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miniwhisk · 2 months ago

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Cold🔥🌧️

i'd like to thank matthew michael murdock for getting me back into writing

Ship: Matt Murdock x Female!Reader

Rating: 18+ (WE'RE BACK BAYBEE)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sexual situations, foreplay, oral (fem receiving), shower sex, violence, blood, faith, depressive thoughts, angst, cursing, mentions of choking/hanging, DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN SPOILERS

Song: Cold by Annie Lennox

Chk. Kssssssss.

Hot water rained down in pellets of fire against Matt’s skin. Beating on his bruises and cuts, both cleansing and punishing in their nature. Warmth licked along his flesh and cooked him alive. His heart still pounding, jaw clenched, muscles twitching as if ready to pounce. Steam immediately clogged his senses with a pure, fog-like mist.

Matt had leaned forward, body suspended by his palms braced against the glass wall. His head hung low between his shoulders. Streams of water raced from his slicked hair down his battered chest. Faint traces of crimson leeched into the clear streaks and merged into a puddle around the drain. Swirls of grime and sweat and blood circled the steel grate.

A twinge from the darkening bruise lining his back, a sharp jab of agony, and Matt was yanked back a mere four hours.

Musty. Musty and old, were his first thoughts. The tiles lining the walls of this tunnel were caked in layer after layer of age. Notes of mold, earth, dust, and several other unsavory smells surrounded Matt on all sides. Whistled passed him as he charged down the unused subway tracks.

He grimaced, straightening his posture and dropping his arms. A reluctant shiver rolled up his spine at the change in position. Faint caresses of fatigue laced through the tendons in his calves.

New scents emerged in the path Matt followed. Cortisol, blood beating through a pounding heart, unwashed rags coated in copper-smelling paint. A young man, standing at 5-feet 9-inches. Whispers of countless victims surrounded this person like a dark aura.

Neck cracking, he tilted his head to stretch out the tension hardening his shoulders. The shower pummeled Matt’s sensitive skin. Harsh collisions shifted to soothing blows, massaging sore muscles and strained joints. Matt let out a labored breath. He lifted his head and let the forgiving water run down his face in penitent rivulets.

The chill of the silver chain around his neck was a stark contrast to the comforting warmth wrapping around Matt like a blanket. An ever-present reminder, cradling the simple cross right above where his heart slowed behind his ribs. He moved to glance a touch off the shining metal, fingers gently tremoring, then diverted to rub at his heavy eyelids.

Rage gathered at the base of his skull like a brewing storm. Fiery, explosive, lightning flashing and bathing Matt’s senses in a red blaze. A guttural scream bellowed from between his bared teeth. With a crouch, coiled like a snake, Matt launched himself into the air.

Movement. The creak of the bathroom door. Matt tensed, widening his awareness beyond the fogged glass walls of the shower. Someone had entered the room. They were familiar, close, Matt's own scent followed the new presence like a shadow. He cocked his head as he focused.

Hair tousled and lightly tangled, eyes still drooping from sleep, one of Matt's shirts draped across a shambling frame. A quiet yawn fell from between pursed lips.

Matt let a small smile tug at his features. He turned his head to offer acknowledgement, an understanding that your presence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Hey," you offered, graveled voice passing through the air like a hand through smoke. More rustling, the sound of cotton rasping against skin, only a trace of Matt's scent left dancing along your skin as the shirt crumpled in a pile on the floor.

The shower door opened with a hiss. Steam roiled in the air and encompassed your body with open arms. You moved to stand behind Matt, every step accompanied by a light splash of water lapping at the soles of your feet.

Gentle fingertips brushed the glaring splotches across Matt's back. His body responded with an involuntary shudder, fists clenching at his sides. A light gasp caught between your teeth.

"Matt..." you whispered under your breath. Your hands glided across the bruises with delicate precision.

The steel, pointed barb shot out of Matt's baton like a bullet. It soared through the air, propelling him forward, before embedding itself in the bricks behind the canvas-covered man with a spray of rubble.

"Hey. Matt? What happened?"

Your palms smoothed around the warmed skin of his waist, embracing him from behind. A soothing breath coasted along the droplets clinging to his back. His hands wrapped around yours, clasped just below his ribs.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he answered simply. You sighed, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. Matt could feel tendrils of your hair sticking to his skin like vines on an old building.

"You can talk to me, you know," you breathed, the words falling heavy from your lips. You squeezed him tighter as you nuzzled closer against his back. Matt winced, your collarbone digging into a fractured rib.

"Of course I do," he replied.

Matt turned in your arms until he was facing you. Your chests pressed together, breath mingling in the space between you, water cascading in trails and carving highways down your bodies. He ran his fingertips along your arms until he could cup your jaw in his hands.

It was in times like these, when thousands of water drops hit your body in rapid succession, that Matt felt like he could truly see you. Every splash of liquid against the planes of your face illuminated your features like fireworks. The slope of your nose, how your cheekbones rose and fell until they met your jaw line, the crinkle in the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him.

He traced a delicate pattern in the water still clinging to your cheek with his thumb. The crease between your eyebrows deepened the longer Matt went without giving an explanation.

But he didn't feel like giving one.

Fist collided with face as Matt tackled Muse. Blow after blow both thrown and received between the two. Matt would hook a punch over Muse's head, only to dodge a kick to his ribs in the next millisecond. The faint heartbeat echoing from Angela's chest gave Matt a strict deadline. Her slowing pulse echoed inside his head, spurring him on as Muse kneed him in the hip. A dance of blood and death.

"Matt?"

Shoving down the events of last night, he connected your lips to his in a heated kiss. His long fingers tangled in your soaked hair as he tilted your head in just the way he needed. He drew you impossibly closer, tighter, making you pliant beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, a noise that was easily swallowed by Matt.

The pads of your fingertips glided up his back in near reverence. As if the lines in your skin spelled worship. Every point of connection between the two of you was Matt's lifeline. His reason for being. The altar he prayed to every evening.

Matt walked you back with every exchanged breath. He lavished in how perfectly you fit together. His tongue tracing the edges of your teeth, his lips brushing against yours, his hands falling from your hair to drift over the warm dew gathering on your arms.

"Matt," you whispered between breaths, voice already dripping with need. He could sense the prologue of your body's symphony. Waves of heat and arousal orchestrated from between your legs floated through the bathroom's haze. A gentle nip under your ear conducted the violins to join the revelry. A touch brushed across your hip beckoned the flutes. Your back resting against the misted glass invited the drums and harps.

Once your body was flush with the glass, Matt began making his journey down. Painting brushstrokes of idolatry along the thin skin under your jaw. Utter adoration flowed from each kiss, each drag of his canines. You are where I can find forgiveness.

"Matt, please," you whined. Your palms found purchase on the swell of his chest, pushing gently, "What- Shit! -What happened? Where did the bruises-"

"Let me have this," he gasped, tearing his mouth from your skin like separating pieces of velcro. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder.

"Matt-"

"I need this. I'll tell you after," he begged softly. Matt willed his pulse to even out with heavy gulps of air as he waited for your response.

A moment. Two. Electricity darted between the water molecules surrounding you like your own solar system. Matt tilted his chin to breathe in the skin at the crook of your neck. His senses zeroed in on you like entering a long tunnel.

God, he could taste how aroused you were. Wave after wave of the scent that was distinctly you overwhelmed the flashes of pain and violence from hours prior. Splashes of blood were coated in a rose-colored hue, screams were muted, pain was temporary. If heaven was real, it was buried within your scent.

"Promise?" you asked tentatively.

Matt pressed a chaste kiss against the hinge of your jaw, "Promise."

You hooked a finger under his chin, angling his face so you could meet his unseeing eyes. There was no forgery in his desperation for you. Every waking moment, every second that passed without you held against him was another mile added to his descent into hell.

"Okay. After," you finally said. That was all the answer Matt needed.

His knees collided with the slick tile, a dull thud ricocheting up his thighs. Supplicant. Hands gripping at your hips like you were this all-encompassing deity. He could practically feel the warmth of your holy radiance evaporating the water still trailing down his back.

The first step in his path to salvation was hooking your knee over his broad shoulder.

You let out a drawn "fuck," as Matt dragged his lips along the inside of your thigh. He could feel the pulse of your blood flowing through the thin skin, how every cell in your body ached for him.

A long drag with the flat of his tongue along your thigh had him groaning against you. He hadn't even reached your folds, his north star, the summit he aspired to, and his eyes were rolling underneath their lids. Another rasping swipe made a shudder roll through his body.

Scraping, pulling fingers wove through his drenched hair. Tugged him higher and higher to that zenith he could never be without. An involuntary hum rumbled deep in his chest. His one and only goal achievable, now that he'd been led to where you needed him most.

Your body beckoned him to drink from you. Practically begged for him to sup of your ambrosia, to feel your arousal flow down his throat. Every pass of his tongue through your cunt guided you both to rapture. Matt clung to your legs like you were his means of survival.

He was addicted to you. That much was painfully obvious. Like any devout to their god, Matt worshipped you. He could lay at your feet and drink from your body's chalice for the rest of his sinful life and never live up to your sanctity.

If Matt was the devil, then you were an angel.

Nothing mattered as much as pleasuring you. Whether it be with his tongue, his scarred hands, or his cock. The world could burn if it meant hearing your breathless moans one last time.

"Matt..."

Even the way you said his name. Like a choir singing the most beautiful hymn. The chords of an organ framed every gasp, every whine that fell from your parted lips. You were rapidly approaching the crest. You stood at the white cliff's edge before a roaring tide, waves crashing over your body like the water from a steaming shower.

Hips rocking in time with his ministrations, thighs squeezing around the crown of his head, fingers pulling at his hair. Strings of blasphemous curses flew from between your clenched teeth. Your head had fallen against the wall, eyes screwed shut, with strands of your hair sticking to the glass in a halo.

One last gentle flick of his tongue against your bundle of nerves and you shattered. Fractals of broken, stained glass rained down over Matt's prostrated body. Currents of ecstasy coursed through your veins. A choked breath caught on your tongue.

Matt reveled in the unbridled swell of pride that filled his chest. He was the one who made you feel this way. He was the one who had you moaning his name. Gone were the flecks of blood coating his skin in a constellation of violence. Gone was the unrepentant fool who entered this shower. He truly, undeniably, felt forgiveness leak from between your thighs and into his waiting mouth.

And he didn't stop.

He kept working at that bundle of nerves, begging for this euphoria to never end. You squirmed as best you could in your position. Back slumped against the glass, held upright by Matt's embodiment of Atlas holding the world.

It wasn't until he felt a gentle prod at his face that he pulled away. He barely moved an inch before he felt the tremor running up your legs. As gracefully as he could, he lowered the leg on his shoulder to the floor.

Your chest heaved with strained breaths. Water, or maybe sweat, beaded on your skin. A shaking hand untangled from Matt's hair and pressed to your forehead.

"H-Holy shit, Matt," you uttered into the steam. A sly smile finally spread across his lips. Ever the devil, was he.

A faint note of copper caught his attention. Sparked bright in his senses like a lens flare. His eyebrows knit together as he focused on the source.

You had bit your lip. Hard enough to draw blood.

Threaded cord wrapped around a sinner's neck. Thrashing limbs, choked and broken pleas, scrabbling boots against concrete. None of it mattered. Matt continued to tighten the noose.

"You okay?" came your panted voice through Matt's churning thoughts.

He squared his shoulders, rising on sore feet. His fingers twitched as his mind fought with itself. Two halves of him barking and snarling at each other like rabid dogs.

"I'll go get dressed. You finish up," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Matt ignored the gnawing guilt in his gut as he stepped out of the shower.

"O-Okay."

The silhouette of your body remained burned in his senses, the brilliant beam to navigate the gathering thunderstorm in his head. How utterly rhapsodic every nerve spiderwebbed through your skin had glowed. And how he'd left you standing vacant and alone in that shower.

He cursed the very fiber of his being. Damned men don't get to delight in otherworldly pleasures. Wicked creatures should remain in the shadows where they belong. The chill of the early-morning air only solidified that line of thought.

Matt was unholy, a scorn to your radiant image. The broken horn on his nightstand, caked in blood and sacrifice, was a constant reminder of how impious he truly was.

As he sat on the bed, devil horn rubbed between his thumb and index finger, all he could think of was how utterly cold he was.

HAPPY SEASON FINALE OF DD:BA!!! what a fucking WILD ride they've taken us on, huh. it has been.... mostly ok!!! i love how matt blew up his life for most of the season, very on brand we love that for him. ep7 happened. it definitely aired. but other than that cold sore in the middle, i've loved the show!! thank GOD it's better than i expected.

also, thank you to the tuna team!!! chatting with y'all is always a highlight of my days, whether it be about the (FAR TOO BRIEF) shower scene or the cinematic beauty that was this show.

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miniwhisk · 4 months ago

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keep the pressure on

Frank Castle x Reader

No use of y/n, gender neutral reader

Slight blood warning

________________________________________________

God dammit.” You’d stepped into the bathroom to grab some tissues, thinking that your fall allergies were settling in for the season. Unfortunately, red was blooming across the paper as you pressed it to your face.

You’d had fairly regular nosebleeds since childhood, something with a sensitivity to temperature, you didn’t really know. That didn’t make it any less annoying or inconvenient, especially when it made you miss out on movie night with Frank (you’d somehow convinced him to watch Seven Things I Hate About You, and he’d been tolerating it surprisingly well so far). You pushed your hair back as you held onto the tissues with the other hand, trying to soothe yourself. Nosebleeds had always made you feel a little stifled, claustrophobic, but you could handle it. You always did.

“Hon? You’re missing the part with the paintball, you said this would be the only part I’d like!”

“Just a second!” Your response was slightly muffled.

The movie paused. One second, two seconds, then his voice was at the door. “What’s goin’ on, baby? Are you feeling ok?”

You huffed a breath. “Yeah I’m fine! Just bleeding a little-“

You hadn’t locked it but even if you had, that doorframe wouldn’t have stood a chance. Immediately he was turning you to face him, bracing your jaw in his big hands.

“-from my nose. Frank, honey, it’s ok! It just happens sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

“How long has it been bleeding for?”

“About five minutes. I really wouldn’t worry about it until we get to like twenty, though. That’s what the doctor told me last time.”

“What the hell do you mean, last time? Is this a regular thing for you, bleeding out of your face?”

You sighed, stepping away and leaning your lower back against the counter. “Frank, how many times have I seen you stumble in here with a broken nose? I’m no stranger to blood, I promise. “

Your arm was starting to get tired, but as you went to switch hands, more red started running down your chin and neck than you anticipated.

Frank went still, eyes trained on the path your blood was making down into the top of his sweatshirt that you’d “borrowed”.

“Shit…” you looked down to check the damage, but Frank stepped into your space, gripping your jaw again and holding your head level.

“Don’t tilt your head down. Or back either. Just look forward and keep breathing for me, ok?”

You went to adjust your grip, but this time Frank’s hand took your place, applying gentle but solid pressure. Your arms hung beside you until you moved to rest them against the edge of the sink.

His gaze was boring into you, almost like if he could just look at you hard enough he could make it stop. You looked back at him, trying to give him some comfort, to cut the tension.

“I didn’t take you to be the squeamish type, Castle.” You smiled and gave a halfhearted laugh, only to make yourself cough on the blood that had inevitably started running down the back of your throat.

If Frank’s face was stony before, it was an earthquake now as his eyes trained on your lips. You reach up to touch them and found more red on the tips of your fingers.

“I’m calling 911.”

“Frank, no, oh my God. You are not calling an ambulance over a nosebleed.”

“I’m gonna do what I damn well please.”

“No, you’re not, because as much as you want to threaten to throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes and drag me out of here, I probably shouldn’t be inverted.”

“Quit trying to be cute with me. I’m not gonna watch you bleed out into the sink.”

“Well, I could get into the shower if that’s what you prefer, it’s easier to -“

“Would you just shut the fuck up and listen to me for once in your goddamn life?”

It was your turn to be silent. Frank was still holding your nose, so that had been a very loud and very close response, and if the sink wasn’t behind you, you would have flinched away even harder.

You looked away from him and you knew your eyes were watering. “I’m sorry”, you said in an impossibly small voice.

He dropped his head down, tilted away. “Fuck, no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” He looked back at you, regret and discomfort coloring his hard features.

You slid your hand underneath his, taking the tissues and turning back toward the mirror. Frank stood behind you, looking to be at a total loss for words.

Minutes ticked by, and Frank went to sit on the edge of the tub, holding his head in his hands, knee bouncing.

Eventually, you pulled the tissues away and sniffed experimentally.

“It’s over.”

Frank’s head shot up, eyes wild, a cornered animal.

“The nosebleed, Francis. Not us.”

He collapsed back in on himself, roughly scrubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I know I went too far.”

You nodded gently.

“I know you are, honey. It’s ok. We’re both ok.”

“Thought you weren’t.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“I thought you weren’t ok. I know you said you were and I know you would tell me if you weren’t but…I don’t know.”

You crossed the bathroom to sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just did what felt right - holding his hand and tracing along the scars crossing his knuckles. Slowly, his shoulders started to come down, and he gave your hand a small squeeze as if to say that he was ready to talk.

“The last woman I saw with that much blood on her was Maria.”

The pain in his voice lanced through you. You sat quietly, waiting to see if there was anything else he was willing to tell you.

“I just…can’t feel like there’s something I could be doing to help you or protect you and not be able to do it.”

You leaned back into his line of sight.

“You do help me. You do protect me. And you do keep me safe. I’m sorry that I put you back into that moment, I just wanted to prove that I could take care of myself.”

He nodded, fingers coming up to brush your hair back. “I know you can, doll. But I dunno, if I’m not doing those things for you then what’s the point?”

You furrowed your brow. “What’s the point of what?”

“Of being with me. Of putting up with my bullshit. If I’m not giving you something that you need.”

You slid off of the edge of the tub, coming to crouch in front of Frank’s bent form. Your hands gripped his knees as he stared down at you.

“Frank, I love you. I love your strength and your courage and your sense of justice. And I love that you’re willing to do anything to protect me and make me happy. But I don’t love you because I need you, I love you because I want you. I’d love you if you were an insurance agent instead of a vigilante.”

He let one side of his lips quirk up.

“An insurance agent, yeah? With the polo shirt?”

“Well obviously, you’d have to take that off at the door. I do have some standards.”

A full smile this time.

“Are you done scaring the shit out of me for the night?”

You nodded.

“Let’s go, baby. I need a warm drink after all of that, and that’s one thing I’d love to let you do for me.”

He stood, bending to kiss your forehead. Whispering in your ear as he guided you back into the living room, “I can think of a few other things.”

Your face flushed blood red.

#the punisher #frank castle #Frank castle/reader #marvel

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