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lionalsowrites · 21 hours ago

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Maroon II (Matt Murdock x Reader)

A/N: In this fic, no one knows Matt is Daredevil. I have combined plot points from multiple Spider-Man and Daredevil shows/movies/and comics because I get to make the rules. Slow burn, so buckle up for lots of pining. Please have fun! Any replies, reblogs, comments, etc are all hugely appreciated and motivating.

Summary: Your best friend is Peter Parker and you work for Matthew Murdock- who you're painfully in love with. Oh- and Wilson Fisk has made it his personal mission to remove any and all vigilantes from New York City. Thank goodness you don't know any of those!

Read part 1 of Maroon here

warnings: mdni, swearing, drinking, eventual violence, eventual smut. no specific reader descriptions at this point.

wc: 10,548

Playlist

But I couldn't make it Any harder to love me Your arms are reachin' And your eager heart is throbbin' I know you're frustrated 'Cause I will not let you touch me You say you can take it But you don't know how hard I can make it

When you returned to the office, your mind was filtering through scenario after scenario as to how your imminent confrontation with Matt was going to go. The frosted glass of the office door creaked open and gave way to a bright and smiling Karen. It alleviated your nerves for about two seconds—and then Matt's voice was forcing you back to the problem at hand.

“Karen, I’m going into a meeting. Can you screen my calls?” Her eyes fluttered between the two of you, and a brief look of sympathy flashed over her pretty face.

“Of course.”

Quickly, you looked to Foggy, desperation pulling at your features for him to save you from whatever was coming your way. His only response was a wordless shrug that had you rolling your eyes. Resigned to your fate, you followed Matt into his office. He stood in the doorway and ushered you inside before closing it behind you with a satisfying click.

"I need you to tell me everything. How long have you known Peter's secret?" Matt cut straight to the chase, his hands reaching up to expertly loosen his tie and unbutton the top of his collar. You swallowed thickly at the newly exposed skin before scolding yourself. Focus.

"I found out two nights ago. And that’s all I know.” He didn’t seem to be pleased with your lack of information, and you weren’t really thrilled about it either. You were desperate to ask Peter all the questions that had been rattling around incessantly since seeing him in the suit for the first time- but you hadn’t had the chance. Matt paused for a moment, as though to consider your response.

“You need to be very careful,” he said, his voice lower and twinge more harsh than normal. You recognized it as a tone he usually reserved for poorly behaved clients.

“If someone came for Gwen, they could just as easily come for you.” The mention of her name made you flinch. The loss was still fresh and hearing it mentioned so brazenly stung. You were tempted to tell him he was being dramatic, but something told you that would be a bad idea. Spurred on by your silence, he continued his persuasion.

"I'm serious. Do you think Spider-Man doesn't have enemies? People that would hurt you just to cause him pain?" He licked his lips, a tick you had come to realize meant he was frustrated or uneasy. You tried to speak but couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't stupid. You settled on the only thing you knew to be true and thought he may understand.

"He's my best friend.” The words left you with far less conviction than you had intended but the tenderness of them still hung in the air. You felt disarmed by his authority. The tailored and certain manner that he carried himself with in the courtroom was no different than the way he delivered an argument in the suffocating confines of his office. Feeling dangerously outmaneuvered, you unintentionally took a small step back. Matt chuckled darkly, almost in disbelief, like you were a child far out of your depths. You felt exasperation bubbling up in your chest at his self-assuredness, and before you could stop yourself, you were saying something you shouldn’t.

"Would you abandon Foggy?" You questioned, already knowing the answer.

"It's not the same thing." He replied with a hand raised, almost as if to stop your entire train of thought. His voice broke, and he lowered it in an effort to sound as though he wasn’t about to lose his temper. You scoffed, the scolding from him quickly beginning to grate on your nerves.

“It's exactly the same thing.” You countered, unable to stop your voice from raising. After a calming exhale, he tried again.

"All I'm asking for is for you to lay low. Put some distance between the two of you, at least until all of this blows over. But obviously, there's someone out there who either knows who Peter is or is close to finding out. You don't need to be a part of that,” his manner remained firm. Regardless, you were not inclined to follow his orders as the whole conversation felt a bit patronizing. As though you weren’t an adult capable of making your own decisions. You had called him to the police station for Peter’s benefit, not to be reprimanded. You wanted him to view you as an equal and this certainly wasn’t helping.

"I have work to do," you said dismissively while brushing past him and reaching for the door.

In a flash, his hand gripped your wrist with an impressive amount of speed and precision, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Matt had never touched you. Not more than a handshake or a half-hearted hug. No, this touch was with intention, and it startled you.

As if his mind caught up with his body, he released you. His harsh gaze lingered on you making heat blossom across your chest.

"I'm only saying all of this because I want you to be safe." He spoke through gritted teeth, almost as though the admission pained him. You weren't expecting to hear that, and your chest tightened. It was perhaps the only thing he could have said to dissipate your annoyance. Your school-girl crush felt years away after the events of the last two days, but you would be lying if you said his proximity didn't have an effective way of bringing those feelings back to the surface. Your heart was hammering away so hard in your chest you worried he may be able to hear it. He tilted his head, as though assessing something but remained silent, lips parted expectantly as he awaited your reply.

"Alright." Then after a beat, "I'll be careful,” you finally relented. He nodded slightly.

"Thank you."

Later that evening, as Matt found himself making his usual rounds, he couldn’t help but wonder what you were doing and if you were keeping your promise to steer clear of Peter. He had stealthily made his way over to your building all dressed in red—just to check in.

He had spent the last six months doing his best to keep his distance from you. To keep things strictly professional no matter how desperately he longed to reach for you- all in the name of your safety. Now it seemed as though his yearning was in vain as you had been best buddies with one of the most sought after vigilantes in the city the whole time. The recent discovery made him more certain than ever that his extracurricular activities had to remain a mystery to you. Someone privy to information that highly sought after would be a walking target. He couldn’t allow that. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the fact that you knew Peter’s ulterior identity. Matt wanted to tell you- to tell anyone and help alleviate the weight that he carried with him each and every day. But ultimately, the mask was his burden to bear and his alone.

While Matt was no stranger to danger, he didn't exactly run in the same circles as Spider-Man. He was more into the grand supervillains that made the front page and destroyed half the city with some spectacular fight. And Matt? He was fighting the criminals no one talked about. Powerful names, backdoor deals, and the quiet corruption that coursed through the city's veins. Daredevil wasn't getting the key to the city, and he sure as hell wasn't who people cried out for when they turned down the wrong alley at night. But that didn't matter. What mattered to Matt was serving justice where he could and keeping the people he loved safe. As long as Daredevil and Matthew Murdock never met, he was content to stay in the shadows.

These thoughts plagued him as he crouched on the rooftop adjacent to yours, head quirked to the side as he listened to the cacophony of noises the city had to offer. He was relieved to know you were alone and staying true to your word. While he hated having to make the request, it seemed the best way to ensure your safety. Deciding that staying any longer would certainly be an invasion of your privacy, he turned to leave.

But something else caught his attention. A familiar heartbeat thumping away below where he perched.

Peter.

Matt debated internally whether or not he should intervene. Ultimately, he chose to remain in the safety of the shadows, allowing the interaction to unfold, his chest tight with shame. Sure enough, Peter entered your building and headed up to your place on the twelfth floor. The knock at the door startled you—you weren’t expecting him.

Your heartbeat picked up at the sight of Peter—but not in the same way it did when Matt had grabbed your wrist earlier that same evening. He stayed totally still, head tilted in concentration as he listened to the interaction unfold.

"Hey, I'm sorry for stopping by. I just wanted to give you this. Gwen would have wanted you to have it.” The casual way in which he tried to speak was betrayed by a tremble in his voice. You accepted a sweatshirt—Matt was fairly certain that was what it was—and thanked him. Then you were opening your door wider and inviting him inside, and Matt’s shoulders slumped, a mumbled swear leaving his lips while uninvited sympathy crept through his chest.

You and Peter spent the evening spread lazily across your couch, telling countless stories about Gwen. Between tears, there was laughter. You talked about senior prom, when Peter ripped his pants on the dance floor. Gwen's speech at graduation. Her twenty-first birthday where she sang terrible karaoke with more confidence than you had ever seen. After a lull in the conversation, Peter looked at you a little differently.

"I can't hang out with you for a while." He said suddenly, all traces of a smile long gone. You sighed, that same irritation from earlier flaring up again.

"We can just be careful. No one knows who you are. Aside from Matt, at least. And he’s not going to tell anyone.” You did your best to convince him but Peter shook his head definitively- mind already made up.

"No. Until I figure out who's coming after me, I can't put you at risk. If I was responsible for hurting anyone else I care about... I can't have that happen.” His voice trailed off and broke in a way that you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge. You gnawed on your lip as you tried to think of an argument that would successfully sway him—you couldn't think of one. He looked impossibly young, with tired brown eyes (one bruised) and a busted, swollen lip that must have pained him.

"If that will make you feel better, fine. But I'm always here for you." You tentatively agreed, despite the way it made your chest ache. If there was anything you could do to help alleviate some of the stress he was under, you would. Even if it meant keeping your distance for a while. And it meant you wouldn’t have to lie to Matt- which was an added bonus. He seemed to have the uncanny ability to pick up on even the tiniest fib- like some human lie detector. In the courtroom it was a sight to behold, but when trained on you it was slightly less enjoyable.

“I know.”

“You should have told me. About the suit.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am.” He was looking at you with a battered expression that made it impossible for you to be angry. You reached for his hand and gently held it. After a beat, he looked at you with a weak smile, his good-nature peaking through at even the darkest of times.

"I like the lawyer." You dramatically rolled your eyes at his light teasing. The rest of the evening was spent pretending everything was normal. You watched the same movies you had seen a thousand times, ordered pizza, and didn't talk about Gwen's upcoming funeral. Or about whoever was determined to ruin his life. No, you were both content to spend one last night blissfully unaware of what perils were quietly unfolding around you.

—

Wilson Fisk was the kind of man that noticed things—he made it his business to know things.

Things like the Captain of police being killed in connection with one of New York's greatest “heroes”.

And now that another Stacey had been found in the carnage of a battle littered with spiderwebs... Surely that couldn't be a coincidence. Nothing in this city ever was. And the vigilantes that plagued darkened streets, dead-end alleys and windswept rooftops were becoming quite the thorn in his side. He found that his operations were beginning to suffer more and more with the increasing acceptance of interference from the likes of Spider-Man, Daredevil and the White Tiger- to name a few.

Nothing would make him happier than quietly and effectively eradicating each and every hidden hero that roamed the city’s streets.

He instructed his informants to keep a close eye on the investigation. His reach comfortably extended from the local police stations through high-ranking officials that would happily provide him with whatever information he requested.

Witnesses, friends, and family of the Staceys were to be monitored. He found all of them to be unremarkable—that is until he took a closer look at the photographer boyfriend. A boy who was behind on his rent and made his meager living by providing photos of Spider-Man to the Daily Bugle.

Then Matt Murdock came striding into the police department- and the kid hadn’t even been arrested. His involvement was surely personal. But why? Fisk wasn’t sure.

But he had every intention of finding out.

The defense attorney always seemed to have his nose in places it simply didn't belong. After all of that business with the Page girl, Murdock was quickly becoming a liability. To hear he came to the aid of some random loser and his mouthy friend did more than enough to rouse suspicion from lurking eyes at the station. That was when he had given the orders to have you surveilled.

He didn't have to wait long for the two of you to be seen together again. Your building's security cameras captured your unease as you stood at your doorstep, glancing both directions down the hall before allowing Mr. Parker entry.

“Tell them hello." Fisk ordered his associate, who simply nodded in response.

—

The next morning, you headed into work with Peter sleeping on your couch.

As long as Matt didn't point-blank ask you if you had seen Peter, you would be fine. You scampered through the door with your head down and made a beeline for the desk that you planned to spend the entirety of the day hiding behind. Your plan was working too, until Foggy sidled up beside you with that disarming smile of his that always seemed to coax one out of you in return. But not this time.

"I've got to say, I don't love this whole quiet, brooding look on you." He voiced in that light, teasing way of his.

"Who's brooding?" You challenged.

"You definitely are. Almost as much as Matt. And he's like, the king of brooding. Especially since the news about Fisk.” Your ears perked at that. You didn’t know much about the man—but you knew there was some sort of history between him and the firm. Whatever had happened occurred prior to your hire date, and you didn’t ask any questions.

“Fisk is running for Mayor.” Foggy said, clueing you in.

“I take it that’s bad news?”

“It’s certainly not good.” You weren’t sure how to reply—thankfully, you didn’t have to. “Ah, to be young and naive.” Foggy lamented, and his teasing tone helped put you at ease.

"Some of us actually work around here. Speaking of which, here are the files for the Andrew's case. You know, the innocent man accused of a double homicide? Something far more deserving of your attention.” You held a manila folder up towards him, and he accepted it with a flourish.

"Fine. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here. And even if you never want to talk, I’ll still be here." You chuckled as he turned his back to head towards his office when his steps stuttered.

"I forgot the whole reason I came over here.” He tutted to himself and produced a large envelope, dropping it on your desk unceremoniously. It was addressed to you, whatever it was. You crinkled your brow and tore into it. When you saw the contents, your face blanched. It was a grainy photo of you and Peter standing in front of your apartment from just the night before. Your hands trembled as you flipped the mail over in search of a return address. Predictably, it was unsigned. In a single, simple move the sender had efficiently let you know that they knew your full name, address, and place of employment.

Foggy's teasing grin vanished as he watched a visible wave of panic pass over you and his face darkened with concern.

"Hey, what is it?" Trepidation evident in his voice, all hints of his ususal banter gone. If you had your wits about you, you would have made a joke and played the whole thing off. Unfortunately, he was too perceptive- and already peering over your shoulder to view the contents.

"Shit."

He looked at you earnestly and before you could form a sentence he was speaking again.

“You need to tell Matt." You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, doing your best to try to come up with literally any path forward. You were unsuccessful. You didn’t want to admit that he had been right- and worse yet, admit that you hadn’t even been able to successfully avoid Peter for a single day.

"Can't you just hide me somewhere? Your parents have a butcher shop, right? I can cut meat." You pleaded with Foggy but he refused to take the bait- or make a joke. That scared you the most.

"If Matt finds out I knew anything about this and didn't tell him, he would kill me. Like, actually kill me. Just talk to him.” He was right, of course. You cast a glance in the direction of the conference room where Matt was finishing up an interview with Karen and a witness to some burglary case. With an exaggerated sigh, you slumped even deeper into your chair and cradled your head in your hands.

For the next twenty minutes, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to review a motion that you were supposed to be filing- it was useless.

The idea of disappointing Matt scared you almost more than whatever veiled threat the photo was supposed to be. You jiggled your leg relentlessly, desperate to get the anxious energy out of your body somehow until the conference room door was swinging open. You shot up.

"Miss Aguilera, we appreciate your time. If we have any additional questions, we will reach out.” Matt said warmly, flashing that charming smile that you seemed to be seeing less of lately. You doubted this new revelation would help. Karen escorted the older woman to the door, and the moment it closed, Foggy was speaking.

“Hey Matt, I think our favorite paralegal needs a minute with you.” Foggy announced. You stared daggers at him and made a mental note to seek your revenge later. He met your steely gaze with an unapologetic shrug. Karen glanced cluelessly between the two of you before ducking into the break room, content to not be involved in whatever chaos was going on. Matt pressed his lips into a line, almost as though he could sense that whatever you had to share wasn’t good news.

“Be my guest.” He answered, gesturing towards the newly emptied conference room. With a sharp exhale, you grabbed the photo and followed him inside. As the door clicked shut behind him, you stayed silent, searching for the best way to say something you really didn't want to say. The seconds ticked on agonizingly slowly as you stood before him.

"What happened?” Matt finally asked, effectively cutting through the silence.

"I might have done something you specifically asked me not to do." You confessed sheepishly to the floor. Anything to avoid seeing the disappointment inch across his face. Matt's hand rose to his temple, lightly massaging it.

"On accident." You added pointedly, although it did not seem to matter. You placed the photo on the table in front of you, and then your cheeks went red as you realized he obviously couldn’t see it. Truthfully, he moved more gracefully and confidently than you ever had. Matt was so adept at… everything that it was sometimes easy to forget about his visual impairment. You refocused and cursed yourself for allowing him to distract your train of thought yet again. After struggling through a stammer that Matt was kind enough to remain silent for, you tried again.

"Foggy just gave me this. It’s a photo of Peter and I in front of my apartment last night.” Matt seemed to stiffen slightly, his features hardened.

"Is it postmarked?" He inquired.

"No."

“I wasn't going to see him, I swear. He showed up to give me something of Gwen's, and he just... God, he’s so broken, Matt. I couldn't tell him to leave. I didn't want to. He's been my best friend for a decade.” Matt raised his hand which effectively stopped your increasingly incoherent ramblings.

"I get it.” He told you. His quiet resignation took the fight out of you and you felt yourself soften.

“You’re grieving. You care about him. I understand. But you have to understand that your safety is my top priority. How do you think he’d feel if something happened to you?” God, when he said things like that, you could almost make yourself believe he may have feelings for you too.

"After work, we're going to go to your place to pack your things. You'll stay with me for a few days. At least until we know what's going on." You thought you may choke.

"I promise that's not necessary.” You tried to refuse but he clicked his tongue and shook his head in a manner that illustrated it was not up for debate.

After work that night, Matt escorted you home and waited patiently as you wandered around your apartment, awkwardly searching for anything you might need. Of all the ways you had imagined inviting Matt up to your place, this was definitely not on the list.

"You have a nice place. Smells... like coconuts.” He decided with a scrunched brow.

"You're too good at that." You commented, making him chuckle.

“One of my gifts.”

You grabbed a duffel bag and tossed in a few outfits, all while trying to ignore the thrumming of your anxious heart. You focused on the task at hand, packing your toiletries and anything else you might need for the next few days.

Then you turned and caught sight of Matt standing beside your bookshelf, careful fingers skimming over the spines that lined the shelves. You couldn't help but think about how natural he looked amongst your things and how intimate the moment felt—how, under different circumstances, you would gladly drag him through your place, his hand in yours as you ushered him into your world. Your heart ached to be near him but still so far. You wanted to ease his coat off, run your fingers across his broad shoulders and feel them relax beneath your touch. To kiss his pink lips that always seemed to be in a perfect pout. To run your fingers through his hair and tug until he moaned…

Staying with him probably wasn’t going to help keep your “innocent” crush at bay.

He pulled you from your fantasy as you realized he was getting dangerously close to your spicy books. You cleared your throat urgently and his hand stilled.

"Lots of law books here." He noted, slipping his hand back into his pocket. Almost as though he picked up on your discomfort and felt the need to fill the silence.

"Been toying with the idea of going back to school." You confessed nonchalantly. Matt’s brows shot up in surprise.

"You're going to make us add a last name to the firm, huh?" You chuckled at his teasing and did your best to ignore the warmth building in your cheeks.

"I just said I'm thinking about it." You replied noncommittally. He put his hands up in mock surrender.

"If you need help studying, I, uh... I can help." He sounded almost… sheepish? You let the tenderness of the offer wash over you, but tried not to think about it too seriously. If you did, you would do something stupid like admit you wanted to impress him.

"I might just have to take you up on that.” He smiled.

You held Matt's arm as you navigated the 9 blocks to his place, his cane retracted and held in his left hand. It was a cool October evening, and you much preferred the fresh air to the cramped subway. Plus, the longer you could dwell in the simple domesticity of walking with Matt beside you, the better. It felt comfortable to spend the evening walking beside him. You wondered if he thought the same thing, but as usual his expression was guarded- and his feelings were a mystery to you.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you.” You said, only a little awkwardly, making him smile softly in return. He tilted his head in consideration.

"I'm not sure I'm letting you so much as making you.” Matt replied in a teasing tone. Then, after a beat, “And I’m sorry about earlier. If my argument was too… persuasive.” He glanced down at you with a dangerous grin- one that more than made up for any of the unpleasantness that had occurred earlier in the day. Unconsciously, you tightened your grasp around his arm.

“Thank you for caring. And for helping Peter.” You were quiet, but you knew he heard you.

“Of course. Anything for- a friend.” He paused before he settled on the word ‘friend’ and you tried not to react like it had felt like a punch in the gut.

You followed closely behind him as he climbed up the steps of his building with practiced precision. You couldn't think of anything to say, and a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. After a quick elevator ride, you were at his door, and he was effortlessly twisting the key in the lock and pushing the door open. The apartment was dark, save for the flickering lights of the billboards that illuminated the living room. After your eyes adjusted, you glanced around the flat and tried to do so casually. The place was spotless—of course it was—and lacked any obviously personal items. Something about the apartment was comforting, as though it reaffirmed everything you knew about Matt. He hung his coat by the door and made his way past the threshold. You gently placed your bag on the couch and followed him with your eyes, as though suddenly facing some potentially dangerous new terrain.

"You can take the bedroom." He instructed while rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie. Your brow furrowed immediately, lips pursing in indignation.

“Definitely not.”

He paused and gave you a knowing smirk. “I’m comfortable on the couch.” He tried to reassure you, but you had never been more certain that he was lying.

"Nice try, Counsel." He smiled weakly, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“If I recall correctly, I’m your boss. Would you agree?” You clenched your jaw, already aware of where this line of smug questioning was headed.

"I would agree; however, I can't help but notice we are not at work, and this is a personal matter." A faint smirk fell over his features.

"If you don't sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor next to the couch. Is that what you want?" He questioned, his brows raised in further challenge.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not,” he confessed, his expression slightly devious at his imminent victory.

“You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” His smirk proved that comment was certainly a compliment- and one he had heard before.

“Thank you.”

You reluctantly grabbed your duffel bag, let out a dramatic sigh, and headed towards the room he gestured towards while flashing you a smug grin. His bed was immaculately made with pressed charcoal sheets, and noticed the fresh linen smell that lingered in the air.

You glanced around the room and saw an old boxing poster. The words "Battlin’ Jack Murdock” spread across it in big red and gold font. You recalled the conversation you had shared with Matt just a few nights prior, though now it felt like a lifetime ago. You couldn't help but smile at the poster as it suddenly became clear to you that his father's story was one that he kept private. This wasn't something that greeted guests, and you inferred it wasn't a story Matt told frequently. That much you could tell by the tremor of emotion in his voice as he spoke. You replayed the interaction in your mind and savored it, appreciative of the fact that he had trusted you enough to share.

Before you could linger anymore on the last time you and Matt were alone, you busied yourself with finding something more comfortable to wear. You settled on a pair of sweats and a cozy oversized t-shirt. When you emerged, Matt was in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, his tie long forgotten, and his top buttons undone. He stood at a cutting board, skillfully cutting vegetables with a precision that you certainly could not match yourself.

“Are you… cooking?” You teased and he smirked in response. “Yes. I cook.” Your brows raised of their own accord.

“Can I help with anything?” You offered, and he shook his head dismissively. You sat on a stool beside the island and cradled your chin in your hand, watching the practiced movement of his hands as he worked. He made it look so easy, as though he had done it a million times before—and he likely had. You grasped for small talk, some safe topic of conversation that could carry you through the remainder of the evening before you both retreated to your separate sleeping places. You had never spent more than a few hours truly alone together, and it was generally under the guise of too much work. Potentially spending days in his company made you mildly terrified at the idea of having to make conversation outside of cases, paperwork, interviews- blah, blah, blah.

Before you asked a truly asinine question just to fill the silence (“best pizza in New York?”), he was placing a pair of wine glasses in front of you.

"Red or white?"

"Red—is fine," you replied, slightly caught off guard but equal parts relieved. He smiled, as though approving of your choice. He reached to the opposite counter and turned back around with a Cabernet, hands making quick work of the cork and bottle opener. With what looked like no more than a flourish to you, the wine was flowing steadily into the glasses.

"Thank you..." You murmured, mildly mesmerized by the display of dexterity you had just witnessed.

“Matt,” he said with a smirk, as though you could have possibly forgotten.

"Matt." You confirmed with an exaggerated eyeroll before hiding your blush behind the libation. He smiled, as though he could tell he flustered you. You grasped at straws for something to say once more.

"Do you think the police will file charges against Peter?" You immediately regretted the topic change as his features hardened back into the guarded expression you were more familiar with than the charming one that had poured the wine just a moment ago. After slight hesitation, he replied, “Not without knowing who he really is.” You felt relief at his words, but only took another sip of your drink.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Matt questioned, earning a nod in return.

"Are you mad… at Peter? For not telling you the truth?” He seemed to truly analyze you as he awaited your reply, his head tilted thoughtfully. You considered the question for a moment as you hadn’t had a chance to dissect your own feelings on the subject yet.

"Yes." You answered honestly, absentmindedly swirling the Cabernet. You felt tension ease out of you at the admission. There was no one you could discuss Peter’s secret identity with aside from him, and you certainly weren’t going to pour salt in his fresh wounds.

“Yeah, I’m mad. And I feel like I’m not allowed to be mad. Not with everything he’s going through.” You elaborated, although you knew Matt understood.

“You lost your friend too.” Matt was quick to point out, but you were shooing his words away.

"I know. But... no one is going to make Peter feel worse than he’ll make himself feel. I just wish he had trusted me enough to be honest. That’s what hurts the most. Feeling like I don’t even know him- like my best friend is a stranger.” You looked up at him with eyes brimming with sudden and abrupt emotion you had been trying your best to ignore for days.

“I just would have sworn I knew everything about him, you know?” His lips dipped in a sympathetic expression and he was placing his hand over yours. Your breath caught— in a super casual and non-noticeable way—you hoped.

Before you could fully process the situation, he was pulling away and getting back to preparing dinner.

“I’m here… if you want to talk.” He nearly murmured, low enough for you to wonder if you had heard him correctly.

You watched him make the rest of the meal in amiable conversation, passing the wine back and forth. By the time he placed an impressive pasta dish in front of you, you had a bit of a buzz going on, and ultimately felt far more comfortable than you had when you first stepped foot in his apartment. Plus, Matt was regaling you with stories from his college days, which was a wonderful distraction from the feelings you weren’t entirely ready to acknowledge. You were laughing at a particularly unfortunate story- one that left Foggy cleaning dishes in a bar to pay off a tab he couldn’t afford.

"I swear, Foggy bought drinks for the whole sorority. It cost him like, nine hundred dollars.” You giggled, feeling light with intoxication.

“Poor Foggy.”

“Oh, he absolutely deserved it.”

That evening, you climbed between Matt’s sheets and wished for sleep to take you quickly. It didn’t. It wasn't exactly how you were planning to sleep in Matt's bed for the first time... but beggars can’t be choosers. You were too overwhelmed with the fact that Matt was on the other side of the door. You wished you were bold enough to make a move. Truly, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. The forced proximity could move things along nicely. But no. You lay in bed and stared at the ceiling as the moments ticked by.

Until you heard shuffling in the living room. You rose from bed and wandered to the door, and after a moment of deliberation, you pulled it open. Immediately, you searched for Matt’s sleeping form on the sofa, but it was empty. You furrowed your brow and sauntered farther into the room, arms crossed over your chest as you peered around for him. Finally, you ventured a call of his name.

Silence.

He was nowhere to be found. You checked your phone and saw it was after 3 AM. You couldn’t imagine where he could possibly be at such an hour and felt a bit of worry biting at you. Was he out for a walk? Perhaps meeting someone else he would rather share such late, intimate hours with? You had no idea. You glanced around, unsure of what to do with yourself. Surely, waiting up for his return wasn’t the best idea. If he had wanted you to know he had gone, he would have left a note or roused you from your nonexistent sleep. Feeling oddly embarrassed, you turned on your heel and went back to his room. At some point in the evening, you fell into a fitful sleep, half waiting to hear the front door open—but never hearing it.

The next morning was a Saturday, and light was streaming across your pillow by 7:30 AM. Matt didn’t have much need for curtains. When you emerged from his room, Matt was on the couch sleeping soundly. As though the night before and his random absence had never happened at all. You got as close as you dared to, your eyes lingering on the softness of his expression. Matt had never looked so peaceful and soft, the light lines on his face nearly invisible as he was wrapped in the comfort of sleep. You wanted to reach out and gently caress his cheek. To feel close to him. Somehow, you restrained yourself. You retreated to his bedroom, quietly changed, and snuck past him and to the front door.

The events of the last few days had crept up on you, and you were feeling suffocated with questions you didn’t have answers to. Where had he gone the previous night? The only person you wanted to dissect the situation with, you couldn’t call. You tightened your pea coat at the waist and wandered down the street in search of the nearest coffee shop. After ordering a coffee and a muffin (plus an extra for Matt), you slumped into one of their oversized chairs when an issue of the Daily Bugle tossed carelessly across a table caught your eye.

‘Spider-Menace Responsible for Civilian Death’ Fuck. You picked it up and began to read the article (accompanied by photos taken by Peter Parker). You gnawed on your lip as you scanned the article.

“Spider-Man’s presence at the scene of the murder was undeniable. The young woman who has been identified as Gwen Stacey, the late Captain Stacey’s daughter, was found in a partially collapsed building with disintegrated spiderwebs littering the scene. One witness claims to have seen the vigilante hastily escaping in the late hours of Wednesday night. Mayoral candidate Wilson Fisk claims that unmasking Spider-Man and seeing justice served to all vigilantes will be the primary focus of his office if elected.”

Your knuckles turned white where they gripped the pages. You had heard many things whispered about Wilson Fisk. He worked in the shadows and was equal parts feared and revered, from what you could tell. The idea of him becoming mayor was dark enough, but setting his sights specifically on Peter seemed like a worst-case scenario. You hopped out of your seat and headed back to Matt’s.

As you made your way down the street, you couldn’t help but take notice of a man. One in a suit, with glasses and a face that looked just a little too punchable. You’d seen him in the coffee shop, and now he was trailing maybe a block or so behind you. You tried to ignore it, to tell yourself you were being paranoid, but each move you made, he seemed to be close behind. With shaky fingers, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You dialed Matt, and after three rings, you heard his sleep-laden voice.

“Wh-where are you?” He questioned before you could even offer him a ‘good morning’.

“I- I went to get coffee. Just down the street.” You stuttered through your explanation, though you swore you could basically hear the disapproval in his voice. Matt was clearly not interested in why you chose to leave his apartment.

“The whole point of you being here is you not being alone.” His voice bit a little, and you found yourself taken aback. Although your current circumstances made it difficult to argue.

“Someone’s following me.”

“What? Where are you now?”

“10th and 48... I just didn’t want to lead whoever they are back to your place.” Another sigh as he searched for the best plan forward.

“Alright, I’ll meet you. Okay? Just… stay in crowded places. No dark alleys, no shortcuts, okay?”

“Okay.” If you had woken him from his sleep, as his voice had indicated, you had no idea how long it would take him to make his way to you. You heard shuffling on his end and pursed your lips, trying to decide if it was better to stay silent or attempt to carry a conversation.

"So... Did you sleep well?" you ask, only eliciting an exasperated groan from the phone.

"I'm five minutes away. Is he still behind you?” You chanced a glance behind you as casually as possible.

“Yes. He looks like a nerd.”

“You’ve got to know that’s not a good description.”

“Um…weasel-y face? Dark blue suit, probably late thirties? Glasses… boxy ones.” You tore your gaze from the stranger and pretended to look very interested in a store's window display. He lurked at the end of the block, and for all his efforts to look inconspicuous, they weren't working. You tried to commit his features to memory, to be sure that if you saw him again you would recognize him in an instant.

"Alright, good. Make sure he doesn't get any closer." As the words left Matt's lips, your eyes unintentionally locked with your mystery stalker. You felt a shudder tear through you as he smiled at you in a manner that lacked any and all genuine friendliness. Then, a single hand raised in greeting. A chill ran down your spine. You doubled back and began to work your way further down the block in a desperate bid to put more distance between yourself and the man following you. Even through the crowded sidewalk, you could feel his intense, threatening gaze lingering on you. His presence felt as if it were growing closer, and you used all of your willpower to stop you from turning back.

A hand grabbed your arm suddenly, and you jumped nearly out of your skin at the contact. You spun around, ready to scream when you found Matt’s familiar red gaze trained on you.

"Hey, it's alright. You're alright.” He told you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to steady the sway you felt in your knees. You tried to look past Matt, to find the man that had made you feel like prey, but he was gone. You looked upwards, doing your best to ground yourself and steady your rapid breathing. Matt felt powerless, having a front-row seat to your fear and being unable to immediately eradicate the source of it. He pulled you into a hug, but you were too overwhelmed to process it until you felt his hands rubbing lightly at your arms.

"Come on," He said, looping an arm around yours and fully guiding you down the populated path. Numb, you followed. Whether it was ten minutes or thirty, you weren't sure, but you found yourself back in Matt's apartment.

As you crossed the threshold, you pressed the forgotten muffin you had bought for him into his grasp. His features softened.

"It's a poppyseed muffin," you said, though he had not asked. He escorted you to his couch, and you promptly plopped onto it.

“Thank you," he replied. You fished through your bag and retrieved the newspaper you had swiped, tossing it onto the coffee table. You watched Matt’s brow furrow as he reached for it, his fingers skimming across the ink of the headline slowly. You watched in slight wonder as to whether or not he was able to glean any information from the text on his own.

"Fisk is going on a witch hunt,” you muttered, somehow knowing it would be enough to clue him in on the paper's contents. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense.

"He can't win this election,” Matt nodded knowingly.

"Please, don't leave again. Not alone."

"This isn't your job. To babysit me," you hated the way your voice sounded—petulant and naive. He shook his head and sat beside you.

“I’m not babysitting. I’m trying to keep someone I care about safe.” You were unsure of how to respond. You knew he would say the same thing to Karen or Foggy, but his words still struck you. You wanted to close the small distance between you and press your lips to his. You were so desperate that you felt your fingers twitch at your sides. You fought the instinct with every bit of willpower you had. The tension was effectively broken by a knock at the door.

You jumped back from Matt, almost as though you had been electrocuted.

“It’s just Foggy,” he said, in an effort to calm your obvious nerves. He rose from his position beside you and made his way to the door, undoing the chain and two deadbolts seamlessly before revealing your other boss.

"What are you doing here?” you questioned, surprised at what felt like either a terribly timed interruption or the perfect reason to put some distance between you and Matt—you weren’t sure which.

"Ouch. Good morning to you too,” he replied with a feigned pained expression, coaxing a chuckle from Matt.

"Foggy is going to hang out with you for a bit." You furrowed your brow in confusion, and Matt just smiled innocently in your direction. That's how he'd known who was at the door. He must have insisted Foggy come watch you so he could have a break.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d love to hang out with Foggy. But forcing him to come here to watch me is ridiculous.” You huffed, although you knew it was useless- like shouting into the void.

“I have some stuff I have to take care of, and I obviously can’t trust you to stay here.” He gave you a pointed expression that you did not miss and you rolled your eyes since he couldn’t see the blatant display anyway.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t have any plans today anyway,” Foggy said brightly, flashing a grin at you. You found it difficult to hang on to your anger in his presence—he was like happiness personified. Matt reached for his hoodie hanging on a coatrack by the door.

“See? Now have fun and don’t leave the apartment. I’ll be back soon.” Before you could lodge another protest his way, he was sneaking out the door, leaving you and Foggy alone.

“Listen, I don’t know exactly what’s going on. Obviously nothing good. But that doesn't mean we can't do something fun," he said as he made his way towards you, earning a weak smile.

"What did Matt tell you?" you questioned as he joined you on the couch.

"Your friend saw something he shouldn't have, you got sucked into it. Now we're hiding out." Matt didn't even tell Foggy who Peter really was. Surely, it was for his own safety, but the secrecy still surprised you slightly.

"And that's all you need to know?" He shrugged.

"I trust Matt. If there was something else I needed to know, he’d tell me.”

"Fair enough… So what do you want to do?” He thought for a moment.

“This is your safe house. What do you want to do?” You were glad he had asked, and a devious smile spread across your features. He tensed slightly.

"I think Matt has some whiskey….” Your voice trailed off as you stood from the couch and began rummaging through his kitchen.

“It’s 9:30 in the morning,” he reminded you, as though the ribbons of sunlight in the room weren’t enough.

“You said you didn’t have plans. And this is my safe house,” you repeated, reappearing beside him with a half-full handle of whiskey in one hand and two expensive-looking crystal glasses balanced in the other.

"Two... Very good points,” you set the glasses down on the coffee table, poured two generous helpings, and took your place beside him. With a resigned 'clink', he gave in and took a sip. After a slight grimace, you filled the crystals again.

"I can’t help but feel like this isn't a very good idea.” Your only reply was a shrug as you drank, letting the slight burn in your chest ground you. After an exaggerated exhale, he raised his second glass in toast. "Slainte.”

Quickly, the effects of the whiskey made themselves known. You felt flushed, but pleasantly so. At some point, Foggy had turned on the TV, and you weren't sure if he had picked the movie or if it was already on—but either way, you were watching Mamma Mia. You were impressed, and not entirely surprised, to find that he knew all the words to all the songs. He was likely too drunk to care about the blackmail he was easily supplying you, and you planned to tease him mercilessly once you were sober enough.

"God, Meryl Streep is a treasure.”

“I didn’t know you loved musicals so much.”

“Mamma Mia transcends genre.” That earned him a genuine laugh. Your uncoordinated hands reached for the bottle for a refill, only to find that it was empty. You groaned and forced yourself to your feet.

"Matt's got to have something else, right?” you muttered, heading to the kitchen to continue ransacking his mostly bare cabinets.

“He usually keeps a stash in the cabinet next to the stove. Which… kinda seems like a fire hazard,” Foggy replied thoughtfully, a snort catching in your throat.

“So where do you think he ran off to? A hot date?” You questioned, your inebriated state emboldening you. You had never discussed Matt’s love life with Foggy; you had only heard all the snarky comments he made about Matt’s usual parade of women. Foggy never failed to mention how accomplished, gorgeous and desperate for Matt they all were. You generally did your best to avoid the topic entirely to stop your from hurting your own feelings.

He made a dismissive sound that caught your attention.

“Nah. Not since he hired you," he replied in the most casual of tones, though his words stopped you in your tracks, and you turned back a little too sharply to face him.

“What?” You asked, suddenly feeling far more sober than you had been only seconds ago. You watched him realize his error in real time, mouth opening to speak but words refusing to come out. Finally, he settled on, "Nothing. I said nothing.”

“You definitely said something.”

“Oh, look! Sophie is bonding with her dads!”

“Nice try, Nelson. Did… did he say something to you?” You asked the last part tentatively, almost afraid to hear the answer. Foggy slumped back on the couch with a groan, his hands running over his face.

“This isn’t fair. You plied me with whiskey and started asking questions.” He whined, leaning against the back of the couch with his head tipped up towards the ceiling.

“Well, you broke immediately, so tell me what you know.”

“It is possible that Matt has mentioned being interested in you before.” You quickly made your way back to your spot beside him on the couch, your search for liquor long forgotten.

“When?”

“When did he first mention it, or when did he most recently mention it?” He questioned, seemingly giving up on trying to escape the conversation unscathed.

“Oh my God, both?”

“Look, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable because he’s your boss. That’s why he hasn’t said anything. We’re very professional at Nelson and Murdock.” That last part he uttered with what seemed to be genuine pride and a smug smirk.

“You accept pie for payment.”

“And you’d understand why we do if I shared.” You rolled your eyes.

"Just make a move," he said simply, offering a shrug, as though the stakes weren't insanely high for you. As you began to ask another question, he raised his hand, effectively silencing you.

“This is the best song of the movie.” You gave up on your attempt to grill him, as he had already offered you more than enough information that Matt surely wouldn't have wanted him to. You sank back into the couch, your cheeks burning from either the liquor or excitement—you couldn't be sure. You returned your attention to the musical and did your best to not imagine all the ways you could use this new information to get closer to the man that had been occupying your every thought since you first met him.

You had broken into a hidden bottle of emergency whiskey that Matt had stashed away... And finished it. You had never seen Foggy so drunk as when he loudly critiqued the ‘far inferior’ plot and ‘confusing’ casting of Mamma Mia 2.

He wasn’t wrong.

He fell asleep beside you soon after the credits rolled. You had certainly lost track of time and before long Matt was waltzing through the door.

"Looks like you guys had fun," Matt commented with an amused smile, seemingly relieved that the tension that had plagued the room when he left hours ago had long since dissipated.

“Foggy loves Mamma Mia.” You informed him.

“Marci made him go see it on Broadway a while back.” That was the context you were missing. You laughed.

“That checks out.” You answered with a slight slur, drawing a low chuckle from his chest. You couldn’t think of what else to say, so you said the one thing you knew would garner his approval.

“I didn’t leave the apartment.” You informed him, too far gone to realize that you simply wanted to hear him praise you. You tried to focus on his face as any slight movement made it appear as though there were two of him. Perhaps the second handle of whiskey wasn’t a great idea.

“So you can listen,” He teased before offering up a softer, “I’m glad you stayed.” There was a tenderness in his voice you swore you hadn't heard before- or maybe you just wanted there to be.

"What time is it?" You wondered while stretching languidly.

“Five o’clock.”

“Jeez.” You stifled a yawn.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“How does pizza sound?”

“Heavenly.” You sighed. With a smirk, Matt pulled out his phone and got to work ordering from his favorite spot a couple blocks over. You nudged Foggy once to no avail. Then once more- and he stirred, blinking slowly as the world began to steady around him.

"Holy shit,” he mumbled, his hand reaching for his forehead and smoothing back his hair that had fallen in his face. He sat up slowly and winced at the evening light filtering through the ample windows in the living room.

“I can’t drink like I used to.” He murmured.

"Matt's ordering pizza," you told him.

"I love that man."

The three of you spent the rest of the evening indulging in an excessive amount of pizza while watching old Law and Order reruns, which Foggy felt compelled to critique for their lack of accuracy. The drinks continued to flow until even Matt seemed to be drunk, and at some point, you had slumped beside him, your head resting on his shoulder while Foggy continued to judge Ice-T’s investigation techniques. Your eyelids were heavy with sleep, and if you had any sort of situational awareness left, your palms would be sweating at the gentle rise and fall of Matt’s chest beside yours.

"Someone's ready for bed," he murmured, nudging your shoulder gently. You stirred but were far too comfortable to move.

"Come on," he urged, sliding an arm under yours and helping you up.

"You're so strong," you mumbled, your filter completely gone. He chuckled softly in response, guiding you toward his room. You sleepily waved goodnight to Foggy, who watched you both with a wide but tired smile.

Matt helped you into his bed, carefully tucking the blankets around you. You sighed in contentment and blinked up at him with big, sleepy eyes as he perched beside you. Unable to stop the impulse, you reached forward and gently took his glasses, cautiously removing them to expose his hazel eyes.

You had only caught glimpses of them before, but never felt his naked gaze on you. You set them on the nightstand beside his bed and truly looked at him for what felt like the first time. He licked his lips- clearly somewhat apprehensive with the intimacy of the moment. Until you reached up and gently caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch imperceptibly, as though he was unaware that he was even doing it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you told him.

"I'm glad you're here too," he agreed, amusement evident in his expression.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. You wanted to attribute it to the alcohol, or the sudden sense of danger that seemed to permeate everything- or the fact that you had been painfully pining over him for months. There was something about him that offered comfort and a feeling of safety—a sensation you desperately wanted to cling to. He didn’t pull away. His hand tentatively reached for your cheek, holding you softly as he kissed you in return.

Suddenly, the reality of what you were doing slammed into you. You were kissing Matthew Murdock. Your boss. The subject of every fantasy that had occupied all of your lonely nights for the last six months. The reality was sobering and it had you leaning closer to him, desperate to hold onto the moment, your nose softly nudging his as the kiss deepened. His hand sunk deeper into your hair, cradling the back of your head and holding you near. It was everything you could have possibly imagined and more. You sighed against him, pure relief coursing through you to finally be so near to him. You only pulled away the moment you started to feel lightheaded, and still mentally chastized yourself for it. If that was the only chance you would ever have to feel his lips ghosting yours, his tender touch on you- you wanted to savor it.

Matt was still so close. He carefully brushed your hair behind your ear and smiled softly, but didn’t seem to be in any hurry to speak.

“I uh…” He cleared his throat. Your heart thumped almost painfully as you waited for him to continue.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He finally added.

“I… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” You felt your cheeks grow hot as doubt started to seep in. He had definitely kissed you back… right? Surely you couldn’t have imagined the way he had responded to you. The way he had parted his lips and taken more from you hadn’t been your imagination.

“No, no I don’t want you to be sorry.” He confessed gently while placing his hand on yours. He seemed to be searching for what he wanted to say next but his hesitation didn’t soothe the insecurity gnawing at your insides.

“I’ve thought about this… a few times. And the circumstances were just… a little different.” He admitted almost bashfully.

“You mean I wasn’t drunk and using your apartment as a safe house?” That earned a rumbling chuckle from his chest. You wanted to crawl inside the moment and never let it go. To pull him beside you and spend the evening curled up in his embrace, pretending that the world beyond his bedroom door didn’t exist.

“Maybe you could… sleep here. Beside me.” You suggested in the most innocent voice you could conjure, your eager heart throbbing in your ears. Genuinely, you had no intention to do anything aside from sleep. Not with the way your head was spinning from a single kiss. Anything more and you thought you may die. He pursed his lips, as though making a difficult decision.

“Well, Foggy is definitely going to crash so… looks like the couch is occupied.” You were smiling so hard your face hurt.

“I’ll get ready for bed and be back soon.” He assured you with a soft smile, and one last caress from his warm palm. You were grateful he couldn’t see the stupid/giddy expression you couldn’t contain.

You watched him exit the room and snuggled into the sheets, anticipation thrumming at your temples as you awaited his return rather impatiently. Your mind raced about what it would feel like to know his weight on the mattress beside you. The feel of the warmth that radiated off of him and glimpse the relaxed state of a man usually wound so tight he could snap.

Your mind whirled through what the evening may yet hold as you waited for him to return. Perhaps he would be brazen enough to slip an arm around you and hold you near. To put his long, strong body against yours and let you feel comforted by it.

You tried to temper your excitement as you waited but found it nearly impossible with the anticipation that seemed thick enough to choke you. You waited. And waited.

Patience was a virtue that you had very little of.

Grabbing your phone, you saw it was after midnight. Matt had surely been gone for more than thirty minutes. You didn’t want to pry, but you were quickly beginning to run out of explanations for his delay… Unless he was having second thoughts.

Your clambered out of bed on to shaky legs and wandered into the living room, half expecting to see him beside Foggy on the sofa. Your brow furrowed when you found Foggy to be alone, spread out and snoozing open-mouthed across the leather.

Matt was nowhere to be seen.

You called him.

The phone rang for what felt like an unreasonable amount of time before you heard his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Matt Murdock. I’m unavailable at this time-” You hung up and felt a wave of embarrassment flood you so thoroughly you felt nauseous and remarkably sober at the same time. Obviously, you had painfully misread the situation and overstepped- your lovesick heart and drunk brain working in tandem to humiliate you.

He had fled his own apartment for God’s sake.

Matt saw you as an inconvenient, helpless, obligation- a responsibility that his Catholic guilt forced upon him. And worse yet- you had taken advantage of his kindness and kissed him.

It took every fiber of your being not to gather the few items you had and bolt. The only thing stopping you from doing so was knowing it would only irritate Matt further. You turned and slinked back to his bedroom and prayed you were drunk enough to not remember your heartache in the morning. Still, you fell asleep praying that there was another, less catastrophic reason for his absence.

The truth behind his sudden exit was the very last thing you would have suspected.

It was Peter.

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