#matt murdock series

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part One]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Matt always made protecting Hell's Kitchen his priority, you knew that when you'd begun dating him. What you hadn't expected was just how much he'd eventually make it a priority over you, breaking promise after promise to spend his time with you. But when you unexpectedly discover that you're pregnant and Matt yet again breaks a promise to you, the pair of you end up in a fight that ends the relationship before you can even break the news. Though when he later learns the truth, Matt becomes hell bent on seeking your forgiveness.

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: Starting an angsty mini series so I have somewhere to pour my angst until I can start Holding on to You when ATY finishes. Feedback is always appreciated and the installment list for this series can be found here!

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie

Grabbing the last item on your list for dinner tonight, you set the package of chicken into the basket you were carrying beside the other ingredients. Turning around, you were ready to head towards the checkout, wanting to hurry so you could get over to Matt’s and begin cooking dinner. You were eager to spend the evening with him, desperate not to waste anymore time at the grocery store. But you abruptly stopped in your tracks once the store around you began to spin at the slight movement, the aisles around you blurring in your vision. Raising a hand to your forehead, you closed your eyes and clenched your teeth, standing there and waiting for the dizzy spell to pass, your stomach churning faintly as you did. 

It was a minute before you’d finally opened your eyes again, the brief wave of nausea finally subsiding. Blinking a couple of times, you frowned and rubbed your hand across your forehead in confusion. You'd been experiencing dizzy spells and nausea more frequently this week, hitting you at random when you were at work or trying to get something done around your apartment. Yesterday when you’d bent over to pull a load of laundry out of the dryer one time too many, you’d almost thrown up in your laundry basket. You’d been wondering if maybe you’d been coming down with something for the past couple of days now because of it.

With a sigh you decided that you might as well head over towards the pharmacy while you were already here and grab some vitamins. Maybe you were coming down with something–the flu possibly–and honestly, you really couldn’t afford taking sick days at work right now with everything going on at the office. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to take some multi-vitamins. Maybe they could help you circumvent coming down with something more serious later.

Making your way towards the pharmacy through the busy grocery store, you maneuvered around the crowds of others who had stopped in after work to grab something for dinner, too. Your mind was distracted as you walked, having been looking forward to tonight for the past couple of days now and anxious to get the hell out of here already. It had been difficult for you to focus on anything at work today because it had been so long since you and Matt had a night in together.

You were planning to spend the evening at his apartment tonight and make him one of his favorite meals–and truthfully, it was one of the only things that didn’t seem to turn your stomach lately. You had missed spending the occasional evening in with him. It had certainly been far too long since the pair of you had enjoyed a dinner together before curling up on the couch or in his bed; it had unfortunately been just as long since you’d both had a chance to be intimate together, too. 

Over the past few weeks, Matt had increasingly promised you that he wouldn’t go out as Daredevil and would make time for you instead, but he never actually followed through on any of those promises. After the first few times he'd broken them on you, you'd quickly become disheartened and frustrated, wondering if this was just how things were between you now. You'd hoped that wasn't the case, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt because you knew he hadn’t been in many relationships in the past. But still, he only ever continued to repeatedly break promise after promise on you. 

You’d known Matt was Daredevil for a while now; you’d known that when you'd both officially become a couple. You'd also known that he felt like he had a duty to protect the people of Hell’s Kitchen. That was something you’d fully understood when you’d first entered into a relationship with him. But it had quickly become a problem recently. One you didn’t think Matt fully comprehended the gravity of himself. 

Usually, he’d go out a few nights of the week and stop in at your apartment to stay over with you when he’d finished his patrol. On the nights he didn’t go out, you’d usually stay over at his place and the pair of you would make dinner together before spending most of the evening in bed making up for lost time before actually falling asleep. Recently though, he’d been going out every single night as Daredevil. And he hadn’t been stopping by your place afterwards because you’d eventually learned that he was staying out until almost four in the morning, barely leaving himself time to sleep before he needed to be at the office for work.

He’d told you that there was something going on with a Russian mafia in Hell’s Kitchen and that he’d been worried about it. But over the weeks, you’d watched as he’d become absolutely consumed with tracking down the leader of the mafia. Sometimes you’d see him leaving right after he’d come back from the office on the nights he’d already promised to spend with you before he stayed out scouring rooftops into the early morning hours. You’d barely seen him in weeks because of his near obsession with this Russian mafia. And when you did see him, it was only briefly and he was exhausted, covered in bruises, and incredibly moody. When you’d tried to talk to him the other night, practically begging him to stay in–not even just for you, but for his own sake–he’d been grumpy about it. Though when you’d begun to cry he’d promised you relentlessly that he’d stay in Wednesday night–which was tonight–if you just let him focus on this problem for the previous couple of nights. 

And you had agreed to that. Grudgingly.

Reaching the pharmacy section of the store, your eyes scanned the signs above each aisle, searching for the section you needed as your feet gradually took you past row after row in your search for vitamins. You wanted to grab something and get out of here already, but another twist of your stomach had bile briefly racing up your throat. You immediately stopped mid-step, eyes widening as you threw a hand over your mouth. Thankfully the feeling disappeared as fast it had appeared, the bile disgustingly making its way back from where it had come, but you were yet again left confused. 

Even though you’d thought that maybe you were getting sick with how your body had been acting the past couple of days, you had to admit, you’d never experienced flu symptoms quite like this before. You weren’t running a fever and you hadn’t actually thrown up at any point. You weren’t exactly achy, either. Though you had noticed that your breasts had felt uncomfortable and sore lately, and your nipples had been vastly more uncomfortable rubbing against your bras than usual.

No, you didn’t really feel like you were coming down with the flu. You’d just felt…off.

It wasn’t until you’d returned to your search for vitamins, taking one more step before your eyes landed on the pregnancy tests all neatly lined on a nearby shelf, that the realization hit you. Freezing on the spot as your mouth instantly grew dry, it all suddenly seemed to make sense. 

For the past couple of months you’d been struggling with staying consistent when it came to taking your birth control. You’d even found yourself wondering on multiple occasions if you’d accidentally missed days here and there between the stress of work and the stress of Matt gradually pushing you further and further away constantly being on your mind. You’d confided in him that concern multiple times, too, telling him that you were considering going on a different type of birth control, one that you wouldn’t have to think about. And though he knew you hadn’t switched to anything else yet, he’d never seemed remotely concerned about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy. So the pair of you had continued to have unprotected sex–but looking back on that decision right now, you felt incredibly, absurdly stupid. Though in your defense, you’d thought things had been going well between you both. Matt had asked you to move in with him shortly before he’d become so absorbed in this Russian mafia’s nefarious activities, and he’d even often assured you that if something were to ever accidentally happen, he’d always be there for you.

But now, here you were, quite possibly pregnant because you’d been so goddamn stupid and careless.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath.

Forcing your feet to move, you headed into the aisle, your eyes focused on the plethora of various pregnancy tests in different shades of blues and pinks. When you came to a stop in front of the shelf, you quickly tried to remember when you’d last had your period, eyes squinting as you thought back. Gasping a moment later, you realized it had been just over a month since you could last recall having it. Wincing at that knowledge, you once again cursed quietly to yourself, panic slowly beginning to settle inside of you. 

For a moment all you could do was stand there staring at the selection of pregnancy tests feeling absolutely overwhelmed and terrified. Fighting the urge to start crying in the middle of the aisle, you focused on just picking one out. Eventually you grabbed a test that promised early accuracy, the box containing three tests inside. You knew from a coworker who had been trying to conceive with her husband that you couldn’t exactly go back to your apartment right now and take one. If you were pregnant, you’d be quite early, and you knew the tests were the most accurate if you used them first thing in the morning. 

Which unfortunately meant you’d have to go over to Matt’s tonight and pretend everything was fine. And you knew that would be difficult with his heightened senses scanning over you, picking up on any little thing that was off. You could never get anything past him. Though maybe his distraction with the Russians would work in your favor for just this one thing tonight.

Hurrying out of the aisle as you tossed the box into your basket, you made your way to the checkout. While you waited in line, gnawing on your thumbnail nervously, you wondered if Matt’s senses could detect pregnancy tests. Would he know what was in the bag with the groceries or could you pass it off as something else? A box of tampons or something? Surely if you told him it had something to do with your period he wouldn’t push and he wouldn’t detect a lie, right?

By the time you’d purchased all your items, you were rushing the two blocks over to Matt’s apartment, moving faster than you ever had through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Unfortunately the nausea had returned as soon as you stepped out of the elevator and onto his floor, making your stomach turn uncomfortably as you headed down the hallway and towards his apartment door. You honestly couldn’t tell if the nausea was from nerves or from whatever had been going on with you at this point, you just hoped Matt wouldn’t notice it. You’d already figured there was no point in telling him that you might be pregnant tonight and freaking him out if you didn’t know for certain yet.

Eventually you found yourself in front of Matt’s door, your eyes staring at the apartment number on the outside of it. Shaking out your arms and shoulders, you tried to regain your composure, forcing a smile onto your face. Curling your hand into a fist, you reached up and knocked on Matt’s door. It was a moment before you heard the sound of heavy footfalls coming through the apartment, making their way towards you. Frowning, your eyes narrowed as all of your thoughts shifted from the fear of possibly being pregnant to how those footsteps didn’t sound like Matt’s bare feet.

The door swung open a moment later just a fraction, Matt’s confused expression peering at you from around it. You noticed he had a cut on his forehead that hadn’t been there last night and your frown deepened at the sight of it. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

Mouth dropping open, you gaped at him as your brows pulled tight together on your forehead. His question had the same effect as if he’d just slammed his fist into your stomach, knocking the air out of you. Surely he hadn’t forgotten about his plans with you once again, had he?

“I was coming over to make dinner,” you answered him slowly, irritation quickly lacing your tone. “Because you’d said you were staying in tonight with me. Remember? I picked up everything to make your favorite meal after work.”

His head canted more to the side, his eyes pinching tight as if he was trying to recall the plans. Your heart sunk to the floor as you bit your lip, nodding slowly in resignation.

“You forgot again, didn’t you?” you deadpanned. 

“Yeah, I’m–I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said in a rush. “I was actually about to go out. I overheard something big happening tonight on my way home from work and I need to be there. I think I might actually get the information I’ve been looking for tonight.”

“Or you could just, you know, leave Mahoney a tip and let the police and proper authorities deal with this tonight,” you suggested dryly. “Give it a rest for one night. Let your body recover. Spend time with your girlfriend that you’ve barely seen in weeks .”

Matt frowned at you, opening the door further as he asked you to step inside. You hesitated for a second before you did, stepping past the threshold and rolling your eyes at the sight of him already dressed in everything except the helmet of his red suit. It hurt to know he’d probably have slipped out of the apartment if you’d only arrived a few minutes later, leaving you knocking at his door with no answer.

“You know this is what I do,” Matt reminded you. “I’ve never kept it a secret from you.”

“Yeah, I know,” you agreed, unable to hide your annoyance. “But usually you had a better work-vigilante-life balance than you’ve had recently, Matt. You’re like a dog with a goddamn bone lately. You’re not even taking care of yourself. Have you even been eating lately? Sleeping?” You gestured a hand to his bruised and cut face. “Tending to your injuries and recovering?”

Matt’s lips thinned out as he focused on the floor, the muscle twitching in his cheek. You’d annoyed him with this line of questions. Again . As if your care and concern for him was really that irritating for him to hear. The thought of that only angered you further.

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. “And I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. I promise. I’ll even cook for you.”

You scoffed in annoyance, shaking the bags in your hand. Matt’s face darted in the direction of them, his head tilting a few times as he seemed to observe the contents within the bags.

“I already picked things up for dinner, Matt,” you snapped. “Hurried over to the grocery store right after work and everything. Because we had plans .”

“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he told you. “I swear I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. Spend the whole night in with you. I’ll cook the meal meant for tonight and you can relax with a glass of wine while I do. I’ll clean everything up. And then afterwards–” he continued, shooting you a devilish grin that only had your blood boiling, “–I’m all yours. For the whole night.”

Fist tightening around the grocery bags in your hand, you could feel your nails biting into your palm. That wasn’t exactly what you wanted, and if you were being honest, it felt like another empty promise. But you figured you’d have to give him one more chance. Because if those pregnancy tests came back positive tomorrow morning, you’d need to see him to tell him that news anyway.

“You do realize I’m pissed, right?” you pointed out.

He nodded solemnly, the grin slipping off his face. “Yes and I’m sorry. I really am,” he told you.

Grinding your teeth together, you ran your left hand over your forehead. You felt like crying and screaming simultaneously right now. Though you figured neither of those reactions would actually manage to keep Matt here with you tonight, not with whatever it was he was so desperate to go out and deal with.

“Fine,” you ground out through your teeth. “Tomorrow night, Matt. Don’t break another promise to me, please .”

He nodded quickly, smiling his usual charming smile back at you. “I won’t, you have my word, sweetheart,” he assured you. “I’m all yours tomorrow night.” He stepped forward, planting a brief, barely there kiss on your forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

You stood there dumbfounded and speechless, watching as he didn’t even wait for a response. He simply spun around, hurrying over towards his coffee table and grabbing the helmet off of it that you must have interrupted him from putting on moments ago. He didn’t even give you a backwards glance or another word, darting over to the stairs and taking them to the roof access two at a time as he pulled the helmet over his face, obscuring his identity. 

And then he was out the door, leaving you standing there alone in his apartment with the grocery bags full of what was supposed to have been tonight’s romantic dinner in your hands.

“Love you, too,” you whispered to the empty room, not even certain he’d been listening outside.

Shoulders dropping in defeat, you made your way into his kitchen and over to the fridge. Pulling the door open, you saw how empty it was inside–more bare than usual even. Shaking your head at how little he’d been taking care of himself recently, you began to unload the groceries into his fridge, wondering if you really would be eating dinner with him tomorrow like he’d once again promised, or if he'd break it and your heart in one night.

All day long your heart had been in your throat, pounding so vigorously that it constantly left you feeling like you were going to somehow choke on it. It’d been like that ever since you’d woken up early this morning and pissed into a disposable cup that you’d had left over from your apartment warming party earlier this year–a time where you and Matt had certainly been happier together. You’d opened up all three pregnancy tests afterwards, putting each one in the cup for the allotted time that the instructions had said. And you’d certainly read them meticulously, going over them at least five times before you’d used them, wanting to make sure the results were accurate.

All three came back with two pink lines that were impossible to miss.

You’d nearly thrown up right then on the spot, terrified of being pregnant when you hadn’t planned on it. You were even more terrified at the prospect of telling Matt the news, even if he had always told you that he'd be there for you. You really didn't want to be alone, not in something like this. 

Though you knew his lifestyle certainly didn’t lend itself to him being a father��especially lately with how he was always out nearly all night pushing his body harder than he should’ve been. He certainly hadn’t been there for you much himself lately, either. How the hell was he going to handle finding out he was actually going to be a father? Could he actually be one with the way he kept prioritizing the people of Hell’s Kitchen above everything else, including his own well being? Because with how he’d been acting the past few weeks, breaking promise after promise to you, you weren’t so sure anymore. You weren’t even so sure of your relationship with him at this point, or what he even thought of it himself considering how little he’d been invested in it over the past few weeks.

Now here you were, once again standing just outside of his apartment door, struggling to find the courage to knock on it. And the fact that you’d been standing here for a few minutes wringing your hands and he had not even come to the door to answer it only meant one of two things. He was either distracted and getting ready to go out as Daredevil again, having forgotten once more about his plans with you, or he’d already gone out.

With a trembling hand, you forced yourself to finally knock on the door. If Matt didn’t answer then you supposed you’d have your answer on what he thought about the relationship. Still, that didn’t stop the way your hand continued to shake as you knocked, three loud, sharp raps ringing out that you knew he couldn’t possibly miss. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you waited anxiously for the sound of his footsteps.

It was only seconds later when you heard them, grimacing when they neared the door. They sounded far too heavy to have been his bare feet. They had to have been his boots, though you desperately hoped he just hadn’t taken off his dress shoes yet. Maybe he’d gotten home from work late. Your heart pounded harder in your chest as you clung to that hope.

The door swung open just a bit, revealing Matt’s face once again peering around it. He only ever hid around the side of the door when he was in his suit, trying to hide the evidence of his alter ego from the sight of his neighbors. But he at least had the nerve to look abashed and apologetic this time. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten he'd made plans with you, but from the bit of red peeking out behind the door, you knew what his plans had actually been for the night.

“Hey, come on in, sweetheart,” he said softly.

Jaw tight, you wrapped your arms across your chest and stepped inside past him. You could feel your chest tightening as you looked over your shoulder, watching as Matt closed the door after you and giving you plenty of time to examine him in his red suit. He once again had everything already pulled on except for his helmet, which a quick glance over to the living room proved was sitting out expectantly on his coffee table. You hugged your arms tighter around your chest, eyes dropping dejectedly down to the floor. You supposed you’d had your answer now, even if you hadn’t voiced the question.

Daredevil and Hell’s Kitchen meant more to him than you or this unborn child probably would. And you figured they probably always would mean more to Matt. 

And that fucking hurt.

Your vision blurred as tears began to well in your eyes. Hands balling tighter into fists, you could feel the faint tremble beginning in your knees. You had a feeling this wasn't going to end well, one way or another. Because you certainly couldn't stand to be treated like this any longer, especially not if you were going to be having a child, and he certainly didn't seem to care about how he had been treating you. 

“Sweetheart,” Matt began carefully, “I know I promised to stay in tonight. I know that. But there’s a meeting going on tonight with the Russians. I might be able to disrupt it if I leave here soon.”

You sniffled, trying to stop the tears from falling. The sound caused Matt to wince, his head snapping towards you instantly. He reached a hand out to your shoulder, clearly intending to try and comfort you, but you abruptly twisted out of his reach, uncaring if the gesture hurt him. He’d already hurt you plenty already.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“No you’re not,” you grit out, glaring up at him. “Stop saying that, Matt. You’re not sorry or you wouldn’t keep breaking your promises to me.”

His dark brows drew together on his face, his head canting to the side. He actually looked confused and for some reason that only had you wanting to laugh–though you didn't. 

“Of course I’m sorry. Do you think I like hurting you?” he asked. 

“Then stop doing it, Matt,” you openly begged. “Take off the suit. Stay in with me tonight. Hell, stop by the precinct long enough to just give Mahoney a tip for the meeting and then come back, even. But–” you swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat as you felt the tears threatening to spill, “–don’t break another promise to me, Matt. Not tonight. Please . I am actually begging you this time.”

Matt inhaled a sharp breath, his lips thinning as he gazed down at you. A second later his gloved hands landed on his hips, something you knew he did when he was frustrated. The first tear slipped down your cheek at the sight, watching as his weight shifted back and forth between his feet.

“Sweetheart,” Matt began, an edge to his tone, “you know this is what I do. You’ve always known that. Always. And you agreed to be with me anyway.” He waved a hand at his suit, his eyes narrowing back at you. “This is a part of me. A part of my life. It isn’t going anywhere.”

"I know that, Matt," you told him, voice breaking as you spoke, more tears streaking down your face. "But this? Going out every night? Not sleeping or eating? Not giving your body time to heal? That isn't good for you. And the way you've been neglecting our relationship–"

"I have not been neglecting it, sweetheart," he said dryly, cutting you off.

You startled at his tone, gasping in surprise. Matt had never spoken to you like this before, and certainly not when you'd been so visibly upset. There was no way he couldn't tell the tears were rolling down your cheeks right now, no way he couldn't tell that you were crying. 

"There are things going on in Hell’s Kitchen that I need to deal with," he continued roughly, his face firm as he spoke. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do tonight."

"Matt," you began softly, trying to fight the tremble in your voice, "I told you at lunch there was something important I needed to tell you tonight. To talk with you about."

He shifted again on his feet, his hands tightening on his hips. His lips pressed further together in irritation, his eyes hardening back at you in a way that didn't feel like the Matt you'd always known. He looked cold and unyielding right now.

"Then you can tell me later tonight, after I deal with this," he told you. 

"It's important , Matt," you pushed. "We need to talk. We need to–"

"And it'll still be important later," he snapped, turning and heading down the hall towards his living room. "I need to go. I don't have time to argue with you right now."

His words hit you hard, your arms hugging around yourself even tighter. Was he really going to prioritize this city over you again ?

You hurried down the hall after him, watching as he snatched his helmet from off the coffee table. You could feel your panicked pulse jumping in your throat as you wiped the back of your hand across your damp cheeks. You needed to try to get him to listen. He needed to know what you'd found out this morning–that you were pregnant with his child. You didn't want to be alone figuring things out right now, not after discovering just how much your life was changing only this morning. You wanted Matt to hold you and tell you everything would be alright. That he'd meant it when he said before that he would be there for you.

You didn’t want to be alone. Not right now. Not with this.

"Matt, stop, please," you pleaded again. "Stay and talk to me." You swallowed hard, wincing as your next words came out sounding so weak and broken. "I need you."

He spun on his heel towards you, the movement so abrupt that you startled and stumbled a step back. Your eyes instantly widened in shock at the anger reflecting back at you, the set of his features more of the Devil than your usual sweet Matty. 

"I'm not doing this right now!" he snarled at you. "This city needs me, too. If you want to talk, you can wait for me here until I get back. Otherwise–" he snapped, throwing a hand towards the apartment door, "–you know where the door is, sweetheart. Feel free to leave!"

Your mouth fell open in shock at his words, entirely speechless as you gaped back at him. He pulled the helmet on over his head, covering the anger in his eyes but not the sneer on his mouth–the same mouth that had only ever curled into loving smiles at you previously.

"You can't be serious," you whispered. 

" Completely ," he growled at you. "Feel free to leave like everyone else that can't accept me for who I am."

"Matt, that's not–"

"I'll be back later," he said, tone suddenly indifferent as he turned and made his way towards the stairs. "Be here or don't. That's on you."

The tears began to spill down your cheeks faster at his words, a hand flying over your mouth to muffle the sob that slipped out of you. Matt continued on his way up the stairs, his focus only on the door to the roof. He didn't make any attempt to comfort you or to keep you here. No attempt to apologize or to show his willingness to listen to you or your needs. He didn't do anything other than walk out that door and let it close with a loud bang behind himself. 

A strangled sob slipped out of your lips as you stumbled backwards again, overcome with a surge of emotions as the tears continued to burn hot trails down your cheeks. Your arms slid down your chest, wrapping lower around your abdomen. Gaze dropping down towards it, another whimper left you. Somewhere in there was Matt’s child. And it felt like he couldn’t have cared in the least–about you or what you had needed to tell him. Not with the way he'd just walked out on you like that. 

Which meant he probably wouldn’t even have cared if you had broken the news to him. If he’d given you a moment to tell him that you were pregnant, you were sure he’d still have stormed off into the night. He’d still have believed he was needed more in Hell’s Kitchen than by you and this unborn child. Which left you feeling exactly the way you didn’t want to be feeling.

Alone.

Spinning on your heel, you hurried back down his entryway hall before flinging his apartment door open. The sound of your own sobs filled your ears as you slammed the door shut behind yourself. As you stepped out into the hallway, you hoped Matt heard the way it had banged shut. Hoped it hurt him as much as he'd just hurt you. Because no matter what he said, he was the one who’d chosen to walk out the door first– not you.

But if that’s the way he wanted things, you weren’t going to beg him anymore. He could have his beloved city. You had other things you needed to focus on. Like finding an obstetrician and picking up prenatal vitamins. Figuring out what to expect during pregnancy and how the hell you were going to raise a child by yourself in New York City. Because you were certain Matt wouldn’t be in the picture, not in any way that would actually help you. And while you knew you didn’t have the heart to keep your child from their father, you still had almost nine more months before Matt really needed to know the truth. 

You pushed the button for the elevator at the end of the hall, wiping your hands across your cheeks. It hurt you more than he'd ever know for you to have walked out that door tonight, but you also knew you deserved better. Knew that he wouldn't be any help to you while you were pregnant, not with the way he'd been acting. He'd only make everything more complicated and difficult for you. You'd tell him eventually, when you'd had time to cool off and to try to get over him and this failed relationship. After you’d had time to figure things out when it came to having this baby. You'd make sure he eventually knew the truth before the baby was born, but right now you needed to accept that you were on your own and that things were over with Matt.

So to hell with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

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

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the croissants

buttercup, chapter one

a/n: i was actually working on something else, but then one night i got the desperate need to rewatch daredevil yet again and then this just kinda accidentally tumbled out. oopsi i guess.

summary: he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, moving, lowkey love at first sight (for reader)

word count: 2415

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“Do you wanna make the call or would you like me to do it?” 

Turning to look at the robust and inked visage of your uncle, your face crinkled up slightly as you asked in a hesitant tone, “…would you mind doing it? Please?”

“Sure, hon,” Howard nodded before blinking down at his phone and dialling the number, “what kind? Margherita?”

“Yeah, and with some arugula on top, please,” you spoke as you squeezed by a tower of messy moving boxes to enter the open kitchen of your new apartment, “thank you!”

Hearing his footsteps carry him deeper into the new home, his voice soon rumbled, muffled behind your bedroom door. Opening up the cardboard box that half blocked off your empty fridge, you dug through it till you found a glass, swiftly straightening back up and filling it up with water.

“How are you doing, cupcake?” you heard the soft voice of Walter, your uncle’s husband, as you turned off the tab, “you gonna be okay tonight? Because if you don’t want to be alone, we can stay.”

“No, it’s alright, I think I’m okay,” you took a tiny sip before placing the tall glass down on the counter, “you both gotta get up early tomorrow to open the bakery anyways.” 

“It’s never stopped us before. Do you remember when you were 11 and you watched that terrifying movie at some slumber party?” a smile twitched at the bald man’s lip from the memory, “I don’t think any of us slept for a whole week straight and the bakery still kept on running. If we could get through those sleepless nights of trying to convince you that our apartment wasn’t haunted, then we can get through this.” 

Stepping up closer to him, you caught his hand in yours and said, “I think I’m gonna be okay, but thank you, Walter, really, for everything, for this, for letting me move back home and letting me stay there for over a year.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your palm and ushered you to meet his gaze, “you do not need to thank us for that. It’s–…” he dropped the heavy comment he nearly uttered and instead let out a low sigh, “we love you. It was the very least we could do.”

“I love you too,” you heard your voice threaten a tremble of vulnerability, “so much.”

As the bedroom door then swung back open, out stepped Howard with an exhale, “alright, the pizza is on its way. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah,” you offered him a nod before walking them out. 

Peeking back at you over his shoulder as he swung his bright red scarf back on, Walter raised his brows tenderly, “promise that you’ll call us if anything happens, yeah?”

“Promise,” you breathed as you watched them creak open the front door and step out into the cold hallway, “love you, goodnight!”

“Goodnight, hon!” Howard waved over his shoulder at your visage in the doorway as the couple reached the stairs, “see you tomorrow! Try and get some rest, just head in whenever you get up.” 

“Okay,” a soft smile warmed your features. Lately, or the past year actually, they’d let you cut down on your work quite a bit so that your hours at the bakery were significantly less and the only days you were to get up before the sun did was on weekends.

“Bye!” they both called out loudly as they disappeared from your view before your own echo rang throughout the hallway.

“Bye!”

You didn’t manage to unpack much, only half of your books, before the buzzer rang obnoxiously, causing your feet to scramble to let the delivery guy up. 

Swiftly locating your backpack, you fished out your wallet just before a knock boomed at your door. 

“That’ll be twenty bucks,” the pimply-faced pizza guy spoke in a monotone voice as soon as you opened up. 

Catching the shadow of another figure ascend the staircase just before you began to dig through your wallet, his handsome and scruffy features were adorned with a pair of glasses that had a darkly crimson tint to them.

“Yep… uh… do you have change for a fifty?” 

“Nope,” he impatiently blinked before loudly popping his bright blue bubblegum.

“Oh, alright…” you felt your palms begin to sweat, “do you mind just waiting here for a second? I might have some more cash in a jacket… somewhere…”

But just before you could duck back inside, the suit-clad man who had stopped to unlock the door directly opposite yours, whipped his own wallet out and handed off the needed bucks, “here.”

Satisfied, the pizza guy accepted the change and shoved the wide box into your arms before dashing off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you blinked over at your generous, new neighbour, “I can pay you back–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open. 

“Thanks,” you uttered, slightly windblown in your threshold as he disappeared into his apartment. 

Slipping into your sneakers and hastily fastening them with sloppy bows, you slugged your jacket on and grabbed your bag. As you exited your apartment, the neighbouring door opened just as you locked up your own. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked over your shoulder as you turned the key, “good morning!” 

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned to face him fully, shoving your bundle of keys into your pocket. Did he look even better than you remembered? Now no longer obscured by the terrible excuses this hallway had for lighting, the frosted window to your right illuminated every detail of him that you’d missed the first time around. 

“Morning,” he replied as he too locked his door behind him. 

Waiting a moment before you began to move your feet, you eyed his polished attire, “are you off to work?”

“Yep,” he nodded and fished out a folded-up cane from the inner pocket of his jacket, “you?”

“Yeah,” you sucked in a breath, “I’m Y/n, by the way, forgot to introduce myself the other night.”

“Matthew,” the bespectacled man extended his hand out for you to shake, “nice to meet you.” 

After ignoring the tingle his touch sent down your spine, the two of you began to descend the stairs.

“Thanks again for what you did with the–, oh! I should pay you back!” you reached into your deep coat pocket to locate your wallet, “I’m pretty sure I have–, how much was it?”

“You don’t have to, it’s fine, really,” he politely declined. 

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, your brows flew up, “seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he then held the front door open for you to get out onto the street first. 

“Thank you, Matthew,” you slipped out, waiting a moment before you began to head off, “have a good day!”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, flicking out his cane to its full length, just before you both began to walk in the exact same direction. 

“Oh, wait,” you slowed as a giggle bubbled out of your lungs, “you’re also heading this way?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Do you–, uh… I can wait for a little bit and let you get a head start if you–”

“Or you can just walk with me, if you’d like,” he suggested with a gentle smile that made your brain forget for just a split second where your destination was in the first place, “it’s fine with me, I don’t mind the company.”

“Okay,” you agreed in a quiet voice, returning to a brisk pace beside him. You didn’t take too many strides before a casual question nervously fell from your lips, “so, have you lived here long?” 

“In the apartment or Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Oh,” your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “both, I guess.”

“I’ve been in the apartment for a while,” he told you, “but lived here in the neighbourhood pretty much all my life.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, maybe glancing over at him a bit too much for it to be safe as you walked, “that’s nice.”

“You?”

“Uhm, grew up in Brooklyn, moved here to live with my uncles when I was nine, after my parents passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his low tone emanated an air of kinship. 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago, I was just a kid... anyways! Enough about me before I spill all of my childhood trauma to you,” you gracelessly changed the subject, “you are in a suit.”

“I–,” a faint laugh tumbled out past his lips before he joked, “I’d sure hope I am and didn’t accidentally change into something else.”

“No–, I mean, yes, obviously,” you felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, “that was just a very weird and backwards way of asking what you do for a living.”

“Ah,” his dark brows lifted in comprehension.

“Let me guess…” you fiddled with your fingers as you thought, “accountant? No… politician? No… funeral director?”

“Funeral di–,” Matthew chuckled, “no.”

“Do you work on Wall Street? Oh, please tell me you don’t because here I was just starting to think you were super cool.”

“No, I don’t work on Wall Street, but good to know that you think I’m cool,” he smirked, making you regret letting that information slip, “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” your eyes grew, “seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That’s–... that’s–… waow…” you uttered, completely dumbfounded by the imposing nature of his profession, “well, now I don’t wanna tell you what I do, because it’s so not as impressive.”

“Oh, come on,” he tilted his head, “now you have to tell me.”

“…I’m a baker,” you finally said, “actually,” stopping your stride, you briefly brushed his arm for him to do the same, “this is where I work, right here.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s called Buttercup Bakery,” you glanced up at the familiar storefront, “have you ever been in there?”

“No, never,” his head shook lightly as a small smile warmed up his features, “funny, my office is just a few minutes further down the street, I must have walked passed this place a thousand times but I never noticed it before.”

“Well, you know of its existence now…” you turned your head to gaze at his striking visage once more as he raised a hand to adjust his glasses, “do you wanna get a coffee or something? My treat, as thanks for the pizza.”

“I’d love to,” he sucked in a breath, “but I really have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded lightly, “well, thanks for the walk, have a great day. Hope you win a bunch of cases and–, uh… I don’t know, help make the judicial system better,” you couldn’t help but physically cringed at your clumsy words. 

But your new neighbour didn’t seem to mind as he just chuckled before wandering off, “bye, Y/n.”

The small bell above the glass door to the bakery chimed softly as you pushed it open. The interior was simple, both in colour and design, but had a rustic charm to it that gave it a sense of home. Behind the counter, and the mouth-watering baked goods lined up and displayed behind the clear glass, stood Walter. Facing the long shelves adorned with various loaves, he grabbed a crusty baguette and slid it into an appropriately long brown paper bag.

Handing it off to the little old lady on the other side, he said, “here you are. That’ll be four dollars,” before she placed the money on the counter beside his half-read newspaper and strolled passed you, out of the bakery, “have a good day!”

Leaning back down to return to his paper, Walter didn’t glance up at you as he greeted, “hi, honey! You wanna hear your horoscope for today?”

Tugging down the zipper of your jacket, you joked self-reflectively as you began to shed your layers, “does it say that I’ll miraculously turn into a charming and charismatic adult instead of whatever this is?”

“…uh… no,” he furrowed his brow and finally shot you a brief glance, “it says that you're energized and creative. This new moon initiates two weeks of growing work, health and strength. Put your heart into your actions. Practice makes perfect. Oh, and it also says right here that the spelt flour bin needs refilling and that there are about a billion cardamom buns that need to be shaped.”

“Oh, it says all of that, does it now?”

Letting a tense breath go, you apprehensively let your fist meet the dark door in three shy knocks. 

As soon as it swung open, the sentence, “do you like croissants?” sputtered out passed your lips. 

Head reeling back slightly at the unforeseen and sudden question, Matt blinked, “what?” 

“Do you like croissants?” you repeated as if it wasn’t strange to just blurt out something like that out of the blue. 

“Uh,” a smile then crept up on his lips, “hello to you too, Y/n.”

“I mean, I’ve personally never met anyone who doesn’t care for them, but I’m sure they exist.”

“Sure, I like croissants.”

“Oh, great, wonderful!”

Leaning against his door, his head tilted as you failed to continue, “…did you just have a burning desire to know that fact about me?”

“Right, no, I–, uhm, there were a bunch leftover today that we didn’t sell, so purely just to not let any go to waste, I thought you’d like some,” you held up the crinkly paper bag for him to hear. 

It had been a lie, but he didn’t have to know that you’d set some aside for him before they all sold out, just to have an excuse to talk to him again. 

“Oh, thank you,” he held out his open palms, “that’s so nice of you.” 

As you handed the bag off into his grasp, you felt as if your heart might beat straight out of your chest.  

“…alright, well…” you stumbled slightly, “I should probably head off to bed. Weekends are always the busiest, so my shifts are usually really long and I have to get up like super early, so... goodnight then!” 

And with that you awkwardly whirled around and scurried the short distance into your own apartment, only faintly catching his warm chuckle as you disappeared. 

“Night.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort

[hsllfirescoopsreblogs]

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「 ✦ matt murdock ✦ 」

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all matt murdock stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

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♦︎ i don’t want to lose you by @sergeantbuckybarnes

•You’re in a wonderful relationship with Matt, but when the Avengers defeat Thanos and everyone who got blipped is back, Bucky Barnes walks into your life again, and Matt is afraid he might lose you.

♦︎ without you pt2 by @foli-vora

•You return after the ‘blip’. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time. Where does that leave you now?

♦︎ neighbor!reader pt2 by @chvoswxtch

♦︎ @bellaxgiornata

• seeking forgiveness

* Matt always made protecting Hell's Kitchen his priority, you knew that when you'd begun dating him. What you hadn't expected was just how much he'd eventually make it a priority over you, breaking promise after promise to spend his time with you. But when you unexpectedly discover that you're pregnant and Matt yet again breaks a promise to you, the pair of you end up in a fight that ends the relationship before you can even break the news. Though when he later learns the truth, Matt becomes hell bent on seeking your forgiveness

• underneath the mistletoe

* Tired of enduring the obvious pining between you and Matt, Foggy and Karen plan a way to get you and Matt to admit your feelings - or at least to kiss.

• if we’re being honest pt2

* Already having an awful week, you're a bit out of it while at Josie's with your friends, too busy sulking and drinking down your feelings to keep up with conversation. The sight of Matt wandering off with a beautiful woman yet again certainly doesn't help. But when you stay behind by yourself to finish your drink and wallow a bit more, you're surprised when Matt reappears and offers to let you stay the night at his place. Eventually, the night takes a turn you weren't anticipating.

♦︎ happy little accident by @shiorimakibawrites

•You are a klutz. You are pretty used to tripping over nothing and embarrassing yourself. But this time has to be the worse. Because this time, you have gotten paint splattered all over Matt Murdock. Your handsome neighbor that you’ve has an enormous crush on.

♦︎ my tears ricochet by @peterman-spideyparker

• You and Matt Murdock come from different worlds: Matt, the son of a prize boxer from Hell’s Kitchen, you the daughter of a clothing designer and doctor on Park Ave. Meeting in law school was just chance, just was much as you falling for your friend. But fate had different paths for the two of you that pulled you apart, and you felt pain with each tear. Now, just over ten years later, you two meet again by chance, and everything and nothing has changed.

♦︎ close by @lindisworld

•Soulmate Au! In which [Name] has Daredevil as a soulmate and Matt unwillingly wants [Name] in his life. However Fate does its job and always brings them together.

♦︎ call me by @notquitecanon

•You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

♦︎ @dameronology

•moments passed

*based on say don't go by t.swift

• the defense rests

* aka romeo & juliet, except you're a hot young d.a intern & matt is a hot lawyer

♦︎ pretty boy by @saberlight1

♦︎ neighbor pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 by @amberlynnmurdock

♦︎ deja vu by @dollwritesarchive

•you visit your boyfriend in his new dorm room

♦︎ better alone pt2 by @strangerquinns

•“it’s better if I’m alone.  I can’t hurt anyone if there’s no one close enough to get hit by the debris of my fuck up.”

♦︎ baby said by @petertingle-yipyip

•(request): Hey, may I make a Matt x Reader request. Foggy wants to meet Matt's new girlfriend. Foggy and Karen are supposed to meet you at Josie's. (You and Matt have a little plan to annoy Foggy.) You arrive later than the others and walk past the trio, foggy notices you and flirts with you. The idea came to me with the quote // Matt Murdock : How would I even know she's a beautiful woman? Foggy Nelson : I don't know. It's kinda spooky, actually. But if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer.

•MASTERLIST

•MARVEL MASTERLIST

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

last updated april 16, 2024

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine

[brokebonewritings]

Still Here

Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader

Tags/Warning: 18+, Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol

Summary: Matt walks you home from a work event, you drunkly confess something to him that makes him think of both of your futures. Song: Dead Awake by JuttyRanx

Word Count: 1.8K

Navigation || Series Masterlist

You sat on the steps of the museum as you waited for your boyfriend to come walk you home. Matt was more than insistent on you getting home safely. Grumbling softly at him before you left that you ‘didn’t need to be babysat’ and ‘you could get yourself home safely’.

Boy were you so wrong. Turns out that being the head archivist at The Met meant you didn’t have a say on whether you drank at employee parties. You were expected to drink. Especially when you worked so hard at your job, your co-workers wanted you to let loose for once.

“I didn’t think you would actually wait outside for me.” Matt’s voice makes you jump from your dazed state.

You smile before responding. “It’s not the longest I’ve waited for you, Matty.” 

“I know sweetheart, let’s get you home.” He reaches his hand towards you and you gladly take it. You falter just a bit as you attempt to stand. His arm catches your lower back and he helps you balance yourself.

As you walk down the dimly lit street, the alcohol in your system begins to take effect. You stumble slightly, causing Matt to wrap his arm around your waist and hold you steady.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says softly as he guides you down the sidewalk. It didn't feel odd that the blind man was leading you home. Though it probably looked that way.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth radiating onto you. The night air was chilly, but his proximity was enough to keep you warm. 

You could feel his muscles tense as a group of men passed by, their boisterous laughter filling the air. You couldn't see their faces, but you could sense their predatory stares on you. You shivered, feeling a wave of fear wash over you. Matt's grip on you tightened, and you felt his confidence seeping into you. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured into your ear. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As you walked, you felt the familiar landmarks around your apartment building. You could hear the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees and the soft hum of the street lamps illuminating your way. 

The sound of your own breath was amplified, and you could feel your heart beating faster in your chest. You could only imagine what Matt could hear and sense too.

Finally, you arrived at the steps of your apartment building. Matt stills as you turn to walk inside causing you to stop in your tracks. Turning to him you reach out for his hand and he lets you take it into your own.

"Please come upstairs," You say, biting your lip. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

Matt's heart skipped a beat as he heard your request. But he couldn't let his desires get in the way of your well-being. As much as he wanted to be with you, he knew he had to be responsible. 

"Sweetheart, are you sure that's what you want?" he asked, trying to hide the longing in his voice.

You nodded, leaning closer to him. "I'm sure. Please stay with me tonight. I need you."

Matt took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He knew he had to put his own desires aside and think about your safety.

"Okay. I'll stay with you," he said his voice firm with resolve. 

You smiled, relieved that he had agreed. You led him up the stairs to your apartment, fumbling with your keys to unlock the door. As you stepped inside, you felt a wave of dizziness. Matt caught your arm to steady your balance.

"Easy there," he murmured, and you leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body ground you. 

You turned your head towards him, your lips inches away from his. You wanted nothing more than to press your mouth to his, to feel his lips against yours. Instead, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your lips. You could feel the tension in his body ease at your touch, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Thanks, Matty, my knight in red armor." You slurred

He chuckles, that was a new one."I would do anything for you."

You made your way to the living room, collapsing on the couch and pulling Matt down beside you. You snuggled into him, your head resting on his chest as you listened to the steady thump of his heart. 

The alcohol was making you tired, and you lifted your head to look into his sightless eyes. You traced your finger lightly over his lips, feeling the softness of them.

“I wish you could see me.” 

Matt's face softened at your words. He knew you didn't mean them in a pitying way, but it still made him ache inside. Even with his heightened sense, he had to learn to see faces in a different way.

"But I can sense you," he said softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I can feel your heartbeat, your touch, your love. That's all I need."

"Thank you," you murmured, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax into his embrace. "You always know just what to say."

Matt smiled, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "I just speak the truth, sweetheart."

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension in your body melt away. All the fuzziness in your mind was lulling you to sleep. He didn’t mind the drunken conversation. It could have been a lot worse than it was.

"I'm pretty sure I'm a size 8."

Matt stifles a laugh, "What for?"

"A ring, silly, I want you to know when you propose."

He knew he loved you, but the idea of marriage was a big step. He didn't want to rush things, but he also didn't want to lose you. He took a deep breath, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Sweetheart, I love you. More than anything in this world. And I promise you, when the time is right, I will propose to you. I just need to make sure I can give you everything you deserve."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. "That's all I need to hear, Matty. I love you too."

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, yet filled with so much emotion. You pulled back, resting your forehead against his.

"Hold me just a little while longer, Matty."

Nodding, he pulls you close and wraps his arms around you. You felt safe in his embrace like nothing could hurt you.

He knew that he shouldn't be feeling this way, that it was wrong to want you in this way. But he couldn't help the way he felt. He had been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and being so close to you now was almost unbearable.

As he watched you sleep, he couldn't resist the urge to lean down and press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a brief, chaste kiss, but it sent a shockwave through his body. He pulled back, feeling guilty for giving in to his desires.

It was just, he never had anything like this before. Someone to love, to come home to. Marriage scared him in all honesty. Maybe a little more than he'd like to admit.

But he couldn't deny the way his heart fluttered at the thought of spending the rest of his life with you.

He shifted slightly, trying to calm the storm inside him. He couldn't risk losing you, not when he had finally found someone who loved him for who he was, someone who didn't see his disability as a hindrance. Not that it was to any extent.

Where to even begin? He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, feeling the warmth of your skin against his lips. His heart swelled with love for you, and he knew that he would do anything to keep you safe.

As he lay there, holding you in his arms, he made a silent promise to himself. He would do everything in his power to make you happy, to be the best partner he could be. 

He closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of your skin. Drifting to sleep himself, he began to dream of a life you both could share together.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside your window. You stretched, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. Looking towards the end of the couch, you noticed Matt was still asleep. 

You smile to yourself, he looked at peace. Nothing bothering him at the moment. Getting up, you made your way to the kitchen to start some coffee, the sweet aroma filling up the room. As you sat at the table, sipping your coffee, you couldn't help but try and recollect the events of last night.

As if on cue, Matt walked into the kitchen, his hair still rumpled from sleep. He made his way to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from you.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling at him. "I'm glad I didn't scare you off."

He leaned forward, his hand reaching across the table to take yours. "Nothing can scare me off, if anything that's my job."

"How did you sleep?" You ask while taking a sip of your coffee. Noticing the lack of a cup in front of him, you get up to pour him a cup as well. 

"Thanks," He says as you set the mug in front of him. "Not comfortably, but I wouldn't change it for the world."

You raise an eyebrow at him, curious. "Why's that?"

"Because I got to wake up next to you," he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, and you feel your cheeks flush. "You're such a charmer, Matt."

He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. "I just say what's on my mind."

You spend the rest of the morning in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. As the day goes on, you both know that you have to face the real world again. But for now, you're content to just be with each other.

As you walk Matt to the door, he turns to face you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I'm glad I got to make sure you were home safe last night."

"I know you would have made sure anyways," you reply, smiling up at him. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's gentle but full of love. "Thank you for staying, I didn't want to be alone."

"I know, sweetheart," he says. "I'll always be here for you though. Both versions of me."

“Of course. I’ll take any version of you I can get.”

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#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #daredevil #marvel #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #matt murdock fluff

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

THE BAKERY- M. MURDOCK

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Baker! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: you and your favourite customer become rather close, and things become a little heated after hours. matt wants the sweetest treat of them all, and who are you to deny him?

Warnings: SMUT, major praise kink, pet names, teasing, marking, posieve kink, slight degradation kink, matt rips readers pant in half cause... he’s needy like that, swearing, mentions of masterbation, spanking, slight voyeruism kink, sir kink, a lot of soft, fluffy matt<33

Notes: “cream on top, i’m bout to prove it- pack it, box it, flip it top it”- the bakery, melanie martinez

He always sat in the corner. 

At the little table, meant for two- with its rickety old wooden chairs that creaked whenever anyone moved a muscle. He was never with anyone though, if he was- they were a ghost opposite to him. 

Every day the mystery man would come in, charming as ever with his pressed suit and loosened tie, voice as smooth as the silky strands of caramel in his hair that was highlighted in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. 

Just a medium coffee, two cream please angel. 

His order never changed. 

He’d give you a soft smile as he’d take his coffee, walking over to greet the delicate peonies in the vase next to the salt and pepper shakers. You were intrigued by the man, with his handsome face, and charming persona. 

He was polite, gentle and timid. Always holding the door open for others, always tipping you more than you had ever dreamed of. 

You watched the hands on the clock tick by as the time passed, waiting for it to be five pm. 

That was when the mystery man would come in. That was when your day would be made. 

You scribbled a little heart on your notepad, leaning against the counter as the clock moved slower with each passing second. You couldn't help but get a race of butterflies in your chest as you looked out the window, watching the man walk past, making his way inside.

 The bell chimed gently as his footsteps thudded against the old wooden floors, and you saw him take a deep breath of air, smelling of cinnamon and vanilla. A gentle smile lingered on his face as he walked over, the tap of his cane matching the thudding of your heartbeat as he neared. “Just a-”

 “Medium coffee, two cream?’ you finished for him, the sound of his soft laughter bringing a heat to your cheeks. “Yes please angel. And.. is that cinnamon buns?” he asked, head tilting towards the glass display which just so happened to be filled to the brim with sticky buns.

 “Just made them fresh this morning.” you replied, watching as he drummed his fingers against the counter, to a melody only he knew. “I’ll take one angel.”

 “Feeling adventurous today sir?” you teased, grabbing a little white plate to place his treat on. “You can say that. And please, call me Matt angel.” he smiled, sliding you a bill over the counter. 

More than enough. 

“Keep the change sweetheart.” he nodded, making his way over to the place he always sat. Keeping your composure while making his coffee was growing more difficult by the second, your palms becoming sweaty, cheeks flushed as you peered over at him from your little workshop behind the bar.

 He looked like a celestial being, the sunlight illuminating behind him like a halo as he sat down, large hands running through his hair to give the strands a gentle tug. 

Maybe he was a god; you thought as you brushed your hands the flour-covered apron you wore, grabbing his items to shuffle through the little gate that separated Matt from you, to bring him his goods. 

Your heartbeat thudded louder with each step you took towards him, his saccharine aura intoxicating, drawing you to him like a moth to a flame. “Thank you angel.” he hummed gently as the glassware was placed on the table, your hands now empty, fidgeting with one another as you rung them out. 

“Anything else I can get you si- Matt?” you caught your slip up quickly, much preferring the way his name rolled off your tongue. Smooth as the icing coated across his sticky bun, and equally as sweet. 

“A promise.” he smiled, making your eyebrows raise in confusion. “A promise?” 

“Yes, a promise. Promise me you’ll go easy on yourself- okay angel? I can tell how hard you work, just… be gentle.”

 You were confused, but intrigued on how he could tell how tired you were. How much your body ached, from the stress and burdens you carried on your shoulders- a weight never leaving. You wondered if his presence remained with you at four in the morning when you were kneading dough in the kitchen, or preparing to ice for the dozens of cakes you had made for that day. 

You liked how he knew. You liked how he cared. 

“Yes sir.” you nodded, hands playing the little silver charm bracelet at your wrist, jangling slightly. “Good girl.” 

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

Good girl.

Those words echoed through your head, a melody bouncing off each little bookshelf of your memory, his voice clear as day as it lingered between the pages of your recollections. 

Those words gave you some form of courage, a pep in your step each time you saw Matt. Instead of the quiet, shy person you had trained and coached yourself to be, especially in the service industry, you talked. 

You talked, and talked, and talked. 

It had taken some encouragement from Matt, some sentence starters to get you going, but once you started, you didn’t stop. There were no brakes, the gas never burning out as you’d wave your hands around, engrossed in conversation. 

He loved it. More than anything he loved it. 

How comfortable and safe you felt with him, how open you had allowed yourself to be. You were vulnerable- yes, but there was no one else you'd want to be vulnerable with. 

Little conversations about the weather at the counter had turned into sharing scones after closing, your soft voice reading him whichever book you were carrying in your tote that day. It became a ritual, one you had never wanted to stop, something that had kept you cleansed and pure. 

It was rainy out tonight, the water droplets trickling down the glass as you pulled the blinds down, hiding the pair of you from the outside world. It was quiet after closing, almost as if the street knew the two of you liked your peace. 

You had shut off the outside lights, the signs featuring specials new set against one of many bookshelves near the front entrance. Matt remained in his spot, legs crossed as he slung his feet up upon the table, listening to the sounds of the spray bottle as you cleaned off the tables. 

He smiled at the quiet little melody you hummed, a tune to keep you busy as you wiped. You sighed, setting down the bottle and rag with a thump, your hands leaning on the table. 

You ached. 

Each bone and tendon was screaming at you, sore from the constant flow of people that you had you on your toes since the early morning. “What's wrong angel?” he broke the comfortable silence, sensing your discomfort. You shrugged.

 “M’just tired Matty. Long day.” you sighed, feeling the wariness overtake your body. He frowned, knuckles cracking as he shrugged his feet off their kickstand, making his way over to you slowly. 

“D’remember what I told you a few months ago?”  he asked, making his way behind you, large body towering over you as he breathed you in subtly. 

Took in the sweet, sickly scent of your vanilla perfume, rose-scented shampoo that drove him wild every time he smelt it, giving him a hard-on in his pants like a teenage boy. The sugars and spices from the baked goods still lingered on your apron, coating you like a second skin even though you had now shrugged it off, the fabric thrown on one of the many tables around you.

 “You’ve told me many things, Matty.” You giggled, making him laugh. “Silly girl. What's one of the first things I told you?” 

“To be gentle to myself.” He nodded, hand coming up to tuck your hair over your one shoulder, fingers running through the soft untangled strands with ease. 

“So why aren't you bring gentle to yourself now- hmm? You're too hard on yourself.” he was right. 

He was right, and you knew it. 

“I just.. don't wanna make anyone upset with me I guess.” you confessed, breath quickening as his hands wandered down to plant themselves on your sides, stroking you soothingly.

 “Oh, angel. No one’s upset with you. You work so, so hard and you make so many people happy. You just need to breathe.” he cooed. 

Breathe. Breathe. 

You nodded, taking a deep breath in, the air refreshing as it filled your lungs, clearing your head. “Att girl. Deep breathes.” he encouraged, feeling the way your chest would rise and fall with each inhale and exhale, hearing the soft whoosh of air as it entered your nose, leaving through your mouth. 

But things started to change, once his hands wandered. Ever so slightly, they differed. 

Your heartbeat thudded quicker, blood rushing to it like a freight train as his fingers stroked your stomach. Cheeks burning with heat, your breaths becoming shallow and uneven instead of the calm, steadiness he had asked of you. Matt could feel your toes curl in your shoes, could smell the arousal coating those lace panties you wore underneath. 

It made him primal with need, a hunger he needed satisfied. He craved you like a drug, the slick of your thighs smelling as delectable as the cherry pies you had baked this morning. 

But he needed you to tell him yes. Needed to make sure you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

 “What's the matter now sweetheart?” 

You gulped.

 It didn't go unnoticed by him. Nothing did. 

“N-nothing Matty.” Your voice was shaky as his hand continued its circles, nearing closer and closer to the spot you needed him most. 

“Really? I can hear the way your hearts beating, the way your breaths are shallow. Can smell the sweet, sweet juices dripping down your thigh angels- making a mess of your panties. I’d say someones a little flustered.” he smirked, his breath warm against the flush of your neck- making you shiver. 

“Just flustered.” you whispered, grip tightening on the table so hard you feared you'd break a nail. It was becoming harder and harder to contain yourself, thighs rubbing together for a sense of friction on their own accord. 

A little whimper slipped past your lips as his tongue licked the shell of your ear, fingers pressing down on your throbbing cunt through your tights. You tried to swallow it down- you really did. But with the way this man was making you feel, the way he had you melting in his hands like honey… you couldn't hold back any longer. 

You needed him, and you needed him now. 

“Tell me you want this angel. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Because God angel-” he hissed, your whisper of a moan sending the blood rushing straight to his cock, desperate to escape the confines of his suit pants. 

“Want you sir. N-need you to help me so bad.” you gasped, arms becoming weaker and weaker the more his teeth grazed your neck, a wolf on the hunt for its prey- desperate to sink its teeth in. 

“Yeah? You need me to take the stress away- get rid of that tension?” 

You nodded. 

“My angel needs release so badly huh? Poor little girl.” It was so quick the air was knocked from your limbs as he pressed you down on the flat wooden surface, a moan leaving yoru lips at the sudden roughness. 

“Been aching for you Matty- touchin myself to the thought of you.” you gushed, the sound of his belt jangling making your stomach churn with excitement. 

“I know, you dirty girl. Can smell it on ya every single day.” he growled, smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp out in surprise. “Such a pretty tease. You make me so god damn hard everytime I see ya- but you know that, don't you?”

 You shoke your head slowly, making him chuckle, the rings on his fingers icy cold as he pressed your tilted head deeper into the table, keeping you still. “Please sir I’m-”

 Ripp! 

The fabric of your leggings were torn clean through the middle, air cold as it hit your exposed flesh, now stinging from his previous spanking. 

“Good things come to those that wait angel. Hush.” he groaned, fingers dancing across your ass- pulling the lacey thong to the side. You thought you’d simply perish if he didnt fill you to the brim soon, the thought of his cum coating your walls making you needier by the second. 

“Need you now. Now now now..” you trailed off, head growing cloudy. 

“Now hmm? Betcha you're so wet I could just… slip right in.” his whispered, voice husky as he prodded at your entrance, slick with arousal. You gasped, a cry leaving your lips as your hand snake back to grab his. 

He was big. Really fucking big. “Oh godd-”

 “Shhh, shh angel it’s okay. You’re doing so good, breathe for me mkay?” he cooed, your grip growing tighter the more he pushed in, your walls gripping him like a vice. 

“S’big..” you drawled out, tears nearly springing to your widden eyes at the intrusion, the stretch delicious- a drug you couldn't get enough of.

 “ I know honey, I know its a lot to take but you're doing so good for me. Such a good girl, taking me like she’s good for. I’m so proud of you.” he whispered, squeezing your hand in reassurance as he sank deeper, the soft velvet of your walls making him grit his teeth. 

You were going to make him combust like a virgin, and fuck did he like it. No woman he had ever taken to bed before was like you. 

No, no one could compare to you- his perfect little angel. 

“You were made for me angel. Just for me. My girl.” he whispered, voice husky and sweet as it swept you in its embrace, your little pants and moans spurring him on even more.

 “Need you to fill me with cum sir, I need it so bad.” you cried out, as he was now fully seated inside you. Matt moaned at your words, the idea of his cum stuffed inside you… his fingers scooping it back into your abused hole. 

“Yeah? Want me to stuff ya till your drippin? Such an adorable little cockwhore.” he cooed softly, as if the words coming out of his mouth weren't the most vulgar words you had ever heard in your entire life. 

“Move. Oh god.. Please move.” 

You didnt need to ask him twice. As quick as the request had left your lips, his hand remained enclasped with yours to keep you still quickly sliding out to hit back home again hard enough to jolt the table. 

“Perfect pussy. S’tight, if you keep grippin me like that Y/N I swear to god-” he moaned as you sucked him back in, the squelching noises your dripping pussy made his new favorite melody.

 “O-only for you s-sir.” you stuttered as he found a steady rhythm- hips snapping as he pounded into you with no mercy left to spare. 

He was unhinged. And you like it a lot more than you should have. 

You knew there was a darker, more rougher interior to the sweet and charming gentleman, and you were thankful you were the one who unravel it.

 “Yeah that's right, only for me. It's only ever going to be for me angel, cause your mine.” His words and the brush of his cock against your g-spot had you keening, your body numb, nerves somehow burning with molten lava at the same time. It was euphoric.

 “That's the spot angel? Right there?” he teased as you moaned louder, not caring if you fell for his mocking. 

You didn't care about anything anymore. Just him, and the way he was making you feel. You’d do anything this man asked of you- if it meant you got to cum from his touch.

 “Matt I’m- I’m gonna cum!” you cried out, orgasm licking down your spine, spreading like wildfire throughout your body. “You've been so good for me angel. Go on, cum- I’m right here with you.” he praised, words teetering you over the edge. 

You came with a gasp of his name, legs shaking as you creamed on his cock, pins and needles poking the nerves through your body. It was heavenly, as beautiful as he looked when the sun lit him up like a god in the daytime lighting, a white, hazy light filling your vision as your ears buzzed. 

“Oh fuck angel. God, you feel so good, so so good, so wet and warm-” he trailed off, words slurring together as he stilled, coming inside you with a grunt. 

“Made such a mess for me.” he smiled, feeling the way the mixed cum trickled down your legs, its creaminess staining you like icing as it continued to dribble out of your quivering hole as he slowly shifted out of you.

 “Matty- stay..” you mumbled, hissing at the sensations on your overstimulated cunt as he removed himself from you, cooing at you gently. “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart I promise… just gotta clean you up-” 

Buzz! Buzz! 

Your phone lit up from the table you had set it down on a while back, its vibrations jolting it around the table. You groaned, the phone seeming miles away as your quivering legs attempted to carry you over. 

A little chuckle came from behind you as you struggled to walk over, and you stuck your tongue out at the man. “Did you just stick your tongue out at me missy?”

 “Did you just laugh at me for having a hard time standing on my own two feet?” His lip quirked up, a hint of a smile ghosting on his face, attempting to hold it off for his sake. 

“Maybe. It’s cute though, you’re like a baby fawn. Maybe I’ll call you that instead- angel.” 

You laughed, hand wrapping around the device, smile instantly dropping as you saw whose name popped up on the screen. Matt heard your heart skip a beat, a gasp of air get stuck in your windpipe- permanently. 

“What angel? Is something wrong?” 

You knawed on your lower lip, feeling the blood start to draw as you bite harder, the irony taste clouding Matt's senses as it filled his mouth.

 Bucky: Forgot about security cameras, didn’t you doll? Quite a show you put on me for there.

Bucky: Come up to my office in ten. Bring Adonis too.

“Angel?” You looked up at him, worry and… something else fluttering in your stomach. 

Excitement. Arousal. 

“It’s my boss. He wants to see us in ten.” 

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock #matthew murdock fanfic #matthew murdock #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock smut #matthew murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x oc #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fluff #daredevil fic #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x female reader #daredevil smut #charlie cox #charlie cox fanfiction #charlie cox x you #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox smut #charlie cox fanfic

[sgt-morgan]

Angst related to season 2 with elektra coming back and current gf struggling with insecurities regarding her relationship with Matt

Deserving ❤️‍🩹

Summary: You and Matt are in a situationship, and Elektra seems to spell trouble for your budding romance.

Warnings:AFAB & Female identifying reader, angsty, hurt comfort. I am not super versed in the art of angst, and I don’t know what to tag. If you want a warning here it is.

A/N: I hope this satisfied your ask, I want more of them! I hope this is what you wanted!

Daredevil Masterlist

Jesus sweet Christ. She was back. Long black hair, Hot as the ninth level of hell, knows how to kick ass, clever, rich. Not a lot to compete with there, you supposed, she’s just… hotter? It just… didn’t make sense to you, if Matt had access to all… that. Why in the name of all hell was he choosing to date an obnoxious, mouthy, poor, accident prone lawyer with no notable features to mention. It made exactly no sense. You weren’t that serious you supposed, you sort of dated, three real dates, patching a lot of bruises, snuggles on couches, you supposed that you were considered his girlfriend. Maybe not though, I mean Jesus, she is both named and dressed like a mortal combat character. On a good day all you could compare yourself to was someone from street fighter two. How were you to compete? Someone was clearly winning here, and you didn’t feel like it was you.

They had totally fucked too. The body language, the smiles, the communication? They knew each others bodies. No denying chemistry. You were confused about all your feelings too. Was this jealousy? No, it felt more like… resignation? Like okay, hot boyfriend has a super, SUPER hot ex, there’s very obviously some unrequited feeling, you are a worm and they’re bald eagles. Eagles don’t date worms, they consume them then fly off to their hotter eagle-y girlfriends and sometimes maybe reminisce about how good the worm was, before remembering how much cooler their girlfriend was. God, this sucked. But, then again, you remembered them dating in college, and she made Matt miserable for a time. You remembered stories from college, you remembered how long putting Matt back together took for you and Foggy. You remembered how hard he fought being loved. Remembered his belief that he was a terrible person. Remembered the long road back to happiness. Surely, you thought, surely there was no love lost there. She just needed his help, Daredevil’s help. They didn’t want each other. They were like oil and water. It would be fine. You decided to give Matt the benefit of the doubt.

You two worked and acted as if nothing was wrong. However, while for you it was an act, for Matt, he saw it as a sign that he could lean in on what he was trying to accomplish with Elektra. It was taking its toll, but Matt was yet to notice. It was horrible, you felt miserable, and you had no other choice but to simply wait it out. You knew he would make the right choice eventually, but when?

Sometime in the middle of this you’re approached by Jeri Hogarth. It’s a good offer, smart, pays good, right in your wheelhouse, and with a shining endorsement from Jessica Jones. (Or as shining anything Jessica says can get.) It seems tempting, but you don’t accept. You can’t, not when you Foggy, and Matt have built so much. Then he doesn’t show to court.

“Mathew! You can’t just bail on this case! There’s no way we can do it if you’re not-“

“We’re sorry, you’ve run out of time.”

“Damn it!” You slammed your phone down and continued to pace, waiting for Matt but he never showed. You knew about the Roxxon Gala, but with him putting all of your necks on the line for Frank fucking castle, you expected him to show. Not only that, but he’s bailed on dates, she’s staying in his apartment, she looks at you like you’re garbage and Matt just… lets her. Jeri’s offer weighs. It gets more attractive by the hour.

“I’m here!” He cries, finally bursting through the first set of doors, you usher him in, and witness the whispered argument between him and Foggy and don’t really think much of it. One time mistake, he will do better, besides, we’re saving the world here.

Things keep spiraling though, and you’re having to do friendship triage. You have to take the brunt of his and Foggy’s headbutting. It’s obnoxious, when you built this practice, you did it to make your lives better, not ruin your friendships. It’s weighing on you. Matt can tell, and the guilt he feels is unmatched. He just can’t stop. This feels too big too… important. Then one ninja battle too far puts you over the edge.

“Matt! Are you here? We need your he-“ there she is. In his bed. In your clothing. “Oh.” Your voice comes out strained and small. Matt has never heard it that quiet. That defeated.

“Honey it’s not-“ but he doesn’t get that far. Your whole body just… deflates. He can hear the silent tears, feels the shuddering. You’re done. This was the last straw. He can tangibly feel you slipping through his fingers, hears the shatter of your heart and that’s when he knows he’s been a fool. “Oh. Oh my love.” He coos, reached for you, desperate to put back all that he’s broken, trying to stop the sand spilling out the hour glass. You flinch away. His whole heart shatters. Breaks to a million pieces and falls there at your feet.

“Matt I-“ you shrug, a mirthless laugh shudders through your tears. “I don’t even know what to say here.” He drops his head and nodded, properly scolded.

“No. I- I don’t blame you.” He nods, gesturing towards the bedroom. “She was stabbed, it was poison- I… It’s not about that though. I know.”

“Do you?” You sniffle. “I don’t think you do. Matt I-“ You sighed and gathered your things. “I had to help put you back together with my own two hands Matthew, she ruined you, and you’re letting her do it again. I don’t even recognize you anymore. That’s sad Matt, because I was just starting to love you. I’m… I’m done.”

Then, you were gone. Your letter of resignation was on their desks promptly by 7 am, you accepted the job with Jeri Hogarth, and that was it. Matt fucked it all up. He kept fighting, but there, all day every day was this immense pain. He has lost You. You, the woman who every day smiled at him, and made him a coffee, and joked about his night life, you who never once required him to give up a part of himself to save your friendship, you, who had loved him. Loved him completely. He’d lost it all. Then, he lost some more. Frank castle had disappeared, and they had lost the case. Foggy and Karen left, Elektra died. He was all alone.

Then like the warm sun after a long winter, you came. It was the day of Elektra’s funeral.

“You’ve gotta let ‘em all go Matty. It’s time. I’ve told you, over and over, going have to let go of your emotional ties. You’re weak with them.” Stick shrugged, “without them, you could accomplish so much more.”

Matt chuckled bitterly, “No. You’ve taken too much from me already, but you won’t take my heart. Elektra is dead, we defeated the hand for now, but I never would have even thought it was worth it if it weren’t for them. For Elektra, Karen, Foggy. They are worth it. My love for them is worth it.” He shook his head, and tears welled in his eyes. “Y/N was worth it too, and you took that from me, you and Elektra and your little games. You took it from me, and Y/N may hate me. God! I hope she does hate me! She was the one good thing I had Stick, she put back together all those little shattered bits, and built me back into the man I am today. Then, I repay her with this.” He gestures to Elektra’s grave, to the city at large, to himself. “She was beautiful, and kind, and perfect. She made me happy. She made me want to keep fighting for this stupid city, and now Elektra is dead, you’re still here ruining my life, and Y/N hates me. Even with all that, it was worth it. Because if for one second, she is safer than she was before I made this sacrifice. Then fighting to the death, for this city, for her, is worth it. I love her Stick, that’s the only thing that keeps me going. I love her, and now she’s safe. Safe from the hand, safe from Frank Castle, and she’s safe from me. Knowing that Y/N has a chance to flourish and grow, that’s what makes all this fighting, this pain, the devil. It makes it all worth while. If I give that up, what is it all for?” Then he sat in silence, and stick went away.

At first, sitting there at Elektra’s grave, he thought the smell of your perfume was a hallucination. Another stray temptation, another ghost of a memory come to haunt him. He treasured it though, even the idea of you was a beautiful thing. He embraced the memory, though it was painful. Then he was enveloped on it, the smell surrounded h, then he realized he was no longer alone. He froze. Then his senses started to catch up to his reeling mind. The smell, the faint taste of the sweat of your brow in the breeze, the sound of your breath. You were there. You were there, sitting and staring at Elektra’s grave, holding flowers. Then you reached out a hand, and stroked his cheek. He pushed his face into your palm, starving for your touch. He whimpered, the tears he was holding finally let loose. Then you were speaking.

“I don’t hate you Matt. I couldn’t if I tried.” You sighed and bundled him to you. Placing the flowers on the bench and holding him as he cried. You had heard everything.

“I never got the chance to tell you.” He cried, “you were gone- I let you go. But I never told you.” His sobs wracked his body, and you ached with their severity.

“Tell me what Matty?” You shushed, drying tears and attempting to coax him to an answer.

“I never told you I loved you.” He sighed and clutched your face in his hands. “It’s you, it’s always gonna be you. I love you, I love your humor, your laugh, your smell, the touch of your hands can cure my every wound. It’s always been you. I was just too stupid to see you slipping away. I never wanted to loose you. You’re my everything, I just never said anything because- because you deserve so much better than me. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Matthew,” you began to cry as well, “My sweet, imbecilic devil man. You always deserved me, every day you throw your life on the line for us, for this city. I always thought you deserved me, and I deserve you. I didn’t see that at first, and I should have fought for it. I left you when you needed me, and I’ll never forgive myself”

“No!” He cried, pressing your foreheads together frantically. “You will never take the blame for this. I was wrong you deserved the best of me, and I didn’t give it. I gave up? I was a fool.”

You laughed and nuzzled your noses closer. “Then let’s call it a draw and say we were both foolish. We can be fools together. We deserve each other.”

#marvel daredevil #daredevil x you #daredevil one shot #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagines #netflix daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #marvel's daredevil #daredevil #matt murdock series #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock au #matty boy #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #mattfoggy

[petertingle-yipyip]

mad at god (season 3) - matt murdock

season 1 // season 2 // season 2b // punisher spin-off

pairings: dex x reader, matt x reader, daredevil x exodus

summary: round and round she goes. just when she feels her life is on track and her emotions can occur without her own interference, her old enemy of Wilson Fisk begins to play games. Forced to choose between new friends and old, play the part or stand alone, life or death, things become as dangerous as they’ve ever been.

(1) house of memories: Times have changed since Midland Circle, so has Y/N. As she attempts to move forward, relationships are strained and circumstances are less than favorable. Can she cope on her own or will she fall back into old habits?

(2) all around me: Looped back in, Y/N has to make sure she holds on to what is starting to matter again. With rumors swirling of a copycat Mask, that grip gets desperately tighter.

(3) memories - Bridges burned and opportunity lost. Day by day the game against Fisk shifts more in his favor. How can Y/N fight back, protect her friends, and keep her career all at the same time?

(4) lavender haze - Betrayal and reunions. For Exodus, seems one can’t exist without the other. All relationships are tested when it all turns into something bigger.

(5) aimed to kill - Pages turn and bridges burn as Ex realizes the extent that she’s behind. When sentiment thrives amongst the chaos between her and her first love, question becomes whether they can fix their hearts with the lips that have left scars on each other.

(6) lover of mine - The constant circles and playing different parts grows more and more dizzying as events continue to unfold. Alliances tested and lives endangered, Ex and The Man in the Mask take a stand against the new Daredevil.

(7) as the world caves in - What feels like the final night alive, recovering from Dex’s latest attack feels almost impossible while trying to save everyone. The world continues to cave in around Ex while subconsciously adopting Matt’s old moral code, finding light in the dark.

(8) im not sorry -Moves and countermoves. The cat and mouse game nearly draws to a close as Nelson and Murdock reunite in a last ditch effort to finish things from the right side of the law.

(9) vigilante shit - Ladies always rise above but when one lady’s simply had enough, revenge takes human form in Hell’s Kitchen’s Exodus. With her rightful partner beside her, they take on the Kingpin and his former Bullseye.

Epilogue - all i wanted - Speaking from the heart, a good man is laid to rest and good friends are reunited. Plans for the future are scribbled on a new napkin and everything seems like it’ll be okay.

#ptyy mag #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x yn #daredevil x reader #mcu daredevil #mcu matt murdock #netflix daredevil #netflix matt murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x you #daredevil x yn #daredevil x you #daredevil #daredevil fic #matt x reader #matt x you #matt x yn #daredevil angst #matt murdock angst #daredevil imagine #daredevil season 3 #daredevil series #matt murdock series #matt murdock s3

[theetherealbloom]

MAIN MASTERLIST

about me! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.• Grace she/her ⋆ 20 ⋆ libra ⋆ hufflepuff ⋆ marvel ♡ ⋆ INFP ⋆ chaotic good

dividers by @saradika-graphics

JOEL MILLER

SERIES:

UNEVEN ODDS - (COMPLETED S1) (18+)

The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

MINI-SERIES:

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - (ONGOING) (18+)

After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

ONE-SHOTS:

NO COMPLAINTS - Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

DIN DJARIN

SERIES:

THE SILVER LINING - (ONGOING S1-S3)

After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families in need of medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and albeit the bounty hunters as well. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has somehow led you to your biggest adventure yet.

OBERYN MARTELL

SERIES:

AS GOOD A REASON - Coming Soon (18+)

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!)

You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

MATT MURDOCK

SERIES:

NOTRE DAME - (ONGOING S1-S3)

In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

OTHERS!

DOCTOR WHO

SERIES:

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - (ONGOING)

An old face returns, a spaceship falls from the skies, and you thought you had moved on with that part of your life.

#pedro pascal masterlist #din djarin x reader #joel miller masterlist #din djarin masterlist #matt murdock x reader masterlist #etherealbloom main masterlist #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock series #din djarin series #joel miller series #uneven odds joel miller #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x female reader #joel miller smut

[writingfics-passingtime]

Off the Record (Part 3/3)

Synopsis: The clock is running out and the leads are going cold. Desperate to expose the truth, you, Nelson, Murdock, and Daredevil hatch a dangerous plan.

Required reading: Part 1 - Part 2

Word Count: 22,000

CW: swearing, innuendo, murder, injury, assault (not sexual), mentions of crimes against children (not sexual), abusive marriage, mentions of suicide, making out

Author’s Note: There are over 70,000 words in this story, and it’s finally done. Thank you for sticking with me. I hope you like the end as much as I do. Not beta-read, all mistakes are mine. 

Several dozen white roses had been paraded through your office on a fateful Monday morning, and they had long since wilted. The crisp, snowy petals lived out the remainder of their beauty in an old beat up dumpster beside your office building.

It was now five weeks since the Reynolds article printed and it had mostly been buried. Sure, it was the buzz of the journalism community… for a week or so… until the Avengers blew up Sokovia and created a massive refugee crisis that The Stark Foundation was scrambling to rectify. Vera had just handed over Stark Watch to the next person on the list, an old guard named Manny who thrived on superhuman drama, so she escaped relatively unscathed.

You? You were just happy to get the promise of a year-end bonus and for all the Reynolds gossip to get overshadowed; it was much easier to investigate when people weren’t thinking about him.

However, five weeks on, you were running out of leads, and running out of reasons to talk to Murdock.

Once or twice a week you’d meet in person, usually at his office. Keeping him at an arms length was becoming easier and that was its own special kind of grief. Not one you’d really processed. You’d stopped asking about the cuts and bruises on his fists and lips after he’d brushed it aside the first couple of times. He seemed so blasé about so much and you tried not to feel hurt when he’d dodge a question. On lonelier nights, you let yourself imagine that it was simply the distance being too much for him too.

He was still like the first sip of coffee on a rainy morning.

Still, he was something you looked forward to. Something you craved. Murdock, with eyes like fresh new earth and a gaze that saw straight through you. His touch, now almost always accidental, still felt like galaxies colliding under your skin.

He was still here.

It didn’t take long for you to realise that you hadn’t withdrawn completely. There may well be a line in the sand but you hadn’t quite commanded the retreat. Instead you stayed in the ring, circling each other, wondering who would duck under the ropes first. You didn’t know. All you knew is that the struggle between you wasn’t the one blooming dark purple hues behind his glasses.

You didn’t like the unsteady ground. How you knew he could read your unsaid frustration in your foot’s idle tap against the couch in his office, and then in how you would consciously stop it. How you’d sometimes hesitate when he asked if he should order dinner. Now, five weeks on, you’d stopped staying for dinner. There wasn’t enough new information to talk through to justify staying.

But you were still here.

Maybe you needed a vacation. Somewhere warm, like Cancun. Or fucking Venus.

Ophelia’s End was sitting in a long-term storage locker an hour out of town. It cost an arm and leg to move but you needed it gone. The key to the unit was bright red so you had to take it off your keychain and hide it in a drawer because every time you saw it you were reminded of everything you still didn’t know.

At least Harold Avery made bail for the bodega fire. The cops either thought he did it, or they were just desperate to be tougher on crime. Either way, the state was handing out indictments like Halloween candy and Avery’s charges were going to trial.

And Reynolds? Radio silence.

Reality hung over you like an impending storm, making the air thick and muggy but not giving you any sort of relief. A droplet. Anything. Just one hint in the right direction was all you needed. But Reynolds’ charitable accounts were public and clean, all the schools and customer service lines associated with his charity were friendly and scripted. Too friendly and too scripted, mind you, and the sort that felt impenetrable.

So now, five weeks on, you finally admitted to yourself that ego was no friend.

It was time to ask for help from a real one.

Trying hard to not drudge through the doorway, you eased into a break room chair next to Vera as she scrolled on her phone and nursed a peppermint tea. She didn’t look up.

“Okay,” you sighed.

"Okay, what?" She let out a curt breath through her nose, lips ever-so pursed, eyes fixed to her phone. "Okay, you've decided what you want for lunch or okay, you're finally going to tell me what's been bothering you for the past month and a half.”

"Vera-"

"Don't Vera me," she snipped. You deserved it. You hadn't been the greatest friend while being so consumed by... well, everything. Even so, she tapped a button and her screen became a black mirror. "You've been off."

"I know."

"Is it a man?

"A few, in fact."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but there was no smile in her glance so you sighed and digressed. “Reynolds is a snake in the grass. And there’s no proof.”

“What do you need?”

“A lead,” you leaned forward and held your forehead against both palms, releasing the tension of keeping this inside for so long. The pressure mounted behind your eyes and you swore under your breath, desperately not wanting to cry but the sleepless nights were adding up.

A gentle touch met your forearm. “How can I help?”

You sniffed, thankfully holding in the tears, and clasped your hands on the table in front of you. You looked at your fingers, intertwined to ward off fidgeting, not bearing to look up at your friend when you knew your eyes would have the beginnings of glassiness Vera would pick up on.

“You don’t know anyone in Haiti, do you?” You almost laughed, albeit bitterly, because it was such a long shot that-

“I do, actually.”

Angels may as well have been singing in the room. Not caring about your reputation, you looked her dead in the eye in a beg for her to continue. “A guy I went to college with. Jorge… something, I can’t remember his last name, but we’re definitely still connected on socials. He works for an NGO based out of Port-au-Prince.”

“Vera,” you all but gasped and reached out for her, catching her forearm, tangling you two together. “Please, I need to talk to him now.”

“Sure,” she nodded, but her face contorted into something worried, something in conflict. “Right after you tell me what’s going on.”

Information for information. It was a trade made often enough to not be unexpected but it still felt hard when it came to this. You knew it wasn’t healthy to keep it all in like you had been. So you nodded and sat back in your seat.

Where to begin? Where did this mess start?

You could start with Avery, the bodega fire, the gala, the Thai food and faded basketball shorts. Murdock’s hands and the safety of his touch. How it opened your heart, your mind, dulled your sensibilities. How he unwittingly left you prone for Reynolds. How desperately you wanted to shut yourself off, for nothing to reach so far inside your heart and mind and sensibilities ever again.

Right now, all you wanted to do was call Jorge with the forgotten last name and ask if he knew anything. To see if people down there were suspicious. Maybe you’d have to go down there yourself.

But for now, you looked over your shoulder to make sure you two were alone in the break room. Then, you hung your head and sighed again.

“Remember that guy who I said was too good?”

She nodded. “Let me guess, too good to be true?”

The grief of the Almost hit you like a thunderclap, striking hard across your chest, sending a surge of numb resignation coursing through your skin and bones. You shook your head and bit down hard on the side of your tongue in an effort to stop the tears before realising you were too full of static to cry in that moment. At least that was a corner of respite in this whole situation. Even talking about him you felt prone, vulnerable, it was too much and not enough all at once.

“No,” you croaked out and then cleared your throat. “He’s every bit as good as I thought when I met him for the first time. Briefly, two years ago, outside a court in mid-town,” you admitted. You’d been thinking a lot about that day, recently. Maybe it was some last-ditch effort to hold onto memories of him as you drifted and let life pull you apart. Still, it’d been on your mind. “He’s a defence attorney.”

A kaleidoscope of memories flashed across your mind, bringing a sad half-smile to your lips. As quickly as it came, it went, and you felt your face screw into something uncomfortable.

“I’m in the thick of it, V,” you sniffed again. “Can we talk when this Reynolds thing is done? I promise I’ll tell you everything over an expensive bottle of red and-”

“Of course,” she ducked her head to catch your eye, so you looked at her, still feeling numb but now feeling the very real threat of tears. She picked up her phone, “Let me get you Jorge’s number.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, nodding, looking back at your lap.

“Don’t cry here.” Her advice was firm and kind; she knew the sharks were circling. They always were in a place like this.

“I won’t,” you blinked them back, then saw your phone light up with a shared contact from Vera. “Thank you,” you said again and stood. Before it could get too awkward and emotional, you left the room, retreating to your office with a call already outgoing to Jorge’s number.

Jorge Estrada worked for an NGO based in Haiti’s capital, focused on rebuilding and strengthening the city’s infrastructure as they faced increasingly intense climate and weather events. Jorge was in charge of marketing, communications, finding funding, the like, and you were convinced he was your lifeline.

He didn’t seem at all surprised to hear that someone thought a charity was up to something shady in that part of the world. “You’d be surprised how hard it is to get things done,” he’d told you, “Even though the whole island’s at stake, corruption and cartel violence regularly gets in the way of us helping people.” Jorge also quickly dismissed the idea of you visiting by rattling off several names of journalists who were never seen alive again after poking around in all the corruption business.

While on the phone, you sent him a dossier on all of Reynolds’ known activities in Haiti, and talked about your conversations with the charity offices. He said he’d do some subtle digging, shielded by the local relationships he’d formed, and get back to you when he could.

Seriously. A lifeline.

Filled with a renewed energy, you typed notes from your call with Jorge, already thinking of a thousand more questions you had when you and he talked next. You were so engrossed in the work that you almost missed it when your phone lit up with a text.

In fact, you did miss the first time it happened. And the second.

Thankfully, Jonah was a triple-text kind of guy.

GUESS WHAT?!

GUESS WHO’S COMING IN TODAY?!?!

TAKE ONE GUESS

The shock of the out-of-the-blue message forced you to your feet, snatching your phone in your hand. You tried calling Jonah but he declined it after one ring. The slacker must be in a meeting. You typed as fast as your fingers would let you.

Izzy Reynolds

BITCH YES

When?

2. She has a meeting with my dad.

Jonah… I love you.

I’m taken.

You scoffed a laugh and checked the time. 1:34pm. There was time to talk to Murdock. Time to tell him the events of the morning.

With your thumb hovering over his name, you made the impulsive decision to click your screen to black and do this on your own. It felt like an important first step, considering the circumstances between you and him. Or maybe it was an excuse to talk to him more later. To have more to say, to have a reason to stay for dinner.

Almost on autopilot, you grabbed your coat and made your way down to the lobby to wait for Izzy.

The towering ceilings of the downtown building always seemed like an unnecessary waste of space but added a sense of looming power to the structure. Besides, the lobby wasn’t to be enjoyed - if it was, the couches would be more comfortable - instead, it was to make an impression; the people here have money to spend. They can burn the cubic feet of central New York real estate and fill it with modern chandeliers that matched the blocky backless leather couches dotted around the swirling marbled floors.

It always echoed so intensely, it was hard to get a quiet thought in here. Hell, you’d had no time to prepare. You had no idea what you were going to ask, or whether or not you’d even get the chance to be alone with her.

You pretended to take a call while you scanned the room for the form and face of one of New York’s most in-demand models. If you timed it right, you’d finesse your way onto the same elevator as Izzy Reynolds made her way to the top floors for a meeting with her financial advisors.

As two o’clock approached, heads began to turn.

A tall, slender woman walked confidently through the lobby, ignoring all the stares and whispers she was sure to be used to. Her porcelain skin, a trademark feature, practically glowed in a way you didn’t think was possible in a building like this. Her hair, currently platinum blonde and impossibly long, moved and shimmered along with everything about her.

Izzy had dressed for the occasion, in a white tailored pantsuit and a black leather bag you were pretty sure was made just for her. At least, one of the articles you’d read had mentioned something about Gucci’s new creative director using her as a muse. Her dark brown, almost black, doe eyes were hidden behind large-framed sunglasses.

Not wanting to waste a second, you stood still and kept the phone to your ear, trying to look as casual as possible as you matched her step towards the security desk. If you called an elevator while she was being cleared, she might trust the look of you enough to get on the same lift with you. I mean, it’s not like you looked at all threatening… right?

With tunnel vision, you set out towards the elevators. The blood rushed around your ears, the breath shallow in your chest as you made sure to not look too hard at one of the best leads you’d had in weeks.

Within feet of Izzy, you mumbled some nonsense into your phone about “billable hours” or some other bullshit, and tapped your keycard against the sliding gate.

You stepped past security just seconds before Izzy.

She was alone.

You continued on and called the elevator.

After “hanging up” the phone your eyes slid to the chrome double doors, two steps to your left, that had immediately opened. Without looking in Izzy’s direction, you walked over and stepped inside. She followed.

She fucking followed!

Your heart beat a mile a minute. You pressed your floor button, and she pressed hers on the keypad on the other side of the elevator and then slotted her sunglasses into a case she’d pulled out of her purse.

The doors closed at a pace you were convinced was a thousand times slower than usual.

Close. Fucking close, you urged it silently, begging the universe and Murdock’s god that no one would ruin this. They slid closed, your heart all but stopped, waiting to see if anyone would catch the second or two of delay and crush every dream you’d formed in the past half an hour.

But they stayed shut. And the elevator started moving.

There wasn’t a second to waste.

You turned, without a hint of wavering in your voice.

“Izzy, I need to talk to you.”

She was intimidatingly tall, almost all tall as her ex-husband, her stare intense as it met yours with a sort of ice you hadn’t been anticipating. Annoyance, you’d maybe thought, but not hatred. Her dark brown eyes held no warmth towards you as her ruby lips curled into a sneer. “Tell Arthur to fuck off,” she seethed, turning to face you to bear her height over yours. “I haven’t talked to any journalist and he has no right to-”

“I’m a journalist,” you interrupted, realising what was going on. “I think that’s me he’s talking about- please,” you held out your hands to calm her, watching as her expression quickly changed from anger, to realisation, to fear.

“Stop,” she whispered. “You have no idea what he’ll do if he thinks I talked to you. I can’t- I can’t do this,” she shook her head. “Not right now. I can’t risk it with him leaving so soon, he might-…”

“He’s leaving?”

“To London,” she snipped. “In like, a week. He…”  

“And he’s threatening to take Malcolm with him, isn’t he?” You let your voice fall. Her eyes flashed in fear and you nodded. “I know about Malcolm. Izzy, he doesn’t want you to talk to me because he knows I’ll believe you. Whatever you say, I’ll believe you.”

“How could I even help you?” She choked out, looking up and around the elevator for cameras. They were hidden. She wouldn’t see them, which felt unfair. “He never let me in on his business.”

“Anything,” you breathed out, dropping your hands. Your floor was approaching. “A name, a word, anything I can look into.” She shifted uncomfortably so you risked it: “That little nagging thing that just popped into your head? That’s the thing you should tell me.”

The elevator began to slow for your floor. You pled with your gaze, knowing you were asking her to risk too much for someone she’d never met. But maybe Reynolds telling her to keep her mouth shut would work against him. Maybe he showed his hand, and maybe, just maybe, she’d have a little faith in the woman who rattled the man she so clearly hated.  

She winced and looked up, then looked back at you with a level stare. “OneWorld.” She seemed close to tears of anxiety but she held them back. “He was only ever nervous about OneWorld.”

You nodded and didn’t patronise her with a smile as the doors opened to your floor. “Thank you,” you mouthed and stepped off the elevator. The second your feet met solid ground you heard her hit out at the button to close the doors. You turned back, and saw only resignation and regret. There was no hope in her eyes. 

She set her jaw, steeled her glare, and spoke her final words to you:

“Never contact me again.”

The door then closed on the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

Less than ten minutes after the doors closed on Izzy you’d bundled up your laptop, notebook, all the extras, and jumped in a yellow taxi to Hell’s Kitchen.

You genuinely had no idea if Murdock would even be at his office. He could be in court for all you knew, but there’d been nothing for weeks and now there was something, and he was the only person you wanted to talk about it with. He was the only one who would understand how this puzzle piece would be a hit straight to your vein, how you’d surge with determination.

After all, he could hear the passion in your voice. He’d said as much, one of those late nights when the only thing keeping you on opposite sides of the room were the open blinds and the contract you’d signed.

Neither of you had dared to dipped a toe into the no one would have to know conversation. You knew it would be too tempting, or maybe because you knew you’d never risk it and there was no use torturing yourselves with the very thought. But damn him, if every word he spoke wasn’t an invitation to step into his space, and if every thoughtful tilt of his head didn’t make you want to kiss the exposed skin above his collar.

You had that, at least. The fantasies, memories, the whirlpool of daydreams and the reprieve of an overactive imagination… bzzt!

The phone in your pocket vibrated harshly, making you jump and blush at the thoughts you were getting lost in. It was Jorge.

“Hey, already?” You answered the phone, taking care to sound impressed.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” he was breathless. You sat up a little straighter. “I just left the OneWorld office. You’re right; there’s definitely something shady goin’ on.”

“Tell me everything.”

Though the phone you heard the closing of his car door, the click of his seatbelt and the start of an engine while he relayed his experience. “Said I was in the neighbourhood and had been meaning to stop by to see how we’d go about sourcing our volunteers through their services, yadda-yadda. The woman on the desk freaked. Said I couldn’t be there without an appointment and told me to leave.”

“And did you?”

“Well the armed security made it a pretty easy decision,” he chuckled. You smiled, understanding why Vera was friends with this guy. “But look, four years down here and I’ve never had an interaction like that with a non-profit.”

“Yeah, that’s shady,” you agreed, and then paid your cab driver with a quick thank-you.

As you exited the car, Jorge dropped the bomb.

“That’s not all.”

Now, he sounded unsteady.

You adjusted the bag on your shoulder and looked up at the concrete steps, eyes landing on the plaque that held Murdock’s name. The waver in Jorge’s voice turned your tongue to cotton.

"What happened?"

You. Matt's ear prickled, and he twitched at the familiar sound of your voice coming through a sliver of open window. You were here. Around, downstairs, in front of the building.

A subtly as they could, his fingers found the time indicators on his accessible watch. Foggy shifted next to him while their client slowed their words for the tail-end of their sentence. Shit. He'd been seen checking the time. But you were here. Unannounced.

You listened intently as Jorge told you what he thought he saw, and your mouth fizzed into an excited smile. More clues, more pieces of the puzzle, more mess Reynolds left behind.

"Be careful, will you?" You wished him well after thanking him profusely and promising to call if you had any more information to share.

He promised the same and vowed he'd watch his back. "And, hey, you too," his voice turned solemn. "If these guys are who I think they are, you're not in the clear just because you work on the Upper East Side."

You chuckled once, bitterly, remembering the death of Ophelia splayed across your bedroom wall. "Believe me, I know."

Who were you talking to? Matt couldn't make out the voice on the other side of the phone but he could hear you approaching. Your shoes tracking down the hallway, the melodic clink of keys in your purse, your hand on the doorknob, Karen's shift upwards to greet you, your insistence that you needed him right away. His heart drummed along. After all this time, you still came here.

You, with the fire in your belly and the laugh like a Saturday sunset. With the touch so precise and longing, the scent of orange blossom lingering against the pulse point below your ear, with an intoxicating steady breath that made him forget his own name.

"Matt?"

"Hmm?"

Foggy's voice turned his attention back towards the client and he suddenly realised he'd been zoned out during something that was probably important. "I'm very sorry, Mr Smythe, I have another client meeting I've just remembered," he stood and buttoned his jacket before making a show of reaching around for his cane, and cracked an apologetic grimace. "I sometimes have a hard time noticing things on my calendar, you understand."

"O-of course," Mr Smythe clearly didn't feel like he was allowed to be annoyed. Foggy, on the other hand... Matt cringed internally and apologised once more before ducking out of the room, sure to be read the riot act by his business partner the second Smythe was gone.

Matt entered the main room and closed Foggy's office door behind him just as Karen was explaining that the attorneys had a busy afternoon. "Karen," Matt soothed with an outstretched hand. Two heads turned towards him with remarkably similar tension. "It's alright." That outstretched hand then smoothed down his tie, making sure it had found its way inside the jacket when he had hastily buttoned it up. "It's the middle of the day," Matt said just loud enough for you both to hear. "You must have something."

You watched that eager, desperate lick of his lips. By his god, he wanted you to have something so bad. For the first time, you considered he might want this almost as much as you do.

"I do," you confirm with a small nod and a meaningful look at Karen. "I got two sources today. Both highly credible."

"Who?"

With a firm shake of your head in a resolute no, you said, "You know I can't tell you that."

"Attorney-client privilege," Matt reminded you.

"Not with me," Karen piped up, and you half-smiled.

"She's right," you started, "But I'm not telling you either.” He opened his mouth to protest so you finished, “I don’t roll on sources, Murdock. You're gonna have to trust me." …For once, swelled bitterly on the tip of your tongue. But you held it in.

His jaw set and his hands slowly met his hips. He wondered if this was revenge - a little payback for all of his secrets - or if this was just you. Either way, he knew it was a losing battle. A good journalist never revealed their sources, and you were the best he'd known. So:

"Fine," he titled his head towards his office and turned, gesturing for you to enter. "But you're telling me everything else."

You smiled and stepped towards him. “Well I’m not here for the Costco coffee.”

“Here he comes,” Matt interrupted you, getting to his feet to stave off the charging bull of Franklin Nelson. As expected, the door to Matt’s office flew open and in stormed a sure-to-be red-in-the-face Foggy. “Foggy, I can explain-”

“Oh, this’d better be good,” he laughed in rage, his domineering stance demanding an explanation.

“It is,” you cut in, standing so you wouldn’t be the only one who was four feet tall. “We have a lead on Reynolds. The best in months,” you implored without a hint of sarcasm or wit or anything to antagonise Nelson right now because this was too fucking important. 

Nelson looked defeated, and then looked at the ground. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he turned his head towards Murdock, “that Reynolds is a dead lead?! The guy is squeaky clean!”

“If that’s true then why does he have armed gang members acting as security for OneWorld?”

“What’s OneWorld?”

“It’s a volunteer-placement company. Supposedly matching college kids with the chance to do a summer of good. Something for their resumes,” you handed Nelson your notebook, opened to a double page with a bunch of names scratched out. His face screwed up as he tried to decipher what you were showing him, so you didn’t make him ask. “But I’ve talked to two hundred and thirty-nine randomly selected charities in the past five weeks and not one of them uses OneWorld.”  

“So?”

“So don’t you think it’s strange that this company apparently contracts exclusively to schools set up by Reynolds? And that when an employee of a local NGO enquires about using their services he’s told to leave immediately?”

He? Matt shifted. Is that who you’d been talking to outside? Who’s… he?

Nelson sighed and looked up at you from the notebook. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this is shady shit, Nelson!” You urged with your patience hanging by a thread. “And I’m saying that we’ve spooked Reynolds so bad he’s moving back to London in a week and we have to do something now!”

Matt moved around the desk, coming up behind you to place a hand on your shoulder. Your temper was rising with every doubt Foggy threw your way. “Hey,” he said, low and close to you.

“No,” you turned to him and shook your head. You turned to Nelson but he was reading his best friend, so you turned back to Murdock. They both looked defeated. Unwilling. “We have to do something.”

“Do what?” Foggy challenged. Matt was relieved to hear no bite in his voice, but the flatness of the tone seemed to irk you even more than his venom would’ve.

“Did you two fake your degrees from Columbia or are you just playing dumb?!” The thread snapped and you burst at their complete lack of urgency. “Let’s figure it out.” Murdock’s hand met your shoulder again and you almost pushed it away. He stepped to your side so you tried to control yourself. Closing your eyes, with slow even breaths, you reminded them, “You owe me. Six weeks ago I was on the other side of this and I helped you.”

You looked up to see Murdock’s distant stare under frown lines, and then looked over to see Nelson with his hands on his hips and his gaze fixed on his shoes.

Matt knew he needed to do something, lest you go rogue and get yourself hurt in a desperate attempt to do this on your own. “Let’s talk then,” he nodded, voice so calm it made you twitch in annoyance. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine standing-”

“Sit… down,” he whispered with no room to debate, so you relented, and he thanked God that you did. 

From somewhere close, Foggy subtly cleared his throat and Matt knew his friend was beginning to crack. About you. To let himself admit that maybe you actually cared. That you weren’t just chasing the next scoop for attentions’ sake.

“I could go to him,” you started spitballing and Matt heard the flame still stoked inside you even though you tried to hold it down. “Wear a wire, get him to admit to something-”

“Admit what?” Foggy cut in. Challenging you the way Reynolds would. “You’re gonna need a hell of a lot more than ambiguous shady shit to confront him.”

You shook your head. “I can bluff. Push him- I can use something else to get in the door and record enough to make someone listen-”

“Terrible plan,” Foggy shook his head.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

“He’s right,” Matt cut in. From the way your shoulders dropped, you knew they were right. “Besides,” he continued, “The walls.” 

You paused, sucked your teeth, nodded. “The walls.” 

Foggy’s ears perked. “What about the walls?” 

You needed to get him outside.

“I could get him onto the balcony,” you said to Murdock, ignoring Nelson. 

Ophelia.

Murdock’s head lowered towards you. “How’re you gonna get him out there?” 

Ultra-rich guys like him, the ones into arts, tend to be big on symbolism.

You didn’t answer, knowing he’d hate the place your mind went. But, based on the way his whole body tensed in disapproval, you got the gist he had an inkling of the idea.

Matt opened his mouth to tell you how stupid it was and how he’d never let you put yourself in danger like that, but “Hey! Walls?” Foggy snapped his fingers between the two of you. Matt had hardly realised how he’d leaned closer, his protectiveness having unwittingly drawn him into your pull. 

Your stare didn’t leave Murdock’s. You couldn’t back down because he’d know if you had. But you answered Nelson. “Reynolds has signal jammers in his walls. He can’t be recorded inside. Thankfully, he has a balcony…” You knew it was bad, but you wanted to see his reaction, “And I’ll give him a reason to make a point.” 

And there it was. Like the hit of a glorious addition, you watched as Murdock’s shoulders drew wider, broad and strong. His knuckles paled underneath layers of bruises at various stages of healing and pain he refused to disclose. The tension in the breath he held and released was a song you couldn’t get enough of. 

Five weeks of doubt, evaporated. 

He longed, he cared, he felt. All for you. 

“I won’t let you do this,” Matt pushed out through a tension-locked jaw, no longer trying his best to make you feel like an outsider. “It’s too risky.” 

“I’ll go in with a wire, confront him about the investments in Malcolm’s name, rile him up and-”

“And what?” Matt raged. “Antagonise him into hurting you- are you out of your mind?!” 

“You don’t get to tell me how to do my job,” you fired back far too calmly. “I know how to get information out of people.”

Father Lantom would give a sermon-length lecture if Matt, sitting in confessional or on a park bench or in the shadows, told him how fast his mind turned to the Devil. That part of Matt that wanted you close, that nagging part, reached in and whispered the idea, convincing him it might not be as bad as it seemed on the surface. Foggy might throw a fit, you might refuse, but it was the only play that made sense. And it was the only plan that gave him a chance at protecting you.

“We need back-up.” He turned slightly towards Foggy. “I’m calling our friend.” 

You watched Foggy’s eyes go wide. His hands flew out in shock. “You told her about our friend?!” Matt held out a hand that said we’ll talk about this later.

You found your feet in an instant, full of objection. “Oh, no way in hell are you bringing Daredevil in on this.” 

“Why? Hmm?” Murdock’s jaw rippled with impatience.

You scoffed. “Because I can’t trust someone I don’t know.”

A thick, humid silence sucked the atmosphere from the room the second the words left your lips. Freud would be proud.

The seconds that bated breaths and the old air con unit held dominion of the sound space were finally relieved by a sharp knock at the office door, then Karen poking her head in to call Foggy away urgently. He left, stewing, without another word. The deep-space lack of anything was left in his wake. 

Murdock slipped his tongue out to wet his lips but didn’t otherwise move. 

His voice was deceptively soft for how much of an answer it demanded. “Who’re you talking about?” He didn’t let you bide time by asking the obvious question. “Hmm? Who can’t you trust?”

You scoffed again and pushed some wayward strands of hair from your skin before shaking your head. You answered with a question, almost like a parable in his holy book. 

“What happened to your eye?” He was still as stone, so you nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t trust me,” Matt lamented. 

“I can tell when I’ve been shut out,” you said with tortured finality in your voice, “There’s so much about you I’ll never know. Maybe you don’t know it yourself, or you just won’t tell me, but honesty matters to me and-”

“I’ve always told you the truth.”

“Half-truths don’t count.”

Silence hung in the air as Matt didn’t deny it, because you were right. The existence of a Goliath secret was obvious in the way he danced around words, prevalent in carefully chosen synonyms and omissions of certain details, showcased by the slowness of his responses clashing with the quickness of his wit. 

How he couldn’t tell you what happened to his eye.

He hated doing this to you. He hated that he could feel how much it hurt you to not be allowed to understand him the way you felt he understood you. You’d been open. Giving him the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You let him know you so well.

Even now, he knew what you were about to say before you said it:

“With this whole Reynolds thing coming to a close, I’ve been thinking.”

Don’t. Matt thought.

“I don’t know what this is,” you started, and he heard you gesture between the two of you, from the pure habit of how you communicate, “but it’s too complicated. I love being an investigative journalist, Murdock. I really do.” 

Who am I kidding? She has to. Matt thought.

“But I can’t be expected to figure you out when you clearly don’t want me to. And, believe me, I’ve tried,” you laughed, bitterly, and looked at the stupid wooden floor. 

Your heartbeat said truth and pain, and hope you wished you didn’t have. You wanted him to argue. To tell you that he was sorry, that it was that contract, that he was afraid of getting disbarred or that he didn’t know how to let you in. Your heart pounded in his ears as you waited for the fight. Because at least that was passion. Passion you could take. You couldn’t take nothing.

Matt nodded, still with his hands on his hips. He sniffed once, and fought the urge to fight with you. 

You were so easy to fight with, because it was always about the problem and not the person. You were fun to fight with, because you brought ethical passion to any argument. He longed to hear more of that passion poured out over morning cups of coffee as you defended your love for a losing sports team, or went on the offence and told him he hogged the sheets all night.

Instead, he knew he had to say:

“You’re right. This won’t work.”

The blow of his words surprised you; he was so good at arguing, you thought he would have fought for it. He had bruised knuckles and cheekbones, split eyebrows poorly concealed by glasses, so you thought he may have fought for you to stay.

You willed your churning stomach to calm, knowing there were more pressing matters to be anxious about.

“So, uh, now that that’s settled,” you cleared your throat so your voice wouldn’t wobble but hiding anything from him was a losing battle at this point. Which just pissed you off.

“Um…” You shook your head, trying to clear it, it’s over it’s over it’s over, trying to find your bearings. Daredevil. Opening your eyes, you looked to Murdock. “Daredevil. How can you ask me to trust that he won’t go after Reynolds himself?”

Matt took a second to realise how quickly you’d changed the subject and, again, didn’t fight you on it.

“Quid pro quo. I’m trusting your sources,” he stated, and the pit in your chest knew he had you there. “Give me tonight to talk to mine. We can meet in the morning, talk it through, and then make contact with Reynolds.”

“Early. Seven,” you demanded. “We’ll meet here at seven a.m. and finalise a plan. We can’t risk him putting this off so you only have tonight.”

He nodded in agreement. “That’s all I need.”

You nodded in defeat and bent to pick up your bag, taking note of the dozens of hues of brown in the floorboards. It probably wasn’t worth taking in all the tiny details you’d forget in a few years when you’d be trying to fall in love with some poster-child for nepotism because, hey, he’s hot and not a total dumbass. 

All at once, you wondered if you’d remember the way this office sounded beneath your jokes with Murdock, or the way the terrible coffee would linger on your tongue when you couldn’t tear your eyes from Murdock’s lips as he talked through your ideas with you. The smell of the old tweed couch would be replaced by the sea-spray on your next fling’s father’s yacht, Murdock’s touch would long be a ghost you consciously ignore. 

It already hurt to look at him. So you didn’t, as you turned to leave. With one hand on the doorknob, you sighed and said, “It’s not some ego thing, you know,” you held in a sad and bitter laugh. “I just wanted to know you. That’s all I wanted.” 

Matt was silent as you left. The haste of your exit indicated no desire to continue the conversation and every desire to leave him with your confession. Your heartbeat confirmed you were honest as ever, and it revealed your inner conflict and the strength it took to leave instead of stay and fight. 

But you also told the truth one night, many weeks ago, when you said you never wanted to know Daredevil’s identity.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It’s an impossibility. 

However, it certainly wasn’t any threat to you right now and none of it would matter if Matt couldn’t ensure your safety. So his mind turned to the locked trunk in his closet, the suit, and some rumours that’d been milling on the streets for the past couple of months. 

Perched on the corner of a dirty rooftop near the docks, Daredevil listened.

The wind rustled discarded trash along the concrete roof. A few cans, some crushed, some still whole and rolling and rattling, fresh cigarette butts slid with them. They still smelled like the smoke exhaled days ago. The pigeons in the nest on another corner were sleeping soundly. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t disturbed him as he listened for his target.

There was a new guy on the block causing headaches for… well, everyone. Interfering with the Koreans’ meth operation, leading police on wild goose chases, disrupting the Irish, knowing where people would be before they got there. Matt had heard stories, out here, of the equipment he used to intercept drugs and money and evade the cops. No one knew who he worked for.

If you were facing Reynolds at his penthouse apartment, Matt knew he needed the technological advantage. If his worst fears had even the smallest chance of manifesting, there may not be any other way.

There.

His head tilted and he listened.

There. Three blocks over. Yelling in a dialect Matt couldn’t discern. A scuffle.

He turned his body towards it, and tracked the young street runner with his covered eye-line. The Devil’s hollow gaze followed the runner as he weaved in and out of buildings, losing his tail with a relative ease. He was holding something. It rustled and clinked, bunched in his fist.

Matt sighed. A bag of meth had a very distinct sound. “Typical,” he whispered to himself.

The thief was still on his way, zig-zagging in a path to further lose any pursuant, unwittingly heading straight for-

He stopped. About a hundred yards away.

Matt listened hard again, and he kicked himself for not realising how close one of the hums of the street lamps was. He was, most likely, bathed in light. Crouched like a menacing gargoyle on the edge, staring straight at the young criminal who’d interrupted a drug deal.

Knowing he’d been spotted, hearing the breath of the meth-stealing runner, Matt held up a hand towards him, hoping it would show him he meant no harm.

The fist around the bag of drugs tightened, muscles tensed, the fabric of the hoodie shifted on his head.

“Wait,” Matt called.

He didn’t know why the runner hadn’t moved. Maybe he was curious. Or… no. His heart was beating harder, the breaths quicker through his nose. He was afraid. Matt held back a smirk, and was careful to not make any sudden movements as he climbed down from the three-story building. He listened the whole way, and the runner stayed rooted but the way his feet dug into the asphalt told Matt that he was ready to run at the first sign of provocation.

“I’ve heard about your tech,” Matt said, approaching slowly, pointing vaguely towards the bag of drugs he could still hear twinkling against the plastic. “That’s a nice score it got you.”

Still as a statue, the hooded figure stood in caution, only tensing when the Devil got close enough for him to truly see the power and fury of the mask. There was something about it, about the strength, the imagery, the legend, that made people wary. Even if they didn’t believe in the Devil as a myth, they knew this one was real, tangible and unrelenting.

“You know who I am?”

The runner nodded.

“Good,” Matt stopped, still twenty or so yards from his mark, and said, “Then you know I’m not interested in some low-level thief.”

The fist around the bag loosened, ever so slightly. He still didn’t speak. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he didn’t want the Devil hearing his voice.

“I’ve seen what your technology can do,” Matt half-lied with all the command he could muster. He squared his shoulders and bored the mask into the runner’s watchful stare and thumping heartbeat. “You have some things I need.”

The following morning at 7:04 a.m. You and Nelson stood, arms crossed, next to an all-too-casual Murdock who'd just opened the duffle bag on his office desk to reveal a mass of surveillance equipment.

Finding your footing after realising how advanced some of this gear is, you asked him "Where did you get this?"

Murdock raised his eyebrows in challenge. "Are you asking me to reveal my source?"

The low hum in his voice was apparently enough out-of-character to prompt Nelson to look up and snark, "Stop flirting and focus, Matt. What's the plan?"

Ouch, you thought, but continued by pulling your phone from your pocket.

“Time to find out if Reynolds blocked my number,” you let out a tense breath and pressed on the contact you’d saved the first time you called, immediately putting it on speaker. The phone started ringing. You didn’t know if you were relieved or not.

It kept ringing and ringing. 

Your gaze was fixed on the phone. 

Maybe he was busy. 

Maybe he was ignoring you. 

Then, just as it sounded like it would ring out, he answered.

“Hello.”

You rolled your eyes at the amount of self-satisfaction he projected from a single word. “Hi. How are you?” You asked sarcastically.

He gave a snide laugh. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what you thought of my article.”

“Splendid. Fantastic,” he also replied with sarcasm. “You have a wonderful way with words- am I doing this right? Does it sound like I’ve read it?”

“You’re too much of a narcissist to not have read it,” you laughed back.

Nelson’s eyes went wide and he mouthed, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You held up a hand to tell him to chill out.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” you swallowed. “I need money.”

The laugh on the other end of the phone was incredulous and confused. “You’re seeking payment for writing a little article about me? My, you certainly have some gall.”

“No, Arthur. What I have is information I’m sure you don’t want out there,” you talked to him like a child. “So here’s the deal: call your lawyer, have him draft a non-disclosure agreement with a generous settlement for me agreeing to not discuss what happened at our dinner. I’ll sign it tonight, you transfer the funds, and then we’re forever rid of each other.”

“I didn’t threaten your life,” he replied casually, probably assuming the conversation was being listened into. 

“I’m not talking about Ophelia,” you smirked, then let malice drip from your voice. “I’m talking about Malcolm.”

There. A violent, deafening silence sucked the air from the office. No one moved as you heard Reynolds’ initial response to your threat to expose the truth of his son’s existence. Of course you’d never do such a thing, but you had no trouble using the possibility as a pawn with this human piece of garbage. Let him believe it. Let him squirm.

“How profoundly disappointing,” he swiped back. It didn’t sound like he was breathing, or moving. There was something eerie in his profound lack of anger or any sort of emotional response. “I have a dinner. Come by at ten.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before ending the call. You let out all the air in your lungs and shot a grimace to Nelson, who was looking at you like you were insane.

“Great job antagonising him,” he lauded sarcastically. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“He’s not gonna kill me,” you deadpanned. “He won’t even try.” 

Even as you said it, you started to doubt it. It was a different ballgame, threatening someone’s kid. Now, after the fact, it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The only thing that made it okay was knowing you’d never do it. No matter what happened. 

Murdock stayed silent with his arms crossed, appearing to hold back some kind  of comment of disapproval. You didn’t wait for it. 

“Great!” You clapped your hands once and picked up your bag from the office. “Are these all for me?” You gestured to the duffle bag and Murdock stayed still for a few seconds longer. Right before you could ask again, he reached one hand it, sifted around, and pulled out a small box. It was about half the size of a deck of cards and had a long, thin wire attached to it. 

“This is yours,” he held it out to you. You reached out and closed your hand around it. “The rest will be on the roof with Daredevil.” 

“What?!”

“WHAT?!” 

You and Nelson both started arguing at the same damn time, furious that Murdock was throwing this last-minute addition into the ring. 

“You said you were just talking to him. G-getting equipment- give me that!” You yanked on the box but his grip didn’t relent and you stumbled towards him. Thankfully, you managed to stop yourself before your body crashed against his. Not so thankfully, you were now close enough to feel his breath on your skin. Through clenched teeth, you demanded, “Give it to me.” 

Matt held on for a few seconds longer, intoxicated by the heat of your body so close. The anger in your rising pulse was a hypnotic rhythm forcing his hand to stay in place to keep you close. 

He took control of himself and released the device, allowing you to shove it in your bag before taking a step back. “This isn’t fair. This wasn’t the plan,” you argued. 

“This is us finalising the plan,” he countered. 

“You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

He shook his head. “I never said that was all I was going to do.”

You scoffed a laugh and shook your head, looking anywhere but him. “You’re such a fucking lawyer,” you whispered in spite before demanding him to “Call him off.”

“He wants to be there.”

“Bull-shit,” you doubted. “Daredevil operates around here in Hell’s Kitchen and Reynolds lives on the Upper East Side.”

“So did Fisk.” 

Murdock was infuriatingly calm.

“Murdock, I-”

“I’ll call him off if you tell me right now that you’re one-hundred percent Reynolds won’t hurt you.”

He’d leaned in a little closer. You released a curt breath through your nose. Not wanting to lie to him, you stayed silent. Murdock let out his own breath, bumped his eyebrows and nodded. No words needed to be spoken. You swallowed thickly and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“I’ll call you when it’s done. We can meet here.”

Murdock shook his head. “I’ll be outside.” You had no idea how close he’d really be. “I’ll be right there the whole time.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t have any more will to fight with him. “Fine.” 

With a quick, sullen glance to Nelson, you took your leave to let them fight it out. 

The office stayed quiet for a few moments after you left, Foggy knowing that Matt would indicate once he was certain you’d left earshot. A sigh was the sign, and Foggy crossed his arms. 

“What are you doing, Matt? If she finds out your secret it’s all over.”

Matt raked one hand through his hair and took a deep breath in and out. 

“He was too calm.” 

Foggy cocked his head. “How do you mean?” 

“He doesn’t suspect anything,” Matt stood and turned to the equipment. “She’s going in there, blindside him, it’s a recipe for disaster-”

“Hey.” 

Foggy’s hand met Matt’s shoulder, immediately feeling a rock of tension underneath. Matt let out another deep breath and turned his head ever so slightly towards his best friend, suddenly realising he’d raised his voice. 

Before Foggy could conjure some kind of reassurance, Matt zipped the duffel bag shut and hoisted it off the desk. He walked pat Foggy and slid the bag under his desk just as Karen was arriving for the day. The strong aroma of three extra-strong coffees filled the room, along with a vanilla-based perfume Matt was too distracted to dissect. 

There was a smile on her voice. “Alright, it’s a busy day ahead so I thought we could all use some extra-strong coffees this morning.”

Foggy sighed, then put on a smile to turn and greet Karen with the enthusiasm she deserved and to keep her away from Matt for the next couple of minutes. Foggy was good at knowing when his best friend needed some space to collect himself. 

Matt just hoped that his secret safety net wouldn’t unravel in the next fifteen hours. Because he was convinced Reynolds was going to attempt to kill you, and he was starting to doubt that his back-up plan would work.

It was nearly ten on the dot when you dared to enter the lobby of the Golden Empress. You’d been outside for almost fifteen minutes, too focused to notice the cold. The jacket you wore was thick enough to conceal the recording device clipped to the inside of it, towards the middle of your back, and it kept you warm as you squinted upwards to catch a glimpse of the balcony. 

From the pavement, you could barely pinpoint where it started.

You pulled your hands from your pockets as you entered the building. Usually, you’d be hyper aware of sticking out like a sore thumb, woefully under-dressed for a place like this, but none of that mattered right now. Black jeans and sturdy winter boots were perfectly acceptable wear for confronting a criminal. 

After the same dance with the concierge as last time you were back on the elevator, alone, not looking up for cameras because you didn’t want him to see you looking. As the elevator climbed, you wondered how in the hell Daredevil was planning to get on that roof. 

An unwelcome surge of panic struck through you when you realised you might truly be doing this alone - if Daredevil couldn’t come - and you made a mental reminder to tell Murdock he’s an asshole for springing the plan on you, but he was right. If Daredevil shows, that is. 

When the elevator arrived the first thing you noticed was that the double doors to Reynolds’ penthouse dwelling were wide open. Had Daredevil beat you here? You made steady footfall towards them, determined to not show one hint of hesitance. Not even when Reynolds appeared in the doorway to begrudgingly greet you. 

No smile, from you nor him. 

“Evening,” you nodded as you approached, stopping in front of him with a sigh like you hated having to be here. He stood in the middle of the threshold, blocking your entrance. 

He looked you up and down, scanned the hallway behind you, saw your hands by your side. “I don’t need to have someone search you for weapons, do I?” 

You smirked. “I don’t need a weapon when I’ve already got you by the balls, but be my guest.”

He didn’t react. Tilting his head towards where you knew the kitchen would be, you followed him inside. You didn’t glance behind you, but you were burning with curiosity about how Daredevil was supposed to get in here. The doors were open. Surely he was already here. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Reynolds said to you without looking in your direction. 

Entering the dining area with the long table for the second time ever, you saw some things that weren’t there last time. First, a man. Balding, late middle-aged, wearing an impeccable suit, expressionless behind black-rimmed glasses. Second, paperwork on the table. Third, two pens. 

“Patrick is here to explain the contents of the agreement, and to moderate any unpleasantries,” Reynolds slunk into a chair and rubbed his eyes. It’d clearly been a long day. “But I believe you’ll agree that a quarter of a million is fair payment for your silence.”

You approached and picked up a contract. “What happens if I break the NDA?”

Patrick spoke up. His voice was higher than you’d expected. “We’ll sue for damages.” 

Scanning the page, you wondered if you could swing making a quick call to Murdock under the guise of checking with your counsel. What you really wanted to know was where the hell Daredevil was at this point in time. Did Murdock know? It was eating you alive. 

“This is the fifth time this has happened. You’re not special,” Reynolds lounged in the chair, making no effort to hide his boredom. “There are no nasty little clauses hidden in the fine print. It’s simple one-page agreement for all those out there who lack the integrity to stay silent.” 

You scoffed through your nose. “Hypocrite.” 

He smirked in challenge. “How so?”

“Don’t engage, Arthur,” Patrick warned, placing a tanned hand on a pen to slide to his client. 

You bumped your brow and didn’t look up from the paper you were pretending to read. “You know, accusing me of using your son.” You sniffed and turned the paper over to find it blank on the other side. 

Arthur sat up a little straighter in his seat and eyed you dangerously. “What d’you mean by that?”

“Arthur.” Patrick’s voice cut through Reynolds’ glare. Reynolds held up a finger to silence his counsel. You looked at him and saw he sported a burning look that demanded an answer. You looked at Patrick and saw him glaring at his client, breath bated.

Oh. You suddenly realised that “moderating any unpleasantries” meant keeping Reynolds’ temper on a leash. Your confidence starting waning with the knowledge that Reynolds’ lawyer didn’t want him alone with you.

Still, it was too late to back out now, so you started unravelling his plan to his face.

“Using Malcolm’s name to protect your financial interests,” you said, beginning to apply pressure. “It’s pretty disgusting.”

“Investing in my son’s name is perfectly legal,” he reminded you. You laughed dryly, and then met his eye as he stood to his full height in front of you. “I’m sure your little attorney friends could tell you as much.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about the investing,” you said casually. Looking unbothered was paramount. “I’m talking about you using him as a red herring.”

Finally, Arthur looked caught off-guard. In micro-expression only. You looked back at the paper and pretended it was more interesting than watching him take in what you were saying.

Patrick stood. “This meeting is over.” 

Reynolds didn’t move. Stone-faced, fire flickering behind his eyes, he stared you down as you continued.

“You know, hiding your son so carefully so if anyone got suspicious of you and did just enough digging, that’s what they would find…” you shrugged and looked up, “ It’s pretty clever. Especially since you get the moral high ground of looking like you just wanted to keep your kid safe.” You let the contract fall to the floor, like the worthless piece of paper it was, and bored your stare into his own. “But you don’t really care about Malcolm, do you? Or any kids for that matter.” You lowered your voice to a malicious whisper. “Do you know what they call you in Haiti? La Vipere. The Viper. Are you proud of that?”

His beady hazel eyes watched your every move. It was almost scary, how still he was. You did your best to not look over his shoulder, out towards the balcony, towards the stupidest, maybe most brilliant plan you’d ever come up with. If you thought about it too hard you may have wimped out, but he was leaving in less than a week. 

This was your last chance.

“I know all about OneWorld,” you let yourself smirk in fake confidence. His eyes flashed in fury at the mention of his weak link. “Soon, so will everyone.” You smiled wider and watched as he cocked his head and readied to threaten you.

“What do you want?”

Patrick was observing, perhaps ready to step in, but he was too silent for someone who was supposed to keep a lid on Reynolds.

“Nothing,” your smile retreated back to a smirk.

He broke into his own smirk and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Women like you always want something," he eyed you up and down, then took a step, and another, until he was perched on the side of the table. You didn't move. You didn't want to even flinch. His glare was alarming and intense and now level with your own. "It's killing you, isn't it," he whispered, eyes darting back and forth between yours. Fighting the urge to squint, you let him continue. "You've got a little whiff of something and you've no idea what it is... so desperate... but how desperate are you?"

You narrowed your eyes and watched as he stood from the table to fake interest in the glittering cityscape.

"I'll answer any question you have," he started, tossing it all too casually over his shoulder.

“Why,” you challenged, “You think I can’t prove it?”

He chuckled again, then turned to show an unsettling smile. Walking back towards you, he explained, “Every question you ask is three years Isabel will be kept from her son.”

You stuttered, “W-hold-what?!” 

He nodded. “That’s one question. Up to three years already,” he clicked his tongue and faked a pitying glance.

Your mouth went dry and you stammered to protest. “Sh-she has nothing to do with this.

“You’re in the same building as Jacobs and Keen, are you not?”

Hot anxiety surged through your stomach.

“Am I supposed to believe it’s a coincidence that I receive a call from you the day after she visits her financial planners?” 

This can’t be happening. You can bargain with your own life, but not Izzy’s.

“My ex-wife has a small security team she feels very safe with. All of them report her whereabouts to me, but at least she feels in control," he shrugged with an evil indifference and took his place, again perched at the edge of the table, and he leaned closer to you. "Here's my offer: you take this settlement, leave here now, keep your mouth shut, and for the next three years I'll allow Isabel to see her son on his birthday. Or, you can continue digging and she may never see him again."

You gritted your teeth and crossed your arms. "This isn’t about Isabel."

He shrugged. "I fail to see your point." His stare was hollow and devoid of any humanity. "I've presented you with a choice.”

He was too dangerous. You had to do something. You couldn’t leave him to terrorise Izzy, or anyone else. 

You had to act.

“No,” you shook your head and picked up the other contract on the table. 

This was the moment. 

You tore it in half and laughed with as much anger as you could muster. “Fuck you, Arthur. I’m going to burn you to the ground.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Patrick ordered as you both firmed your stances. 

You tore the contract in half again. “You think all I have a little whiff?!” You shouted, tearing the papers in half yet again. “You think you scare me?” 

Arthur seethed and took a step towards you as you crunched the papers in your fist. “You think I haven’t made people disappear?”

Patrick was yelling over the rage-induced tunnel vision you and Reynolds were trapped in. Careful to not be the one to touch him first, you stepped forward and gave a crazed look. “You’re done,” you spat. “You hear me? Hang all the paintings you want, Arthur. We both know you’re too much of a coward to actually-” 

He struck.

Just as you’d hoped.

His palm collided with your throat faster than you could dodge it, his fingers closing tight as you choked out a breath and he turned and began walking you backwards. Your hands flew to his wrist and tugged from self-preservation but he was far too strong. Sure, you’d anticipated it, but you were biologically driven to survive and a hand around your neck was sending your humanity into overdrive.

“Control yourself, Arthur!” Patrick shouted and swore. 

But Arthur was controlled.

Scarily controlled, because he let you breathe just enough to not cut you off completely. He kept walking you backwards, pausing only to wrench open the sliding glass door before forcing you over the threshold onto the balcony, and no one did the damn thing to stop him. In fact, Patrick left the room altogether. 

Something inherent in you knew he wasn't planning to kill you, but that didn't stop your heart from beating out of your chest as your lower back roughly collided with the balustrade on the thick glass balcony wall. An involuntary grunt of pain left your constricted throat, and you removed one of your hands from his wrist to slap him hard on his temple. He flinched, to your delight, but then looked back at you with darkened eyes and a cold killer stare. Your free hand was subdued and pinned to the rail in matter of seconds. His grip around your throat tightened just enough to make it feel like you were sucking air through a straw.

"I would be delighted to take care of problems myself," he hissed, leaning in close. His proximity only increased your anxiety. You tried your hardest not to show it but there were too many things to focus on right now. He pushed you backwards just enough to keep your toes on the ground, but your torso now sat suspended over the pavement seventy-odd floors down. "I'm afraid it gets a bit messy when I do it. Far too messy for the likes of a humanitarian. So Patrick in there," he jerked you to the side to give you a view of where his lawyer had sat, to show you he’d abandoned you for plausible deniability, "He very kindly organises the logistics of what needs to be done. Who knows you’re here?”

Even though you could feel the fuzziness rushing to your head, you choked out a strangled laugh. This only served to infuriate Reynolds, who then leaned you further back to tip your feet completely off the ground. But he'd showed his hand; he couldn’t kill you here and now when you’d probably told someone where you were going.

When you started feeling the white static creep into your peripherals, when your head became dangerously light, when your grip on his wrist loosened, he pulled you back onto the balcony and released you. You fell to your hands and knees, gulping in air before laughing once or twice again. You settled back onto your knees, swaying a bit from the lack of oxygen. 

"W-wahay," your voice was hoarse, so you coughed. "Wahay to ruin a mo-homent, Arthur."

"That'll be Mr Reynolds to you." 

You coughed again, and smirked to his face. "Last-name basis implies respect. You have none of mine."

"You act as though your respect has any value." 

"Oh, I'll show you how much value it has," you sneered, placing a fist on the pavement to push yourself up. You didn’t have the strength or stability so you had to stay down. "Just you wait for Sunday's paper." 

He huffed a snarky laugh. "Your career will be long over by then,” he promised. “What should we plant, drugs? Evidence of blackmail? What else might turn up in your home?”

Keep talking, asshole, you thought, thankful that your collision hadn’t touched the recording device.

“You’ll be too busy mounting a defence” You shot back, holding a hand to the throbbing tendons in your neck. “Assault is a crime, you know.” 

"Oh, darling," he laughed like the smartest person in the room, and crouched to be just above your eye-line. He whispered, "You can't possibly imagine the police or the public will believe a word of what you say." 

"They might not believe me," you sniffed, then turned your head towards the flat patch of roof above the balcony. You lifted your eyes, looking for the person who was promised to you. 

Matt had stayed in the shadows, fists clenched so tight around a long piece of stone architecture he was surprised it hadn’t broken. He’d had to hold himself back, not step in too soon, force himself to listen to Reynolds hurting you. But now, you were looking for him. 

He stood and walked out of the shadows, towards the place where the roof dropped onto the balcony. From his vantage point, he stood and let Arthur Reynolds see who’d darkened his doorstep. Matt listened to the man’s heartbeat as he realised who was there, and as he realised the stakes had drastically risen.

This wasn’t good. Reynolds’ pulse and breath told the story of a rabid animal backed into a corner; the only thing that can make such a powerful man irreparably dangerous.

Meanwhile, pure relief washed over you. There, reigning over this rooftop, was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Hidden on him, a camera recording the entire encounter. With a victorious half-grin, you nodded up at Daredevil and explained to Reynolds, "They’ll probably believe him." 

Matt heard the rage swelling up in Reynolds. He sensed the shift in the air as the man’s arms tensed, his nostrils flared with his sneer, and heard the low grunt as he lunged to grab you. Matt didn't have the chance to shout a warning before Reynolds' hands were around the collar of your jacket. 

The viciousness of his swift snatch caught you off guard. The only reaction you had time to perform, as your knees and feet scuffed the ground in the struggle, was to grab Reynolds’ wrists as he hauled you to your feet. 

“No,” you gasped in a whisper as he wrenched you back towards the edge with a brutal force.

Matt heard your sharp inhale, the spike of your heart rate, and the sound of your shoes leaving solid ground. He heard the whimper you barely held in, and your fingers clutching at anything on Reynolds that they could. 

“Let her go.” Matt tried to sound level, like a man in charge, but there was a lump in his throat as your frantic breathing filled the night sky around you.

"Come down, Devil," he taunted, leaning you even further. 

Suddenly, all that confidence you had - the confidence that Reynolds would never even consider throwing you over - all but evaporated when you caught a look of pure, emotional anger in his eyes; his fury had overcome his calculated game plan, and he was mad. 

Mad enough to be careless with the way he was holding you. 

You didn’t want to look down. You winced, your breathing picked up as you scrambled to get a better hold on his forearms but his suit jacket made that too hard. You were too far out to try gripping the edge. Your life was, truly, entirely in his hands. If he let go, you'd be gone. 

Casting a glance up to Daredevil, you shook your head as he started coming down. No. He couldn't bargain. This was worth so much more than just your life. 

"Get out of here-" You were cut off by an involuntary scream as Reynolds cut you off with a cruel jolt downwards. He didn't even look at you as he played with your hypothetical death.

Matt's heart was in his throat as his feet landed on the balcony. He held his hands up in apparent surrender. Between him and you was a divide of around twenty feet, and he didn’t dare take another step closer.

"Stay there," Reynolds demanded, once again letting you slip down a few inches. 

Anger and fear struck a bolt across Matt’s chest when he heard anxiety force a gasp from your lungs. Just as it had that first night at the gala, in his bed, your breath called out to him for help. 

"Stay!" He said again, bellowing in a gravelly shout. "I won't say it again, Devil. Stay right there or she dies." Matt watched Reynolds look him over and put the pieces together of your plan far too quickly. “Clever,” he turned to seethe at you, “Getting me out here where he can capture evidence-” He snapped his head back to Daredevil, “Now, show me the camera.”

You knew you had to pretend like the footage on the camera was the only evidence that existed, or else he'd have no reason to not let you die. So you started fighting to make him drop you, in some hopefully not hopeless effort to make him believe you were sacrificing yourself to take away his pawn in this barter. He looked back at you with malice as you tried to pry his fingers from around your jacket, then yanked you back up to stand in front of him. You tried making a run towards Daredevil but Reynolds arm closed around your waist, trapping your back against his body before his other arm snaked around your throat.

He applied just enough pressure to force your hands up to push at his arm, to keep them occupied. He was too good at this, and the sad realisation dawned on you that you probably weren't the first person he’d ensnared like this. 

"Don't," you choked out towards Daredevil. "Take the tape and- shit!" You cried out in pain when Reynolds crunched his heel against the side of your foot, making you crumble just a little. Your ankle throbbed with searing pain in your ligaments, giving you yet another thing to focus on when you were already overwhelmed. 

"Now, Devil," Reynolds growled. 

This was the worst case scenario. Matt calculated the distance, calculated the risk, and knew he couldn’t be the one to save you if Reynolds snapped. Your feet were on the ground but you were still dangerously close to the edge.

As hard as it was, Matt knew he had to trust himself. He had to trust his judgement, that his plan would work, that he could trust he knew someone's intentions and their abilities. 

“Leave,” you quietly begged Daredevil, sighing in defeat as you watched him unclip a small camera from the waist of his suit and hold it up, declaring it. “Fuck,” you whispered, hanging your head. The audio you were recording wouldn’t be enough. Gritting your teeth, you snarled up at him, “He said I could trust you to do the right thing!” 

And finally, Matt could tell you were looking at him. Really looking, taking him in. He felt exposed.

Before you'd run off on this crazy reckless mission, you'd told him - Matt Murdock - that you wanted to know him. All of him. He hadn’t had a way to tell you that your desire to be close to him was the antithesis of your desire to stay far away from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Now, with your demise entirely possible, he did not know what to do.

If he didn't give Reynolds the camera, he might throw you over out of anger. If he put the camera down, Reynolds could throw you over anyway and there'd be no hard evidence of your murder - just the word of a vigilante against the word of a billionaire. And billionaires never went to prison.

Even with the footage of him hanging you over the edge, you could imagine a world where his top-paid defence attorneys could spin it as something that would get Reynolds off the hook.

Either way, you’d be Ophelia.

You felt your breath hitch against the crook of Reynolds' elbow as you got your first good look at Daredevil. His suit was impeccable, well-made, covering his body except the lower half of his face. His powerful demeanour was lit from behind, from the soft light of the vacant dining room.

The glow from the window streamed over his silhouette… it was familiar. The light behind his body spilled around the edges of his strong stance as he tilted his head and faced it towards you. You blinked away the déjà-vu and swallowed hard before narrowing your eyes to try and place why this felt like something you’d seen before. 

There was something about his presence that was more than not being alone, something about him that put you at ease.

“You have five seconds,” the threat rumbled through Reynolds’ lungs and into your spine as he shouted at Daredevil. “Destroy it, or she dies.”

“Don’t!” You yelled as Daredevil dropped the camera with no hesitation. “We need to have pr-” renewed pressure on your windpipe made it hard to continue, so you watched on as the camera was crushed under Daredevil’s foot. 

The arm around your throat loosened and tears sprung to your eyes, knowing the most crucial piece of evidence no longer existed.

Reynolds laughed an ugly, victorious laugh, cocking his head in pity. "What happens now, Devil? Are you going to take the mask off?"

Matt stood still and far back, fists clenching with your every move and wince. Fuck. He knew where Reynolds was going with this.

"You'd have to eventually, wouldn't you," Reynolds smirked and tightened his grip. You fought harder but the man had too much of a physical advantage. "Tell me," he lowered his lips to your ear and taunted, "do you think this man will unmask himself to testify on your behalf?"

"I rather like my chances," Reynolds stiffened and tightened his hold. You felt his feet plant firmer, Matt heard the shift. "Here's how the story might play out. You seduced me at the gala for your own career gain. Threatened to expose the existence of my son so I bartered the painting for your silence. Then, you show up here tonight to extort me further. Your career had hit a standstill, you felt like you were at a dead end and wanted notoriety by any means necessary.”

Matt took a step forward. “Reynolds-”

“Stay back!” You winced as his volume stung your ear. You were pulled closer to the edge so you shoved harder at the arms around you. Looking at the masked vigilante, you gave him a warning glance, begging him to step in so you both could run away and have a chance to come up with another trap.

The white halo around his silhouette made it too hard to see any of his features but you knew him. He felt so out of place. The look of him, this balcony, these wicked arms around you, the pieces were confusing and they didn’t fit. He was a strangely comforting presence in a hostile environment. You couldn’t trust people you didn’t know… but your gut told you to trust him.

Daredevil held his hands out and opened his mouth to speak, just to take a sharp breath in. The way his shoulders moved, his gait, the way he held his hands. The backlit body which stood tall and resolute. It was all some song you had stuck in your head, but just the melody. The lyrics were elusive, just out of reach, dangling there for you to try and hold on to. 

“…I’ll be right there the whole time.”

The truth was here, you could feel it, you could feel the way he pushed the air from his lungs and leaned his head, conflicted. 

You could feel it, because he taught you how to feel it. And he was still here.

No louder than a breath, you spoke the truth.

"Murdock." 

Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“It’ll be your word against mine,” Reynolds’ venomous whisper slithered into your ear, his lips uncomfortably close to your skin. How? What the fu- how is the possible? How did he get up here? What the fuck is going on? You were too focused on Murdock to hear what Reynolds said next. 

“On second thought… perhaps you’ve said enough.”

Matt heard it. He heard the fucking words and he felt the murderous intent through the ground, through the atmosphere, tensing up from the fire stoked in Reynolds’ belly as the man leaned down. 

Matt was too many strides away, so he had to listen, to feel, as if in slow motion: 

Reynolds holding his breath.

Your gasp. The racing of your heart.

The arm scooping up your legs.

His own feet moving to dash forwards.

The twist of Reynolds' torso.

Your scream.

Reynolds' grunt of exertion as you were swung you over the edge.

His heart pounding in his ears. 

His feet pounding against the ground.

The fabric of a sleeve slipping through your fingers. 

His own shout of panic.

The void where you once stood. 

Where you once hung. 

His fist colliding with the back of Reynolds' head.

A noise of pain before Reynolds crumpled to the ground, his brain shutting down to protect itself.

Matt halted, and listened. But you weren't there. 

He fell to his knees.

You were falling through the sky. 

Maybe if your brain moved as fast as your instincts you'd be hit with a myriad of thoughts in the number of seconds it would take you to hit the pavement.

You'd know that if you were falling from a plane there'd be time to ponder, to go through the stages of grief, to accept your death, to process the truth of Daredevil's identity, to wish you'd picked up the phone and called your father just once in the last three and a half years since he'd told you to go to hell. You'd wonder if he'd regret defending the army more than he sought to understand you, and you'd wonder if this would change anything for him.

But you'd been thrown off the top of a skyscraper, and you only had seconds before it was all over.

There was no time for your brain to catch up. There was only instinct. And your instinct said Arthur Reynolds would be brought to justice.

So it was okay.

Now, after you felt the last bit of something else slip through your fingers, you closed your eyes and tried to not be afraid; being afraid would help nothing, and it would stop nothing.

You didn’t want fear to be the last thing you ever felt.

The atmosphere roared past your senses as you fell quickly. Everything else fell silent against sound of the rushing air, and the final breath you'd ever exhale. 

Just a few seconds longer. It would probably be too quick to hurt.

Matt stayed kneeled with a white-knuckled grip on the bannister, his head hung, and he was suddenly twelve years old again with his knees against a velvet cushion and his fingers wrapped around the dark oak pew in front of him, crying out for a saviour.

Here, now, he did not have time to consider praying. He did not have time to consider whether or not he should’ve asked God for an angel instead of trusting the Devil inside himself.

He held his breath, and listened, as you plummeted down the side of the Golden Empress, unable to discern what was the wind and what was your breath.

Then, you hit hard.

Matt flinched at the impact, and he breathed a sigh of pure relief.

He hadn't been wrong to trust himself.

The shock of the mid-air collision forced a scream from your lungs as something wrapped around you, and your course was changed from a vertical drop to a horizontal arc. Having nothing else to hold onto, you held onto it. You willed your eyes to open, and then you held on tighter. It wasn't an it. It was a him.

"You're okay! Please, uh, please remain calm, ma’am. You're okay!" He stuttered as he tried to comfort you through his grunts, through the tattered repurposed hoodie concealing his face, and through his one-handed manoeuvring as he somehow swung you down from the air and towards a nearby building.

You hyperventilated from the sheer shock of still being alive and wound your arms more tightly around his neck, only giving a few thoughts to young he sounded. In only a few more seconds than you had been falling, your feet touched down on the flat roof he'd aimed for. You hissed in pain at your injured ankle and nearly fell, but he kept his arm around your waist.

“Who the fuck- how did you- what the he-hell-” you panicked and pulled away. He let you shuffle back and lower yourself to sit, taking the weight off your ankle. You got a better look at him. If he hadn’t just saved your life you would’ve laughed at his slapdash disguise.

He wore what looked to be pieces of different hoodies stitched together to conceal his identity. His patched sleeves were blue, very blue against the red torso of his zip-up hoodie. There was some black design printed in the centre. Squinting in the low light, you made out the shape of the identity he’d chosen.

A segmented body. Head, thorax, abdomen. Eight legs.

A spider.

There was thick red fabric over the front of his face, the same as the hood which came up the back of his head. There were some patchy goggles inserted into the front of his costume to let him see and he wore some cuff devices on his wrist which, you assumed, was how he swung between the buildings. You swallowed the nausea you felt rising in your sternum. “Who the hell are you?”

"Me? Oh, I'm- uh, I'm just the friendly neighbourhood watch- but look- I'm sorry, you're hurt, oh gosh," he winced and still pulled you to stand. "He asked me to take you somewhere safe and he'll meet us there, so we gotta g-”

“Who’s he?”

"The guy in the mask. Uh… Daredevil?"

You sucked air as your ankle throbbed in a sharp ache when you were back on your feet, brain kicking into fact-finding mode. “He told you to come here tonight?”

"He came and found me," the young hero started to explain. "He found me last night when I was on my way to dump some drugs in the river and-and said there was something happening at Golden Empress tonight and he’d seen my tech and knew what I could do and- look, I’m sorry, he was really clear that I had to get you somewhere safe. We gotta go, I can explain when we get there.”

“Get where?” You tried to steady your nerves as he motioned for you to wrap your arms tight around him again. His strong hold wrapped around your back as he stepped up to the ledge, carrying you as if you were weightless. He looked between the buildings, down to the streets, mapping his route. “Hey! Where?”

“It’s a church. In Hell’s Kitchen.”

The unseen angelic presence of several dozen voices filtered through the air vents, along the walls, bouncing and reverberating down stone corridors and staircases as the cathedral’s choir practised in the nave and you took refuge in the basement. Or maybe it was a crypt. It was hard to tell. The light was low but you could see stone tombs and carved angels guarding the entrance to the expansive area. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so as you pressed your back against the wall and stretched your foot out in front of you.

Daredevil had-… Murdock, had given this young hero exact instructions on how to enter the building without being detected. You guessed it would be easier tonight with the harmonious, celestial voices filling the church with blended gothic tunes. Your grunts of pain from your ever-swelling ankle were perfectly masked by people singing upwards to heaven. Singing their praises as, unbeknownst to them, a miracle limped through their hallways. 

You shouldn’t be alive, and it felt weird to be here after defying death. You knew there’d come a day when you’d overthink it on an existential level. For now, the kid was spinning some strange thick web between his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make a bandage to secure your-”

He trailed off, then slowly turned his head towards the staircase bathed in shadows. He twitched as if he heard something, or sensed it, and after a few more seconds of silence another person, not seen to you, spoke.

“There’s a first-aid kit in the cabinet. It’ll have bandages.”

The new yet familiar voice didn’t scare you, or the kid. Maybe it should have, but it didn’t. The tall, masked and suited figure emerged from the darkness with sure steps down the staircase and approached where the teenaged hero was kneeling in front of your swollen ankle.

“I can take it from here,” he spoke in his rough gravelly voice. It sounded different when he looked different, and you didn’t like that.

Matt placed his hand on the kid’s shoulder after he stood. From the way his heart raced, Matt could tell the young web-slinger was nervous and excited and proud. As he should be.

“Thank you,” he nodded sincerely, then heard the kid swallow hard. “I’ll find you soon, and we can talk.” The kid nodded, sensing the power in Daredevil’s confidence, and clearly sensing it was time for him to clear out.

“Uh, y-yes sir,” he stammered, and you maybe would’ve smiled if there wasn’t so much wrong with such a young kid being out in the world of New York crime. He couldn’t be more than fifteen, could he?

As he moved to dash out the door, you saw Daredevil call after him. “Hey.” The kid looked over his shoulder. “Don’t get too close to The Avengers Tower with that those webs of yours. The last thing you need is to get caught up in one of their messes.”

The hooded figure just nodded, gave an awkward thumbs-up, and then got the hell out of dodge. You didn’t blame him - the reports didn’t do Daredevil justice. Of course you’d heard the stories, read the details, but if you were part of organised crime in Hell’s Kitchen you’d seriously reconsider a career change if you caught one glimpse of this guy in a dark alleyway. 

Of course, he wasn’t just some guy. Some nut in a mask. Or, maybe he was. Either way, he was still Matt Murdock. 

Even though you knew that, you still instinctively pressed a little harder into the wall as he approached. He crouched in front of you and gently took your ankle in his hand. Despite yourself, you hissed at the movement. He stood, and you watched as he crossed the room to a cabinet, shuffled through it, and emerged with a roll of white gauze bandage in his hand. You watched as he returned to the place before you, knelt, and removed your shoe as carefully as he could.

The choir built in their noble tones, projecting their reverence as if they thought if they just sang a little louder, God would hear. And He would be pleased.

The choral melody grew and you had the wry thought that maybe they could sense the devil had crossed their doorstep. Maybe the darkness of the crimson-clad vigilante in all his power and fury had spurred them into higher worship. Because - power and fury - that what you’d heard he’d held. Yet here he was, patching you up after he’d executed a wickedly genius scheme to save your life.

Why the Devil? Why is that how he saw himself? Here, taking care of you while praises were being sung by loving followers to their Heavenly Father, in the depths of this cathedral, he was the furthest thing from the devil.

You so desperately wanted to understand, to offer him some sort of explanation to use, to have your brain move as fast as your instinct. Maybe he felt as if he’d fallen from grace, like Lucifer. Maybe he felt abandoned by his father, maybe he felt as if his god was his adversary. Maybe he felt evil. Maybe you’d never know until you asked.

“There’s a bed in a side room,” he said, tucking the expertly wrapped bandage into itself and moving to take you into his arms.

“I’m okay here,” you whispered, since that was all you could manage at the moment.

There wasn’t any resistance in your voice or your body, so Matt slotted one arm under your knees, another behind your back and stood to carry you somewhere more comfortable.

The room was small and dingy but you could still hear the choir. Echoes of it, really, but it was still there. And that was nice. It was beautiful, and you got unexpectedly choked up when a minor chord was struck and the voices lifted while you were lowered onto the bed to be sitting up with your back against the wall. 

The pillow was nice and cool, the comforter soft beneath your fingertips as you took in the feeling of it. The sound of the angels singing, the softness of the well-loved fabric, the scent of some burning candle in the corner, the taste of the crisp night’s air. You took it all in, and it suddenly hit you how close you came to never experiencing any of that ever again. In something as simple as a four-part harmony filtered through several walls, you found the most appreciation for life that you’d ever held. The tears filled your eyes and you felt too numb to stop them. How do you even process something like this?

You stared into space in front of you, vaguely aware of a cabinet, vaguely aware of your companion kneeling beside the bed as you drew absent patters with your fingertips into the comforter. Had anything ever been so real? 

Is this real? This couldn’t be real.

“You’re panicking,” his voice told you. Were you? You felt too calm to be panicking but nothing felt real. Or, everything did. Everything felt too real. 

Reynolds threw you off a building. You should’ve died. It was the top floor. Matt Murdock was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Everything was impossible yet still the choir sang hosanna as the devil held your hand.

Your hand. He’d taken it in both of his. 

You stole a brief glance at him. He was hard to look at and the mask was freakier up close, with its hollow red eyes and threatening spiked horns. His lips were parted, they were familiar, they were the only thing in this entire world that made sense. As the crescendo mounted throughout the holy church, you turned to face him and leaned in. 

Matt knew your mind would be moving a million miles a minute, so he didn’t stop you from reaching out and tenderly touching the sides of the mask, right were his cheekbones were. Your fingertips shook ever so slightly, another person may not have noticed. 

Right now, it wasn’t so. That’s the white lie you told yourself as you traced the edge of the hard, scaled piece that protected his identity and his head from bullets. You squeezed your eyes shut at the realisation that it wasn’t perfect protection and this is why Murdock never told you where the bruises came from. Why he dodged the question. 

Right now, it wasn’t so. You knew, but the mask hadn’t come off. There was still plausible deniability. Maybe Daredevil was a liar, or Murdock had a secret twin, or- 

Matt felt your breath shake as your fingers trailed a familiar pattern over his ears and to the back of his head. 

He knew it was important for you to do this yourself.

You finally found what you were looking for, undoing the clasp which held his headpiece in place. He didn’t move as you pulled away and removed the mask and cowl. With his identity in your hands, you looked into Matt Murdock’s eyes. His gaze was fixed in some semblance of shame, somewhere well past you.

“You really are blind,” you whispered in relief, then started feeling your breath pick up against your will. “How d-” The words were caught in your throat. “I don’t under- Murdock,” you whispered his name, begging him to fill in the blanks before you went mad. 

He placed his hands over yours and over the thing that kept him hidden. “You need to calm down,” he soothed, his voice low. “I understand this is a lot to process but you need-”

“I need a drink,” you choked out, startled to become aware of your shivering when Murdock began placing a blanket around your shoulders. The chill of New York’s late autumn bit at your nose, ears, fingers and the toes of your neatly-wrapped foot. The blanket hadn’t started doing its job yet, considering Murdock was still wrapping it around you, but a warmth surged through you at his closeness and you couldn’t tear your gaze from his eyes.

His glance was hollow but true. His fingers ran down the hem of the white woollen fabric as he brought it to overlap in front of you. You lifted your hands and took the task from him, settling the blanket snugly across your front. His hands moved but didn’t leave you, because after your fingers brushed over his he made sure your shoulders were covered. With great care, he ran his hands up your arms and then along your collar to the base of your neck. Slowly, intentionally, he squeezed once and let out a sad breath. Before you could muster something to say, he stood and walked out. 

You didn’t call after him because you could hear him opening cabinets and searching through shelves for just under a minute before he returned with a bottle of wine in his hand.

You smiled uncomfortably, even though smiling felt entirely wrong right now. “Is it sacrilegious to drink holy communion wine straight from the bottle?”

Matt smiled back and he felt uncomfortable doing so, but there was something in your voice that wanted to grasp at a distraction so he tried to move your mind away from the panic. “It’s just wine,” he explained as he approached the bed. He untwisted the cap and sat down next to you with both feet planted on the floor. He sat side-on to you, his glance now fixed at a spot across the small room. He held the freshly opened bottle towards you in an offering. You accepted it and noticed he’d taken off his gloves. He feels safe here. 

He continued explaining. “There’s nothing holy about the wine until the Eucharist. Besides,” he listened as you took a sip. “I’m sure your research would’ve told you I’m not ordained. I can’t give communion.”

The dark and rich flavour burst in your mouth. The wine wasn’t necessarily bad, or good, it was just alcohol. You chuckled once through your nose and bumped your eyebrows. “There are a lot of things my research didn’t tell me.” 

Silence fell for a few moments as you looked down at the bottle and ran your fingertip against the edge of the label. “So the wine is made holy through communion,” you said, more of a question than a statement.

“Not exactly,” he held his hand out for the bottle. You passed it back and watched as he took a messy swig himself. He pressed the back of this other hand against his mouth to catch any stray drops. “It ceases to be wine, all but physically.”

“Then… what does it become?”

“The blood of Christ.”

“How?”

“Prayer.”

The thick glass vessel was once again in your hands. The earthy, fruity aroma filled the space between you two. From the bottle. From your breaths. It was so cold that you could see your wine-laced exhale bloom and dissolve in the divide between you and him. You had to ask.

“The mask. Is it your prayer?”

He turned his head more towards you so you could see his eyebrows knit together in thought. You elaborated as your thumbnail picked at the label and the paper bunched under your touch.

“Do you, all but physically, cease to be Matt Murdock when you put it on?”

Heaving a deep sigh, he took another draw from the bottle to afford himself the time to think. The mouthful burned on the way down. With wine lingering on his tongue, he gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“Figuring what out?”

“If Daredevil is part of me, or just…” he waved a weak hand in thought and his shoulders curved in with the weight of all he’d done. “… me.”

“If you become yourself by taking the mask off, or by putting it on,” you rephrased to better understand. He nodded. It made sense.

You searched your mind for the few times you and Murdock had discussed Daredevil and it all made sense. All at once, like a smack in the face. 

He said Daredevil wanted to be there: true. He never said he was talking to Daredevil, he said he was talking to a contact: true. Over and over you realised how carefully he danced around the subject, catching your thoughts faster than he catches your hands those times you’d playfully shove his shoulder. 

“Defence attorney by day, vigilante by night,” you sighed and took the wine from his hand. Almost sadly, you admit, “You’re one hell of a hero.”

“No,” he shook his head, sounding disgusted with himself. “Heroes don’t play with innocent lives.”

You winced and disagreed. “You didn’t-”

“I didn’t know if he’d catch you,” he cut in. “When Reynolds threw you over.” He passed the bottle back to you, then ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know if the kid would catch you.”

Your thumb ran over the bottle’s peeling label, your glance on Murdock’s profile. “How did you know he’d throw me over?”

“I didn’t trust your judgement. You were being reckless.”

Hearing him say it out loud stung more than you thought it would, and your cheek burned with the shame of him being right.

He didn’t dwell on it. “That’s why I had to track down the kid.”

You were thankful he didn’t dwell, and he didn’t seem to hate you for your recklessness. “Who is he?”

“Calls himself Spider-Man,” Matt chuckled once through his nose. You did too, and you bumped your eyebrows. “I’d heard about him. Out there,” he pointed to the ceiling, but more to the streets. “He was causing headaches to dealers, petty crooks, car thieves, the like - he’s been interfering for a few months now. I’d heard about what he could do. Seemed to be worth a shot,” he hung his head, then tilted it towards you. 

You took a deep breath in slowly through your nose. Your heartbeat still demanded to be felt but it was calming. Your silence let him continue.

“I never should’ve let you go in like that.”

“That’s not your-”

“Yeah, not my decision,” Matt scoffed, then shook his head again before mumbling, “Should’ve locked you in this crypt.”

“Hey,” you warned. “I don’t regret it.” He didn’t respond, so you digressed. “In fact, I’m glad it happened the way it did.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m being honest.”

“I know you are,” he sighed and turned his attention to ceiling for a moment or two, listening, before levelling his head again. “You almost died.”

“If my death led to saving those girls then it would’ve been worth it.” He opened his mouth to argue but you laughed, knowing the very place he brought you proved your point. “Look where we are, Murdock,” you urged, sitting up and placing a hand on his forearm. “Isn’t this whole… thing- this church, your religion, everything you believe in, everything you do… isn’t it all about sacrificing for others?”

“No,” he screwed up his face, not knowing how to make you understand. “It’s never been about sacrifice,” he heaved out with effort to hold back his emotion. “It’s about protecting what I love. This city, the people I care about…” 

He made a point of each word as he slowly explained, “I will make sacrifices to protect what I love.”

His earthy brown eyes were on you as if he could see every thought in the pained expression you felt twisted into your skin. You wondered if letting you leave was a sacrifice he made, but it felt entirely selfish to ask right now. 

“So now you know,” he said, eyes still on you. “Can I trust you to keep this quiet?”

You wanted to laugh and tell him he was being ridiculous. Of course you’d never tell anyone - you obviously didn’t want him and Foggy and Karen to end up dead in a ditch because Fisk caught wind of the truth from your loose lips. You wanted to say you’d go to the end of the world to bury this secret because letting this out would be the greatest injustice imaginable. 

And he cared about justice. 

There was too much to say. Too much was making sense as your mind placed pieces together faster than you could speak. So you opened your mouth to try and say something comforting or useful or true. All that came out was:

“I’d never reveal a source.”

Matt nodded, his head settling downwards again before he turned towards you. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

A tense breath entered your nose and you felt your heart rate kick up a notch as you remembered, in quick flashes, photos of criminals who’d found themselves under the fists of the Devil. ‘Brutal,’ was the first word that came to mind when you’d seen his handiwork. 

“I don’t get it,” you admitted. “This… balancing act you do. Defending criminals by day and beating them to a pulp by night, I-”

“That’s not fair-”

“No,” you cut back in. “It’s not.” You exhaled sharply and continued. “You wanna know the truth, Murdock? Why I can’t stand Daredevil? Tony Stark? All those Avengers assholes?” The words tasted bitter, stinging up your throat like an angry hornet desperate to escape where it’d been suppressed for years. You winced as you said it. “I’m so fucking jealous.” 

Matt didn’t flinch at your admission. He wasn’t smacked or warded off. No. You were letting him in.

“Stark is protected by his armour and billions of dollars. Rogers, by a super-serum, you… by the mask. You can all do anything you want, and with such little consequence.” You paused and placed the wine on the bedside table. “I became a journalist because I wanted to expose the truth about bad people hiding in plain sight. I didn’t want there to be a shadow of an offshore account they could hide in, or a corrupt move they could make without someone knowing. But at the end of the day, my real name is below the headline and above the facts. And I can’t help but wonder if there’s going to be a day I choose to not speak up because I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I do.”

His warm hand slid over yours, his thumb drawing comfort on your frost-kissed skin. Immediately, your cheeks warmed in abashment. He probably thought you were pathetic, petulant, petty. Maybe he’d suggest you needed a mask too - a pen-name, a secure server.

“That day will never come,” he declared, low and true. His mouth turned downward and he tilted his head towards your throbbing ankle. “That fracture will remind you for a long time coming.” 

You grimaced at the thought of a cast and physiotherapy and, fuck, dealing with insurance. Still, more pressing matters. Everything you wanted to say felt like too much and not enough. There was so much to process before your life was about to get, legally, hectic. 

You knew there’d be fallout from your plummet down the side of a building, from the Reynolds confrontation, from you discovering Murdocks’ secret- or, was it Daredevil’s secret? 

“I need you to know that meant it,” you twisted your hand to hold his, lacing your fingers together. “When I said I wanted to know you.” 

“I know you meant it then,” he squeezed your hand. Matt Murdock had conquered fear and pain long ago. With every strike of his cane and slice of his words, Stick had made sure of that. But this was a new sort of sickly pain and gut-wrenching fear. Because what if now, after you’d figured him out, you decided he wasn’t worth knowing? 

He held on like someone deciding whether or not to let go. 

You thought hard, pieces began falling into place. He’s not half-man, half-devil. 

He tensed. “And now?”

There’s no prayer, no Eucharist, no ritual. Matt Murdock and Daredevil are the same man in different disguises.

You could feel the unease in his touch and hear the shaken earth in his voice as it all came to a head. Carefully, as if he might break, you removed your hand from his grasp. 

A just man.

Defeat struck across his face, until you took his hand in both of yours. The wool blanket slipped off your shoulders as you lifted his palm to rest it above your heart. 

“A curious woman tempted by the devil... doesn’t your Bible start like this, Murdock?”

Matt wants to smile under your words and gaze. And touch. How did he go without it for so long? But he needs to hear you say it.

“I went to Sunday School when I was a kid,” you furrowed your brow, pulling up memories, remembering that those times long passed. “I always felt like everyone was so unfair to Eve. I mean, she just wanted to know everything.” You licked your drying lips and gave a small shrug, holding his hand in place.

Beautifully, steadily, your heart beat against his touch. Like the sure rhythm of a song you’d danced to your whole life, one you knew well, one you’d never abandon. As always, you told him the truth.  

“I want to know everything about you. Will you let me in?”

You barely finished your question before he kissed you as an answer. Sweetly, lovingly. He sighed into you, filled with relief when your hand slid back and your fingers tangled in his hair. He found his own hands lifting to take either side of your jaw in the most delicate hold, his gentleness saying I’ll be careful with you, I promise. His lips trailed along your skin, his fingertips pulsed once against the sides of your neck, and he kissed the soft place below your ear. 

Your hands travelled and roamed each other’s bodies but could never get too far without holding on tight and pulling the other close. By the time you were coherent enough to remember that taking his suit off was the only thing you wanted to do in that moment, you found it was too hard to locate a button or zipper or anything. 

Matt felt your fumble around and laughed against your lips, making you frown in frustration and pull back. “Don’t laugh at me when my foot is fractured.” 

He melted into a smile and propped himself up with hands planted either side of you. “We should get you to a hospital.” 

You groaned, knowing he was right, and let yourself slump back against the wall. Just because he was right didn’t mean you couldn’t give him an annoyed look. “You’re fired, by the way.” 

He stood and grinned. “Good to know,” he bumped his brows. “The Offices of Nelson in Murdock will need that in writing though.” 

You accepted the offer of both his hands to pull yourself up and turn to plant your good foot against the ground. Before you could stand, he knelt in front of you and checked the bandage and reassess the damage done to your bones. He was gentle, with his touch and with his voice when he said “You know it’s going to be you and your name up on that stand to tell a jury what Reynolds did to do. No billions, no super-serum. No mask.” 

The air suddenly felt colder. “I know.” 

“It’s your choice whether or not you want to speak up.”

“If they believe him, that I jumped to stage a scene, I’ll lose my credibility. My reputation will be ruined- ah shit.” 

His hands weren’t on it, but a sharp pain shot between the nerves your fractured bones. You winced and swore under your breath, and in that moment you knew that you would not let Arthur Reynolds’ true self stayed hidden in the shadows. 

The first night you talked to Murdock, truly talked, before you knew the identity of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, you’d cited the vigilante as evidence for your claim that New York City ran on compromises in the name of the greater good. Sometimes those compromises stung. Sometimes they wouldn’t feel worth it and onlookers wouldn’t understand.

It was hard for Murdock to understand - why you were so okay with Reynolds effectively getting away with throwing you off a building. Yet, here he was holding your hand in both of his, and he’d accepted it too. The rough and comforting callouses on his palm smoothed over your fingers. He leaned close and whispered encouragement as the judge readied to call you to the podium.

It was even harder for your parents to understand. Because of the legal jargon, of course, but also because trying to tiptoe around the narrative seeped in vigilantes was no small task. Explaining what happened while protecting the Daredevil secret was difficult. It was tough emotionally too, but you couldn’t keep all those thoughts that’d flashed across your mind as you fell all bottled up. At least, that’s what the therapist said.

People knew a falling woman had been caught by a web-slinging hero. New York was covered in cameras so in less than two days it felt like the whole world knew. They started calling him Spider-Man after that. 

When you’d reported your attempted murder to the police they couldn’t ignore you. After all, there you were: falling backward off a building.

But those brief seconds of wind-whipped acceptance weren’t the reason you were in the courtroom today. Because, at the trial against Arthur Reynolds, the jury couldn’t come to a unanimous decision on who’s story to believe. Hence - the therapist. The court-ordered one who swore under penalty of perjury that, in his professional opinion, nothing in his assessment would suggest you would have willingly jumped from that building.

Reynolds’ lawyer Patrick was a real bastard and he was good at being a bastard. He convinced at least one person on that jury that you’d conspired with Daredevil and Spider-Man to frame Reynolds and gain fame with your name on the headlines. Your own lawyer countered with half a dozen articles of yours that’d already made front page; your career didn’t need any help. 

It also didn’t help that some of the key evidence was destroyed, and that the mere idea of Murdock testifying as Daredevil was so far off the table that it wasn’t even entertained. 

In the end, even you had to admit there was reasonable doubt.

Everyone walked around you delicately for days. As many times as you said you were at peace with the verdict, they’d rush to say that they trusted you and couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with it. Tabloids swore up and down that Reynolds had bribed someone, or that there was a bitter woman-hater on the panel, or any number of things, and that you should file a civil suit. 

But you? All you wanted was for Tony Stark’s gang of supers to fuck up so badly that people stopped talking about you. 

You knew, and Murdock knew, the prosecutors couldn’t get him for everything. How could they? If it had been easy to prove it would’ve unravelled years ago. 

They didn’t get him for the arson of Harold Avery’s store, but Nelson and Murdock proved at a pre-trial hearing that the evidence was shoddy at best, so the charges were dropped and the insurance funds released in full. 

They didn’t get him for threatening you, assaulting you, or attempting to kill you. Because of that, a cynical nag in the back of your mind often tried to lure you towards discontentment. 

On the worst days, since that night he’d meant to end your life, while the prosecutors charged him with fraud, delivered subpoenas and mounted a case, on the days it looked like he was about to find some legal loophole, you’d shed angry tears and shout at the ceiling that if New York City cared more about crimes against money than they did crimes against your body, couldn’t they at least get that right? Murdock’s steady hands would anchor you, hold you, remind you that you were the reason Reynolds was deemed a flight risk and kept in custody while awaiting trial. Murdock would tell you the legal theory when he thought you needed it, and shut up when he knew you didn’t. 

Those days were hard.

But on those days, when you languished in the reality that they couldn’t get him for everything, you reminded yourself: they got him for Isabel.

So it was okay.

As soon as the news broke of her ex-husband’s arrest, Izzy Branson had her lawyers contact the Attorney General’s office. She told them everything. About how he falsified drug tests from a private investigator. How he’d threatened to get her sent away to some facility in Eastern Europe. How he’d promised she’d never see her son again if she tried to get help. 

Reynolds tried to settle out of court. Izzy declined and pressed charges. Thankfully, they got a member of her security team to roll on Arthur for an immunity deal.

In his state trial for domestic violence, Arthur Reynolds was found guilty. 

Izzy was called to testify. The brave and beautiful Isabel. Her stare didn’t leave her ex-husband as she undressed him in front of judge, jury, and public opinion. She recounted the way he threatened to fabricate evidence, to shut her completely out of Malcolm’s life, to get her sent off to “rehab” somewhere in Siberia if she ever spoke his name in the press. There were at least five occasions, she recalled, when he became physically violent with her. There were at least two occasions, she recalled, when he’d held her over the edge of the balcony. 

In her victims impact statement, she looked to the judge and explained that as a result of this abuse she still has trouble with trusting people, with sleeping, with paranoia, and has developed a debilitating fear of heights even after years of therapy. 

The State of New York sentenced him to six years, with a non-parole period of four years, credit for time served. It wasn’t nearly enough for all he’d done.

But then came the federal charges.

The United States of America v. Arthur Reynolds. 

In the end, Arthur Reynolds as a criminal mastermind was… disappointing. You’d never say that out loud, considering the unimaginable pain he caused and countless lives he ruined, but you were used to chasing a story with so much more grit and gravitas, and, in the end, it was all about money. 

How fucking disappointing. 

No grand scheme to rule the world, or the universe, or any of the universes out there that Earth’s population had collectively become aware of years before. He wasn’t out for revenge, there was no wounded heart and soul behind the way he used and discarded people. There was nothing. Just another greedy, money-hungry… disappointment. He’ll be the talk of the town until the Avengers blow up another country. Then, he’ll fade into oblivion. Only to be remembered by those he hurt the most. 

By Izzy when she steps onto a balcony. By the way your ankle still creaks when you step on it wrong. By Harold Avery when he obsessively watches the cameras in his new shop at two in the morning. By the hundreds of girls who would’ve remained voiceless.

Thankfully, those were the voices you’d been entrusted with. Those were the voices that brought you here today. 

Murdock squeezed your hand as Judge Washington began her spiel.

“A key part of the sentencing process is giving victims the opportunity to share how the crime has affected them,” she began, then looked down her glasses at where Reynolds sat behind thick bulletproof glass. He wore no emotion on his face, save for a flash of contempt behind his hazel eyes. “A jury of your peers has found you guilty on multiple counts of fraud, scheming to defraud, embezzlement and blackmail.”

Albeit inappropriate, you couldn’t fight your smile. It felt just as euphoric as the first time Judge Jamila Washington had asked the jury if they’d reached their verdict after two days of deliberation, and the moment that foreperson in his powder blue jacket had stood and confirmed that yes, in the eyes of the law, Arthur Reynolds was a filthy criminal.

Judge Washington said your name, and you knew it was time. With their wounds and stories giving heavy weight to the folder in your hand, you stood. 

A choir of whispers and glittering clicking cameras echoed through the room and bounced off the pews. You caught Jorge’s eye on the way to the stand, and he gave you an encouraging nod from the eighth row. He’d been the most incredible help on the ground in Haiti.

You placed the folder down on the podium, being careful with these girls’ stories, bringing a hush over the whispers. “Thank you, your Honour,” you acknowledged the judge and then took a dismissive glance at Reynolds. 

You introduced yourself with your real name.

“Six months ago I was given the great privilege to speak via video link with a number of the students at Stark Foundation schools in Haiti, Guatemala and Colombia. These schools were set up to fulfil the need for education that, as has been proven in this court room, Arthur Reynolds so readily exploited for his own financial gain. The old structures were torn down and state-of-the-art facilities have been built. Experienced teachers and support staff have dedicated themselves to helping these girls through their trauma, and providing the education their parents were promised when they sent their girls off to Arthur Reynolds so-called “free” boarding school.” 

Little did those parents know, their children were used as free labour to pack drugs for a local gang - an evil plan that’d begun to hatch when Arthur Reynolds visited Haiti in his late twenties and found his way to the outskirts of town. The gangs needed money to make more money. They needed labour. Reynolds invested. 

A bittersweet silver lining was that the student were protected from physical harm, for the sole purpose of being photographed for press and fundraising. 

“In dozens of instances, these girls recall, they were made to pose in school uniforms with donated items, or to act like they were in class. One instance was with brand new computers donated by a school in Ohio. Once photos were taken of these smiling children with their gifts, the uniforms went back in the closet and the laptops were ripped from their hands to be distributed among the gang. One girl recalls overhearing her quote-unquote “teacher” say how the laptops were a gift of thanks from Mr Reynolds for the great returns they’d made that quarter.” 

“Your Honour, thank you for the opportunity to bring you the victim impact statements of Roseline, Fabienne, Jude, Esther, Maria, and many more girls. I have forty-six individual statements, and these barely scratch the surface.”  

“Right here! Look here!” 

“Can you tell us how it feels to watch justice prevail for everyone else but yourself?” 

“Give us a smile! Thumbs up for the win!” 

“Tell us more about the-”

“Look over he-”

Murdock guided you through the mess of journalists and paparazzi waiting outside the courthouse for the scoop on what happened inside. The sentencing was live on several news channels but they all wanted your comment.

He held your hand tight and pushed through the crowd towards the road, not afraid to use his cane on a few ankles that wouldn’t move out of his way. When they collectively realised they were impeding the path of a blind man, and you weren’t even looking at them, they moved aside to swarm the District Attorney as she exited the building. 

Almost as quickly as they appeared, they vanished. Leaving you on the sidewalk catching your breath with Murdock, glancing up to catch the DA begin to answer some questions.

“Vultures,” you scoffed. Murdock laughed at the hypocrisy. You rolled your eyes and nudged him. “I’m not like that.” He smirked. “I’m not!” You started to protest, but his strong hand found a gentle place on your jaw, then slid over your ear until he’d once, soothingly, run his fingers through your hair and found a steadfast hold cradling the back of your neck.

“Hey,” he stopped you with a warm smile. “I’m proud of you.”

You felt yourself blush. Even now, after all this time, what he thought of you meant everything. “Yeah, well-“

“I mean it,” he nodded, dropping his smile just a little bit. Just enough to give you a glimpse into the emotion he was holding back here outside the courthouse.

“I couldn’t have done it with you,” you whispered back. You kept the tears in, having cried enough in the past few weeks. You sighed, but there wasn’t relief in it just yet. It was hard to believe it was really over. “I’m glad this is done.”

“You should take a break.”

“What- hell no! It’s a Thursday afternoon. I’ve got work to do.”

He laughed and dropped his hand to meet yours, giving you a playful yet firm smile. “I mean it. Let’s go away this weekend.” He tilted his head, letting his smile grow into a grin. “Get out of the city.”

“Well…” you winced and mulled it over, biting the side of your lower lip. “My parents have a lake house upstate we could use…”

“Great,” he smiled, and that was that. 

Then, his phone rang with Foggy’s name over and over. Then, also, your phone vibrated in your bag. Both of you answered your calls and took a step away from each other to hear your conversations.

“What’s up, Foggy?”

“Hey, yeah it’s over. Reynolds was sentenced him to seventy-nine years in prison. Hundreds of millions in damages to be payed too.”

“Attempted kidnapping? Who’s the complainant?”

“Woah, slow down… what?”

You both continued your conversations, gathering the facts, mounting your internal plans of investigation, already coming up with a dozen defences and even more possibilities. Your calls ended at nearly the exact same time, and you turned back to each other.

“We have a client in custody. I have to meet Foggy at the station,” he replaced his phone in his pocket.

“The Avengers just had a major PR disaster in Nigeria,” you replied in turn. “One of their enhanced blew up a building with a bunch of Wakandan aid workers inside. I need to call my contact at Stark Industries, try to get a comment from Potts or their media team… this is going to dominate headlines for days.”

You both paused, holding your breaths, waiting for the other to protest.

Neither of you did, so you smiled mischievously and took a step towards him to close the gap between you two. Smoothing out his collar, straightening his tie, you asked, “Rain check on upstate?”

Matt himself leaned forwards and placed a loving kiss to your wanting lips, his hands meeting yours where they were now closed around his lapel. “Go get ‘em.”

You smiled and smoothed down his jacket. “I’ll see you at home, Murdock.”

Matt listened as your shoes made their way down the pavement in the direction of your office. He took in the wildflower field of your perfume lingering after you as you went in pursuit of the story, armed with the desire for knowledge and the conviction to share it. As he turned, extended his walking stick and started making his way towards the jail, he smiled at your parting words.

After all this time, you still called him Murdock. Even after he told you he loved you, after you told him you loved him, after you started leaving a toothbrush and then after you’d moved in and put plants in the living room you now shared.

Even after you finally knew where he kept the wine.

He wondered if you’d still call him Murdock after it was your last name too. Then again, who was he to assume you’d take his last name? That was a conversation to be had after he’d asked you the question he’d been planning to ask when the nightmare was over.

He’d been hoping to ask you away from the madness, out of the city, if you’d have him. All of him. Everything, forever. 

But now that there was a client in custody and a superhero meltdown on another continent, it occurred to Matt that you two would always be drawn to the heart centre of New York. To its people and its problems.

So perhaps there was no better time than amidst the chaos, and no better place than the living room of your loft in Hell’s Kitchen.

He could order Thai takeout and somehow wrangle you into those red basketball shorts for old time’s sake. If he did that, you’d smell it from a block away.

Then again… maybe you’d already figured it out.

Because today, of all days, you were wearing that damn perfume. 

EPILOGUE

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[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Take What You Need - Part 1: Let the Devil Out

Matt Murdock x Female Reader

Part 2 | Part 3

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT/18+ ONLY. Female reader (anatomy and implication of she/her pronouns) No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Red Suit DD. Oral sex (M receiving), unprotected P in V (be safe IRL), P in V with no prep, DomMatt, choking, lil bit of breeding kink, aftercare.

Summary: The first time Matt takes you up on your offer to take what he needs. After a night of patrolling doesn't calm the devil inside, you offer for him to take it out on you.

WC: 1801

Matthew Murdock is a giver by nature – whether it’s the deep-seated catholic guilt, the childhood trauma of never having his emotional needs met, or just his naturally innate personality. For whatever reason, he is incapable of taking for himself, rarely ever utters or even thinks the words I need.

You discovered quickly into your relationship with him that also very much applied to his habits in the bedroom. He would have himself slotted between your thighs for hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you like it was just another day in court, but when it came time for you to return the favor, he’d shutter away from the notion. Behave as if it were a nuisance. Only give himself the pleasure for your satisfaction more than his.

Matthew, take what you need became a prayer on your lips that he very rarely answered.

That was until tonight.

The streets of Hell’s Kitchen were volatile lately. Gangs, muggers, hitmen – just to name a few of the characters he’d run into recently. He stumbled home bloody and bruised more times than he’d care to count over the past few weeks.

The crisp air nips at the little skin he has exposed, making his bones ache, seeping into him like a thousand needles. Every molecule of the blood-stained suit he wears rubs against his skin in a fiery itch. Even the faintest of sounds from the street below sends his ears into a frenzy. Not to mention the smells – copper from the blood, garbage and gasoline from the streets of New York, and sweat from his own body.

His senses are in overdrive. He’s irritable, itching for a release to calm his twitchy nervous system back into place. Even a night spent beating up the worst of Hell’s Kitchen is not enough.

A soft but familiar heartbeat cuts through the anguish and draws his attention to you, enjoying the dawning morning from a spot just outside his roof access door. He makes the final leap across rooftops and strides forward, head cocked to hone his senses to only you.

You stand to meet him, discarding the plaid throw blanket from your shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. Came up to get fresh air and wait for…” You begin to explain, but are cut off by him pulling your body against his and his mouth smashing into yours.

His kisses are immediately intense. Fervent. More teeth than tongue.

Between the violent attack of kisses and the stark contrast of his warm body pressed against yours in the cool dawn air, you’re left breathless, even a bit dizzy. But before you can orient yourself, he’s spinning you around and pushing you through the door that leads into his home, grasping at any part of your body he can get his hands on.

Because as this city tears him down to nothing but fragile atoms, burning every part of him as deeply as the fires of hell to which he feels his sins condemn him, there you are to save his soul.

You pull away from his kisses only for a moment, to let out a familiar request.

“Take what you need, Matthew”

And for the first time, he accepts your gracious offer.

“On your knees. Now.” he commands through his shaky exhales with a tilt of his chin.

The realization he was finally resigning to selfishness sends a fire of anticipation through your veins. Not wanting to give him any opportunity to rethink it, you scramble to drop down to your knees with a creak of the wood floor beneath you.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s on edge. Fiddling with the pants of his crimson devil suit for a moment until his cock springs free, already unbearably hard.

As he runs his gloved finger over your lips, he swallows thickly.

“Open.”

He pushes himself inside your mouth as soon as you part your lips.

A shudder runs through him when he reaches the back of your throat. Then he does as you requested – he takes. Thrusting in and out with no regard to how you’re gagging and choking on his length. His thick thighs offer a stable surface for you to grasp and through your lashes you look up and meet the red eyes of his mask. The eyes of the devil.

And what a devilish sin it is, Matt thinks to himself, to give in so fully to his desires. To fight so hard against his selfless instincts.

Tears spring to your eyes with every rut of his pelvis while your strangled moans encourage him to keep fucking your willing mouth. If he continues at this pace, he knows he will finish before fully having you in the way he wants.

No. The way he needs.

Grasping at your throat, he pulls out from you, heavy boots stomping backward to orient himself. Warm spit dribbles down your chin. You gasp at the now empty space around you and it’s suffocating.

“Still with me?” His breathing is ragged and uneven as he finally speaks again.

“Yes”

He wastes no time, bending down to strip you of your clothes quickly. They flutter over the side of the railing into the living room below. A soft contrast to the plonking sound of his gloves haphazardly being discarded as well and meeting the same fate as your pajamas below.

“Turn around.” he orders with a nod of his chin

Now bare beneath him, you comply and turn to face away. Your hands grasp at the spindles that cage the landing in, also now caging you into his unrestrained desires.

Desperation seeps from your every pore like watercolors bleeding across a canvas, your thundering heartbeat and the slick between your legs alerting Matt’s hypersenses to your readiness. He nudges at your entrance with the head of his cock, not wishing to waste another moment apart from you.

Any remaining shred of control is lost. The sound of his sex meeting yours and the warmth of your arousal is enough to make him lose it. He plunges all the way in with a vicious thrust of his hips, allowing no time for your cunt to adjust. And then he’s desperately rutting into you, breathy little moans escaping with every push of his hips.

“Matthew!” you cry out as satisfying pain burns through you.

The sensation of finally indulging in his own needs and desires first is so foreign to him, to be given so much with no expectation in return. He knows this must truly be what it means to let the devil out - to fully blur the line between man and demon.

The rough woven fabric of his suit burns against your exposed back as his thrusts become harsher. Tonight the praise that usually slips from his lips as your bodies meet is replaced by only harsh moans and grunts.

You’re fully pliable to his touch now, eyes brimming with tears moments away from spilling over your lids and staining your cheeks. He can taste them in the air, as he adjusts his pace and begins pounding into the spot guaranteed to unravel you quickly. Your growing whimpers alerting him that he’s got you exactly where he wants you, teetering towards your undoing. At this point, you’re well aware that he’s toying with you, edging you to your limit for his own gratification, full control over when and how you cum. If that’s the only thing he feels like he can control at this point, you’ll let him have it.

He leans forward to wrap his arm around your front and capture your throat in his grasp while his other hand runs desperately up and down your body, grabbing and groping at every inch of exposed skin.

If this was the intensity at which he patrolled and protected, you understood why the underbelly of this city only dared whisper about the man in the mask. But you weren’t afraid of him letting the devil out. If anything it was relieving to submit fully to his mercy – to fully know the parts of him he so desperately wanted to hide from you.

Reaching above where the two of you are joined, his tepid fingers harshly rub at your clit, coaxing you towards your end almost as furiously as his mind has been racing this evening. He doesn’t miss the cues your body is giving – the arch of your back, the intensified way your cunt is squeezing around him, more and more of you dripping onto him. Knowing the fire within him wont fully extinguish until he feels you meet your release.

You can barely think straight from the sheer intensity of your pleasure as your orgasm floods your system, finally breaking him free of the unruly angst he felt tonight. The vibrations in your chest as you continue to whimper and recover from your high pull him into the abyss along with you. He’s panting harshly as he cums, his whole body shaking as frazzled grunts spill from his lips. Electricity ricocheting between the two of you as he spills deep inside, finally placating the burning itch.

A new pain appears (in addition to the ache in your knees and the releasing tension of your muscles) the horns of his devil mask poking into your shoulder blades as he rests his forehead on your exposed back. His grip releases from your throat to find the hand you have clutched to the spindles, lacing his fingers with yours.

The stabbing of the horns are quickly replaced by featherlight kisses. Calmness washes over him in a tidal wave with the act of giving pleasure to flesh, not pain. It feels like an eternity until he finally pulls himself from you, his breathing now steady and even.

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up” he speaks, almost in a whisper, as he paws at your soft flesh, assisting you to your feet and gingerly guiding you down the stairs.

A warm shower and a massage of your shoulders later, you’re snuggled together under silk sheets, not daring to give in to the sleep you both desperately need. Afterall, the harsh cries of your morning alarm are any moment away.

Matt holds you near, running long circles with his hands up and down the exposed flesh of your arms and back. As he embraces you, he marvels at how easily you offered yourself to him tonight and how willingly you gave, just as he does in nearly every aspect of his life. The thought grounds him, more than being buried inside you already has.

The pink and blue glows of the night time billboard through the large, loft windows are now washed away with the warmth of morning sunlight and the last signs of the devil inside finally dissipate with the rising sun.

NEXT CHAPTER

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock imagine #my fics #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x yn #mcu matt murdock #matt x reader #matt x you #matt murdock x you #matt murdock series #daredevil fanfic #netflix daredevil #nmcu #mcu #mcu fic #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #marvel fanfic #angst #dom!matt

[amhrosina]

The Red Room - Pt. 1 (Matt Murdock x Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

Summary: While on surveillance one night, you get interrupted by a strange man wearing a Devil costume. When he offers to help you escape the Red Room, the offer is too good to pass up.

(Warnings: guns, physical fighting, cursing, references to psychological torture, eventual smut lol, references to reader's life as a Black Widow, reader threatens Matt, reader doesn't know Matt is Daredevil, this is somewhat of a divergence from the canon story, watch me make shit up about the Red Room)

Part 2 Part 3 - Coming Soon

You perched on the edge of the rooftop, gargoyle-like in your hunched posture as you watched your target skitter across the alley below you. The infamous grey patches in his hair stood out in the blanketed darkness, and the drunk stagger of messy footsteps echoed around you. He was older than he looked in his picture, but it was definitely him.

“Target acquired.” You whispered into your telecom, reaching for the pistol strapped to your hip.

“Do not engage, Widow. Tail him and wait for further instructions.”

You halted, furrowing your brow.

“Sorry, you’re saying to not shoot him?”

“Affirmative.”

You shrugged, still confused but unwilling to express your curiosity. If you came across as too interested, they’d subject you to another round of “training”, and the last thing you wanted was a doctor to brainwash your personal thoughts away. It’d taken you long enough to snap out of their original training, and you weren’t too eager to go through that again.

“Copy that.”

You jumped down from the ledge onto the gravel rooftop and wiped your palms on your thighs. It didn’t matter to you whether your target was dead, but it was strange that they sent such an experienced Widow on a surveillance mission. The guy was so intoxicated that he could barely walk upright, which meant that for the time being, your new home would be the roof. You muted your telecom and began pacing, working through a familiar plan in your head.

The Red Room was the only place you’d ever been able to call home. It was the place where your earliest memories were coagulated. While other kids dreamt of rainbows and birthday parties, you spent your days in combat training, learning tactical skills, and when you got old enough, sparring girls in matches that would end in either victory or death. You had been lucky enough to come out the victor of these matches, but there was always a cost, and it was always at the expense of another Widow.

It didn’t hurt, couldn’t hurt anymore, but you repeated their names like a mantra as you paced. The ability to express emotions had been brainwashed out of you before you could talk in complete sentences, but it had been years since you’d seen the doctor, and unbeknownst to Dreykov, you’d been independently thinking for over a year now.

Your goal, the reason you were always so eager to leave the Red Room and enter the field, was to find your birth parents. You had almost nothing to go on, other than the story that they’d been feeding you since you could remember. According to Dreykov, your mom was nothing more than a junkie that left you on the steps of a firehouse as an infant, but you’d been having dreams for months about a woman that looked just like you, and you were determined to find her.

“Do you always talk to yourself when you’re spending time on sketchy rooftops?”

You swung around, heart pounding in your chest as you readied yourself for an attack. You’d been so caught up in your planning that you hadn’t been focused on the noise around you, and for the first time since you’d become a Widow, someone had successfully snuck up on you.

Opposite you stood a tall, costumed man, covered from head to toe in red. Horns adorned the top of his masked head, and the smirk resting on his face was the only section of skin that you could make out in the darkness.

“Do you always sneak up on women in the dark?” You barked back, aiming your gun at his head.

“Only when they’re wearing more lead than clothing.”

You cocked your head, eyeing him with distaste. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

You scoffed at his arrogance, but you couldn’t deny that he was right. You were wearing a lot of weapons. Every Widow did when they were on assignment.

“What do you want?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Who do you work for?” He returned.

It quickly devolved into a game of cat and mouse, and you weren’t planning on losing.

“Why do you care?”

“Is it Fisk?”

“Is it?”

“You work for Fisk?”

“What’s it to you?”

He swallowed, and you knew you had him, though you weren’t expecting him to lunge at you so quickly. You side stepped, narrowly avoiding the punch aimed at your face. You brought the butt of your gun down, aiming for the vulnerable skin of your attacker’s face. He was almost as fast as you were, catching your hand when it was millimeters away from striking his jaw and using your own momentum against you to knock the gun loose from your hold.

You didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. Within seconds, you’d swung your leg out, catching the tip of his foot and causing him to stumble towards you. You brought your fist up, colliding knuckle with jaw in an uppercut that would knock any normal person out cold for hours. Apparently, this guy wasn’t normal, because the only outward sign that the punch had affected him was the slight shake of his head as he steadied himself.

It didn’t matter. You already had another gun in your hand, and this time, you’d shoot first and ask questions later.

“Wait.” His voice echoed around the rooftop, and for the second time that night, you hesitated. He held his hands out in front of him, a silent plea not to shoot. “You’re one of them, right? One of the Widows?”

You blinked. There was no possible way this random, costumed idiot knew anything about the Red Room. How could he? It was one of the most guarded secrets in modern history. But clearly, he knew something, and that meant he had to die. You rolled your shoulders, willing the hesitancy to leave you so you could bury this distraction and get back to your business.

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

You cocked the gun, finger itching to pull the trigger. He panted, breath billowing out around him in the cold air. Why couldn’t you just pull the damn trigger?

“You were taken when you were a girl, and you trained in the Red Room, right?”

You froze, chest growing tighter with every breath you took. “You are barking up the wrong tree, dude.”

“I like this tree, I think.” A small grin crossed his face, but turned grave again quickly. “I have a – I mean, my friend is a lawyer.”

“So?” You sent him an incredulous look. This guy was all over the place.

“So, he’s helped an ex-Widow get out before. He could help you too if you want.”

Your breath hitched. Black Widows didn’t get to just leave the Red Room. You were in it until death, and there were no loopholes. You’d checked.

“That’s impossible.”

Your mind whirred with possibilities. He could be lying, but what if he wasn’t? What if he was telling the truth, and you could really escape? Was this all an elaborate plan to throw you off your game before he killed you? He did attack you first, but only after you feigned employment with the man he called ‘Fisk’.

Your ear piece crackled, and you nearly jumped out of your skin before remembering that you’d muted yourself earlier.

“Status report, Widow.”

You eyed the man in front of you. He shifted his stance, leaning ever so slightly toward you, almost like he was listening to your conversation. But that would be impossible, right?

“Widow. Report.”

You kept your gun aimed at the man and reached to unmute your telecom. This inconvenience could be cleared up so easily. All you had to do was mention the man in front of you to the man on the telecom, and a dozen Widows would be at your location in minutes. But what he’d said had managed to crawl under your skin. You wanted, no – needed to know more.

“Nothing major to report. The target is in the diner on 42nd. He’s heavily intoxicated but sobering up. Should I move in?”

“Negative. Hold your position. Your heartrate spiked on our monitors.”

“Oh.” You tried to feign innocence. “One of the residents of the building came to the roof to smoke. I ran so they wouldn’t see me.”

“Did you follow protocol?”

“Yes. It’s been handled.”

“Hold steady, Widow.”

You muted your comm again, narrowing in on the man you were still aiming your gun at.

“Is it normal for Widows to lie to the Red Room?” He asked, cocking his head.

“How do you know about the Red Room?”

“I told you. My friend’s a lawy-”

“No,” you interrupted, “How do you know about the Red Room.”

“My friend and I are…very close.” He shrugged.

“Your friend should learn to keep his mouth shut.” You finally lowered your gun, satisfied that he wouldn’t be attacking you again. “Any other Widow wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot you in the head. After torturing your friend’s name out of you, that is.”

“But you hesitated.” He pointed out, lowering his hands.

“I need the name of your lawyer friend. And I need to know that you won’t rat me out if I let you leave this roof alive.”

“You’re going to get out?”

“I’m going to try.” You shrugged. “The name, Devil-Man. And your word.”

“Nelson & Murdock. They’ll meet you where you’re at, and they’ll know what to do next.” He held out a business card. “And, I give you my word that I won’t tell a soul about our meeting tonight.”

You reached forward, gripping his wrist and pulling him towards you. Your faces were inches apart and the knife you always sheathed in your sleeve was pressed against his neck.

“If I find out that you said anything to anyone, other than your lawyer friend, I will gut you like a fish. Is that clear?”

He smirked. “Crystal.”

“Good.” You plucked the business card from his fingers and pushed off of him, apathetic towards his ability to stay upright. You leaped onto the ledge of the building, searching the diner for your target. Your eyes narrowed on the hulking mass of a man asleep in his omelet in one of the booths.

Yep. It’s going to be a long night.

A/N: Okay, this was originally a request for one fic but I definitely wayyyy over thought it and now it's a series. It'll probably be like 5-7 parts, will definitely be smutty, and will hopefully do Matty some justice. I already have part two written, and I'm hoping to get that edited and published before Monday. I hope you enjoyed! Also, this series has been added to the tag list request form, so if you'd like to update your preferences or fill out a form to be added to this series' tag list, click here!

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xleiaorgana @mukbee @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @alina02 @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @thedevilwearsblack @merleisapartygod @legocity2 @violet-19999 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @shoxji @layazul @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @lazyxsquirrel @honeysucklepotter @m0nster-fvcker @matthewmurdockswhore @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock series #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil netflix #daredevil fanfiction #fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #charlie cox #charlie cox imagine #charlie cox daredevil #requested #amhrosina

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |1: Snowed In|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series summary: In the middle of a New York City blizzard, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen accidentally lands himself on your fire escape–quite literally. When he accepts your invitation to warm up inside your apartment, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows all night with the curious and attractive masked vigilante. He's intriguing, though what you find even more intriguing is his unexpected returns to your window after that night–and his flirting. But when it seems like you're not the only one beginning to develop real feelings, he pulls back and you're left wondering two things: Why did he disappear and who really is the mysterious Devil that you've inevitably fallen for?

a/n: Just a short collection of one shots that I'll update whenever the ideas strike. It'll be told in a style like Falling for the Devil but it won't get nearly as long (unless y'all end up loving it, too). I just couldn't deny giving us all the fantasy of black suit Matt reappearing at your apartment window and all the flirting, sexual tension, feelings, and naughty things that might ensue... The installment list for this little series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer

Picking up the steaming mug of tea you’d just finished making from off the kitchen counter, you cradled your other hand around the warmth of the ceramic and drew it towards your chest as you turned and headed back towards your living room. The small spot of heat against the front of your sweatshirt caused a shiver to run down your spine as your sock-clad feet padded along the cold hardwood floor and back towards your couch. 

It was freezing inside your apartment tonight and the blustering snow storm raging outside in Hell’s Kitchen wasn't helping. Thankfully your office had already announced its closure for tomorrow before you'd finished work earlier this evening. The snow had already started to dump from the sky before you’d even left the office, falling heavy and wild as it accumulated in a cover of white that blanketed everything in the city. It would have been beautiful if you hadn’t needed to walk home afterwards in the frigid mess–especially with the way the large clumps of snowflakes pelted and battered you in the face over and over, the cold stinging at your skin. 

The city was expected to get a whopping eighteen inches of snowfall minimum over the next twenty-four hours, so you were grateful that your boss wanted as little to do with making it into work tomorrow as you did, especially because you couldn’t afford to do anything but walk to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was trudge through all of that mess and slip on a patch of ice, inevitably falling in a massive pile of snow and leaving you stuck in damp dress clothes all day. 

No, you'd rather stay dry and cozy at home enjoying a lazy day off of work.

You were just hoping the power in your apartment building remained intact throughout the fury of the winter storm. You didn’t want to think about losing the heat in your building in the middle of all of this. Another shiver ran through you as you pushed the thought away–hopefully not something you’d need to worry about tonight. 

But since you didn’t have work first thing in the morning, you had every intention of enjoying your night. You’d immediately come home and thrown off your dress clothes before settling on something comfortable–soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt sans bra underneath. Then you’d made dinner and cleaned it up fast before claiming your ‘spot’ for the evening on your couch. Which consisted of both of your blankets and the television remote while you binged a guilty pleasure show that you hadn’t had time to catch up on for the past few weeks. Tonight you were intending to stay up a bit late, cozy up beneath your blankets, drink some hot tea, and lose yourself in the plot and romance of the show before eventually dragging your tired ass to bed in the hopes of sleeping in tomorrow to make up for staying up late. 

Eyes focused on the paused television screen as you moved, you rounded the side of your couch while drawing your steaming mug up to your lips. You sipped at the warm liquid, reveling in it for a moment before you swallowed it down. You could feel it heat you from the inside out as a pleasant sensation washed over you. Your eyes closed briefly for a moment–it was the first time you’d actually felt warm today. 

Opening your eyes, you continued towards the couch and began to lower yourself down onto the cushions while trying not to spill any of your tea from the mug. Just as you were about to sit back down on the couch and cocoon yourself in both of your blankets, ready to settle in for more of your show, something outside the window to your right caught your attention. Your head spun in the direction just as a flash of black dashed past the window and a loud bang reverberated through your apartment. 

A frightened yelp slipped out of you at the sound and you clutched your mug tight to your chest, your heart thudding heavily in terror. Whatever had just literally dropped onto your fire escape had been large, especially with the sound of that impact. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you stared transfixed at the window, almost ridiculously terrified it would be some sort of wild animal–like a bear or a wolf–on your fire escape. 

Though, more realistically considering you were in New York City, you knew it was probably a burglar. Who else would be traversing fire escapes late at night? Especially dressed in all dark clothes? Except…that also seemed a little ridiculous, too. There was a literal blizzard happening outside, meaning everyone would be home. In their apartments. Making it impossible for a burglar to break into anyone’s place unseen. Plus, it was insane outside, what criminal would risk dealing with that right now?

So what the hell had just fallen onto your fire escape?

Another thought struck you soon after and your lips parted in shock at the idea as you blew out the breath you’d been holding. With trembling hands, you very slowly reached out, carefully placing your mug of tea onto the coffee table before you without taking your eyes off of your window. Gradually, almost nervously, you rose to your feet before taking hesitant step after hesitant step forward. Another sharp, surprised gasp flew out of you when you saw the dark figure sit upright on your fire escape, bent in half as if they were in pain. Which made sense, considering the fall they’d just taken.

But your body froze up instantly at the sight of the man dressed in all black bent in half and dusted in white patches of snow. He wasn’t a burglar at all. With the black cloth tied over his head and the form fitting shirt he was wearing, there was absolutely no mistaking who he was. You'd certainly seen enough images of him plastered across the media. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just fallen onto your fire escape.

Eyes widening in shock at the infamous vigilante attempting to pull himself up to his feet, one of his gloved hands holding onto the metal railing of your fire escape, you were suddenly overcome with the urge to check on him. To make sure he wasn’t seriously injured from that fall. 

Without thinking your actions through, you crossed the last few steps to the window and unlatched the locks before pushing it up. The masked figure immediately spun towards you at the sound as a bitter gust of wind burst its way into your apartment, chilling you instantly while those thick snowflakes once again assailed your face. For a moment you locked eyes with him–or at least, it seemed like you did despite the fabric covering half of his face–as your mouth hung open. You suddenly found yourself at a loss of what to say in the moment. And considering the way his lips thinned out along his face and the way he remained silent, he clearly wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with you, either.

Eyes darting down, you saw he had one gloved hand clutching at his right side as if it hurt him. His shoulders were hunched in on himself as his back faced the violent winds blowing snow relentlessly. Seeing him in person for the first time ever–something you’d never expected in your life considering how elusive the media made him out to be–you realized just how thin and unprotective his clothes really were. Especially tonight considering the cold weather. He had to be freezing.

An icy wind whistled loudly, another flurry of heavy snowflakes pelting you right in the face and breaking you from your thoughts. Blinking the snow from your lashes, you finally found your voice. 

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how one should approach the masked man. “I just–just saw you fall. It looked like it hurt.”

He gave a curt shake of his head, wincing before he turned more towards the railing. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied.

Something warm flooded your veins at the gravelly tone of his voice. It suited him somehow, even if it sounded fake. Like he was pitching his voice lower to sound like someone else in order to hide his identity. Not that you'd probably have recognized him anyway. 

With his back partially to you now, especially this close when there was barely a few feet of space between the pair of you, you could see just how incredibly muscular this man was. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, the toned abdominal muscles on his upper body clearly visible even from just his profile. Even the pectoral muscles of his chest were well defined and visible beneath the sheen of black. His arms were thick–far too big for just one of your hands to wrap around. And as your gaze lingered lower, you fought back the thoughts that entered your mind at the sight of how large his thighs were in those tight pants–and how pleasant a profile his ass also had. You wondered briefly if he'd gained all that from working out or if it had more to do with his nightly activities.

Though when you saw him grab onto the metal railing of your fire escape with both of his gloved hands, the movement drawing your attention away from observing him as he attempted to swing himself over it, you nearly screamed as you lurched forward. You lived on the fifth floor, was this man really about to fling himself off of the fire escape from all the way up here? 

But the scream died in your throat the moment he cried out in pain, his feet slipping from off of the railing as he fell back onto your fire escape. He let out a hiss of pain as he clutched at his clearly injured side.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, shoving the window open wider despite the cold and snow and leaning further forward. “You’re clearly not okay. Do you need something? An ambulance or something? Is there someone I can call? Or–or something I can do to help?”

The man rolled off his injured side and onto his back, gradually turning towards you as he lay on the fire escape. You hadn’t expected the amused and pained chuckle he emitted while the snow accumulated on the entire front of him, lightly covering the thin layer of his black shirt. Which you’d noticed had ridden up, revealing a small sliver of skin just above the dark, form fitting pants he was wearing. You tried hard to not keep glancing back at that patch of skin as it slowly rose higher and higher, unsure why you were so distracted by it.

The sound of his amusement soon drew you back to the moment and you cringed. Why the hell was he laughing?

“Are you alright? Did you…hit your head?” you asked him cautiously. “Maybe you have a concussion…”

Another amused sound slipped out of him, but that was quickly followed by a pained groan as he tried to once again rise up onto his feet. “I don’t have a concussion,” he assured you.

“You sure?” you asked, an eyebrow arching onto your forehead as you crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm when you began to shiver from the cold. “Because this doesn’t seem like a funny situation to me.”

“Well,” he grunted out, wincing as he drew back up to his full height, “normally I’m the one offering assistance, not the other way around. So yeah,” he continued with a faint shrug, your eyes once again catching the way he was holding his side, “it’s kind of amusing. In an…irritating sort of way.”

Your heart sank to your stomach at his words. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered, heat rushing up to your face instantly. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I was just concerned–”

He took a half step forward, cutting you off as he waved a hand between the pair of you. He shook his head, letting out a slight huff of laughter. “No, I didn’t mean you were irritating. Just…this situation. The–the snow and the falling part.” In a quieter voice he added, “And having an audience for it.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you stood there studying him for a moment. He was injured and wearing barely anything at all in the middle of a blizzard. He looked like he needed help even if he seemed like the type not to ask for it.

“Do you want to come inside?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. “I mean, to get warm and maybe sit down for a moment? I could call an ambulance or–or a taxi or something to bring you to a hospital.”

Another amused huff of laughter slipped out of him as he shook his head. “No hospitals, please. I’ll be alright. But…if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a moment to warm up.” His gloved hand lowered, pinching a bit of fabric from his shirt as he glanced down at it. “Admittedly this doesn’t offer much protection from the elements.”

You eyed the thin material between his gloves doubtfully. “Doesn’t look like it offers much protection from anything,” you told him.

A surprised bark of laughter peeled out of him, the sound drawing a smile onto your face. You’d made the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laugh. Now that was something you weren’t going to forget anytime soon. He didn’t seem like the type to break character easily.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he agreed, his laughter subsiding.

Taking a step back from the window, you waved a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come inside. “How about you come in so I can close this window and we both can stop freezing?” you suggested, surprised at how bold you sounded considering who it was you were speaking with. “I’m shivering already so I can only imagine how cold you must be.”

You watched as his lips curled up into a charming grin at the corners, just beneath the black fabric of his mask. It was impossible to deny that he had a handsome face–at least, from what you could see of it. You imagined the rest of it to be just as attractive beneath that cloth and a sudden intense curiosity to know what the rest of it looked like overtook you as you watched him carefully climb through your opened window. He moved slowly, wincing in pain as he made his way inside. Despite his tough act, that fall must’ve really hurt his side and you frowned, wishing he’d accept your offer to help. There was no way he was as fine as he claimed to be, surely he needed medical attention.

“Takes a special kind of person to just invite me into their home so readily,” the Devil’s rough tone came out as he turned his back to you, shutting the window after himself. “Normally people prefer to avoid me.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you replied almost instantly.

The window closed with a sharp clack before his masked face turned over his snow-dusted shoulder, his attention fixed on you. “Oh?” he asked curiously, a smirk growing over his lips. “I’m not?”

Your eyes were drawn to his mouth, though it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to look when you spoke to him with that mask covering most of his face. The smirk appeared teasing, and for some reason that had the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You suddenly became very aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your loose sweatshirt and it was now cold in your apartment. Quickly your arms wrapped over your chest, hugging yourself tight. His lips almost seemed to curl ever higher in response.

“I mean, you are ,” you amended, “but to, you know, criminals.” 

You swallowed hard when he remained still, gazing at you over his shoulder wordlessly.There was something almost predatory in the way he was studying you. It was easy to see how this lone man terrified the criminals on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, striking fear into them. He certainly had a presence. Goosebumps rippled beneath the sleeves of your sweatshirt at his continued silent stare.

“Right?” you asked tentatively, voice softer.

His smirk vanished as the other corner of his mouth curled upwards into what felt like a warm smile despite you being unable to see if it reached his eyes. He nodded gently, turning slowly back towards you as he did. 

“That's correct,” he agreed, brushing the snow from his broad shoulders. “I’m only dangerous to criminals. So unless you’re hiding any dead bodies or have some outstanding charges…?”

You laughed, though abruptly you snatched your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet the noise instantly. He was witty and funny. You weren’t anticipating that. Or the way your reaction to his quips seemed to please him, like he was trying to charm you. Which seemed even more curious, considering who he was and what he spent his nights doing. 

“Can't say that I do,” you said. “I'm probably the most boring person in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Well now,” he replied teasingly, “don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you're not taking that title  all by yourself.” 

That charming smile was back on his face and it had your stomach fluttering. Tearing your eyes away from him, you noticed the television was still paused on your show. Paused on a scene where the two actors on screen were clearly about to kiss. Cheeks burning, you hurried over and grabbed the remote from the couch and turned it off. 

“You can make yourself comfortable if you want,” you told him, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your tone. “I've got a couple of blankets you can use to help warm you up.”

His heavy boots thudded with each of his steps as he crossed the room and made his way to the couch. You bent over, grabbing both blankets from your place on the couch where you'd previously been curled up as he passed behind you. The moment one of his cold gloves brushed against your back, you froze.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“No it's–it's fine,” you replied. 

He passed behind you before settling onto the opposite end of the couch from where you had clearly taken residence. You forced a smile onto your face as you turned and leaned over, holding out the blankets towards him. 

Pull yourself together , you internally chastised yourself. Just because it's been a while since you've had a man here doesn't mean you need to react to every little thing. That's not what this is, obviously. 

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the blankets from your outstretched hand. 

You nodded before sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between you and him. Curling your legs up under yourself, you watched as the Devil wasted no time throwing both blankets around himself, beginning to visibly shiver beneath them as he tried to warm up.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?” you asked him.

“No one to call,” he answered. “And a hospital would defeat the purpose of trying to remain anonymous.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you muttered, glancing away and spotting the forgotten tea on your coffee table. “Would you like something to drink at least? Some water or some hot tea, maybe?”

His masked head tilted curiously to the side at your question, a grin returning to his plush lips. “Playing hostess?” he asked. 

“Well I'm sure you've got to be thirsty running around Hell’s Kitchen and fighting criminals all the time,” you explained. “I always sort of wondered if you stashed water bottles around the city or stopped for water breaks somewhere–not where you live, I imagine. Since you're trying to keep your identity hidden.” Your eyes narrowed as you added, “Or do you just let yourself get dehydrated every time you're out? Because that's not good for you, you know.”

The Devil's grin grew wider as he shifted on the couch, facing you even more from his place on the cushions. “Oh?” he asked, curiosity in his tone. “You've thought about me before, have you?”

Eyes dropping down to your lap, you smiled sheepishly as you shrugged. “I mean, I've had some theories circulating about you ever since you kept reappearing in the news,” you admitted awkwardly. “Sort of hard not to.”

“Well now you have to indulge me,” he teased. “Enlighten me on some of these theories of yours.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you continued to avoid his covered stare. “I mean, they're not that interesting…”

“Oh come on,” he tried again. “It's not like we don't have the time. And maybe I can confirm or deny some of them for you. Besides, I admit I’m curious to know what you think of me. Especially being so willing to offer help like you did.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. He looked far less intimidating beneath your blush pink blanket now. What would it hurt if you told him a few of your ideas about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe he might laugh at them, but would hearing that sound again be all that bad? And it truly would be interesting to learn more about the mysterious vigilante, something you'd probably never have the opportunity to do again. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a nod. Straightening up on the couch, you turned to face him more fully. “So I've always thought with the way that you fight that you were trained by some sort of secret ninja assassin organization.”

A hearty chuckle filled your living room at your first theory. The pleasant and resonant noise left you grinning as your stomach fluttered in response. You briefly wondered how often the Devil actually laughed when he was out. 

“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” he responded. 

The playful smile that kept appearing on his face was beginning to further disarm you. You found yourself enjoying his company, soon becoming used to the way half his face was hidden from sight with that ridiculous fabric. And for some reason your unexplainable attraction to him was only growing. 

“Next theory,” he prodded, the smile on his face apparent even in his voice. 

“You're not wealthy,” you stated, leaning forward and grabbing your tea from the coffee table.

“Oh, ow,” he joked, playfully recoiling back from you on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand at him across from you as you settled back into the cushions, mug in hand. “Because you wear clothing that is obviously not meant to protect you very well in a fight,” you answered. “I imagine if you had money you'd have something…nicer. Meant for what you do. And,” you continued, pausing long enough to drink down some of your now barely warm tea, aware of him focused on you, “you protect Hell’s Kitchen. Only Hell’s Kitchen. This part of the city isn't exactly filled with the wealthiest people. And with how dedicated you are to everyone here, I assume it's because you probably grew up here yourself. Most likely still reside here, too.”

The Devil hummed appreciatively when you'd quieted, his masked gaze still on you. You swore you could feel it as you drank down more of your tea.

“You're observant,” he mused. “Maybe I need to watch myself around you.”

A surge of pride swelled in your chest; you hadn't expected his praise. Or the way it would make you feel. And apparently, you'd guessed something right about him. 

“You're also not married or in a serious relationship,” you blurted before you could help yourself, wondering what more you could learn about him.

“Poor and unlovable?” the Devil asked with a surprised laugh. “That's what you think of me?”

“No,” you disagreed, laughing a little with him as you shook your head. “No, but I mean, I imagine you don't have time for someone else. And I figure most people wouldn’t like their partner going out and doing what you do. Putting yourself in danger.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, shifting on the couch and making himself more comfortable. “A partner would certainly be…a distraction. A liability. One I couldn't really afford to have. So no, you're not wrong, I don't have one.”

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with the mug in your hands. Half of you was hoping to hear that he wasn't with anyone–though you refused to admit to yourself why that mattered–but the other half of you had heard the way he'd said that a partner would be a distracting liability and you’d felt a sad pang hit you in the chest. Considering how much he seemed to be enjoying your company when he didn't even know you had you guessing that the Devil was a lonely man deep down. 

But that wasn't a theory you felt comfortable sharing. 

“Any others?” he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on him across the couch from you. His smile had disappeared, his lips now downturned at the corners just a bit. His posture had changed in your silence, the same as his mood, as if he'd picked up on the subtle change in yours somehow. 

Strange.

“I imagine you're the kind of guy who's fridge is always empty,” you answered.

A ghost of a smile reappeared on his face as he huffed out an amused breath. You couldn't fight the smile returning to your own lips at the sight of his again. 

“Well hey now,” he countered lightly, “there's usually beer. Sometimes orange juice and eggs.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. “Who'd have guessed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is just your average bachelor?” 

“Average?” he repeated in mock offense, his head tilting to the side. “I'm just average now?”

Quirking a brow at him in a challenging manner, your own head cocked to the side. “Maybe tell me more about yourself and I could say otherwise,” you boldly teased back. 

“Well obviously,” he began, grinning at you in a way that had your body heating, “I can't exactly do that now can I? Defeats the purpose–

“Of remaining anonymous,” you finished for him. “I've picked up on the importance of that.” 

A silence soon settled between the pair of you, one that slowly began to cause your nerves to grow with the way he kept smiling at you. Once again you desperately found yourself wanting to see the rest of his face, curious to know just how handsome he really was under that black mask. Though you settled for studying what you could see, your eyes tracing the soft curves of his pink lips, noticing the way they very minutely twitched under your scrutiny. Eventually your gaze dropped down, following the hard lines of his stubbled jaw. As your eyes trailed further down, they lingered on the part of his neck that wasn't covered by the blankets he’d wrapped around himself for warmth. A heat burned in you as the urge to reach out and just touch him, just to see if he was real, suddenly grew within you. It didn't help that it almost felt like you could feel the weight of his own eyes fixed on you beneath the mask, once again making you very aware of your lack of bra beneath your sweatshirt.

Catching your lip between your teeth, you noticed the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Had he been having similar thoughts? Observing you, too? 

Inhaling a sharp breath through your nose at the idea, you knew you needed to stop this line of thinking and stop it fast. There was absolutely no way the Devil would be interested in you. Certainly not like that. That was absurd.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, trying to calm your pulse. “If your fridge is empty all the time I'm guessing you could use something to eat.”

“I mean, I suppose if you’re–”

He stopped short the exact moment that the lights died, throwing the pair of you into almost complete darkness. You sucked in a breath, turning to look out the window just to your right. It was eerily dark outside, a sight that was rare in the city. Even the buildings across the street had been thrown into darkness. There was nothing but the howling wind and snow outside.

“Guess it was too much to hope the power wouldn’t go out in this mess,” you breathed out.

“I suppose so,” he replied, his tone just as soft.

Reaching blindly forward, you set your almost empty mug onto the coffee table before you. For a moment you reached around on the surface until your fingers brushed against your phone. You picked it up and unlocked the screen, grateful for the bit of light it shed in the dark as you turned on the flashlight function.

“So I can’t offer you a nice cooked meal without power,” you told him, rising to your feet, “but I can get you an apple and a couple of protein bars? If you’d…like?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it,” he said.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who does so much for the rest of us,” you told him, maneuvering around the couch and navigating your way to the kitchen by the light of your phone. “I’d feel awful leaving you hungry and dehydrated.”

Wrapping one arm around your chest to try to fight the chill that had been steadily creeping into you, you headed towards a cabinet near the sink. Reaching up, you grabbed a glass from out of it before taking a moment to fill it beneath the faucet before setting it along the countertop. Then you plucked an apple out of a fruit bowl on your counter, taking a moment to rinse it off first. The moment you’d turned off the faucet you heard his voice from across the apartment.

“You’re cold.”

For a moment you found it odd how his words hadn’t come out as a question but more of an observation, though you quickly shrugged the strangeness of that aside. You set the apple down on the counter beside the glass of water before sliding a step to your right and opening up another cabinet.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you answered, trying to shine the light from your phone into the cabinet to read the labels on the boxes. “I wasn’t the one out in that snowstorm wearing barely anything at all.”

“You say that like I was out there naked.”

His voice had unexpectedly come from just behind you this time and it jolted your heart in your chest instantly. His sudden proximity mixed with his word choice had you startling on the spot. Your hand that had been about to pull the box of protein bars out of the cabinet accidentally bumped it instead, causing the entire box to slip off of the shelf. But before it could tumble to the floor and spill its contents, a black gloved hand darted out beside your face, catching it before it had barely fallen six inches. 

You stood there rooted to the spot, his hand just brushing your arm as his held the box of protein bars. The hair on the back of your neck had risen, aware that he was standing barely a foot behind you now. Slowly, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your pulse quickened further at how close his face was to yours. He was looking at you, too. Or at least, he was facing you. Eyes dropping down, you couldn’t help but notice that mouth of his again. 

“I apologize,” he said, your eyes watching as his lips moved. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be. I just wanted to give you one of the blankets. No sense in me using both when you’re cold.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to form any other response.

With his attention still on you, he reached up and slid the box back onto the shelf. Then he seemed to take a purposeful step back from you, his lips set in a straight line. You wondered what was going on in his mind right now, because you were sure there had to be something. Had he felt the tension you’d just felt? Or were you just ridiculous and overly hopeful?

And why did it even matter? You were never going to see this man again after tonight anyway.

Blinking a few times, you returned your attention to the shelf. Reaching up, you slid your hand into the box that had nearly taken a nosedive to your kitchen floor and pulled out two protein bars. Keeping your eyes actively focused away from the Devil nearby, you closed the cabinet and slid a step back to your left, grabbing the glass of water in your hand with your phone and the apple in the same hand as the bars. Though before you could turn around, you felt something gently drape over your shoulders. Looking down, you noticed it was the pink blanket he’d been wearing.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “there’s no sense in me using both.”

“Right,” you whispered, pulse pounding in your throat.

Turning on your heel, you stepped past him and made your way back to the living room by the light of your phone. This time you heard the heavy steps of him following after you. You assumed that was intentional.

“So why were you out in this blizzard tonight anyway?” you asked him, making your way around the couch. You hoped having something to talk about would distract you from whatever it was he kept stirring inside of you. “Surely there aren’t a lot of crimes being committed in this weather?”

The Devil let out a light laugh as he accepted the offered glass of water and food from you. One of your brows quirked curiously onto your forehead at his reaction as you sat back down in your original spot on the couch. Though you noticed as he took a large drink from the cup while lowering himself onto the cushions that he’d sat closer to you than before. You watched as he ripped open a protein bar and tore off a large bite next, but he didn't answer until a moment later when he’d swallowed the bite down. Internally you noted he must’ve been hungrier than he let on with the way he was devouring that bar and you’d wished you’d had more food to offer him with the power out.

“You’d be correct,” he told you. “And yet I still stupidly made my way out into this storm tonight in the hopes of catching a lead on something. Instead all I got was my ass frozen and my side bruised.” 

You watched as he took another large bite of the protein bar, chewing it almost contemplatively as his head canted to the side. You could still see him in the beam of light from your phone which you were still clutching in your hand. Somehow this lighting made him even more appealing as it cast sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Though I suppose unexpectedly meeting you was a highlight,” he added, causing your cheeks to flush. “But you know, you never did give me your name.”

“Well you never exactly gave me yours,” you immediately quipped back.

Those beautiful lips of his curved upwards yet again as he chewed the last bite of the first protein bar. What you wouldn’t give to see if that smile had reached his eyes.

“Alright, point taken,” he replied. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you focused on your phone. If you kept the flashlight running the battery would die in no time. And who knew how long the power might be out for, you might need it later. You supposed you didn't need it on just for a conversation.

“I’m going to turn the flashlight off on my phone for now, if that's alright?” you told him, fingers darting across the screen to do just that. “Might need the battery on this later.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, sounding as if he was chewing another bite of food. “I don’t need it.”

He’d made the comment just as you’d leaned forward to set your phone back onto the coffee table, but you’d paused as the words processed in your mind. Your eyes narrowed again as your mind raced. Something about the way he’d said that sounded as if it had another meaning to it. But before you could put too much thought into it, he’d changed the topic.

“You’re still cold,” he pointed out. “That blanket alone isn't helping.”

Brows furrowing together as you slowly sat back, you wondered how he could possibly know that. The pair of you were in almost pitch black again with your phone flashlight off. It wasn't like he could see you and you hadn't been shivering, though there were definitely goosebumps dotting your skin. How could he possibly know? 

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket you had on tighter around yourself. “It’s bound to get colder here with the power out now.”

“And with how long you had your window open earlier,” he added. “The temperature is going to drop in here faster than it would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

You sighed, frowning in his general direction. “So much for being able to help you warm up,” you muttered. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured you.

It felt as if he was shifting on the couch nearby. Your brows knitted further together as you tried to make out what he was doing through the dark. All you could see was a faint mass of black that seemed darker than the rest of the blackness. Then moments later you felt a blanket being draped over your lap. 

“No, uh uh,” you said, shaking your head and immediately grabbing the blanket. “There’s two blankets, we can clearly share.”

“You’re freezing,” he countered. 

“And you’re not cold?” you shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve already been far kinder than I deserved this evening,” he replied.

You grabbed the blanket in your hands and stubbornly tossed it back in his general direction. An audible sigh sounded through the darkness to your left.

“You know I can just leave, right?” he told you. “Which would leave you with no reason to not use both blankets.”

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound of his voice. “But then you’d be allowing more cold air into my apartment, which would only make the temperature drop faster in here,” you argued back. “Then I'd really be cold.”

He breathed out a laugh and you imagined the smile on his lips at the sound. You smiled triumphantly back at the dark shape of him because you knew you had a good point. Even though really, you could just layer on more clothes.

“Okay,” he relented. “That’s true. So how about…we share?”

The smile on your face quickly disappeared at his suggestion. Mouth dropping open, you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. It took you a few seconds to regain the ability to respond.

“Share?” you asked.

“Body heat would certainly keep us both warmer,” he answered. “So would sharing two blankets instead of using only one.”

“Oh, uh, well,” you stammered, your mind racing at the thought of your body pressed up against his. “I–I–”

His deep laugh rumbled towards you through the darkness, the sound causing your lips to clamp shut. 

“I’m not suggesting anything immoral,” he assured you. “Simply a possible solution to the very real problem of us freezing in here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to leave?”

“No!” you exclaimed.

Immediately your eyes widened in horror at how quickly you’d responded to that. And judging by his chuckle, he’d also noticed, too. Your face scrunched up as you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so eager to keep him here in your apartment.

“Well in that case, we could share the blankets and our body heat,” he suggested again. “Because the temperature has definitely dropped a few degrees already and it's only going to continue if the power stays out.”

Nervously your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You were trying hard to control the racing of your heart, positive he could hear it with how hard it was beating now. Of course you weren’t going to pass up a chance to basically cuddle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for warmth during a snowstorm. You just needed to find a way to not sound so eager to accept his offer first.

“I suppose you…have a point there,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “That’s–that’s usually what people do in survival situations. Use their body heat to keep warm.”

An amused huff came from him and you realized he’d scooted even closer to you on the couch. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you felt his thigh bump against yours.

“So are we in agreement with sharing both blankets, then?” he asked.

“That–that appears to be the most logical solution to the problem,” you answered. “So yeah, I guess we…share the blankets.”

Despite the lack of light, the Devil seemed to move with ease and fluidity through the darkness, something you were paying close attention to as he gently sidled his way up against the side of you, managing to wrap both blankets around the pair of you. All the while you’d sat pin straight on the couch, aware that he was flush to your side from your shoulder all the way down to your knee. You clasped your hands in your lap, unsure of where else to place them. Truthfully, you had to admit you were already much warmer like this, with his body heat enveloping you beneath both blankets.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone far gentler than it had been all evening. “Because that's not my intention.”

“No,” you answered with a light shake of your head. “You're not.”

He chuckled softly, his body shaking yours slightly with the movement. Your head turned towards him and you wished you could see at least the part of his face that was visible right now.

“Then why are you so tense?” he questioned. 

“I'm not tense!” you lied.

He laughed again, this time louder. The movement jostled you somehow further into his side, though your hand flew out and landed flat on his very solid chest as you tried to stop yourself from falling further into him. Your eyes widened in horror yet again, but before you could push yourself away you felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders and allowing you to sink even more into him. Heat was very much creeping up your neck and reaching your cheeks now in embarrassment. 

“You're very tense actually,” he teased. “If you're uncomfortable I can move, but we aren't going to be sharing much body heat if you don't actually sit next to me.”

Slowly you removed your hand from his chest, lowering it to your lap. Though with the way you were sitting facing partially towards him now, your knuckles were brushing against his thigh. 

“I am not tense,” you grumbled. “And you aren't making me uncomfortable. This is just…awkward. I barely know you and you don't know me.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “How about since you've guessed a few things about me, I think it's only fair you tell me a few things about yourself now.”

“I told you I'm not very interesting,” you reminded him.

“Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “I think I'd like to decide that for myself.”

Biting your lip, you turned your burning face and buried it into his shoulder, glad he couldn't see how nervous he'd suddenly made you. It was hard to tell if he was flirting with you or if that was just his vigilante persona–when he wasn't beating people, of course. 

With your nose pressed against the fabric of his shirt, you noticed he smelled surprisingly good. There was the hint of his sweat, but there was also a faint clean detergent scent. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, inhaling a deep breath in. Even though he was still a stranger and a vigilante, he seemed kind and safe so far. And he also hadn't thrown you off of himself for getting even closer to him, either. Maybe you should just do what he seemed to be doing: relax and enjoy the unexpected cuddles tonight with an unexpected acquaintance. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you whispered, eyes still closed as you focused on his scent.

Eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself waking from a deep, comfortable sleep. Though your eyes instantly snapped closed against the bright light that immediately assaulted them. Slowly you blinked them back open, trying to adjust to the surprising sunshine pouring through your living room window. Gradually you began to push yourself upright, realizing you were laying with your head on a couch pillow, both of your blankets snuggly wrapped around you. For a moment your face twisted into a look of confusion as you hesitated, staring down at the two blankets. Why had you been asleep on your couch?

But then flashes of last night came back to you. The masked man falling onto your fire escape. The joking and constant banter between the pair of you. Darkness when the power went out and the feel of his warm, muscular body wrapped around yours as he tried to keep you warm. The scent of clean detergent and his sweat. The feel of his spandex shirt against your fingertips and your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Had that all really happened? Or had you just fallen asleep on your couch and dreamt it?

Your attention shifted towards your coffee table and your sluggish brain processed the sight of your almost empty mug of tea, left abandoned all night, and an empty glass of water. Pushing yourself the rest of the way upright on the couch, your head turned over your shoulder. The lock on your living room window was undone.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really had been in your apartment last night. Which meant the pair of you really had cuddled together for warmth when your power had gone out. And you really did meet him. At least, somewhat.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out in awe. “He was really here.”

But just as the rush of excitement at meeting someone you’d always secretly admired filled you, it quickly vanished. Because you must have fallen asleep on him sometime last night when the pair of you were talking, and then he must’ve slipped out of your apartment before the sun came up, probably when the power had come back on. Which made sense, considering he wouldn’t want to be seen sneaking back to his own apartment in such a conspicuous outfit. 

But what was upsetting you was the growing realization that it wasn’t just the first time you’d met him, but it would most likely be the last. And you’d gone and fallen asleep through part of that meeting.

Stupid stupid stupid.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock series #matt murdock #daredevil

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

buttercup, masterlist

a/n: ….this was really therapeutic to write. 

summary: little did you know that your new next-door neighbour, the very guy you have an embarrassingly large crush on, is the masked vigilante who saved you a little over a year ago.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, explicit sexual content, rape recovery, ptsd, adorable surrogate parents gay uncles, mostly just a lot of fluff and comforting goodness, total word count is 18k

masterlist | join my taglist | series playlist

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x fem!reader smut #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock smut #marvel smut #baker!reader ᰔ

[yoosmekihyun]

Conversations in the Dark (pt. 1)

Summary: After a series of major personal events, you decide to move to New York (in part) so you can have a relationship with your newly discovered half-sister, Karen Page. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson become additional important figures in your life as you navigate new relationships and figure out how to live your life.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (eventually), we run the spectrum of emotions here

Warnings: mention of death, grief, anxiety, drinking, pining (so much pining), self-deprecation, chapters with sexual content will be marked with their own warnings, violence or attempted violence (i.e. Daredevil related), more possible warnings in the future

Author’s Note: This is pure wish fulfillment and written for my own joy. I haven’t put out anything in at least five years and this is the first time I’ve written something multi-part. I’m not sure how this will go, how long it will be, or how often I will post/update.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 1

The remnants of summer still lingered in the warm September afternoon as you stepped out of the cab in front of the coffee shop. Glancing at your watch, you realized you were still a little early but that’s how you preferred it. This would allow you to order your drink and calm your nerves a little before she arrived.

When your turn came at the counter, you took the barista’s suggestion of the monthly special and moved to wait for your drink. Looking around you noticed the little pieces of fall décor another employee was putting up around the shop giving it a cozier vibe. Once the barista called your name, you found a small empty table in a corner that would allow you to watch the door and enjoy the city street chaos through the large window next to you.

This shouldn’t have been as nerve racking as it was but while you had spoken with your half-sister several times over the last year, you hadn’t seen her in person since your father’s funeral a little over a year ago. You prayed this was a good idea. You needed a win after the heaviness you had dealt with over the last few years. You needed some joy and connection, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity but now you were second guessing yourself.

Just as you were beginning to spiral and doubt your decision for the umpteenth time that day, you heard the ding of the door and watched your half-sister, Karen Page, rush in searching for you. The moment she saw you, she broke into a huge smile and hurried over to envelop you in a hug.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you made it safely! I hope you weren’t waiting long; I told Matt and Foggy I needed to leave sooner but they’re drowning in a sea of paperwork for a case, and we lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it! I’m usually early and you’re only a couple minutes late. No harm, no foul.” You released her from the hug and in that instant, you knew you had made the right decision. You didn’t realize how much you needed a hug from family until that moment and you felt more settled than you had in weeks.

“Do we need to postpone so you can get back to the office? Are you on a time crunch?” you asked.

“Oh, hell no, we are not postponing! They’ll be fine without me for a little while. I want to caffeinate while I hear about how you’re feeling now that you’re here!”

-X-

Your biological father may have been a world class asshole, but at least he had the decency to tell you and Karen about each other before he died. It was weird growing up as an only child to find out as an adult that you had a sister, especially when you had so desperately wished for one when you were younger. For her part, Karen could have decided she didn’t want a sister, but she welcomed you into her life with open arms. Admittedly, you struggled some, not because you were unhappy to find out about her, but because the news came during one of the worst times of your life.

If you had a terrible biological father, then luckily, you had the most amazing mother you could have asked for. When you and Karen found out about each other, you had just received news that your mother had been diagnosed with cancer for the second time. This time, it was late-stage and had spread with abysmal survival rates. This news alone meant your plate was beyond full. The idea of figuring out how to grieve the parent who didn’t want you while struggling to accept the awful news about your mother was overwhelming. It was nothing to say of the struggles to cultivate a new relationship with your sister under your poorly hidden sorrow, but Karen had been lovely and understanding. She did so much of the early legwork to develop your relationship, checking on you when she knew you were focused on your mother and often reminding you to do basic tasks to take care of yourself.

When your mother passed in the late spring, you were understandably devastated. She had been your sounding board your entire life and, without her, you felt unmoored. Thankfully, Karen had been there. She hadn’t been able to come to the funeral, but she called you every day for the first couple weeks after to make sure you were eating, hydrating, and showering. She listened to your stories and cried with you when the grief threatened to eat you alive.

During a conversation expressing your untethered feelings, Karen raised the idea that led you to the coffee shop in the midst of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Hey, I know you’re not sure what to do but…what if you moved here? Maybe a big change of pace and scenery will help you move forward.”

If you were being honest, moving to New York was an idea you had for a long time. You had applied to Columbia and NYU in your final year of high school but a full ride to a local university secured your undergrad path. Despite this decision, you never let go of the idea of New York. When Karen tentatively suggested the idea, it was like your mother was holding a huge neon sign for you, telling you to get off your ass and GO! A light burst into life within you, and you scrambled to make the arrangements so you could move as soon as possible.

-X-

Once Karen had her coffee and settled into her seat, you relayed some of your travel mishaps and your ideas and loose plans for her input.

“Honestly, I can’t really believe I’m here. It’s all still so surreal. But I’m hoping the apartment hunting will help ground me a little and once I can actually get my things here, it’ll start to sink in.”

“That makes sense. I imagine it’ll feel more like a vacation until you have your things around you. I’m so glad you’re here to experience fall in New York! I think you’ll love it,” Karen gushed, beaming at you.

As you grinned at Karen, you felt a peace and a warmth spread in your chest that you hadn’t felt since before your mom passed. You reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Thank you, Karen, for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you this last year. I’m so grateful you’re my sister.”

Karen’s eyes started to well up as she gripped your hand in return, “I’m grateful you’re my sister too.”

Shocking you both out of the moment, Karen’s phone buzzed, and she rolled her eyes once she saw the caller ID. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. He knows I’m with you so I’m not sure why Foggy’s calling.” You waved her to answer it, unbothered by the interruption as it gave you a moment to reign in your emotions a little more. You didn’t need to start sobbing in the middle of a coffee shop; you’d have your bigger emotions in private later.

You took a sip of your coffee as you heard Karen’s exasperated tone, “Yes Foggy I know it’s a big deal. YES, I know we need the revenue. Okay, okay but you both know why I took an extended break and who I’m with…Seriously?? Now? Ugh, fine. You both owe me AND Y/N for interrupting.”

Karen sighed as she ended the call and looked at you apologetically. Before she could even say anything, you started, “Let me guess, they need you back ASAP because they don’t know how to function without you?”

She chuckled and confirmed, “Basically. He also asked me to bring back coffee. They’re losing steam fast. If you’re not too tired, do you want to walk back with me? You can meet them, so you know who to look for when we get drinks at Josie’s tonight!”

“Wait, what’s Josie’s?”

“It’s this local dive bar that Matt and Foggy love and they want to welcome you to the city! We planned on going tonight if you felt up to it, but we can do another night or somewhere else if that works better for you?”

You could tell Karen was a little nervous. Whether it was encouraging you to meet her co-workers and friends so quickly or having you go drinking your first night in an unfamiliar city, you didn’t know but you wanted to start living your life, not hide away in a hotel room.

“That all sounds great! I love a good dive bar, sounds like my kind of place.”

Fresh coffees in hand, you and Karen made your way back to her office making small talk about the neighborhood and places to consider when you went apartment hunting the following day with a recommended broker. You wanted to be near Karen, not necessarily in her building, but within walking distance so it would be easy to see each other when you wanted.

You nearly missed the sign “Nelson, Murdock, and Page” until Karen directed you to the door next to it. Once you made it to the interior door, you could hear the loud voices before Karen opened the office door.

“I come bearing caffeine. If you want it, stop arguing and get out here so you can meet my sister!”

You heard chairs scraping right before you saw a tall, blonde man with a huge smile step out of a side room. Holding out his hand for you to shake he said, “Hi! I’m Franklin Nelson but you can call me Foggy.”

Unable to hold back your grin, you took his hand for a quick shake and replied “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The sheer happiness and light that shone out of Foggy reminded you of your mother. You knew this man was going to be your friend, come hell or highwater.

Behind Foggy you could hear a shuffling sound and you peered around him. Once you saw the other man, you nearly forgot to breathe. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you gazed at easily the most beautiful man you had ever seen in person. Like Foggy, he had his sleeves rolled up to just under the elbow and the top button of his shirt was undone along with a loosened tie. His red reflective glasses did nothing to distract from the sharp jawline and days-old stubble. His dark hair was slightly mussed, as if he had recently been running a hand through it. As beautiful as he was standing before you, you were most distracted by his mouth. It was lush and soft while still looking deliciously male and it was quirked up on one side like he was in on some kind of joke you had missed.

Loudly, someone cleared their throat and shook you out of your stare. You realized you had missed something as Karen looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk and Foggy was shaking his head while rolling his eyes.

You gave a little embarrassed chuckle as your cheeks flushed, “Um, sorry, what did I miss? I’m a little out of it, all the excitement and travel today.”

The beautiful man gave a full smile and you nearly stopped breathing again. He stepped forward and with one hand extended, he repeated,

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matt Murdock.”

Copyright © 2023 by yoosmekihyun. All rights reserved.

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock x female reader #daredevil x female reader #daredevil fic #matthew murdock #conversations in the dark #miss pearl writes #yoosmekihyun

[brokebonewritings]

15 Ways to Love Matt Murdock

Masterlist for my songfic series! I really hope you enjoy reading these little fluff pieces. The list will be updated as I continue to post them and I’ll link the playlist once the series is done below because how could I not? Cheers 🤍🖤

Dearest, You Said - Je t’aime by Velours Velours

♡ You and Matt have been friends since college. Besides Foggy, you would consider him your best friend and saying 'I love you' has always been apart of your vocabulary. When did the lines start to blur, and when did your best friend become so attractive?

Butterfly Heart - Chateau (Feel Alright) by Djo

♡ You invite Matt to spend the night, but he can’t sleep due to how nervous you are being so close to him.

Growing Pains - Matilda by Harry Styles

♡ You take Matt home to visit your family, now as a couple, and he finally experiences what you had vented to him all these years.

Sinking Waters - The Pink Phantom by Gorillaz

♡ Matt and Foggy invite you out for a night. You wondered if Matt would ever make a move on you or if you would keep being mistook as a couple.

Thirsting - Move by Taemin

♡ After dating for six months, you and Matt spend a long romantic evening together.

Still Here - Dead Awake by JuttyRanx

♡ Matt walks you home from a work event, you drunkly confess some things to him that makes him think of both of your futures.

It's Always Been Us - Paul Rudd by Claud

♡ Matt retells a story of a night you haven't thought about for a long time.

All My Battles - Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley

♡ A trip back to Bar Harbor creates a summer a new memories as you and Matt renovate your childhood home into a place to spend your future summers.

Be Mine, Forever (Valentine’s Day Special) - Here (In Your Arms) - First Dance by Hellogoodbye

♡ Your day is interrupted by an impromptu girl's day. and your night is filled with passion as Matt surprises you for Valentine's Day. You had a surprise for him as well.

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[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

thinking about how when matt would have a rough day at the office or something he would stay silent other then the little cluck of his tongue at you

so you’d trot over to the couch and he’d bend you over the arm, yank up your skirt and PISTON into you with his hands on your hips, mocking and cooing at you for your noises

and then he cums in you and uses you to get off and then before you can finish he pulls out just to tease because you’re just a hole for his pleasure and he’s allowed to take out his stress on you cause you’re his lil toy and he reminds you of it alll the time

#high thoughts #mhmmm #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x y/n #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil #charlie cox #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock series