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moon-kn1ght · 2 years

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Can u do a matt murdock professor x reader 🙈 spicy content welcome

games of logic.

pairing: professor!Matt Murdock x student!fem!reader wc: 1800 warnings: lime/lemon-ish, college AU, professor x student relationship, (& with that: unhealthy power dynamic), way too much exposition about formal logic, matt uses his senses for recreational purposes, praise k1nk, thigh grinding, slight marking if you squint. a/n: i’ll let you know in 3 days whether i’m proud of this one or not. matt would make a very sexy college prof. that is a fact. shoutout to my notes from college that helped me write this. did i ever take the LSAT? nope. but at least something useful came of me suffering through that class. thank you anon, your mind is wonderful.

Masterlist

“Logic is not a spectator sport,” your professor espouses at the front of the classroom. It’s a small class, 16 students right now – though some will for sure drop after this introductory lecture. ‘The Philosophy of Logic’ is colloquially known as ‘the LSAT prep class.’ Though most Poly-sci and other self-proclaimed “pre-law” students will flinch (or better yet, keel over) at the knowledge of the premises and conclusions you’ll be working with through the semester. Luckily, that part is kept hush-hush enough that everyone will be in too deep by the time they want to turn around.

“We are not going to learn about formal logic; we are going to do formal analyses– of statements and their underlying propositions; of categorical and propositional inferences. You will be expected to present your analyses in writing and at the board.”

But your professor? That’s the part you were not expecting. In the department of philosophy, it’s hard to come by a professor who’s not pushing 60. But standing in front of your class, going on about grading policies and homework, is a man who could be no older than 40. He’s got this charismatic grin painted on his face while he talks about the ways he’s going to torture–teach your class. It’s a smile you could get used to.

“Alright, open up your readers– we’re going to begin Carrol’s Game of Logic as a class.”

–

The class thins itself down to 14 by the end of add/drop. Murdock didn’t lie about the homework – you spend hours on carefully dissecting the reading and preparing your schemata.

As you work, you can’t help but let your mind wander to your professor. There’s something mesmerizing about the speed at which his mind moves and his insistence at bringing the class with him. He’s just frighteningly brilliant. It’s like he could have beat Geach and Carrol at logical exhibitions.

And there’s also his hands. You could stare at his hands for hours. Tracking his gestures while you wrote notes in class, and then when his fingers run over your practice sheets – it could make your heart stop, having him that close to you. It didn’t help that your heart skipped beats at his praise.

“Mmm good job here,” he’d say with a crack of a smile. You hold your breath when he gets close, in order to keep your heartbeat under control (to no avail).

Things got complicated fast, but you worked to stay on the top of the class. Murdock would flash his signature smirk in your direction anytime the group was struggling and needed your expertise. Those signals made you soar.

–

“There’s a mistake here, who can find it?” Murdock asks the class about the schema being tested on the board.

Generality was tripping the class up.

The girl next to you volunteers, “Is it that the first premise involves more than two terms?”

Murdock would always squint a little and scrunch his nose when someone got a question wrong, it was such a theatrical tell. “Close,” he lies, she wasn’t close.

You swear you could hear the analog clock from the room next door ticking over the resounding silence of your classroom. Murdock is looking around the room, waiting patiently. He was always so good with waiting your class out – he knew eventually someone would cave.

But no one was caving. Just answer the question, you think to yourself. But something was holding you back – this subtle, yet overwhelming fear of being wrong. To disappoint Murdock. To lose that imaginary crown placed on your head when you earned a smile from him.

At least a minute passes to the cacophonous quiet.

Murdock calls your name. Fuck, you silently reprimand youself. “You’ve been this week’s expert on existential instantiation, can you give this a shot?”

You take a deep breath, trying (and failing) to calm your racing heart. “So I see in lines 1-3 we have our premises and conclusion.”

Your professor nods in agreement.

“Then line four begins with ‘there exists’ [∃]. But I think the error is that line 4 should be the denied conclusion? So it should read ‘there does not exist’ [¬∃] to test the validity of the schema.”

“P.T. Geach himself couldn’t have said it better,” he punctuates with his signature smirk.

Moments like those are what you think about when your hand finds it’s way between your legs after class. Your heart swells and your center drips with his praises.

–

It’s not until midterms that you find yourself alone with Professor Murdock. You have sought out his help on the take-home exam, where you are stuck on the third reliant schemata.

Your [anguished] email reads: Professor – Any chance of guidance on the midterm? Stuck with (i) all F* are R* → FR’=0, FR>1

His email back: Yes. Come to my office. (Though I reserve the discretionary right to respond with moral encouragement rather than material aid).

Mudock’s office is simple, and at the back of the Philosophy complex. Makes sense, he doesn’t really have a purpose for art or awards on the wall. The Wednesday before fall break has the building quite deserted. Also for once, your professor isn’t wearing his glasses so you can see his brown eyes.

“Please, just call me Matt,” he instructs when you thank him for letting you come bother him. “Where are you stuck?”

“So, I’ve set up the Universe of Discourse and ‘loglished’ my premises but when I write out the schema and work to disprove, I don’t get the answer I want.”

“The answer you want?”

It takes him repeating back your words to realize what you’ve said. It sets your heart racing and words tumbling from your lips, explaining that you recognized this problem set from the class work back in week 5.

“From that, I remembered that this is a trick problem, and I’m looking for a negated premise.”

Matt Murdock smiles broadly. You see his tongue dart out and lick his lips. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he almost whispers. He covers the affirmation with a cough but you hear it. Your jaw drops and a sensation starts, low in your belly. “I’m glad you caught that. Now, I don’t want to give away the answer but I’ll speak in a separate Universe, and maybe you’ll catch me before I get too far.”

Matt circles around to the side of the office you’re sitting on. He props himself against the wall and begins to speak. Your heart won’t stop hammering in your chest. Your breath is uneven and it feels like every hair on your body is standing on edge. Did he mean to say that? you wonder. Slick gathers between your legs as your professor speaks. He pauses to take a deep breath in through his nose. He smiles again and continues.

“So let’s act on these premises.” You nod your head, unfamiliar with whatever Universe of Discourse he’s established because of how your thoughts are racing.

“Premise i: You are an attractive woman with a heart racing.” What? How can he tell?

“Premise ii: In situations where peoples’ hearts beat quickly, they are often aroused.” Your jaw drops for real. There is no mistaking the words coming out of Matt’s mouth.

“Premise iii: Your heart began to beat faster when I crossed the room to you.” You swallow slowly, there’s no air left in your lungs.

“Conclusion: When I crossed the room, I caused you to become aroused and for your heart to race. Do you agree?”

Your mouth feels like paper and your professor looms above you. He suddenly looks bigger than he has for the weeks of class. His hands, oh, they rest against his biceps.

“Are you asking me logically or literally, Matt?”

“Either works.”

“I agree,” you stand up to meet Matt at his eye level.

“Logically or literally?” he asks back.

“Either.”

Matt’s mouth meets yours in a searing kiss. Your senses are flooded with him: he smells like musk and bergamot, a deep and rich cologne. His hands pull your hips closer to him.

He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

His knee slots in between your thighs and he continues, “I’ve heard your heart racing in my class whenever I call your name or get close to you. And I smell the slick that builds between your thighs when I lean in to check your work.”

You close your eyes and go to bury your face against his shoulder in embarrassment. He’s known about your crush this whole time.

“I’ve known you want me and it’s taken all my self control to keep my hands off of you.”

He grasps your chin lightly, but with control, to guide you to look in his eyes again.

“I tried so hard to be good, but I just couldn’t. Is this okay?”

You blink, trying to root yourself back in reality. You swallow and nod your head.

“I need you to use your words. Do you want this?”

“Yes, Profess–I mean Matt. I want you.”

“Good girl. Let’s be bad together.” A dark chuckle rolls from his lips. His hands feel warm and firm against your hips and he kisses lightly along your jawline. He sucks a harsh mark into your skin where your jaw meets your neck. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

With his hands on your hips and his knee between your legs, you are caged into his body. He brushes his lips back to yours. He whispers against your mouth, “I want to feel you get yourself off using my thigh.”

His words send a shiver down your spine which in turn, causes you to wriggle your body and its placement against his thigh. His hands guide your movements, a slight up and down against the rough material of his pants and Fuck, it feels good.

Your juices are slick underneath your and the clothes provide just the right amount of friction on your clit. You lose yourself in the motions – Matt whispering sweet encouragement as his lips brush your ear, “So good for me, such a smart girl. Give yourself into the pleasure.”

Maybe in this situation, it shouldn’t be this easy to find your pleasure – grinding yourself on your professor’s leg but Matt calms you. He makes you forget about everything else, he helps you focus on finding that coil winding in your center and letting it release.

And you do. It floods all senses and you almost go limp, hugging onto Matt for support. “That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he coos into your neck.

“You looked so pretty grinding on my thigh,” Matt murmurs, “but I bet you’re going to look even better sitting on my cock.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil #daredevil fic #marvel reader insert #marvel fic #di writes

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peterman-spideyparker · 9 months

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This is the second poll for the notebook of story ideas I keep at my desk (Poll one is here). To keep it fun and suspenseful, I’m not gonna put a blurb or short description or Big Three Fic Genre (fluff, smut, angst) for any of them. Whichever 5 have the highest vote poll between the two are the first five I’ll write.

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 month

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Stolen Glances (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been on a writing hiatus after feeling uninspired after a long while, and I think it's kind of helped reset my creative juices. I'm entering my busy season at work, so I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the future, but I'm back to feeling more like myself. I figured one of the best ways to return to writing was with some College Matt! Enjoy! :)

Summary: Your best friend convinces you to go out with her to a bar to celebrate the start of spring break, and to your surprise, the night takes an unexpected turn for the better when your friend calls over two people she knows from her law classes—one of whom you just so happen to have a huge crush on.

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, reader nickname (not-name specific) drinking, kissing, getting caught in the rain, smut (oral-f!receiving, Matt's mouth being a menace, praise kink, Matt being a lil' tiny touch possessive, Matt lightly biting at Reader's shoulder, p in v protected sex, aftercare)

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, OFCs

Word Count: 6,084

“Stop staring,” Amy says as she sips her drink.

“I’m not,” you murmur as you roll your beer bottle absentmindedly on the sticky bar counter of Josie’s. How Amy even got you out tonight is beyond you. You don’t go to bars. You’re not even a big fan of going out in general. But tonight, you caved, and followed her in the rain to a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen for cheep beer, gossip, and people watching. And it’s people watching that lead your eyes to land on one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. Matt Murdock—enter frantically smitten swoon here. He’s a law student with a voice like honey, a smile that could light up a room, and the best ass in the entire world.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to stumble into the one that he was in.

“You are,” Amy counters.

“Not.”

“Are.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “Glancing. Let me have this.”

“He’s single, you know. Broke up with the girl he was dating all last year.”

“Which means he’s not looking for anyone.”

“Or he rebounds fast and wants to get under someone. Er, have someone get under him. Hell, I don’t know what he’s in to.”

“Ames.”

“What? I’m just speculating. Just like you are ogling him.”

“Again, not ogling. Glancing. Besides, he’s way out of my league. And you know what? This, right here, is a perfect situation for me—it’s a crowded bar, he’s blind, no one here knows me or cares about me and won’t think twice of me looking in that direction. This is the only time I can pine after someone and not get flustered and weird if he looks in my direction or watch Cindy from my Brontë’s class try to show off her cleavage to get his attention. And she totally would, event to the one guy that literally can’t see it. Which brings me back exactly to my point—he can’t see us here or the undoubtedly big heart shapes my eyes are in.”

“What if his friend does?”

“He has his back to us, he won’t—.”

“FOGGY!”

“You are a major asshole, you know that?” you hiss as you whip your head around to scowl at her.

“Well, now, you can glance up close, see the finer details. Maybe accidentally touch his big arms?” she says with an innocent smile and delightfully raised eyebrows. “Or something else big.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m always nice. Besides, they’re my friends. You survive Professor Murphy’s class together, you’re blood brothers for life—Hey, Fog! Murdock!”

“I didn’t know you guys came to Josie’s,” Foggy smiles as they get close enough to where the two of you sit. “If I had, I would’ve invited you to some of our post-test outings.”

“Well, Kitty here is a lightweight, so it’s not often I get to bring her to bars. I think I finally convinced her because it’s the Friday before spring break and she doesn’t have to do homework right this moment,” Amy hums. She so knows what she is doing, and you don’t know if you should kick her in the shins or be eternally grateful for how Matt turns his head to you next.

“Kitty?” Matt smiles, and it makes your cheeks burn. He wets his lips lightly as he turns his body toward you, and you can’t help but duck your gaze and shrink in on yourself a bit.

“An unfortunate nickname that has followed me since I was four and can’t seem to shake,” you explain. “Now that I’m not four, (Y/N) just fine.”

“It’s cute, though. Maybe you’ll tell me the story.”

Fuck, why’d he have to say it like that? You’d tell him absolutely anything he’d want if he spoke to you like that again.

“Maybe,” you breathe. “Maybe not.”

The smile he flashes you is soft, dreamy, and alluring. “Someday it is, then.”

“Why don’t you two take a seat with us?” Amy asks as she swallows the last of her drink. “Have a few rounds with us. I mean, you guys know me, but let’s include (Y/N) into the fold. Probably good that you two legal goobers befriend an English major. Help you guys avoid being duped in a contract or something because of semantics or syntax or something.”

“Offense,” Foggy scoffs.

“(Y/N)’s worst is still better than your best, and you know it.”

“Down, Ames,” you chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about being nice?”

“Amy? Nice?” Matt smirks. “I’m afraid we haven’t earned that privilege.”

“So, how long have you known Amy?” Foggy asks as he waves Josie over for another round.

“Too long,” you chuckle, earning you a playful kick under the bar.

“Harsh,” Matt hums.

“For someone who’s basically my sister? Nah. We’ve been friends since we could toddle around,” Amy shrugs. “You two should understand that one—I mean, roommates for two years and essentially an identical course load? You’re as good as brothers.”

“Very true,” Foggy smiles as he opens his next beer. “I mean, sure, Matt got all the good looks, but I have the boyish wit and knack for sarcastic comments.”

“Seems like a pretty perfect pairing to me,” you add.

Foggy claps Matt’s back with a big smile. “See that, pal? Even the people that just meet us can see we’re a perfect match! Murdock and Nelson, taking New York City law by storm! Rolling in the money, the biggest of the bigs wanting us on retainer!”

“A real life Harvey Spector and Mike Ross,” Amy says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Take it from a blind man, Nelson and Murdock has a better ring to it,” Matt hums as he sips his beer. “And while money is nice, there’s still something really nice about saving the world.“

“Matty the Martyr,” he sighs. “You know, (Y/N), my parents wanted me to be a butcher.”

“Fog, please, not the butcher story!” Matt begs.

“Yeah, please,” Amy seconds. “(Y/N) doesn’t need to hear it.”

“Ugh, tough crowd tonight,” he sighs. “You’ll hear about it, (Y/N) . . . someday.”

“Mildly ominous. Definitely non-threatening,” you grin before everyone starts to laugh. “So, what brings you guys out? Is this a post-test outing?”

“Nah, just a Friday night,” Matt smiles.

“Well,” Amy says, holding up her new drink. “To just a Friday night.”

You all clink the necks of the bottles together before you drink, chatting briefly before Amy playfully insults Foggy’s pool playing skills. The two of them down their drinks before they make their way to the pool table to prove one another wrong.

“I don’t know how those two are friends, sometimes,” Matt chuckles.

“Well, Amy has three brothers,” you hum. “She loves pushing people’s buttons like that.”

“And Foggy doesn’t back down from challenges like that. Although, I agree that Amy could wipe the floor with Fog at pool.”

You laugh, biting your lip from laughing too loud in the bar. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Eh,” he squeaks. “I think he knows where I stand on his pool skills. I mean, a blind guy can beat him.”

You feel your face grow hot with the attention he’s giving you, but it’s all very welcome as you both begin to chat about whatever comes to your minds. For how pretty he is and how flustered you get talking into to people you find attractive, conversation comes so easily with Matt. You feel like you could tell him anything. But that’s the dangerous thing—there’s no way this could work, as a friend or for whatever your brain could dream up. He’s too . . . magnetic. You’d misread something, and in the end, you’d be the one getting hurt. Besides, if you’ve learned anything from Amy, part of being an attorney is learning how to charm the pants off of whomever you’re talking to. And unfortunately for you, you’re just the girl at the bar he’s trying to schmooze only to never see again.

“(Y/N)?” he asks, trying to catch your attention.

“Hm?” you hum, snapping out of it.

His face is soft, but definitely concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “I was just thinking of something.”

He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you want to talk about it, but a small pang in your chest makes you want to run away and hide in a corner.

“I don’t think pool is supposed to take that long,” you say, changing the subject and craning your neck around the bar to try and spot your friends. “I have absolutely no idea where Amy went. It looks like Foggy’s gone, too.”

Matt lets out a small, breathy laugh with a knowing grin.

“Do you want to share the joke with the class?”

“Fog’s been on my case lately about meeting new people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he conspired with Amy.”

“You know, I’d say that’s impossible, but Amy is always trying to set me up and calling me Hermit Homebody.”

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like 'Kitty'.”

“It’s more alliterative, though.”

“So,” he hums, turning his body toward yours. “What’s the story behind Kitty?”

“You’re gonna judge.”

He holds out his pinky to you. “No judgement. Promise.”

You lick your lips before you move your hand to lock your pinky with his.

“I really loved Hello Kitty when I was little. I basically wanted to be Hello Kitty. Like, absolutely obsessed—alarm clock, bedsheets, plushies, the whole shebang. I even dressed like Hello Kitty. Yellow shirt, blue overalls or an overall dress, and a red bow in my hair, and I had Hello Kitty socks to wear with my sneakers or little Mary Jane’s. It made getting dressed easy, but it definitely annoyed my mom after a bit.”

“That’s really cute.”

“It’s really not,” you chuckle.

“It is, trust me. And, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of free public domain braille texts were legal documents; after the accident that blinded me, that’s all my dad could really get me between hospital bills, trauma therapy and recovery, and our regular bills. I read a lot of Frederick Douglas while he did boxing practice. Between reading those and my dad’s hope for me to get a good job and use my brain instead of my fists, that’s what drove me to be a lawyer. I’m not sure I would have applied to law school if not for that.”

“Wow. That’s . . . amazing. Honestly.”

His brows furrow slightly as he tilts his head down slightly. “I like to think that I’m making him proud. But I’m afraid that I’ll end up letting him down eventually. He . . . He gave me so much, he gave up so much. For me.”

You place your hand on his that’s resting atop of the bar, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that you know the extent of your dad’s sacrifices and you’re worried about letting him down means that you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.”

Matt nods and you see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard. You could swear that you see a tear roll down his cheek, but you’re distracted when he turns his hand over to hold onto yours better, lacing his fingers in yours.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Hearing that . . . it means a lot.”

“It’s just the truth as I see it.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt hums as he turns his head toward you. “We could grab a bite, just walk around.”

“No ulterior motives?”

“Not unless you want me to have ulterior motives.”

You look at him, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Then no ulterior motives.”

“I’m not opposed to stopping at the soft pretzel cart that’s a few blocks over, though.”

He gives you a small smile.

“Something funny?”

“Beer and pretzels,” he hums.

“Har har.”

“C’mon,” he says with a little jerk of his head. “Lead the way.”

Putting some money on the counter to cover your drinks, you slide off of the barstool, your hand still in Matt’s as he mimics your movement before unfurling his cane. You both walk in comfortable silence, recalling little anecdotes from your childhoods as you stroll along the route.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you laugh.

“I’m not,” he says with a big smile. “I got so much hell from the nuns for it. Father Lantom put on a little show and was a little mad about it, yeah, but the ‘talking to’ that he gave me was about the Yankees game. In fairness, I honestly did worse when I was younger—probably took years off of all of their lives. Probably still do, when they think too hard about it.”

“Gosh,” you say with another laugh. “You’re such a daredevil.”

“Hey, I’ve turned out just fine. For the most part.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem pretty alright.”

“Pretty alright?” he croons. “I’ll take it. Any pointers for how I can increase my ranking, though?”

“Well, if I told you, it’d be too easy,” you smirk as you approach your destination. “Heya, Boyd.”

“Kitty!” he beams. “Long time no see! You’re usual?”

“That’d be great. School’s been busy.”

“You know she’s in Columbia?” he starts to tell Matt. “Smartest girl I know.”

“She is amazing,” Matt says, and you feel your cheeks burn hot.

“Matt’s one of my classmates,” you explain.

“Ah, so you’re a smart one, too. Kitty here is one of a kind—don’t do anything stupid to loose this one.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” he smiles.

“D’you want anything with yours?”

“Mustard, please.”

Boyd hands Matt his pretzel, but puts his hand up when you try to pay.

“Not tonight, Kitty,” he says. “My treat.”

“Don’t be silly, Boyd,” you counter. “You know our rule, only on birthdays.”

“Yeah, but you included me on your date. I feel real special. All warm and fuzzy like.”

Your cheeks burn even hotter when he says “date”— you appreciate that Boyd thinks you’re in the same league.

“Please?” you try.

“Alright. But you’re getting your change back. This one, she always tries to scurry away before I can give her her change back!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,” Matt chuckles, his hand resting on your waist, the gentle touch sending goosebumps up your spine.

“Atta boy. You know, I like this one. He ain’t that bad. Here, Kitty. Have a nice night, you two!”

“Night, Boyd!” you smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Matt adds. Once you’re out of earshot, he asks, “How come he can call you Kitty?”

“Because Boyd has known me since I was six,” I chuckle before I take another bite of my pretzel. “You’ve gotta earn it.”

“Oh, so now you’ll let me earn the chance to call you Kitty?”

“If you play your cards right.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“You seem like the kind of guy that likes challenges.”

He grins and raises his eyebrows as if conceding to your point before taking a bite of is pretzel, licking up the mustard at the corner of his mouth. The absolutely obscene thoughts that cross your mind when he does that would even make a sinner in church blush—but also appreciate the sentiment. You finish your pretzels quickly, continue to walk aimlessly around and talk about whatever comes to your mind.

“Wow,” you hum as you look at a clock on the other side of the park we’re walking through.

“What?” he hums.

“It’s almost three.”

“Seriously? No.” You feel Matt’s arms shift, and you watch his fingers slide over the face of his watch. “Shit. It’s almost three. I didn’t think we were talking for that long.”

“Me either. Not that I’m complaining about it.”

“Neither am I.”

“Maybe we’re just really slow walkers?”

Matt laughs. “It is a really nice night.”

There’s a comfortable silence before you speak next. “I don’t do this, normally. Go out—go out to a bar, no less—walk with guys aimlessly around the city.”

“Tell people the story of your nickname? Or bring them to meet your pretzel godfather?” he teases gently, and you chuckle softly and nod.

“Definitely not either of those.” You take in a deep breath before you continue. “Something feels different tonight, though, and I like it. And I only started liking it when you and Foggy joined us at our table.”

“Yeah?” he says so softly you almost don’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“If it makes you feel any better, I like it, too.”

Your gaits slow before Matt turns into you, a relaxed, dreamy look on his face. It’s not a face you’ve seen him flash the girls on campus—the cocky, over-confident swagger that’s usually there replaced with something almost dreamy and entirely genuine. Your heart starts to race as he leans in, but you both freeze in place when the sky opens up and you get caught in a sudden downpour. You squeak and he lets out a soft grunt before Matt hand grabs yours, and you rush toward the sidewalk. You raise your hand to wave down an oncoming taxi, and as you both slide in, Matt gives his address to the cabbie.

The ride is short, but it’s definitely better than making the trip in the pouring rain. When the cabbie pulls to the curb, Matt hands him the fare and the tip, opening the door and sliding out first, waiting for you to follow. He uses his large frame to try and shield you from the rain as you run into the lobby of his dorm, tracking in puddles into the elevator.

“Would Foggy mind if I crash here for the night? I mean, what’s left of it,” you ask, your arms hugging yourself as you shiver in front of his door.

“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s staying with his family for the first half of break,” Matt says as he slides the key into the lock, leading you into the very nice dorm apartment. “It’s just us here.”

“Ah,” you hum softly, looking around the space. “I wish my dorm looked like this. I think I chose the wrong major.”

Matt chuckles softly as he moves about the space. “Well, each year we get better housing choices, and the ADA complaint dorms were updated a few years ago. Foggy just reaps the rewards of being my friend.”

“Well, it is very nice. Definitely decorated by boys, though.”

Matt chuckles softly, walking into what you assume is his room before coming back out in pajamas, a folded set of clothes in his extended hand.

“Thanks,” you smile as you take the sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his hands.

“Can’t have you be chilly,” he hums. “Let’s face it—Amy would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”

“You, Foggy, and then me. In that order,” you laugh. “You know, I honestly thought it was done raining for the night.”

“I’m just glad we caught a cab. And that you let me pay.”

“Well, you gave them the address to your dorm. Seemed right that you foot the bill.”

Matt chuckles as you turn to side off your wet clothes and put on his fluffy sweater and sweats. Yes, it feels a little odd to change in front of him, but it’s not like he can see you in your underwear, and you need to get these wet clothes off. And if tonight has taught you anything, Matt is someone you feel comfortable and safe around.

“Let’s hope these dry by the morning,” you say, folding your soaked clothes and putting them over the stool in the kitchen area.

“You can keep them as long as you need. Something tells me I’ll get them back eventually.”

You blush deeply. “In a timely manner. Promise.”

“I’m not gonna force you out when the sun comes up, you know,” Matt continues. “We can go down and throw your clothes into the dryer in the morning. Maybe go grab breakfast after they’re out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Want to go to the living room?”

“No ulterior motives?” you smirk.

He laughs, and you swear you just made him to blush. “No. Not unless you want there to be,” he responds.

“I don’t think I’d be opposed to some.”

Matt slides off his glasses, placing them on the kitchen table. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight coming through the window, taking a half step forward and placing his hands on your waist. You lean in to help close the space between your bodies, and when his lips finally meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat as electricity shoots through your veins. You slide your hands up his body to cradle is face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss is passionate, tender, and everything that a kiss should be. When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dizzy in all the best ways. His forehead rests on yours, and you desperately wish he’d lean in for another kiss.

“Are those acceptable motives?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.

“Mm,” you hum. “Very.”

He smiles, leaning in for another kiss, the force of the embrace knocking the back of your legs against the sofa. You pull him into you, knocking the pair of you down on the couch, his body crushing yours in the most glorious of ways for a moment until he can position himself better on the furniture. His hands have a firm grip on your body, sending wave after wave of chills up your spine as you chase his lips for more kisses. One of his large hands cradles the back of your head, holding you closer so he can gain better access to the kiss, and you realize his glasses aren’t perched on his face anymore. You don’t even know when he would’ve have a chance to take them off. But do you really care?

No. No you don’t.

As you make out, Matt slides you onto his lap, giving you a bit more leverage as you embrace. You lips mirror one another’s, curving up into smiles. You take in a sharp breath as you feel his hands slide under the sweater and up your back, the simple action sending goosebumps up your spine. You moan into the embrace and lean forward to deepen it, accidentally nipping his lower lip between yours. It elicits a strong response from Matt, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave little bruises as souvenirs before moving up to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers should have their own insurance policy, because wherever they trace on your body feels like a million dollars—the warmth, the strength, the grip—goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Firm, relaxing, and downright sinful.

You pull back from the kiss, Matt’s swollen lips chasing yours as you lean away, turning your head to yawn.

“Am I putting you to sleep, sweetheart?” he smirks, softly kissing your neck before moving so his face points toward yours.

“You’re definitely relaxing me, that’s for sure,” you tell him as you look back at his face. “It’s just been a really long week.”

“We can stop if you want.”

“You stop, and I’m telling Amy and Foggy.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.”

With more smiles, you lean back into the kiss. Matt’s grip is firm on your waist before sliding his hands down and over the globes of your ass, moving to your upper thighs before lifting you up. You’re too focused on his lips to try and watch where he’s taking you, even though you have a good idea. You moan into his mouth as you feel Matt lay you down on his mattress.

“At least if you get a little too tired to keep going, you can fall asleep in a bed,” he whispers before he starts to kiss your neck.

“So kind of you.”

“I try.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Can I keep going?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Matt flashes you a devilish grin before leaning back in, his hands sliding up under the borrowed sweatshirt tracing the curves of your body.

“You can take it off, you know,” you murmur against his lips. “It’s your shirt, after all.”

He hums in delight, doing as you ask and ridding the fabric from your body and pushing it to the side. “You’re chilly now,” he hums kissing all over the exposed skin, pulling soft moans from your throat.

It’s your turn to slither your hands up against his rock-hard body under his clothes, lightly raking your fingernails along his skin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Then show me.”

Matt’s lips slot back over yours, tasting every ounce of your mouth that he can. He pulls back, whipping his shirt off. You’re unable to prevent your jaw from dropping when you see his exposed chest, a little wooden cross hanging from a cord around his neck a strong contrast from his fair skin and rippling muscles. It doesn’t hang too long, the space between the two of you closed just as swiftly as it was created before his hands deftly undoes your bra. Matt’s hands slide the straps down your arms, tossing it to the side before his large hands palm at the fleshy mounds, his hips inadvertently beginning to roll against your legs.

“Mm,” you hum as you start to mark his neck. “I’d say we’re moving fast, but, I like where we’re moving. Seems like you do, too.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Let me lay you down and make you feel good, angel.”

“Mm, ‘angel’,” you smirk as you pull him on top of you. “Sounds better than ‘Kitty’. Better not be calling any other girls that.”

“It’ll be just for you. Swear.”

“Good.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna try and stop earning the right to call you Kitty, though.”

“Consider it earned. Can even call me Kitten. Now, please tell me you have some condoms here.”

“Mm, I do. But, the thing is, that pretzel left me hungry, angel. I need to eat a little more.”

Your brows furrow before Matt holds your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. He trails his kisses down the column of your neck, moving lower with each embrace, down your chest and torso until his lips reach where your skin and his sweatpants meet.

“Is it okay if I pull these down, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing feather-soft kisses on your stomach. “Can I kiss you there? Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe a little too quickly, moving your fingers into his soft hair. “Please.”

He smiles, kissing your belly button before curling his fingers round the waistband of the sweats and underwear and sliding them down your legs. His strong hands gently part your legs, exposing yourself to him, his soft, pouty lips kissing back and forth along your inner thighs until his nose brushes the slick folds. A soft moan escapes your throat, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. As soon as it leaves your lips, you swear you hear Matt growl a little before diving in between your legs. This time, you moan louder, your back arching off of the bed and your fingers clutching the sheets.

“Matt!” you squeak. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping his face buried in your core, tasting and savoring you like you’re the sweetest of desserts. Your chest heaves as you squirm against him, but each movement of your body only spurs him on to hold you tighter. He hums into your pussy, the vibrations working all the way up your body.

“M-Matt,” you stutter, feeling yourself get wound tightly as he works diligently between your legs. “Matt, I—oh, fuck!”

Matt just hums, keeping pace and enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You continue to whimper, whine, and squirm, biting your lip harder as you get closer to your release. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel Matt pull away from you, his face in your direction, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick.

“Don’t hold back, angel. I’ve got you,” he pants. “Make those pretty noises for me. It’s just you and me, okay? Don’t worry about if anyone else can hear. It’s just you and me.”

“Okay,” you say breathily with a frantic nod. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

You could cum with those two words, and the quick twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me that he knows it, too. With a lick of his lips, he dives back down without missing a beat, sliding two thick fingers into you, gently pumping them and curling his fingers to squish against the perfect spot that makes your vision go spotty. You let out your loudest cry of the night, the sheer volume hurting your throat a little. It elicits a deep growl from Matt, and with one more lick, you’re quaking and unraveling on his face. Little tremors continue to jolt through your body as Matt works to lick up every last drop of you before pressing a soft kiss on your swollen nub and kissing his way back up your body.

You lean up and crash your lips into his, desperate for him. Matt eagerly kisses you back, letting you taste yourself, exploring how you mix with him.

“Are you up for more?” he pants as he pulls back, trying to smooth down your tousled hair.

“Please,” you say, the faintest hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m ready.”

Matt smiles, pecking your lips quickly before leaning back and taking his sweats off. Your eyes involuntarily widen when you see just how big he is. If tonight with Matt hasn’t ruined other men for you yet, the feeling of him inside you and how it will undoubtedly linger for days will.

“You okay?” he pants as he works to slide on the condom.

“I’m doing great,” you swallow, trying to remain coherent through the bliss.

His laugh is like warm tea with honey.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

With the condom firmly on, he leans forward to kiss you slowly. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Matt kisses you again, adjusting the pillows behind you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He places his hands on you gently, forehead resting on yours, before carefully starting to slide in. You bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, your head suddenly becoming too heavy as you let it roll to the side and rest against his neck.

“Matt,” you breathe.

“Prefect,” he pants as he slowly pushes forward. “Perfect.”

“M-Matt,” you whimper as you stretch around him. “Big.”

“Do you need me to stop?” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”

“N-No. ’s great. So great.”

“Say the word if you need me to stop, okay? If it’s too much?”

“Okay.”

Your faces turn toward one another, and for the briefest of moments, Matt’s eyes lock onto yours. You feel your heart skip a beat and jump up right into your throat. This is ridiculous—tonight is the first time you’ve actually met him rather than stare at him and wish from a distance, and it’s like your entire universe is on its head. Matt tenderly leans forward, his lips on yours, fueled with a softer passion than what has dictated your embraces for the night. The roll of his hips is slow, and you feel everything ten times over. You hold onto Matt as if your life depends on it, and you let him work as he marks up your neck and shoulder with little bites.

“Don’t stop,” you plea. “Don’t stop. Matt, please don’t stop!”

Your pleas and whimpers spur Matt to pick up his pace. As he does so, his own soft moans grow louder in your ear, and it drives you wild. The springs of the mattress move from a quiet creak to an all consuming squeak, perfectly punctuated by the headboard hitting the wall.

“Matt!” you cry out, pulling probably harder than you should at his hair.

“Such a good pussy,” he grunts. “All for me. You’re so good for me, angel. Feel so perfect.”

“Please!”

“Hm?”

“Fuck, Matt! You’re—oooohhhh!”

“Perfect f’me, angel. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

The sound of your slapping skin adds to the erotic symphony in the room, sweat quickly lining your bodies. You whimper as you nuzzle into him, muttering incoherent sentences as his pelvis rubs against your sensitive core, building you up to knock you over with intense pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and pull a deep growl from the back of his throat. He nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear before slotting his lips over yours.

“Matt,” you whimper, really drawing out the vowel in his name. “Matt, ‘m gonna cum.”

“Let it out,” he encourages. “Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. Let me hear you, angel.”

Matt kisses the sweet spot on your neck and pulls a needy whine from you. A stuttered whine pulls from your lips as your eyes pinch shut and you claw your fingers into Matt’s back. You cry out at the top of your lungs as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. With Matt in you, dragging against every right spot, it feels so much better than with his mouth. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out in pleasure even louder. The pace of Matt’s hips move even faster, albeit at a more unsteady rhythm with an increased sense of urgency as he tries to soothe the sting of his teeth. His moans turn into grunts, a delight to your ears.

“Harder,” you beg. “Harder, Matt.”

You feel Matt nod his head against yours, doing as you ask, his lips brushing faint kisses against your cheek. You cry out once more, Matt’s hips pulling one more orgasm from you as he hits his high, spilling into his condom with punctuated thrusts.

Your breathing is heavy as your bodies still, sweat clinging to your skin and soaking the sheets. You chuckle softly as Matt places gentle kisses along your neck, his nose tickling you just so before pulling himself off of you and sliding out. He does it slowly, and you moan softly from the sensitivity and the loss of him. He ties off the condom, shuffling out of bed to throw it away. Matt briefly rounds the corner, coming back with a towel in hand. Without a single word, he carefully spreads your legs, gently cleaning the mess between your thighs. His lips softly kiss your knees and thighs has he works, and you can’t help but smile. He tosses the cloth to the side, it landing perfectly on the edge of his hamper. Matt slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you adjust in his hold, kissing your forehead.

“What?” he whispers so softly you want to melt.

“You have freckles,” you whisper back just as quietly as you look up at him. “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there.”

“Yeah?” he says with a tender smile.

“Mm.” Carefully, you move your fingers against the skin on his cheek, tracing over the faint constellation on his fair skin.

“What?” he whispers again with a little smirk.

“How do you know I’m thinking?”

“Call it a hunch.”

You smile softly. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I don’t go out. I don’t go to bars. I don’t do this. Any of this.”

“I think you mentioned that earlier,” he hums with a cheeky smile. God, his voice is like a warm blanket that you just want to snuggle up in.

“It just felt right, with you. I’m really glad I came out tonight.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” You give him a hum in response. He pulls you closer and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips. “I’m really, really glad you came out, too.”

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Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

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peterman-spideyparker · 8 months

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Strange (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been meaning to post this for months as the sequel to 6B inspired by this instrumental cover, but the actual inspiration to post it and get it out of my drafts folder has been lacking. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: You've gotten to know your neighbor, Matt, and have grown very close to him over the last few months. Not only that, but his friend group has readily accepted you into the fold. But when they want to come and see a concert you're in and things start to go wrong, you're not only worried about the performance, but letting them down.

Click here for some listening inspiration!

Warnings: Fluff (Matt and Reader being sooo into one another but unable to just say it, kissing, Matt being supportive), angst (Reader has a panic attack)

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Word Count: 2,349

“You know,” Foggy says as he downs his drink. “I could have been a butcher.”

Karen and Matt groan, which means this is a frequent story that Foggy likes to tell anyone who can listen.

“Please, spare her this one,” Matt begs melodramatically. “You’ll scare her away.”

“Yeah, and it’s been nice for me these last few months to have another woman in this circle of weird,” Karen chuckles before she drinks her beer.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a small smile, sipping your drink. “Tell me.”

“Fine, we’ll go with the abridged version: I wanted to break ranks from cured meat, got into Columbia to do law, expected to get rich, and now get paid in bananas and strawberry rhubarb pie,” Foggy huffs.

“Yeah, but that pie means you’re doing good work helping the people that need it. And it’s a delicious perk of friendship with you guys,” you grin as you all clink your drinks together.

“Professor (Y/L/N)?” you hear a voice call through the noise of the bar.

You all look over, and you notice a small group of your students at a table in the bar. They wave and cheer, making their way over to where you sit.

“Hi guys,” you smile. “It’s nice to see you out instead of in rehearsal.”

“Well, even the workaholics gotta take a break,” one of your students says.

“We just wanted to say hey before we left,” another says. “We’re on our way to dinner at a friends. But we’ll see you in class and at your concert.”

At the mention of your upcoming performance, you feel a blush burn on your cheeks as you wave goodbye to them, knowing you're about to undergo the third degree.

“You’ve got a concert coming up?” Matt says, turning toward you, his knee brushing against yours.

“Yes,” you confirm with a sheepish dip of your head.

“Is she trying to be humble as a way to dissuade us from gathering more information, counselor?” he leans over to Foggy.

“I believe so,” Foggy hums. “Ms. Page, since the client is hostile, we are enlisting your investigative journalism talents.”

“My rates have gone up,” she chuckles as she brings her drink to her lips. “I don’t think you can afford it.”

“I’m assuming you’re gonna keep this jig up until I tell you what you want?” you interject.

“Ah, so astute, Ms. (Y/L/N),” Matt smirks.

“Saturday at seven in the Miller Theatre at Dodge Hall on campus. Happy?”

“Extremely. Nelson and Murdock always gets their case,” Foggy laughs.

“What kind of music are you going to be playing?” Karen beams with interest.

“Nothing special, really. I’m going to do some conducting, playing some covers, and some original pieces—.”

“Originals?” Foggy grins.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” you say softly. “I appreciate you enthusiasm, really, it means a lot.”

“But you don’t want us there,” Matt says softly, picking up on your tone.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you there, I just . . . it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Foggy repeats.

“But musicians want people to hear their music, right?” Karen continues.

“I love to share my music. But when people I know are in the audience—.” You shrug, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy washing over you. “It’s like I’m gonna disappoint them.”

The mood of the group is immediately changed, and you feel your face grow hot again.

“Listen,” you start again quietly. “I have to teach an early class tomorrow morning. I’ll see you guys later.”

You pull the money out of your wallet to cover my beers, giving a gentle squeeze to Matt’s knee as you wave goodbye to your friends.

“(Y/N), wait!” you hear Matt call after you on the sidewalk. “Wait!”

You stop in your tracks, turning in time to watch him fold up his cane. “Matt, listen—.”

“No, please, let me,” he breathes as he comes to a halt in front of you. “I’m sorry if we made you feel weird. We just want to be here to support you. If us coming to your concert would make you uncomfortable, we won’t come, but we’ll be with you in spirit. But I can say with confidence that no matter what, you could never disappoint us—you could never disappoint me.”

You give him a soft smile, and you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Matt,” you tell him. “If you guys want to come, you can. Just keep the expectation bar low?”

A soft laugh falls from his chest, and it’s more beautiful than any composition you could have put together. “If it makes you feel better, we will keep the bar on the ground. Now c’mon, let me walk you back to your place.”

“You sure it’s not out of your way, Murdock?” you grin.

He loops his arm in yours and lets out a long sigh. “It’d be a bit of a hike, but, I’d only do it for you.”

“Please, please, please,” you breathe as you move into the audience, hoping this is one of the rare occasions that your friends didn’t listen to you. You almost burst into tears when you see Matt, Foggy, and Karen in the front row with flowers in hand. Before you can even move to try and get close to them, you watch as Matt gets up from his seat and unfurls his cane, slowly approaching you.

“Matt!” you call softly, watching him turn his head in your direction.

“You okay?” Matt asks you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re oozing nerves so much a blind man can tell.”

“I . . . no,” you whimper. “The last song is a duet—piano and violin. My pianist just called and has the stomach flu and is currently in the hospital for dehydration. I-I . . . Matt, I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out—I don’t freak out, and I’m freaking out.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“See, I could do it, but I can’t play the violin and piano at the same time. I have to think of something new on the fly. I can’t think on the fly like this. I wrote that piece months ago for tonight, and now it’s out the window! I can improvise when I play, but I can’t think of a new plan on the spot.”

“(Y/N), you need to take a deep breath.”

“What does a heart attack feel like? I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Matt places your hand on his chest, square in the middle, mirroring the action with his own. “Take some deep breaths for me, okay? I’m right here. Focus in on my heartbeat.” You match your breathing with his, putting all your focus into your breathing pattern. “There you go. Nice and slow, just like that. Tell me how I can help.”

“Matt—.”

“Please. Let me at least try to help.”

You suck in your bottom lip and bite it, grabbing his hand and pulling him to one of the side rooms with a piano.

“You said you played piano in church when you were little, right?” you confirm as you sit on the bench, pulling him down next to you.

“Yeah, I did,” he nods.

“I’m really hoping that brain of yours is photographic-adjacent,” you say as you sit on the bench. You begin to press the keys gently, the notes softly reverberating in the room. You play it as you have a million times before, and you can tell by Matt’s laser-focused on how you press the keys: he’s absolutely astonished by each note, capturing the sound and storing it away in his mind. When you finish, you turn on the bench and look at him while he looks at you with nothing but affection.

“That was absolutely amazing,” he breathes, sounding utterly awestruck.

You blush, immensely flattered. “Do you think you can mimic it?”

“I think it’s doable,” he says with a gentle but confident grin. "Can I ask, why me? There's a stage full of musicians behind the curtain."

"I trust you," you say, your heart racing once more. "And that's not to say I don't trust them, but, I think you're the only one that can help, and I trust you with every bone in my body."

He places his hand on top of yours. "Let me give it a try."

You move from the bench, allowing Matt to take your place as he replicates the piece note for note, sounding identical to what you just played.

“And just when I think you couldn’t get more amazing,” you whisper with a smile, almost on the verge of tears from being so grateful. “Are you comfortable going up and doing that at the end of the night?”

“Of course. For you, of course,” Matt breathes.

You smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before you take his hand and pull him from the bench and back to the main performance hall. “I can walk you up to the stage when it’s time,” you tell him. “I’ll never be able to thank you for this, Matt. Honestly.”

“Save your thank-you’s for when the night is over,” he hums, giving your hand a tender squeeze. “You’ll be amazing—you are amazing. And I will be right there with you every step of the night, with every note you play.”

With a shaky breath, you squeeze his hands once more before you resume your position backstage, and give a pep-talk to your performers. By the time you make it to the stage, you go on auto-pilot, tuning into your performers, the audience, and how everything comes together as you lead them and play matching melodies with instruments of your own. You feel extra flushed when you reach the near-end of the program when you have to address the audience before your final piece.

“This next song will be the last one of the night,” you start. “I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your busy lives to come here and enjoy the music brought to you by these absolutely talented musicians. This last piece is an original duet I have put together over the last couple of months. New York isn’t my home. I grew up all across the country, but I first came to this city to get my degree from this very institution. Fate brought me back here, and even though I lived in this city for the formative years of my adult life, everything felt so new and different when I came back, but it also felt like I hadn’t left for a moment. It was strange. Upon my return to the city, I met a spectacular human that embodies that strangeness, but also oozes hope, kindness, empathy, and acceptance, and I’m honored that he has agreed to join me in my final performance of the night on the piano.”

Moving down from the stage, you meet Matt at his seat, offering your arm for him to take as you guide him up to the piano. As he sits, he squeezes your hand one more time, just as he has so frequently before, and you know that no matter what happens in the next three minutes, everything will be okay because Matt believes in you, even if you haven’t believed in yourself. Softly, you count off, Matt gently pressing on the keys for a few notes before you join in on the violin. Everything blends together beautifully—better than you ever could have imagined. You both play as if you were a duo that have been playing together all of your lives, and you don’t exactly process that the song is over until it happens and the crowd rises to their feet and erupts in applause. You put your instrument down, taking Matt’s hand and bringing him to the edge of the stage to take a bow with you as the curtains close. You wrap Matt in the biggest hug you physically can, burying your face into his neck.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you just did,” you breathe into him. “Thank you so much, Matty.”

He squeezes you tight, holding the back of your head and smoothing down your hair. “You were amazing, angel,” he whispers before leaning back from the hug. “Everything was so incredibly great. It all sounded so beautiful. I am so, so incredibly proud of you.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads all over your body, starting from your tummy and flowing outward, making your skin burn hot. Your lips part slightly, your heart skipping a beat when you notice Matt’s tongue poke out and wet his lips.

“(Y/N), I—,” he starts, but you glide your hands up to cradle his face, pulling him in for a kiss. He gladly receives it, moaning into your lips and holding you close, squeezing your waist and dipping you slightly. Pulling back after you straighten, he rests his forehead on yours and gently brushes your noses together before leaning in for more soft, sweet kisses. “I’ve got some tulips with your name on it out in the front row,” he grins. “Foggy and Karen insisted on roses, but, I know you like tulips. Mr. Wilson at the corner florist helped me put the colors together for you.”

“How’d you know I like tulips?” you hum, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I might’ve talked to your students. They gave me some ideas.”

“Ah. Well, since I can’t kiss them as a thank you, I think I might have to give you a few more to show my full extent of gratitude.”

“Mm,” Matt happily hums, his hands moving down your body soothingly. “I’d like that. But not here. When we get back to our building. I have a feeling people are looking to congratulate you.”

“Okay,” you breathe, taking half a step back, slipping your hand in his so we can go into the audience. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“I hope you do.”

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader fanfic #matt murdock x reader fanfiction #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x fem!reader fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #daredevil x reader #daredevil x reader fluff #daredevil x fem!reader fluff #daredevil netflix #daredevil disney+#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 year

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Horses and Zebras (College!Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: I wrote this a bit ago with the intention of having this be smutty, but what I was coming up with just didn’t feel right, so I pivoted and turned it into this. I wanted to use a gif of college Matt but this one popped up, and I will never not use a gif of Tristan Thorn if given the chance and I’m also sorry for the sucky title. It might have a second part, but that’s TBD. Enjoy! :)

Summary: You’re in the medical program at Columbia, but you have some space in your schedule to take an elective, so you opt for a health policy and law class. What you don’t expect is meeting a handsome, blind law student.

Warnings: Fluff, flirting, medical jargon, angst (mentions of death, medical diseases), swearing

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 2,184

“Is this seat taken?” you hear a smooth, deep voice ask to your right as you take out your notebook and pencil case.

“It’s up for grabs,” you say with a smile as you turn to look at the asker. You feel your cheeks burn hot when you see the handsome man with brown hair, navy sweater, and sunglasses standing with a soft smile. He shifts the cane in his hands as he puts his bag down and begins unpacking his things. “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Matt,” he returns as he settles. “Are you a 2L or a 3L?”

“I’m actually a med student—year and a half left.”

His thick eyebrows scrunch and his lips turn into a confused frown. “They’re letting a med student take a law class?”

“Well, it’s a health law and policy class. I’ve taken some summer courses to get ahead, and my advisor vouched for me. I figured if I’m going to be a doctor, I should try to help them and advocate for them as much as I can. Even if I know a little of it, I hope it would be a big help for some patients.”

“Wow,” he says softly. “You don’t really meet people that think like that.”

“Tell me about it. There’s this guy in my class, right? Stephen. He’s thinks he’s a real hot-shot surgical godsend, when really he’s just an egomaniac that always has to be the one holding the knife.”

“Sounds like a real dick,” he says with a sympathetic pout.

“There’s always people like that in any profession, I guess. Any people like that come to mind in the law program? Or am I talking to one?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask.”

“Mm,” you hum with a little smirk. “Sounds like a yes for the second to me.”

Matt smiles and licks his lips. It looks like he is just about to say something else when the professor walks in with her briefcase.

“Good morning and welcome to Intro to Health Law Advocacy. Now, we will be starting with medical ethics, and from there, segue into medical malpractice—which is slightly askew from the way it’s organized in the book. If you’ll open your textbooks to chapter eight . . .”

“How are you not worried about this exam?” Matt asks, flipping through his notes on his bed, taking off his glasses and putting them to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, so far, I’m already familiar with these things,” you sigh as you turn on the chair at his desk. “We covered them the first or second year of the med program. I really haven’t learned anything new that will help me as a doctor. This class isn’t what I thought it would be, and I’m starting to think that’s why they let a med student take a law class.”

“So, what exactly are you studying right now, then?”

“Advanced abdominal and reproductive anatomy and diseases.”

“Ew,” he grimaces.

“Eh, it’s not bad. Some of my friends and I have done the ‘What’s my disease?’ game with all the symptoms and stuff, it’s just making sure I get these muscles right.”

“How can I help?”

You lightly scoff. “Matthew, are you trying to get out of studying?”

“I would never,” he says in mock offense, a wry smirk almost immediately pulling at his lips.

“It’s good you’re practicing your lying now,” you laugh as you move to make a highlight in your notes. “You really wouldn’t want something that bad presented in court.”

“Seriously, though,” he offers after he stops laughing. “I need a bit of a study break, honestly. How can I help you?”

“You could always just sit there and tell me how pretty I am.”

“(Y/N).”

“Matt, I appreciate it, but I don’t know if you can. Unless you want to be a live model, that is.”

“How so?”

You sigh, regretting even having brought it up. “It’s one thing to read it and look at diagrams, but it’s another thing to actually do it on a person.”

“Okay. So,” Matt draws out, putting a tab in his book. “I could lie down, and you’d poke and prod and tell me what you’d feel if I was a patient with one of the things in your book?”

“Yeah, I guess. Would you be comfortable with that?”

Matt nods. “I need a break from these laws—my fingers can’t take it anymore.”

“Alright, then.”

You know to do this, Matt would have to take his shirt off, but you’re not quite prepared for when he does. You can tell that Matt is in shape just by looking at him, but seeing how sculpted he is, the defined dips and curves of his muscles on his taut and smooth skin, you’re not prepared for how your mouth waters. Laying down on the twin bed, he lifts his arms, folding his hands behind his head, resting all nonchalantly with a cocky smirk on his lips.

“You alright there, doctor?” he asks, shifting ever so slightly and making his muscles flex.

“I’m not a doctor yet, Matty,” you tell him, grabbing your notes before you get up.

“You don’t need those.”

“How do you expect me to tell you which uncommon disease that you fictionally have when I poke you in certain places? It’s not like you know the symptoms.”

“You use your memory, sweetheart, that’s how.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the nickname, but it’s enough to convince you to put down your notes.

“Okay,” you start, moving forward as you retie your ponytail. “Let me start with something easy just to get going. Appendicitis. Appendix becomes inflamed from infection and fills with pus. Pain is caused in the lower right abdomen, usually starting right around here.” You apply light pressure near his belly button on his rock hard abs. How does he have abs this great? “Pain will lessen the pressure is applied, but will get worse when my fingers get removed.” I mimic my motion with my words.

“Ow, it hurts really bad,” Matt adds for effect with a pout, making you giggle. “Doc, you gotta help me.”

“Well, you don’t have a fever,” you play along, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand. “Not nauseous, either. Could just be gas. But, if you do later on, it hurts when you cough, walk, or laugh, and the pain shifts here and your abdomen becomes rigid—,” you continue, moving your fingers lower, “—that’s then we have an issue. An ultrasound will confirm it’s an appendicitis.”

“Easy enough.” Matt’s tone is cool, but the blush on his chest, neck, and cheeks say otherwise. “What’s one of the rarer ones?”

“Well, that’d be something like Hirschsprung’s disease. It’s when there’s a lack of nerve cell bodies in part of the bowel. People are born with it, but it might not develop until later in life. Pain can present anywhere.”

“Well, that doesn’t make diagnosis sound easy.”

“It’s not as common. One of the first things you’re told is to look for horses not zebras; what someone might thinks is uncommon is actually something common presenting differently.”

“Then what happens when it’s actually uncommon?”

“People end up going to multiple doctors,” you sigh. “Or, they realize it’s uncommon when it’s too late. And the sad thing is, it happens—it happens a lot more to female patients than male patients because . . . fuck, I don’t know, people think women are weak.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

“Cuz I am.” You sit down on the edge of the mattress, your shoulders slumping forward as you hang your head. “One of my closest friends in high school, she was so incredibly fit and healthy, but she hadn’t been feeling right. One doctor said it was the flu, a physician’s assistant said it was PMS, another said it might be something carcinogenic. Then one day our senior year when she was at home, she just collapsed. After a week, they figured out it was a neurological disease. It ran in her family, but it hadn’t manifested in anyone. And by the end of that week, she was gone.”

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Matt says softly, sitting up and putting his hand on yours.

“I’m so afraid of turning into one of those doctors,” you breathe quietly. “I don’t want to worry anyone for no reason, to put them through unnecessary tests that insurance might not cover and they might not be able to afford. But I’m so worried that one day, I’m just going to convince myself that one of those zebras is a horse, and then someone else will lose their best friend.”

“We haven’t known each other for long, but I like to think that in the semester I’ve known you, I’ve gotten to know you well. So I know that when you become a doctor, you will treat every one of your patients with respect, kindness, and compassion. You’ll listen to them and their concerns, and do the absolute best to give them the care they need. If you think there’s a zebra in the room, I know you’ll trust your gut and approach it in the right way. It’s not gonna be easy, and it won’t be without its difficult times, but I have every last faith in you and your abilities.”

“I don’t think you know how much that means to me to hear,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion. “You really are going to be a great lawyer, Matt. And I’m not just saying that. A lot of the same nice things you just said about me apply to you, though. You’re kind, compassionate, and you just want to help. There’s nothing more admirable than that.”

You feel electricity move across your skin when he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. Your noses touch before you tilt your heads to the side so they slot better together, your lips millimeters apart before the door to his dorm opens.

“Guess who just got a date with Marci!” Foggy cheers triumphantly as he comes into the room, stuttering to a halt when he registers how you and Matt slide away from one another. “Sorry, I di—.”

“No—,” you start.

“Fog, we—,” Matt says over you.

“I should get going, anyways,” you say as you stand to gather your things. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Matt.”

“I’ll see you,” he says softly. “Text me when you get back to your dorm safe.”

“Will do. Night.”

As soon as you close the door to their room, you can immediately hear Foggy start profusely apologizing.

“Dude, I didn’t know! I’m so sorry—,” he starts.

“Fog, keep your voice down!” Matt hushes him urgently. “She can hear you!”

“She’s probably all the way down the hall at this point. Is that the hot med student you’ve been telling me about?”

“Fog—!”

“Don’t pull that ‘How would I know they’re hot’ shit—you always find the prettiest girls and ensnare them in your Murdock charm.”

You can’t help but giggle as you walk down the hall and start back to your place. So . . . Matt has talked about you to Foggy. You guess you can tick that off of your curiosity list. You wonder what exactly he’s told his best friend about. You’re so lost in thought and reliant on muscle memory that you don’t realize you’re back in your place until you slump your bag off your shoulders and it hits the floor. Pulling out your phone, you lean against the door and begin to text Matt.

“Your hot med student friend is safe in her dorm,” you type, grinning like an idiot as you bite your lip.

It takes him a little bit to respond.

“I’m glad,” he says with a little smiley face emoji. Another text bubbles before it disappears, reappears, and I have a new text on my screen. “I’m sorry for what Foggy said.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“So you did hear it. Eavesdropper ;).”

“I heard enough of it.”

You grow nervous when he doesn’t text back right away. In an effort to shake off the discomfort at the potential crater you might just have carved into your friendship, you change into your pajamas and grab what you need to start studying for you other classes. Just as you get in the right study spot, your phone buzzes to life with a text.

“You’re not mad?” it reads.

“At you? Impossible.” Your finger hovers over the send button, wondering if it would push the envelope too much for the night, but then you remember the initial text you sent over, getting enough courage to click down on the blue circle with the arrow. “If you need me for anything, I’m just a text away.”

“Good to know. There’s no way I’m making it through this without you.”

Does . . . Does he mean the test? The class? He is too flirty for his own good. But you know one thing for sure: you have a big, fat, undeniable crush on Matt Murdock.

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