#Ultimate Elektra | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monicfever · 2 months ago

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How you think the punisher and DD characters would be with their s/o asking to move in with them

asking to move in 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / james wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

MATT pauses for a moment, trying to process it fully, because his brain short-circuits a little at the idea of someone wanting to share that much of their life with him.

“you really want to?” like he’s trying not to sound too hopeful but failing. you can hear the smile in his voice before you see it on his face. he probably acts cool about it but is internally spiraling in nervousness.

immediately starts thinking about how to make the apartment more comfortable for you, even if it means giving up some of his own habits or routines. asks if you want a drawer… and then the next day clears out half his closet without saying anything. lets your things blend into his space like they’ve always belonged.

listens to your footsteps echo in the apartment and thinks it already feels more like home.

has a brief moment of worry about you finding out how bad his insomnia really is, or how often he gets hurt, but ultimately decides you're worth the risk. starts sleeping a little better just knowing you're there.

makes you coffee in the morning even when he’s half-dead from a night out as daredevil.

listens to the sound of your key turning in the lock like it’s his favuorite song. gets irrationally proud when you call it “home” for the first time

the first time you fall asleep on his chest on the couch, he doesn’t move for hours, even if he’s stiff and sore, because it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. lets you steal all the blankets because he runs warm anyway.

hears your heartbeat when you're unpacking and notices the slight tremor of nerves — whispers, “me too”.

finds one of your socks in his drawer weeks later and smiles like an idiot all over again.

if you're out late, he pretends he's not listening for you on the street but he's absolutely tracking your every step once you’re a block away.

lets you put up art on the walls, even if he can’t see it, just because he knows it makes you happy. touches the wall near where you hung a photo and quietly asks, “what’s this one of?” with a smile that says he’s already memorizing where everything is, even if he can’t see it.

gets really self-conscious about how sparse and impersonal his place is — starts asking things like, “do you want to paint? get some real curtains?”

the first time you leave clothes on the floor, he trips over them and mutters a sarcastic, “great, love this part.” but you can hear the affection behind it.

the first time he comes back injured after you’ve moved in, he panics — not because he’s hurt, but because he doesn’t want you to see him like that. lets you patch him up anyway, quiet and vulnerable, murmuring “i’m sorry” over and over.

learns how to move around the apartment a little differently now, more careful, more attuned to your presence — even asleep, he always knows where you are.

the first time you kiss him goodbye on your way out in the morning, he stands there for a full minute afterward, grounding himself.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

FRANK goes completely still. like statue-still. doesn’t say anything right away because he’s not sure he heard you right. finally mutters something like, “you sure?” but his voice is rough and low, like he’s fighting back something big.

part of him wants to say no — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s scared he’ll ruin it. the other part of him, the part that remembers what peace used to feel like, is already picturing what your toothbrush would look like next to his.

doesn’t know how to ask what kind of stuff you’d need space for, so he just clears out an entire drawer and half the closet and pretends it was always like that. fixes the creaky step by the door before you even move in.

sharpens every knife in the kitchen. installs better locks. reinforces the windows. doesn’t tell you. just does it. the first time you fall asleep in his bed after moving in, he stays awake all night listening to your breathing like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

lets you put your books and blankets and candles around, even if it feels like too much softness at first — it grows on him. catches himself smiling when he sees your coffee mug in the sink. still sleeps with one eye open but it’s less about paranoia now and more about making sure you’re okay.

the first time he has a nightmare after you move in, he almost leaves in the middle of the night, but you hold onto him and he stays.

says “this place is yours too” and means it, even if it terrifies him doesn’t call it home out loud, but he feels it in his chest every time he walks through the door and you’re there.

starts cooking more, not just heating up canned stuff — actual meals, because you’re there and you deserve better. doesn’t say much when you rearrange the furniture a little, sits in the new spot on the couch without complaint like it was always meant to be that way.

silently memorizes the sound of your footsteps, your breathing, the way you hum when you’re making tea — tiny details he tucks away.

buys an extra blanket for the bed but claims it was “just lying around” — it’s new, and soft, and clearly for you. one day you catch him fixing the busted sink cabinet, muttering to himself like “can’t have you hurtin’ your damn knee on this thing” and it’s the most tender thing in the world.

gets weirdly possessive over your safety now that you're sharing a space — triple-checks locks, glances out the window every time he hears something.

he doesn’t say “i love you” easily — if at all — but you hear it in the way he says “you good?” every night before bed.

thinks about his old life sometimes, but now when he does, there’s less pain in the remembering and more hope in the now.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

FOGGY says “really??” with wide eyes and a grin before you even finish the sentence. immediately starts talking about how you can redecorate — “i was gonna get new pillows anyway. those old ones are criminal, and not in a cool-lawyer way.”

gets way too excited about sharing a grocery list, like “now we can buy milk together like adults!”

plays it cool but absolutely calls matt the second you leave the room like “guess who’s shacking up with someone way out of his league?”

genuinely proud when you bring over a toothbrush, like it’s a milestone. insists on cooking dinner the first night you officially move in. burns something. orders takeout. swears it was the plan all along

excited to show you every little part of the apartment like “and this — is the cabinet where i keep old soy sauce packets, but we can throw them out now.”

buys a “his & theirs” or “ours” type of mug even though you didn't ask for one. starts referring to things as “ours” before you do — our couch, our kitchen, our mess, our bed.

gives you a key and then immediately worries he made it too big a deal, so he plays it off like “no pressure, just... y'know. if you wanna come and go like a cool roommate who kisses me sometimes”

absolutely cries the first time you call it “home,” but tries to hide it by pretending there’s something in his eye. kisses your forehead while mumbling “can’t believe you’re stuck with me now” and means it.

starts labeling leftovers in the fridge with cute notes like ‘for you (but i’ll fight you for it).’

if you move even one thing slightly, he notices immediately but rolls with it — “did you move the couch a little? i love it. feng shui, baby.”

offers to build ikea furniture with you and somehow turns it into a romantic bonding experience instead of a war. brings home takeout with your favourite sides just because it’s thursday. starts referring to weekends as ‘us days.’

you catch him watching you with this stupidly soft look when you’re folding laundry or doing something completely ordinary. 100% keeps a mental inventory of your snacks and restocks them without being asked.

your first mini-argument about something dumb (like which way the toilet paper goes) ends with him making a dramatic legal defense for his side — complete with opening statements.

finds excuses to say “our place” as often as possible — “our place could use a plant, don’t you think? we’re plant people now.”

if you leave town even for a day, he immediately texts “this apartment is haunted by your absence” and sends sad selfies with your pillow.

you once casually mention you like soft lighting and the next day there are like three new lamps and he’s pretending it was totally normal behavior.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

KAREN goes quiet for a second, her heart stutters at the idea of being chosen like this. looks at you with this wide, soft gaze and says “are you sure?” but you can already see the yes blooming behind her eyes.

she smiles right away but her eyes flicker, like she’s flipping through every time she’s let someone in and gotten hurt. she says yes gently, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud it’ll scare the moment away.

later that night, when she’s alone, she stares at the corner of her apartment and starts mentally rearranging furniture just to make room for you.

the first night you bring a few things over, she’s buzzing with nervous energy — lighting candles, fluffing pillows, asking “do you want this side of the bed or that one?” three times.

she overthinks everything — are you comfortable? is it too soon? does it smell weird in here? what if you hate how she folds towels?

she insists on doing a “tour” even though it’s a small apartment — shows you the squeaky kitchen drawer, the window that fogs up in the morning, her favourite mug. the first time you brush teeth side by side, she watches your reflection in the mirror and feels this quiet little thrill in her chest.

she’s careful about letting you into her routines, but once you’re in, you’re in — she brings you coffee with exactly the right amount of sugar and leaves notes on the mirror in the morning.

gets a little nervous about being “too much”—too messy, too intense, too late-night-working— but when you reassure her, she melts.

lights candles at night to make it cozy, and always puts on soft music while you’re both unwinding. loves grocery shopping with you. makes it a whole date. argues playfully over which pasta is best.

if you have a rough day, she’ll cook something simple and grounding, even if she’s tired, and sit cross-legged on the floor with you to eat.

tells foggy immediately and with so much joy in her voice that he tears up a little.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

ELEKTRA laughs at first — not unkindly, but like you’ve caught her off guard, like you just suggested something absurd. “you want to live with me?” she says, smiling with a raised brow, but there's a flicker of something behind it — fear, maybe. or wonder.

“you’re either very brave… or very stupid.” but her voice is gentler than her words. doesn’t say yes right away. needs time to sit with it. she’s not used to people wanting to stay, let alone being allowed to stay.

the first time she sees you carrying a bag into her place, her heart jumps like a startled bird — but she keeps her face calm, cool, unreadable acts like it’s not a big deal. like your toothbrush beside hers is just “convenient.” like your jacket on her chair doesn’t make her chest ache in a good way.

rearranges nothing. if you want space, you have to carve it out yourself — but once you do, she never touches it. it’s yours.

the first time you bring her coffee in the morning, she stares at it like it’s a weapon she doesn’t know how to disarm.

tries to hide her affection in sarcasm — “what, planning to redecorate now?” — but her fingers brush against yours a little too long when you hand her something.

she lets you see her vulnerabilities in small fleeting moments. when she comes back after a mission, her expression softens when she sees you sitting on the couch waiting for her, and she doesn’t hide the relief that hits her. when you catch her staring at you across the room, she looks away quickly, but the warmth in her eyes is undeniable — like she’s finally allowed herself to belong somewhere.

if you ever say “i love you,” she’ll freeze for a moment, then give you that sharp, half-smile that means she’s feeling things she can’t put into words. she never says it back in those moments — not because she doesn’t feel it, but because she’s not sure how to show it without breaking.

the quiet is important to her. too much noise and she’ll retreat — go for a walk, meditate, or just sit in silence until she can breathe again. intimacy is still new to her. she doesn’t always know how to be tender when things are calm. she’s used to chaos, violence.

in the evenings, after a long day, she’s still a little restless. she’ll either pace around or dive into her training — anything to keep the adrenaline in check — but she never minds when you join her, even if it’s just sitting in the same room, offering quiet support.

she’s always late to bed, lingering in the quiet of the night with thoughts that won’t settle, but you’ve learned to meet her halfway. you stay up just a little longer, keeping her company, offering the presence she craves but never asks for.

she doesn’t ask you to stay. she dares you to. and when you do, she looks at you like you’re the first person in the world who’s ever passed her test.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

DEX, at first, would freeze. completely caught off guard. it’s not something he’s ever really considered. he’s used to being alone, isolated, and the idea of someone sharing his space would set off alarms in his head. part of him is thrilled by the idea, but another part feels like he's being asked to open a door he’s been desperately trying to keep closed.

he’d try to play it cool, maybe give a half-hearted smile, and act like it’s not a big deal, but you’d see the tension in his posture, the slight shift in his eyes, betraying his nerves. he wouldn’t be used to sharing space, and while he’d agree (hesitantly), he’d quickly start obsessing over everything — every little thing you might change or touch.

moving in with him would require adjustments for you. his place is sparse, cold, slightly clinical — some things are arranged in odd, very specific ways. any changes you make, even small ones, would throw him off, and he is not going to be the type to adapt.

he tries so hard to be easy to live with. washes dishes right after eating. folds your laundry just the way you like. buys the same brand of everything you use because he doesn’t want to mess it up. but when things go out of rhythm — when you go out of rhythm — his chest tightens. the world tilts. and he doesn’t know how to ask, “did i do something wrong?” so he just hovers, waiting for the routine to return

he'd ask for boundaries almost immediately, perhaps too early, like he’s putting walls up before they’ve even begun to come down.

he never outright says “i need you to stay on schedule,” but you can feel it. the way his body goes tight when you skip breakfast, the way his voice flattens when you cancel plans last minute. like you’ve disrupted something crucial to his sense of control. when you do stay consistent — when you fall into routine naturally — he relaxes. he’s all quiet humming, fingers brushing yours while passing a mug, lingering in the doorway just to watch you exist.

there’s an underlying unease to everything he does: the way he watches you unpack, the way he hovers when you move something slightly out of place, like he’s hyper-aware of every decision being made. he’d definitely have moments of intensity when you both adjust to this new dynamic. any accidental miscommunication or small thing would make him tense up, on edge because it feels like he’s walking on thin ice.

he’d have a very hard time with the idea of you being “permanent,” and may subconsciously sabotage the idea out of fear of getting too close. he might withdraw without explanation, acting distant to see if you’ll leave, just to test how much you’re willing to stay. eventually, he’d start letting down the walls in small ways: leaving his phone unlocked for you to use if you need it, letting you use his bathroom products, giving you a drawer for your things.

he notices every single thing you do. how you fold your socks. what side of the bed you take. the sound of your toothbrush against the sink. it becomes part of his routine. part of the structure he builds around himself to stay okay. he starts checking if the stove is off twice instead of three times because your voice in the kitchen grounds him faster than his rituals ever could.

incredibly routine-oriented. if you mess with the order of things — dishes, towels, what shelf the mugs go on — he doesn’t say anything at first, but you’ll catch him quietly moving them back later. doesn’t like a lot of clutter. your stuff slowly migrating into his space freaks him out at first. not because he doesn’t want you there, but because change makes him feel like he’s losing control.

he has comfort habits; like lining up his keys just so, or triple-checking the locks. if you ask he’ll downplay it, but if you don’t ask and just let him do it, he relaxes around you faster.

he doesn’t just notice your routine — he memorizes it. down to the minute. how long your showers take, what time you usually eat, which sock you put on first. if anything changes, even slightly, he feels it in his body like a system glitch.

he builds his entire day around you without realizing it. he starts syncing his schedule to yours — when you wake up, when you brush your teeth, when you leave for work. if you're five minutes late one morning, he gets stuck staring at the door like it personally betrayed him. your habits become sacred. you like honey in your tea? he’ll keep three kinds in the cupboard just in case one runs out. you hum while folding laundry? he starts doing it too. not on purpose, it just imprints.

he keeps a mental archive of everything that soothes you. what music you put on when you’re sad. how you like your blankets folded. the exact temperature you set the thermostat to. and then starts applying it before you ask, like clockwork. if you ask how he knew you needed something, he just says, “i pay attention,” but he won’t tell you that he’s been tracking it for weeks.

if you act off routine — oversleep, cry out of nowhere, forget to eat — he goes into full quiet panic mode. he won’t bombard you with questions, but he’ll hover close, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for the threat he thinks he missed.

he starts sleeping better with you there. deeper. more still. but only if you’re facing him. if you turn away he wakes up every time. when you fall asleep on the couch, he sits nearby on the floor, just watching you breathe. hand resting on the edge of the cushion like he’s guarding you. like if he lets go, something bad will happen.

he'll try not to be clingy but the fact is, the closer you get, the more obsessive his behavior can become. you’ll notice him lingering in rooms just to be near you, watching your every move, constantly ensuring that you’re comfortable and safe. If something’s off he can go into a spiral. that gnawing fear of losing you.

and when you look at him with soft eyes and say, “i love being here with you,” his throat goes tight. “yeah?” like it’s fragile. like it might vanish.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

BILLY’S first reaction is a practiced, easy smile. cool, smooth. "you really want to?" he sounds confident — playful, even — but his heart stutters like it just got clipped by a bullet. there’s a flicker behind his eyes. one second of real vulnerability before it’s buried under charisma.

he says yes. of course he does. but internally? he’s spiraling. he’s spent his whole life building walls lined with silk and marble, and now you’re asking to step inside.

he makes it look effortless. he wants this to feel like it was always going to happen. “it’s your place too now, sweetheart.” he says with that soft, smirking charm — but deep down, he’s bracing for you to change your mind.

the penthouse is pristine. expensive. cold. and when you move in, he watches your stuff disrupt that carefully polished perfection—and he loves it more than he knows how to say. a mug you leave on the counter? he stares at it for a second longer than he should. your shoes by the door? he steps around them like they’re sacred.

he keeps acting cool — laughs when you accidentally drop a sock in the hallway, rolls his eyes when you leave a light on — but every time you do something domestic, his chest gets tighter in a way he’ll never admit out loud.

starts getting scared of loving it too much. of waking up next to you and thinking, this could be forever, and then remembering that forever’s never been kind to him.

he’s obsessive about protecting you now. starts double-checking locks, adding security, keeping a closer eye on who’s around you. he won’t call it paranoia, but you know what it is. his trauma simmers underneath it all. on nights he can’t sleep, he’ll go out onto the balcony, staring at the skyline like it owes him answers. when you come out and wrap your arms around him, he just leans into you silently. he’s still afraid you’ll leave. that you’ll see the cracks under the surface — the mess he hides under suits and soft lighting — and walk away.

so he starts giving you pieces of himself, slowly. a key. his favourite hoodie. his real laugh, unpolished and unguarded

“honey, im home.” in that frustratingly charming voice when he’s trying to be annoying.

mornings are quiet. not cold, just muted. he’s already been awake for a while, sipping espresso by the window in a robe that’s way too expensive, staring out like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only he can see. but the second he hears you stir, he softens. brings you coffee without asking, knows exactly how you take it. kisses the top of your head like he’s done it forever. never says good morning like a normal person. always some variation of “hey, gorgeous.” or “you sleep okay, baby?” — and it sounds like velvet every time.

he watches you move around the kitchen like it’s art. like it calms something in him. you’re the only chaos he allows inside his perfect little world.

when he’s had a bad day, he won’t say anything. just drops onto the couch beside you and pulls you onto him like you’re an anchor. you let him sit in the silence until he’s ready to breathe again.

he can’t cook. not well. but he insists on making you dinner at least once a week — usually ends with a half-burned something and him going, “okay, maybe i’m more of a reservation guy.”

he gets weirdly attached to your routines. like, if you skip a skincare step one night, he notices. “no moisturizer?” he asks, faux-casual, but he’s already reaching for the bottle.

he never says it directly, but being with you day to day makes him feel human. like maybe he’s more than the wreckage he came from. and when you say “i love living with you,” his whole body stills. like it’s too much. like it hurts. then he touches your face, gently, reverently, and says, “you have no idea how much that means to me.”

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

DINAH blinks. once. twice. like she didn’t hear you right the first time. “you serious?” half-laughing, half-deflecting, because that’s easier than letting her heart show on her face.

the truth is: she’s wanted you there. for a while. but she didn’t think she was allowed to want that kind of softness. she probably tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. “sure. yeah. we can try it.” but you can see the way her shoulders drop just a little. like a weight she didn’t know she was carrying slipped off.

she spends the next week obsessing over logistics. where your stuff will go. whether her place is “too small.” acts like she’s just being practical, but really, she’s panicking under the surface. she doesn’t share space easily. she’s used to her solitude. used to walking around guarded even in her own home. so with you she tries. she wants to let you in, even if her hands shake while doing it.

clears a drawer, then a second one. gives you the better side of the closet. buys you your own toothbrush holder without saying a word. still doesn’t let you see her cry. not yet. not even when you set a mug down beside her while she’s working late and kiss the top of her head.

every time she comes home and hears you moving around in the apartment, she exhales without realizing it. like her body’s been holding tension all day and finally gets to release it. she’s not great at domesticity, but she tries. starts making dinner with you, folds your laundry and pretends she’s not secretly proud of it all.

when you fall asleep on the couch, she puts a blanket over you and sits beside you in the dark, sipping wine and watching whatever you left on the tv. doesn’t even care what it is. she just wants to be near you.

still keeps parts of herself locked up tight, files and folders and grief she never talks about. but every now and then, she lets you see the cracks “i’m not .. easy to live with,” she says one night, eyes on the floor.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

WESLEY doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stutter. just tilts his head slightly like he’s calculating what this means, how it fits into the long-term picture he already started building with you months ago. “you want to?” he says it low, like he’s double-checking, not because he’s surprised, because he wants to be sure.

you nod, and he’s quiet for a second too long. then he smiles, small and private, like something just slotted perfectly into place. “okay.” simple. certain. like he’s already rearranging his entire life in his head and doesn’t see a single downside.

he’d already been making room for you before you asked. subtle shifts. an extra set of your preferred wine glasses. drawer space you hadn’t noticed yet. everything is done intentionally. he doesn’t rush anything, but by the time you bring over your first overnight bag, there’s already a place for every item.

he doesn’t just make room for your things — he blends them into the space like they’ve always belonged. a book you left out gets bookmarked and stacked next to his. your jacket ends up hanging beside his tailored coat. if you move something, even if it’s out of place, he leaves it there. memorizes the change. adjusts.

he notices everything. the way your keys sound when you drop them on the counter, your mood when you walk in, what kind of music means you had a long day. you come home once and he’s already poured your favourite drink, sat it on the table, like he’s been waiting for that exact version of you.

he doesn’t show affection with grand gestures, he shows it in consistency. in remembering. in placing himself exactly where you need him to be without being asked.

at night, he watches you read, or wash your face, or fold laundry like it’s a scene he wants to etch into stone. like it’s the first thing that’s ever felt like peace.

he keeps your schedule memorized. he knows when you’re home, when you’re late, when you’re off. if something’s wrong he’s already halfway to fixing it before you even mention it.

he lets you talk through your day at dinner while he listens, always with quiet focus. occasionally he’ll offer insight or dry commentary, but mostly he’s content to just hear you speak.

he doesn’t nag about tidiness, he just fixes things without a word. your charger’s always plugged in. the pantry stays stocked with what you love. if you leave something out — like a sweater on the back of a chair — he’ll leave it there until you wear it again. he’s waiting to see if that was part of your pattern.

when you’re sick, he takes time off without being asked. “don’t argue,” he’ll say, slipping a blanket over your legs. “you’d do the same.” when he’s sick, he pretends he’s fine. but the minute you touch his forehead and tell him to sit down, he obeys without a word. only for you.

he buys expensive soap you mentioned liking once. replaces your pillow when you say your neck’s been sore. upgrades the apartment’s security without telling you. at night, he reads next to you, one hand resting on your thigh.

when you call it “home,” he just gives you this look — soft, quiet, intense. like he’s storing the word away somewhere deep

★ a / n : i didn’t add muse to this one bc im sick asf and tired but if somebody wants me to add him just leave a comment and i can come up with smth no biggie

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.28.2025.

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