than what you’ve ever experienced. Your hips buck up to meet Matt’s while your legs latch onto his waist. Matt up above you is the only thing keeping you from thrashing around in euphoria. You hold onto him for dear life, your hands mussing his hair as he buries his face in your neck, moaning as he chases his own release and spills into you. He forces his hips to keep moving fast as he cums, desperate to make sure that your first orgasm is memorable, that the tremors ripple through your body long after it has past, even if it means the sensations verge on too much for him. Only once he feels you start to loosen up and your breathing begin to relax does he pull out, pressing kisses into your skin all the while his hands caress your shaking body. He hears your head roll to the side to face him as he lies down next to you.

“Matt,” you breathe, and he can hear the blissed out smile spreading across your face as you curl your body into his.

“You alright, angel?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Amazing,” you sigh softly.

“I’m gonna go get some things to clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You hum a confirmation as Matt gives you another kiss, carefully rolling out of bed and through the loft. He returns quickly with a warm damp towel, some water, and a pack of grapes. Putting the glasses down on the nightstand, he sits on his knees, pressing gentle kisses into the skin of your stomach, hips, and thighs.

“Can you open your legs for me, sweetheart?” he asks softly.

“I don’t think I can do more,” you breathe dreamily.

Matt chuckles, absolutely beaming at your happy disposition in his bed. “We’ll get you there eventually, sweetheart. But I want to clean you up. I’m gonna move your knee, okay?”

You oblige with his request, a soft moan falling from your lips as you spread wide for him, the delightful soreness reminding you of how perfectly his body fit with yours. “That’s it,” he whispers as he helps gently guide your leg open. “That’s my girl.” Matt is careful with his wipes, sprinkling kisses here and there as little reassurances. He’s extra careful when he gets to your core, knowing all too well how sensitive you must be. When he’s finished, he tosses it to the side and leans up over you to kiss you.

“Can you sit up for me now and drink some water?” he whispers into your cheek before stamping another kiss to your skin.

You do as he asks without another word and he hands you the glass, a gentle arm around your shoulders as you hydrate. “Can I get you anything else, angel? Do you want a snack? I can give you a little massage, if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, your mind beginning to reorient itself as you snuggle into his body. “That was . . . I don’t even know.”

“I hope it was a good ‘I don’t even know’,” he smirks.

“The best ‘I don’t even know’,” you chuckle. “I, um . . .” You blush deeply before you mutter, “Thank you for being my first.”

Matt notices the skip in your heartbeat, the shy and scared tone of your voice, and the salty tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks.

You’re embarrassed—ashamed, even. Why?

Matt pushes your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at his face.

“Thank you for giving me the honor. For trusting me,” he whispers, placing a light kiss on the apple of your cheek. “This is something important. Personal.”

“You don’t think . . . I mean, I . . .” you start, unsure of how to even form the question you were thinking.

“Not too many people are like you, (Y/N)—pure like you in everything that you do. I’m glad you were able to trust me with this.” Your wrap an arm around him and turn your face into his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else tonight with anyone else.” He kisses your temple. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow,” he whispers in your hair. “Let me date you. Because I don’t want this to be it between us.”

That sentence makes you tilt your head up, amazed how he’s facing you with nothing but utter adoration. “I told you you weren’t a fling. I want the chance to show you how happy you make me, how you make me feel. Please?”

A bright smile pulls at your lips, a new wave of energy washing over you. You pull your body up, having your lips meet his, rolling on top of him. You gingerly straddle his hips with your legs, kissing him passionately as he reciprocates with just as much emotion.

“Can I take that as a yes, or?” Matt chuckles, a deep red blush speckling his fair complexion as you carefully place your body weight on his lap.

“Yes,” you hum, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth before moving back in and slipping your tongue in his mouth like he did to you earlier.

“Mm, angel,” he murmurs against your lips, and you feel something begin to press against your thigh, Matt’s strong hands moving up your waist as his thumbs brush the sides of your breasts. Your heart swells with excitement and your face flushes with heat, a tingly buzz in your lower abdomen. If you thought Matt was intoxicating just by sitting at his desk doing legal work, you are simply drunk on him with his body below you like this.

“How about we test my stamina?” you sigh between kisses.

Matt smiles brightly and kisses you with urgency, understanding that tonight will probably go longer than he initially anticipated. Even in your desire to do something so sinful, you still remain so pure.

And you’re all his.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione

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ithebookhoarder · 8 months

Text

Open Arms (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Description: There are some nights where just having someone waiting for him is all Matt can ask for...

A/N: Who wouldn't want this loveable doofus to curl up in bed with?

Masterlist

It was always late whenever Matt finally got his ass home, after a night out patrolling across Hell’s Kitchen.

Sure, most people would have found your decision to wait up for him night after night insane - especially when you normally had to be at work bright and early the next day - but you didn’t mind.

In fact, you felt relieved to know that Matt had someone watching out for him, whilst he so tirelessly continued his crusade to watch out for the people and place he called home. You may not have been as strong as Elektra, or any of the other super companions that somehow seemed to gravitate towards your boyfriend, yet this was your way of helping. Of showing up. Of being there for him without donning a mask and mantle yourself… even if you had jokingly mentioned it once or twice.

Tonight had clearly been a long and gruelling shift, but successful nonetheless. You could tell without him even saying a word, from the way he drifted around your apartment, slowly shedding his mask and muttering to himself as he eventually made his way over to join you on the sofa.

Cocooned in your favourite throw, you’d been trying to make your way through your seemingly never-ending stack of files you'd brought home from work, but had felt your eyes drooping every time you made it to the end of a sentence. However, it was a better alternative than trying to stay awake watching the late night shopping channels.

Your credit card had been abused enough for one month, and even Foggy had said your home had started looking like the inside of an IKEA show room.

“What time do you call this, young man?” you teased, turning to gaze up at Matt as he approached.

His smile was immediate.

Good God, you’d never tire of that adorable grin.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he purred, arms winding around you, hauling you close enough for him to press a kiss against the top of your head. “You still working? I thought we agreed it could wait until tomorrow?”

“Wow, Matthew Murdock! You are such a hypocrite.”

Matt laughed. “Fair enough, I had that coming - but I’m home now and you’re the one still at it.”

Damn it. He had you there.

“Any chance you fancy taking a break and coming to bed with me?”

With a sigh, you began to put the file down, knowing better than to argue. After all, it was bad when Matt Murdock was the one to tell you that you needed to take a break. Besides, the idea of curling up in his arms sounded pretty good about then.

“Alright,” you conceded, extending your hands towards him. “You win.”

With that, Matt grinned and helped you to your feet, clearly pleased with his victory. The pair of you then began to make your way to your bed, peeling back the covers and nestling together in a routine that was second nature by now.

You didn’t even need to ask for Matt to slide in next to you, crawling across the mattress to rest his head against your chest. It was a moment of vulnerability - one you cherished as you felt the tension seeping out of the Devil in your arms with every passing moment.

“Rough night?”

Matt nodded.

He didn’t need to explain.

He never did. Not when you could read him like an open book. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have his enhanced “super senses”, as you liked to tease. You could tell what he was thinking, and how he was feeling from a single glance. Like tonight - tonight, the way he was so willing to come to bed said that whatever had happened out there, in the dark, he was happy to leave it there.

His focus was entirely on you, in the here and now, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a rush of selfish pleasure at the prospect. After all, it was a rare thing to have Matt to yourself, and to not to have to share him with the city he called home.

“You smell good.”

His soft murmur made your lips flicker upwards.

“Thank you. I may or may not have used your shampoo while you were gone…”

He chuckled, the vibrations making your chest shake. “No wonder you smell so good.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked him on the nose in retribution. Matt yelped but was clearly exaggerating. This was the man who’d once split his head open and had carried on walking about like nothing was wrong. In fact, he’d only been given away after he collapsed in the middle of his office, giving the game away and terrifying poor Foggy in the process.

“Ow!”

Bending down as best as you could, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips by way of apology. You also began to gently run your fingers through his hair, the motion causing him to hum and nestle back down against you.

So much for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. If only the world could see him now. Like this, it was hard to equate the fearsome vigilante that prowled the night, with the man curled up around you like a stray kitten.

He seemed so much more vulnerable like this.

As if sensing your train of thought, Matt spoke. “I love you, you know?”

“I do. I love you too,” you replied. “Go to sleep, Matty. I got you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #marvel #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock #marvel daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #marvel x reader #charlie cox #daredevil #daredevil netflix #foggy nelson

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 9 months

Text

Drive [Car Sex Trope]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Car Sex situation 1. Characters bone in a vehicle. That's it. "You take Matt in a beat up rental car to a parking lot in Jersey so he can experience learning to drive. Things get steamy."

Warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio). No use of Y/N. AFAB Reader. Unprotected P in V, Oral (F receiving), Creampie.

WC: 1,701

AN: Thank you all so much for all the love during my September Trope event! It was fun, but I'm exhausted, so you probably won't be getting a lot of new stuff from me for a while after this. Writing 17 fics in one month was a lot. Thank you all again, it was a blast! I'm already churning up ideas for next year...

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

“Brake is the left Matt, the left!!” you shouted, gripping at the dashboard as the car whizzed around the parking lot

“I know! I know!” he argued back, effortlessly spinning the steering wheel

“Do you?!”

“I’m blind, but I still know my left from my right!”

Being in a car in an empty parking lot with a blind man behind the wheel was maybe not your best idea, even if that blind man had enhanced abilities.

It all began a few days before, after several rounds of beers at Josie’s, of course.

“What do you mean you didn’t go to prom?” you asked Foggy, flabbergasted at his confession

“I asked the most popular girl in school and of course, she just couldn’t handle all my charm and swagger, so she turned me down and I just didn’t end up going.”

Thus sparked the discussion on normal teenage things you’d all missed.

“Well, I never knew the joys of having one of my parents teach me how to drive.” Matt commented

“Ugh that’s so sad.” you replied “That was one of the greatest joys of my teenage years. The day I got my license; stepping out of the DMV and getting in the car. All the freedom of taking your parent’s car for the first time, getting to go anywhere you wanted.

“I was doing that when I was barely 8. It’s called the subway.”

“No, no. A car is so different! It’s just… I can’t even describe it!” you exclaimed, a little tipsy from too many pitchers of Heineken

So here you were, in an empty parking lot of a closed down Best Buy in a suburb in New Jersey, in the most junky rental car you could get. Determined to give Matt the experience he missed out on.

The windows were rolled down so Matt could get a better 360 “view” with his senses. Only a few light posts were scattered through the parking lot. So fortunately, there wasn’t much to avoid. With no other cars or people around, Matt had total freedom to experience the thrill of learning to drive.

Your heart was thumping out of your chest with every turn and bump in the cracked pavement.

Honestly, it wasn’t because he couldn’t “see” out the windshield, it was because he was being his usual reckless self and driving how you imagined a teenager behind the wheel for the first time would. God, you suddenly felt sympathy for all the times your father took you out when you were 16 to teach you.

He hit the brakes hard with a screech, sending you flying towards the dashboard.

“What, what!?” you exclaimed

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to how touchy the brakes are. There’s a bunny.” he nodded toward the windshield

Sure enough, a rabbit came prancing along at least 20 feet in front of the car, totally oblivious to his not so narrowly avoided doom.

“I think that might be enough for today.” you groaned

“No! I’m having fun! Aren’t you?”

You narrowed your stare at him and crossed your arms, knowing he could sense all the tells of your body that fun was not the word to describe your feelings towards this experience.

“C’mon sweetheart, relax yeah? I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

He leaned across the center console to give you a kiss. The car lurched forward as he pressed his lips to yours.

“Keep your foot on the brake, Matt!” you chided

“Alright!”

He sat back upright, maneuvering the gear shift into park and ratcheting up the parking brake.

“Better?” he asked with a raise of his brows “Can I kiss you now that the vehicle is safely not in motion?”

“Yes.”

A grin spread across his face as he leaned toward you once more, this time adding a firey passion to his kisses.

“Come here.” he said, lips hovering over yours, pulling you to straddle him

Pliable to his touch with only a few kisses, you slotted yourself across his lap easily, finding the hem of your sweatshirt and tossing it into the backseat.

His lips moved down your already heated skin, sucking and biting at your neck and collar bone.

Just as you were about to release a lusty moan, your rear accidently bumped the steering wheel causing it to let out a loud wail.

You and Matt jolted apart, crumbling into a fit of giggles at the sudden interruption.

“You know, that’s another teenage experience I never got as a city boy” he murmured low, hand reaching up to stroke your face

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Sneaking out with my girlfriend and having sex in the backseat of my crappy car.”

“Matthew…”

“Parking lot is empty, no one around. We could roll the windows up and make it steamy in here…”

You had to giggle at the thought, though he was right, as New Yorkers there weren’t many places to have a little fun outside the apartment where you wouldn’t get caught.

“Alright,” you agreed “roll the windows up and meet me in the back seat.”

That was always the joy of being in a relationship with Matthew, he never let things get stale or boring and always found a way to make any situation flirty and fun and sometimes, like right now, downright sultry.

He tossed his glasses onto the dashboard while you climbed through the gap between the front seats. He joined you, sitting side by side on the bench seat and resumed your makeout session.

“Matt…” you mewled as he traced his tongue along your neck and jaw

“I know sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

He slipped a hand behind your back to remove your bra, taking time to lick and suck each of your nipples as the fabric fell away.

Your skin tingled with every movement of his lips across your body. Anticipation of what was to come alighting a fire in your belly as you arched your back into his touch.

He pawed at the fastenings of your jeans, desperate to get you bare for him. Obliging, you helped him remove your pants and kick off your shoes, leaning back to lay on the seat beneath you.

The upholstery of the worn backseat was not the most comfortable of sensations against your body, but as soon as his rough hands were kneading at your thighs and spreading them open, the nuisance of it left your mind.

Satisfied with the state of arousal you were in, he finally reached his hands to where you wanted him most, moving your panties to the side and dipping his head down towards your pussy.

“Oh– god.” your moan was strangled as he teased your clit with just a brush of his tongue

But he didn’t tease for long, grasping your hips and pulling you in one motion towards his mouth. Heat spread across your already warm skin when he finally licked a long stripe through your folds. Pulling you firm to his heated mouth to lap and suck, he let out a lowly moan against your core. It reverberated through you and sent a shiver up your spine. As he sucked and kissed at your clit, you could feel your orgasm blossoming beneath the surface. Growing steadily until he added two fingers into your heat, causing your climax to explode out of you.

With a cry of his name, you came apart. Matt continued to work you through it until you were a panting and sweaty heap beneath him.

He sat back on his heels as you watched, still too blissed out to do much, and removed his shirt as well. Your slick covered the satisfied smirk that spread across his plush lips.

“You want some more, baby?” he cockily asked

A docile whimper was all you were able to squeak out, nodding your head as he freed himself from his pants.

He sat back on the seat and you clambered to climb on top of him, sinking his length into your ready cunt in one motion.

Your simultaneous moans reverberated around the cramped space. His length felt so perfectly filling, you were tempted to just rest there a while and enjoy the sensation. But the desperate whine that escaped his lips had you rolling your hips, drawing more moans from the both of you. He leaned back, head falling against the seat and eyes pressed shut as he got more and more lost in the bliss of your body while you rode the both of you to ecstasy.

Both of your skin was damp and sticky and the labored breaths you let out between lust-filled kisses had the windows sufficiently fogged up, just as Matt requested. If anyone were to have driven by, they would’ve known exactly what was going on in that car.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair and he shuddered at the feeling, causing his lips to part as he let out a shaky plea.

“Keep– please, that feels so good. God, please keep going.”

As he thrusted up harder to meet the already consistent rock of your hips, the steady rubbing against your clit was driving you towards the edge quickly. You trailed trembling fingers up his muscled chest, finding grounding by grasping his shoulders leaving white indents with your fingers as you clung to him. His pace became more erratic, a sure sign that he was just as close to the cliff’s edge as you.

One more breathy beg of your name from him was all it took to get you there. This orgasm hit you as intensely as the last. Your walls contracted around him until he couldn’t take it anymore either, spilling inside you with a low groan.

You both stayed there a while, panting and catching your breath as you came down. Disheveled dark locks stuck to his damp forehead as he pressed it against yours. His beautiful hazel eyes darted around as he breathed you and this moment in and held you close.

“Well I’d say it is sufficiently steamy in here.” you said in barely a whisper, causing a chuckle from him

“We should get back to the city.” he replied

“Okay” you agreed “but I’m driving.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #nmcu #nmcu daredevil #trope de sept #trope #marvel imagine

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x-x-nyctophilia-writes-x-x · 1 year

Text

Thunder and Lullabies

Summary: With Matt's enhanced hearing thunderstorms can be a nightmare, and as much as he may pretend that he's gotten used to them, you can tell otherwise.

Matt Murdock x Reader

(Gender neutral/no use of gendered pronouns for reader)

Fluff, Domestic life, Comfort

Warnings: None

You sat reclined in your favorite pajamas against the arm of your boyfriend's couch, a good book in hand, a soft blanket draped over your lap, and a warm cup of your favorite tea within reach on the coffee table, while Matt, your boyfriend of about six months, cleaned the dishes that were left from the dinner you'd made for the two of you earlier that evening.

Listening to the ambient sounds of rain and thunder outside, and sneaking glances at Matt while turning the pages of your book, you smiled to yourself. Everything was so warm, and comfortable, and cozy. It was a perfect moment... For you, at least. But for Matt, it was very different.

You didn't notice how different at first. You'd caught early on in your relationship that he could be a bit twitchy when he was listening in to something, especially when there were a lot of sounds around him at once. So at first that's all you thought it was. But as you kept glancing at him you started to notice more. The way his brows knit together, and the way the corners of his mouth were drawn down in a slight frown. The way his shoulders were tensed. The fact that, despite the almost worryingly tight grip he had on the dishes he was rinsing at the moment, he kept nearly dropping them.

Then, when you saw that subtle way he jolted after a relatively close sounding clap of thunder, it hit you; he wasn't listening in to the rain, he was wincing.

"Matt," you called to him softly, "are you alright?"

"Hm? Uh, yeah of course, I'm fine." He answered, and if it weren't for the observations you'd made over the last few minutes you might've missed the slight strain in his voice.

"Are you sure?" You pressed lightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine, everything's fi-"

Another roll of thunder, another flinch.

"F-fine..." Matt continued to reassure you, although markedly less confidently. You sighed quietly as you set your book down on the coffee table, and called out to him again, "Hey, c'mere for a second."

Matt dried his hands and made his way toward you. "What's up? Need more tea?" He asked, but as he reached for your cup you gently caught his hand.

"No, just come closer," you said sweetly, tugging lightly on his sleeves. Visibly confused, but compliant, Matt allowed you to keep pulling him down toward you until he was lying on top of you, head positioned directly over your heart. You felt him unwind some, and after a quiet moment you spoke up again.

"...Why didn't you tell me the thunder was hurting you? I would've done this sooner."

"...I didn't want to bother you, especially when you seemed to be enjoying it. Besides, I've been dealing with this since I was a kid, I'm used to it by now," he said, though to you it sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself.

You scoffed quietly, "Liar. It obviously still really bothers you. And that's okay. You don't have to endure everything, sometimes it's okay to just... let something hurt. And to let someone else help you deal with it. And what am I here for if not to be someone you can rely on? That's what partners do."

Matt didn't respond at first, but he did wrap his arms around your waist, drawing the two of you even closer together. After another brief stretch of silence he asked, "But what about the rest of dishes? I should finish those." Even without looking you could hear the smile in his voice clueing you in; he was joking, and had no intention of getting up.

You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand gently resting over the ear that wasn't pressed to your chest, and the other running your fingers through his hair, back and forth over his scalp. "Don't worry about that, I'll take care of those too, after things quiet down," you said.

He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, as you felt him slowly relax against you completely. "Thank you," he said, barely louder than a whisper.

"Like I said, it's what I'm here for," you said with a warm smile, before leaning in slightly to kiss his forehead. As you continued to hold him and run your fingers through his hair, you also began to hum a gentle tune, the sound of your voice and the rhythm of your heartbeat creating the sweetest lullaby he'd ever heard.

Now, this was a perfect moment for the both of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my first time writing in months, first time ever writing for Matt, which I've been wanting to do for ages, and my first time writing on tumblr in general, so thanks @imsofansie for the prompt that finally got me off my ass and writing again. Hope you, and anyone else that happened across it, enjoyed it. ☺

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x male reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #marvel #mcu #daredevil netflix #nycto writes #fanfic

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amhrosina · 1 year

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Favorite Kind of Trouble (Matt Murdock x f!Reader x Frank Castle)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hiiiii! I feel like it’s been forever since I posted anything, but it’s only been a little over a week! While I battled writer’s block and also had one of the roughest weeks of my life, there was a resounding desire in my asks/replies for another poly!fic with Frank, reader, and Matt, and I finally got around to writing it today! I hope you enjoy it! Also a big shout out & thank you to my lovely beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great!

**This poly fic can be read separately from the others I’ve written, but at this point, they all take place in the same universe and are just glimpses into their relationship at different times, so if you like their dynamic, you can find links to the rest of the fics here or here!**

Summary: Frank and you get up to no good at a gala event, and Matt’s enhanced senses can’t help but focus on the pretty sounds you’re making from across the room.

(Warnings: oh brother, smut, like pretty much all smut zero plot, somewhat dom!frank, somewhat sub!matt, switch!reader, semi-public fun!!!, fingering, dirty talk (frank mainly lmfao), blow job, choking, wholesome poly flirting, frank and matt think they’re unworthy of each other!!!, they’re all idiots in love)

The gala had officially stretched into its fourth hour, and you couldn’t believe how incredibly unperturbed Matt looked as he politely chuckled at, yet another, bad joke told by the snobby businessman in the too-tight tux. You shifted in your seat, subtly stretching your legs towards Frank, who at least had the decency to look bored. Under the table, your left thigh brushed against his right, and his attention shifted to you as he cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

God, he was so pretty. You didn’t tell him enough, but every time Frank looked at you, even when you were out in public and he refused to let his guard down, the subtle softening of his eyes when they landed on you made him the prettiest goddamn man you’d ever met. You flicked your gaze across the table to Matt, who was putting on a good show and pretending to listen to a rather boring anecdote – the only man that rivaled Frank in the looks department – and they were both wound so tightly around your finger that you couldn’t imagine being happier with anyone else.

Most of the public had no idea that you, Frank, and Matt were something of a trio. They didn’t even know Frank’s real name. To most people, and certainly to the prying eyes of the elites attending the gala, you and “Pete” were a wealthy, but private couple who knew Matt through connections in the art world. They had no idea that the three of you shared a bed, a home, a life together. As frustrating as it was to keep that part of his life a secret, Matt gladly played the part. They didn’t get to wake up wrapped in the arms of the people he loved, and that’s really what mattered to him, and that way, Frank could have the honor of staking his claim over you in public. It all worked out rather well, when he thought about it.

Your gaze returned to Frank. Your eyes slowly followed the trail of buttons up his torso, over the bowtie at the base of his neck, attention snagging on his lips before finally meeting his intense stare. To others, Frank might look stoic, bored, and maybe even annoyed, but you saw the desire in his eyes, felt the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he shifted in his seat. He wanted it too, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

The gleam in your eyes told him you were up to something, and even if he wasn’t able to read the mischief in your smirk, the subtle twist in Matt’s neck as his ears perked up told him everything he needed to know. Frank leaned closer to you, brushing your bare shoulder with his lips before whispering in your ear.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, and you nearly swore when his fingertips brushed over your bare knee. An innocent stroke of the hand from a caring lover. A simple, loving gesture between the mysterious couple that kept mostly to themselves at events like these. That’s what anyone who might be watching would assume, and you knew it.

“What if someone sees?” You breathed in a hushed whisper, but your legs were already opening for him. The effect he had on you was maddening.

“No one can see us.” He assured you, promptly glancing around the room again to solidify his promise. His hand rubbed lazy circles on your thigh, fingertips barely ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh as he slowly made his way up your leg.

“What if someone hears?” You eyed him warily, though the spark of desire had shot through you like a bullet the second he’d made contact with your skin.

“If you’re worried about it, you’ll just have to stay extra quiet, sweetheart.” He lightly flicked your nose with his free hand, grinning as annoyance briefly crossed your face. “Besides, Red’s bored too. He’s probably harder than I am right now, wishing he could touch himself under the table like I’m about to do to you.”

The abrupt sound of Matt’s knee crashing against the underside of the table pulled your attention from Frank. The guests seated near him jumped as he fumbled to catch his wine glass before it tumbled to the floor. You bit your lip in an attempt to smother your giggle. For a moment, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Matt cleared his throat, apologizing under his breath as he took a hefty swig of his wine. As the conversations around the room picked back up, Matt glared in your direction. You looked back at Frank, who was smirking.

“Want to play a game, sweetheart?” He whispered, breath coasting over the curve of your ear.

“Is it at poor Matty’s expense?” You cooed, spreading your legs wider as his fingertips grazed the lace of your underwear.

“Maybe.” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth.

He shifted your underwear aside, and you had to take a deep breath so that you didn’t moan as the cool air kissed your wet cunt. Frank was normally a patient man when it came to coaxing an orgasm out of you, opting to draw out the experience so that you could enjoy it as much as possible, even if that meant teasing you for hours before finally giving in to your begs. But tonight, with his attention half on you and half on Matt, he had very little patience for games. Not that you were complaining.

He slid a finger through your folds, relishing in the warmth and slickness he found there. You tensed in your seat, flicking your gaze to Matt, who looked like he was going to be sick. Frank’s warm breath heated your neck as he whispered against your skin.

“How long do you think Red will last like this?” He asked, eyes briefly flickering to Matt before returning to yours. He gently circled your clit, eyeing the heat that was crawling up your neck. “How long do you think he’ll be able to hear your pretty little moans before it becomes too much for him?”

Matt tugged at his bowtie, clearing his throat as sweat beaded on his forehead. The tension in the air was electric, and when he parted his lips, allowing the fullness of your desire to hit his senses, it nearly undid him. You were so wet around Frank’s fingers, and the sounds of your soft hums of pleasure combined with Frank’s teasing tone was enough to make him so hard that it ached. He tried and failed to divert his attention back to the conversation around him, only able to focus on your quiet sighs and Frank’s encouraging mumbles.

“I know you can hear us, Red.” Frank teased, adding pressure to your clit. You gripped your seat with white knuckles, panting at the friction building in your core. “I couldn’t help myself. She looks,” he plunged an additional finger into your cunt for emphasis, “ravishing tonight.”

Frank could feel how close you were, relished in the tightness of your cunt as it clenched around his fingers. Matt, he guessed, was not far behind you. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, fumbling with his glass as he tried to look interested in the story being told.

“C’mon Red. You know it’s impolite for a man to cum before a lady.” He mumbled, breathing into your ear. His eyes flickered between you and Matt, and both of you looked like you were about to cry. Matt’s fingers tightened on the glass, and you clenched around him again. “Don’t you want to cum in her tight cunt later? Don’t you want to fuck your cum deep into her pretty pussy? She’s been such a good girl tonight. She deserves our cum, Red, don’t you think?”

His vulgar words were your undoing. You wilted against his chest as your orgasm crashed through you, the throbbing pressure easing as he coaxed it out of you. You moaned as quietly as you could, muffled only by the fabric of Frank’s coat as you shuttered against him. Simultaneously, as you came around Frank’s fingers, Matt’s hand clenched around the wine glass so tightly that the glass cracked, and then shattered all over the table, spilling a red stain down the front of his pristine shirt.

The crowd around Matt shrieked, and Frank watched as he calmly excused himself from the table and hurried towards the bathroom. Guilt crashed through him, though he was sure Matt wouldn’t be upset about the shirt. He likely wouldn’t be upset about the small cuts in his hand either. Matt was forgiving like that. Frank didn’t feel like he deserved one bit of his kindness.

“Is she okay?”

The voice drew him out of his thoughts, back into his body, which was half curled around you as you recovered from your intense orgasm. The stranger sitting diagonal from you and Frank eyed him warily.

“Too much,” you panted, excuse already on the tip of your tongue, “wine. I think I had too much wine, darling.”

You ungracefully attempted to stand, and Frank wondered how much of this was for show and which parts of it were genuine as you leaned into his arms for support. The shakiness in your legs was definitely real, he decided.

“I’m going to take her to the bathroom to sober up. Thank you.” He nodded at the man, who was already half engrossed in another conversation as he led you in the direction that Matt had come a few minutes earlier. As soon as the two of you were out of sight, you straightened, giggling at the show you’d had to put on.

“I didn’t know I was dating an actress.” Frank grinned, rapping on the bathroom door with his knuckles.

“I didn’t know either.” You laughed again.

The door unlocked, and you and Frank covertly slid into the bathroom with Matt, who was a heated, panting mess against the tile of the walls. You could clearly see his desire tented in his pants, and you smirked at Frank in response.

“We did that.” You murmured, stepping closer to Matt’s whining figure.

Frank hummed, reaching for Matt’s hand and inspecting the wounds inflicted by the wine glass. You paused, waiting for a signal from Frank that Matt was okay. Matt was so delirious and high on desire that you knew he could be bleeding out and would insist that he was okay. A slight nod of Frank’s head told you to continue.

You sank to your knees, quickly unbuckling Matt’s belt and pulling his cock free from his pants. Frank wrapped a hand around Matt’s throat, gently pressing him against the wall as you licked the underside of Matt’s cock. Matt whimpered, involuntarily bucking his hips in response.

“Be patient, Red,” Frank murmured, pressing a kiss onto Matt’s jaw, “We’ll take care of you.”

You wrapped your lips around Matt, bobbing up and down his length in a feverish haze. Matt was so worked up that you knew it wouldn’t take long to undo him. Matt tried and failed to keep his whimpers and groans quiet, and he was so loud at one point that Frank had to cover Matt’s mouth with his hand, smothering the noises he couldn’t help but make.

You pushed yourself further down his length, opening your throat to him as you hurried your pace. Matt tensed, grabbing onto Frank’s arm as he let out a stunted groan. He grunted, and you felt thick spurts of cum make their way down your throat. You swallowed around him, grinning when he rested his head against the wall behind him, panting so hard that it sounded like he had just finished running a marathon.

You stood, adjusting your dress as Matt’s consciousness finally returned to his body. He smirked as he adjusted his pants.

“You two are the worst kind of trouble.”

“We're your favorite kind of trouble.” You corrected, chuckling and eyeing the stain that probably wouldn’t come out of Matt’s shirt no matter how hard you scrubbed it. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“And your hand.” Frank added. Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it ebbed away as Matt kissed both of you deeply, hands gently cradling the two of you. Matt wouldn’t admit it so nonchalantly, but when he got the chance to hold both of you like this, he felt like he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands.

“I’m not upset. I love you. Both of you.”

Frank nodded, humming in acknowledgment, and you noted the way Matt’s jaw ticked. You knowingly squeezed his hand. Frank didn't believe he was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone Matty’s, and you and Matt both knew it. But it wasn’t the time or place for that conversation, and you had no doubt he would breach that topic of conversation later, when Frank’s guard wasn’t so high, and he was feeling comfortable and loved.

“Wanna get out of here?” Matt smiled, squeezing your hand.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

You snorted with laughter as Frank ran a hand down his face.

“That was the lamest thing you’ve ever said, Red. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” Matt smirked.

“You promise?” Frank dared, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, Frankie. I promise.”

Tag List:

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ellephlox · 10 months

Text

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger.

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing.

But you knew.

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew.

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream.

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering.

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen.

Only one more block.

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close.

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street. Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility.

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand.

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time.

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant.

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now.

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you.

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy. You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname.

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down.

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers.

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word.

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it. And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over.

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant.

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt.

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.”

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life.

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond.

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

#daredevil #matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #reader insert #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #slow burn

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thesalemwitchtries · 5 months

Text

Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter 4

Word Count: 2,600-ish

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: distrust of police/government, overuse of the series comma, general angst in the form of feelings of guilt and failure, I did not proofread this very well, so probably spelling and grammar mistakes

Taglist: @reblog-reblog666 (you're an angel, thank you for your patience, this chapter isn't very good, but I'm still dedicating it to you 🫶)

Masterlist

Sorry for the long wait, this chapter is short and not my favorite, but I needed to get it out so that I could finally move on with the parts of the story that I want to tell, that haven't been giving me awful writer's block. Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

Elena’s apartment building had been worse than Karen or Foggy could have anticipated. Flickering lights, lingering draft, and battered walls built an ominous atmosphere, one that contradicted the sunny Tuesday morning that they had left outside.

Foggy wished that they could go back, but he and Karen had made a promise to do what they could to help Elena. This promise was only fortified by his first hand observation of the building; these weren’t living conditions that could wait for a court settlement.

He only felt more dread as Elena and Karen chatted about her neighbor while they climbed the stairs. It really seemed like Ms. Tanner didn’t want their help, especially if she’d been able to turn down his very persuasive partner. He hoped she wouldn't be too angry that they dropped by. Being yelled at would only ruin his day, and it was shaping up to be a long one.

Stopping in front of a green door —number 15 with the 5 upside down due to a missing screw— Foggy looked at the two women beside him, gauging their expressions to see if he was the only one that felt like he was staring at the gallows. Just him, as usual.

They stood there for a few moments, him and Karen silently arguing over who would knock on the door before Sra. Cardenas did the honors. Foggy plastered a smile on his face, one that he hoped said: “Hey, I’m trustworthy and positive, but still sympathetic to your pain and situation, you don’t have to let us help you, but please please do.”

Maybe it was a lot to have riding on a smile, but an assault charge would do wonders to move the civil case forwards in their favor. And of course there was the ‘justice for the innocent’ part of things too.

The door opened slowly, a woman about Karen’s age poking her head out, and then bracing herself between the door and the frame. Her eyes flickered over the strange collection of smiles, Karen and Foggy trying to project trustworthiness, Sra. Cardenas looking almost sheepish.

“Señora Elena, buenas días…” Ms. Tanner said glancing over the group with open curiosity.

To Foggy’s chagrin, Ms. Tanner was absolutely stunning. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Matt somehow knew, with his weird ability to pick out hot women and any secrets that Foggy didn’t want him to know. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that Matt had feigned surprise at every gift he’d been given through their entire friendship. This year he was thinking of giving him a Roomba, but he kept going back and forth over whether Matt might trip on it.

It was left to Sra. Cardenas to break the silence and introduce the less-than-welcome houseguests; “Charlotte, this is Señor Foggy, es mi abogado, él quiere ayudarte.”

Somehow Ms. Tanner managed to keep her expression respectful while still doing something that was very reminiscent of a petulant stomp. Her head rolled back on her shoulders, before popping back up with a fond shake.

“Elena…”

“Oye, estás herida, necesitamos hacer algo.” Elena insisted, her fist thumping down into the palm of her opposite hand, like her own imaginary hammer of justice.

She motioned insistently towards Foggy, who only caught her meaning when Karen nudged him with her elbow. Say something. Yeah, he could totally do that, just as soon as he was done nervously clearing his throat.

“Ms. Tanner, we can help you. I promise.” he said, the words falling flat after the long moments that it took him to gather his thoughts and begin. He could practically feel Karen rolling her eyes beside him as he was forced to watch Ms. Tanner’s polite expression harden into something that taunted his ineloquence. Every trophy that he’d ever won for speech and debate melted in the fire of her disdainful eyes.

Elena rushed to his defense, wrapping a hand around Foggy’s arm and reaching out towards her neighbor, “No lie, Charlotte. Foggy is a good boy, he means what he says.”

Foggy awkwardly shifted in place, trying to push back his shoulders and exude the confidence that Sra. Cardenas spoke of him with.

The posturing did nothing to change Ms. Tanner's stony look, like he’d kicked her puppy in front of her, and had just threatened to do it again. It was rage wrapped in caution, and he was sure that it was but the grace of God —by which he meant Elena Cardenas’ kind smile and determined stare— that allowed he and Karen to stand in her doorway this long.

After taking her time with her appraisal, ensuring that it went without saying exactly how unconvinced she was by their appeals, she turned to her well-meaning neighbor. Her movements were stiff, but the harsh light in her eyes softened into something earnest as she leaned in to speak.

“Señora, ellos son abogados, no son héroes.”

Sra. Cardenas’ shoulders slumped in defeat for a mere second before the woman had gathered her argument again; “Charlotte, please.”

“Estoy agradecida por eso,” Ms. Tanner said, giving a firm shake of her head and taking a step back into her apartment, “Pero no necesito ayuda, Señora.”

“Ms. Tanner, if I may,” Karen cut in, seeing the door about to close both literally and figuratively. “I’m not a lawyer, but I have a story that I’d like to tell you, if you’d just listen. I think that you might be able to help me.”

The door creaked back open from where Ms. Tanner had gotten it halfway closed, and Karen got goosebumps from the sharp, probing look that she received, cutting straight through to bone.

“If you’re not a lawyer, then who are you?”

“My name is Karen Page, I’ve been the secretary at Nelson and Murdock for a few weeks now.”

“So what, you want to ask about improving file management operations?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest and leaning against the doorframe.

While her tone was sharp, there was a distinct twitch in her lips that made Karen dip her head with her own smile. With a tut of her tongue and shake of her head, Karen celebrated her victory over Matt’s charm and Foggy’s experience. Take that, Columbia Law.

“No, not really,” Karen chuckled, “But I’m always open to suggestions, if you have a few.”

Ms. Tanner was unable to hide the wariness in her posture, but it only took her a moment and a silent exchange with Sra. Cardenas before she stood and opened the door all the way.

“A few? I practically live for data management, Ms. Page.”

Karen had chuckled as she waved Foggy down the hall, his expression of relief all too clear and amusing to resist, as he escorted Elena back to her apartment with a well-mannered offer of his elbow.

Now though it was difficult not to feel like she had been shut in the den of the beast as the door was closed and locked behind her. She was spending too much time with Foggy, his dramatics wearing off on her already.

She would remain optimistic, she and Ms. Tanner could help each other, and Karen had to have faith in that.

Ushering her ahead, Ms. Tanner stopped in the hall to try and straighten a framed painting, a piece that looked to Karen like it had been left out on the sidewalk, maybe for good reason. As it shifted, she caught sight of the hole in the wall that was being hidden behind it, and couldn’t hide her frown.

The apartment was much more cheerful than one might expect from the state of the hallway. In fact, ignoring the broken furniture and holes in the plaster, Karen thought that she might have even been a bit jealous. It was as small and battered as every other cheap apartment in New York, but didn’t feel cramped or rundown. Someone loved this place, in the way Karen remembered loving her childhood bedroom or her grandmother’s parlor.

She took a seat where she was directed to, in the least worn armchair in the living space, and when she shivered, Ms. Tanner began to brew her a cup of tea.

Sun drifted in from the windows, drawing her attention to the source of the chill: one pane broken and hastily sealed with a garbage bag and duct tape. Plants sat on the sill, ferns with broken stems and pots patched with more duct tape. There were succulents that Karen was pretty sure would be gurgling if they could, but she couldn’t attribute that to Tully’s men, more like systemic overwatering.

Rainbows played across the hardwood and her lap, and she smiled, tracing them back to the sun-catchers hanging before the glass.

The late morning faded into early afternoon as the two women danced around each other, exchanging pleasantries and stiff smiles, pretending not to be observing one another as closely as they were.

An olive branch was finally extended in the form of re-introduction, ‘Please, call me Charlie,’ and ‘Only if you call me Karen’ serving to thaw some of the formal air between them.

Still, the tea had long been finished and the sun began to heat up the day before Karen worked up the nerve to tell Char the story that she’d promised. Not that Char really minded, she was more than content to pretend that Karen was there because they were friends, not because she was operating on the behalf of lawyers whose help she could never accept.

“I used to work as a secretary at Union Allied Construction.” Karen began, weaving a story that shattered Char’s naive game of pretend, “A few months ago I opened a file labeled ‘Pension_Master’ and now four people are dead because of what I found inside.”

Throughout her story, Karen remained oblivious to the way that her hostess twitched in her seat, the way her overfed cat twined itself nervously around her feet, and most of all to the way that was most definitely not normal.

Glancing at her hands for each of her most shocking reveals, Karen always just missed the way that the woman across from her would seem to glitch. Her image flickering from side to side and up and down in random, quick bursts: like an infected computer trying to close a window.

The familiar email attachment had thrown Char off-guard, and things just continued to get worse from there.

Not only had she failed in bringing the Shadow to justice, she’d almost gotten the innocent woman that she sent the evidence to murdered, had gotten an innocent father killed, and 3 others were now dead as well. Char had hoped with each passing minute that her guest was done, that Karen would leave and allow her to wallow in guilt and regret. Both for sending that email and for opening the door at all that morning.

Still, the blonde persisted.

She thought that what had happened to her was connected to what had happened with Tully’s men, that if Char could just talk to her, tell her more, then she could help. Theories and hunches spiraled from her lips as Char's horror grew.

Karen could uncover the truth of what was going on in their city, because there was something more, something deeper at play, and she just needed Char’s help to get more of the picture.

All said, it was a rousing and passionate speech, delivered with all the force of Karen’s confidence in herself and faith in the power of the truth. Char just didn’t know what to say, usually in these situations she’d go with something as close to the truth as she could manage, but with everything that she couldn’t say, what was left just didn’t seem like it would cut it.

Hey yeah, uh remember how you were fairly satisfied with your life a few months ago, well I’m the one who ruined that with my good intentions. You know, that thing they say the road to Hell is paved in. I never got that expression until now, considering my idea of helping apparently comes with a body count.

She leaned forward into her fists, elbows on resting on her knees, subconsciously trying to defend herself from the blame of Karen’s testimony, of her earnest gaze. The only response that Char was able to muster in the end was weak and defeated, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Open and imploring, Karen leaned forward as well, “Please, just tell me what really happened to you that day, what Tully's men did to you.”

Her pale hand stretched out into the space between them, dropping before it could brush against Char’s forearm.

“I don’t want to press charges.”

“I know, and you don’t have to, just tell me the truth.” Karen insisted, nodding her head with only slightest restraint from her eager curiosity.

“Your bosses aren’t going to make me? They’ll keep my name out of whatever it is that they’re doing?”

“If I tell them not to, then they won’t. Matt and Foggy are my friends, and they just want to help, they’re not going to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, Charlie, I promise.”

The earnest expression on Karen’s face joined forces with the guilt of the ruin that Char had unknowingly brought to her life and one could only hold out for so long.

Soon she was spilling what she could to Karen, about how the two men had come in under the ruse of being handymen, how they’d begun smashing things. Ashamed, Char spoke of how they hit her when she tried to stop them from destroying her workbench, where she kept all of her research.

She dutifully provided details about the damages to her apartment, but remained vague over what exactly she had been working on that was so important that she had intervened for it.

Although Karen was pleased at what she heard, Char had to swallow the bitterness of what she really wanted to say. Holding another piece of Karen’s puzzle in her hands, and seeing the misplaced gratitude in her eyes, Char felt hollow and dirty, helpless and complicit in the web of darkness that her houseguest was trying to uncover.

Her story divulged the secrets that Karen wanted, but it wasn’t the confession of truths that Char needed her to hear:

"I’m worried that even if I knew where to start helping, that I wouldn’t. Too scared of losing things that I've suffered so long without, to do what I know is right. I’m scared that if I do try to help, that I’ll only make things worse. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I’m sorry that I can’t say any of this aloud, that I can’t make amends.”

The silent apology felt like sand in her mouth as she led Karen back to the door, asking for time to decide what to do, Karen promising to keep in touch with any more information.

Char watched through the peephole as Karen made her way down to join Foggy in Sra. Cardenas’ apartment. There she stayed until it became clear that no one else would be passing through the hallway, and instead pressed her forehead into the peeling paint.

She felt somehow more crowded in her empty home than she ever had before, failures and memories puffing up to fill every available surface. So real to her that she expected they’d leave crumbs and used napkins behind as proof of their presence. A pity party tangible enough that she’d have to spend the next morning cleaning it up.

Turning to face the room behind her, Char’s eyes landed on her workbench. Tonight would be another long night of repairing the things that she could, just to try and lose the weight of all the things she couldn’t.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x enhanced!reader #matt murdock x y/n #slim ficc #doag #dreaming of a grave

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jedinerd27 · 1 year

Text

The Devil-Spider Is in the Code Part 1/?

Miguel O’Hara X Fem! Spidey! Reader

Summary:

You are the one and only Arachne, the newest hero of Hell's kitchen. Well, in you're dimension anyway.

In your Free time, you're a hacker, trying to bring down companies like Alchemax, Oscorp, and Stark Industries. Exposing them of corruption and their inhumane experiments.

You've recently have been recruited to the Spider-Society. Now surrounded by echos of your dead brother and other unique faces, You are gaining new tricks every day.

Yet, the only annoyance is Miguel O'Hara. The grumpy man doesn't seem to like you, and you have no idea as to why. You're doing your best to catch Anomalies and protect the Multi-Verse. So what if there are no Variants of yourself?

Multiple parts

Word Count:2,151

Cross posted on my AO3

Comment if you want to be Added to Taglist

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Alright. Let’s get this out of the way.

Inter-dimensional Travel was something you’re older brother had theorized. He would explain it to you in long drawn-out personal lectures. Too bad you never understood it and would play Minecraft on your Phone when he would start, never noticing how your eyes would become glassy, staring at your screen.

He was the science geek. He spoke out against Alchemax and Oscorp so many times. Leading him to be flagged and blocked from multiple positions at other smaller companies. All he was doing was advocating for more humane experiments, no careless dumping of hazardous waste, and the black market deals the companies were making.

He was the true hero. You were just his gal in the chair, his personal hacker. Getting him the information he needed to give to lawyers and news outlets. Showing the world what corrupt experiments were going on. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson became the biggest legal defense you and Peter had. It was just a bonus that Matt taught you both how to defend yourselves, and was the legal Guardian after Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s death.

That was the case until the accident. Oscorp released a small little critter into your shared apartment one night. Hoping the little spider would spin its little web down onto your brother, poisoning him with the genetically modified venom.

The Spider bit you instead. And the enhanced venom? Sure it gave you a seizure, and you were driven to the hospital as your brother panicked. But it didn’t kill you.

That’s when the head of Oscorp decided a hitman was the solution.

It happened a few days after your release from the hospital The only family you had left. Taken from the world by the very people he spoke out against.

The rain started the same time your tears hit the ground.

“Peter, please, don’t sleep” You cry out clutching him to you. Thunder clapping all around you as the gunman runs down the alley. You think you heard Foggy yelling after Matt, before calling 911. “Please, Pete. Don’t Die! Don’t die!”

Matt’s footfalls as he ran down the alley, perusing the man.

“It’s okay bug, It’s going to be fine lil’bug” He mumbled out with a smile. And then he shut his eyes.

The cry you let you shattered you. A dark abyss opened up inside of you, fury inside you was born.

As Foggy tried to pull you away from his body, and the Red and blue flashing lights approached, you saw nothing but red down the alley. When Matt returned with bloody knuckles and a black eye. The cops didn’t question him.

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You took on your brother’s unfinished work, but with the addition of your new found powers. Anger fueled you for a long time, until you came to the realization, your brother was never angry with the world, He was disappointed. He wanted it to be a better place. Safer.

You had to continue fighting for what he wanted. You had to become his legacy.

No matter how hard you got hit, you hit harder. If you were going to go down, you weren’t going alone. You are not going to stop, not until Ospcorp, Alchemax, Stark industries, and others are held responsible.

Thank God that Matt continued to take care of you. He helped you grow into the powers.

One Day your ginger Guardian took you up to the apartment building rooftop.

“Why do I need this on?” You pointed to the blindfold he had put on you. Technically it was your winter scarf, but it was tied around your head.

“For this!” Matt said somewhere on the rooftop.

KAWCHUNK!!

Pins and needles ran up you back and you ducked.

THWACK! The sound of rubber hitting brick rang out. A tennis ball hits the Roof entrance in front of you.

“What the hell Matt?”

KAWCHUNK!! KAWCHUNK!!

TH same sensation ran up you on your left, and then your right, taking a step back you miss the next KAWCHUNK!! That was in front of you.

A tennis ball thwacks you in the stomach.

“FUCK!”

“Kid, you’ve got this sense,” Mat speaks as another Tennis ball is fired Causing you to bend your back, falling to your knees in a quick motion. “And I’m testing it out.”

The prickles form in the back of your head. Sliding to the Right, a woosh of the tennis ball goes whirling past.

“SO you thought getting hitting me with Tennis balls is okay?”

“You’re dodging most of them” One hits you in the rib. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“How are you doing this?”

“The same way you’re dodging the chew toys”

There is a click of a button. The whirling of 5 machines catches your ear, You’re whole body gets that sensation. You leap up as all of them fire. All five tennis balls hit each other in unison.

“I taught you how to throw a punch, the least I can do is make sure you know how to dodge.” He smirks but you only look at the Red lensed glasses. The same shade that was on his knuckles that rainy night

He Gave you batons and old pieces of armor. Vanbraces and shoulder pads, Greaves that went over the combat boots you always wore.

He offered a helmet as well.

“That’s never going to fit me.”

“Would you prefer a bike helmet?”

“I’d prefer it if I can make my own adjustments and touches.”

In the end, a red hoodie covered in various light armor bits and pocket pouches. You took your inspiration of the spider and your old sewing machine and ran with it.

Blue LED Wires were sewn into the hood under black thread. The vanbraces got integrated with tech. Project a holographic Computer, stolen from Alchemax, easy for you to hack things without needing a physical computer. You had rewritten the software and the code, making it unique and unable to be tracked.

“What are you going to call yourself?” Matt asks, fingers tracing over the hoodie, your handy work made a small smile appear on his face. This was him beaming with Pride.

“Arachne” You didn’t even think about it. “I will be Arachne.”

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Then you met the others. The Spider society.

Well, not all of them at first.

You just got out of college, graduating top of your Computer Engineer and Computer Science class. No job yet though Especially after it was revealed that you were the sister of the Annoyance that was once Peter Parker.

You going to blackmail us?

Thanks, but no thanks, we don’t need out dirty laundry to be aired out

Bastards.

Sure, they were right though. You were going to leak all their secrets out. Their software was used to spy on people in their homes, breaking their contract that had mentioned they would not do that. It helped that your guardian made sure you also got a minor in pre-law.

For the past 7 years, you were the one and only Arachne. The Crime Fighting vigilante, new to the scene, but taking over when Matt finally agreed it was time to hang up his horns.

The patrol was pretty quite that night, until that glitching Lizard started rampaging down the street.

“what the?” This definitely was not Dr. Cadence Conners. “Hey, Lizard Fella, DROP THE TRASHCAN!”

Landing on a light post, above the scaly humanoid, he stared up at you.

“Glowy Spidey?” His eyes slitted, as his long tongue licked his snout.

“Uh… kinda. Listen buddy why don’t-“

He threw the trash can at you. Causing you to let go of the lamppost.

“Okay, want to play dirty, let us play dirty.” Landing on the street, lucky no civilians around, you pulled out your batons and clicked the safety button. Electricity sprang alive to the metal and you charged.

Claws swiped left and light. Dodging and weaving, you manage to land a blow in the center of his chest.

ZAAP! And down he went. With a loud THUD and the whole ground around you shook.

“All in the days work” You chucked before you pulled out a hologram to call the authorities. That was until… he glitched. Green turning to purple, shapes surrounding him. Then he was back to normal. “The hell is going on in hell’s kitchen?”

“Oh, that’s where we are. I knew I was right, Ghostie!” A voice called from above you… and your froze.

No, no. It can’t be. That can’t be, but it sounds exactly like-

“Peter?” Your do a 180, staring up at the other lamp post.

There was a man squatting on top of another lamppost, just like how you do. The proper pouncing stance.

He stood in a skin-tight suit, the webbing of the suit was close to yours, and the same shade of red, with a pink bath robe on top with.. a baby Bjorn?

A slender woman was holding on to the post of it, leaning forward. Also in a skin tight suit. White with pink and black accents. Converse shoes on. Her hood was similar to yours, without the glowing blue LED.

“Uh, I take it you know me.. I mean my voice?” He swings down with a.. web-shooter. What?

He pulls of his mask and.

“I buried you.” Comes tumbling out. You pull him in for a bear hug. “How? How are you alive? And… why do you look so much older?”

He did, more wrinkles, and streaks of fading brown hair. He was… off. He wasn’t the same Peter.

“Oh… here’s the thing.” His face drops. And he pulls away. “I’m not your Peter. I’m from another Dimension. I’m a variant of…what was your peter to you?”

The woman swing down next to him, and delightful glee echos out. A baby was clutching not her shoulders. A toddler.

“Woah, hey mayday why don’t” Peter was cut off as the baby swung over and promptly sat herself down into the bjorn.

The woman took her mask off and…

“Gwen?”

“Oh, she knows both of us..” Peter sighed.

“When did you get an eyebrow piercing!” Your brother’s best friend from high school left town shortly after the funeral. She.. she looked younger. And her hair was slightly pink. “Wait… another dimension? No.. but..” As you fumble over the right words. They stare at you.

“You” pointing to Peter. “You’re not my brother.”

“Brother?” They both asked as the child giggled out and the swung over to you. Mayday.

“Mayday? After Aunt May?” Your eyes widen. This can’t be real. Your brother was dead, you didn’t have Gwen’s contact info, and you knew she would never get an eyebrow piercing. Hell, a second lobe was a BIG if for her. “Different dimensions? Is this… is this about this multiverse theory?”

“It is Kid. “

“You… My brother talked about it a lot. He was into theoretical science, physics. He wanted to do that.”

“I’m sorry you lost him” Gwen speaks.

Staring down at the little girl in your arms, your eyes start to water.

Her joyful face drops and then she puts her tiny arms around your neck. A gentle squeeze.

Your brother deserved this life to have a kid, but never got it. Why not? This Peter got it.

“Why are you here.” You say as you gently hug the girl closer.

“For lizard over there.”

“A different version of Cadence Connors?”

“Yep.” Peter said. “We’re a part of a group of other People like us.”

“Spiders” Gwen simply explained taking a closer step. “But you’re gear…”

“I’m Arachne.” Extending a hand she shook it. “Daredevil taught me. He just retired.”

“Matt Murdock?” Peter’s Raises an eyebrow. Familiarity Rang aloud.

“Wait, Murderdock?” Gwen is taken aback at that. Fear raising her voice

“Wait, what? No, Matt doesn’t Kill. I don’t kill” You let go as the girl swings up to the lamppost above. “Sure, we hurt… and sometimes it’s a hospital visit for the other, but we don’t kill.”

“Woah, calm down the broth fo you” Better extend his hands as he tried to catch his daughter. ‘This is just another example of how the multiverse works.”

“And this multiverse has holes in it? Letting random rouges just fall through.”

“Essentially yes, and we” pointing to him and Gwen as Mayday was hanging of his bicep. “Are a part of a group that helps the ones that fall through back to their reality. Unfortunately, they don’t come willingly.”

You stare down at the Lizard.

“How many do you have? Currently, in this group?”

“Uh, twenty. Why?”

“How many multiverses are there?”

“Uh well one. If you mean dimensions… billions. Maybe Infinite.”

A smirk crosses your lips as you clicked your batons. Folding into one another they became the size of two pens. Putting the back in a pouch you smile up at the three newcomers.

“Need an extra Spider?”

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #Spiderverse x Reader #spider gwen #peter b. parker #Mayday Parker #miguel o'hara #Oscar issac

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farfromstrange · 11 months

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Hey can I make a Matt Murdock request. It's Matt and reader's wedding day, and Matt remembers how you met in st. Agnes , the little adventures you had and how sister Maggie caught you trying to sneak out which sometimes worked out

I want to apologize for taking so long to write this! I'm so sorry. I just spent the past four hours pouring my whole soul into this because this request was just so beautiful... Like seriously, I have tears in my eyes. I listened to a lot of love songs while writing this, and I hope I could match up with your expectations. Thank you for your request and enjoy! <3

You Are The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On the day of your wedding, Matt thinks back to your time together at the orphanage.

Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. (not proofread though)

Word Count: ~6.8k (oops)

The church bells play an all too familiar tune. It echoes off the high walls that are adorned with colorful paintings and stone sculptures that are as old as time. Clinton Church stands taller than he is, but he doesn’t feel suffocated by it, not today.

Matt Murdock grew up on religion and has lived by his faith in God ever since. He fell into several dark holes over time, but he crawled out of them and he picked himself up again. He played this tiring game for a while. He never felt like he truly belonged anywhere. He was lost. And then you stepped back into his life.

After his father died and he was taken in by the St. Agnes orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt had more than just his grief to deal with. The accident that blinded him a year prior turned his life upside down and no one knew.

His father knew he was blind, of course, but no one knew about how he could suddenly smell or hear much better than before, and that it was worse than the usual enhancement of one’s senses after becoming blind. His senses became heightened to the point he could pick up everything around him with his ears, nose, and hands alone.

It has been the most exhausting experience, especially as a little boy, he thought about giving up many times because it confused him and it made him bitter, and then his father died and the only person he could trust was gone, too.

He felt so utterly alone, he had nightmares, he was traumatized and the children at the orphanage didn’t like him much, either. He was a broken boy, and he had no one to turn to but the sisters taking care of him. But after a while, even that support stopped when more children arrived, and he chose to fight this battle on his own. He didn’t want to bother anyone. He was lonely, but he accepted that he just wasn’t that important and that sometimes, life goes a certain way.

Matt told himself God blinded him for a reason. He tried to find a purpose in his heightened senses and whatever else came with the accident and his father’s wrongful death, but with each passing day in this small bedroom with the church bells ringing in the background, causing his head to spin with their audacity, he lost more and more of the hope he swore himself he would keep. He wasn’t just alone, he adopted this feeling of loneliness and ran with it, turning more and more into an outsider. But he also had nothing to show for himself as the other kids did. He was blind, he was different, and that was never appreciated.

One day though, after spending most of his time hiding away in a corner, listening to the people around him and judging them in his own way, a set of small footsteps approached where he was sitting in the garden behind the orphanage.

He remembers the way your dress brushed against your tights, a sound he found annoying and painful at first, but he quickly got used to it. He remembers how you walked up to him with almost determined steps after Sister Maggie showed you the way and dropped you there for you to explore. He remembers your little sigh when you realized how far away he was from the other kids, but you didn’t turn around and leave when you noticed his black-rimmed glasses or the cane next to him.

You stopped in front of him, and Matt did not once forget the sound of your voice when you first spoke to him, “Is this seat taken?” he remembers you asking, and you sounded a lot nicer than the other children.

He frowned, at first, because he wasn’t used to being talked to. He figured you must be playing with him. But you didn’t stop there.

You chose to sit down next to him, and you smiled when you said, “I like your glasses, by the way.”

He remembers turning his head in your direction, signaling he was listening. You took that as an invitation to introduce yourself. Your name rolled beautifully off your tongue, and he stored it away instantly, along with the sound of your voice.

“I’m Matt,” he chose to tell you.

You smiled even brighter and took his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Matt,” you said.

Eight years, that’s how long you stayed. And during those eight years, you became inseparable. He confided in you about his heightened senses, and when Stick came around and left as fast as he had appeared, you were the one who picked up his broken pieces.

The first field trip you took together was to Central Park. The sun was shining brightly that day. Sister Maggie and some of the other nuns accompanied your group, and you quickly found your spot next to Matt. It was the first time he wasn't stuck with an adult during a day out, and he was so flustered, he remembers forgetting his words when your cheery nature found a place next to him.

Your heart has always been a steady sound in his ear, and back then, it grounded him whenever he had to face situations that made him uneasy. Field trips held so many different sensations that overwhelmed him, and he often felt as if his disability wasn't taken very seriously, but with you by his side, he could actually feel the sun on his skin rather than the heavy lump in his throat. He didn't want to cry on the way there; he listened to the beautiful sound of your voice, your laughter, and your excitement both infectious enough to make him smile, and it's something he swore he would always cherish. You had a talent, and he was the only one you used it on.

“Hey,” he remembers you saying when he was hiding away at the back of the group once again. You reached out to gently take his hand. “Don't worry, I'll be your guide today,” you said.

It wasn't pity, you actually enjoyed doing this for him. Even though it was hot outside, he ignored the sweat simply to hold your hand.

“What if…I get lost?” he remembers asking you, and you laughed at that-

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I've got you. Trust me.”

As you strolled through the park, you described everything you saw. You walked him through it the way you saw it, and he imagined how the world looked like through your eyes.

“The sky is so blue, Matt,” you said, pointing upward. “It stretches out like an endless canvas. And the clouds are little white specks of color that take different shapes wherever you look.”

Matt tilted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. “I wish I could see it.” It was the first time he actively admitted it to you, and your heart broke a little.

“But you can feel it,” you instantly tried to make him feel better. “The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle breeze ruffling your hair. You can smell the flowers. It's all there. Sight is so overrated, anyway.”

He stored your advice for another day, knowing that you weren't wrong. Next, you stopped near a bed of colorful flowers. You crouched down and reached out, picking one. The scent seemed familiar.

“Close your eyes and breathe in,” you instructed, holding the flower near his nose.

Matt followed your guidance, inhaling the sweet scent. “It's… it's beautiful,” he said.

“You see, Matt,” you said, “Beauty isn't just in what we see. It's in the little things we discover along the way.”

For someone who lost so much, you were a true optimist. You breathed fresh air into his life.

With each step, you continued to describe the vibrant colors, the rustling leaves, and the laughter of children in the distance. Matt's trust in you grew, and he found solace in the world you painted for him.

Of course, he could hear, smell and feel everything down to the smallest detail, but the way you described it was so different from the picture he had painted before, and he let you change his perspective. Your view of the world was much more beautiful than his, and he rather lived in a fairytale than take everything too seriously. With you, he could be himself. That was the first day he came to that realization, and his loneliness slowly started to die out.

That day, as you explored the park hand in hand, Matt realized that his blindness didn't define him. With you by his side, he discovered a newfound appreciation for the world and the beauty that could be found in even the smallest details.

The months passed by and turned into years, and you grew closer as friends. During the times you were allowed to play together, you never left each other’s sides, much to some of the nuns’ dismay, but Sister Maggie was the one who encouraged Matt to tie himself to you so he wouldn’t be as alone, and he gladly did it every time. She saw something in you that he could feel with every one of your fleeting touches and the sound of your voice, and your friendship became a lifeline he kept holding onto. But he was yours, too, which you told him many times before, and he told you he would be more than happy to show you the world through his senses. He made you feel seen and appreciated in a way no one has before, a job he took seriously enough to somehow take permanent residency in your life–but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The summer sun beat down on the small group of children from the orphanage as you made your way to a nearby lake. Sister Maggie never struggled to control the group and she was one of the nicer sisters who allowed you to do silly things others didn't, so you often used that to your advantage.

Being friends with Matt for three years, you gradually figured out who he is, and in return, you revealed parts of yourself. You were the duo most kids feared, which was one of the reasons why the boys stopped picking on him, and the girls had never even dared to say a bad thing about you. Still, you were the weird outcasts who always hung out together; you both prided yourself on that title and often made fun of it.

Laughter filled the air as you excitedly chatted about the day's adventure. Matt walked beside you, his cane tapping gently on the ground. His other hand rested on your arm. He didn't need it, he once admitted to you, but he still felt safer and more grounded, knowing he could hold onto someone in case something happened.

As you approached the shimmering lake, you couldn't help but notice Matt's hesitance. You turned to him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Matt,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “Remember the promise we made when we were little? That we'd jump in a lake together someday?”

Matt's lips curled into a shy smile. “Yeah, I remember. But… I can't swim,” he said. “What if something goes wrong?”

You patted his back reassuringly. “You're not alone, are you?”

With newfound determination, Matt nodded, placing his trust in you once again. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks as you waded into the lake, the water lapping at your feet.

You turned to Matt, splashing water playfully. “Come on, Matt! The water feels amazing!”

He remembers the goosebumps on his skin, the eagerness in your voice. His uncertainty melted away when you reached out to help him inside somewhere he could stand, and he felt a little less scared about his ability to control the setting. With hesitant steps, he followed you, the soft sand beneath his feet giving way to gentle ripples in the water.

As you both ventured deeper, you guided Matt's hand to your shoulder, urging him to relax and float. “Just trust me,” you said.

Little did you know that he trusted you with his life already.

He took a deep breath, his body relaxing as he felt the water supporting him. A surge of joy filled your heart as you watched his confidence grow. You took his other hand, spinning in the water together, laughter echoing across the lake. He might have been standing on the sandy ground of the lake, but it still reminded him of the times his father took him to the pool. Sharing this moment with you felt… different, but in a good way, and he slowly started to warm up to the idea of enjoying a day in the water. You were always careful with him, and he knew you would never let him drown.

Time seemed to stand still. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the tranquility of the lake. The other children moved into the background, and Sister Maggie's pleas for you to be careful or even better, get out, met deaf ears as you got lost in each other's eyes. You were only twelve then, but it was like that day changed a lot in the way he felt about you, which is why he remembers that day vividly, still. You made him feel so alive that day, and it's a feeling he still gets whenever he looks into your beautiful eyes.

Matt's voice broke the peaceful silence, barely above a whisper. He said your name softly, something that always managed to make you smile. “This feels… it feels like a dream,” he said.

The warmth of the sun on your face mirrored the warmth in your heart. “No, Matt, this is real,” you told him. “This is our moment. And it's ours to keep.”

As you floated side by side, surrounded by the serenity of the lake, you both realized that this connection, this friendship, was something precious and unbreakable. Life without you seemed like an impossibility to him.

One month turned into twenty-four. You were teenagers, he remembers when your mischief took on a new size. You would appear in front of his door at random hours of the night, tapping on his door three times, before leaning against the wall. He would put on his shoes and grab his cane before making his way outside.

The first time it happened, he hissed at you, “Are you insane?! What if we get caught? Sister Maggie would ground us for the rest of our lives! Oh God–”

You cut him off with a giggle and told him, “We only live once, Matthew, and I am tired of spending every last minute of my life in this place. I wanna live! Please, just trust me. I have a plan.”

And from there on, you would sneak out any other night. You always found spots in nature for you to sit down and talk without people around. You shared stories, laughed, and cried together, and it worked as glue. You became even more inseparable.

Sometimes, you would take him to the lake, sit down with him and describe the night sky to him. You would point out constellations, tell him the meaning behind them and fantasize about life beyond what you could see. He was quick to dispute it because there could only be one God, so there couldn’t be any other universes out there, and once again you only laughed.

You both had a different take on religion; he’s always considered you a dreamer, and you never changed, which he found endearing because you believed in what you wanted to believe in, always. And you made sure you always got what you wanted.

You always snuck past Sister Maggie’s room and made it back in time. It worked almost always, except for the days when someone else was in charge of supervising you, and then you would have to wait until everyone was asleep to tap a steady rhythm against the thin wall of your dormitory.

The sole reason you learned Morse code was to communicate with Matt, knowing he could hear you wherever. In a time before everyone had a cell phone, it was your way of staying in contact.

A few more years passed. You both started maturing, growing up, and going through changes. Life became harder, but you stayed together. Your friendship blossomed, you continued to sneak out, and the one-time Sister Maggie caught you, she simply rolled her eyes and sent you back to your rooms.

That one pivotal night though when you were both sixteen and carefree, the night shimmered with an air of excitement as you sat by the peaceful lake by the orphanage, engrossed in Matt's animated storytelling. His voice had dropped sometime over the past year and it was a sound that would always send shivers down your spine.

He was full of enthusiasm as he shared the details of his latest discovery while he was doing research for a school presentation. You found yourself focused on his hands and his lips rather than the story, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine. When you looked into his eyes, his glasses long discarded, you seemed to realize something, and the silence from your end alarmed your friend.

Amidst the excitement in his voice, a new realization took hold. Matt was more than just your best friend; an undeniable connection went beyond friendship.

Caught amid this realization, you found yourself lost in the features of his face, your mind spinning. Matt's voice trailed off, and he noticed your gaze fixed on him, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

Your mind raced to catch up with your feelings. Without uttering a word, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips against his. It was a spontaneous and slightly awkward first kiss, but Matt remembers every last second of it.

For a moment, the world paused, and you both froze, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. Uncertainty hung in the air, but then Matt's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. He traced your features, and they were so vulnerable and delicate that night.

He remembers swallowing, the panic that sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, and the strange change in the rhythm of your beating heart. “I, uh…” Matt tried to find the right words, but his mind was blank. Your lips left a tingling sensation on his own, and he somehow couldn't comprehend what was happening to his body. It was confusing. “That was… unexpected,” he said.

You felt mixed emotions swirling within you, but the desire to explore this newfound connection outweighed any awkwardness. Without hesitation, you leaned back in and kissed him again, this time more confidently, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

The awkwardness quickly melted away when Matt finally realized what he wanted, too. Your lips moved in harmony, exploring the tender and unfamiliar territory you found yourselves on.

The touch of Matt's lips against yours sent electric currents through your veins, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you.

Eventually, you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I… I don't know what to say,” he confessed.

You smiled at him. “Do we need to say anything?” you retorted.

Matt remembers the exact moment he realized that he fell fast and hard for you; it wasn't the kiss that proved his feelings for you, it was what happened after. You looked at him, brushed a strand of hair out of his face, and told him, “You're beautiful, Matthew. Inside and out.”

And that was the moment he first knew he loved you more than just a best friend. He would have walked through fire for you, and it was never a doubt in his mind. The realization hit him hard, but he somehow never questioned it. He realized he loved you, and from that moment on, he rolled with it.

Matt remembers that he only acted after hearing you say those words. He told you, “Says the most beautiful girl in this godforsaken place.”

He gently pulled you back into his embrace, his lips finding yours once more. You couldn't even berate him for the blasphemy because he was right, and you smiled against his lips; this was the day you both finally found a home.

A few years had passed since that fateful night by the lake, and your bond with Matt grew stronger.

On this particular night, you found yourselves drawn to the library. The quiet stillness of the space provided a temporary escape.

As you settled into a hidden corner, the soft glow of the moon filtered through the window. You found solace in each other's arms, curled into a corner on the window sill. Matt's arms were wrapped around you and he held you as tightly as he could.

His lips ghosted over yours and you kissed back. He sighed into your mouth, his large hand on your cheek holding you right there. “I wish I could stay with you,” you murmured.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “You know that's not a good idea,” he said.

“Why though?”

“For one, we'd get caught and two,” his hand stopped at your neck, feeling your pulse jump and he sighed, “I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Your cheeks flushed a bright red, and just as you're about to kiss him again (damn his silver tongue), he stops you with the same hand that's on your throat. “Sister Maggie,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see Sister Maggie standing at the entrance of the library, her expression a mix of surprise, disappointment, and disapproval. The realization of the rules you were breaking washed over you.

You shot up into a sitting position and Matt followed suit. You had never been so ashamed in your entire life.

Sister Maggie's eyes flitted between you and Matt. The disapproving silence hung heavy in the air before she finally spoke.

“You two,” she said. “What on earth are you doing?”

“We, um…” You bit your lip. “We weren't doing anything, I promise!”

Matt quickly adjusted his shirt and agreed, “We're so sorry, sister.”

He remembers faintly how she lifted her finger. “I expected better from the two of you,” she continued. “As young adults, you should understand the importance of adhering to the rules and maintaining appropriate behavior within these walls. And in front of God? I taught you better than that! Up, both of you!”

Neither of you hesitated to get off the window sill. She approached you both. “Now, I suggest you both leave this library immediately and return to your rooms. There will be no further discussions about this matter.”

Her words cut deep, but you tended to forget where you were living sometimes. You exchanged a glance.

“You're lucky it was me who found you,” she said. “Now go! I don't want to see either of you wandering these walls at night ever again, are we clear?”

You nodded wildly. While you said, “Yes, Sister Maggie,” Matt found himself at a loss for words.

Without uttering another word, you followed Sister Maggie's order, slowly making your way out of the library. Each step felt like a punishment, he remembers.

Her actions had made it clear that the boundaries between friendship and romance were not to be crossed within the confines of the orphanage. You had to live with that.

Though once you were out of her earshot, your giggles filled the hallway, and Matt pinched your arm. “It's not funny,” he whispered.

You couldn't help but giggle again. He's always loved how you could laugh about everything. “I know, I know,” you said to him, trying to stifle your laughter. “But the look on Sister Maggie's face… I can't help it.”

Matt shook his head. “You're going to get us into even more trouble if you don't stop.”

You sobered up, realizing the truth in his words, and you both fell into a comfortable silence as you walked back to your rooms. The echoes of Sister Maggie's disapproval still lingered, a reminder of the boundaries that governed your lives.

As you reached the hallway that led to your respective rooms, you paused, facing each other. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows on your faces. You longed for him. Just one night with him would have fixed both of your sleep habits and it would have done you good, but you knew you had to part ways. It hurt, but it was a reality you came to live with.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I didn't mean to get us into trouble.”

Matt's expression softened as he reached out to gently touch your cheek. He made sure no one was around so he could touch you one last time, at least. “It's not entirely your fault,” he said. “We both got carried away.”

You nodded. “We should be more careful. We don't want to risk getting separated, do we?”

Never, he remembers thinking. Getting separated had sounded like torture then. “You're right,” he agreed. “We'll have to be more cautious from now on. It's not worth putting our future at risk.”

A mixture of disappointment and longing settled in your heart as you prepared to part ways for the night.

You hoped your relationship could survive this.

With a lingering touch, you both turned and retreated to your respective rooms, the weight of the night's events etching themselves into your memories.

You both knew the boundaries were in place for a reason and though it pained you, you were willing to respect them. You had to. You grew up there. The stolen moments and the unspoken promises would have to find solace in the hidden corners of your hearts until the time was right to let them flourish fully. At least that was what you told yourselves for the following 365 days.

When you turned eighteen and finished school, everything changed. Matt remembers that day as trauma, and maybe it partly was.

One day, as you returned from school, Sister Margaret approached you with a warm smile, handing you an envelope.

“Congratulations, dear,” she said. “A letter from Stanford arrived for you today.”

You froze.

Entering your room, you found Matt sitting on your bed, his head turning toward you as you entered. He sensed the strange weight in your hands, the unshed tears in your eyes, and his smile faded. “What's in your hands?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. Your heart dropped, he could hear it. And that was when you told him, “It’s a letter from Stanford.”

Silence hung in the air as Matt absorbed your words. This wasn't what you had planned together, and his world seemed to stop right then and there.

“Why didn't you tell me you applied?” Matt's voice held a touch of hurt.

Your heart sank, knowing that this was a conversation you couldn't avoid. “I didn't know how to bring it up,” you admitted. “I was scared… scared of what it would mean for us.”

His brows furrowed. “What does it mean for us? Are you planning to leave? We said we’d go to Columbia, why–Is this no longer something you want? Us? You and me, going to college together?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you rushed to explain, “No, Matt, it's not like that! I love you, and I want to be with you. But Stanford… it's an opportunity I've always dreamed of. I don't want to live with regrets if I don't even try. It's… it's a full-ride scholarship, Matty. It's not just an acceptance letter, it's an offer.”

He was happy for you, and in hindsight, he should have reacted differently, but he was so hurt. He looked away, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “But what about us?” he asked. “What about the plans we made? We made all these plans for the future…”

Unshed tears glisten in his unfocused eyes, and he could tell it broke you just the same to tell him.

“I don't want to lose you, Matt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The letter weighed heavy in your hands. “But I also can't ignore my dreams.”

“I won't ask you to give up your dreams for me. You know I wouldn't, but… I can't help feeling like you're just going down a path so far from mine, and… it scares me.”

The room filled with a heavy silence. The realization that a difficult decision lay ahead threatened to tear at the fabric of your love. You were so young, so naive, but you have always known just exactly what you wanted.

“I don't want to lose you,” you whispered, repeating your previous sentiment. “Maybe… maybe we can make it work, despite the distance.” Your eyes lit up, but the hope felt tainted. “We can try, right? We can promise to support each other and keep our love alive, even if we're apart.”

Matt's gaze softened. “I want to believe that,” he said, “but it won't be easy. We'll have to fight against the odds. Are we strong enough for that?”

“We'll never know if we don't try,” you said. “We owe it to ourselves to give it a chance.”

He took a deep breath, then opened his arms for you as so often and held you as you cried, not sure if out of sadness or excitement, but that stupid letter to Stanford was bound to change everything.

When you moved away to college, leaving New York and Matt behind, the contact you promised to keep up faded eventually. He got into law school, you made a living for yourself, your calls eventually stopped, no more letters or gifts, and after one particularly rough night of partying, that was it. You ended it.

Eight years washed down the drain because life has funny ways of breaking people apart. At first, Matt was sad, but he learned to move on and eventually became a lawyer, found friends, and moved on the same way you seemed to have done all those years ago.

But there came a time when he least expected it, and you promptly bumped into him in a courthouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt recognized you almost instantly from the sound of your voice alone, and even though he grew up and aged like fine wine, you called his name the second you looked into his red glasses.

As you locked eyes, the memories of your past came rushing back for both of you. It was pouring rain outside. Your hair stuck to your face as so did his, but he was still the same Matt from before, only older, and you also hadn't changed much.

“Matt?” you whispered in disbelief.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, his hand resting on your arm. “Is it really you?” he asked after calling your name.

A bittersweet smile graced your lips as you nodded. “It's me,” you replied softly. “I never thought I'd see you again. How- how have you been?”

He told you about his practice, he remembers, and you listened closely. You told him you were proud of him and then you told him about med school and how you were a resident now, but a slot opened up in Hell's Kitchen for a fellowship and you chose to move again. It was fate, almost.

His gaze softened as he listened to your breathing, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, and the feelings he had pushed down for so long resurfaced. “I thought about you often,” he remembers dropping on you the second he caught his breath again

“I'm sorry,” you whispered back to him. “I let life get in the way, and I let go of something so special. I will never forgive myself for how we ended. I… we… I cared about you, Matthew. It wasn't just some stupid childhood fling for me.”

Matt's hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “We both made mistakes. We should have worked harder, it's not…You're not the only one who fucked up, so…”

You licked your lips. “We were too young,” you said.

“Yeah,” he instantly agreed without missing a beat, “We were. And a little dumb, maybe.”

You chuckled, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked into his eyes. “I've missed you,” you confessed. “I've missed us.”

“I've missed you too. Us. But especially you.”

The courthouse buzzed with activity around you, the hustle and bustle of lawyers, judges, and clients filling the air. But at that moment, it felt as if time stood still, and it was just the two of you. It reminded you of your childhood when you would spend time at the water together, whispering hushed promises underneath the night sky.

“Let's start over,” you suggested. And then you reintroduced yourself, telling him your name with that wonderful smile of yours, and he was enchanted all over again.

A smile tugged at the corners of Matt's lips, too, as he reached out to take your hand. “Matt Murdock,” he said. “Nice meeting you.”

That was the day everything changed. To think that day lies three years in the past now is something he still hasn’t wrapped his mind around, but fate brought you back together, and after months of pining and him hiding who he truly is to no avail, you finally took the first step.

You accepted that he is Daredevil without second-guessing or being mad at him. You walked through hell with him and you came out on the other side stronger than before, and Matt realized soon enough that he could never love someone as much as he loves you.

And on a beautiful Saturday in June, he asked you to marry him at the same lake you used to hide out as kids. You said yes, of course. He feared for a moment you wouldn’t, but you jumped into his arms as soon as he got on his knees, and the deal was sealed.

Matt can’t see, that is no secret. He thought it might ruin your wedding experience, but you reassured him you didn’t care about whether or not his eyes fell out of his head when you would walk down the aisle. He wishes he could see you in your dress, but he has made peace with the fact he couldn’t.

As he’s standing in the small room hidden away in Clinton Church now, nervously fiddling with the flower stuck to his suit jacket, he can’t help but recall all the little moments you shared while you were growing up, and how fate brought you back together when you both needed it the most. You picked each other up, and you saved each other’s lives.

You asked one of your bridesmaids to tell him to wait right there, and he has been standing there, looking out of the window at the small lake in the distance for a while now. He wonders what you’re doing, but Foggy told him to be patient, so he tries to swallow his curiosity and waits some more.

He never thought he would get married, but he remembers thinking one night as a boy that if he ever got married, he would only get married to you.

As the anticipation builds up, Matt's heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He can hear the distant sound of footsteps approaching, followed by your heartbeat. You smell like flowers and vanilla, and the fabric brushing against your legs sounds soft, almost like his silk sheets.

The door to the small room creaks open, finally, and he holds his breath, bracing himself for the sight he would never be able to see. And then, there you are, standing at the doorway. Your dress, carefully chosen and adorned, flows elegantly around you. It's silk with lace adorning the top, but you made sure that it would feel nice to him and look good on you, still.

Matt's senses heighten when you enter, capturing every detail he can possibly perceive. Most of all though, he memorizes your heartbeat once again and takes a good whiff of the beautiful scent you carry with yourself. You are one hundred percent yourself and he has never been more in love.

Today, you don't have to sneak around or hide away, even though it still feels like it, in this room secluded from everyone else, and his heart races faster when he thinks about how full circle this moment feels.

You take a step closer, your footsteps soft against the floor. You're wearing heels, but you seem to walk comfortably in them. Matt's heart skips a beat when he hears your voice. "Matthew," you breathe. "I'm here."

With a gentle smile, you extend your hand. Matt reaches out, intertwining your fingers. You close in on him until you're right in front of him, and he blinks as if he can't believe it. You remove his glasses, tears already forming in his eyes from how many emotions crash into him, but you don't feel much better. Seeing his brown eyes search yours, you swallow the lump in your throat, and you try not to start sobbing right then and there.

Your pulse jumps under his fingers; he chuckles because it seems ironic that you're more nervous than him, so beautiful and innocent. You're his everything, his world, the reason he's still alive, and he can never repay you for all you've done for him.

His fingertips graze the delicate fabric of your dress. He traces the intricate patterns, feeling the smoothness and intricacy, the silk and the lace. You guide him a little, building up his confidence. He feels the slit that runs down your leg, the garter belt you're wearing, and he swears he might puke. Your face is next, and with that, he takes his sweet time. You close your eyes and let him explore. He cradles you so delicately, almost as if you're a porcelain doll.

His breath shudders. "Fuck," he murmurs. The reality of the moment hits him. The first tear escapes his left eye. He never thought he would have the opportunity to experience something like this, and now he is experiencing it with you, the love of his life. It feels so surreal, he can't breathe.

His voice quivers as he speaks. "You're breathtaking," he says. "I can't even…Jesus, you're amazing."

You choke up too, your lips curling up into a smile. "Don't make me cry," you retort. "You're gonna ruin my makeup, Prince Charming."

He joins in, his hand remaining on your cheek as he takes in the person that you are through his other senses. You feel so much closer like this. You're his and he is yours, forever.

You step closer. Matt's arms envelop you in a warm embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. He always knows what you want, what you need, and he is more than willing to give it to you unconditionally.

"I love you," Matt whispers into your ear. "I've loved you since we were kids, and I'll love you until the end of time."

You swallow the tears that threaten to fall. "I love you too. With every beat of my heart. I fell in love with you the second I saw you sitting there all alone," you say. "You're never getting rid of me."

He chuckles. "Oh, sweetheart, that's the reason we're here today in the first place. You don't get one without the other." Matt brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. "You're mine and I'm yours. Always and forever. I promise."

Just as you are starting to get lost in each other's eyes, the door creaks open, and Foggy's voice breaks the moment. "Am I interrupting something here, lovebirds?" he chirps.

You turn to see Foggy standing at the doorway, a playful smirk on his face. Matt releases you from his embrace, and the two of you share a sheepish smile.

"Not at all, Foggy," you reply, wiping away the remnants of your tears. "We were just having a moment."

Foggy chuckles. "Well, don't get too caught up in the moment. Remember, Matt, you can't kiss the bridge until the ceremony. That's what you told me to tell you," he says. "So, take a step back."

Matt rolls his eyes but follows his instructions. "Better?"

Foggy shakes his head. "Further."

"You want me to wait outside? You know this is my bride, right? And I can't even see her."

You laugh. Turning to your husband-to-be, you gently tug at his arm. "Guess you'll have to contain ourselves until then," you say.

“How will I ever manage that?” Matt retorts. “I only waited over a decade to get you back.” Followed directly by a dramatic sigh.

“Exactly,” you and Foggy say at the same time.

You glance at Matt, a silent understanding passing between you. You faced so much together, hand in hand, and this moment would be no different. You’ve never been big on traditions, anyway.

You turn back to Foggy. "We're ready,” you tell him. “And we've decided to walk down the aisle together.”

Foggy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but a smile quickly spreads across his face. "Well, I'll be damned!" he quips. "Leave it to you two to make things even more unique. Less work for me, I suppose. Let's get this show on the road then."

And as you take those first steps together, Matt realizes that you chatting him up all those years ago at St. Agnes was just the beginning of your story.

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