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grippingbeskar · 1 year

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strip poker

matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content 18+ minors dni (mxf, dirty talk, honestly kind of tame if i’m honest) swearing, gambling?? idk it’s literally the title

a/n: i have been getting a few messages to write more matt so HERE IS ME FULFILLING THAT REQUEST! i’m so glad you guys liked the first one! hope you enjoy! also this gif is how i imagine him looking for the whole first part. fuxk he’s so hot anyways.

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“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. How is that even possible?” You shout, nearly spilling your beer on the already sticky table at Josie’s. You’d been playing poker in the shitty little set up at the back, a bunch of screwed up twenty dollar bills half heartedly thrown in as Matthew Murdock won yet another round.

“It’s unfair, really. Gets the looks and the brains. He either folds right away, or wins the whole game.” Foggy shakes his head, shoving Matt on the shoulder. “I lost a lotta money to this guy in college.”

“Yet you still play him.” Karen chucks her cards in the centre, watching Foggy re-shuffle the deck while Matt takes his winnings, shrugging.

“I didn’t say I learnt from it.”

“But how does that even…work? Because, you’re—well, you know…” You lean back, trying not to think about Matt’s attention, and how it had been on you the whole night. Especially now, as his fingers card through the new wad of cash in his hands, almost like he’s doing it just for you.

“Blind?” He smiles, and you make a noise of agreement while finishing off your beer. “I’m just very good at reading people.”

“Oh, I get it. You cheat, don’t you? Feel the fibres in the cards or whatever.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Feel the fibres?”

“Okay— well, it’s something like that, though. Isn’t it?” Even Foggy was interested now, snatching the deck that was now in the centre of the table. Matt shrugs again, hanging one arm around the empty chair next to him.

“I don’t cheat. Most people give away their hand as soon as they open their mouth. You just have to know the tell. Poker is just a waiting game.” He says it casually like winning every single poker game he’s ever played is the simplest thing in the world. “Plus, like you said. It’s not like I can look over your shoulder, can I? How would I cheat?”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it fails, because I need to start paying off this tab if Josie’s gonna serve us anymore.” Foggy deals out the cards, and you watch Matt intently. He never even picks up his cards, just sits there with one hand wrapped around his beer, head turned in your direction. “Alright, Karen?”

“I’m out. I’m running out of money.” Foggy boo’s, and she laughs, sliding off her chair. “Maybe if my boss’ paid me more, I’d be in.”

“Okay, ouch.” Foggy pouts, but deals your cards, skipping over Karen’s empty seat. “Matthew, you start.”

“I’m in.” He smirks, his free hand lightly tracing around the edges of his face-down cards. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“In.” You look at Foggy, and he sighs, pushing in his money as well.

“Last round. I’m all in.” All in doesn’t mean a lot to Foggy considering he’d only had about two chips and a one dollar bill left, but you and Matt still had a fair amount. Both of you match his bet, and he flips over another card. “Well, fuck.”

“See? Everyone’s got a tell.” Matt laughs and you roll your eyes. Foggy chucks his cards in the centre.

“Anyone could tell Foggy was gonna lose.”

“Hey! I had a fair chance about an hour ago.” Leaving both you and Matt laughing, he turns to go find Karen. “You two kids get home safe, okay?”

“I’ll look after her.” He says, his head still angled towards you. Your grip on the cards in your hand gets a little tighter, and he taps his finger on the table, asking you to flip another card. “Come on. You aren’t giving up yet, are you?”

“Definitely not.” You flip the last card, and it’s a King. The one you were looking for— you had a full house. A strong hand, but you didn’t want to give yourself away. You say nothing, remembering what Matt said earlier, and he smiles after a beat of silence.

“You aren’t talking to me now?” He teases, leaning over the table on his forearms to get a little closer to you. He smells like beer and cedar— a strange combination, but somehow intoxicating on him. “You know I’m gonna beat you anyways. No point in getting all quiet on me.”

“Shut up and make your bet, Murdock.” He’s still got that smirk on his face, the one that says he’s going to beat you before you’ve even put your cards down, and he matches your bet, sliding a few bills into the centre. “Showoff.”

“Just trying to impress you.” He was making it increasingly hard to keep a poker face, and you know he couldn’t see you but somehow it felt like he could see straight through you, like he knew how every one of his sweet words ate away at that feeble resistance you’d built up to try and keep him out. “You can fold if you need to. I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

“Does this whole act usually work for you? The girls eat this shit up, don’t they?” He shrugs, leaning back and leaving his still turned down cards on the table.

“Most of the time.” You push in double the amount of money he bet, and somehow he knows exactly how many, because before you’d even sat back he was matching the bet, smiling sweetly at you.

“How?!”

“How what?”

“How do you know you’ll win?” You lean forward and he moves too, mirroring you and nearly meeting your hands in the centre of the small table.

“I can’t give away all my secrets.” You roll your eyes and lay your cards face up on the table. He doesn’t so much as flinch, both your bodies still leaning towards each other.

This part of the bar was quiet and secluded, and you swear if you angled yourself just right no one would even be able to see you from here. The thought drove your brain to a whole lot of dirty thoughts you had been trying your best not to have about your literal boss, and you physically shook them away. When he spoke again, you had to squint to focus.

“Wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Oh, piss off. Let’s see what you have.” You deflect, holding out hope you could still make something of this game. Still smirking, he keeps his head angled towards you, reaching over and sliding his cards to you. You’re hesitant to take them, and he knows it.

“Help a guy out?” He reaches out to the wrong spot on the table, a clear ploy to get you to flip them for him. He was delaying this— dragging it out because it was fun to him, and as much as it sucked you were losing money, you’d probably empty your wallet if it kept him this close to you.

“I’m not falling for your helpless act. I’ve seen you in a court room.”

“Indulge me.” Deciding not to delay the process any longer, you flip them all over in one go.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” A royal-fucking-flush.

“What is it?” He says smiling, keeping as close to you as possible.

“A— you know what? I’m not even going to tell you.” He breathes out a laugh, leaning back finally, and it’s only when he’s sitting in his chair again that you manage to get your head screwed back on straight. “Now I’m really out of money.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Happens to the best of them.” You scoff. That’s the second time he’s called you that, and it seems to make you fidget in your seat more every time.

“Just means you have to cover the tab.”

“Don’t pout.” Instantly you steeled your face, and just as you were about to ask him exactly how he knew, he spoke again. “I tell you what— you want your money back, we can play a new game. All or nothing.”

“I feel like this is a trap.” He laughed, the sound drawing you in like some kind of siren song. You leaned forward again, reaching out for your money on the table, but he was faster, his own enveloping yours. His hands were rough and large, and you couldn’t peel your eyes away from how you practically disappeared underneath him.

“It’s not a game we can play here, though.” You swallow hard. You’d always flirted with Matt— it was easy, and honestly the best part of your day was seeing that playful smile, or even when his ears got a little pink when you got particularly close to whisper something about a case.

But this? He’s talking about leave a bar with him. On a Saturday night. To play a game. You chugged the rest of your beer, needing the liquid courage.

“Alright, Matthew. I’ll indulge you. What kind of game are you talking about?”

“Poker.” Laughing, you watch as he gets up from his chair and grabs his jacket, already resigned to the idea you were both leaving. Now.

“We are playing poker.”

“It’s not that kind of poker.” He’s right next to you now, edged between you and the chair cemented to the floor next to you. He was so close you had no choice but to lean into him, not that you could think of anything else you’d rather be doing.

“Not that kind of poker?” You say softly, and he hums. The sound vibrates through his chest, and you resist the urge to flutter your eyes close and just listen to him talk. Something about his voice has you floating on air, and it’s part of the reason he’s so hard to resist. He just never stops talking.

You jump slightly when you feel his hand brush against your shoulder. You were wearing a silk dress that hung off your shoulder, so he took his time, grazing along your soft skin. His fingers carded through your hair lightly, and to top it off, he brushed the hair back, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck, tilting your face upwards gently.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were suggesting something unprofessional, Mr. Murdock.” His face splits into another smile, but his hand drops from your skin. Instantly you feel colder without his touch.

“You tell me to go to Hell right now and I will. No hard feelings. You’re a good lawyer, and I won’t mess this up for you.” Now you understand why he stopped touching you. Matthew Murdock— self professed people reader, was unsure if he’d read this situation right. The thought occurred to you once to fuck with him a little, but when you looked up at him and saw how tight his jaw was, you melted a little. That tiny wall of resistance you’d built up was crumpled from the inside.

“And if I say I’m interested in this little game?”

“Then I’d say I’ll meet you outside. Balls in your court, princess.” He presses a light kiss to your cheek, and you nearly get dizzy from the gesture if you hadn’t seen him grab your money as well as his off the table before he disappears into the crowd.

You call after him, but all you get is a shrug and a laugh that is unmistakably his as he disappears into the crowd. You don’t move for a second— your heart screaming at you to get on your feet and follow him, but a small, stupid part of your brain tells you to not. He was your boss, after all, and you needed this job, but it was also Matt.

You knew he was a little bit of a lady killer— Karen and Foggy making a thousand jokes at his expense which he managed to laugh off. Even with clients he always managed to win the girls over with his charm, but as much as people talk about it, ever since you came around you haven’t seen him so much as flirt for more than a few minutes with anyone but you. Sure, you weren’t with him every second of every day, but between the late nights and weekends spent in his office to getting lunch and sometimes dinner on your days off, even Foggy had made a few passing comments about how he’d staved off women.

You didn’t have a leg to stand on to get jealous even if he did— but it made your heart stutter in his chest to think you had something to do with it. He was always showing up with an extra coffee for you, walking you home if you had to stay late, paying you endless compliments… and the way he spoke to you, teasing but never cruel, always making you laugh even when you hadn’t slept for 24 hours.

Really— your decision on whether to follow him out was made months ago when you first met him. The moment you saw that stupid smile and the first time he said your name; you nearly took the chair with you with how quick you jumped up to find him outside the bar.

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“I’ve never been to your place before.” You listen to the sound of Matt pouring you a glass of wine as you hang your head off the back of his couch. You have to squint to block out the streaming colour of light that shines through the giant windows; hues of pink and blue billboard warped from the rain that was coming down outside.

“It’s an acquired taste.” He taps your leg and you shift to sit up, him sitting close next to you handing you a glass. “You like red, right?”

“I drink anything as long as it’s free.”

“This one’s on me.” You laugh into your glass, taking a long sip and enjoying the burn that comes with it. It tastes expensive, and you expect nothing less from him. He’s facing you, one arm lazily hanging behind you on the couch, and your heart is racing even without the wine.

“So, did you really invite me up here for a game of poker, or was that just a ploy to get in my pants?” His laugh fills the quiet apartment, and he leans forward to pull out a drawer, his hand reappearing with a deck of cards.

“I never say no to a pretty girl in my apartment, but if you want your money back, you’re going to have to play me for it.” You snatch the cards from him, shuffling them dramatically.

“And tell me why, exactly, we couldn’t play this all important game in the bar?” You watch him carefully, how you always do when your alone, and you see his tell tale sign. The slightest hint of red on his cheeks, just at your question. “Matthew?”

“You’re out of money, but we’re still playing poker. What do you think we’re betting?” Now you were the one blushing.

“So this really was a ploy to get in my pants.” You try to sound nonchalant, confident like he always manages to come across as, but your voice shakes a little at the end of your sentence, and you were still shuffling the cards even though they were way past ready. You quickly put them on the table and down the rest of your wine.

“Can you blame me?” He asks lowly, and you cross your legs, ignoring the heat that grows in your stomach. “Listen, you know I love these games we play, but I don’t want you to—“

“If you’re bitching out now, I can take the money in credit or cheque, too.” He stops talking, mouth open a little, and scoffs out a laugh. The last thing you wanted him to do was think you weren’t a hundred and ten percent here for whatever he wanted to do with you. To you. Shit— that wine was going straight to your head.

“Alright, you asked for it. I was gonna go easy on you, but…”He sighs and shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, dealing the cards.

“Sure you were. Pick up the cards this time.” You all but shove them in his hands, and he takes his time pulling away from you, smiling like he could feel your pulse through the small touch and knew how much he affected you.

Looking at your cards, you tried to see a way to win with what was on the table. You had nothing, really, but he didn’t know that, and you still had a chance. Besides, if he wanted to play that kind of poker, you were positive you wouldn’t have to rely on the cards to distract him. If you could keep your thoughts under control.

“It’s a real shame you aren’t going to win, you know.” You bait him, and his head tilts up from where he was pretending to be looking at his cards.

“And why is that?” You shift in your seat at his voice. Again.

“Well, I dressed up all pretty for tonight.” You flip over the next card on the table, and suck in a breath. “And it’s just a shame you won’t get to experience that.”

“You know the point of this game isn’t to keep your clothes on. No matter how pretty you are in that dress.” He flips over the final card, and you bite down on your lower lip. You have nothing. Nada.

“Exactly, but the best part of my outfit isn’t the dress. It’s what I’m wearing underneath.” His eyes close, and you watch as he sighs and lets his head fall back.

“Can’t believe I was going to take it easy on you, sweet thing.” You can’t stop the grin on your face as he looks up at you like he’s in legitimate pain. “Play your cards.”

“Ohh, so serious now!” He manages a small ‘hm’ and although you were joking, he doesn’t seem so playful anymore. The look on his face was more akin to what he was like in court— focused and ready to win at all costs. “Don’t pout.”

“You’re bluffing, aren’t you?” He says, and you feel his hand on your opposite shoulder, the arm laying around the back of your couch sneaking closer while you were distracted. You shuffle slightly closer, allowing him the space.

“I thought you knew everyone’s tells.”

“You’re a little harder to read than most, I’ll admit it.” You make a noise in surprise, but he just shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean I won’t take you apart just as easily.”

“Guess you’ll have to play your cards to find out. Unless you want to fold?” He laughs, breaking up the tension just a little, and while you two were inches away from each other, he tosses his cards half heartedly onto the table, face up.

“How’d I do?” He leans closer, taking the extra space when you turn your head. You feel every word he speaks on your skin, lips not even an inch away from being on you. You could hardly keep your eyes open, let alone focus on the cards.

“I think you win this round.” You manage, shakily exhaling as you practically feel his smile on your neck. The hand that was around the back of the couch leaves you completely, while the other slowly creeps up the bare skin of your arm, making you shiver. “Th-three sixes against a four of a kind.”

“Hmm. Unlucky.” Shallow breaths were the only ones you could take with him this close. Gentle fingers find the soft material of the strap of your dress, hooking under it loosely. You told yourself you didn’t wear this dress for him— but you knew how it would feel. Silky and smooth against your skin, if he couldn’t see how good you looked in this dress, he would damn well feel it.

He slowly drops the strap down your shoulder, then the other hand encourages the other side down. You use your arms to keep the dress up, making him work for it a little, but as soon as he tugs lightly at the hem you let the dress fall over your breasts.

Matt’s hands feel the lace of your bra, lingering a little longer than he had to. Then he flattens his palms on either side of your rib cage, pulling the dress lower. He feels every curve and ridge on your body, and you can’t take your eyes off his face. He was enamoured— completely lost in the feeling, so much so that his eyes were shut tightly, even the light was taking too much away from the sensation.

“Matt, hurry u—“

“Shh. Let me enjoy my prize.” He finally leans closer, a soft kiss to your collarbone nearly melting you into the couch.

His hands reach your hip, and then get a little more aggressive, fisting the soft material and pulling rather than guiding. You shimmy your hips and let him drag it down your thighs. He seems reluctant to move past the faint excuse for underwear you were wearing, but eventually the dress falls to the floor, and he sighs.

“You were right.”

“About what?” His hand catches your chin, thumb pressing on your bottom lip lightly.

“You are even prettier like this.” Your knuckles were going white with how hard they were trying to stay at your sides, but now you were half naked, and he hadn’t so much as taken his jacket off.

“You think so?”

“I fucking know so. And these—“ The hand on holding your face to his is still on your hip, and one finger hooks under the lace. “—these for me?”

“You haven’t won that yet.” He presses his forehead to yours and groans, and then leans back, but doesn’t go too far. “Your turn to deal.”

“Fine.” He frowns like a little kid who just got told he can’t have ice cream, and quickly swipes up the cards. It’s only then that you notice these ones— his personal set, have braille on them.

“You can read these ones.” You say, and he nods.

“This game is much more important.” Biting your lip so hard it’s probably bleeding, you watch his talented hands quickly sort and deal the cards. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m cheating.”

“You’re so funny.” You squint, and he smiles.

This round is much faster. He’s clearly in no mood to fuck around anymore, and makes every opportunity to touch you now you’re sitting in front of him in nothing but a few strands of lace. In front of anyone else, you think you’d feel insecure, or at the very least cold, but with the way he’s acting like he’s starving for you— it has enough heat in that look to warm you for an entire winter.

You actually have a good hand this time, and to your surprise, you win. Your Aces beat his fours, and he takes off his jacket.

“That is hardly fair.”

“Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off? Because that is entirely unprofessional.” You want to laugh, but what you want more is to tear off the buttons on his shirt and— “Your cards, sweetheart.”

“So, are you going to tell me how you know you’ll win?” You take them quickly, trying to ignore how you missed him reshuffling the deck completely because you were too lost in your thoughts of fucking him right here, right now. What else was going to happen here, though? It was the anticipation that was driving you wild— the inevitable burn of what was months in the making.

“You really want to know?”

“Please.” He smiles again, flicking through his cards.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” You laugh, and he faces you again.

“You’re kidding.”

“It gets faster when you’re winning.” You look down at your cards— another solid hand, and you think he might of had something to do with that.

“I don’t think th—“

“It’s getting faster.” He leans closer again, tilting his head like he could actually hear you internally losing your shit. He was right— it was getting faster, but it had nothing to do with the cards. “You have a good hand, don’t you?”

“Maybe?” He laughs, and his hand touches yours. You watch as his hands— the hands you’ve spent way too many hours looking at, and they read your cards.

“Shit. I’m starting to think you might be cheating.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but your hands reach out, stopping him.

“My turn.” Keeping your hands on top of his, you relish in his surprised expression as you swing your leg over him. He all but gasps when you sit your weight down fully, the underwear hiding nothing from him or you as you press yourself against him.

Your fingers are as soft as his were, moving his tie to the side while you slowly undo each little button. When a new one opens, more of him is revealed, and every inch of unexplored skin has you nearly panting. Not to mention the way he’s holding you, his hands roaming the bare skin of your back and hips to pull you closer.

When you finally reach the bottom of his shirt, you nearly rip at it trying to remove it, but Matt takes it from you and slips out of it within a second, throwing it away somewhere behind you. Your hands are gentle as they slide up his chest, trying your best to avoid the scars that might still be painful. You had no idea he had so many scars— the image of him shirtless is even more alluring now.

“I don’t want to play games anymore.” You whisper, and his hand is already tangled in your hair when you finish, hauling your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Its fiery and hot, everything burning at once. You wrap your arms around his head and in one motion he stands, a small squeak of surprise coming from you as your legs wrap around his torso.

You couldn’t stop obsessing over the feeling of his skin on yours, the way he felt so warm against you; how his hands were rough and gentle at the same time, grabbing and pulling at any part of you they could find purchase. Eventually he stopped moving and your world fell backwards, landing on soft sheets and being encased by Matthew Murdock.

“Matty…” You whine into his mouth and he hums against you, his tongue opening you up, taking control of every single breath you take. Your eyes flutter open when he moves lower, kissing your jaw, and you inhale sharply when his teeth bite lightly at the sensitive spot on your neck. It felt electric, almost, the way he followed the harsher touch with gentle kisses and soothing hands.

“Fuck, you liked that? My sweet little fucking thing. Thought about this every day.” He groaned the confessions against your skin, leaving you helpless to do anything but moan and squirm underneath him. You were at his mercy, and you were pretty sure if he didn’t fuck you soon you’d implode. “You’re beautiful. Beautiful.”

His hand slips from your side down between your bodies, quickly finding the spot between your legs that has you nearly screaming his name in the first ten seconds.

“Oh God, more—please.” You beg shamelessly, rolling your hips into his hand as he takes his time drawing slow, firm circles on your clit. His other hand holds your hips down, making you whine in protest.

“I know, baby. Feels good?” You nod quickly, eyes squeezed shut.

“I need you—“

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. You want me to take these off? Have I won these yet?” He whispers, that casual confidence thick in his low tone.

“Anything you want. You w-win.” He tugs at the now ruined fabric, and you practically beg him to get rid of them, a mixture of ‘pleases’ and ‘yes’ in high pitched tones must convince him. He quickly slides them over your knees before his hand returns to your clit, making your legs shake with how close you are. He had you on the edge with just one of his talented fucking hands— but then he drops down, shoulders forcing your legs apart and buries his face in you. You hardly have time to realise what’s happening before your hands are threaded through his hair and your hips are fighting in his hold to stay still.

“Fuck, Matt!” You scream, and he only wraps himself further to you, hooking his arms under your thighs and holding you on him. When he takes your clit in his mouth you lose all sense of reality, and are shoved towards the edge of consciousness, white hot pleasure stripping you bare. “God—“

“You taste so fucking sweet— cum for me. I want to hear you say my name like that again” He murmurs into you before going back to driving you into the hardest release you’ve ever felt build before.

“Matt. Matt—“He holds you so tight you couldn’t squirm away if you tried, and when your orgasm washes over you, you all but drown in it. Electricity shoots up your spine and your back arches, hands gripping Matt’s hair hard enough that you feel him groan into you at the feeling.

“Harder.” He moans into you, and you were still so lost in your own pleasure that you couldn’t do anything but obey— nearly yanking him upwards, but he just moans again and takes everything you give him.

He only drags himself away when you jolt at his touch, kissing his way up your stomach, chest, and this time when he gets to the fabric of your bra he lingers longer, taking his time to enjoy the feel of the lace under his fingers. When he starts kissing your neck, leaving a multitude of hickeys you’ll never be able to hide in the morning, you notice at some point he’d taken the rest of his clothes off.

His hips slot between yours and he’s fucking hard— the feeling of him pressed against you makes you gasp. He was bigger than you’d expected, and every so often his hips would move slowly, running the length of him through your wet folds making you whimper into his mouth again.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was gravelly and layered with restraint— hands gliding up and down your side, grounding you.

“Perfect, Matty. Please…” He kisses you again, gentle and sweet, nodding as he slides himself into you. You gasp into each others mouths at the feeling, and he pulls back, watching your expression melt from a little bit of pain as he waits and kisses you, to pleasure, taking the hint of your nails in his shoulders to start moving slowly.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck— so fucking good. Jesus Christ.” He moans in your ear and you shiver. It was always his voice that drove you crazy, but hearing it now, so broken and not put together like he always is. The words hit you in the chest, pleasure blooming in every single one of your veins, overtaking every part of your body. “So tight.”

“Right there. Harder, please Matt. Please…” He holds you tighter as he does what you ask, and your whimpers turn into screams as he fucks you into the mattress without another thought. Your eyes must roll back or close because you lose the sight of his face, but all you need is to hear him.

“Good girl. Good..fucking…girl.” Hearing the way he says your name, all drawn out and heavy— how he whispered how he wanted to fuck you for days, how he thought about ducking you at your desk for just as long as you secretly did. Everything about him, mixed with the brutal pace he fucked you with hurtled you into another wave of pleasure, screaming his name so loud there’s no way the rest of Hell’s kitchen didn’t know exactly who was making you feel this good.

“There you go, baby. Gonna…fuck— gonna cum. Sweet fucking thing.” His hips stuttered and you were still cumming, every word spurring you further out of your mind.

“Give it to me, please please please—“ He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt the warmth of his release on your stomach and thighs. He was still breathing praises into your skin even after he pulled out, wrapping you into his body, not caring about the mess you had both made. He couldn’t find the care to let you go.

When you had both finally caught your breath, he dropped beside you, curling your body to fit perfectly against the front of his. His hand tangled in your hair, lips pressing to your forehead and cheek as he used his own shirt to clean you both off gently. You were both far too lost in each others mouths to do it properly, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck. You’d gladly spend the rest of your days losing hours in Matt Murdocks mouth.

“Stay tonight.” He whispers, voice cracking.

“Only if you admit I won.” You can feel him smiling against your skin, the sensation sending a different kind of warmth all the way down your spine.

“Yeah. You win.”

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shiorimakibawrites · 10 days

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Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @bellaxgiornata, @flynnethenerd Also posted on AO3

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

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You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

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Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

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Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

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Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

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You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

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You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

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Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

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You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appealed by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #part 1 of 2 #cat man do #a03 link

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Summary: For him it was just a moment, for you it was five years

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: G

Warnings: Angst, pregnancies, little more angst, some fluff too

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He didn’t know what was different, but something had changed. In one moment he had been in the kitchen with you, drying the plates you had been cleaning on a late sunday morning, the next moment he was alone.

It was colder too. The noises in the city were different.

There was something in the air. A buzz he had never felt before.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, his tongue running over his lips while his hands brushed over the counter of his kitchen. He tilted his head.

The counter was different too.

Marble maybe. Definitely some stone. Not like the wooden cheap counter that had been here before.

Slowly he took a couple steps out of the kitchen, focusing on his surroundings.

He could still smell you. Your familiar scent. He smelled the fabric softener the two of you had argued about, before he gave in, not being able to deny you anything.

But there was something else. Another scent he couldn’t place.

The apartment was different too.

Starting from the kitchen counter, the electrical hum of the appliances different than they were only moments ago.

It smelled like the walls had been painted. But not recently, a little while ago.

Another step forward, his hands grasped the back of a couch. Not the leather couch he was used to, no this felt soft. Almost like velvet.

He was… confused. And that was putting it mildly.

It was why he hadn’t heard someone, you, approaching the apartment, your key unlocking the door, your heels clicking on the floor as you rushed into the apartment, because things were happening and maybe, maybe he would be….

“Matt,” you gasped, blinking your eyes that were already watering. Slowly he turned around to you and you sobbed, your hand covering your mouth.

He was wearing the dark sweatpants and the white shirt from that morning.

The morning that had changed your life so significantly.

The morning he disappeared.

“Sweetheart I….” he began but you crossed the distance between the two of you, almost throwing yourself against him as you hugged him. He caught you with a gasp, his strong arms pulling you closer and you cried into his shirt as his hand slowly ran up and down your back, humming soothingly.

You had denied yourself even imagining a possibility where you would see him again.

Five years.

Five years he had been gone, just like half of the earth's population.

Five years that had been the hardest, saddest and at the same time best time of your life.

“What is going on?” he asked and you took some deep breaths, calming yourself down to finally look up at him, his eyes unfocused.

“You… You’ve been gone. I was… I was with Foggy in the office when Karen suddenly was just there and I… I ran back home… I….”

“You ran from the office?” he asked.

“We… It’s… It’s another office,” you closed your eyes, letting your head fall against his chest, inhaling the scent that was just him.

“I don’t understand. I… Something’s changed. We were in the kitchen and then you were suddenly gone and… everything is different?”

You let your fingertips run over his back as you looked up at him.

“Something happened and you… You were gone. You just… You disappeared right before my eyes. But now you’re back and I… I have so much to tell you Matty…”

“I was gone?” he asked quietly. You nodded against him.

“How long?”

You sucked on your bottom lip.

“Five years.”

You told him what happened.

About Thanos. About how the world mourned for months before slowly it moved on.

You told him about Karen disappearing too and about how you had started working with Foggy.

You had told him about finally getting your lawyers degree and about how good the office was doing.

You told him everything.

Except the one, most important thing.

Sitting cuddled next to him on the new couch, which he admitted was way more comfortable than the one you had before, you clung to him.

A part of you afraid that he could disappear again at any moment.

It was when you received a message from Foggy, that he would be over in ten minutes, that you knew you had to tell him.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” he said, pulling you closer towards him.

“There is,” you whispered.

“You… You met someone…” he began but you shook your head, sitting yourself up.

“No. No I… I haven’t met anyone. I haven’t been with anyone since you… Since you…. I couldn’t….” you rambled and he pulled you into his lap, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“It’s okay,” he kissed your neck and you shuddered, closing your eyes as you put your arms around his shoulders, your nose in his hair.

“I had bought the test to take later that day. The day you… disappeared. And after I was so depressed I forgot about it. But Foggy noticed and took me to see a doctor and… I… I was pregnant Matt.”

He stilled beneath you, his hands on your hips, his lips frozen against your neck.

A tear ran down your check and into his hair.

“It was hard. Doing this without you. But… she made it worth it. So worth it. And Foggy was a big help. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s the best uncle on the planet and Rose is… She’s so much like you. Stubborn and…”

“Rose?” he asked, his voice breaking and you pulled away from him so you could look at him. There were tears in his eyes before he pulled you against him and you felt him sob. You whimpered as you cried with him, clinging to him as you both mourned the time the both of you had missed.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he shook his head and you put your hands on his face, tilting it up to your. Carefully you brushed his tears away as you shook your head.

“It’s not your fault, baby. Billions of people disappeared. I know the last thing you would do was leave me and our life. Not after we fought so hard for it and… and I found the ring,” you whispered the last part and he sighed, closing his eyes.

“We can… We can talk later, if you want. I will tell you about everything but… But Foggy is coming over. And he’s gonna have Rose with him. He offered to pick her up from Daycare after we… after I left to find you.”

“He just got into the elevator,” Matt hummed.

“Does she… Does Rose… Know about me?” he asked and you smiled.

“Of course she does. I talk about you every single day Matty. There are so many pictures of you and me on the walls. You’re her daddy. She loves you.”

He took a deep breath as you let your forehead fall against his, your nose rubbing against his nose.

“She… She’s telling Foggy about… Dinosaurs?” he asked with a small smile.

“She’s obsessed with Dinosaurs at the moment,” you chuckled and Matt’s smile got wider.

“Kiss me,” you whispered and he tilted his head up, his nose brushing against yours. His hands on your back pulled you closer before his lips softly found yours. You breathed out, closing your eyes as he moved his lips against yours, deepening the kiss.

You let your finger run through his hair, anchoring yourself against him.

He was here.

He was back.

Matt was back.

Parting from your lips he smiled and you pecked his lips again.

You both jumped when a knock sounded at the door. His fingers dig into your hips as he licked over his lips. Anxiously.

“She loves you,” you reminded him and he breathed in deeply.

“And I love you too,” you said and he smiled a little, before you carefully climbed off his lap and walked towards the door.

“I love you,” he called after you and you smiled as you opened the door.

“Hi!” you said, looking down at Rose who hugged you with a squeal of Mooooommy before you picked her up with a groan.

“You’re getting too big for me to pick you up like that little lady,” you smiled at her as she began to tell you about her day. You looked at Foggy who looked over your shoulder, tears stinging in his eyes as he saw Matt behind you in the apartment.

“Do you… Want to come in Foggy?” you asked. He looked at you before he shook his head.

“I… Karen and I will come over with breakfast tomorrow?” he asked.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yeah. It’s… I’ve gone five years without him, I can last another day. But you two can’t,” he said and you smiled thankfully at him.

“Bye Uncle Foggy,” Rose waved and Foggy laughed.

“Bye Princess,” he winked before he turned around, taking the stairs down. You smiled at your daughter as you closed the door behind him, slowly walking back towards the living room with her still in your arms, where Matt was standing anxiously.

“Rose I… have a surprise for you,” you began and she looked at you with wide eyes, stopping her monologue about the Velociraptor she had learned today, making a mental note to ask her about it later.

“Surprise?” she asked and you nodded.

“Remember when Foggy and Mommy would talk about your Daddy and that he had to go away for a while?”

She nodded.

“What did we tell you?” you asked, finding Matt listening to you.

“That he loves us very much and that he would never leave us again when he comes back,” she said. You nodded, setting her down.

“He… He came back today, sweetheart,” you whispered and she looked at you with a bright smile.

“Really?” she asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, sweetheart, really,” Matt said and she turned around as she heard his voice. She looked at you, before you set her down. You were crying by the moment she ran towards him and Matt had the foresight to get on his knees and open his arms before she collided with him with a squeal.

He closed his eyes, pulling her into his arms as he brushed his hand over her hair and picked her up. She was clinging to him like a Koala, telling him how much she had missed him and that she can’t wait to show him her collection of dinosaurs which made you choke on your sob as you laughed. Matt looked up and opened his arm for you, pulling you against him too.

It was almost 1 am when the door to the bedroom opened. You were sitting against the back of your bed, waiting for Matt as he slowly walked in, closing the door behind him with a smile on his lips. His hair was still wet as he walked towards the bed, laying down on top of you with a sigh that made you giggle.

Rose had spent the whole afternoon showing him around the apartment, explaining where everything was so he would know, because she knew that his daddy was blind and she did not want him to hurt himself, while you were making dinner.

It was strangely domestic.

“This was a long day,” he hummed against you as you nodded, your finger brushing through his hair.

“Normally you would kiss me goodbye and get out to do some Deviling now,” you mused and he sighed.

“There’s… I don’t want to think about that now,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“She’s… Rose is… She’s everything,” he said and you smiled.

“Yeah. She’s pretty damn awesome.”

“I wish I could have been there,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you said sadly, before you reached to your side to turn the lights off. He got off of you and under the covers, finding your body immediately to pull you against him, your back against his chest, as he kissed your shoulder.

You fell asleep like that.

In his arms.

And he was still there, holding you when you woke up the next morning.

Because Matt was back.

And he would never leave again.

#my fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x fem. reader #Charlie cox #daredevil #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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deceitfuldevil · 1 year

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Uncharacteristic

Matt Murdock X Reader

Summary: You grew up with Matt Murdock, always crushing hopelessly on him. But from the day you met Matt he never seemed to so much as tolerate you. Nearly 20 years later and your offices are across the hall from each other and it’s safe to say Matt considers the worst part of his day to be when he has to pass your office in the morning. He clearly hates you, so why does everyone think he has this uncharacteristic soft spot for you?

Warnings: angst, enemies to lovers, allusions to smut at the end, swearing, kissing, consumption of alcohol, being drunk, allusions to depression, not proofread.

Word Count: 3K

—

Hopeless, that was a good way to describe your love life. It can’t get much worse than having a childhood crush that still finds you irksome well into your adulthood. This little crush of yours only got you teased as a kid, because really, who has a crush on the anti-social blind kid?

But now you’d pay for the teasing over the current situation, where your childhood crush has grown into a very attractive grown man, and everyone constantly reminds you of that fact.

“Matt looks so dreamy today.” Your coworker, Alyssa, said with a far-off look.

“How can you even tell with that split second glimpse you got of him walking into his office?” You grumbled, flipping over the top sheet of the pile of paper in front of you.

“I just know, okay? Anyways I could probably get a better look if you’d let me keep the door open more than a crack.” Alyssa snapped back, matching your grumpy energy.

“Leaving the door open more than a crack is inviting, and inviting means Matt will come in, and Matt coming in means he will be insolent towards me.” You said simply, looking up from your paperwork to eye her. But Alyssa just gave you a confused look.

“Insolent, meaning he’ll be rude, arrogant, and show his lack of respect towards me.” You elaborated, thinking she didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“I know what insolent means, thank you very much. But Matt has never been insolent towards you in the slightest.” She said, raising her eyebrows towards you.

“Please, he hasn’t been able to stand me since I met him at the orphanage in 7th grade.” You said fully setting down your work and dividing your full attention to this conversation now.

“Whatever lie helps you sleep at night.” Alyssa said, finally dropping the conversation after you had immersed yourself in it. You scoffed and went back to the task on hand, disregarding her thoughts.

The rest of your work day went on as per normal, calling and conversing with clients and filing paperwork until it was five o’clock. You were out the door sooner after the clock struck five, hailing a cab to a restaurant uptown where you were meeting a longtime friend of yours for dinner.

Your friend Leila had just moved back to the city after going back to college to get her masters degree, so you just had to meet up. She arrived at the restaurant shortly after you, immediately running over to hug you. “It’s been too long. How have you been?” you asked eagerly.

“Oh, we need to sit down for this.” she said with eyes that screamed ‘I have so much drama to tell you about’. Excited, you both sat down and talked through your entire meal. Leila didn’t even realize how long she had been talking until the waiter brought out the check, and her eyes widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god I’ve totally talked your ear off, please tell me something going on with you so I don’t feel as bad when I’m going home.”

“It’s not a problem, besides not much has changed with me. I’m still in that same tiny apartment, I’m still hopelessly single, and I still work at Atlas Investments.” you said in a relaxed tone, just glad you got to catch up with your friend and not caring to go over the details of your mundane life.

“Still admiring Matt from afar?” Leila asked, poking at your clasped hands in front of you, you pulled your hands apart and soothed them over your thighs at the topic. “It helps if I pretend I don’t have a crush on him like we’re still in 7th grade. Besides, he still hates me just as much as ever.” you said, pulling out your wallet to put your card down.

“Hates you?” Leila said in a questioning tone.

“Don’t take that tone with me, my coworker gave me that same tone with that same look you’re giving me when I told her why I don’t like interacting with Matt because he’s so insolent towards me.” you said, getting a little sick of no one else ever seeing how horrible Matt has always been towards you.

Leila just stared at you for a moment, as if trying to read your face for any sign that you might be joking. You just stared back at her, waiting for some reaction. Then she burst out laughing, a light and awkward laugh falling from your lips in response.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” Leila said, pausing as one last breathless chuckle left her lips before she composed herself. “I just can’t believe after all this time you still don’t see it.”

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. “See what?”

“Matt’s behavior towards you! As long as I’ve known you both, he’s always had this uncharacteristic soft spot for you.” You stared back at Leila with this incredulous look on your face. “...what?”

“Jesus you’ve known each other nearly 20 years and you still haven't noticed? I guess that solves the answer to why you two haven’t fucked yet.” Leila said, also reaching in her wallet to put her card down as the waiter grabbed the bill; clearly trying to ignore your conversation. You shook your head, physically trying to erase the second part of her sentence from your head like an etch-a-sketch.

“Matt. . . he’s always hated me. Never wanted to be around me. I remember how red and furious he looked the day I moved into my office at Atlas right across from him.”

“Uh uh uh, that is not how that day went.” Leila said, mouthing a small thank you to the waiter who returned with the check and handing you your card back. “Thank you, and please elaborate.”

“Gladly. Matt was bright red and frustrated because when moving some boxes left behind into the hallway, you backed up into him without realizing it.”

“Okay. . . and?”

“...and your skirt was short because you moved in the middle of July, did you not see the massive boner Matt popped after that?”

“Boner? Please. That was the first time I saw him when moving in and realized we were work neighbors and upon realizing it was me is when he got all red, cut off the conversation super quick and locked himself inside his office. Probably because he was pissed to have to be around me constantly again.”

“So there’s not a chance in your head that your ass bumped his front, and once you made it clear that it was you, Matt was flustered because of his attraction towards you and shut himself off to hide that tent he was pitching?”

You rolled your eyes “Even if I did give Matt a boner, which I didn’t, guys get like 7 boners a day. So it was probably a fluke.”

“It’s actually 11, but besides the point. That’s not the only instance of Matt clearly having a thing for you.” Leila said informatively.

“Yeah sure, we could go on until this place closes going over the times where it was painfully obvious how much Matt can’t stand me and you could tell me how this is a textbook enemies to lovers story. But I’ll stick to my books, thank you very much.”

Leila let out a defeated sigh. “Let me just reiterate that if there’s one thing I’ve always noticed about Matt it’s his uncharacteristic soft spot for you. Just think about it for me, please?” she said with pleading eyes. “Yeah whatever, I’ll think about it when I’m getting drunk alone tonight at Josie’s.”

You and Leila both stood up and started to leave the restaurant after you made your promise to her, when hugging her goodbye she whispered in your ear “I’m so bringing up this conversation at your wedding during my maid of honor speech. You know, when you get married to Matt.”

“...and the moment is over. Taxi!” you said, pulling away from the hug and hailing a cab for Leila. “I’ll be manifesting it for you bestie.” she said with a smile, getting into the cab that pulled up. “Literally shut the fuck up.” she gave you a look as she closed the door and rolled down the window. “Love you too!” she said as she waved goodbye as the driver went on his way.

You took a sigh of relief, thankful that the conversation was over. But her words resonated in your head as you downed another shot hours later at Josie’s.

‘He’s always had this uncharacteristic soft spot for you.’

There’s just no way you’ve known Matt for this long and everyone but you has seen him be soft and affectionate towards you when all you got from his behavior was raw unfiltered hate. The longer you sat on that thought, the more queasy you felt. Or maybe that was because of the rapid influx of alcohol you were putting into your system. You haven't been this shit faced in awhile.

Before you could gather your scattered thoughts enough to stand up and go home, you heard an all too familiar laugh enter the bar. You looked towards the door and saw Matt and his law partner Foggy entering the bar, mentally trying to sober up but only feeling more nauseous at the sight of your childhood crush.

Of course Matt and his blind luck, he appeared in the empty space right next to you, ordering a round of drinks without seeming to notice your presence. You were relieved until you felt a sneeze coming on, trying to suppress it but failing. A few slipping from your lips, not quietly either. Matt gazed over in your direction and you could see your very drunk reflection in his red lenses, thank god he was blind and couldn’t see how horrible you looked right now. “Bless you.” Matt said politely.

“T-thank you” you said with a slight stutter.” Matt was still looking at you, his brows now downturned as he parted his lips before speaking up again. “Y/n?”

“Yes?” you said, a nervous feeling settling over the nausea in your gut.

“Oh, just seeing if it was you.” Matt said with a short tone. A silence falling between you two until Josie served him his drinks.

“Soft spot my ass. . .” you trailed off as Matt grabbed his drinks, assuming he wouldn/t hear you or just disregard your words. But he stopped and turned to you. “What?” You stared at yourself again in his red glasses and let out a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t get you Murdock.”

“You don’t get me?” Matt asked, setting the drinks he had back down.

“How-” you let out a high pitched hiccup “How do you fool everyone?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that sweetheart.”

“Oh drop the act, no one is around.”

Matt chuckled and stepped closer to you. “What act?”

“Acting like you don’t fucking hate me!” You said, raising your voice at him. Turning a few heads who were within earshot.

“Hate you?” Y/n I-”

“Oh please don’t stand there and try to deny it. Don't stand there and pretend you don’t get a sour taste in your mouth at the mention of my name, it’s always written across your stupid face. All my friends have this idea that you have this uncharacteristic soft spot for me but they must be drunker than me to think that you’ve ever even so much as tolerated me!” a few stray tears spilling from your eyes as emotion overcame you. Matt stood there speechless, you gave him less than a moment to speak up before grabbing your bag and getting down from the barstool you were seated at.

“You want to know what the worst part about falling in love with you was? Knowing that no matter what I did, you would never even like me. I am never going to be better to you than the dirt that you track in on the bottom of your shoes.” you spat bitterly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder as another hiccup slipped past your lips. “Let’s forget my drunken rant when we pass each other going to the office on Monday, yeah?”

You started to walk away, not able to hold back the tears any longer as you quicken your pace leaving the bar without even paying. “Y/n!” Matt called after you. “Goodnight Matthew.” you said, walking out the door and wobbling home. Looking at the time on your watch, disappointed with your state of being at only 9pm.

You were so embarrassed by your drunken outrage at Matt that you stayed in all weekend, no calls or texts from him or anyone else. Come Monday morning you felt like no one would care if you dropped off the face of the earth, so you stayed home and didn’t even bother to call off work. Sleeping in until noon and moping around all day after that. At least before Friday you and Matt had some semblance of a fucked-up friendship, you did grow up together after all.

It was now 6:30 at night and you sat in front of the TV watching friends while having a brownie and ice cream for dinner. The healthy voice in your head said you should call your therapist, and the toxic one said you should call Matt. Before you could listen to either voice, there was a knock at your door.

You initially intended to ignore it until the knock came again and a voice called out to you “Y/n? It’s Matt.” you immediately froze, standing up and tip-toeing to the door. “I really think we need to talk.” still not responding, you placed your hand on the door knob and began to turn it. Only as you started to open the door did you remember you’d been walking around in a hoodie and underwear all day. No bra, no pants. Thank god Matt was blind.

“Hi.” you said quietly as you fully opened the door, Matt letting himself right in. “Matt, now is not really a good time.”

“How long?” Matt turned to you and asked as you closed your front door behind him.

“What?” you asked as you turned to face him, little space left for you to distance yourself in the foyer of your apartment.

“”How long have you thought I hated you?” Matt asked in a demanding tone. You pressed your legs together anxiously, not in the mood for the conversation at hand. Opening the door again you spoke with an exhausted tone. “I am not having this conversation with you right now Matt, please leave.” but Matt startled you instead, bringing his hand up to the door and slamming it shut. Your brain didn't even have time to process how he could’ve done that, because now Matt was walking towards you until your back hit the wall.

“I asked you a question.” Matt said slowly.

“I. . . forever. I’ve thought you hated me since. . . forever.” you said softly, praying Matt wouldn’t get any closer and notice your missing garments.

“If I’ve hated you since forever, then why have I always wanted to do this?” Matt said in a tone barely above a whisper, leaning down as his breath fanned over your lips. But he stopped there, his lips mere centimeters from yours as if he was waiting for you to make the next move. You lost all resolve built up over the years as all you’ve ever wanted was right in front of you, a high pitched whine falling from your lips as you said “please” so quietly it was a miracle Matt heard you. Your eyes fell shut as a mere moment passed until Matt pressed his lips to yours.

Words can’t describe all the emotion that kiss conveyed, and yet that very kiss was a conversation you and Matt have been avoiding for decades. A conversation that said ‘I hate myself for ever letting you think for a second that I hated you.’ and ‘You have no idea how many times I’ve had this exact dream’. Apologies moved through your mouths, not even a word mumbled but all of it being understood. Both of you trying not to think about all the years lost by avoiding this kiss. A tear slipping down your cheek, Matt shifting his lips from your to your cheek, kissing it away. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I never hated you.” A soft smile grew on your face, that smile getting larger as you could feel something quite large growing against your bare hip.

“Then why don’t we start tonight?” You asked eagerly, hiking your leg up to allow Matt to press his growing bulge to your core. Matt chuckled in a primal way, leaning back down for a much more intense and passionate kiss.

It seemed Leila would be making that maid of honor speech after all.

—

A/N

Whew! Hello everyone! I have a personal goal this year to post at least one story a month so thank god I got to go home from work early today to finish this and get it posted! I have been incredibly busy with my new job lately but I absolutely love it. I now work for MAC cosmetics, my dream cosmetic company. I’ve been there for about three months and it’s a dream come true, really. I am also only 30 followers away from one-fucking-thousand! That's absolutely insane and also terrifying. I will try to do a big sleepover when I hit that milestone and I have the time! In the meantime, thank you all for reading and hope everyone's new year is going well!

Much Love,

—Skyler

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writtenbyred · 2 months

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Something Bad // A Matt Murdock x Reader fic // Slow burn

Note: Okay so I finally decided to post something I've had in my docs as a draft for forever, because why not. A slow burn matt murdock x reader romance with a whole lot of original storyline and plot building in this first chapter if you're willing to stick with it until you get the entrance of wonderful and rageful Matt.

Warnings: Reference to sexual violence/assault in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I have, since writing up lots for this story and planning it out and becoming attached to my character, seen other fics using an 'empath' OC, but I have become very attached to 'Ana' and I guess daredevil and all its angst lends itself well to an empath story so I'm sending this out into the ether anyways.

Go forth and read if you would like to <3 - Red

Chapter 1. Emotions.

Sat at a cold, metal table on a particularly uncomfortable chair, you looked intently at the person sitting opposite. There sat a young girl. In her file it said she was 21, but if you hadn’t seen that and had to hazard a guess, you’d have presumed her to be around 18. The way her eyes were cloudy with tears, her hands shaking slightly as she held them up to her chin, elbows lent on the cold metal, it all contributed to making her look younger - small, in that moment.

“It’s okay, Emma” You spoke, edging your hands forward on the table in a subconscious show of support. “You can take your time, we’re in no rush”

Emma looked upwards, then. You watched as a single tear slipped from her eye, only briefly tumbling down her cheek before Emma reached to wipe it with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Emma stuttered a little over her words, her voice raspy from emotion. “I’m being silly, I just-”

As her words cut off mid sentence, you reached your hand forward quickly to place a comforting hand on Emma’s arm. The dark tumbling of vivid feelings - sadness, shame and fear, that you were already feeling inside your chest (or stomach, mind, just about everywhere? You weren’t 100% where the feelings of others ended up locating themselves within you) multiplied until she felt overwhelmed, having to shake her head with an exhale to push through them.

“Do not apologise. You are not being silly, and have nothing to feel sorry for. This is something incredibly difficult you’re doing, and I’m here to help you through it.” You grasped the girl's hand at that point, and in the way that you still did not fully understand, a wave of whatever calm you could find within yourself washed over you and towards Emma for a moment, and the girl let out a sigh as you watched some of that pain leave her. In that moment you felt good, happy that she could provide this sort of relief for somebody, even if only temporarily and not without an increase in your own anxieties.

“Thank you, I… I think I’m ready to talk now” And Emma’s words came at a perfect time, as a few moments later your head turned to the door, a soft knock floating through.

“You can come in” You called out to the officer you knew was standing on the other side, and then the door opened.

A police officer with a kind face stepped into the room, you had spoken with him earlier when you had first arrived - You were pretty sure he had said his name was Brett. He sent a small smile towards you both, and his empathy for the girl's situation shone through, even if you knew he would never be able to understand her emotions quite as well as you could.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to see how you were getting on” He walked towards the table and you realised then he was holding a mug in his hand, placing it down in front of the girl, he then gestured towards it. “It’s tea.” Emma reached her hand out to grasp it and looked to give him a smile in thanks.

“Sorry Miss Johnson, I didn’t think to get you anything-” You cut off the officer - still unsure if it was definitely Brett he had said, definitely something with a B - before he could finish.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” You shifted her attention back to Emma as she released the hand you had half forgotten she was still holding in order to bring the mug to her lips. She seemed more relaxed now, the awful panic of hopelessness and shame creeping in having dissipated slightly.

“So, do you think we’re ready to make a full statement, or?” He trailed off slightly, looking from Emma to you. You looked to the girl, letting the silence continue for as long as necessary, giving the girl the opportunity to make her own decision. You knew her ability to say yes or no had already been taken from her at least once that day, and you weren’t about to do it again.

“Yes, I’m ready to talk now” Emma seemed to sit up a little in her seat, lifting her head higher in her decision.

“Okay, great. I’ll be taking it from you, if that’s okay? We can try to find a female officer if you’ll be more comfortable.” Brett added, pulling the lone chair from the corner of the room to the table in order to sit in between them.

“No, that's fine. But, could Ana stay, please?” Emma’s eyes shifted to yours, and the subtle plea held within them was noticeable, even if you couldn’t feel the emotion rolling off of her.

“That’s okay with me, If Miss Johnson-”

“Of course” You spoke to the room, and then to Emma. “I’ll stay.”

And so you did.

You stayed and listened as Emma spoke of what happened early that morning, when she had been finishing a night shift at around 5am. What had happened when the sky was still dark and Hell’s Kitchen still shrouded in shadows as she made the short walk through back streets towards a bus route. As she had been grabbed, attacked by rough hands who pulled her into an alleyway. You felt fear, panic rising in bubbles from her stomach, to her chest, to her throat. And so you leant forward, taking the girl’s shaking hand in yours when she’d faltered over her retelling, stopping to catch her breath through tears, the emotions intensifying as she worked to calm them. A subtle nudge from your mind, some quiet ringing in your own ears, and you saw as Emma’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly, her rapid breaths slowing and stabilising, allowing her to continue on. You offered her a weak smile in encouragement.

There were many times in your life where you had hated the fact that you were capable of this. When things had become overwhelming when you were younger, when emotions would feel like they were strangling you in some situations.

You hated hospitals, always. The fear, the pain, the hopelessness from so many had twisted painful knots into your stomach, caused your chest to tighten and your eyes to burn, when your Mum was sick, you had avoided the hospital as much as possible, often unable to visit her. your own home, after your mum had died, now that was simply unbearable.

But in rare moments like this, You were grateful for your ability to take some of the girl’s pain away, even if you had to feel it in turn.

Once the difficult conversation was done, Officer Brett Mahoney (you had read his name tag) had stopped the recording and explained to Emma what would happen next. Through this, though, and whilst they left the room and left Emma waiting for whoever she had contacted to come, You’s world was blurred. your body was exhausted, and a deep ache had built within you as you still felt all the painful emotions, now overwhelming your mind after such time. you had to stabilise yourself against the wall in the hallway for a moment whilst Officer Mahoney had gone to talk to an officer, closing your eyes to wait for the momentary dizziness to pass.

Hearing your name made you open your eyes, stand up straighter to face Officer Mahoney.

“Miss. Johnson, thank you for coming down.” His face was serious but the warmth shone through his eyes, as well as his feelings of appreciation, which washed over You like a hot shower, a momentary recess from the dark and cutting emotions you still had swirling within your. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it, but you really managed to calm her down. She was a mess before, understandably. I don’t know if we would have gotten that statement until morning otherwise. Gives us a much better chance of finding the guy”.

“It’s no bother, I’m happy to do it” You sent a smile at him, your head slowly returning to functioning more capably. And as much as it did take a lot out of you, dealing with the overwhelming emotions of these difficult situations and the police station in general, you really were happy to do it.

“We’re getting a lot of similar cases at the minute” He shook his head at that and a grimace came on You’s face. you knew that, you’d had to do this for far more people lately. “It would be useful to have you there in future.”

A wave of nausea passed over you as another rush of panic and grief washed over you. You stole a glance back to the room you’d just been in, only a few feet away, and you realised you needed to get as far away from it as possible. So you reached your hand into the pocket of your jacket and quickly picked up your card, handing it to Brett with a forced smile.

“Call me here if you ever need someone again” You spoke before lifting your bag on your shoulder and turning to head towards the door, as quickly as you could without causing alarm. On the way out you felt a mixture of anger, grief, happiness, and then some more fear thrown in for good measure, all flowing out of the people sitting in the station.

Once you reached the large entrance doors, finally pushing outside into the cool air, you breathed in a deep sigh of relief. Your hands anxiously patted at your thighs, leaning your whole upper body forward as you shut your eyes, willing your brain to just calm. The emotions within you started to simmer down, as the outside air filled your lungs, it seemed as you exhaled a lot of the pain went with it, and you welcomed that calmer feeling, though some of the dizziness remained.

You hadn’t always been able to do this. As a kid you could remember people praising your empathy, a kind warm child who always wanted to make people feel better, so you supposed maybe it had always lived inside of you. Not that you really understood what ‘it’ was, but it was as you got a little older that it really started. As you started hitting teenage years, it was… overwhelming.

As other kids started being aware of themselves; feeling emotions more deeply, feeling embarrassment, starting to explore romantic interests - You felt it all, except not only for yourself. You supposed one of the first times you realised what was happening to you wasn’t normal was in 8th grade. A girl had come into class after a couple days away, her eyes looked a little lifeless, dark circles and redness that indicated she had been crying, but none of the other 13 year olds seemed to notice this, but You did, because as she walked into the room a pit opened at the bottom of your stomach, seemingly making room for the dark horrific feeling of a sad pain mixed with guilt, fear, hopelessness and anger to enter, taking You’s breath away. As it turned out, the girl had lost her father. That was the first time you had known what grief felt like, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

You checked your phone for the time, seeing it was 5:45pm, you’d spent far more time in the police station than you had expected to, and it was time for you to call it a day. You mostly worked alone, the card you handed over simply stating your name, and a description of Emotional counselling/Advocate/Representative to try and encompass the range of things you did for people. In reality this was everything from working with somebody to calm their nerves before giving a large presentation to, what you did far more often, coaching people who were scared and traumatised giving statements and later testifying in court. You were also part of a company who provided advocates to those who were vulnerable in any legal proceedings or meetings with law enforcement, but often once you had worked with somebody, you handed them your personal card, as agencies tended to pay jack shit.

You had desperately wanted to find any way you could put this curse some would call a gift to use, to try and help people if you could. You had too much experience of not being able to help people, especially the ones you loved, which was still eagerly eating away at you.

Near the station was a coffee shop you’d been to a few times before or after similar trips, and as much as caffeine may not help the banging headache that you had building, in that moment you really didn’t care.

On your short walk to the shop, the fluttering of different feelings inside you that you’d grown used to continued. Somebody on the phone was clearly in love, a warmth spreading through you as you pushed past the woman smiling at whoever she was talking to. Another was stressed, walking with purpose and tension in his shoulders which had passed through to you for a moment. You shook your head, willing yourself to try to tune it out for the moment.

You reached the shop, and headed to join the queue of people also craving their caffeine fix.

You browsed the menu as you took shuffling steps as the line kept moving up, your eyes falling on a sweet caramel filled coffee, your heart tugging towards it. When you stepped up to the counter, however, you ordered a large black coffee. You had a guilty pleasure of sickly sweet coffee, however your life wasn’t so much about what you wanted anymore.

You took a large gulp of the bitter and hot liquid that scalded your throat slightly, but it was better than feeling the remnants of the acidic feeling of panic you’d felt there all afternoon.

Back at your one bedroomed, simple apartment You had chucked your coffee cup into the bin, your body now slightly electrified by the caffeine content, of which you were glad. You expected the night ahead of you may be a long one, and the more awake you were for it, the better.

Grabbing your laptop, you placed it on your rectangular coffee table, taking a seat on the somewhat battered hard leather couch. You then pulled the laptop onto your lap, pressing the power on button.

Once the light finally flickered on and the screen illuminated, you opened up a document you had, very cleverly you thought, entitled Mom’s recipes. Scrolling past the few simple recipes you’d stolen from the Food Network, you came to the page on which you were keeping the information you had gathered. You bit your lower lip as your eyes darted back and forth to scan the things you had previously written.

There was only just under a page of short sentences, but it was a better position than you had been in 6 months ago, so you would take it.

“Daniel - Previous chef at Le Frère Juste restaurant had been known to have fallen into the criminal network of Hell’s Kitchen, believed to be due to a substance abuse problem Mr.-”

You stopped reading that particular sentence, which was a quote from a police report you had obtained a couple months back through means that some would possibly frown upon, including the police that it came from, which meant that perhaps it wasn’t entirely legal. What you had been more interested in was the name attached to said report. One Officer Jenkins, who you had spent time trying to track down for more information, but was so far unsuccessful.

You weren't empty handed, however.

At the beginning was the hardest, not knowing where to look for information,how to recognise the snippets of clues that could lead to more. But once you had finally gotten one name, you’d tumbled into another, then another. you should’ve been more shocked to discover the dark, tangled web of criminal factions that underpinned Hell’s Kitchen, but having lived here since you were 6 years old, you’d already seen (and felt) much of the darkness that shrouded Hell’s Kitchen.

The names you had gathered were few, but you were hopeful one of them could provide you with information you needed. So far you had only approached one of the men on your list, who had been unable to give you any information about Daniel or what he was involved with before he had died. You had half expected that however, having picked what you presumed to be the weakest first, to test whether you would be capable of approaching them, if you could use your ability in the right way to cause them to fear you enough to hand over information. Information you may not have gotten, but the sight of the guy running away at full speed once you’d lightened your effect on him certainly improved your confidence in the matter.

You had attended some form of fighting sport since you were a teen on and off, completing a couple years of boxing, some karate, kickboxing also. You’d figured out that punching, kicking, generally throwing yourself at things in some way was a great method for releasing some of the intense emotions pent up inside you that spilled out from everyone else into you. However, you were not technically a fighter of any kind, so 6 months ago when you’d decided this was something you would have to do, for Daniel, you’d started taking self defence lessons, and then deciding you wanted something a little more on the offensive, you’d started one-on-one kickboxing. Of course, you hoped to be successful enough at using your ability against people, but you weren't stupid, and knew you were getting yourself into something dangerous, and thought it best not to rely on simply scaring gang members into not killing you.

Even with trembling hands, you thought, surely a gun shot would eventually be on target.

Tonight, however, you were hoping for a more successful night. you eyed the second name on your list, and the information you had gained on where this Alex Peters would be this evening by doing some, as some may say, light stalking of Alex a couple of nights earlier this week. you’d known his favourite bar hangout, and after frequenting there many times, you finally got lucky and spotted him at the start of the week, and now you knew he was going to be meeting with some others tonight in Hell’s Kitchen.

Planning on getting him alone, and asking him what he knew about Daniel, you slipped into your darker, more athletic clothing hoping to blend into the shadows. Once you had what you needed, including a small pen knife and mace on your keys, the only physical offensive weapons you had, the last thing you did before you left was pull up your dark hood over your head.

The air in Hell’s Kitchen was cool as an inky darkness had fallen over the sky, illuminated only by the light pollution spilling out of New York City. You sat crouched on a fire escape, one you’d had to wrestle with a pull-down ladder in order to get up on to. It provided you the perfect vantage point to watch what was happening below. You held a small digital camera in your hand, nothing special since you weren't exactly rolling in cash, however it took better quality pictures than your phone did. you weren't exactly sure why you were collecting photos of the criminal rings you had been tipped off to, or what you may use them for, but it made you feel like you were doing something.

Down below, you were watching 5 men interact. One of these was the guy who’s name you’d been given, with a possible connection to Daniel: That was Alex Peters, a relatively short man with a shaved head and tattoos littering his large, muscular arms and seeping on to his neck. Typically exactly what you’d expect from some sort of intimidating muscle man for a gang. Great, You thought, you weren't exactly looking forward to trying to get information from him.

The others seemed to be a mix of associates of Alex and another group. They were discussing something in tones too hushed for you to be able to make out what they were saying, but considering the fact they were a bunch of criminals attached to everything from drugs to murder, you’d hazard a guess that it wasn’t anything good.

They stood within a half decrepit building, either a warehouse or an old multstorey car park of which only metal bones remained, You weren't sure, but either way the damage, which was presumably a result of The Incident, made for a great hotspot for criminal activities, but also thankfully allowed you a great view from your vantage point.

Alex started to split from the rest of the pack, and your attention peaked, quickly placing away your camera into the small over shoulder bag you had, standing yourself up, a little, in preparation.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shouting back to the others whilst he walked in the opposite direction to where they were headed towards a car trunk.

He shouted something incomprehensible, and you started to move. your footsteps light and you shimmied yourself back down the ladder you’d used to climb up in the first place. you could hear your own heart beating loudly in your ears, your chest thudding as you tried to control your breath before approaching this man. For somebody with the ability to manipulate somebody else’s emotions, you sure could struggle with your own sometimes.

You pulled your hood over your head even further, more as a comfort action than anything else. Alex had rounded the corner of a half broken down wall, You watching the light from his cigarette as you circled round in the shadows, crouching hidden behind a large metal waste bin as you ran over and over in your head what was about to happen. You would approach as quickly as possible, the minute he turned the opposite direction and then… Well you hoped that some muscle memory from your far too few kickboxing lessons and the somewhat unpredictable emotional manipulation powers would come into clutch in the moment.

In the distance, there was the loud sound of the other men, clattering of metal as they looked through their trunk and laughed together, but you couldn’t hear that. The world around had slipped away, a dull pressure building in your ears that made everything around your seem slightly slower, it built further as Alex Peters pulled his old phone from his pocket, his attention now turned away from your direction, and the fullness in your ears seemed to suddenly pop, and then everything was moving fast again; too fast.

In a swift movement, you stood to your feet, and gliding steps took you suddenly right to where Alex stood. He started to turn towards you, a breath of an almost word leaving his mouth as he instinctively raised his arm to push you away, but you stepped back, and threw your knee up quickly, your full body weight behind you as you jutted it into his stomach, winding him.

“What the F-” Alex’s breathless words came out quickly, but you couldn’t have him alerting the other men to your presence, because then you’d seriously be screwed, so you quickly reached your hand out to his shoulder, and let an intense jolt of fear out of yourself.

The man before you went rigid, confusion seeming to pass his face before a look of terror enveloped it. You had felt scared more than enough times in your life, and still carried enough of that around to pull it from yourself and throw it into him. So that’s what you did.

A continuous pressure of terror sent between two minds, and soon it was easy enough for you to grip him harder, bringing your other hand to his opposite shoulder, shoving him back against the brick wall.

“Alex Peters.” your voice came out more gruff than you’d ever normally hear yourself sound. It was laced with anger, and presumably adrenaline, but you had to keep it quiet. His stuck wide eyes darted back and forth between yours and the vice-like grip of your hands. He seemed to try to speak, but was unable to, so you continued. “I’m going to give you a name. And you are going to tell me what you know.”

He just looked at you, so you moved your hand to his throat, reaching deeper within yourself to channel more intense feelings into him. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead he gave a quick nod, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Daniel, Daniel Johnson. Do you kno-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as your adrenaline fueled trance was suddenly broken by the clashing sound you heard from just past the wall. you whipped your head towards the sound. Your concentration was broken, your mind losing its grip on the channelling emotions for just a moment. But it was long enough for Alex Peters to regain some of his composure, clearly finding his voice enough to shout out, and push you backwards, causing you to stumble over your own legs.

Your eyes were back on him just in time to see his still shaking fist coming towards you, ringing in your ears a moment later as you were too late to fully avoid his hand connecting with the side of your temple. you doubled over for a moment, and suddenly the nerve endings in the front of your face exploded in pain, his knee having connected directly with your nose. you leant back against the metal you originally hid behind, the coolness aiding the heat burning through you. You mustered up the adrenaline to lift yourself up, going after him.

However, as your fingers were just grasping his jacket to pull him backwards, your eyes focused ahead and saw that the other men were now approaching. your fuzzy mind had only enough time to pull into focus one word; Shit.

All of a sudden, with the distant sound of a soft thud, there was another figure standing before you. In the dim light, it seemed like just a shadow of a man. But all of a sudden, one of the men was on the floor, and the others were now focused on a new target.

The new development didn’t keep your attention long though, with the others now running to throw punches at the shadow figure, you could turn back to Alex and throw your arms at him again.

You grabbed his forearm, and let your mind kick into action in a way that was becoming more practised, more perfected. you threw your body weight at him, stumbling you both back against the brick wall, Alex’s back thudding roughly against it at which he let out a small cry.

“Daniel Johnson, tell me.” Your voice was rushed, desperation sneaking through into your tone, your need for answers burning at your already gravelly throat. His eyes however were focused to his right, where over his shoulder, the other men he’d been with were either choosing to run or being beaten to the ground. His fabricated terror seemingly having found a new perpetrator in the shadow man. And he fought back against you, clearly desperate to join his fellow cowards in escape. You were pushed backwards once again, your smaller frame at your disadvantage, and for a moment your breath caught in your throat, the flash of dark metal catching your eye, the gun in Alex’s hand being lifted up towards you, but almost instantly, Alex disappeared from before you.

You could feel your shaky breaths coming back, faster than usual, the quickened beats of your heart in your ears at full volume again. The gun was gone from Alex’s hand when you looked back to him, and instead he was being hit swiftly around the head with it, knocking him sideways. you watched as the shadow of a man grabbed Alex by the neck, his other hand clasped into a fist, quickly connecting with the side of Alex’s temple. Once. Twice. A third hit, and Alex’s eyes had fallen closed, his body grew limp, and it fell to the floor as the man released his hold on his neck.

For a moment you just stood there, watching the back of the man clad all in black, your quick and shallow breaths seemingly mirroring his as his tight shoulders heaved up and down in steady rhythm. For a moment, he just stood there also. Still, unmoving.

Slowly, he turned around to face you. You weren’t sure how you were meant to feel, having seen this man just take out 5 or more men in the space of a couple minutes, standing alone in an alleyway with him, but the large amount of adrenaline was clearly still coursing through your veins because you didn’t take much notice to how you should feel.

What you did feel in that moment, though, was a deep seated rage. you hadn’t the functioning brain power in that moment to ponder whether that emotion was bubbling up inside of you or flooding out of the man before you.

You watched him as he seemed to consider you for a moment, his head twitched to the side, and you tried to study him also, but the majority of his face was covered by black cloth. You took a momentary glance over his all black attire, the thin material splayed across his thick torso severely lacking in protection. Before he had the chance to say anything, the thick and red hot rage was clawing at her throat to be verbalised.

“What the hell.” Your voice was gravelly, pitched low as you stood in some sort of standoff with this shadow of a man. You couldn’t see his facial expression, only the slight tick in his jaw as he slowly cocked his head in the other direction.

“Excuse me?” His voice was deep. It was rough and came from deep in his chest, which was still rising and falling in rapid respiration. You simply narrowed your eyes at him, reasonable thought and any sense of self preservation clearly out of the window with the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“I said, what the hell, man” You lifted a hand to your hair, roughly pushing away the wisps of it that had fallen in front of your face. “I was just about to- well, whatever, but you jump in here and ruin it.” Your voice was somewhat hectic.

With Alex Peters having run off, your chance of getting some more information about Daniel had gone with him, and at that moment, all of your negative feelings about that outcome were being filtered and thrown straight at the man before you. It seemed those feelings were mostly anger.

His lips seemed to press into an even more grim line, as he shook his head in a movement ever so slight, it may have been a subconscious reflex in his disagreement.

“If I hadn’t jumped in when I did then you’d most likely be dead right now.” He stated matter of factly, causing you to scoff.

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you.” Your hands rested upon your hips, trying to hide the way they still shook slightly from the man before you, an attempt to exude confidence, despite the way your heart rate was still racing.

“I’m not sure I would call having a gun pointed to your head, handling yourself, exactly.” Although his lips remained in a line, his voice still grim, it gained the slightest lilt of teasing to it, and flames of annoyance built up in your chest, escaping in the way of a groan of exasperation.

“I would have been perfectly fine, without you showing up and chasing away my- That guy.” Words flew from your mouth a little quicker than you could filter them, realising you probably shouldn’t be telling details of your plans to the stranger in front of you.

“Sure you would.” His voice and the feelings that flew off of him held no ounce of truth. “You need to be more careful, what are you doing out here trying to talk to these guys?” His head cocked to the side once against, an almost questioning taunt to his positioning.

His near chastising tone brought a laugh from your lips.

“What’s it to you?” You narrowed your eyes at him, taking a small step back from him, looking him up and down from clothed face down to a tough black boot, and it clicked for you where you'd seen this shadow man before. You drew in a sharp breath.

The Man in Black.

You’d seen the papers as you walked past the stands, you’d seen the news and heard local radio all talking about this Man in Black. A vigilante sort, who seemed to be travelling around Hell’s Kitchen and regularly beating the shit out of people.

“Well, I’m just trying to-” He started again, less gravel to his voice now he seemed to have calmed a bit, but you cut him off before he could impart his opinion on to you.

“Stop it. I know who you are” He stilled for a moment, taking you in as you purposely rolled your shoulders back, standing a little taller before him, still feeling those sparks of rage flickering. “The Man in Black” You added emphasis to his given title with the lilt of sarcasm in your voice clear.

“I don’t need to take advice from some vigilante, going around and spreading violence. You have no idea what I’m doing, who I am,” For some reason you hadn’t quite realised, a lot of vitriol was building into your voice as you addressed the man in black. Thinking of the many people you’d heard of him having fought. The people he’d hurt. How was he to know if the people he fought deserved it? What if it was somebody just caught up with the wrong people. Someone like Daniel. “You’ve screwed things up for me here tonight, I have a banging headache from being punched, and also knee-d actually, in the face, and now no information, so thank you very much, Man in Black, but I think this is where I’ll be bidding you goodnight.

His lips parted slightly, which was just visible to you under the dim glow of distant street lights down the alley. It looked like he was about to speak, but before he could you heaved your bag further up your shoulder, a wince as you jolted your head with your movement, and spun on your heel.

“You’re hurt…” His gruff voice trailed off, but you simply waved a hand in his direction, exhaustion suddenly pulling at your mind, and knowing vehemently that you did not need saving by some guy in a black mask.

You continued to retrace your steps towards the ladder that led you back to your vantage point and a way home, empty handed. However, the deep voice stopped you again whilst you were only a few metres away.

“Wait.” You tilted your head slightly back in his direction. “The name you said, Daniel Johnson was it-”

Anger shot through your veins, your voice coming out as more of a growl. “Don’t say that name” You simply said, watching as the man in black stood still, his lips still parted in question. But you simply turned and walked away, having had enough of the night.

Your legs dragged heavy beneath you, feeling like logs as you battled each step. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, every step felt more difficult, and exhaustion was truly trying to pull you under the whole way back to your flat.

As you walked down dark back alleys and hidden streets, you tried not to think about the fact that you’d had a gun pulled on you this evening, the cool metal of it still a phantom feeling against the skin of your head. Tried not to think about the fact that you could have died, and that for all of that, you still had no new information, thanks to the Man in Black.

A couple of blocks from the location of your night's altercation, you paused, a heavy stone in your chest as you lent your head back against the cold and rough brick of an alley wall. A couple of shaky breaths escaped you, and much to your dismay, now that you were alone, surrounded by nobody’s emotions but your own, a tear slid from between your lashes down and over your cheekbone. You shook your head, and pushed off the wall with a kick of your feet, desperate to get yourself home.

You pulled your jacket closer around your body, your hood still tight over your head, and walked quickly through the darkened and unsafe streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night, in the direction of your apartment. You kept your head down, trying your best to avoid any trouble. You didn’t think you had it in you for another fight of any kind this evening.

You weren’t aware, however, that were you to encounter one, the man in black would be right there with you.

#matt murdock #fan fiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fanfic #here goes nothing #sending this out into the ether

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amberlynnmurdock · 10 months

Text

Blind Faith

Chapter 1: My Savior

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: One college-drunken night, you didn't expect to be saved by the man in the mask. You didn't expect him to agree to walk you home, either. You especially didn't expect to enter into an affair with the masked vigilante. That's what happens when you follow faith blindly. You let yourself fall in love, with someone who won't even tell you who he is. On top of pining for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, you have to graduate NYU, take the LSAT, keep this secret, manage your social life and an internship at a law firm named Nelson & Murdock.

Warnings for this chapter: attempted assault, drug use, mentions of alcohol

New York City

Midnight

A grayish fog hovered over the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Shining lights were now dimmed as stores were just starting to close. Yes, it was midnight, and stores were still open. But this was New York City, and it just made sense. Although some businesses were ready to close up for the night, others were just opening. As the day crowd shuffled on home, the night crowd was heading out. They consisted of many different groups: from college students to socialites, to white-collar business people to criminals—all out for the very same reason: simply because it was New York City.

You fell under the college student category. This was your last semester at New York University and you weren’t going to waste any weekend—or weeknight, in this case—to go out drinking with your friends. You only ever regretted it at the very end of the night, when you were laying down in bed and the room was still spinning, or hugging a toilet bowl. For you, it wasn’t the end of the night; it was the beginning.

“Here we are,” your friend, Emily, announced. The auburn-haired girl scrambled in her leather purse for a pass for you and your friends to show the bouncer, who stood at probably six feet and wore a leather jacket. “Our promoter’s name is Cain,” she yelled at the bouncer over the music booming inside.

Without a smile, he checked her pass from Cain and nodded his head.

“IDs,” he demanded.

The four of you all pulled out your IDs. When you reached for your wallet from your purse, it was then you realized how buzzed you already felt. Your other friend, Bella, giggled next to you as she accidentally dropped her wallet on the ground. There was a difference between accidentally dropping something and drunkenly dropping something. You laughed with her and nudged your waist into hers.

After calmly showing the bouncer your IDs, the four of you gracefully entered the club, the muffled music from outside now blasting in your ears. Now that you were all 21 with graduation on the horizon, there wasn’t any worrying anymore about fake IDs. You could come and go to bars as you pleased.

“Let’s get some shots!” Emily shouted. You all walked in a single file but held onto each other’s hands as you navigated the sea of people dancing on the floor. Navigating the crowd didn’t come without being shoved, which is why you all held onto each other. You gripped Bella’s hand tightly as she followed behind you, making sure she wouldn’t get pulled away.

The music was so loud you could feel it reverberate in your heart. Good thing you decided to wear your black boots, too. If you had chosen to go with heels, your toes might’ve been stepped on in this crowd. You consciously pulled down your black mini skirt since it rose a bit from walking.

“Four shots of Casamigos, please!” You shouted at the woman bartender who leaned over to hear your order. She nodded in response and gave a thumbs up, immediately grabbing a bottle and lining up four shot glasses. You gave her your card to open a tab.

Your other friend, Hannah, squeezed your arms in excitement.

“Fuck finals!” She screamed. You laughed before taking your shot with the girls. After ordering another round of shots, the four of you began your night of dancing, drinking, and partying like you didn’t have to wake up early for any exam.

~~~

As the night went on, the drinks didn’t stop. Neither did the dancing nor the dodging of drunk men trying and failing to flirt with you and your friends. You and Emily went to the bathroom together to ensure the other was safe, even if one of you didn’t have to go. Bella and Hannah stayed put at the corner of the bar.

In the bathroom, girls lined up waiting for their turn in the stalls. You managed to squeeze by them to get to the mirrors because you didn’t have to go. Arriving at the mirror, you were pleasantly surprised with how well your makeup had held up. Your hair was messy from dancing but after flipping it twice, you styled it again. You adjusted your black top, too, pulling it up a bit.

The girl in the mirror next to you was bent over, so you couldn’t see her face. Just as you were about to lean over and ask if she was okay, she flipped her head up and took a big sniff. Ahh. You realized. She’s doin’ okay.

When Emily was done, the two of you exited the bathroom and reentered the club. You found your other friends and ordered one last round of shots before you called it a night. It was a successful night—you all managed to keep each other within a good distance, you danced, you turned down gross men and their attempts at flirting—now all that was left was to get back to your apartment building safely. Easy.

“Just one more song!” Hannah begged, and it didn’t take much convincing for the rest of you to agree. Your heart banged against your chest as you danced along to the last song of the night, definitely on a different level than you were at the start.

The only downside to going out was dressing for the weather at the beginning of the night, and not anticipating that it would drop a few degrees by the end of the night. Thankfully, being in a stuffy club with lots of other people and dancing made you work up a sweat and essentially get hot. When you walked out into the 50-degree weather, it felt like a comfortable 60 degrees. Still, the chill coated your bones immediately, and you started to dream of your bed. Your ears were ringing from the loud music, and you stumbled a bit walking.

The apartment building was only eight blocks from the club. The four of you linked arms and began your trek home, laughing and talking about the night you just had.

“That guy was so gross, Bella,” Hannah laughed, “I can’t believe he had the audacity to think just because he bought me a drink I’d go home with him. The fucking nerve some guys have.”

“Seriously,” you agreed, “not to mention when his phone lit up, ‘Boo-Boo’ had just texted him."

“Ugh, what is wrong with men?” Bella groaned.

And in the middle of your conversation, your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach upon realization. Your card.

“Oh, shit, guys,” you cursed, stopping in your tracks which caused your friends to stop as well. “I forgot to close my tab and get my card back!”

“Oh no,” Emily said, “can’t you get it tomorrow? Do you really need it now?”

“This club doesn’t open until 11 PM. It’s now or never,” you shook your head, annoyed at yourself for being so forgetful. “I’ll go grab it and meet you guys back at the apartment.”

“No way,” Bella argued, “you can’t go back alone! Let me go with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” you protested. It was already almost two in the morning, and you knew all of you had exams at eight. It was dark out and late, but you were only four blocks away. You’d sprint back and take that as a punishment for your forgetfulness. “Seriously! I’ll be fine. There are lots of people around here anyway. We all have an early exam, I don’t want to be the reason we flunk our senior year.”

Your friends seemed unsure, but you assured them you were 100% okay with going back alone. Perhaps you were a bit buzzed, but not too much you wouldn’t be able to find your way home. With that, your three friends sauntered back home as you turned around to go back to the club.

~~~

Getting back inside the club wasn’t hard since people were starting to trickle out. The upbeat pop music had transitioned into lo-fi beats by the DJ. Without so many people standing shoulder to shoulder on the floor, you were shocked to see how open and big the floor really was. You made a beeline for the bar and found the bartender you spoke with earlier in the night. She had bleach-blonde hair and a septum piercing.

“I saw you and your friends get outta here quick. Wanted to stop you but, y’know,” now that the music had faded, you could hear her thick New York accent. You smiled and shrugged your shoulders.

“I know, that’s why I rushed back. I didn’t want to short you!”

“If you hadn’t come back, we would’ve put an automatic 20% tip anyway,” she reasoned. Without asking, she poured you a glass of water.

Signing the receipt and slipping the card back into your wallet, you smiled at her.

“Well, here’s thirty percent.”

“Thanks, babe,” she graciously took the receipt. “Your friends outside? It’s pretty late for you to be alone.”

You waved a hand, dismissing her and finishing the water to help sober you up. “I’ll be fine. Only eight blocks away from home.”

“Sheesh. You say that like it’s two. Take this,” she slid you a tiny pink contraption, which you realized was a can of mace. You slid it into your purse quickly.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Now get home safe,” she demanded.

“You too!”

Turning around from the bar, it was evident the club was closing up for the night. The normal lights came on, which brought about a whole new vibe to the place. Only a few partiers lingered, while the rest made their exit. You weren’t concerned at all walking home since you saw the crowds of people. And you weren’t being naive either, or so you convinced yourself. You’ve lived in New York for the past four years—you weren’t scared of it anymore.

Walking outside, it was unfortunate to see the crowds of people walking the opposite way you were going. Looking to your right, towards midtown, you could see the lights and large crowds of people huddling together, rushing to get home. To your left was a different story: darkness loomed ahead, and only two or three small groups were walking in the distance. The only light came from the dim orange street lamps that barely brought a glow. Bracing yourself, you took a deep breath and kept your finger on the mace the bartender had given you.

Okay, maybe it was a little spooky walking home alone. But you walked at a fast pace. You wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep from shivering. You wished you’d brought a jacket.

As if a higher power had nudged something in your subconscious, you looked up from the sidewalk and saw three men loitering at a corner of a building. They had their backs against the brick wall, with their hands in their pockets, like they were waiting for something or someone. Knowing better, you crossed the street to avoid walking past them.

You heard one of them say something, but you couldn’t make out what it was. Your pace quickened, as did your heartbeat. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so cold anymore. The adrenaline you felt from walking away from them had sent your body into a panic. An unpleasant hot feeling spread across your chest, yet your arms still shivered from the cold. It was suddenly getting harder to breathe, as you walked against the wind.

“Hey!” One of them shouted. “It’s not lady-like to run away.”

The only way you could describe how you felt at this moment was like being trapped inside a dream—no, nightmare—where you felt like you were capable of breaking free of something, say a locked car, but things out of your control forced you to stay put. It was like trying to yell the word No! at someone but you couldn’t for the life of you find your voice. It was like wanting to hit back at someone in your dream, but your arm felt like it weighed 100 tons. It was like falling, as you did now, and not being able to get back up.

You took a harsh fall on the pavement, tripping over some uneven sidewalk. Your knees scratched the sidewalk harshly and immediately started burning from the sensation. You dropped your bag and turned to face your attackers, helpless.

“Oh, she’s already ready for us, with her legs spread in that little skirt,” another one of them growled. You tried to back up and stand up but a third was behind you, who lifted you from behind your shoulders and gripped you.

“Let me go!” You struggled against the man who reeked of rum and cigarettes. His cold leather jacket was on top of your bare skin—you felt like an animal being dissected. The more you struggled against him, the tighter he held on. He kicked your knees from behind, causing your legs to go weak so now you knelt in his grasp.

“Who’s first?” One of them smiled a twisted smile. His hand held onto his crotch aggressively, getting himself ready.

“Let me fucking go! Help!” Your voice sounded hoarse, scared. These were the assholes you weren’t supposed to be afraid of—they weren’t supposed to win.

“Let her go.”

A fourth voice came from somewhere behind the two men who stood before you. For a moment, you thought it was one of their cronies who was acting selfishly and wanted you first, but from the looks of the men, you knew the voice didn’t belong to their kind. The two men in front of you parted, revealing a man dressed in all black, with a black mask covering half his face. He held two wooden sticks.

“Don’t make me say it again,” the man demanded in an oddly calm voice.

“Come and get her, asshole. You might have to wait. I don’t take too long,” the man who gripped you held on even tighter. You yelped in his grasp and tried to kick out of his hold on you.

The man in the mask acted quickly. Before you knew it, one of the wooden sticks in his hands was thrown at the man to your left, who fell, holding his face where the stick impacted him. The man in the mask seamlessly kicked the other guy on the right, who tried to lunge at him. He threw him to the ground like he was nothing more than a ball. The man who held you suddenly pulled something out of his pocket: a switchblade.

“Hey!” His grimy voice echoed in the air. The man in the mask turned his head menacingly, slowly. The man who held you placed the switchblade on your neck. You gasped as you tried to sink away from the sharp blade tickling your skin. “I ain’t care if she’s dead when I do it.”

The man in the mask punched the guy in front of him to stay down. The one behind was knocked out.

The man in the mask slowly turned around to face you and your captor. You tried to break free of his grasp again but failed. He pressed the front of the blade to your neck more harshly this time.

Before you could even react, the man in the mask lunged a wooden stick at the man’s face, hitting him square in the face. He dropped his switchblade in pain and you took this as your attempt to escape, this time succeeding. You stood by the side and quickly grabbed your purse on the ground. You watched as your savior, you thought you’d call him, punched the man in the face, repeatedly, until he fell down unconscious. Your savior grunted with each blow, making sure the man was knocked out.

Out of breath, your savior slowly stood up from kneeling on the man’s chest and turned in your direction. Your heart was beating uncontrollably now, completely shaken from your attempted attack. An attack that fell through, because the man in the masked saved you. You didn’t know what to say. You were shivering, but not from the cold.

“Are you okay?” He asked you as he took a step forward. You flinched unnaturally, only because you were still on edge. When he saw you flinch, he stopped in his footsteps immediately. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” you replied, wanting him to know you were grateful. “I’ll… I’ll be okay.” Nothing like that had ever happened to you. He gave you a nod and grabbed his wooden sticks on the ground, tucking them into his pockets. “Thank you… so much.”

He pressed his lips together in response.

“You shouldn’t be out this late alone, a young woman like you,” he had caught his breath by now and spoke softly.

“I’d argue men like that shouldn’t be able to walk out at night freely, so young women like me could feel safer,” you couldn’t help but say in response. You shivered in the cold and hugged your arms around your body. “But I guess that’s why you’re here. You know, I think I remember reading about you in the papers. Girls on my campus feel safer knowing you may be out there.” He hummed in response.

“Thank you,” you repeated yourself, unsure if he heard you the first time you said it. “I was really scared. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t show.”

“No need to thank me,” he waved his hand in response. “I…no need. Take care of yourself, okay?” He began to walk away, his black silhouette beginning to look like a shadow. You called after him in protest, before he could get any farther.

“Hey, wait!” You called. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head to look at you.

“You said it yourself it’s not safe for women like me to be out here alone,” you began, “will you walk me home?” Part of you wouldn’t admit it, but you were still too scared to walk alone.

He paused for a good thirty seconds you thought, like you knew he was really thinking about it. The best part about being a pre-law student was that in situations like this, you got to put your knowledge to the test. He did technically just testify he believes women like me shouldn’t be out here alone. If he really believed it, he’d follow through.

You could’ve sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his face. But without seeing his eyes, and the night being as black as his mask, you really couldn’t tell.

He didn’t say anything back, but you took his turning around and walking toward you as a response that said yes.

~~~

Matt Murdock didn’t walk the people he saved home very often, but you brought up a valid point that he couldn’t really say no.

“Lead the way,” he spoke in a low voice as he walked to you. He could hear your heartbeat—it was still beating fast, without rhythm, meaning you were still scared.

Matt walked with you at first in silence. He used this time to put a picture in his head: why were you out so late? And alone?

He noticed the smell of liquor and sweat on your skin first. You mentioned a campus before, so he immediately knew you were in your early 20s. By the sound of your shoes—boots—hitting the pavement, you must’ve been dressed up for something. Or, dressed down, on second thought. Your legs and arms were shivering from the cold—you were in a skirt. And, a sleeveless top. Ahh, he thought in his head. I remember my days of college partying, too.

Still, he wondered where your friends were. Were you really out here alone?

And as if you’d read his mind, you spoke.

“You know, I wasn’t alone this entire night,” you explained. “I was with my friends earlier. We went to a club, just down the street. I forgot my card there and needed to go back.”

“Why didn’t any of them go with you?”

“I told them not to. We all have early exams in the morning. I didn’t want to keep anyone out later than they had to be.”

“And going to a club at midnight isn’t too late?” Matt couldn’t help but pry, lightheartedly, with a small smile.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you replied, “but it’s our senior year. You know, senioritis. We’re all over it. And we don’t want to pass up any opportunities to go out. Did you go to college?”

Matt didn’t respond. He kept walking with you.

“Ahh,” you said in realization, “forgot. Vigilantes are supposed to remain mysterious.”

Matt didn’t respond.

“You know, vigilantism is really backward? What you did for me—which I am eternally grateful for, by the way—is still illegal.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile in response. He nodded.

“I know. Hence the mask,” he replied.

“Of course. You cover your face so you don’t get caught acting outside the law. Even though it may be for the greater good,” you thought aloud.

“You… are you studying law?” Matt asked, despite himself.

“I am!” You replied excitedly, “How could you tell?”

He didn’t respond. You continued.

“When I graduate, I intend to take the LSAT, and immediately apply for Columbia Law.”

Matt raised his eyebrows, which you couldn’t see.

“Hey, as a vigilante, do you know any lawyers? I might need some letters of recommendation for that,” you chided. Matt chuckled softly.

“I—“

“Oh, right, forgot. Secrecy, and vigilantism. Mystery. How do you make any friends?” It was then Matt realized you may still have been a bit buzzed.

“I tend to keep people away when I’m dressed like this.”

“Hmm,” you replied.

Silence filled the space between you again. Matt could hear you slightly yawn. In your purse, he sensed a can of cheap mace. When you moved your arms, Matt caught a whiff of your fragrance. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was sweet. Like, marshmallows.

After another block, you slowed your speed, and Matt was content to know you weren’t scared anymore. Not scared in his presence, not scared at all. Your heartbeat had fallen to its normal rhythm. Your breathing was soft.

“This is it,” you announced, stopping in front of your apartment building.

Matt lingered in the shadows, against the wall of the building. He knew the security guard was at his desk inside. When you realized he was hiding, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re so dramatic,” you giggled. Matt didn’t find it funny, but he was amused at your entertainment.

“My savior,” you spoke softly, just for him to hear. “Thank you again. Perhaps I should get myself into more trouble.”

Matt shook his head, “I’m not a savior. And don’t get yourself into trouble. Study. And good luck with law school.”

“I said you are my savior. There is a difference,” you argued. Matt noticed you did that a lot—argued. He smiled—it’s something he doesn’t do very often when dressed like this.

“Be safe,” he pleaded.

“__,” you said your name. Matt was caught off guard by your introduction. “I don’t have to know your name, but you can know mine. My name is __.”

“Be safe, __,” he repeated.

“I will. And you do the same.”

With that, Matt heard you shuffle for your keycard. You entered your building. Matt waited on the side of the building for you to go up the elevator, to the 11th floor, swipe your card to your apartment and lock the door behind you. After that, he stopped listening. He knew you were safe. He exhaled sharply and slumped his shoulders against the brick building.

He wasn’t a savior.

He disappeared into the night.

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