daredevils-stuffed

[daredevils-stuffed]

Filthiest. Mouth. Ever

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN, 1x06 | 1x08

[daredevils-stuffed]

blind instinct 0.4 | matt murdock

blind instinct masterlist | matt murdock masterlist

synopsis: when you find matt unconscious and bleeding out, your instinct is to take him to the e.r.: good instinct. when they won’t release information on his condition to anyone outside of kin, you lie and say you’re his wife: bad instinct. when matt wakes up from surgery with amnesia, believing when the doctors say you’re married, you play along to keep him safe: you don’t even know how to categorize that one.

amnesia | childhood best friends to lovers | marriage of convenience/fake marriage | slow burn | mutual pining | wc 2.5k

note: this one is a lot longer than usual and literally none of what i planned on happening (there was supposed to be a conversation with a nurse [not claire] and the return of dr. bahl. and also a psychiatrist who got moved from character to throw-away comment) happened. and all of this conversation that happened wasn't meant to; basically matt looked at my planning and smirked and said no thank you. so without further ado...

<- previous chapter

You had all fallen into different conversations, the group avoiding discussing the elephant in the room until finally Foggy can’t take it. “Alright, let’s talk,” he begins once you’re conceivably sure that Matt is asleep.

You turn from your discussion with Luke and Claire to face where he, Jessica, and Karen are standing, having had their own conversation.

“Right,” you agree, forcing a confidence you don’t feel. “Jess, you manage to find anything?”

Jessica scoffs and shakes her head. “There were cops everywhere. Even blocked people from getting in the building.”

You raise your brow. “And that stopped you?”

“No. But it made things a hell of a lot harder. By the time I got there, assailants had been taken away, most of the stuff already bagged. I’m heading back in the morning when there’s less attention. Maybe I can find something they missed.”

You frown in displeasure at that but are unsurprised. 

“Do you have any idea why they attacked Matt?” Karen asks. “You’re the only one to have been there.”

“No,” you admit, frustrated with yourself for the answer despite the fact that it was entirely out of your control. You’re aware of what she’s asking. “They were all knocked out by the time I got there, so I don’t know if they know who he is or if it was just that lawyer Matt Murdock stepped on too many toes.”

“Well, if it was the latter, why not go after me?” Foggy points out.

Luke and Claire share a look. “Maybe you’re next,” Luke suggests.

“Great,” Jessica mutters.

Karen’s expression pinches in worry. “You might want to relocate tomorrow night, stay in a hotel with Marci for a few days.”

Foggy pales and whips out his phone, already headed for the door. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”

Foggy now gone, the others turn to you. “I don’t like those expressions,” you say slowly, already nervous.

They exchange glances until finally Claire puts a hand on your shoulder. “Look, while you and Matt were talking, we were trying to figure out the best way to move forward, considering the amnesia.”

“And?” You have a very strong feeling you won’t like where this is going.

“We think it would be for the best if you… played along with the marriage thing. When he gets out, he goes to your apartment.”

You laugh.

The group, once again, exchanges looks. “Seriously,” Foggy agrees as he walks back in, halting your nervous laughter. “You can’t tell him.”

“Why not?” 

It’s Jessica who pipes up, now. “For his safety. Matt doesn’t remember being… anything, so he isn’t prepared if they’re coming after him. Until he remembers, it’s safer to keep it all a secret.”

“So we don’t mention his extracurriculars, okay. Why does he have to still be married to me, though?”

“We can keep an eye on him better that way.” Foggy again. “There’s someone with him if something happens before Jess can figure out who did this. Plus, Matt’s an idiot—what if he decides to become a vigilante again, independent of us telling him? He sure as hell didn’t tell anyone last time. This way, we’re aware.”

“What, so this is just a unilateral decision? I don’t get a say?” By their expressions, the answer to that is no. The anger drops, gives way to exhaustion, and you scrub your free hand, the one not currently tangled in Matt’s locks, over your face. It falls away, and you grimace. “I don’t like this.”

“Nor do any of us,” Karen comforts. “But you made a choice, and… moving forward, this is the best option we see.”

You see their point, really, you do. Matt is a genius but his common sense is a little… lacking, especially when it comes to himself and his health. You sigh, hand stilling in Matt’s hair as you fiddle with your grandmother’s rings between your thumb and ring finger. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Foggy parrots, not expecting the easy acquiescence.

“Only until we find out who attacked him,” you clarify, eyes narrowed, subconsciously resuming your earlier motion of running your fingers through his hair repeatedly. “Or when his memories return. Whichever happens first.”

“If his me-”

“When,” you cut in. “When, Foggy, when they return.”

Foggy looks like he’s going to further argue that point, but Claire jumps in first. “Deal.” 

“Deal,” you agree. “And Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“Find the bastards quick. Please.”

You don’t know when you fell asleep. The others had talked for a little while before heading out—first Claire, returning to work, and Luke leaving with his girlfriend before heading who knows where; then Jessica, to investigate; Foggy, to check on Marci; and Karen, to… these days, you don’t even ask.

You wake up to the sound of nurses moving around, monitors beeping. You let out a groggy grumble as you lift your head from where it was resting in the crook of your elbow by Matt’s thighs. The brightness of the room causes you to wince.

“Apologies, Mrs. Murdock,” one says. 

“‘S fine,” you manage to respond to him, embarrassed at how you look. You look at Matt, who seems a lot cleaner than when you fell asleep. “H’re y’ feeling?”

Matt chuckles. “From how you sound, I feel like I should be asking you.”

“Matt,” you reprimand, a little more awake and alert now.

His smile turns thin. “Well, I still don’t remember anything.”

“Oh.” Your stomach sinks, but you force a smile back on. It’s better for him if he doesn’t, you remind yourself. “That’s okay. Other than that? Did they let you shower?”

“Not yet. Gave me a sponge bath, though.” His smile grows more strained, obviously uncomfortable with the idea, so you reach for his hand and squeeze it for comfort.

He maintains his grip when you try to pull away, prompting you to stop. He turns your hand over in his hand, feeling over the rings. “I got you these?”

You clear your throat. “No, uh, they’re my… my grandmother’s.” You quickly change the subject. “Uh, let’s get you caught up on the major events since 2012. Uh, 2014, you quit working at L&Z and dragged Foggy along with you.” And became a masked vigilante while you were at it, you think but don’t say. “A few months later, you guys started Nelson & Murdock. You remember Karen, one of the people that stopped by yesterday?”

Matt furrows a brow, thinking. “Vaguely, I think so.”

“Yeah, she was your first client.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Framed for the murder of a coworker, then someone tried to kill her in her cell, she had a pretty rough go of it.”

“Why?”

“Found some inconsistencies in the accounts, figured out some stuff people didn’t want to know. Someone got the data to the New York Bulletin and she was acquitted. Whole company got absorbed into another corporation.”

“And continued doing the same thing, I’m guessing.”

“Got it in one.”

“What about the others that were here?”

“Well, Jessica Jones is a similar story—you met when she was framed for murder, also stole evidence, but that one was real.”

“Are my friends all just former clients?” Matt jokes, although you can tell he’s a little disconcerted at the idea.

“Well, Luke was Foggy’s client, if that helps.”

He huffs out something close to a laugh. “Not sure it does, but thanks. What about the last one? The… nurse, right? I think she came in earlier, while you were asleep. Before the psychiatrist.”

Dang. How long was I asleep for? “You met Claire when you… passed out, she’s a nurse and took you to her apartment to help fix you up.”

“Passed out? Why? And why not take me to the hospital?”

Your smile strains. “She comes from a low-income area. Not everyone can afford a hospital, and it’s not like you were conscious enough to tell her whether or not you could.”

“You dodged the first question.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Okay, then,” Matt allows. “Just… I don’t have seizures or anything, do I?”

“Nope. Just chronic stupidity that sometimes leads to you not taking care of yourself well enough to make it home without passing out.”

“...That unfortunately tracks.”

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ awkwardly. “There’s a lot of other stuff to catch up on, so, uh… what questions do you have? What’s most important to you to cover?”

A shit-eating grin forms on his face. “I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”

You gape at him, and if he weren’t injured you’d whack him with a pillow. “You can’t remember the past decade, but you can remember a line out of Much Ado About Nothing?”

“You only read it to me fifteen hundred times when you were memorizing your lines back at St. Agnes.”

“That-” you point a finger, “is not my fault. You could have left at any point.”

“And do what? Get in another fight?”

“You do seem to have a knack for that.” You gesture to his current state. “Although I must request you don’t get into any more. You wanna go to the gym, punch some bags, be my guest, but walking in and finding you bleeding out is not on my list of desired repeat experiences,” you joke.

Matt is silent for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a lot quieter. “You found me?” 

Shit. You hadn’t meant to let that slip. “...Yeah.”

“They said- I thought- When I woke, they told me you weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t,” you confirm. You search through your brain to find a way to word things so you aren’t technically lying. “I, uh, went back to my apartment. My lease ends soon, and most of my stuff is still there, hasn’t been moved to yours. I needed to grab something. But, uh…” you let out an awkward, slightly self deprecating chuckle as your breath quickens. You teeter on the edge of panic as you recount the events of the night, still traumatized by the scene, but try to maintain your composure. “Left my purse at the apartment, so I had to go back. You weren’t answering, so I freaked and broke in-”

“Wow, breaking and entering,” Matt interrupts with a joke, hand squeezing yours. To help you center yourself. You give him a brittle smile, grateful for the attempt to calm you. “Need a lawyer for that?”

“One not on bedrest, probably,” you tease, pausing to breathe. When you’re able to speak again, you give Matt a nod of thanks. “Oh, uh, by the way, you, uh, I know about the… sensitivities.”

Matt’s a little guarded at that, before forcing himself to untense. “Makes sense. We’re married, I figure I would have told you.”

“Well…” you worry your lip. “It’s not just me. Everyone in the… friend group, for lack of a better term, knows.”

“Why?”

“You’ve gotten a little more open in the past years.”

Matt scoffs. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it isn’t.” You brush a thumb back and forth across his hands. “You’ve had some… setbacks, some big mistakes, but you’ve grown a lot, Matty. You’ve gotten better at letting people in. You’re still by no means the best, but you’re better at it than you used to be.”

He’s silent for another long moment, before prompting, “So. You broke in?”

You allow him to change the subject, as he did for you before. “Yeah. Decided to follow in your delinquent footsteps.”

“Hey! I never broke the law!”

“Assault isn’t illegal any more? Battery?”

“Extenuating circumstances.” You raise a brow at his defense. “...I see your point. Touche.”

“I don’t think you see much of anything,” you tease.

Matt chuckles again, but motions for you to continue. You sigh, picking a spot on the wall to stare at. “You were- there were some other guys. Unconscious. You were in the remains of your coffee table-” here, Matt winces, probably imagining his back through said table, “and a lot of blood. I wish I could say more theirs than yours, but…”

“Hey.” It’s only when he wipes away a tear that you realize you’re crying. You sniffle slightly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice is gentle, soothing.

“I, I thought-” you choke slightly on a sob. “G-d, Matt, I thought you were gonna die on me. 911 was taking so long, and you didn’t stay awake, and you were- I was- I-”

“C’mere.” He shifts slightly, pain flashing across his features for a second before he suppresses it. 

“Matt-” You don’t want him in pain, nor do you want to 

“Please.” It’s that and his lethal puppy dog eyes that prompt you to sigh and comply, sitting on the bed and scooting closer to him. It’s nothing you haven’t done before—you grew up together, and Matt is a very tactile person, so you’ve cuddled before—but the context, pretending to be his fake wife, makes it all feel… different.

Matt wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer, but you resist when he tries to get you to lay your head on his chest. “Line drawn here.”

“Okay.” He sighs but complies. “How much have you slept?”

You check the clock. “About four hours,” you realize in surprise. Before that, you were awake for… well, a while. You had gotten to the apartment around 21:45, then there was ten minutes for the ambulance to get there and twelve minutes back to the hospital, Matt was rushed to surgery and that took about two and a half hours, and then there was another hour before you could see him. Then probably another hour and a half before you fell asleep, around 03:15, and now it’s 7:19. Combine that with having woken up at six the morning before and the trauma of the night before, and it’s no wonder you’re exhausted.

“Well, I’m tired, and you’re tired, and you feel like you have dried blood in your hair, which I now realize is mine, and I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that extends to your skin and clothes, which can’t be comfortable. So we’re going to take another nap until Foggy gets back here with whoever the other people mentioned earlier were, and then you’re going to go home and shower and change and get some food in you and come back.”

“You’re in a hospital bed, aren’t I supposed to be giving you orders?”

“I’ve got nurses for that. I’ve only got one wife, though, and I’d rather not lose her because she was so focused on me she forgot about self-care, okay?” “Mkay,” you murmur, already drowsy again, but can’t help the guilt when he says the word ‘wife’. Your last thought as you drift off again is a sad and you don’t even have that.

next chapter ->

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[daredevils-stuffed]

Charlie Cox playing an American putting on an Irish accent is amazing, but not the first of his accent-ceptions, for we should not forget when he spoke Spanish in Season 1:

But truly his greatest moment of actingception in the show is in Season 3 whenever Matt had to pretend to be sighted I've written about years ago:

I appreciate everyday that I get to witness this man work his magic in the role again ❤️

[daredevils-stuffed]

Fuck it - One Shot

You’re Matts best friend, while he grapples with the idea of being more , you are completely oblivious to his feelings.

A/N: I have a touch of writers block, used the best line out of the series so far to give me some inspiration.

I might make this into a two part.

You’re dating life is quite literally a disaster. Your latest date didn’t even last an hour before the guy just walked off. Leaving you in the street aimless.

You find yourself heading to your best friends apartment instinctively. The recounting of the date already taking place in your head. You don’t think you did anything completely offensive that would warrant abandonment in the street. Yes you talk, but chatting to people is how you get to know each other, and you were nervous so maybe you ramble on a bit more than usual.

The bitter air nipping at your legs adds to your anguish. The dress your wore was your favourite, it captured you as a person perfectly. Dates call for you to wear something that can be judged. It’s all about playing the game perfectly. The cold is making you realise that you’ve once again played and lost. Once again wasted a perfectly good weekend that could have been spent with Matt in Josies Bar. Your pace picks up when the sting in your eyes intensifies. Unsure whether you’ll making inside before the tears start to flow.

“Matt?” You call out with uncertainty, the darkness not indicating his absence. You don’t expect him to be here, he’s probably still in the office or at the bar. You kick yourself, for being selfish, for believing for once something would go in your favour, provide some much needed comfort.

You take off your shoes, not bothering to turn on the lights. Lower yourself onto the couch you pull his blanket over you. One that was purchased for nights that you stayed a listened to audiobooks together. Your inhales filled his scent, and the closest thing to comfort you can get right now. Tears free falling as your mind fills with all of anxieties about your life. Nothing can quash them now.

Matt left the bar early.

It’s not the same when you’re not there. He doesn’t really enjoy anything if you’re not there to enjoy it with him.

He’s considered many times telling you how he feels, making a move on you, but never found the right time. Always coming up with an excuse as to why it’s better to stay friends.

He doesn’t even have time to notice your presence before he hears your quiet voice fill the apartment. “I’m unlovable.” Followed by broken sobs that break his heart to hear. His keys still in his hand as he crosses the apartment floor.

“Oh” is all he says before pulling you into a hug. Matt doesn’t speak straight away, completely understanding that you being here must mean that the date did not go well. He just soothes you, running his palm gently across your back, squeezing you a little bit tighter to him. He thinks he’s found the right words to say but you beat him too it.

“I’m unlovable and… and” you sniff trying to stifle a sob. “What if I don’t have anyone because everyone finds me unattractive” you look Matt deep in his eyes, knowing that they’ll never know your face. You don’t think he’s ever experienced you like this, this vulnerable. He strokes away the tears and stares into your eyes.

Matt knows different. He’s been with you every time your date has gone awful. He’s been there when your heart gets broken. He knows what you deserve. Who you deserve. He’s spent so long convincing himself that staying your friend is enough, but standing here now, listening to you tear yourself apart, he’s not sure he can keep lying to himself.

He definitely knows that you’re attractive without ever seeing you, his vague image of you filters though his mind as he recounts Foggys description. Matt knows that you’re one of the most beautiful women he has ever known.

“You are none of those things” he shakes his head. He can’t fathom why you would ever think that of yourself.

“You don’t understand Matt! No one wants me. I must be fundamentally wrong for people.” You’ve started pacing. The anxiety and sadness rolling through you, needing an outlet. “I’m just going to be alone forever”

“You’ve got me” he murmurs. Not sure if he’s brave enough to come out and say it.

You huff out a humorless laugh “Why can’t men just be like you. Life would be so much simpler.”

His heart clenches. He weighs his options, the risk of saying what he’s held back for so long. Maybe you’re just saying this because you’re upset. Maybe you don’t really see him that way. Maybe losing you is worse than loving you from afar.

“I can’t even remember that last time I was kissed. How sad is that!”

You turn to face him, expecting him to have something, really anything, to say that will make it all better.

But he just looks at you. And the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time, or maybe like he’s been waiting for you to see him. The look makes your breath catch.

“Fuck it” he resolutes. Closing the distance between the two of you in record time.

He grabs your face pulling your lips into his.

He doesn’t think.

Doesn’t hesitate.

The second he closes the space between you, the moment his lips crash against yours, he knows-knows-this is it.

There’s no going back.

You gasp against his mouth, freezing for half a second, and that’s when it hits him.

He’s ruined it.

He let his guard slip for one moment, let his selfishness win, and now he’s going to lose you…

Then you melt into him.

And fuck, he’s done for.

Your hands bury in his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

It’s overwhelming. The way you taste, the way your breath stutters when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way you respond to him like this isn’t some mistake.

Like maybe you’ve wanted this too.

His hands skim your waist, fingertips pressing into soft fabric, resisting the urge to touch more,take more, because if he lets himself, if he gives in completely, he might not stop.

And he would never forgive himself if he scared you away.

So he slows down. Lets the kiss soften, shift into something deeper, more deliberate.

If this is the only time he ever gets to kiss you, he’s going to make it count.

By the time you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching. He can hear your pulse, rapid and uneven, matching his own.

Silence stretches between you, heavy and charged.

He should say something. Should find a way to fix whatever line he just crossed.

But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is:

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s the only thing he can give you. An out. A way to pretend this never happened.

Because if you tell him to, he will.

Even if it kills him.

“I don’t want you to.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it slams into him like a punch to the ribs.

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching against your waist, every muscle in his body fighting to stay still.

And when he leans in again, giving you time to change your mind, to take it all back.

You meet him halfway.

This kiss is different.

Softer. Deeper. Sure.

And it’s terrifying, because if you let yourself believe this could be something, if you let yourself want this then everything between you changes.

But as Matt’s hand slides up your spine, pulling you even closer, you realise,it already has.

[daredevils-stuffed]

Time

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.8k

summary: On their wedding night, (Y/n) disappears in Matt’s arms-blipped without warning. For five years, he mourns her, tormented by grief and hallucinations. When she returns, unchanged, he’s convinced she’s not real. (angst mostly with fluff ending)

warnings: angst, cussing, lack of proofreading rip, set in infinity war - endgame timeline (reader getting blipped, etc)

a/n: Listen, my boy Matt is the PERFECT practice for writing angst. I just like to put him in situations and watch him like he's in a fish tank and I'm outside tapping on the glass. This man absolutely cannot catch a break and while I am partially to blame (cause I'm writing it this time), just how Matt is written in general is in a way that it just makes sense to put him through shit. He is a walking amalgam of Catholic Guilt, adrenaline, and poor decision making and I love him so much. This one is a boatload of angst but I threw in some fluff in the ending because well, we deserve good things.

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

The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

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

five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

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

a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

And that shut her up for a minute.

[daredevils-stuffed]

As soon as Matt gets that little smirk on his face I know some shit bout to go down.

[daredevils-stuffed]

No Notes

[daredevils-stuffed]

Funny way of showing it

Matt Murdock x Reader

18+ only

Matt has a funny way of dealing with grief.

Matt has been struggling with grief. Grief of losing Foggy, grief of giving up being the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, grief over losing faith in a religion he clung to in times of need. That’s what you’re for now, you suppose. For him to cling to, whether you want him to or not. He seems to be dealing with his grief in an unconventional way. You’d rather him deal with his grief in a healthy way. Maybe see a therapist. But as always, Matt Murdock has unusual ways of doing things, and you suppose grief is no different.

“Yah know, I was in this bookshop the other day, and there was this psychotherapist there giving a talk. You could”

“Baby,” Matt cuts you off, turning toward you. His face is unreadable these days, like a book in a language you’ve forgotten how to speak. "Let’s not. I don’t need to talk to anyone."

The elevator door closes behind you and makes its way up. At least this place has an elevator, you think absently. No more climbing endless flights of stairs just to get home.

He moves closer to you, taking your face in his hands. “Matty,” you murmur. “You’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later,” but his head is already shaking.

He makes a sound deep in his throat, his lips barely touching your hairline. He breathes you in, he breathes you in like you're something holy. “Why would I do that, sweetheart?” His hands lower to your waist, nonchalantly brushing over your hips, heading straight to your ass. He nudges you to press up against the elevator wall. Your breath hitches at the unexpected closeness. “When I have you.”

This isn’t the first time Matt has avoided talking about his feelings by making moves. It is, however, the first time he has tried this outside of the apartment.

You place two hands on him, trying to slow down what Matt is trying to instigate.

Matt, on the other hand, puts two fingers to your clit, covered by a pair of spandex shorts. He slowly rubs circles and places delicate kisses to your ear. He knows exactly what to do to get you going.

“Matty,” you warn, watching as the levels of the elevator rise with each passing second. You can see yourself in the mirror so plainly, and the person in that mirror looks like she’s already given into him. “Can’t this wait until” but you’re cut off by Matt pressing the emergency stop button. Your face immediately portrays a horrified expression. “What are you…?”

But Matt just chuckles, a dark chuckle that you have been hearing a lot lately. He continues on with his fingers, slow and deliberate. “This isn’t a good idea,” you want to sound firm, to demand that he talk to you instead of using your body as a salve for his wounds, but your words were already coming out in pants.

There was nothing left to be said, nothing in this moment worth saying. Right when his lips found the perfect area on your throat, and his fingers teased you at just the right angle, your moan signified your submission.

“Good girl,” Matt, ever willing to praise good behaviour, dropped to his knees. He peels your shorts down with a maddening lack of urgency, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs.

His kisses on you become lazy, and all you could do was be patient. Wait for him to get there on his own; this was him dealing with his grief after all, and who were you to stop him? His tongue brushed against you elegantly, one long lick to set the pace, or so you thought. You’re not sure what turned you on more, the look on your own face or Matt absolutely devouring you. Your body jerks. Your head tilts back against the elevator wall. You can still see yourself in the mirror—see the way your lips part, the way your body trembles, the way Matt is utterly, completely lost in you.

He devours you like he’s starving, like this is the only way he knows how to feel alive. He sucks, licks, bites, dragging you to the edge with relentless precision. Your legs start to shake, and he has to hold you up, his grip firm on your hips.

You don’t last long.

He was a man determined, and you weren’t going to get in his way. His visceral groans were enough to send you over the edge. You knew that he enjoyed this just as much as you, maybe even more by the way that he lapped at you well after your orgasm had taken over, and your screams could probably be heard throughout the building.

Matt stood, as if he were only on his knees to tie his shoe. You pulled your shorts up, still in awe of what just happened. Matt pressed the button for the elevator to continue. He stood as one would in an elevator, giving no indication of his actions or emotions. You took another look in the mirror and decided it’s not worth trying to fix your composure now.

Matt’s face remained unreadable.

You opened your mouth—to say what, you weren’t sure—but the elevator dings, the doors sliding open.

And just like that, he stepped out.

Like nothing had happened at all.

[daredevils-stuffed]

Music

You know what mood Matt is in through the music he listens to. Music almost constantly playing in your apartment. You’ve tried to get him to play it through a smart speaker but he likes to hear the static with his records. It comforts him. He likes the ritual of cleaning and flipping the record, and always reminds you to not get your finger prints on it. You spend Sundays together at flea markets, flicking through stacks to find hidden gems. Your favourite time of day is when you’re both settling down for the evening, drinks in hand, heads resting on each other, taking in an obscure artist neither of you have heard before.

[daredevils-stuffed]

What was that sweetheart? -Oneshot

Matt Murdock x Reader

Prompt: Secrets, Lies, and well…Matt Murdock. If you’ve seen Mr & Mrs Smith. It’s kinda like that.

Tags: Closet sex. Very sexy. A little rough.

a/n: Happy Episode 3 day!!!

You smiled as you ended the call, slipping your phone back into your clutch.

"Drinks with a friend." The lie rolled off your tongue as easily as a breath.

It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Matt was always busy, always buried in cases, and he never pushed when you gave vague answers. You hated lying to him—really, you did—but it was easier this way.

If he knew what you really did when you weren’t wrapped in his sheets or tangled in lazy morning kisses, he’d never look at you the same.

Your heels clicked softly against the polished marble as you stepped into the ballroom, the air thick with expensive perfume, hushed conversations, and the quiet hum of a string quartet.

A room full of powerful people, criminals hiding in plain sight, corruption dressed in designer suits. And somewhere among them was the man you needed.

Your eyes swept the crowd as you moved toward the bar, shoulders back, chin high. Confidence was everything in places like this.

And then—

A shift.

A slow, creeping awareness slithered down your spine, sending the faintest prickle across your skin.

It wasn’t obvious. Not enough to make you stop, not enough to make you turn your head. But something in the air felt… off.

Like you were being watched.

You forced yourself to ignore it, fingers tightening around the stem of your champagne glass you acquired.

Focus.

Your target was standing near the dance floor, sipping an overpriced drink, eyes skimming over the room like he owned it.

He was older, wealthy, predictable. The kind of man who liked feeling important. The kind of man who would love being wanted by someone like you.

You took a slow sip of your drink and made your move.

The pulse of the music in the ballroom vibrated through the floor, but all you could focus on was the banker in front of you. His hand was at the small of your back, and his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in closer, almost too close for comfort, but you needed this.

You felt the familiar tension rise in your chest, the way you could almost taste the danger in the air. The man's cologne mixed with the scent of expensive champagne, but it was the distinct scent of leather and pine that made your heart skip a beat—Matt. You knew that smell better than anyone’s. But you couldn’t let an impossibility get distracted. Your target was talking, moving his lips, but all you could hear now was the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat in your ears.

The man’s hand slid lower, too low, and you tightened your grip on your glass, using the tension to keep yourself grounded. You weren’t going to let him get away with touching you like that. It was a game of seduction, a necessary evil. You leaned in and whispered softly in his ear, "Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

As the banker nodded and walked off, you gave him a knowing look. It was just a matter of time now.

——

"Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart. I’ll probably be at the office late."

The lie tasted bitter, but it left his lips effortlessly. It had to.

He hated lying to you. Hated how easy it had become. But the alternative—the truth—wasn’t an option.

If you knew what he was really doing at night, if you knew what kind of people he dealt with, what kind of violence he waded through, you wouldn’t just be angry.

You’d leave.

And Matt wasn’t ready for that.

The line clicked dead before he could linger on the guilt gnawing at his ribs. He exhaled sharply, pushing it aside as he tugged his tie loose and turned his focus back to the task at hand.

The banker.

The man he was after had a laundry list of sins, and somewhere in the depths of his corruption lay the key to bringing down a major player in Hell’s Kitchen. The plan had been simple: track him, listen, wait for the right moment to step in.

The rhythmic hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes against marble floors—Matt let the sounds wash over him, sorting through them with practiced ease.

But then he heard you.

It was subtle at first, just the faint trace of your perfume threading through the air. A scent he knew like the back of his hand, lingering on his pillows, his clothes, his skin.

It stopped him cold.

No. That’s not possible.

You were supposed to be out with a friend, drinking, laughing—safe. Not here. Not weaving through a crowd of criminals and elites like you belonged among them.

Then he heard your voice. Low, warm, laced with something dangerous. And that’s when he felt the first twinge of something ugly in his chest. Because you weren’t talking to just anyone.

No, you were talking to him. His target.

Matt's grip tightened around his glass. He forced himself to remain seated at the bar, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He had to be wrong. This had to be a coincidence.

But as he listened, as he tracked the steady rhythm of your breathing, the precise cadence of your voice—too smooth, too controlled—it became undeniable.

You were working him.

What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?

He turned his head slightly, pinpointing your location with ease. You were dancing with the target, your bodies pressed too close, the silk of your dress whispering against his suit. He could hear the way your heart maintained its steady rhythm, unbothered by the hands on your waist, by the weight of the moment.

But Matt was bothered, to say the least.

His fingers itched to move. To do something—anything. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t you. The woman he knew didn’t belong in a place like this, whispering in a criminal’s ear, making promises she had no intention of keeping.

But maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought.

Then he heard it.

"Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

No. Absolutely not.

Matt was on his feet before he could think better of it, discarding his drink as he moved through the crowd with quiet precision. He told himself it was because he needed the banker alive and he wasn’t sure what you were capable of.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

The truth was that he needed to know what the hell was going on with you.

And he needed to get to you before the banker did.

—

You could feel it coming.

The banker’s breath was warm against your skin, his hand inching higher, his body pressing just a little too close. You forced yourself to stay still, to let the moment build, to make him think he was in control.

But you were seconds away from shoving him off.

You needed him comfortable. You needed him compliant. You needed him talking.

You try not to look at him as he leans in.

His lips barely parted—

And then he collapsed.

A shocked noise left his throat as he slumped forward, the dead weight of his body falling against you before you could move. Your hands shot out, gripping his shoulders just in time to keep him from hitting the floor too hard.

Your heart stuttered. What the—

And then you saw him.

Matt.

Standing there, completely unbothered, like knocking a man unconscious was just another part of his night.

Your mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at you.

He just exhaled sharply—like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight—then reached down and slipped a USB from the banker’s pocket.

That snapped you out of it.

Your body moved on instinct. You still had a job to do.

"I’ll take that, thank you," you said smoothly, reaching for it. Staying professional. If he’s not going to say anything, you’re not either.

But Matt was faster.

His grip tightened, fingers curling around the device before you could snatch it.

You barely had time to react before he moved.

A step. A shift. A precise block as he stopped your attempt to take it.

You inhaled sharply, twisting, countering—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion, his other hand already anticipating your next move.

"Really?" Matt muttered, voice laced with frustration.

You smirked, twisting out of his hold and stepping back. "Afraid I might win, darling?"

His jaw clenched. "Not afraid. Just annoyed."

Then he struck.

It wasn’t a full-force attack—more like a dance. A game. A controlled exchange of movement as you dodged, deflected, struck, countered.

Your breath came faster, the air between you charged with something sharp and hot, something tangled between frustration and something else entirely.

Your foot hooked around his ankle—he caught himself. His grip slid up your arm, twisting you just enough to get the upper hand—

So you grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a framed photo on the desk—and threw it. At Matt. Your boyfriend.

Matt barely had time to dodge. The frame shattered against the wall behind him.

"Y’know, I needed him awake for the passwords," you snapped. Your head leaning back against his shoulder. It’s definitely Matt, not just a random clone. If it is a random clone, then they have got his smell just right.

"I have the passwords," Matt grunted as you jabbed him in the ribs.

You fought the flicker of irritation. Of course he did.

Then, suddenly—

You were locked.

Your back hit the desk, Matt pinning your wrists, his body flush against yours, his breath warm and too close. “What are you doing here” he whispers against your ear. His forehead bumping against yours with affection.

Neither of you moved.

The fight had stopped, but your pulse hadn’t slowed.

Your eyes flickered to his lips.

For a fraction of a second, you almost forgot where you were. Forgot that you weren’t tangled in his sheets, weren’t waking up to lazy morning kisses, weren’t supposed to do this here.

Your body leaned in instinctively—just like it always did when he left for work, when he whispered see you tonight, sweetheart against your lips before slipping out the door.

Matt inhaled sharply.

Then he stiffened.

"There are guards coming," he muttered, pulling you tight against him.

Shit.

Before you could react, Matt grabbed your hand, yanking you off the desk and pulling you toward the door. You didn’t have time to argue. Didn’t have time to question why your heart was still racing.

Because Matt was leading you straight out of the room—And into a storage closet. Where he promptly shut the door, pressed you back against the shelves, and exhaled like he was already regretting every choice that led him here.

You let out a breathless laugh. The door had barely shut before you twisted in his grip.

Matt was fast—always was—but you had trained for this.

Your elbow shot up, breaking his hold just enough for you to spin him around, slamming his back against the shelves instead.

A sharp exhale left him. Then a smirk curled at the edges of his lips.

"You’re enjoying this," Matt muttered.

You huffed, pressing your forearm against his chest. "Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult, Matty."

Matt tilted his head, brow arching. "I’m difficult?"

"Oh, so difficult."

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh—God forbid. Instead, he moved.

Fast.

One swift motion, and suddenly you were against the shelf again, Matt’s body crowding yours, pinning you just enough to make a point.

"You still haven’t answered my question," he murmured.

Your breath came fast. "Well you lied to me." You say with confidence, knowing full well that you also lied.

He just stares at you, not saying anything. It’s the kind of look he gets when you tell him a really stupid fact that he isn’t sure is true.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I’m here for a client."

Matt scoffed. "Really? What kind of client sends you to seduce a banker?"

You shrugged, as if you were talking about what’s for dinner.

"A very important one."

Matt’s jaw ticked.

"Try again."

You arched a brow. "Why? Not buying it, counselor?"

"Not for a second," he said flatly.

The tension in the air shifted.

Not anger.

Not hostility.

Something else.

Something warm and electric, something that hummed under your skin like a live wire, something that shouldn’t be there but was. Because no matter how irritated Matt was, no matter how much he hated the idea of you being here, you could feel the way his body responded to yours.

And you weren’t above using that to your advantage.

"Your turn," you murmured, lips brushing his ear. "Why are you here? Thought you had late nights at the office, darling."

Matt’s fingers twitched against your hip.

A hesitation.

A tell. A grin takes over your face. Matt exhaled sharply. "We aren’t the same. What we’re doing isn’t the same"

"Isn’t it?"

You leaned in, just a little.

Matt didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Your lips hovered close to his jaw, his throat. Right where he likes to feel your kisses.

Close enough that you could feel the way his breath hitched. "Seems to me like we’re in the same business, sweetheart."

"We are not in the same business," Matt growled.

"Oh, but we are," you said, fingers trailing up his chest. "Both lying. Both sneaking around. Both playing a game. Question is—"

You leaned up, lips almost brushing his. Pulling at his tie you distract him enough to grab the USB.

"Who’s going to win?"

Matt inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was hot and sharp and charged, like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. Your lips on his has never felt so good.

Matt made a noise deep in his throat, something between surprise and frustration, but he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t even try.

His hands found your waist, gripping just enough to pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangled around his tie, anchoring yourself to him, using it to drag him impossibly closer, to keep his mouth against yours as long as possible—

Until Matt broke away with a growl.

"Not fair," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked, breathless. "All’s fair in love and espionage."

Matt let out a short, almost pained laugh. "We are going to talk about this later."

"Looking forward to it," you purred. You bring him in for another kiss, this time deeper. You want him to forget why he is there. You know the perfect distraction. And you’re going to let Matt think it’s his idea.

Matt knew exactly what you were doing—trying to distract him. But he was more than willing to play along. To forget, just for a moment, why you were here in the first place.

His fingers bunch up your dress, teasing, deliberate. But he’s not gentle. Not tonight. He wants you to feel his frustration, to know just how much control he still has.

You whimper, loving every second of it as his fingers plunge into you. Desperate for more, you press your lips to his neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. But Matt’s focus is singular—to make you beg. To have you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands roam, grasping at him, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the pleasure clawing through you. He groans, his voice wrecked, his restraint slipping as you grind down on his fingers, chasing that unbearable, aching need. Gone are the slow, teasing nights—this is something raw, something reckless.

"Come for me, baby. You know you want to."

And you do. Hard. The world blurs, your name, your purpose—everything vanishing in a tidal wave of pleasure.

But you’re not done. Not even close.

You drop to your knees, ravenous, desperate to return the favor. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, but before you can take him in, his hand tightens in your hair, binding you in place. He sets the pace. You let him. You always do.

You do that thing with your tongue, the one that makes his breath stutter. The one that makes him lose himself. You want him to forget everything but you. And he does.

For a moment.

Then Matt exhales sharply, his grip in your hair tightening as he yanks you up.

"Come here," he murmurs, voice dark, dangerous.

Then he’s inside you. And there’s nothing sweet about it.

No slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, aching need.

You gasp, arching against the shelves as he thrusts into you—hard, deep, possessive.

"Fuck—" Your fingers claw at his shirt, searching for anything to hold onto.

Matt’s hands are everywhere—your hips, your throat, your wrists. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you feel every inch of him, every punishing snap of his hips.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice is a dark growl, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Wanted me to fuck you until you can’t think straight?"

You whimper, nails raking down his back.

"Wanted you to forget why you were mad at me," you admit, smirking even as your body trembles under his.

Matt grunts, his fingers wrapping around your throat—not to cut off your air, just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to remind you that you’re his.

"Oh, I haven’t forgotten," he murmurs, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down at your pulse. "But I’ll deal with that later. Right now—"

He slams into you again, harder, sharper, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Right now, you’re mine."

Your thighs shake as you grind against him, pleasure coiling tight, blinding. Matt knows. He can feel it.

"Come on, baby," he rasps, voice wrecked, grip tightening on your hips. "Let go for me. Let me feel it."

And that’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, white-hot pleasure consuming you whole. You shatter around him, gasping his name, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Matt groans, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat-slick skin. The air thick with sex and something else—something dangerous.

Then Matt chuckles—low, dark, smug.

"You still think you’re winning, sweetheart?"

You grin, breathless, lips brushing against his ear.

"I stole the USB five minutes ago."

Matt stills.

Then he laughs.

It’s not amused.

It’s not surprised.

It’s infuriated.

And it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing exactly where you're still sensitive.

"You really wanna play that game with me, baby?" His voice is a promise. A warning.

You smirk, tilting your head. "Oh, darling, I’m counting on it."

Matt hums, his lips grazing yours, his grip tightening.

"Then let’s see who breaks first."

[daredevils-stuffed]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN (2025-?) 1.01 | Heaven’s Half Hour

[daredevils-stuffed]

He did ask nicely

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN Season 1 | Episode 01 | Heaven’s Half Hour

[daredevils-stuffed]

How is it I can write a 3000+ word detailed smut filled story in less than a day. But struggle with my history assignments.

[daredevils-stuffed]

One Shot - Help a Girl Out

Matt is sick of hearing how you’ve been unable to cum. From men and on your own. So, he takes it into his own hands.

Relationship: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: boss/ employee vibes kinda not really. There is an actual like story, not just smut. But, Smut. A little kinky if you squint. He counts your orgasms. Office sex.

•••

Authors note: Happy Daredevil: Born Again Eve to those who celebrate. Very excited for tomorrow.

•••

The first time Matt hears of your issues. It’s early on a Monday morning.

Matt first learned about your issue on his way into the office.

He doesn’t mean to listen—doesn’t want to listen—but the moment your voice filters through the air, he can’t stop himself.

You’re perched on the edge of Karen’s desk, your morning coffee barely making a dent in your exhaustion. It had been a long night, and Karen needs to hear all about it to make yourself feel better.

“So,” you sigh dramatically, “I don’t think he was confident enough to use anything other than his hands. It was like I was his guinea pig. Just kinda laying there pretending to moan, pretending to feel something.”

Karen pouts back at you, understanding your predicament like most women would. “Oof, that is bad. At what point did you call it?”

“When he kept trying to make eye contact with me…from down there, it gave off weird vibes. So, I just patted him on his head and got up.”

“You did not!”

You groan up at the ceiling, covering your face with your hands. “It gets worse…after he left, I tried to help myself -yah know. And nothing.”

“I think you might be cursed.” Karen has already given you all the advice she could. What helped for her, what didn’t, even which brands of lube that might help. But nothing. Literally nothing has helped.

“Yeah, no shit! I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels to have my own mind blowing, out of this world, orga- “

You stop dead.

The weight of your stare pressing against him even though he can’t see it. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he enters the room.

You quickly shoot a look to Karen who just smirks.

“Morning Matt” you both chime, dripping with innocence.

He grumbles a response not really stopping to interact with you. His mind running a mile a minute. Have you never had an orgasm? Maybe I could help?

Matt doesn’t know why that gets under his skin as much as it does. But it does.

He drops into his chair, flexing his hands at his sides. Your voice is still there, looping in his head, and it shouldn’t be this distracting.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…mind-blowing, out-of-this-world…

Christ.

He doesn’t need this. He’s had a hell of a week already—barely any sleep, too many cases piling up, and now? Now he’s going to spend the rest of the day haunted by the mental image of you—spread out, breathless, wanting.

Matt knew the dynamic between you went beyond friendly colleagues. There had always been something there, an unspoken tension simmering beneath every playful jab, every stolen glance. But he had never taken it seriously.

That changes now.

He moves before he can stop himself, heading to the office kitchen. Two cups of coffee—one for him, one for you. It’s a rare gesture, but he knows you’ll appreciate it.

“For you.” He grunts shoving a mug towards you. Your fingers brush his as you take it. Matt lingers for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes boring into yours intensely. The telepathic message he’s sending not quite reaching you.

Just when you think he is going to say something his lips smack closed and he’s walking away.

The words I can help lost in his throat. Matt scowls at himself for chickening out. He couldn’t embarrass you like that. It really is none of his business.

All you notice however, is how his fingers are flexing at his side, as if your quick brush has stung him. The gesture of coffee confuses you, but you’re too distracted by his hands. You picture what they can do for you, take you to an edge you’ve never experienced before.

“Well, I don’t get coffee like that” Karen snides from her side of the room. You flush and hide behind your stack of papers. You take a sip and hum. It’s just how you like it, Matt always knows how you like things.

Matt spends the rest of the morning trying—and failing—to focus.

The sound of the office hums around him, phones ringing, papers shuffling, the steady rhythm of keyboards clacking. But all he can hear is you. Your voice, looping in his head, the way you sighed when you talked about last night, the frustration laced in every word.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…

His fingers twitch against the edge of his desk. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t want to care.

But he does.

And that’s the problem.

By the time lunch rolls around, he needs space. Needs air. Needs to clear his head before he does something stupid.

Because the last thing he wants is to come off as some arrogant asshole who thinks he has all the answers. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s just like every other guy who assumes he knows what you need.

Even if, deep down, he’s pretty damn sure he does.

The thought twists in his gut as he heads back to the office, rehearsing ways to make a move that don’t end with him humiliating himself—or worse, pushing you away.

But the moment he steps inside, ready to test the waters, Foggy’s voice cuts through the air.

“…I know he knows what he’s doing.”

Matt stops. Freezes mid-step on the stairs.

He’s on about a blind date.

Someone else.

Someone else touching you. Someone else making you laugh, making you moan. Someone else failing you.

Whilst Matt was out Foggy took the opportunity to swoop in, grinning as he flops into the chair across from you. Getting you to spill all the details from last night.

You skim over the basics—the guy took you to a nice restaurant, knew how to flirt, wasn’t exactly your usual type but still tried. Foggy questioned if you managed to get off, which shocked you. You knew you hadn’t told him, which means Karen must have.

The snap of Matt’s jaw tightening echoes in his ears.

He doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t register the way his fingers crush the takeout bag in his grip, barely even feels the splintering pressure of his cane beneath his palm.

All he knows is that when he speaks, his voice is sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, can you please leave our paralegal alone to get on with her work?”

Silence.

He’s standing in the doorway now, Foggy blinking at him in surprise, you stare at him like you’re trying to read him. Like you can feel the heat radiating off of him from across the room.

Matt clenches his jaw, forces himself to move, to breathe. Forces himself to walk away before he does something reckless.

It’s not my problem. It’s none of my damn business.

But the thought of anyone else fixing this for you—that is what has his stomach twisting. That is what has his grip tightening around his cane until he’s sure the wood is about to crack.

I know what I’m doing.

Your pulse, however, is unsteady as you turn back to your desk, your mind is spinning.

Matt never snaps like that—not over you.

And yet, the frustration in his voice, the heat behind it, the way he stormed off like Foggy had just personally offended him—

You swallow hard.

No. No, you must be imagining things. Reading too much into it.

But then some time later, as you return from the bathroom, you pause. Confusion flickers across your face as you spot something on your desk—a plate, half a sandwich, some chips.

You glance around, questioning, until Karen gives you a knowing smirk, tilting her head toward Matt’s office.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t acknowledge what he’s done.

•••

It’s late. The office is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the low hum of Matt’s computer. Everyone has gone, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space. You’ve been pretending to focus on paperwork, but your mind has been elsewhere- on the weight of Matt’s presence, on the way he looks in the glow of his screen, his jaw tight with unspoken tension.

Matt, with headphones in, is distracted. He’s thinking about you, like he has been all day. Thinking about the way you might touch yourself when no one is watching. About how much he wants to be the one touching you instead.

The thought takes hold, creeping into his veins like wildfire. His hand drifts lower, pal, pressing over the hardness straining against his slacks. He exhales sharply, his mind flooding with images - your skirt bunched around your waist, your body arching against his, the breathless sound of your moans as he drives you over the edge. His fingers tighten. He’s losing himself in it, lost in the fantasy of you, of having you, of making you his.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

You stop in your tracks, eyes widening at the sight before you - Matt, head tilted back against his chair, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his hand gripping himself through his trousers. A bead of sweat slides down his temple. Your name spills from his lips in a quiet, desperate murmur.

Heat coils in your stomach.

You should walk away. Pretend you never saw. But you don’t.

Instead, you step closer.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr Murdock?”

His body goes rid His body goes rigid. His eyes snap open, unfocused but sharp, as if he can feel your presence more than see it. His breath is unsteady, his arousal still evident, straining against the dark fabric of his slacks.

It takes him a moment to speak. "You’ve done this to me," he rasps, voice rough, edged with frustration. "Drove me to this. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day."

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. You take your time, stepping between his spread legs, savouring the way his breath hitches. You step closer, the air between you electric. His hands clench at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into his lap and grind against you until you’re just as desperate as he is.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he confesses, voice tight with restraint. “Every look. Every word. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hum, tilting your head as if considering his words. “And what exactly have I done, Mr. Murdock?”

His jaw tightens. He’s unraveling, restraint slipping through his fingers like sand. You see it in the way his breathing turns ragged, in the way his control—so carefully maintained—is fracturing before you.

“You already know,” he growls.

Your hands brush along the armrests of his chair, caging him in, your body close enough that he can feel your warmth. His fingers twitch, aching to touch.

“You’ve spent all day thinking about me?” you murmur. “Thinking about what you’d do if I let you?”

His control snaps.

One hand grips your waist, dragging you onto his lap in a fluid motion. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head so your lips are a breath away from his.

“Say the word,” he rasps, mouth ghosting over your skin, teasing, tormenting. “Say the word, and I’ll show you exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”

Heat coils in your stomach. His fingers dig into your hips, firm and possessive, as if grounding himself.

“Then show me,” you whisper.

It’s all the permission he needs.

In a blur, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and his mouth is on you—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, each one laced with the promise of what’s to come. His hands roam your thighs, spreading you open, savouring every inch of exposed skin like it’s something sacred.

"You smell incredible," he murmurs against your lips, voice reverent, like he’s memorising every piece of you. His touch is maddening—just enough to make you shiver, but not enough to satisfy the ache burning between your legs.

He lowers himself to his knees pulling you to the edge of the desk. Bringing one of your legs over his shoulder, placing gentle kisses until he reaches your centre.

His breath hitches as he finally—finally—tastes you. A low groan vibrates through his chest as his tongue drags over you, slow and deliberate. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, anchoring him there.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against you, voice thick with reverence. “You taste even better than I could ever imagine.”

His tongue moves in long, languid strokes, teasing, savouring, drinking in every sound you make. His grip tightens when your hips jerk against his mouth, an unspoken command to stay still.

But he’s not done teasing you. Not yet.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” His voice is low, gravelly, sending shivers through you. “Going to do exactly what I say?”

You can barely form words, nodding, breathless.

“Good.”

And then he ruins you.

His tongue works you over with practiced precision—each flick, each stroke designed to drive you higher. Your body trembles, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as pleasure coils tighter, hotter.

“You like this, sweetheart?” he taunts, voice dark and full of promise. “Like knowing how fucking desperate I’ve been for you?”

You moan, back arching, legs trembling as you lose yourself in him. He keeps going—pushing you closer, dragging it out until the pleasure is unbearable. It’s almost a pain mixed with white hot pleasure. You beg for more. For it not to stop. It can’t stop. You grip Matts hair to be sure it doesn’t. He sucks on a spot that makes you want to scream. Or maybe you are. It’s all too much and you need it. And then you reach a point where it is too much, and your eyes squeeze close and your thighs shake.

And then—release.

You shatter, thighs tightening around his head, a strangled cry escaping your lips. He groans against you, lapping up every last tremor, drawing out every aftershock until your entire body is shaking.

And still—he’s not finished.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s pulling you into his lap, large hands tracing slow, grounding patterns along your abdomen. The fabric of his slacks is rough against your oversensitive skin, the hard press of him impossible to ignore.

"That’s one," he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple.

You barely register the words before his fingers are sliding back between your legs—tracing, teasing, pushing inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your body jolts, oversensitive, but Matt doesn’t stop.

“We’re not done yet, darling.”

You grind against him instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His head tips back, jaw clenched, as you roll your hips over him.

"Fuck," he grits out, hands gripping you tighter. "You're going to kill me."

His fingers curl inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy. His breath is hot against your ear, murmuring filth that makes your toes curl, your body tightening once again.

It doesn’t take long until your second orgasm hits like a freight train. "That’s two."

And then he’s standing, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and bending you over the desk.

Your cheek presses against the cool wood, the contrast to his burning heat making you shudder. Light brushes against your shoulder blades as he moves your hair aside, placing slow, reverent kisses down the curve of your neck.

"You have no idea how perfect you are like this," he groans, his hands steadying you, grounding you. "Falling apart for me. Letting me take what I want. You deserve to feel it all."

Your mind is blank—no, not blank, just utterly consumed by him.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His touch is slow as it glides down your spine, teasing, taunting.

You barely manage a nod.

He chuckles darkly. “Think you can take one more?”

A whimper is all you can offer.

"That's what I thought."

And then he’s inside you.

The stretch is exquisite, overwhelming, a perfect contradiction of pleasure and desperation. He gives you a moment to adjust—to feel every inch of him, to let the sensation take you over.

And then he moves.

Deep, unrelenting strokes, each one angled to wring more from you, to keep you right on that edge where pleasure and pain blur into something devastating.

"So tight," he groans. "So fucking perfect for me."

He fists a hand in your hair and pulls you up, your back flush against his chest. The movement is purposeful—possessive. His free hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the way you gasp for him.

You’re babbling, incoherent, barely able to hold yourself together. And Matt loves it.

His rhythm falters, hips stuttering as the pleasure consumes him. "Fuck," he hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You’re going to make me—"

Your body clenches around him, and that’s all it takes.

He groans your name into your neck, the sound raw and wrecked as he tumbles over the edge, heat spilling inside you. His hold on you tightens as he rides it out, dragging you with him, until the only sound in the room is your ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your hearts.

And still, he doesn’t let you go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you firm against him, his breath still ragged against your ear. His hands, once gripping with desperation, now trace slow, grounding circles over your skin. Neither of you speaks for a moment—just the sound of your heartbeats, the slow rise and fall of your chests in sync.

Then, finally, Matt exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. His fingers slide down to your waist, squeezing gently, almost reassuringly.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, softer, a stark contrast to how he had just wrecked you.

You hum, too blissed out to form words. He chuckles, the sound warm and satisfied, and the vibration of it sends a pleasant aftershock through you.

For a while, you just stay like that, his body still pressed against yours, neither of you willing to move just yet. He runs a hand up your spine, then down again, like he’s memorising every dip, every curve, every shiver you give him.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls back just enough to let you turn in his arms. His face is unreadable, but there’s something intense lingering behind his expression. Something possessive, something tender.

His fingers ghost along your jaw, tilting your chin up. He studies you, like he’s committing this exact moment to memory.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, dazed, still trying to process everything. A small, breathless laugh escapes you, and he grins, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

A beat of silence stretches between you. The weight of everything settles in the air—what just happened, what it means, where it leaves you both.

And then, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“So…” he murmurs, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “Still convinced you’ll never know what a mind-blowing orgasm feels like?”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you swat weakly at his chest. “Shut up, Murdock.”

He laughs, catching your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Just making sure you’re keeping count,” he teases. His lips trail down, ghosting along your collarbone, dangerously close to starting something all over again.

You arch a brow at him, trying to feign exasperation, but you already know the truth.

You’ll never be able to get enough of him. From the look in his eyes, he feels the same. And that? That might just be the most dangerous thing of all.

[daredevils-stuffed]

Tell Me What You See

I haven't wrote smutty fanfics in about 4 years so please be kind. Send me a request or prompt for Matt/Daredevil and I will give it a go.

Character: Matt Murdock (Daredevil)

Relationship: Matt x Reader

Warnings: smutt, +18, blink and you'll misd it choking, praise kink bc Matt 100%has a praise kink. I wrote this at 3am

Prompt: I saw a post on here about how Matt would make reader fuck in front of a mirror and couldn't get it out of my head soo... Claim credit bc I can't find original post Edit:credit to @waspswidows

Summary :Matt wants to hear how you see yourself while you get fucked.

Gif credited

"Now tell me what you see" his gruff voice reminds you.

"Hmm my nipples, they're uhh getting hard at your touch, they uhm" you inhale deeply "They perk up just for you." It comes out in embarrassed whispers. He picks at them playfully as you mention them, making you and your nipples react in the way he loves. Although he can't see you, it's almost as if Matt is taking in your full naked form on display through the floor length mirror. As you adjust yourself on your knees you question how you ended up agreeing to this, but Matt pinches your left nipple hard pulling you back to real time.

"Good girl, what else?" Matt leans in and starts kissing along your neck, hands slowly travelling down your torso, teeth pulling at your lobe. His touch sets you ablaze knowing that you will have to describe every painstakingly intimate detail for him, just because he wants you too.

Your thoughts turn to what he could possibly do to you, show you how your body responds to him in front of your eyes. Your thighs clamp closer, deceiving you infront of matt.

"What else my darling, just because my eyes don't lay upon you doesn’t mean I'm clueless as to how your body works." You hum, letting him continue his ventures on your neck.

"My thighs, I'm squeezing them together, I'm thinking of all the possible ways you could fuck me" You mewl to him through the mirror, eyes following his hands as he wedges them between your thighs prying them open. The smirk on his lips sends a prickle of heat through you, his eyes are masked with pure desire glazed with a need only for you.

His own nakedness now giving him away as his erection presses hard against your back, Matt's name releases from your lips in flurries willing him to carry on.

Callus fingers bore between your dewy folds. You tell him how wet you are for him but it doesn't sound like it's coming from your mouth. You'd never be so openly vulgar, but here you are telling Matt that he's touching your clit in the most perfect way. He continues manipulating your folds, deepening his fingers as he bucks against your back, his breath erotically heavy. "You're doing so well"

Wisps of hair get in the way, falling forward as your forehead touches the mirror. You don't move them, you just watch Matt's hands and mouth at work through the reflection as his fingers dance intricately to tease you further. You let out a low whine when your senses are overridden with every touch Matt places, his mouth on your earlobe again, his torso sticking to your back, his knee digging into the sides of your legs.

"My hips - grinding -your fingers -go faster." It was getting impossibly hard for you to form a sentence. His reply was along the lines of how you were being so good for him, that you had no clue what those words were doing to him.

Cupping your sex Matt pulls you high on your knees pushing you to support yourself against the mirror, his abs peeling themselves off your back. That in itself somehow turns you on, the thought of him being so close to you he had to peel himself away, you clench the air with lustful need. Your breasts now squashed against the cold mirror, you didn't attempt to describe the position you were in to him. There were no words you knew that could begin to describe just how your body contorted for him.

Matt never wants this to end. He loves seeing what he can get you to do for him, he loves to test your limits. "I love it when you speak your filthy perfect words". He senses the mirror fogging up from your heat and it hurries him to continue.

He lines himself, teasing your folds one last time before entering you slowly, it takes everything in you not to let out a guttural scream of satisfaction. Matt hums knowing what you're holding back, but then stops and waits, leaving moments to pass before speaking "What's happening to your beautiful body now?"

Your mouth forms an oh shape in astonishment. "No Matt please, please" you squeak as you try to move on him. "I can’t-"

A treacherous hand finds its way around your neck. "You've been such a good girl so far, can your impure mind let me know what it thinks" Matt's incandescent smirk is there, will his words on.

The only way you can get what you want from Matt right now is if you give him what he wants, what he yearns to hear. Your thighs start to quiver as the vigor moves on his cock starts to lead you somewhere, all while revealing what you've always wanted to say.

"Hmm, I love the way your cock is getting me so close, so close Baby. You make me feel so good Matt. You're uh you're-" clawing at the mirror you try every which way to get grip as your pace picks up.

"Tell me baby come on" Matt's grip on your hips tells you he's just as close as you.

"You're making my toes curl, you're gunna make me Omg, I can feel myself. Oh. I think I'm gunna."

Matt moans allowed loving the vocal-visual announcement of your orgasm. His eyes scrunch tight as he takes his final movements with speed. Trying with everything in his power to relive your moans in his head until he comes.

He pulls you off his and settles you between his legs, both of your knees now red raw and sore. He gathers your wild hair and pulls it to your back, guiding your shoulders into him. He lays his forehead against your back kissing it every so often.

"I'm never washing that mirror, you can see the outline of your boobs so perfectly" He chuckles, you too exhausted to respond just roll your eyes.

[daredevils-stuffed]

Tell Me

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: “Why? Why do you love me?”

Warnings/tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, almost breakup

Summary: Matt has been acting cold for the past couple of weeks–ever since you told him you loved him.

a/n: Of course Matt was the first one who came to my mind for this prompt. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

“We’re done,” Matt stated. “That’s it. I can’t do this any longer.”

A thick and palpable tension hung in the air at Matt’s words, a heaviness so pervasive that you didn't need his heightened senses to feel it filling the apartment. Standing beside the leather couch, your arms tightly wrapped around yourself as if they alone were the only thing holding you together. Heart pounding rapidly inside of your chest, it felt close to bursting straight out if you dared to move your arms even an inch. 

Across the room, Matt stood in front of the large living room windows with his back turned to you. The light from the billboard across the street washed the front of him in a dark crimson, casting looming shadows along his tense and rigid form. His hands were situated on his hips, fingers digging so sharply into his dress pants that they were pulling the fabric even more taut around his waist. Everything about his posture–from his clenched jaw to his squared shoulders–felt as if he was intentionally shutting you out as well as keeping a physical distance between the pair of you.

This is it, you thought. This is where he finally tries to push me away.

You’d known Matt for a while now. Long enough to know how he operated when things became just a bit too much for him or if someone grew a bit too close. Over time you’d slowly learned the signs of when he’d start to close himself off, beginning to read him sometimes better than he thought he could even read you. 

It had been ten months since you’d met Matt while working on an article for The Bulletin. You’d interviewed him about a case that his firm had won and the pair of you had steadily and easily grown closer together after that initial encounter. Neither of you had been able to stay away from the other. You’d long since been past the point of just dating and occasionally sleeping together–you’d been an official couple for months now. You had clothing hanging in his closet and you knew exactly where he stored the red Daredevil suit that he donned most evenings. You knew about his past from the many late nights he'd opened up to you either after a rough patrol as the Devil or a case he was particularly fired up over.

But lately Matt had started to become prickly around you. Constantly on edge. Canceling dates and intentionally trying to avoid you. He was often gone in the mornings the few times you’d stayed over at his apartment, not even giving you his usual goodbye kiss before he left. He hadn’t invited you over as frequently either because most nights now he told you that he planned to stay late at the office before running out to deal with one thing or another as Daredevil. 

This had all started just over two weeks ago. Right around the time you’d first told him you loved him. He’d seemed off that night, too. You remembered how he’d suddenly grown quiet in bed, his expression shifting to something impossible to read as he almost immediately shut you out. You’d assured him that you hadn’t expected him to say it back in the moment–and you’d meant that. You knew he’d heard the truth in the firm beat of your heart. Because you loved Matt. You knew him opening his heart up to let someone in was not something he did easily, and you were prepared to continue proving to him that you weren’t about to disappear from his life like he seemed to secretly fear.

You’d long since wondered if his sudden coldness was some sort of a test, one he himself wasn’t even aware he was putting you through. As if he expected you to leave at the first sign of difficulty in the relationship which had otherwise been fairly smooth. You’d always encouraged open communication between you both–something else you were aware he struggled with–but you’d always been patient and understanding with him, which was what you’d tried to be over these past couple of weeks.

Until this very moment. Because right now you did not fully understand why Matt had just told you that he couldn’t continue the relationship anymore. You could feel the tears building in your eyes as you stared at the back of his navy blue dress shirt, your eyes fixed on the wrinkles that formed throughout his work day. In your chest, you could feel your heart teetering on the verge of shattering, ready to break into pieces with only a few more words from his mouth. You found yourself wondering if Matt would be able to hear your heart break.

But you didn't want to let him go without a fight. You didn’t want to lose him. You loved him far too much to let him self-sabotage the relationship you'd both created and poured yourselves into over the past few months without even trying to get through to him first.

“There’s no way you mean any of that, Matt,” you told him, shaking your head and ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

His head snapped to the side when you'd finally spoken, the sharp angle of his profile swathed in red just over the top of his broad shoulder. His jaw was set firm, but even in the light from the billboard you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

“And what makes you think that?” he asked, a rough edge to his words.

“Because,” you answered, taking a small, hesitant step towards him and noticing the way he flinched. “I know you. I think you’re just trying to hurt me to avoid the perceived hurt you think is bound to happen if you continue getting close to me. Growing comfortable in our relationship. Because you think I’m going to leave you. You think it's inevitable.”

The muscle jumped in Matt's cheek again, the only movement you caught on his otherwise immobile body. Pressing your lips together, you tried to fight the way they'd begun to quiver. In this moment, it felt more like you were approaching a feral cat than a grown man–a feeling you'd experienced a few times with Matt in the past. And you knew right now that if you showed him any sign of weakness he'd pounce on it.

“You're scared,” you continued slowly, taking another cautious step towards him. “I think you're terrified of how great things have been between us. I think you feel as if you don't deserve the happiness I've seen written on your face when we're together.”

Something like an agitated growl rumbled in his chest at your words. Not exactly a noise of disagreement, but also not exactly the sound of a warning. It sounded more alarmed than anything, which had you feeling more confident that you'd just struck the exact problem he'd created in his mind.

“But you're wrong,” you assured him firmly. “You deserve love and happiness, Matthew. And I intend to be here with you. I will happily spend every day right by your side helping you until you see it for yourself.”

You took another cautious and careful step towards him, but you stopped moving the second you saw his lip curl back into something like a snarl. You could see his eyes narrow at you even behind the lenses of his red glasses just before he spoke.

“Why?” he growled. “Tell me why.”

Swallowing hard, your hands nervously curled up inside the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “Why what?” you whispered.

“Why do you love me?” he demanded. “Why? How could you possibly love me?”

Freezing on the spot as your breath hitched, confusion briefly washed over you. Despite having now learned his strange behavior had indeed been brought about by you saying that you loved him for the first time weeks ago, it had taken you entirely off guard that he'd wanted an actual explanation as to why you did. But then again, that really shouldn't have surprised you quite so much considering you knew just how unlovable he thought he was. And you weren’t going to let an opportunity to tell him how you really felt slip between your fingers. 

“Because you have the biggest heart I've ever seen, Matthew,” you began softly, emotion thick in your voice. “You keep it buried deep in your chest, hiding it from everyone, but I see it. Every time you come home with another banana bread or casserole dish and an excited story about how you helped someone in this city who'd otherwise have been looked over because they couldn’t afford good legal representation. I see it when you come home late at night bruised, exhausted, and bleeding but grinning in triumph as you tell me who you saved. I see it whenever you just simply look at me.”

The snarl that had initially curled his lips back gradually slipped off of his face while you'd been speaking, the hard lines of his body slowly beginning to soften. He didn't speak, but his shift in body language had given you some hope back. Hope that you could get through to him.

“And I'm not bothered by how much of yourself you give to this city,” you continued, once more carefully closing the space between you both as you slowly lowered your arms to your sides. “I admire you for it, Matthew. Ever since you told me the truth. I've never disliked that part of you. I’ve never taken issue with it. I’ve never been afraid of you. That part of you has only made me admire you more. Love you more.”

You were standing a few feet away from him now, able to see the faint tremble of his lips with how close you were. Everything you were saying was having an effect on him so you continued, hoping your words would start to sink in. Even just a little.

“And it's not just that I admire that big, beautiful heart in your chest,” you told him, “but I admire that big, beautiful brain in that handsome head of yours.” You paused, smiling a little back at him. “I think you're incredibly smart and brilliant, Matt. In and out of the courtroom. You're fiercely passionate about justice no matter the cost to yourself–whether it's sleepless nights out on the rooftops or hours pouring over files here at your apartment. And you're funny when you let yourself stop being so broody most days,” you said, your small smile growing a bit more on your lips as a tear slipped down your cheek. “You brighten my days more than you know, Matty. Always helping me to find the light in the darkness when I think there isn't any. Seeing the good in everyone…except for yourself.”

Reaching up, you wiped away another stray tear that had raced down your cheek with the back of your hand. Matt sniffled quietly, his shoulders sagging as he finally and hesitantly turned towards you. His hands had fallen from his hips, hanging at his sides as his fingers twitched.

“Do you really want me to go?” you whispered, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Because I–I can take my things and leave if that's what you really want, Matt. I can walk out that door and leave you alone.”

Matt shook his head firmly, his mouth visibly trembling at your words. Tears had managed to slide their way beneath his glasses, trailing their way down his cheeks. The sight had your own tears falling faster as he timidly approached you, closing the small bit of distance that remained. 

“No,” he breathed out. “No, I don't really want that.”

Feeling a flood of relief, you reached out and wrapped your arms around his waist. Drawing himself the rest of the way into the front of you, Matt immediately buried his face directly against your neck. You could feel a dampness forming on your skin from his tears, the feeling only causing you to hold him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into your skin. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go. I didn’t mean it. I’m just–just–”

Turning your head, you buried your face into his hair as your hands began rubbing light and soothing patterns over his back while he struggled to find the words he wanted. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you breathed in that warm, rich scent that was always uniquely Matt. With his warm body wrapped around you, your once rapidly beating heart began slowing back to a normal rhythm.

“I know,” you murmured back, lips brushing his hair as you spoke. “I know you didn’t mean it, Matty. Relationships are scary,” you told him. “Giving someone so much of yourself is terrifying, I get it. But I love you and I don’t want to leave you. I’m not going to leave you.”

With his face still buried against your throat, you felt his features screw up against your skin before another rush of Matt’s warm, wet tears began to slide down your neck. Your hands fisted his dress shirt, holding him even tighter to the front of yourself as he cried. You didn’t need him to explain why he’d suddenly begun to weep because you’d already known the answer. He’d heard the truth in your explanation for why you loved him as you’d spoken them aloud. The same unwavering truth that was always present in your words. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin. “And I don’t think I could ever stop.”

A smile pulled your lips upwards, tears burning at your eyes for an entirely different reason now. You pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of his head as a warm rush of emotion filled you at hearing him finally say those three little words back to you.

“I love you, too, Matty,” you whispered. “And I don’t ever want to stop.”

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler

[daredevils-stuffed]

List of Installments for Falling For the Devil

Warnings/tags: 18+; series contains lots of smut, fluff, angst, humor

Summary: This is a very long series/collection of one-shots about a nervous/awkward journalist Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock. Meant to feel like a realistic look into dating Matthew Murdock and all the sweet, vulnerable, sexy, and dark sides that come with him. Reader also gradually gains more confidence in and out of the bedroom as the relationship progresses.

List of Installments

Part One: "The Night You Met"

Part Two: "The One-Sided Pining"

Part Three: "The Time Daredevil Saved You"

Part Four: "The Night You Almost Kissed"

Part Five: "The Wedding Day"

Part Six: "The Wedding Night"

Part Seven: "The Post-Wedding Brunch"

Part Eight: "The First Date"

Part Nine: "The Pool Game"

Part Ten: "The Growing Insecurity"

Part Eleven: "The Night Together"

Part Twelve: "The Week You Tried to Avoid Matt"

Part Thirteen: "The First Time He Walked You Home"

Part Fourteen: "The Time Matt Got Jealous"

Part Fifteen: "The Vulnerable Side of Matt"

Part Sixteen: "The Time You Saved Daredevil"

Part Seventeen: "The Revelation in the Rain"

Part Eighteen: "The Visit to Fogwell's"

Part Nineteen: "The Time You Almost Told Him"

Part Twenty: "The 'I Told You So'"

Part Twenty-One: "The Time You Did Tell Him"

Part Twenty-Two: "The Night You Couldn't Sleep"

Part Twenty-Three: "The Day of Phone Tag"

Part Twenty-Four: "The Devil and the Baker"

Part Twenty-Five: "The Leather Couch"

Part Twenty-Six: "The Big Win"

Part Twenty-Seven: "The Grocery Run"

Part Twenty-Eight: "The Early Morning Wake Up"

Part Twenty-Nine: "The Questions Over Coffee"

Part Thirty: "The Introduction at Clinton Church"

Part Thirty-One: "The Flight to Chicago"

Part Thirty-Two: "The Night He Couldn't Sleep"

Part Thirty-Three: "The Thanksgiving Dinner"

Part Thirty-Four: "The Ex Encounter"

Part Thirty-Five: "The Very Bad Day"

Part Thirty-Six: "The Cozy Night In"

Part Thirty-Seven: "The Bad Dream"

Part Thirty-Eight: "The Black Suit"

Part Thirty-Nine: "The Secret Santa"

Party Forty: "The Secrets in Your Suitcase"

Party Forty-One: "The First Half of the Trip"

Part Forty-Two: "The Argument in the Hotel Room"

Part Forty-Three: "The End of the Trip"

Part Forty-Four: "The Christmas Eve Party"

Party Forty-Five: "The Christmas Dinner"

Part Forty-Six: "The Night of Christmas"

Part Forty-Seven: "The Devil in Need"

Part Forty-Eight: "The Perfume"

Part Forty-Nine: "The Cemetery Visit"

Part Fifty: "The Interview"

Part Fifty-One: "The Devil's Wrath"

Part Fifty-Two: "The Breaking Point"

Party Fifty-Three: "The Downward Spiral"

Part Fifty-Four: "The Impossible Friendship"

Part Fifty-Five: "The Disheartening Valentine's Day"

Part Fifty-Six: "The Nightmare"

Part Fifty-Seven: "The Rough Conversation"

Part Fifty-Eight: "The Aftermath"

Part Fifty-Nine: "The Necessary Conversation"

Part Sixty: "The Long Awaited Kiss"

Part Sixty-One: "The Things You Didn't Know"

Part Sixty-Two: "The Pinky Promise"

Part Sixty-Three: "The Dinner Party"

Part Sixty-Four: "The Lesson at Fogwell's"

Part Sixty-Five: "The Shower"

Part Sixty-Six: "The Night Out"

Part Sixty-Seven: "The Morning in Bed"

Part Sixty-Eight: "The Sleepover"

Part Sixty-Nine: "The Lunch Date Delay"

Part Seventy: "The Thoughts About the Future"

Part Seventy-One: "The Sleepwalking"

Part Seventy-Two: "The Belated Valentine's"

Part Seventy-Three: "The Easter Sunday"

Part Seventy-Four: "The Boy's Night at Josie's"

Part Seventy-Five: "The Hangover"

Part Seventy-Six: "The Request"

Party Seventy-Seven: "The Very Frustrating Day"

Part Seventy-Eight: "The Night You Cooked Together"

Part Seventy-Nine: "The Hell Day"

Part Eighty: "The Revisitation of Moving In"

Part Eighty-One: "The Nighttime Visit"

Party Eighty-Two: "The Overload"

Part Eighty-Three: "The Really Bad Idea"

Part Eighty-Four: "The Late Night Snack Hunt"

Part Eighty-Five: "The Romantic Voicemails"

Part Eighty-Six: "The Moving Day"

Part Eighty-Seven: "The Week of Distractions"

Part Eighty-Eight: "The Birthday Brunch"

Part Eighty-Nine: "The Stray"

Part Ninety: "The Ring"

Part Ninety-One: "The Helping Hand"

Part Ninety-Two: "The Recurring Nightmare"

Part Ninety-Three: "The Unexpected Introduction"

Part Ninety-Four: "The Offer"

Part Ninety-Five: "The Evening of Insecurity"

Part Ninety-Six: "The Quiet Morning at Home"

Part Ninety-Seven: "The Comforting Touch"

Part Ninety-Eight: "The Rooftop" {Coming Soon}