#daredevil/reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

infuschia · 2 years ago

Text

Matt Murdock/Reader - “Black and Midnight Blue” Chapter 37 Excerpt: “Keeping Clean”

HIIIII so here we have an excerpt from my a03 matt murdock/reader fic Black and Midnight Blue! full chapter will be posted on a03 on Sunday and is... very 18+. not super integral to the plot i was just possessed to write it please don’t judge me i am only human. it’s smutty but not in typical multiple-people fashion... basically ya gurl is alone and... thoughts spiral... i’m sure you can see where this is going lol. this excerpt doesn’t feature the FULLY explicit smut part, just the lead up. if this is your thang i hope you enjoy❤️‍🔥

----

Black and Midnight Blue - Matt Murdock/Reader - full fic right here on a03 baby

Chapter 37: *Keeping Clean

this excerpt: 1.6k words - full chapter: 5.5k

aaand smut warning🫡

----

Matt was lovely as he was. And you wanted him for that - you wanted him for him, for the great guy he was, the good man he was trying to be.

But, simply put - you also wanted him in every indulgent, desirous sense that the word "want" connotes.

And, although you fought it, especially considering how you two had agreed to take things slow - this "want" was growing into less of a want and more of a somewhat harrowing desperation.

It was this needy thing, seeded into your gut, clawing to be let out. A prowling animal in the depths of your core, the need lurked in the back of your mind, sending intermittent twitches and slick pleasure to your cunt as it forced images of what it craved to the center of your attention.

These images were far from what your dark circumstances made it reasonable for you to focus on. Logically, your focus should be on your half-compromised identity, the serial harasser at your workplace, the precarious balance upon which sat your professional and personal lives. The logical things were your focus, of course, and you were responsible with them, putting in all the effort you could to bring yourself justice so that you could continue, hitch-free, on your path. But every free second you had seemed to be spent in the clutches of these images.

They were daydreams and desires of Matt, sculpted and powerful and warm, giving you every inch of him - hard and fast and rhythmically all-consuming - until you released all that deep-seated need, slick and hot, over whatever part of his body he'd chosen to pleasure you with.

So, yeah. With those thoughts pretty much cocooning your brain, and after such a heated makeout session as the one you'd had - agonizing would be the best way to describe the rest of last night.

You'd now been staying at Matt's place for about two weeks. And you were enjoying every second of it, of course. His presence and the safety of his apartment were a welcome salve for the fear lurking at the back of your mind, the danger you'd found yourself trapped in the clutches of.

Bottom line: you were incredibly grateful, happy, and more than enjoying yourself in spite of the storm raging around you.

That was what was most important.

But…

A woman has needs.

Matt hadn't exactly touched you yet. Touched you, that is, in a sort of manner that would offer you the relief you hadn't had in at least two weeks, maybe longer. And, although you didn't have the entire mechanism of his senses mapped out just yet - you were sure he'd notice if you took care of things on your own.

So, here you were, all worked up and bothered and orgasm-free for a whopping fourteen days at the least. Frankly, it was killing you.

But, on this beautiful, wonderful, perfect morning, Matt left for work earlier than usual. He'd returned to kiss your half-asleep lips before he left, whispering something about Foggy and clients and coffee, and you'd given him a mumble of a 'have a good day' before smushing your hair-covered face back into his pillow. It was still somewhat warm, smelling like him, sending heat racing between your legs with every breath you eagerly dragged in. The front door clicked behind Matt, and your new status as alone in his apartment sent your eyes right back open.

Not that I'm happy for him to leave.

It's just… we're taking things slow.

And, again: a woman has needs.

Rolling onto your back in the bed, you contemplated your next move. You couldn't touch yourself between the sheets, nor on top of them; that would be far too obvious, especially since you didn't have time to wash anything. The couch wouldn't work for similar reasons. No real spot, truthfully, could hide this plan completely from Matt's senses. That left you one last option: not foolproof, but better than anything else you could have chosen.

The shower.

Of course.

It would remove any need to desperately scrub over the surface you'd be lying upon once you were finished. Better still, it would keep you clean, hopefully reducing - if not eliminating - the chance for Matt to recognize any subtle bodily hints of what you'd done to yourself. Plus, Matt wasn't here, and any neighbors were either at work or otherwise occupied - but still, any noise you might happen to make would be well muffled by the sounds of the fan and steady water splashing hard against the shower walls.

And it's not like this was some big secret or anything that you were hiding from Matt. It was just that you were technically a guest in his apartment, and although you and he were technically some sort of a genuine thing, no confirmation had been completely made yet on what this thing should technically be labeled, not to mention the lack of sex just yet between you-

-Ugh.

All the specifics.

So much... to still figure out.

It just felt a touch too far for him to know about you jacking off in his apartment, no pun intended.

But you needed this. Almost embarrassingly so.

Your slick cunt clenched at the thought, clit twitching at the anticipation of finally being touched all the way after such a hiatus.

Time wasn't on your side, so you tossed the covers off and stood out of bed, promptly stripping yourself of Matt's shirt and sweatpants. Every footstep seemed to echo through the otherwise empty apartment as you hopped your way to the bathroom. A clean towel was grabbed tight in one hand and tossed atop the counter as you shut the bathroom door. You promptly flipped the fan on and pulled the shower curtain flush along its rod. It hung in a relatively linear fashion, hanging in only slight ripples along the tub's edge.

The shower head sputtered slightly at first, quickly spurting out into a hard, steady stream of heat and steam, promptly soaking the tub and shower walls. That towel sat neatly folded at the edge of the countertop, and the mirror had already begun to steam as you pulled back the curtain and let it fall closed behind you.

Soaking your hair was the first step, after you got used to the heat of the water.

I did need an actual shower, anyway.

Steam swirled up and around you, a balm on your skin where the water didn't hit it directly, and you shut your eyes and dipped your head back into the open arms of a hot downpour. Matt's shampoo was pleasant to you; though it's difficult to make any product completely scent free, this was pretty close. Still, you caught the subtlest whiffs of something clean-smelling, possibly swirled with vanilla. Your hair was promptly lathered, but as your fingers pressed into your scalp, your mind fell back in time to the time Matt had washed your hair.

That night, he'd worked his hands against your aching head with so much care. You were so drained - from the physical effort, the smoke inhalation, the blood loss - and Matt had snapped to attention, his soot-covered clothes the least of his worries, your comfort being the most. Every press of his fingers and thumbs against your scalp, every lather of shampoo, smear of conditioner - it had been like magic to your worn body, your anxious mind. Here, in this shower, your hands had stilled in your hair at the memory of Matt's massaging touch, each connection between a fingertip and your hazy head having sent waves of electric comfort through your entire body.

You couldn't help but wonder if he'd touch your cunt with the same care, the same pressure, the same attention to exactly what would make you feel relief - what would let you fall into soaking hot release at his offering.

Though shower water poured down over you, smearing soap along your hair and back until it dripped into the base of the tub, the wettest part of your body at this thought was still the throbbing heat between your legs.

Conditioning your hair was a much quicker process. Washing your body, though, brought those very same sorts of thoughts back into your steam-filled head, a hot knot of thickly-coiled rope tightening in your stomach. With every stretch of your palms along your body, you rubbed with just a bit more feeling than normal, squeezed at your skin and curves and limbs with more pressure than you typically would. Eyes closed, you pretended it was Matt's hands on your body, warming you up with the lather of soap and the unrelenting pelt of hot water on your skin. As the suds slipped down your legs and swirled into the drain, you took note of how much deeper your breaths had grown, how intensely your clit had begun to pulse with every cleansing movement your fingertips made.

In spite of the heat, you shuddered, shivering as you reached up to tilt the shower head slightly downward so it wouldn't spray right into your face.

Matt's hands clutched tight at your mind, groping you from the inside, and you had to hold onto the tub's edge to steady yourself as you lowered all the way down. Your body felt placid, yet purring, ravenous and needy with every new inch of your back that touched the tub floor. Laying your head back, you relaxed into a long, choked breath, and let your bent legs part.

----

and it expectedly keeps going LOL if this snippet (the-only-part-i-have-edited-so-far-ha-ha) has piqued your interest hit up a03 on sunday to get the rest😚

#matt murdock/reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil/reader #black and midnight blue #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #fanfiction baby #reader insert #ok im done

11 notes · View notes

danysdaughter · 29 days ago

Text

Hold Your Breath

pairing | civil!war!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.6k words (whoopsie)

summary I After a panic attack triggers something raw and vulnerable in Bucky, a desperate kiss turns into a night of urgent, clothed intimacy where he clings to you for grounding, connection, and humanity.

tags | 18+, (MDNI!), p in v sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, emotional sex, desperate sex, riding, dry humping, titty sucking, begging, subby!bucky, soft!reader, angst, soft dom!reader, vulnerable!bucky, slow burn to sudden burn, hurt/comfort, PANIC ATTACK! platonic!steve x reader, oh and PLOT! but premises: Fuck His Pain Away

a/n | THIS MIGHT BE THE FILTHIEST THING IVE EVER WRITTEN. uh, Matt Murdock cameo. and Steve and reader lowkey act romantic but they're purely platonic. inspired by THE Stiles and Lydia. ENJOY!

likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

divider by @cafekitsune

The warehouse looked like it had been forgotten by time. Rust flaked off corrugated walls, the windows long since caked in grime and dust. Faint light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling, catching on floating particles like a snowstorm of ash.

You stepped through the open door slowly, your heeled boots echoing softly against the concrete floor. The weight of silence sat thick in the air—one broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of aging steel. Sam stood off to the side, posted up by a boarded window, his eyes scanning the outside world like a hawk. Ironic.

He gave you a short nod in greeting, then jerked his chin toward the stairwell.

“He’s upstairs. With him.”

You nodded silently, then started climbing. Each step was slow, heavy with things unsaid. You reached the upper landing and paused at the threshold of a dim corridor, where you finally saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He was leaning against the doorframe to a room that looked like it had once been an office, now stripped bare. His arms were folded, his head slightly bowed, lost in thought. The sharp angles of his jaw were drawn tight, his eyes shadowed with more than fatigue.

He looked tired—drawn in a way you rarely saw. Shoulders too tight. Worry clinging to him like a second skin.

And yet the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face unspooled.

“You came,” he said, voice low, thick.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Where else would I be?”

Steve gave a dry little exhale. “I don’t know. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” you said.

He nodded once, but didn’t move from the door. The weight of the air between you stretched.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

You straightened, gaze steady. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. You don’t have to ask.”

“I do.” His jaw flexed, eyes flicking away. “Because I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. We’re stretched thin. And Bucky… he’s not in a good place.”

“I know,” you said, voice gentler now. “Steve, I know. I’m not scared of him.”

He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face, tension radiating from every inch of him. “I’m not either. That’s not it. It’s just—he’s been through so much. He barely speaks. Sometimes I think he’s back—my Bucky—but then I see that look in his eyes and I don’t even know who I’m looking at.”

You took a step forward, heart aching.

“You’re worried he’ll hurt someone.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

Then, almost too softly: “I’m worried he’ll hurt himself.”

That cracked something inside you. You reached out, fingers curling gently around his arm.

“Then I’ll be here,” you said, firm and calm. “I’ll sit with him through it. However long it takes.”

Steve looked at you, truly looked, and you could see it then—how much weight he was carrying. And how close he was to shattering under it.

“There’s more,” he said after a moment, voice even lower.

You nodded. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t know if he should. Then—quietly, brokenly—he said, “I don’t know what’s happening to us. The Avengers. The world. It used to feel like we were fighting for something good. Something that meant something. Now… it just feels like we’re tearing apart.”

You let his words hang in the air. Let him breathe. Then you stepped closer.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered.

But Steve shook his head. Slowly. Distantly.

“I don’t think it will be.”

There was something so human about him in that moment. Not the Captain. Not the soldier. Just a man who’d lived too long, lost too much, and still hadn’t learned how to stop hoping—even when it hurt.

He looked at you—really looked at you. The intensity in his eyes bordered on overwhelming. But what you saw there wasn’t fear. It was trust. Worn, heavy, aching trust.

“You can back out at any point,” he said, voice rough. “If it’s too much. If he—”

“I’m here,” you interrupted softly, a small smile blooming. “And I’m here to stay.”

Steve stared at you for a moment longer, then—without warning—you stepped in and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He folded into you immediately, arms winding tightly around your waist like the weight of the world was something he could put down, just for a second, if he held onto you.

His breath was warm against your hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice frayed at the edges. “For being here. For me.”

Your fingers curled at his nape, anchoring him. “Always.”

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. The kind of touch that said, I can’t ask for more, but I’d be lost without this.

You gave his hand a final squeeze, then watched as he turned and opened the door to where Bucky waited.

The door clicked shut behind Steve with a soft finality.

Bucky sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His hair was damp from where he’d splashed water on his face earlier. There was still blood crusted in his hairline from the fight in Bucharest. He hadn’t spoken in hours—not really. Just a grunt here and there when Steve checked on him.

The room was dark and cold, lit only by a single bulb hanging overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying. Dust danced in the light. The walls were bare. There was a thin mattress pushed into the corner and not much else.

He could hear someone talking outside. A familiar voice. And a softer one.

Then footsteps. Boots against concrete.

He didn’t look up when Steve entered.

Steve took a breath and crossed the floor slowly. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t try to force conversation.

He just sat, giving Bucky space to choose.

"You holding up?" Steve finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. His metal fingers flexed slightly. “Still breathing.”

It took another minute before Bucky spoke again, voice hoarse, low.

“You’re leaving.”

Steve nodded. “Not for long.”

Bucky lifted his head, the shadows under his eyes deeper than ever. “Where?”

“Sam and I need to pull some others in. It’s moving fast.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened slightly. “You’re not?”

“No.” Steve gave him a look. “She’s staying.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “The woman outside.”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Bucky paused, then asked—carefully, cautiously—“That your girl?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at the floor. “No. God, no. She’s… she’s just a friend.”

“Doesn’t sound like ‘just a friend,’” Bucky muttered.

“She’s just my friend,” Steve said again.

Bucky studied him for a long moment, the gears clearly turning behind his tired eyes. “You trust her.”

“With my life.”

“And you’re leaving her with me.” That wasn’t a question. That was Bucky quietly testing the weight of what Steve was asking.

“I’m not leaving her with you like she’s a babysitter,” Steve said, voice firm but warm. “She offered. Because she cares. Because she’s kind. And because she’s not afraid of you.”

Bucky’s head dropped slightly. “That’s a mistake.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “It’s not. You’re not the man Hydra turned you into.”

“You sure?”

Steve stood slowly, walking over to the window, eyes scanning the alleyway below. “Yes and she’ll be here when you need her. Whether you like it or not.”

Bucky grunted. “Sounds annoying.”

Steve chuckled. “You’ll get used to her.”

He moved to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Bucky?”

He looked up.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve said again, softer this time. “But I do care about her. She’ll look after you. Let her.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, watching his friend’s back. The silence stretched.

Then, quietly, “She got a name?”

Steve turned back to him with a small, knowing smile. “Ask her yourself.”

Silence stretched. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders didn’t ease, but something in his eyes flickered. Not quite trust. But maybe curiosity.

────────────────────────

Outside, you were waiting patiently, arms folded, gaze flicking down the hallway as he approached. You gave him a questioning look.

“How’d it go?”

“He asked if you were my girl.”

You blinked, then laughed softly. “That’s a first.”

“I told him no. Just a loyal, stubborn friend.”

You nudged his arm. “Stubborn’s a little rude.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

He gave you a final, grateful look—the kind that carried years of friendship in one glance—then disappeared down the stairwell, leaving you standing in the dim hallway outside Bucky’s room.

You inhaled slowly, squared your shoulders, and turned toward the door.

The door creaked softly as you stepped inside.

The air inside was still—almost unnaturally so. Dim light filtered through the cracked blinds, casting lines of gold across the worn floorboards. The mattress sat low to the ground, old and bare, and on it sat a man who looked more like a memory than a presence.

Bucky didn’t look up right away.

He was perched on the edge of the mattress like he didn’t know what to do with his body. Shoulders squared. Hands resting on his knees. The metal one glinting faintly under the weak light. He didn’t move as you entered, didn’t speak—just turned and looked at you as if you might explode if he blinked.

His face was as unreadable as you'd expected. Blank. Cold. Not hostile, just... emptied out.

Still, you offered him the softest smile you could manage.

“Hi,” you said softly, introducing yourself.

No reaction. Not even a flinch.

You took a step forward, slow and steady, keeping your voice warm. “Steve asked me to check in on you.”

Still nothing. But he hadn’t asked you to leave either

“I’m not here to watch you,” you spoke, stepping forward slowly, palms open, posture relaxed. “Not like that. I’m just here if you need anything.”

Silence.

But his eyes followed you, blue and unreadable.

“I’m not an agent or anything,” you added. “But I figured a quiet face wouldn’t hurt.”

His gaze dropped back to the floor.

Your eyes drifted to the gash above his eyebrow again. The skin around it looked irritated. Dry blood had trailed down his temple, now flaked and cracking.

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured. “Your forehead.”

He blinked once. No acknowledgment. Just the same blank stare.

You nodded slightly to yourself, then crossed to the nearby table where Steve had left a bottle of water, some basic medical supplies. You grabbed a cloth and dampened it gently.

When you returned, you paused beside him.

“Can I…?” you asked gently, holding up the cloth just slightly. “Take care of that?”

There was a long pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—suspicion, uncertainty, maybe even something like confusion.

Then he gave a small, stiff nod.

You didn’t sit on the mattress beside him. That felt too close. Instead, you knelt down on the floor, leveling yourself just enough to reach him, and held the cloth delicately in your fingers.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to fill the silence. “This might be a little cold.”

You dabbed gently at the gash on his forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure. The dried blood flaked away slowly under your touch. You worked in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the cloth against his skin and the hush of your own breath.

Bucky didn’t flinch.

But he watched you.

Close. Unblinking.

Like he was trying to find the trick in your movements. Waiting for the shift—when the care would curdle into expectation. Or interrogation. Or pity.

But you just kept working, your touch steady, your face calm.

After a long moment, he finally spoke—voice low and rough, like unused gravel.

“You an Avenger?”

It caught you a little off guard, but you smiled faintly, not stopping your work.

“Not at all,” you said. “Maybe honorary. I just help Steve out. Here and there.”

You wiped the last of the blood from his temple, then lowered the cloth.

“But mostly,” you added with a small shrug, “I stick to New York.”

He was still staring at you. His brow twitched slightly. “Doing what?”

You chuckled, folding the cloth neatly in your lap. “I’m a lawyer.”

The expression on his face shifted for the first time—just a flicker, but there. His eyes narrowed slightly. Disbelieving, “A lawyer?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

His look said it before his lips did.

What the hell are you doing here?

You didn’t need him to ask.

You met his gaze—steady, warm, sure.

“A lawyer that knows right from wrong,” you said simply.

The room fell quiet again.

He stared at you like he was trying to see the catch—trying to spot where the kindness ended and the judgment began.

It didn’t come.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You stayed kneeling for a few more moments, wringing the bloodied cloth between your fingers, giving him space even while sitting right in front of him.

Bucky still hadn’t moved.

He just watched you. Not with suspicion exactly—more like quiet observation, like he was still figuring out what you were.

You gave him a moment, then sat back on your heels and rested your arms on your knees.

“So,” you started gently, as if you were just catching up with someone over coffee, “Steve said you were from Brooklyn.”

His eyes didn’t move.

You waited a beat. Nothing.

“I’m from Hell’s Kitchen,” you added, offering a half-smile.

Still nothing. But something in his eyes flickered. Just barely.

“Grew up around a lot of noise,” you went on, your voice soft but casual. “Corner bodegas. Fire escapes. People yelling out their windows at four in the morning.”

Another pause. You risked glancing at him again.

Still no words. But his gaze lingered now. Slightly more engaged.

“I used to go up on the roof with a book and just... tune it all out,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Never worked. Some jackass was always blasting Sinatra or arguing about Mets scores.”

You caught a flicker at that—almost a breath of amusement in his expression. Almost.

“Guess Brooklyn wasn’t so different back then, huh?”

Still silence.

But now, he was looking at you—not through you.

You shrugged, eyes gentle. “Anyway. Just figured I’d try to talk. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His eyes finally dropped to the floor again, but his shoulders had eased. A fraction.

You added, “And if it helps at all… I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

That got you a flicker of eye contact again.

You smiled, soft and unbothered. “And you, from the looks of it, don’t talk unless you absolutely have to. So, we make a solid pair.”

No reaction.

You let out a small sigh.

The room had settled into a quiet sort of calm by late evening.

Bucky hadn’t spoken much—if at all—but he hadn’t pulled away when you refilled his water or dropped off a spare blanket either. A win in your book.

You hadn’t meant to take the call in front of him.

But you also couldn’t afford to ignore it—not when Matt Murdock’s name lit up your screen with its usual stubborn persistence.

You shifted where you sat on the edge of the room’s lone table, pressing the phone to your ear while still keeping Bucky in the corner of your eye. He sat on the mattress, back against the wall, arms folded stiffly over his chest. Watching. Always watching.

“Good evening,” you greeted softly, careful to keep your voice low.

There was a pause. Then, sharp and unmistakably annoyed, “Where the hell are you?”

You smiled. “Hi to you too, Matty.”

“I came by your loft, you weren't there.”

“No, because I’m in Germany.”

There was a long pause.

“…Germany?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize international borders exist, right? And that we’re not technically allowed to cross them at will?”

“You do realize you’re blind and still have better spatial awareness than the TSA, right?”

“You were just in New York yesterday,” he said, exasperated. “You can’t keep dropping everything the second Steve Rogers snaps his fingers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Jealousy and judgment in one breath. Impressive.”

“I’m not jealous,” he bit out. “I’m concerned. You didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving the country.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t plan to. Things moved fast. It’s not like I’m on vacation, Matt.”

“You think I don’t know what fast looks like?” he shot back. “This is the kind of fast that gets people killed. You’re not a soldier. You’re not—”

“I’m not you,” you snapped, before immediately softening your tone. “I’m not you, Matt. But you don’t get to lecture me about dropping everything for a ghost from your past when you've barely been present since yours came back.”

The line went still.

You exhaled. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“I know,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I just… I worry. You matter to people, you know?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised. “Just keeping someone safe until Steve gets back.”

There was a beat.

“…Is that someone dangerous?”

You glanced across the room. Bucky’s eyes were still on you, narrowed faintly in curiosity.

“No,” you said. “Not to me.”

Matt didn’t sound convinced. “Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

You ended the call with a gentle sigh, letting your head rest back against the wall.

Across the room, Bucky was watching you.

Not glaring. Not tense. Just watching—with that unreadable look he wore like armor.

You raised the phone slightly. “Work colleague.“

His brow lifted, slightly skeptical.

You tilted your head. “Okay, close work colleague.”

He didn’t respond. But you swore you caught the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth—something almost like amusement.

You didn’t press.

You just leaned your head back and closed your eyes.

And that’s when you heard it.

Footsteps.

A faint but steady rhythm outside, boots against gravel, echoing just enough through the warehouse walls to mimic something far more sinister.

The blood drained from Bucky’s face in an instant.

His body snapped upright, rigid. His eyes locked on the door.

And his breathing changed.

Subtle at first. A slight hitch. A break in rhythm. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.

And you weren’t.

You were halfway to the window already, your phone still in hand, distracted by the soft scrape of boots on gravel outside. You weren’t even looking at him when you said, “I’ll be right back. Just want to check it out.”

You moved with ease, brushing aside the edge of the tarp covering the glass. From where you stood, you caught a glimpse—just a guy with a backpack, head down, walking briskly down the alley. Civilian. No uniform. No earpiece.

Harmless.

You turned back toward the room, already ready to reassure—

And stopped cold.

Bucky hadn’t moved from the bed.

But everything about him had changed.

He was still seated, but his hands were clenched into fists, white-knuckled. His shoulders were drawn in tight, and his head was tipped down, jaw locked, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid bursts.

“Bucky?”

His eyes snapped up.

Wide. Unfocused. Wild.

Your heart dropped.

You took a step closer. “Hey. You’re okay, it was just someone walking past. No one’s coming.”

But he didn’t hear you. Not really.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time. A low sound escaped his throat—almost a growl, almost a sob—and his metal hand twitched violently on his knee.

“I can’t—” he choked, fingers clawing at the edge of the mattress. “I can’t—breathe—”

You froze for half a second, then rushed forward, dropping into a crouch in front of him, palms out, voice gentle but firm.

“Okay. Okay, Bucky. You’re having a panic attack. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you are. I promise, you are. You need to try to slow it down, or your body’s going to lock up on you.”

His chest was rising in harsh, ragged gasps now, every breath shallow and frantic. His eyes were darting around the room like he was trapped, like every wall was closing in.

You hovered your hands near his knees, not touching, just there. “I’m not gonna grab you. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re not back there.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling. “I can’t—I can’t get out—I can’t—”

“Hey. Hey.” Your voice broke on the word. “You’re not trapped. I’m right here. You’re with me, remember?”

No response.

His breathing was worsening. He wasn’t inhaling fully anymore. Just choking down gulps of air like they weren’t sticking. His fingers curled against the mattress, his body rocking slightly.

He’s going to pass out.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your voice steady even as panic rose in your own chest.

“Okay. Listen to me. We’re going to ground, alright? Just do what you can.” You reached up, hovering your fingers closer to his arm. “Five things you can see. Look around, just five.”

He blinked rapidly, lips parted, shaking.

“Five things,” you repeated. “Just name them. Anything.”

“I—I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t—I can’t see—fuck—”

Your gut twisted.

“Alright. It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, watching his eyes roll slightly upward as if his mind was spinning off. “Bucky, please. Just hold onto something.”

But he couldn’t.

You could see the fight in him, but the grip of the attack had its claws in deep now, dragging him down. His hand jerked, metal fingers spasming like his nerves were short-circuiting.

He was slipping.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan.

You just acted.

You surged forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Your hand cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the scruff of his cheek, your lips moving against his like your breath could anchor him, like your body could pull him back from wherever his mind had gone.

At first, he didn’t move.

His breath hitched hard in your mouth, his body rigid.

And then—

He breathed.

Not perfect. Not deep.

But something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders dipped slightly. His mouth softened just enough under yours. The rigid rock of his spine eased.

You pulled back after a beat, gasping softly, shocked at yourself, still close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

His eyes snapped open.

Blue. Wide. Raw.

You blinked, stammering. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I read once—somewhere—that when you’re panicking, holding your breath can reset your lungs, and so—” You swallowed. “So, when I kissed you… you held your breath.”

His lips parted, still trembling.

Your hand was still lightly on his jaw. You started to pull it away, “I’m sorry—”

But then his hand—his metal hand—caught your wrist.

Gently.

He stared at you, breathing hard, but steadier now. Something wild still flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t panic anymore.

It was something else.

Something desperate.

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

Bucky’s hand—cold metal and trembling restraint—was still wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand pressed to his jaw. His skin beneath your palm was warm, rough with stubble, tense with something unreadable.

You should’ve tried to pull away again.

You should’ve said something. But you couldn’t speak.

Not with the way he was looking at you. Like you weren’t real. Like he’d dreamed you up in some quiet corner of his broken mind and was terrified you might disappear if he blinked too long.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your mind raced, caught between guilt and instinct.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “I just didn’t know what else—”

And then you felt it.

His other hand.

You hadn’t even noticed it moving. But now, his warm, flesh hand was at the back of your head, fingers tangling through your hair, firm and certain.

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in.

The kiss came fast.

No hesitation. No apology.

It collided with your mouth like a dam breaking—like a gasp swallowed between parted lips and bruised hearts. His hand on your wrist still held you in place, while the other tilted your head just enough to claim every inch of your mouth.

You made a startled sound—something between a breath and a gasp—and your hands moved instinctively finding his shoulders as you fell forward into his chest.

Your body hit his with more force than you meant, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, he pulled you closer, like your weight grounded him.

His kiss deepened.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hungry.

Like he needed this more than air. Like the feel of your mouth, the press of your body, was the only thing holding him in the present. His lips moved against yours with bruising pressure, desperate and hot, tongue flicking past your parted lips like he couldn’t stand not to taste you again.

And you melted.

Every thought, every question, every ounce of guilt evaporated the second his tongue touched yours.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders. Your knees threatened to give out. His breath was ragged in your mouth, nose brushing yours, body trembling with barely leashed tension.

This wasn’t just comfort.

This was need.

Pure and primal.

His hands were on you now—both of them. The right still cradled the back of your head, fingers buried in your hair, holding you close. But the left… the left had found your waist, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing along your side like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch but couldn’t help himself.

You felt the chill of metal and the heat of human skin, trembling and unsure.

He kissed you harder. Mouth moving against yours with clumsy, desperate hunger—no rhythm, no restraint. He wasn’t kissing to seduce.

He was kissing to feel.

When his lips broke from yours, they didn’t go far. They dropped to your jaw, then your throat, his breath hot and uneven as he murmured something unintelligible against your skin.

His tongue dragged along the side of your neck, followed by soft, open-mouthed kisses—rushed, messy, too fast. Like he didn’t know where to start. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you at once.

“God…” he breathed, mouth moving to your collarbone. “You’re so soft…”

His hands moved again, a little braver now—palming your waist, then your back, then your hips. He tugged at your shirt, his fingers grazing over the fabric like it was in his way, like he needed to touch more.

And that’s when your thoughts finally broke through the haze.

You gasped, blinking hard, fingers coming up to press gently against his chest.

“Bucky,” you said, breathless. “We should stop.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

His lips paused just below your ear, trembling.

“This isn’t good for you,” you whispered. “You’re in a bad headspace, and I don’t want to take advantage—”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading, voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered.

Your heart shattered.

“Bucky—”

“Please,” he said again, more desperate now. “I—I need to feel you. I need to know I’m still here. That I’m not… that I’m not him.”

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest.

His voice broke entirely. “Just… just let me touch you. Let me feel something that isn’t pain. Please…”

You stared at him for a long moment, his words still ringing in your ears, his hands trembling against your waist.

Let me feel something that isn’t pain.

The breath left your chest in a slow, trembling sigh.

And then you leaned in.

Your lips met his again—not rough this time, but slow, deep, deliberate. A promise.

Bucky responded like he’d been holding his breath.

His hands flew to your sides, tugging you closer until your knees straddled his thighs, until your chest was flush with his. He let out a broken, needy sound as you kissed him, fingers dragging up your spine, gripping, clutching, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He moaned at that—actually moaned—his mouth crashing into yours again as his hands started moving, frantic and restless, skimming beneath your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was an obstacle, not clothing.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, holding his face between your palms like he was something fragile. You kissed him deeper, letting him pour himself into it, letting him need you. And all the while, you rocked slowly in his lap, hips rolling in a subtle, steady rhythm that made both of you gasp.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered against your mouth. “You feel so good… I can’t—can’t get close enough.”

He pulled harder at your shirt, his hands shaking with how desperately he wanted more of you. You broke the kiss just long enough to fumble with the buttons, undoing only a few before he lost patience entirely.

His hands flew up to your chest, and in one frantic motion, he tugged your bra down beneath your breasts.

“Bucky—”

But then his mouth was on you, and the words dissolved.

He latched onto your breast with a groan so guttural it vibrated through your core. His tongue swirled around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth like he was starved for it—like this was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You gasped, eyes flying wide, one hand clinging to his shoulder as your hips jerked against him.

“Oh my—Bucky—”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

His metal hand clutched your back, holding you in place as he lavished your breast with open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet and messy. His other hand palmed your waist, guiding your hips in time with his own.

You rutted against him harder now, both of you still fully clothed, the friction unbearable and perfect. His cock pressed thick and hard against you through his jeans, and the way he groaned into your skin when you ground down on him made your thighs tremble.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, guiding him, anchoring him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you breathed. “I’ve got you.”

And he moaned again, mouth still on your skin, hips jerking upward into you like he was begging you to believe him.

Your breathing was ragged. His lips were still wet from your skin. And when you pulled back slightly—only just enough to break contact—Bucky let out a whine.

Not a word. A sound. Broken, instinctual.

“Don’t—” he gasped, trying to follow you. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice barely stable as you pushed gently against his chest.

He let you guide him back, his body hitting the thin mattress with a soft thump, arms still reaching for you like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

“I’ve got you,” you promised again, voice low and sure, even as your hands moved fast.

You didn’t fully undress—didn’t need to. You shoved your jeans down, just past your knees, the waistband biting into your thighs as you knelt between his legs. Bucky’s chest heaved as he watched you, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he was starving.

“God, you’re…” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re not real.”

You reached for his jeans, fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle, your own hands shaking now with the sheer pressure of what you were doing—what this was. You unzipped him, tugging his waistband down just far enough to free him.

And there he was.

Hard. Leaking. So fucking ready it made your mouth go dry.

He twitched when your hand wrapped around him—just once—and he gasped, hips jerking slightly off the mattress.

“Please,” he murmured again. “I—I need to be inside you. Please, I need—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You rose back up onto his thighs, grabbed his cock at the base, and positioned yourself with practiced urgency.

He held his breath.

And then—you sank down.

Slow, steady, deep.

Bucky cried out, head snapping back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as your heat wrapped around him. “Fuck,—Jesus—”

You couldn’t even breathe for a second. The stretch was intense, overwhelming—your thighs trembling as you adjusted, hands braced on his chest.

Beneath you, he was shaking.

Completely undone.

His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, not to guide you—but just to hold on.

You stayed there a moment, full of him, pulsing around him, feeling every tremble in his frame.

Then you leaned down, lips brushing his cheek, and whispered, “You feel that?”

He nodded, frantic.

“That’s real. I’m real. And you’re not alone.”

And then you started to move.

You moved slowly at first—hips rolling, drawing his cock in deep, then easing back up, dragging every inch of him against your walls. Bucky’s head tipped back, a shudder ripping through him, his mouth slack, eyes blown wide as his hands dug into your waist like he was terrified you might stop.

“God,” he rasped, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good—”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body wrapped around him, the rhythm building in your hips—it said everything.

You rode him harder, faster now, the tension rising like a fever. The denim of his jeans and the way your own clothes clung to sweat-slick skin made everything feel even messier, even more raw. The friction burned in the best way, every drag of your body against his driving him closer to the edge.

Bucky couldn’t stop touching you. His hands were on your waist, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where he needed you more. His voice was low and broken, a litany of groans and murmured please, please, please, even when you were already giving him everything.

When you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, your fingers tangling in his hair, he was right there with you—breathing you in like oxygen.

His chest was rising fast now, the rhythm in your hips growing sloppy, desperate. You could feel him pulsing inside you, getting close.

Then—suddenly—he surged upward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was rough, needy, all tongue and teeth and shaky breath. He needed to be connected—to feel you pressed against him in every possible way as he unraveled.

And then he came.

You felt it—deep, hot, twitching inside you as he groaned into your mouth, burying his face in your shoulder, his entire body trembling as you held him through it. His arms clutched you tight, almost too tight, like if he let go you might vanish.

You didn’t.

You stayed with him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. Lips at his temple. Your hips finally stilled.

You hadn’t come. You weren’t even thinking about it.

This—this—had never been about you.

It was for him.

To remind him that he was here. That he was human. That he was held.

You were still catching your breath, his body trembling in your arms, when it happened.

Without a word—without even looking up—Bucky shifted beneath you, tightening his arms around your waist. And before you could ask what he was doing, he flipped you.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you barely had time to gasp before his body followed, pressing you down, caging you in.

“Bucky—” you started, surprised, dazed.

But the look in his eyes stole the words from your mouth.

Focused. Intense. Wild with a need you hadn’t seen before—but not for his own release this time.

For yours.

He was still hard inside you. Still there. And now, he began to move.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He pounded into you—hips snapping forward with frantic rhythm, as if something had cracked open inside him and he couldn’t bear not to give you back everything you’d just given him. Every thrust was deep, hard, messy. His breath came in grunts and gasps, his forehead pressed to yours, his body slick with sweat.

You clutched at his shoulders, your own body struggling to keep up as pleasure started to crash over you like a wave.

“Let me,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Let me make you feel good. You—fuck, you were so good to me—I need—I need to make you come—please—”

Your breath hitched, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as his cock drove into you again and again, hitting all the right angles now with dizzying precision. His hand slid down, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate, trying to draw your pleasure up through every inch of you.

The pressure built fast. Too fast.

You were already so full, so overwhelmed—his voice in your ear, his fingers on your body, his cock so hard inside you—and the way he moved… God.

“You don’t have to—” you started, already trembling.

“I want to,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You whimpered, body jerking beneath his as the tension in your core snapped tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Please. I need to feel it.”

And then you did.

You came with a moan that tore out of your throat, back arching, hands clutching at his back as your body spasmed around him. Bucky groaned, dropping his head into your neck, hips still moving as he rode you through it, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Like giving you pleasure was what made him feel whole.

His body trembled as he came down, the last few ragged thrusts losing momentum until finally—finally—he stilled, buried deep inside you, heart pounding hard enough that you could feel it through his chest.

He hovered there for a moment, arms shaking, breath catching in his throat.

And then he collapsed.

Not all at once. Slowly, carefully. Like his strength gave out in stages. But even as he let himself fall into you, he caught his weight on his forearms, mindful, always mindful—never fully resting on you. He curled slightly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck like he needed to hide. Like the world was too bright again, too loud, and your skin was the only place left that felt quiet.

Your arms came around him without hesitation.

One hand slipped across his back, fingers splayed wide, gently grounding him with each stroke up and down his spine. The other cradled the back of his head, thumb sweeping slowly through his damp hair, cradling him like something precious.

His breath hitched once.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just held him.

He melted into it slowly, his metal arm resting against the mattress beside your head, his human hand fisting weakly in the blanket beneath you. You felt the tremble still in his muscles—aftershocks of everything he’d just released.

“Shh,” you murmured, soft against his ear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His forehead pressed tighter to your throat.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, voice low and steady. “Right here with me.”

He exhaled, shaky and fragile.

“You’re not alone. You’re not him. You’re not broken.”

He didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to.

He let you hold him.

You kept going, voice like a lullaby, your fingers never stopping.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you murmured. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on the blanket loosened, and he shifted just enough to finally let some of his weight settle into your body.

Not too much.

Just enough to trust.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #the avengers #captain america civil war #steve rogers #matt murdock #daredevil #team cap

4K notes · View notes

spider-stark · 4 months ago

Text

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens.

Sickness hit in a crushing wave.

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip.

Then there was stillness.

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—]

{—You or them?}

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet.

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none.

No pulse. No absolution.

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain.

It was raining.

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands.

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call.

Calls.

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense.

Seven times you called the Devil.

Seven times he didn’t answer.

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence.

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done.

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered.

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again.

{In case you ever need it—}

[—I don’t trust him.]

What is trust?

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold.

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?”

You almost laughed.

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate?

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant.

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered.

Unless…

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

{—That what we are?}

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?”

“An alley.”

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.”

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought.

“Off West 51st,” you said.

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.”

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next.

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin.

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him.

Only that you had.

{You call, I come—}

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.]

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands.

So am I, you thought. So am I.

Frank said your name. Once, twice.

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?”

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw.

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante.

It was a soldier.

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.”

Time dragged.

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall.

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp.

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights.

What if someone noticed?

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night.

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin…

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable.

[To a judge? Or to God?—]

God doesn’t matter.

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?]

Why didn’t you answer?

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?”

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.”

You did.

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse.

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.”

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest.

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior.

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?”

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob.

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.”

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction.

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Another weak laugh faded into quiet.

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them.

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—]

Even secret sins are exposed in His light.

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?}

By believing in it.

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists.

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?”

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out.

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired.

Existence had become an arduous task.

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?”

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s.

You didn’t want to feel alone.

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?”

The world was ending.

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things.

[What do you see in him?—]

{—Let me take care of all this.}

You nodded.

Frank’s apartment was bleak.

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom.

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay.

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t.

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe.

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank?

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar.

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts.

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird.

He’d need a flock.

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle.

Still, the warmth lingered.

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.”

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at.

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer.

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl.

You pretended not to hear him anyway.

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began.

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend.

You knew better now.

You should’ve picked the dog.

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.”

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended.

“So you gotta make it worse?”

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is.

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?”

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.”

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair.

Frank deserved better than that.

[Have you forgotten?—]

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder]

[—Why are you so attached to this case?]

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.”

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Guess so.”

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his.

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions.

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined.

Not that you ever had imagined it.

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails.

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other.

Only then did you confess.

“He had a knife.”

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening.

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.”

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger.

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–”

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you.

But that had been a stupid, childish thought.

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–”

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe.

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–”

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?”

Your brows furrowed in answer.

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.”

“I don’t, but–”

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?”

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!”

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.]

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued.

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.”

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter.

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further.

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot.

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.”

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched.

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact.

“I did–”

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.

“No. I did.”

You blinked at him.

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.”

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?]

Do you care about her?

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

…

[—Can you say the same about Frank?]

You studied the man before you.

Frank Castle. The Punisher.

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget.

A number not saved, but remembered.

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t.

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you.

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you.

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.”

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?”

You nodded, and he chuckled.

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.”

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text.

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK?

Your thumb hovered over the message.

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected.

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path.

You cleared Matt’s message.

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?”

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank.

You shook your head. “Is it good?”

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.”

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.”

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

4K notes · View notes

wolvietxt · 5 months ago

Text

𝓢ILENT 𝓣REATMENT.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car. wc : 4.5k a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest

the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.

you had said yes because it mattered to him.

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.

he didn’t notice.

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”

“frank, i’m fine - ”

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

3K notes · View notes

lanae111 · 6 months ago

Text

The only reason I haven’t slept with this man Is because he’s playing hard to get.

(He’s fictional btw)

7K notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

Text

— love language

summary: You and Matt are now dating, but you haven't told anyone. How long will it take your friends to notice?

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: i had this idea after writing goodnight n go (which is technically the first part, but you don't need to read it to understand this). anyways, here's a bunch of fluff

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, matt is a cocky little shit, making out

Things moved on normally, the only thing that had changed in the past month was that you two weren’t just friends but dating.

You didn’t realize it, but you were already quite close to Matt.

Matt chuckled, his arm hooked around yours as the two of you waited in line for coffee. “Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Ugh.” You elbowed him. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m just saying, what kinda friends have a toothbrush at their place?” He tapped his cane against the floor lightly.

You tilted your head. “Uhhh… pretty sure at one point Foggy had a toothbrush at your place.”

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

"And yet," Matt murmured, smirking, "here you are."

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock #matthew murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

2K notes · View notes

angelsautumn · 15 days ago

Text

#frank castle #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #marvel #daredevil

2K notes · View notes

thyme-in-a-bubble · 4 months ago

Note

i’ve never made a request before so sorry if this is bad but if you could write something about matt murdock with a fake dating trope like that would be so cute, especially if there’s feelings realized during/after it :)

a/n: i swear, i tried to just keep this short and sweet like how i usually keep requests, but then the fantasy i came up with was just too fun and too much like a fucking romcom not to just let myself go ham and turn it into a full-on long fic

word count: 3778

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Leaning your weight against the bar, you waited for Josie to return with another round of beers for you and your friends, who still remained exactly where you’d left them, all clustered around the pool table further into the space.

Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the ring so often glued to your fingers, passing the heirloom from each digit and sliding it onto the next. It had been your grandmother’s, and ever since her passing, the simple golden circle with a little jade embedded at the cusp of it, rarely stayed in your jewellery box as the act of simply glancing down at it on your finger somehow offered you a drop of comfort in moments of mundane gloom.

As the heirloom arrived at your left ring finger and slid down over the knuckle, a familiar voice suddenly emanated like an echo after the bar’s front door had swung open.

“Y/n?” your whole body froze up at the unexpected timbre.

Slowly, you twisted around to discover none other than your ex, wide eyes trained on you as he clutched the hand of a leggy blonde.

“Henry!” you gasped, hoping they mistook the horrified look on your face for innocent shock, “oh my god…”

Without any warning, the next thing you knew, he’d yanked your stunned form into a hug, “how the hell are you?” he clapped your shoulder as if you were old school chums, “it’s been so long.”

“I’m–, uhm, fine,” you managed to reply.

“Yeah?” he smiled, the insincerity in your tone completely flying over his head, “that’s great.”

Simply to be polite, you awkwardly asked, “…how are you?” even though you truly didn’t wish to know the answer.

“I’m good, yeah, life’s been kinda crazy lately because–, oh,” he suddenly paused to glance back at the girl by his side, “Y/n, you remember Rebecca, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed and offered her a glance, fearing steam might billow out of your ears at any moment, “hi.”

“Hey,” she smiled brightly as she tossed her luscious locks over her shoulder, “and please don’t mind him,” she clapped a palm over Henry’s chest, “he’s just freaking out, you know, usual guy stuff before finally getting tied down.”

“I’m sorry,” you blinked, nearly pinching yourself to test if this was a nightmare or not, “before what?”

Rebecca then held up her left hand to flash you the massive rock nestled on her fourth finger.

“I finally popped the question!” Henry grinned and draped an arm around his fiancé.

“Wow, oh wow, that’s–…” you sputtered as the blonde promptly shoved her hand in your face for you to get a better look, “that’s a really big rock, right there, on your finger…” your touch floated up and tilted her palm slightly, the light from the neon sign close by glinting in the diamond, “congratulations…”

“Thanks!” she smiled down at the ring herself before her fingers suddenly captured your own and twisted your hand around, “oh wait, congrats to you too!”

“What?” you still simply tried to keep breathing through this agonising gut-punch of an encounter.

“I know they say that size doesn’t matter,” Rebecca eyed the tiny green stone that adorned your grandmother’s ring, “and it doesn’t! I mean, that’s so pretty,” she uttered in a sugary sweet and insincere tone that made you feel as if you were back in high school again, “understated, simple.”

“Ah, no way,” Henry peeked down at your hand, “you’re engaged too?”

“Uh…” you let out a shaky breath, “yep,” the lie then suddenly flew out past your lips before you had a chance to stop it, “that’s me! I’m getting married.”

“That’s amazing,” your ex let out an airy chuckle, “who’s the lucky guy?”

But before your lips could part and let out another lie, Josie returned, “here you go, hon,” and slid four beer bottles across the bar to you before adding, “and would you tell Foggy to stop sitting on the edge of the pool table? It’s old and I can’t be responsible if it breaks on him.”

“Sure thing,” you promised and snatched up the drinks.

“Is that your man?” Henry cast a glance to the lawyer Josie had gestured to, “Foggy, was it?”

“Foggy?” a soft giggle couldn’t help but bubble out of your lungs, “no! Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but no, sadly, he’s already taken.”

“Then who is it?”

“Is it the other guy over there?” Rebecca chimed in as they both sent their glances towards your friends, “the one in the light blue shirt and tinted glasses?”

“Uh, yeah…” you squeaked as you slowly turned to look at Matt as well, “that’s–, uh, that’s him,” you watched as he readjusted his grip on the cue stick in his hand, “that’s my future husband…”

“Hm,” a sliver of judgment slipped out of Henry, “wouldn’t have pegged him to be your type.”

“Well, maybe my type has changed,” you stated, letting your lingering resentment show before you noticed how harsh it had come out and your stomach immediately began to twist and knot in regret, “I–…” you swiftly winched, “sorry,” and averted your gaze, “have a nice evening, uh–, I’m gonna go back to my friends,” you stumbled as you tried to escape.

Though as you turned to walk away, Henry’s voice found your ears one last time, “bye!” before you heard his fiancé turn to him.

“Pookie? Would you order me a cosmo?” her voice began to fade into the background, “I’ll go find us a table…”

You simultaneously felt as if a truck had just run you over as your feet carried you back towards your friends, yet also completely numb, as if you’d been turned into a floating ghost of the person you used to be.

“Who the hell was that and why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Foggy asked cautiously as he grabbed two of the bottles in your grasp and handed one off to Matt.

Passing one of the remaining drinks off to Karen, you then lifted your own up to your lips before tipping it back and downing around half of its contents. Once you tilted the dark green bottle back down, you were out of breath as you began to explain, “that,” you wiped your bottom lip with one of your knuckles, “was my ex,” you used that same finger to hazily point back over your shoulder, “and his fiancé,” your eyes stayed fuzzy as you added, “who happen to be the girl that he cheated on me with for a year before I one day finally caught them together.”

“Oh my god…” Karen breathed, her bottle frozen halfway on its journey up towards her lips.

“It was on easter,” you shared, “he thought I had gone back home to see my family, but I’d actually decided to secretly do this whole big surprise, like I thought I was in fucking rom-com or something,” you sighed at your past self, “but then when he got home from work, and I was all decked out, waiting on the bed, in bunny ears and everything,” you heatedly gestured to the top of your own head, “he wasn’t alone.”

“Wow…” Foggy stared.

“Yep…” you exhaled heavily, taking another swig before you made the mistake of glancing back over your shoulder just as Rebecca shrugged off her coat and slinked onto a stool at one of the small tables, “fuck!” you exclaimed as if you’d just stubbed your toe, “she’s even hotter than I remembered. How is that possible?”

“Oh, she’s not that pretty,” Karen tried, but you swiftly cut her off.

“You shut your face, she’s basically a human-sized Barbie,” your glare roamed one last time from the top of her platinum locks to the bottoms of her high stilettos, “god…” you sighed as you finally averted your gaze and lifted your bottle to drown your sorrows, “I was such an idiot back there. It was like my brain just stopped working and–, oh my god!” your palm shot up to cover your mouth as you then suddenly recalled the lie that had slipped out. Slowly, your wide eyes drifted to Matt, who still remained silent, “oh no…”

“What is it?” Foggy chimed in.

“Matt…” you uttered tensely, knowing your friend well enough to be aware of just how much of the interaction with your ex he had overheard, “I am so sorry…”

“What?” Karen’s glance darted between you both, “what’s going on?”

Paralysing embarrassment churned your stomach and choked out any attempt you made to share the truth. But luckily, as your erratic heartbeat thumped and found Matt’s sharp ears, he eventually filled in instead, “…they thought that she was engaged as well and then assumed that I was the guy.”

“I am so, so sorry,” you gasped, “I don’t know why I didn’t correct them.”

But to your amazement, Matthew simply shrugged and offered you a reassuring smile, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“I was just fiddling with my ring and then they just–…” you then snuffed out your frantic explanation and instead repeated once again, “I’m sorry…”

Saddling up beside you, Karen planted a palm on your shoulder, “hey, if that was my ex, then I’d wanna give him some of his own medicine as well,” she stated, “if not just straight up cut off his balls, which is what he really deserves.”

A faint smile then began to soften your expression as you glanced around at your supportive friends, Foggy briefly reaching out to pat your other shoulder.

But as you averted your eyes to the nearly empty bottle in your grasp, a thought suddenly struck you like a bolt of lightning, “wait, I have an idea…” your gaze slowly lifted to lock on Matt, “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I totally get it, but would you mind, just while they are here, to–, uhm…”

Cocking his eyebrow, he finished your sentence, “…to pretend to be your fiancé?”

“I know, it’s stupid, and I should probably just go home right now instead of playing some weird and immature game of revenge or whatever,” you uttered as you made the decision to lie in the grave you’d dug for yourself, “but I would forever be in your debt, I'm serious.”

Sucking in a breath, he barely had to think about it before he murmured, “sure.”

“Really?” you gasped, your brows shooting up, “you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, why not?” Matt shrugged, “it’s the very least he deserves for treating you like that.”

“Oh,” you crossed the short distance between you two and threw your arms around him. It took a second before you felt him hug you back, but when the alcohol got to your head and made you mutter, “I love you,” into his shoulder, a low chuckle rumbled in the lawyer's chest before you parted ways.

“So,” Karen then began to fish out the colourful spheres and roll them back into the green felt, “do we still wanna play another game?”

“Hell yeah,” Foggy picked a cue stick back up before adding a playful threat, “you’re not beating me again this time, Page.”

Once the table was set up for another round of pool and you were a few turns in, your gaze couldn’t help but wander back towards the other end of the bar too often to keep track of. Though, soon on one of the fleeting looks, your eyes grew wide as you discovered you weren’t the only one sneaking glances.

Discreetly, you shifted closer to Matthew and leaned in to whisper, “he’s looking over,” however, when he then draped an arm around your frame, you couldn’t help but stiffen up, as you hadn’t thought that far in the plan yet, “what are you–”

“Shh,” Matt hushed your squeak, “just lean into me,” he shifted to stand tall behind you, arms enveloped around your form as he slowly drew you back against his chest, “smile,” his low voice tickled the shell of your ear and caused goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “and don’t look at him.”

Redirecting your vision back towards the game before you, you narrowly managed to catch sight of the silent slut-shaming the other lawyer flashed his friend with but a glance, before he went back to the mischievous mission he was on.

“Foggy, would you quit it?” Karen grumbled at the man beside her as he wildly waved both of his hands in her periphery, successfully knocking off her concentration as she tried to line up her shot.

“No way,” he kept up his flapping, even causing Karen’s golden locks to get picked up by the breeze he produced.

“You’re cheating.”

“Nope, I am not touching you nor the table,” he stated as if he was in court, “distracting you doesn’t break any rules.”

And as she finally made her attempt, the ball didn’t go in, causing her to explode in a roar, “damn it, Fog!”

“Ha, ha, yes!” he jumped as she straightened back up, “you know, I taste something right now, what could that be? Oh yeah, victory. And it tastes sweet as candy store.”

“Urgh,” Karen rolled her eyes at him before her glare landed upon the both of you, “Matt, your turn. Would you please set him in his place?”

“Gladly,” Matt chuckled, and as he shifted closer to the pool table, he nudged your side and asked, “hey, would you give me a hand?”

Swallowing a chuckle as you already knew he very much didn’t need it, you cocked an eyebrow, “you want my help?”

“Yeah,” he uttered clearly and let his real message seep through his tone, guiding your gaze to flicker back toward Henry, who’s stare was still locked upon you both, “so come help me.”

“Oh!” it finally clicked in your brain, “right,” and you swiftly slid in beside him.

With bated breath, you grabbed Matt’s hand that wasn’t clutching the pole, and guided it over the ivory ball that rested close to one of the corners. As you began to map out and tell him where each of the other spheres were, your eyes flicked over to notice just how close you now stood, as your nose nearly grazed against his stubbly cheek as you murmured guidingly. When you retracted your touch, you barely noticed how a few of Matt’s fingers reacted, faintly following your fading palm for but a second before it floated back down to the white orb below it.

Once he’d made his shot, you lingered in the proximity and whispered, “do you think they’re buying it?”

“Hm?”

“This,” your eyes momentarily flickered back towards your ex across the bar, “us.”

Matthew’s brows then floated up as you reeled him back in to the matter at hand, “oh, I–, probably.”

“Or should we do something else?” your mind kept on spinning, “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve completely forgotten how all of that works,” you shared, “kinda just numbed and cut off that part of myself after he broke my heart, it was just how I had to get through it, shut down a little bit because suddenly romance was terrifying…”

“...can I ask you something?” he asked quietly after a breath, and when you offered him a hum in confirmation, he uttered, “are you still in love with him?”

Time stretched out before you finally replied, “I was, for a very long time…” your voice stayed small, “…but no, not anymore… I kind of thought I was, but then seeing him again cleared it all up. All I feel when I look at him now is rage,” you exhaled, “and pity, just because I know him too well, know everything that’s messed up about him…” silence encumbered you both for a moment before you then opened your mouth once more and said, “so, should we hold hands or something?” you asked plainly, though when a genuine laugh then began to billow out of Matthew, your eyes blinked up at him as your brows swiftly knit together, “what?”

“You know,” he tried to snuff out his chuckle, “if I was actually your fiancé, I wouldn’t just stand around and hold your hand all night,” he then leaned in the short distance till his lips nearly tickled the shell of your ear, “I would have dragged you into the bathroom by now and forced the whole bar to hear us fuck.”

“I–, u-uhm,” you flusteredly stammered as your face began to heat up, “y-yeah, yeah, that’s good too,” you barely registered your own words as they slipped out past your lips, “if that’s what you wanna do–, I mean! Shut up!” you squeezed your eyes shut as soon as you regained your own senses, “just hold my hand, you dick,” you cursed over his laughter as he swiftly slipped his palm into your own.

“Cut it out, Karen,” Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and caught your attention.

Glancing over, you spotted as Karen was giving him some of his own medicine, pettily leaning into his eye line, “what? You were the one saying that distractions weren’t against the rules,” she continued to glare in hopes of throwing him off his game, “why? Is this not working? Do you need me to scream directly in your ear instead?”

“Oh, would you?” he sarcastically looked to her, his pitch climbing up high at his words, “going deaf in one ear is exactly what I need to beat you.”

As your wandering gaze then flickered back towards the opposite end of the bar, your eyes grew wide as you spotted only Rebecca still seated at the small table, pink cocktail in her grasp.

“Shit,” you spotted Henry as he crossed the room, confidently walking precisely in your direction, “he’s coming over,” you hissed, and in your muppet-like panic, your hands clasped each side of Matt’s face and yanked him in for a kiss.

At first, he froze up as you continued to freak out, but then, as his broad palms slowly slid over your waist, all of your alarm began to melt away. It felt as if you were drifting off to sleep as you relaxed into the kiss. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that kissing Matt would feel like this, not that such a fantasy was something you pondered often or even at all, but as you felt his tongue flicker out to dance softly against your own, your knees beneath you wobbled as you lost yourself completely. How long the peck drew out remained a mystery, as when you eventually parted, the reasoning behind it wouldn’t emerge in your memory no matter how hard you tried.

Though as you stood there, blinking back at Matt, still utterly spellbound by the unexpected feelings currently bubbling and bursting inside of you, the man now standing off to the side cleared his throat and brought you back down to earth.

“Bunny–, I mean, Y/n,” you whipped your head around to catch sight of your ex, “just thought it would have been awkward if I didn’t come over here to introduce myself before me and Becca took off,” he muttered before his gaze fell to Matt, his arms slowly fading from your form, “I'm Henry, nice to meet you,” your ex then offered his hand, though the lawyer by your side didn’t grasp it, even if his heightened senses had lent him to pick up on the gesture.

“Matt Murdock,” he uttered on a cold exhale.

Stuffing his rejected palm into his pocket, Henry then asked, “what do you do?”

“Matthew’s a lawyer,” you took over, slotting yourself into Matt’s side before you dramatically clasped a hand over his chest, “saves people for a living. That’s actually why we’re out celebrating tonight, he just won yet another case.”

“Oh, well congratulations then,” Henry offered in well-forged petty politeness.

“Yeah, I was there, watching him do his thing,” you uttered as some bitter goblin of resentment then took over your soul and caused you to say, “and oh boy, I tell you, if only it would have been socially acceptable for me to interrupt the trial just to rip his clothes off, because wow.”

A scoff then rippled in Henry’s chest, “okay, sure,” his stare upon you narrowed as he then grumbled, “we both know you’re not exactly the groupie type of girlfriend.”

“Well, maybe your sorry ass was never worth her supporting you in that way,” Matt suddenly cut in, “maybe because you never bothered treated her that way in return,” his guess hit the bullseye, “and maybe that has a little something to do with why I was the one to put a ring on her finger and not you,” your heart thumped in your chest as Matt’s touch returned to the small of your back, protectively sliding over your waist as he continued to speak in a low and chillingly stern tone, “that or you really are as terrible of a lay as she told me you were, during those very first nights when she finally learned what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t a complete fucking idiot.”

Utterly stunned, you watched Henry’s expression as he scrambled his brain for a way to crawl back from that, but eventually, when no suitable words came to his pea-sized brain, his feet slowly began to shuffle back till his hand had snatched up his fiancé’s and he’d yanked her with him out of the bar.

As the door swung closed behind the pair, a celebratory squeal burst from your lungs, “oh my god! Matt, that was incredible!” you jumped in place before throwing your arms around him, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Tangling his own arms around you, he uttered, “I’m sure we’ll come up with some way you can make it up to me.”

And as you withdrew, just enough to smile back at him, your gaze began to drift back down towards his lip just before Foggy’s voice cut through the palpable tension.

“Do I need to remind you guys that you’re not actually engaged?”

“No,” Matt then murmured as the two of you parted ways, quietly enough for his words to be completely inaudible, “but we could be...”

“What?” you glanced over at him.

“What?” he echoed in return, though a bit too quickly.

“Did you say something?”

“Me? No,” he tried to conceal his lie with a cough, “I-I, uh, think it’s your turn,” he then changed the subject, gesturing to the pool table behind you.

#lea’s writing #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

earlgreylatte · 4 months ago

Text

Nicknames and Pet Names

Peter Parker: ‘Bug’! I can you two calling each other ‘bug’ and ‘bug boy’ respectively. Definitely has a roster of petnames depending on the mood; ‘sweetie’ to comfort you, ‘champ’ to make you laugh, ‘pipsqueak’ to tease you, etc. Definitely has squished your cheeks and called you ‘chipmunk’ before. Of course, nothing beats your name for him.

Johnny Storm: Don’t let him see you do something embarrassing because he won’t let you live it down. Trip in front of him once, and he’ll be calling you ‘stumbles’ for the next year. Also likes using loveydovey names like ‘firefly’ and ‘good lookin’. ‘Hotstuff’ and ‘boo’ are also some of his favourites, and probably what he refers to you as on his Instagram posts.

Matt Murdock: No one, and I mean no one, says ‘sweetheart’ like he does, whether he says it when he’s comforting you or when he’s about to go down on you, it is so insanely attractive. Definitely a ‘yes dear’ guy. He definitely has a nickname to reflect your nature/dynamic to him, like ‘sunshine’, ‘angel’, etc.

Wade Wilson: Revoke his right to use pet names!! It’s like he wants to give everyone diabetes with the names he comes up with. Hit him so he never calls you ‘pussy cat’ again. ‘Sugar plum’, ‘Carebear’, and ‘Angel face’ are his more tolerable ones. Probably stacks pet names on top of each other, creating an actual Frankenstein of mushiness.

Clint Barton: ‘Birdie’ or ‘dove’ definitely. Less into pet names, and more into making nicknames, I think, but definitely throws around ‘babe’ or ‘angelface’. Definitely makes up a teasing nickname based on your alias if you have one.

Scott Summers: ‘Honey’ or ‘dear’ because he is literally a wife guy. I can see him call you ‘peanut’ somewhat awkwardly when you two first get together. But ‘honey’ really does suit him, the type to rub your arms comfortingly while whispering sweet nothings.

Kurt Wagner: Mein gott, German time! ‘Engel’, ‘Schatz’, ‘liebling’, etc, are his go to. Also refers to you as his heart, his light, and the like because he wants you to always know how much you mean to him and all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better.

Logan Howlett: We all know ‘bub’ is his go to, but he definitely calls you ‘doll’, ‘bunny’, and ‘lovely’. Anything that points out the juxtaposition between how…pretty you are and how…Logan he is. Could also see him going for someone mousy, which of course would come with its own array of nicknames.

Masterlist

#marvel comics x reader #marvel rivals x reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #johnny storm x reader #matt murdock x reader #wade wilson x reader #daredevil x reader #deadpool x reader #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #scott summers x reader #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #logan howlett x reader #x men x reader #marvel x reader

2K notes · View notes

lovelybucky1 · 2 months ago

Text

thinking about being between frank and matt, caught up in their conflicting personalities and the dynamic that comes with it.

matt is so mean, such a tease. he’s constantly playing with you, riling you up just to deny you. he loves how you squirm, how you pout up at him when he tells you no. you’ll beg and beg and he’ll eventually give in, but only after you work for it.

“awh, sweetheart, you think you’re gonna cum tonight? you’re gonna have to convince me if you want that.”

frank is the opposite. he’s such a giver and his soft spot for you is way too big to keep you wanting for anything. you say the word and he’s giving you whatever you want until you can’t take it anymore. you’re his good girl and he can’t resist the way you bat your eyelashes and say his name in that tone. he’s weak when it comes to you.

“ya look so sweet sucking my thumb like this, baby. such a good girl for me.”

or maybe matt is the softie, giving in to your every desire. you want to go out to dinner? reservations are at eight. you want a new pair of shoes? a shiny pair of red bottoms are waiting for you on your bed. you want matt to eat you out? he’ll lay between your thighs and pleasure you until his jaw aches.

“when i get home, i want you wearing that new set i bought you. get that toy out too, your favorite one.”

maybe frank is the strict disciplinarian who will put you over his knee if you get a bit too mouthy with them. he’ll grip your jaw and make you look him in the eye when you misbehave. you hate it when you get in trouble with frank.

“who’re you talkin’ to like that, huh? cause you sure as shit don’t talk back to me like that.”

they bicker back and forth on the best way to treat their girl. matt and frank will never see eye to eye on anything, especially when it comes to you.

1K notes · View notes

matt-murdockk · 3 months ago

Text

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.

1K notes · View notes