#matt Murdock x reader fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

matt-murdockk · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Nothing

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 5.1k

warnings: cussing, slow-burn, angst if you really squint but it's just fluff mostly, lack of proofreading (rip), pretty descriptive making out

summary: This is the story of how Matt Murdock met the love of his life one fateful day at the NYPD precinct.

a/n: guess who finally learned out how to make emdashes on Mac— hehehehe. some fluffy slow-burn for you <3 (i tried not to use pronouns for the reader but I'm so sorry if i accidentally used she/her anywhere)

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While Matt was charming, romantic, and thoughtful, historically— he hasn't been the best at relationships. Flings were okay, short-term was fine, but a proper relationship? Matt didn't think he deserved to be in one until he met you.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air from all his previous exploits. Elektra was a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, certainly an experience, but he knew he didn't like the side of him that she brought out. Karen was too close a friend to lose over a relationship and Claire, well, he had way too much respect for her, he wouldn't do that to her.

You, on the other hand, were what he swore was the right person at the right time. The right amount of calm and the right amount of chaos. He didn’t go looking for you. But you found each other anyway— almost by accident, almost like it was fate.

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A regular phone call from Brett Mahoney about a possible case for Nelson & Murdock brought Foggy and Matt to the precinct one day. From outside, Matt quietly observed you before going in. You were in the holding cell, handcuffed, busted lip, and bruised knuckles. For all that you looked like you'd been through, Matt noticed that you were oddly calm.

Brett opened the door to let Matt and Foggy inside, the confusion in your face did not go unnoticed by the people in the room. "10 minutes, Foggy." The door shut behind him as he left, giving them a knowing look.

"You know it, Brett." Foggy helped Matt into his seat and took the empty seat beside him.

"Miss (Y/l/n), my name is Matt Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson." Foggy gave you a half wave and smiled.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Before we begin, have you been assaulted while in custody?"

"No, I have not. Listen, I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"We understand that you have been accused of assaulting a police officer. You have opted not to seek legal representation, is that right?"

"First of all, there has been a huge misunderstanding. Secondly, I still don't know why you're here, Mr..."

"Murdock," he reminded you.

"Right. Murdock. Sorry."

"We run a practice at Hell's Kitchen. Our firm is interested in representing you. And please, call me Matt," he clarified, presenting a warm, genuine smile.

"Well, Matt, while I am certainly thankful for your interest in representing me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't need a lawyer."

"Trust me, you're going to," he said, amused at your confidence that you'll be fine.

"Oh, I know, I just already have one."

"Well, our job here's done. No cigars for Bess next time," Foggy retorted, as he got up, ready to leave.

"Foggy, sit down. Miss (Y/l/n)—"

"(Y/n), please."

"Very well. (Y/n), I understand that you already have representation. Probably from a big-time firm with 5 times the number of defense attorneys than we do. But here’s the thing. Those firms? They see cases. Numbers. Profiles. Headlines. They’re already calculating how your situation fits into their win column. I don’t work like that. My firm doesn’t work like that. We don’t take every case. We don’t chase the press. What we do is show up— completely. We sit down, we listen, and we fight like hell for the people who trust us. No fluff. No posturing. Just the work, and the truth, and someone in your corner who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next. So if you want the machine— fine. But if you want someone who’s going to look past the charges, past the headlines, and actually see you? Then you want Nelson and Murdock."

"Wow, okay, so, great sales pitch, love the energy, I really do. There's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"My boss is already on his way to represent me."

"I'm sorry— Boss?" " Yeah, what is it you do, exactly?" enquired Foggy.

"I'm a senior associate at Pearson Hardman."

"Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Happy now, Matthew? We're poaching clients now. Oh and not just from any firm. No, sir. From Pearson fucking Hardman, Unbelievable."

"Foggy, it's okay. So, (Y/n), is your boss any good? Or..."

"I work for Harvey Specter."

"And that's our cue to leave."

Matt finally admitted defeat and got up to leave, following Foggy who was already at the door. While he was certainly ambitious, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Thank you for your time, (Y/n)."

As Matt turned toward the door, he caught the subtle quickening of your heartbeat— hesitant, uncertain, like you were rethinking your decision. His hand was just about on the doorknob, ready to leave but not quite gone, when your voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Out of your line of sight, he let the faintest smirk curl at his lips. He just loved being right.

“What is it?” Matt asked, turning back to face you.

You hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking between him and Foggy, then down to your bruised hands in your lap. “I... I want you guys to represent me.”

Foggy blinked, taken off guard. “Really? Just like that?”

You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your tone softening into something a little more tired. “Let’s just say… I’ve worked long enough at firms that care more about damage control than people. I don’t want a firm that’s already prepping their PR statement. I want someone who’ll actually give a shit.”

Matt nodded once, quietly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something solid behind it. Something settled.

Foggy let out a low whistle, then grinned. “Well… welcome to Nelson & Murdock.”

Cut to a little while later— Nelson & Murdock office. You, Matt, and Foggy sat around the table, the arrest report open in front of you. The air buzzed faintly from the overhead light, the hum of late-night tension settling over the room.

Foggy skimmed through the statement again, frowning. “Okay. Walk us through it. From the top.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, tone clipped but calm. “I was on the subway platform. Late. Waiting on the C train. There were maybe three other people around, none of them close.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, tuning in. Not just to what you were saying, but how you said it— measured, unflinching. No panic. No dramatics. Just facts.

“This guy comes over, starts making small talk. I make it clear I’m not interested. He doesn’t take the hint. Gets closer. I step back, tell him to stop. He grabs my wrist.”

“Forcefully?” Matt asked.

“Firm enough that I couldn’t just shake him off,” you replied. “So I pulled away. He grabbed me again. That time, I reacted. Hit him once, hard, in the face.”

The rhythm of your pulse didn’t spike when you said it. No guilt. Just certainty.

Foggy nodded slowly. “And then?”

“He goes down, pulls out a badge. Says he’s NYPD. I get cuffed.”

“He never identified himself before that?” Matt asked.

“No. Not verbally, not visually. No badge, no warning. He was in plainclothes, no backup, no indication he was on duty.”

Matt exchanged a look with Foggy, then turned his attention back to her. That steady confidence. The way you answered questions like you were already anticipating the next three.

“That’s a serious problem for their case,” Matt said, flipping through the paperwork. “Use of force in response to a perceived threat is protected— especially when there’s no identification of authority.”

You shrugged. “It won’t stop the department from backing him, though.”

Matt’s brows lifted just slightly. YOu knew exactly how this would play out— too many steps ahead for someone just hoping to walk out clean. You were smart. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

“No,” Foggy agreed. “But it gives us a strong narrative, especially if we can get security footage or eyewitness statements from the other people on the platform.”

There was a beat as Matt closed the folder and set it aside.

“You’re sharp,” he said, more thoughtful now. “You know the statute, you know your rights, and you’re quoting case law off the top of your head.”

You looked at him, just a little amused. “That’s because I’ve spent years doing the same thing you do.”

A flicker of something moved across Matt’s face. He leaned forward just slightly.

“Why exactly are you not representing yourself?”

You smirked. “Because representing yourself while you’re the one in custody is a logistical nightmare. And because even good lawyers know when to bring in reinforcements.”

Foggy shook his head, amused. “Okay. That was... a good answer.”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. “Now let’s go win my case.”

Matt smiled slightly. “Glad you picked us.”

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

They won.

Not easily, and not without a few uphill battles, but the charges didn’t stick. Between the platform security footage, two credible eyewitness statements, and some rather unflattering internal complaints about the arresting officer, the case quietly unravelled in court. Matt made his arguments clean and precise. Foggy handled the media brushback with that classic Nelson charm. You? You sat through the whole trial stone-faced and unshakable— until the verdict came in, and Matt swore he could hear the way your shoulders finally loosened.

You kept in touch after that.

Not constantly, no regular meetings or phone calls— just the occasional email. A few sarcastic text exchanges. One time, you sent Matt a voicemail of you laughing because Foggy had apparently called you "the one that got away." Matt saved it. He never said that part out loud.

It was about six months later when Foggy floated the idea.

“We could use another good lawyer,” he told Matt, over a plate of lukewarm takeout. “She’s smart, she’s sharp, and she gets us.”

Matt didn’t disagree. He didn’t say much at all, really. But the next morning, you got a call from him— short, polite, a little too formal— inviting you to "grab a coffee and talk opportunities."

You left Pearson Hardman three weeks later.

Karen was the first to greet you when you walked through the door on your first official day. She had already cleared space on the shared bookshelf, left a fresh legal pad on your desk, and warned you not to get caught in any of Foggy’s snack traps. You settled in like you were always meant to be there.

The four of you fell into rhythm faster than expected— late nights, tight wins, inside jokes. Karen became one of your closest friends before your second week was out. Matt had a habit of lingering in your doorway on the days he claimed he "wasn’t eavesdropping," but his smile always gave him away. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care."

The firm did better that year than anyone had predicted.

And you? You’d finally stopped feeling like just another cog in someone else’s machine. You felt like you were home.

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

It was late.

Most of the lights in the office were off except for the one at Matt’s desk, and the faint glow of your screen across from him. Karen had bailed with a yawn and a pointed “Don’t stay too long, you two.” Foggy left not long after with a granola bar and a salute.

Now, just you and Matt.

A few open case files, cold takeout, empty coffee cups.

“Your typing slows down when you’re annoyed,” Matt said, breaking the silence without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “Your voice gets smug when you’re fishing for attention.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s not flattering?”

“Because I don’t need to fish for attention,” he said. “Not when you give it up so easily.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “Oh no. You have caught me.”

“Seriously, that's how you respond to my flirting?”

You closed your file and leaned your elbows on the desk. “I didn’t realize ‘mild workplace bullying’ counted as flirting now.”

Matt tilted his head, listening closely. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled. “Murdock, if I were flirting, you’d know.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward, just slightly. “Go on, then.”

You mirrored the movement. “You sure you want to start something you can’t finish?”

His smile flickered into something smaller, quieter. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

The banter fizzled for a second into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Just... full. Like both of you were waiting to see who would blink first. Then you reached for the leftover fries between you.

“See, this is where you should’ve swooped in and offered to share,” you said, picking one up.

“I was being polite.”

“You’re full of it.”

Matt chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You make work a lot harder than it should be.”

You smirked. “If you’re blaming me for your lack of focus, I feel like that’s a you problem.”

He tapped a knuckle against the folder in front of him. “Pretty sure you’re a walking conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth. “But you already knew that.”

Matt bit back a smile, quiet again. Listening. After a moment, he said, “You know you could’ve gone back to a hundred bigger firms. Why stay?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “Because this place feels like... me. Like it's mine, you know?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Feels like mine, too.”

There was something honest in his voice when he said it. Something unguarded. And for a beat— just a beat— you weren’t just two coworkers trading late-night barbs. You were something else. Something that lived in the space between laughter and hesitation. He broke the silence first.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Karen’s going to start planning our engagement party.”

“She already has,” you said. “She’s terrifying.”

He laughed, bright and real. You laughed too, leaning forward again, close without touching. And that was it. Just a moment. Not a confession. Not a move. But later, walking home, you’d think about it again— about how easy it felt, how his voice softened just for you, how neither of you pulled away.

Matt sat at his desk long after you left.

The city hummed outside the windows, faint and familiar— footsteps, traffic, a distant siren splitting the air somewhere on the west side. The kind of night New York never ran out of. But his attention was still in the office. Still in that moment.

You’d laughed. That real kind of laugh that started in the chest and softened everything around it. And for a second, he wasn’t Daredevil or Matt Murdock, the guy with a double life and a thousand reasons to keep people at arm’s length. He was just a man sitting across from someone who made him forget about all of it.

He hadn’t expected you. Not just the sharpness, or the way you fit in so seamlessly, or how you never once treated him like he needed to be handled. It was the way you challenged him. Matched him. Made the air feel lighter, even when the work was heavy.

And tonight— he’d heard it in your heartbeat. That shift. That hesitation. The quiet hope. It mirrored something in his chest he didn’t want to name. Because if he named it, it would be real. And real things could break.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been careful. Always careful. With you, maybe too careful. Always toeing the line between professional and personal, between harmless teasing and something far messier.

But tonight? Tonight, the line blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said this place felt like yours. Like you’d claimed it. Like you belonged here— next to Karen, Foggy... and him.

Matt had spent most of his life believing that the things he loved either left or got hurt. And yet, here you were. And he was terrified. Because the thought of you staying scared him more than the thought of you leaving.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t fight for in court. Couldn’t earn by bleeding for it.

He just... wanted you.

And wanting had never ended well.

He leaned back in his chair and turned his head toward where you’d been sitting hours ago, the ghost of your laughter still echoing softly in the corners of the room.

He didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a very long time, he hoped. And that was dangerous.

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Matt had been trained to keep things close to the chest. To be quiet. Composed. Measured. He’d made a whole life out of it— knowing exactly how much to say, how much to feel, and how much to hide. But lately? He was starting to slip.

It started with small things. Lingering a second too long outside your office. Finding reasons to walk the long way around the building just so he wouldn’t pass you in the hallway. Not looking up when you said his name. Not teasing you like he used to. It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Foggy? Foggy clocked it immediately.

“Are you avoiding (Y/n),” he asked one day, without even looking up from his sandwich, “or just trying to die alone with dignity?”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Which, of course, was the response.

He tried to get a handle on it. He really did. But every time you walked into the room, something short-circuited in his chest. It wasn’t just the way your laugh stuck with him hours later, or the way you challenged him in court, or how you always saved the last of the coffee for him without saying a word. It was everything.

It was the way being near you made him feel like maybe he was allowed to want more. And that terrified him. So he did what Matt Murdock always did when he felt too much— he shut down. Smiled less. Talked less. Pulled back.

From your side, it made no sense. One minute, Matt was your closest friend at the firm— bantering with you over contracts and flirting shamelessly during late nights at the office. And then suddenly, he was stiff. Cautious. Civil, but distant. Like someone had flipped a switch and now you were radioactive.

You asked Karen once if you’d done something. She blinked, confused, then immediately said no. Foggy just smirked and shook his head like he knew something he wasn’t telling.

It wasn’t until the case came in that everything started to unravel.

A mugging gone wrong. Client said Daredevil saved her. That wasn’t unusual, not in Hell’s Kitchen. But Matt had disappeared halfway through the intake. No explanation, no warning.

When he came back, he looked… off.

There was a stiffness in his step. His jacket was damp. You noticed a bruise blooming along the edge of his jaw, half-hidden beneath his collar. And the excuse he gave? It was nothing. Too easy. Too rehearsed.

That was the first moment you really looked at him. And from that moment on, it didn’t stop. You started noticing everything.

It started small. A scrape on Matt’s knuckles one morning when he swore he just "bumped into a railing." A bruise along his jaw two days later that hadn’t been there the night before. The fact that he always knew when sirens were about to pass. That he sometimes winced at conversations happening across the street and flinched when someone behind him opened a soda can too loud.

The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was watching. The bruises that never quite added up. The way his hearing— his attention— seemed to stretch too far, too focused. His absences. His silences.

You weren’t stupid. You were a lawyer, after all-- your entire job revolved around reading people, noticing what others missed. So you paid attention. Not obsessively. Not yet. But enough. Enough to clock that he disappeared some nights without explanation, always coming back the next day with a carefully worded excuse and that same “don’t ask” look in his eye.

And then came the clincher.

A client— a woman being threatened by her landlord— was suddenly protected. Completely. No restraining order had gone through. No legal intervention. But the man stopped showing up. Cold turkey. When you asked, she just said, “That guy in the mask. The Devil. He said I’d be okay.”

You stared at her.

Later that night, while Matt was in his office pretending not to eavesdrop, you walked in and dropped the case file on his desk.

“She said ‘the Devil.’ Not a devil. The one. Hell’s Kitchen’s own.”

Matt didn’t look up. “Lot of people throw that name around.”

“She also said he was calm. Polite. Knew her name. Said she had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

He was quiet.

You folded your arms. “She said he didn’t sound scary. Said his voice was warm.”

That made him pause.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Matt finally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “...hi?”

You blinked. “Hi?”

He shrugged. “It’s concise.”

You just stared at him.

“Matthew,” you said flatly. “What the fuck.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When I saw you parkour off a fire escape in a three-piece suit?”

“I— look, I didn’t want this to change anything. I didn’t want you to change how you looked at me.”

“Look, I’ve been working beside you for over a year. And you didn’t think, at any point, to maybe mention that you moonlight as a one-man SWAT team?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, good job, Matt. Really nailed it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “Listen, I know you're upset. I would be too. I didn’t tell you only because I care about you. Because this thing, what I do— it’s brutal. And if anyone ever found out how much you mean to me...”

You blinked. That shut you up. For a second.

“Oh, so I mean something to you now?”

“I think that’s been fairly obvious.”

Matt noticed the way your heartbeat changed when he said you meant something to him. He figured this was a bad time to bring it up, although he smiled to himself at what that meant.

“I’m not mad that you’re Daredevil.”

That made him pause.

You went on. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to know. But... I get it. I really do.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Just listened. Really listened.

“You protect people. That’s who you are. And I don’t mean the mask or the fists or any of that— I mean you. The guy who goes to court for tenants getting pushed out of rent-stabilized apartments. The guy who sits through paperwork and trials and still somehow finds time to help people when the system doesn’t. So yeah, I get why you kept it quiet. I would’ve done the same.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

You stepped a little closer. “Would it have been easier to hear it from you directly? Sure. But I also understand why you didn’t. You’re trying to keep people safe. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

You gave him a look. “Matt. I’m a defence attorney in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m already in danger.”

He huffed a laugh, tension slipping just slightly.

“And besides,” you added, “it’s not like you told everybody.”

Matt winced. “Karen and Foggy know.”

“Splendid,” you muttered. “I’m last to know. That feels great.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you waved him off.

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. You didn’t think I could handle it, or maybe you were just scared of what it would mean. Either way, I want you to know I still look at you the same way. Hell, I think I respect you more now."

His expression softened— like something in him untangled all at once.

“And Matt?” you said, quieter now. “I'm still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That undid him more than any kiss could have. Matt Murdock was already in love with you.

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Weeks passed. Then months.

You slipped into the parts of his life he never thought he'd share with you— quiet nights on the couch with cold tea and warmer glances, half-finished cases strewn between your desks, your voice low and steady on the phone as you helped him stitch up a gash at 2AM because Claire was out of town. You didn’t flinch at the bruises anymore. You stopped asking where they came from. Not because you didn’t care— because you knew he’d tell you if he could.

You joked that you were his unofficial dispatcher. He joked that you were the only one keeping him alive. It was good. Better than good, most nights. You were steady, sharp, present in a way that grounded him even on the worst days. You kept him tethered.

But even the strongest anchor can’t keep something from drifting if the pull is strong enough. It had been building.

After a particularly brutal stretch— three back-to-back nights of Daredevil coming home bleeding and bruised, a botched sting, a kid who didn’t make it— Matt changed.

He got quieter. Tense. He stopped calling when he was out late. Stopped dropping by your place after patrols. Stopped letting you patch him up. When you showed up with food one night and found his apartment dark, he didn’t even text to say thanks. You let it go. Once. Twice. Then you stopped letting it go.

It was almost midnight. The city was soft and silver around you, the streetlamps humming like old secrets. You’d waited for him— on the pavement outside the office, case files abandoned inside, takeout cold and forgotten. When he finally turned the corner, hoodie up, bruised along the cheekbone, your blood was already simmering.

You stood before he could say anything.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Matt paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks. You come back barely stitched together, and suddenly I’m a stranger? What, I only exist when you need to be sewn back together?”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You crossed your arms. “I told you I could handle this. That I was here because I wanted to be. You don’t get to push me out every time things get hard.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for your help.”

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “You inserted yourself. You wanted this. You stayed.”

“Because I care about you, you idiot,” you said incredulously.

He looked away. “If this isn’t working for you—”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

You flinched. “So that’s it? You’re just giving me an out?”

“I’m saying,” he said, sharp now, “if you don’t want to keep doing this, you can stop. I’m not going to hold you here.”

Your chest burned. “Right. Got it. Loud and clear, Murdock.”

“Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

"Fine."

“Fine.”

You turned. He turned. The silence between your retreating footsteps felt louder than anything either of you had said.

You made it maybe ten steps before you turned on your heel. At the same time, Matt doubled back from the other end of the block. You both stopped mid-step.

“This is stupid,” you said.

“I know,” he echoed.

You walked back to each other like it hurt to be apart even for that long. Stopped just a few feet shy of touching.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then, after a second— calmer now, but still visibly unraveling— he said, “You do realize what’s going on, right?”

You tilted your head. “You mean us shouting at each other in the middle of the street like deranged theatre kids?”

He gave you that small, crooked smile, the one he only let slip when it was just you. “I mean this,” he said, gesturing to the space in between you.

A beat. Then you laughed, soft and breathless. “Oh yeah. For two Ivy-educated lawyers, we are extremely oblivious people.”

“Painfully,” Matt said, taking one slow step closer. “Embarrassingly.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Do we keep pretending? Or...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t cautious. It was months of built-up tension, late nights, shared space, quiet devotion, and almosts finally snapping into something real. His hands cupped your face. Yours gripped the front of his jacket. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for permission— and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting time.

Before you could breathe, your back hit the wall. The brick was cool, sharp against your spine— nothing compared to the heat of him. His mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry, all the restraint he’d held onto suddenly gone.

You gasped, and that was all he needed. His body pressed flush against yours, arm braced beside your head. One hand slid down, catching your waist and holding you there like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging. That made him groan— low and quiet and right against your lips.

The kiss deepened— messier, more desperate. He was everywhere. Warm mouth, steady grip, chest rising hard against yours. You barely registered the moment your hand slipped beneath his jacket, over the fabric of his shirt, just needing to feel something more. When you finally pulled back— barely— your forehead rested against his.

“That was…” you started, still catching your breath.

Matt laughed, voice rough and low. “Yeah. That was.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “We are going to be so annoying now.”

He grinned, thumb brushing along your jaw. “We already were.”

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allllium · 5 months ago

Text

Perfect for Me

~ Matt Murdock x insecure!reader

~ omg two posts in two days 😮 this is not edited at all so ignore my mistakes

~ Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, WC: 1,679

- Matt comforts insecure reader -

Dating a blind guy is very different from any other relationship you've had for very obvious reasons. Not only is it an adjustment going out with and even living with someone that can't see, but Matt is different. He has senses that other blind people don't which makes things even harder. You love Matt but that doesn't mean it's not an adjustment.

Obviously he can't see you but he knows everything about you. He knows the basics of how you look but not the details. Sometimes that's hard. Only because you fear he has some other idea of you in his head. Like the real you can't match up to the look of you he has in his head.

It's silly, you know, but it's not like you can just get rid of the thoughts in your head. Matt can tell something's wrong, a bonus of his super senses. So far though, he hasn't asked about it. He's learned over time to give you a little bit of time to process your issue before he tries to get involved.

It's not his fault, simply your insecurities getting the best of you. It'll be fine you tell yourself, wondering around the apartment you now share with Matt. Maybe that's where it's coming from. You guys have always spent a lot of time together but now your space is his, and when you want space to yourself, you don't have a separate apartment to hide in. You certainly don't want that but what if he does?

You turn on some music to fill your rattled brain. Nothing loud but enough to distract your thoughts. You soon turn from wondering to cleaning. It's become a daily habit since Matt rarely has time. You have no problem doing it because you know it makes Matt feel slightly better. Not as much dust and grime for his senses to focus on.

You're very ingrained in your scrubbing of the counter when you hear the door shut.

"Hey, Matty." You call out to greet him, not taking your attention off the counter for a second.

"Hi." His faces lights up as he sees you. "How was your day?" He asks, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

"Not nearly as eventful as yours I imagine." You smile, turning around to meet his beaming face. He has already taken off his suit jacket while walking towards you and has began loosening his tie. Giving him that slightly casual look that you know and love.

"I actually think that's true today, though the most amusing part of it was hearing Foggy fall out of his chair not once but twice within a twenty minute period." You listen intently to his words as you finish wiping off the counter. His words get quieter as he slowly makes his way to the bedroom for more comfortable clothes.

You know Matt feels a great pressure to keep the city safe by going out every night, but your favorite night of the week is the one where you've both agreed he stays in. One of the few requests you had when moving in.

"How the hell did he manage that?" You chortle, imagining it in your head. You can hear Matt's laugh from the other room.

"I have no clue, you'd think he'd learn after the first time." He comes back into the living space wearing black sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. After you got together, you had to take Matt shopping for new, plain, clothes considering most of the ones he owned had something stupid and possibly embarrassing on them due to Foggy, bright colors and big slogans. "I heard him whine about it for the rest of the day."

"At least your days aren't boring like the other lawyers."

"That's definitely a plus of partnering with him."

This is the best part of your day. Talking to him about your days and gossiping about the people you know, plus all the people Matt hears about during the day. The only problem seems to be the words that won't leave your head.

"How do you feel about spaghetti for dinner?" You ask him as he grabs a water out of the fridge. Usually, he'd grab a beer but out of fear for his liver you haven't bought any in a week.

"Sounds perfect. How can I help?"

"I can do it, you worked all day."

"Worked is a loose term." He laughs to himself. You and he both know a lot of their work consists of finding new cases.

"You can boil the pasta if you want to be helpful."

"Oh that's easy. It's almost as if you don't believe in my culinary skills."

You turn and give him a stare that makes him smirk. "Matthew, I know what you lived on before I moved in."

"Okay water it is." He gives you get another kiss before searching for a suitable pot.

You hum along to the soft background music as you and Matt work on your tasks. Once he's done with his, he stands right beside you in silence.

"So." He starts.

"So?" You repeat.

"I didn't want to bring this up but I think it's important-"

"That sounds scary."

"For me, yes. I talked to Karen today."

Oh fuck. To say Karen knows your deepest darkest secrets would be an understatement. For Matt to start a conversation like this about her, she told him something. Something you're know wracking your brain to figure out.

It's not that you think Karen would sell you out. But Matt is very charming and sometimes you find yourself telling him things without even realizing.

"I would hope so." You try to play it off like you're not immensely worried about his coming words. "She is your secretary."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that title." He laughs nervously. You know he's nervous because his glasses are still on. He's trying to make sure you can't read him at the moment.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want it to seem like I was invading your privacy."

"Matt, you always do that. You hear literally everything I do."

"Yes but this feels different."

"You wouldn't have started this conversation if you didn't have something to say so please get on with it."

"I heard you talking to Karen the other day when she was over. And I tried not to read too much into it but then I talked to her today and I'm officially reading into it."

"Karen and I have talked about a lot of things, that doesn't really help me understand."

You try to seem nonchalant by stirring the pasta sauce.

"I heard you telling her how you don't think you live up the version of you I have in my head." He whispers the words as if that'll make it easier. Of course. Out of everything he could've heard, it was the one thing you really, really don't want to talk about. You know Matt isn't going to let this go until you answer all his questions.

"That was over a week ago." You whisper over the sauce.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But I only heard a part of what you said and I couldn't handle not knowing the rest."

A heavy sigh escapes you. It's not his fault. You are still adjusting to how much he can hear from so far so you didn't even think about that when he came home that day. You also can't fault him for wanting to know more, if the roles were reversed you would've gone to Foggy to know more almost immediately.

"You obviously weren't supposed to hear that." You turn off the stove top and look at him. "I don't suppose we can keep acting like you know nothing about that?" Your words come out with a hopeful tone.

"No we can't. Sweetheart, how can you feel like that? Have I made you doubt yourself like this?" He pulls you away from the kitchen and pushes you to sit next to him on the couch.

"You have done nothing Matt. You're perfect. I just can't get it out of my mind that every time you're complimenting me, it's not actually me. It's the more beautiful version of me you have in your head." He already knows enough, might as well tell him the rest.

"I know what you look like. Maybe I can't see every detail but I know enough to know every compliment I've ever given you, has been for you. I can't see everything on your face but I can sort of see the shape of you."

You're just now realizing you've never actually asked Matt what he can see. Knowing he was blind you always figured he couldn't see anything.

"What do you see?" You ask now.

"It's difficult to explain. I see certain figures but not all the time. It's kinda like flames that prevent me from seeing things but they don't always stay in the same spot."

"So how are you so confident I'm the same that you think I am?" He moves closer to hold your hand and lean more against you.

"Because I've had everyone describe you. Foggy, Karen, even Frank at one point. And I've felt your face a lot, enough to understand the shape of everything. Your eyes, lips, nose. Everything that makes you, you."

"Feeling is different than seeing."

"For other people yes. For me, this is the only way I know a lot of things. It's the way I've learned to know things so I'm better at it. I don't need to see every detail when everything I've felt is beyond perfect."

You feel tears appear in your waterline. Leave it to Matt to know the perfect thing to say. Always.

"When I say you're perfect for me, I mean it. More than anything."

He wipes the tears off your face the second they begin to fall.

"You're perfect for me too, Matty."

"Good." He states. "You're gonna be with for the rest of forever."

"That's a nice plan."

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r3ita-g4zette · 2 months ago

Note

Could you write a small oneshot of Matt Murdock x reader where you help him shave?? 🥺🥺 like where you’re on the bathroom counter with him between your legs just letting you shave him??

Of course!! I love the idea of Matt trusting you with something so intimate, even if it is a small act.

Helping Matt shave

Matt Murdock x GN!reader

Matt’s hands ran along your thighs, tracing shapes that didn’t even seem to make out anything. Mornings like these brought a sense of assurance in his life, a way to ground himself in who he really is. Yes, he is the man who goes out at night and “saves the city”, but he’s also just a man, a man who is desperately in love with you.

He wasn’t the kind of man to fall this hard, but he couldn’t help himself. It was the little things you’d do for him, like now.

You sat atop the bathroom counter while Matt stood between your legs. You had a hand on the bottom of Matt’s chin as you dragged the razor along your boyfriend’s shaving cream covered face. Matt’s eyes were open, staring, but unable to see. He craved more than anything to see you, to admire your beauty.

The way the razor swiftly dragged along his jaw earned a content sigh from him. Matt’s hand was still on your thigh, slowly moving up your leg as you shaved his face. He liked being pampered, and the way you had him wrapped around your finger was making him fall apart at the seams. He bit his lip at the thought of how much control you held over him before he opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re doing a good job.”

He spoke with that smooth tone that sent chills down your spine, his voice a bit raspier from tiredness. He was so soft for you.

“And how would you know?” You retorted, a gentle smile painting your lips at the joke. It was common, the two of you to joke of his blindness.

A smirk tugged on the corners of Matt’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle, his thumb gently rubbing your thigh at your comment.

“Oh, I just know.”

He quipped back, shifting his neck so you had better access to shave below his jaw. He let out a sigh when the razor glided over his skin, his tone suddenly softer as he added, “Keep going.”

You dragged the razor along Matt’s neck, the white shaving cream on his face and neck soon disappearing. “There, I’m all done.” You whispered, pecking his nose as your hands cupped his face.

“Now you feel all soft,” you tenderly cooed. Matt smirked at your touch, the corners of his lips turning upwards at your praise. As you finished up shaving him clean, Matt leaned just a bit closer, his body pressing up against yours. He loved having you this close to him, your proximity was like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

“All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

He murmured, his voice low and gravelly as his smirk turned into a soft smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him, hands sliding up to the back of his neck as you pulled away and admired him, and despite the fact Matt couldn’t see, he opened his eyes eagerly.

In typical Matt fashion, he cupped the bottom of your thighs and picked you up, guiding you through the house with ease to your shared bedroom.

A soft noise escaped your lips as Matt’s lips locked with yours. This is gonna be a long night…

wc; 504

#matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matt murdock daredevil #daredevil fluff #matt Murdock x reader fluff #X reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #marvel x reader #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x reader

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to-thelakes · 1 year ago

Text

sleepy

pairing; matt murdock x fem!reader

summary; re-adjusting to anti-depressants was never an easy task but you have your vigilante boyfriend to help.

warnings; fluff, just pure fluff, reader is on anti-depressants and very very sleepy, also a cheese lover

notes; this one-shot is definitely at least a few months old, i think i wrote it when i originally switched my dosage so it's a little chaotic. i feel like there's a lack of fics talking or discussing antidepressants so i like filling in the gap to comfort anyone who was suffering the sleepiness and shitty feelings like i was those first few months. also this is my first matty one-shot i'm releasing so please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window.

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Glad I could be of service,” He teased. You grumbled against his chest but he merely continued to grin, kissing your hairline again before he let his eyes fall closed.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #reader-insert #reader insert #daredevil #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic

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writingdumpster · 1 year ago

Text

first impressions

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: none I think

summary: i wrote this purely bc i know matt murdock is excellent at meeting people’s mothers. after impressing your parents matt gets to thinking about his future.

word count: 1.6k

“I’m nervous.” You sat next to Matt in the restaurant he had chosen for the evening. It was fancy. There was a pianist in one corner of the room and linen tablecloths. It was nicer than the hole-in-the-wall joints that you and Matt usually preferred. He wanted to impress your parents though, so he had made a reservation at a swanky restaurant in midtown Manhattan.

Matt was in his court suit and you had donned the blue silk dress he bought for your anniversary. It was by far your favorite dress. Beyond being a treasured gift, it fit you perfectly and the fabric always felt soft against your skin. Karen had helped Matt pick it out, but she had told you that all she did was describe the dresses and that he had completely ignored her opinions. She had strongly recommended a yellow dress but he had refused her suggestions, insisting you would like the one he picked better. Never having seen the yellow one, you knew he was right. If he picked it, you loved it. You would have him choose between options you put out when you got dressed in the mornings by describing them to him and he always had you match his tie to the rest of his outfit.

“It’s going to be fine,” Matt said and kissed your temple.

“I only ever introduced Caleb to my parents,” you told him, not that you hadn’t said it before. Matt knew that Caleb was not someone you had pleasant memories of. He had heard the stories from you and he was the one who helped you get over many of the fears that Caleb had struck into you. Matt was remembering those stories while he heard in your heartbeat how nervous you were.

“You know I’m not like Caleb,” Matt reminded you.

“I know, Matt. I just…this is a big deal for me,” you said.

“It’s a big deal for me too, sweetheart,” Matt told you. “It’s just an exciting big deal for me.” You inhaled deeply. Matt smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Moms always like me, angel. It’ll be great,” he assured you.

“All women like you,” you said. Matt laughed lightly.

“Then that will include your mom, won’t it?” He asked rhetorically. He gave you a light peck as he tangled his fingers with yours beneath the table. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed. You sighed.

“You’re right. I know they’re going to love you. I just…” You hesitated.

“Caleb was a mistake and you think it’s bad luck,” Matt said, always knowing what you were thinking.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“This isn’t a mistake, sweetheart. I promise. It’s just the next step,” he told you. You nodded and Matt gave your hand a squeeze. You looked up at the doorway to the restaurant.

“They’re here,” you said. You rose from the table and greeted your mom and dad with hugs. Matt was standing by your side with a charming smile across his face.

“Hello, Mrs. y/l/n,” Matt greeted with a smile. Your mom held her arms out to Matt and pulled him into a hug. He returned it kindly.

“Oh, please, call me y/m/n,” your mom said. “Y/N has told us so much about you. I think we can be on a first name basis,” your mom said. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as your mom told Matt how you spoke about him. Matt simply turned to you and smiled. He loved that you told your parents about him. He wished he could tell his dad all about you. Your father held out his hand for Matt to shake. Matt stayed still, not wanting to give up his powers. You took Matt’s hand and pulled it to where your father’s hand was waiting.

“Oh, sorry about that,” your dad said in embarrassment as he shook Matt’s hand. Matt chuckled lightly.

“That’s alright, sir. Took y/n months to stop answering me with nods,” Matt joked.

“It was not months,” you said sharply.

“You still do it sometimes,” Matt teased. You pursed your lips, biting back the comment about how you knew he could tell. The four of you sat down, Matt pulling out your mother’s chair for her before doing the same for you and taking his seat.

Matt was right about mothers loving him. He charmed your mom with his dry sense of humor and enchanting smile. He won your dad’s approval when he mentioned he owned his own law firm. Your father didn’t need to know that Nelson and Murdock was nearly always on the edge of bankruptcy. Your parents told Matt stories about you from your childhood, despite your protests that they were too embarrassing. Matt loved the stories. All he could do was smile at you. The night was perfect. Matt was perfect. Your father refused Matt’s attempt to pay for the meal before the four of you left. You said your goodbyes in front of the restaurant before getting into different cabs and going back home. Matt’s hand was resting innocently on your leg while the two of you sat in the back of the cab.

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Matt teased you. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, you were right, Murdock,” you agreed. Matt chuckled.

“Doesn’t happen that often. I have to brag when it does,” he said. The cab pulled up outside of your apartment and the two of you got out. You made your way up the stairs and walked through the sliding door. The glow of the billboard outside of your window was blue. A new advertiser had taken over a few weeks earlier and the red light that usually filled the room had been replaced with a blue light, making it seem like your apartment was bathed in moonlight. You were looking through the mail that you had collected on your way up.

You realized you didn’t know where Matt went when music started playing. You smiled to yourself as you tossed away the junk mail. Suddenly you felt hands on your hips as Matt pulled you away from the counter. He spun you around and moved one of his hands to the small of your back. The other went to cup your hand in his. You giggled before moving to wrap your free arm around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck as the two of you began swaying back and forth. Matt loosened his hold on your waist and moved to let you spin beneath his arm before pulling you back into his body and dipping you.

When Matt pulled you back upright you leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. Matt smiled against your lips. You stared into his eyes when you leaned away. His eyes were so beautiful. You never cared that his eyes didn’t see you the way yours saw him. He saw you in so many other ways.

“You really impressed them,” you said as you leaned closer to Matt, tucking your head against his neck.

“I told you moms like me,” Matt said.

“My dad liked you too though,” you said.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “We just can’t let him visit my office. He won’t be impressed anymore.” You chuckled.

“I certainly hope he won’t ever need a lawyer,” you said.

“If you hadn’t needed a lawyer we never would have met,” Matt reminded you.

“Yes, and that worked out very well,” you agreed. “But when we tell our kids how we met I think we should make something up.” Matt beamed.

“Our kids?” He asked. Your heart dropped for a moment and your face went blank.

“I mean, umm…” You started stuttering.

“We’ll have to get married first,” Matt interjected before you could start backpedaling. Your panic turned to excitement. You grinned.

“You obviously have my parents' approval now,” you said. Matt smiled.

“And you’ve certainly gotten Foggy’s approval,” Matt replied.

“Foggy likes me better than you,” you said with a laugh.

“Yes, I know,” Matt said flatly. “He’s very clear about that.” You held back your giggles.

“If you came into the office with cookies instead of bruises like me he might like you more,” you joked.

“I do bring in cookies,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but Foggy knows I made them,” you said. Matt sighed.

“He wouldn’t like me at all if I brought in cookies that I made,” he said. You giggled at the memory of Matt trying to make your birthday cake and causing the building to evacuate after setting off the smoke alarm.

“When we have kids I bet he’ll like them better than both of us,” you said. Matt smiled.

“That’s alright. We can use him as a babysitter that way,” he said.

“Maybe if Karen’s there too,” you said. Matt chuckled.

“You don’t trust Foggy with our kids?” He asked.

“Matty, you have told me far too many stories about you dragging Foggy back to your dorm after a frat party for me to trust Foggy with our kids,” you said. “He will most certainly let one of them do something stupid.”

“And you think I won’t?” Matt asked.

“You won’t let them do something stupid, you’ll do it for them,” you said. Matt spun you around in his arms once more as the song came to an end. He kissed your forehead when he pulled you back against him. Matt’s heart was full at the way the two of you were so casually talking about your kids. He hoped it wouldn’t be long till they were real. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t want to wait for it anymore. There wasn’t anything stopping him now.

“You want to go ring shopping tomorrow?”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock imagines #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #charlie cox x reader

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xoxoavenger · 1 year ago

Note

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🎁🎈🎂🎉🎊 I loved Try Me (Matt Murdock x Reader), I was wondering if maybe you could write a sequel? I could see an intimate moment where she’s feeding him the soup she made and taking care of him, potentially with the hilarity of Foggy finding out he’s got two super powered friends

thanks! hopefully this is what you were looking for, I had fun writing it!

Ask Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

word count: 1099

warnings: none

part 1

birthday masterlist main masterlist

"I can't believe you're Daredevil." She mutters as she ladles the soup into a bowl. She made a broth more than a soup because she didn't have time to cut the vegetables, but it'll do the trick. She also didn't know the extent of Matt's injures, and she didn't want him to have trouble eating anything. "Does Foggy know?" She asks as she brings the bowl over to the couch.

"Yes," Matt chuckles, but his teeth are clenched in pain. She kneels next to the couch and she is still shocked by his injuries, even though she's already seen them. He has a large cut across his chest, and resists the urge to touch it.

She watches Matt try to sit up, but he's clearly in too much pain. She puts the soup on the ground in favor of helping him up. She tries not to let her pulse rush as she touches his bare back and bicep, pulling him up gently until he is sitting up enough to eat.

"Here, let's get you some food." She tells him, spooning some broth and then carefully helping him eat some. It's so quiet in the apartment that she swears she can feel her own heart race as she feeds Matt. They're close, and her brain is reeling with the thought of how Matt, and blind man, can be a vigilante.

"I think that's good." Matt groans when they're about three fourths of the way though the bowl. She gets up to put the bowl away and grab a warm, wet cloth.

"How are you Daredevil?" She asks, sinking down to her knees again and beginning to wipe off the blood around his wounds.

"Are you asking if I'm actually blind?" He questions, but he's smiling, so she can tell he's joking.

"I know you're blind, Matt." She says with a small sigh. She's seen his unfocused eyes too many times to think he was just preteneding.

"All my other senses are heightened." He tells her, tensing as she begins to wipe a big, deep cut. She hopes that soon her healing food will kick in; she's never seen it help on this level, and she's worried it won't work as well as Matt is hoping it will.

"So, you can hear really good?" She asks, wondering what exactly that means. He shrugs, smiling a little bit.

"And smell, and taste. And feel. I have to have specific sheets because of how sensitive my skin is." He's feeling better, she can tell, and it makes her smile.

"How did figure it out?" She asks quietly. She's had these powers ever since she can remember, but she'd never told anyone and no one ever figured it out either. This is a first, sharing a gift, and she can't help but feel a little scared.

"That your food could heal people?" He clarifies. She almost nods, but then catches herself.

"Yeah," She confirms.

"You asked me what happened again the day after you first gave me the croissant, as if you knew it should have gone away. And I usually have accelerated healing anyway, but not that fast. You wouldn't have known that." He's starting to relax more, and she knows he needs to get some sleep soon.

"You wanna move to the bed?" She asks, putting the cloth down and preparing to move him. Before he can answer, Foggy comes stomping back in.

"So both of my best friends are super heroes?" He yells, throwing the drugstore bag in their general direction. Y/N's eyes widen as Foggy walks to them.

"I am not a super hero." Y/N clarifies.

"I wouldn't classify myself as one either." Matt interjects, a hand out to stop Foggy's rant. It does nothing, and Foggy soldiers on.

"You can feel, hear, and smell things no human should be able to feel, hear, and smell." He points at Matt, who raises an eyebrow. "And you can heal people with your food, that you've been feeding me for months!" Foggy moves to Y/N, and she just shakes her head.

"Have you ever wondered why you haven't gotten sick in months?" She asks, and he just scoffs.

"That proves my point!" He screams. Y/N and Matt shake their heads, Matt smirking.

"Foggy, neither of us are superheroes. You don't need to freak out." Matt tries to calm him down, but Foggy just gets more worked up.

"Are you kidding me? You could be Avengers for all I know!" Foggy grabs the bag that he had thrown and begins to get some of the bandages and Neosporin out to help Matt.

"Oh my God," Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and putting her head in her hands. Honestly, Foggy freaking out was kinda funny, but she isn't sure if he's being serious now or not.

"We're not Avengers, Foggy." Matt chuckles, and Y/N begins to put bandages over Matt's injuries.

"Well I just don't know that, do I?" Foggy looks over at the pot on the stove, walking over there quickly. "What did you make?"

"Just a quick broth. I wanted to get Matt something quick." She tells Foggy as she begins to focus on the task at hand.

"Is this why I haven't gotten paper cuts?" Foggy asks as he ladles a little soup out for himself.

"It doesn't make you skin extra strong, Fog." Matt tells him as she continues bandaging him up. Her hands brushing his skin make Matt want to crawl out of his skin in a good way, which didn't make sense until this very moment.

"Did I hurt you?" Y/N asks softly when he tenses.

"No," He mutters, putting a hand on her wrist to stop her. "It's okay, I think the big ones are taken care of." He just wants to lay down and sleep it off now, but he wants to ask her one more thing.

"Let me help you to your room." She offers, and together, with him leaning on her, they make it to Matt's room.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks as they sit down. He can feel the heat begin to flush her cheeks, her heart beginning to race. He's worried still that maybe she feels uncomfortable until she responds.

"Working." She thinks she's funny, and Matt chuckles.

"Do you want to go to Josie's with me tomorrow night?" He asks, and she ducks her head and smiles.

"As long as my boss lets me off on time." She says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I'll talk to him." He tells her, both of them smiling hard enough that their cheeks hurt.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ��@one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

#matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil

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chxco-hyujin · 8 months ago

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im a sucker for fics that are reader insert, with reader being apart of the whole storyline (EX: a reader x bucky fic where they were lovers during the 40s and their story continues all throughout the events of the mcu). I REALLY need a Matt x Reader where they're childhood friends because of the orphanage and reader has been there for everything hes been through, meaning Matt can't keep anything from her so he tells her hes Daredevil since she already knew about his senses. The story takes place all throughout the Daredevil series plus the Defenders. They start dating around the beginning of season one, and when Elektra decides to show up theres angst but it gets resolved. (Also reader wouldn't necessarily be Catholic but she supports Matt with his beliefs. She just drifted away from it). Matt having to save her too sounds really awesome.

IF I COULD WRITE MYSELF I SO WOULD WRITE THIS IDEA. I hate having the awesome writing ideas but not having the skill to write them😔🙏

LITERALLY ANYTHING WITH MATT MURDOCK X CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND!READER I WOULD TAKE ATP. I NEED IT.

#matt murdock x reader #Matt Murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock x reader fluff #x reader #reader insert #i so wish i could write #this AU is keeping me up at night #im begging for this to exist #please #i will be the fics number one supporter��

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theoblivon · 9 months ago

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Hello there, this is my first smut ever so please go easy on me. And apologies in advance for any mistakes, English is not my first language. xoxo

TW: pure filth, p in v, slight sub x dom vibes, readers first time…

Word count: 2242

Song: West Coast by Lana Del Rey

PLEASE TOUCH ME

Y/N’s POV

"Please touch me."

I said my voice like I plea. With a devilish smile on his face:

"But I am touching you sweetheart aren’t I?"

His tone was tinted with fake innocence. He knew what I was saying but he deliberately chose to ignore it.

"You know what I mean Matthew."

"Yes, but I am going to need you to say it anyway."

"I want you to make me cum."

As soon as my sentence ended he finally reached down to where I needed him the most. His lips touching my ear he said in his velvety voice :

"I bet I can make you cum even without touching you but we’ll leave that for another day."

His words went straight to my core, and a small moan escaped my mouth. I immediately shut my mouth with my hand to make sure no more sound would escape. Matthew pulled out his hand from my core before I could even protest both of his hands pinned mine to the couch and said

“Don’t you ever hide your voices from me do you understand? I want to hear every scream, every moan. Every breath. Ever. Single. One.”

The way he said was so aggressive, passionate, and authoritative that it left no room to protest. I was so drunk in lust combined with his voice and hands all over me I could not find words to reply with. He put one of his hands on my thigh letting go of my hands. The other went to grab my face, it was gentle yet with just enough pressure to bring my voice back to my throat.

“Do you understand?”

He said.

“Yes, Matthew.”

My voice was not more than a whisper.

He hummed in a low animalistic tone. And not wasting a second his hand resumed their actions. I let out a moan. I felt embarrassed to make such a noise when he wasn’t even doing anything other than playing with my clit. I couldn’t help myself and bit my lips. His hand that was on my face now was on my throat. He said with a breathy yet firm voice.

“What did I say. Mhm?”

I was bearly containing myself but with the filthy sound of my wetness, his voice, that goddamn 'mhm' sound he makes and his hand in my throat were simply way too much to handle. All I could do was moan in return.

“That’s right let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I am making you feel.”

That was it. I just let go. Now I was a moaning mess just lost in the pleasure.

Matt’s POV:

The way he said my full name like a mewl, her breathy moans, the heat radiating from her skin, the smell that polluted the air all around us was too much. I was consumed by her. All of my senses were focused on one single thing and it was her. First time in a very long time I didn’t hear screams from outside or the prayers made to God by hopeless people. It was just her and nothing else. I was using every bit of self-restraint to not just fuck her to oblivion right there and then. But this was her first time and this was our first time I want to make it special, take it slow, and make this moment as long-lasting as possibly can. But it was so hard to control myself around her. Months and months of buildup of sexual and emotional tension were not making it any easier. I could feel her pulse under my thumb and feel her moans in her throat before they came out of her mouth. I could feel her lips and how soft and wet they were because she was constantly licking them. So I gently yanked her from her throat bringing her back to the moment and kissed her. The kiss was wet and hot. This time she wasn’t just following my lead, her hand went to grab my collar and deepen the kiss. I groaned into her mouth, and she moaned in return. Her hand worked their way down the first button of my shirt. She tried to open it with shaking hands. She got frustrated with the buttons because it was taking too much time and honestly, it was not fair to her that she was naked and I was fully clothed. I could feel that she was close. So to not waste too much time I removed my hand from her clit and ripped my shirt off. She gasped. I could feel her eyes roam all over me. I didn’t waste a second to continue my actions. Her fingertips traced gentle lines all over my torso. Every bit of skin she touched was burning. I was already lost in lust and she didn’t even properly touch me. That was the moment I realized that there was no going back for me after this.

Y/N’s POV

Never have I ever felt this good in my entire life. My mind was quiet. There was only one thought, one word really “Matthew”. My mind seems to not be able to conjure any other thing. I dreamt of this, of him touching me. I know it would be fantastic but never in my wildest dreams have I imaged this. The knot in my belly was so close to exploding. I opened my mouth to say it but all that came out was a loud moan.

“That’s a good girl. Just like that let me hear you, sweetheart.”

My moans become louder. I tried to say once again that I was close, so so close as if he read my mind he said:

“I know sweetheart let it go, cum for me, let me hear you.”

That was the push I needed. Holding onto him for dear life I came with a very loud moan. He groaned while he continued to his actions. He whispered what I assumed was sweet nothings. He kissed me with such passion as if tho he was a starving man feasting on my lips. After I came down from high I pulled away from the kiss. I grabbed the sides of his face with both of my hands. Just to take a moment to look at him. And then I kissed him. My hand in his hair, he grabbed either side of my thighs and put them around his waist. He then without breaking the kiss, carried me into the room and put me down on the bed. He removed his ripped shirt then broke the kiss and stood up. I was at the edge of the bed. I sit up fully to touch him. My hand went to his belt. The anticipation took over me I unbuckled his belt as fast as I could. Then went to open the button to free him from his trousers. My hand touched his clothed crotch. It was just for a brief moment but Matthew, what I could only describe as hissed and took both of my hands and pinned them above my head to the bed. His eyes were dark. He said with an almost choked voice.

“You drive me crazy (y/n) you know that? All of the self-control is out of the door when it comes to you.”

I didn’t know what to say but I was so desperate I wanted him in me.

“Please Matthew, please.”

“Please what?”

It was embarrassing really not because I was ready to beg him but because I wanted to beg. I wanted to please him.

“Please Matthew, I want you”

He paused for a second, his gaze softened.

“You already have my sweetheart, you always had me and you always will.”

With that, he kissed me. The heat I was feeling in my core worked its way to my heart, melting it completely for Matthew. This kiss was much more emotionally loaded. This was our way of saying that we love each other. As the moments passed the heat came right back, more stronger than before. I broke the kiss.

“I need you, Matthew, I need you in me, I need to feel you please.”

I pleaded, and his eyes went dark. He started to leave open mouth kisses all the way down to my core. It was clear that he couldn’t wait anymore. Two of his long fingers slipped into my hole. He let them sit there for a moment, letting me adjust to the new sensation. I felt full, just from his fingers. The thought of how he would feel in me made me clench around his fingers. I wanted to beg him to move his fingers but no words found their way into my lips. All that came out were just moans. But that was enough for him to get the message. He started to stretch me out.

Matt’s POV:

She was so tight even around my fingers. The thoughts of how she would feel made me feral. As her moans become louder it became harder for me to ignore the throbbing of my cock. And I just couldn't take it anymore. I pulled out my fingers. She opened her eyes and was about to protest when I got up and pulled down my boxers. Her groans quieted, and her mouth fell open. Her heartbeat became even faster and the heat that radiated from her face became higher.

"Matthew, that's not going to fit."

She said quietly, clearly embarrassed. I could hold back a little chuckle.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make it fit."

She gasped. I towered over her, putting my arms on either side of her face. What I wouldn't give to see her face right now. Illuminated by the moonlight, the pinkish glow of her face, the plump of her lips. I kissed her, tasting every corner of her mouth. I hold my cock that was begging for some fraction and guided its tip to her pussy. That first touch was EVERYTHING. Life made sense. I was made for her and she was made for me. Yes, I was nowhere near worthy of her but I would try. Try to be the man she deserves. To make her happy and please her. I would give anything in the world, do anything if she asked me to. I slowly slid all the way into her, stretching her out and my god, it felt so good. Feeling her warmth around me. I waited for her to adjust. She was holding her breath. It was clear that she was struggling.

"Breath sweetheart, it will hurt only for a second longer. I am right here. Breath"

The way that she was squirming under me, trying to take my cock made it even harder to hold myself back. All I wanted to was to fuck her till she begs me to stop. God, I wanted to make her cum on my cock. Her heartbeat started to increase and she started to move her hips. And that was all I needed. I started to move my hips. Bottoming her out once more. The sounds she was making and how her mouth fell into an 'o' was mesmerizing. I started to move my hips faster and faster. She held onto my arms. As my speed increased, the pressure she applied on my shoulders increased as well. She tried to raise up to kiss me, but before she could one of my arms went to grab her by the throat and kissed her passionately. The uncontrollable urge of possessiveness clouded my mind. The thought of someone else touching her this way or any way for that matter was enough for me to lose my mind. My thrusts become harder and harder. The kiss was now more messy, sloppy. I could feel myself getting closer.

Y/N’s POV

The way his big cock stretched me out was simply too much. I never wanted this moment to end. Him above me, his perfect hair out of place, his chiseled body glistening with sweat, and the animistic sounds that he made every time our hips touched. He was like a god. A god that was worshipping me. I felt close, so fucking close. All reason and logic were fucked out of my body. I felt him everywhere to the point that it was too much but also not close enough. I was delirious, him being in my didn't feel enough. So I wrapped my arms around his torso. My nipples bounced between us every time he thrust in me. I was more than close. I was right over the edge, and so was he. I opened my mouth,

"Matthew"

That was all that came out. Matthew's thrusts become sloppier but deeper. He reach down to my clit and started rubbing it. I was so sensitive so I tried to get away from his hand, but he held me tight at my place.

"I know sweetheart, let it go. Cum for me."

All the stars exploded in front of my eyes. All of my muscles first convulsed and then turned into limps. If it wasn't for the strong arms that were holding me up I would've just collapsed onto the mattress. He came into me with a loud groan and then collapsed onto me. Flesh on flesh we just lay there embracing one another. And at that moment I knew what peace was. I felt at home.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader fluff

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hellfirehopeless · 1 year ago

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Slip Up (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Author’s Note: Soooo I wrote this in my phone during my work conference and was feeling hot and dirty for Matty. Don’t look at me, I was feral and barking loudly in my head when I got the idea. Enjoy! :)

Summary: After a stressful week and a rough patrol, you let Matt use you in whatever way he needs. Something accidentally slips out of your lips, and to your surprise, Matt seems to like it.

Warnings: Smut, complete and utter smut (rough sex, light choking, some biting, creampie–daddy kink, breeding kink) fluff, incredible softness from our Matthew

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 1,142

Keep reading

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x you smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock x you fluff #matt murdock fanfic

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matt-murdockk · 2 months ago

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I can fix him (no really I can)

They shake their heads saying, "God help her" When I tell them he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really I can And only I can

college!matt murdock x fem!reader | fluff— a whole lotta fluff | sorta friends to lovers? | fic from reader's pov, then a pov switch to third person

Matt Murdock famously doesn't stick around for longer than a month, tops. You were determined to change that.

Pre-law golden boy with an aura that exudes confidence, Matt was the person everyone either wanted to be, or wanted to be with. He knew that, and his faux modesty only made it worse for the masses desperate to get a piece of him. Am I one of—? Please, I'd fuck a tree before I fuck Matt Murdock. Not that I hate him or anything. I'm just not on the bed anyone with abs and a personality bandwagon. Good for him for all that attention he's getting, but my ties with him start and end in class. He's just a classmate.

Okay, maybe not just a classmate.

We share notes. Sometimes. Only when he forgets his, which is rare, because apparently being hot and capable is a combo this man insists on wielding like a goddamn weapon. Once, he offered to buy me coffee as a thank you and I made the mistake of saying yes. We ended up talking for an hour. One hour. And somehow I left that conversation knowing his middle name, his favourite diner his dad used to take him to, and exactly what kind of espresso he drinks before a big exam.

It was fine. It’s fine. People have conversations all the time. I’m not spiraling.

We became friends. Real ones. That was the problem.

Because here’s the thing: Matt Murdock is a disaster.

Not on paper. No— on paper, he’s perfect. He’s top of the class, charming when he wants to be, a little cocky, but in a way that makes you laugh instead of wanting to push him down the stairs.

But spend enough time around him and you start to notice things.

Like how he never lets anyone get close. Like how he flirts with half the campus but every single one of his flings ends in vague silence and awkward glances the next day. Like how he knows exactly how to listen to someone but refuses to let anyone hear him.

It’s not a red flag. It’s a goddamn red parade.

So of course I did what any completely normal person with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

I caught feelings for that bastard.

Of course, it's the emotionally unavailable mess with enough red flags to decorate a fucking carnival that catches my attention. Just my goddamn luck.

And, in a moment of sheer lunacy, decided I could fix him.

No really, I could. Just needed time. And patience. And maybe a crowbar for emotional extraction. Whatever. I’ve done harder things. If I can survive Mr Vasquez's class, I can survive whatever this is.

I just have to make sure he never finds out I like him. And also make him like me back. And maybe heal years of trust issues in the process.

Easy, right?

Well, it wasn’t.

Because what started as some deranged attempt to break into the fortress that is Matt Murdock turned into something else entirely. We became friends. Real friends. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about fixing him and started being about just… being there.

And God help me, I think he needed that more than anything.

It wasn’t just me and Matt anymore, either. Foggy came into the picture fast— bright-eyed, effortlessly funny, with an incredible ability to sniff out bullshit in under five seconds. The three of us? Unstoppable. Study sessions, lunch breaks, late-night coffee runs before an exam. They were my people.

So yeah. The plan backfired. Spectacularly. But I had friends for life now, so I couldn’t exactly call it a failure.

It didn’t mean it stopped hurting, though.

Matt’s life… it wasn’t easy. I could see it in the way he shut down when he was overwhelmed, how he buried himself in work instead of letting anyone in. Some nights he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but he’d still crack a joke just to make Foggy laugh.

And when he was with other women— when he flirted like it was a language only he spoke— it hurt. Even when I told myself I didn’t have a right to feel that way. He wasn’t mine. I made sure of that.

I’d smile through it. Tease him, even. Make some stupid quip about his tragic taste in women and let the ache settle where no one could see it.

Except Foggy noticed.

He always does.

One afternoon— study session turned snack break in our usual booth— Foggy caught me staring too long. Matt was across the room talking to a girl from one of our electives, charming smile and all.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure? Because that definitely wasn’t your ‘fine’ face. That was your ‘I’m swallowing feelings and pretending to be emotionally stable’ face.”

I sighed, resting my chin on my palm. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I turned to him. “Foggy, I’m not gonna pull a dramatic ‘what are we’ in the middle of a group project. Matt may be a lot of things, but you really cannot force him to be something he doesn’t want to be.”

Foggy frowned. “But do you think he doesn’t want—?”

“Matt would probably suck at relationships,” I said, more tired than bitter. “Like, actual long-term ones. He likes the chase, he likes the moment. And that’s fine. He’s allowed to live how he wants. I just… I’m happy being his friend. Genuinely. Give it time. I’ll get over it.”

Foggy was quiet for a second. “That was… wildly mature.”

“Yeah well, personal growth is a bitch.”

He grinned. “Still. If it helps, he’s not as smooth as he thinks.”

I snorted. “No, but he is absurdly pretty. That makes up for a lot.”

We let the topic die after that. I figured that was the end of it.

I didn’t know Matt had heard.

—————————————————————————————————

Third Person POV

Matt had only come back for his notebook.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to hear that.

But he had.

He stopped just shy of the hallway corner, heart thudding loud in his chest. The way her voice dropped when she said “I’ll get over it.”

The words hit harder than he expected.

She thought he’d be a bad boyfriend.

Worse— she didn’t even think he was worth trying.

And Matt knew— he knew— he hadn’t been great. He had a lot on his plate, a whole goddamn feast of mess, but he never once thought she saw him like that. Not undeserving.

She didn’t know he stayed up wondering what it’d feel like to kiss her. For real. Without laughing it off or playing it cool. She didn’t know how often his fingers hovered near hers and didn’t reach. How badly he wanted to.

But if she thought he wasn’t capable of it? Of loving her the way she deserved?

He had to change that.

Not just for her. For him. For the version of himself he wanted to be—the kind that could love someone, openly and fully, without messing it up.

“Jesus,” Foggy muttered when he saw Matt later that night. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or rather... felt a ghost? I don't know, man.”

“I heard something,” Matt said, collapsing onto his bed, voice low.

“Define ‘something.’”

“(Y/N) said I’d be a bad boyfriend.”

Foggy blinked. “Okay. Context?”

Matt dragged a hand over his face. “She was talking to you. In the booth. Earlier.”

Foggy raised his brows. “You, uh, you were there?”

“I forgot my notebook.”

Foggy held up his hands. “Alright, okay. First off— she didn’t say you’d be a bad boyfriend. She said you’d probably suck at steady relationships. Big difference.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, because you’ve never tried a steady relationship. Which is kind of the point.”

Matt groaned. “I need to fix this.”

Foggy stared. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to walk me through your version of fixing this.”

Matt sat up. “I’m gonna prove her wrong.”

Foggy blinked. “You’re gonna… ask her out?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “I mean— yes. Eventually. But first I need to become the kind of guy she thinks could be a good boyfriend. You know. Change her mind.”

Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Just fuck already.”

Matt frowned. “What?”

Foggy threw his hands in the air. “You like her. She likes you. I have seen you two. Why do you think you want her to stay longer after we're done studying? Why do you think you linger? Why do you think you bring her coffee and save her a seat and remember her deadlines better than your own?”

Matt opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“She fell first, you fell harder,” Foggy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know the drill, man.”

Matt stared.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. My brother in Christ, you’re in love.”

Matt exhaled.

“…Shit.”

——————————————————————————————————

Matt didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake, headphones in, a lecture playing that he didn’t hear, the words echoing over and over again in his head.

“She fell first.”

“You fell harder.”

He didn’t even realize when it happened. Somewhere between her snorting at his awful Latin puns and handing him half her sandwich because he forgot to eat again— he’d fallen. And now she thought he was incapable of loving her the way she deserved.

It felt like a punch to the chest.

But instead of wallowing, he decided to do something.

Starting now.

The next morning, Matt showed up to your apartment with coffee. Your exact order. No text beforehand. No heads-up.

You opened the door in pajama shorts and a hoodie, one sock on and a pen still tucked behind your ear.

“Matt?”

He held up the coffee like it was a peace offering. “You mentioned your 9 a.m. was with Vasquez today. I figured you’d need a hit of caffeine and a minor miracle.”

You blinked. “…That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working on that.”

And then he left. Just like that.

No flirting. No lingering.

Just… left.

You stared after him, cup in hand, completely thrown.

It didn’t stop there.

Matt started walking you to class. All the time.

Not just when you happened to be heading the same direction. On purpose.

He’d show up at your building with some excuse— “I needed air,” or “Foggy wasn’t ready yet”— and fall into step beside you like it was routine.

Then came the favors. Printing your notes when the Wi-Fi was down. Fixing the broken strap on your bag. Letting you drag him to that awful late-night diner when you were too wired to sleep.

You didn’t get it.

This wasn’t how Matt Murdock operated.

Matt Murdock flirted, ghosted, and moved on.

This? This was effort.

It was also torture.

Because the more he did it, the more you started to hope. Stupid, dangerous hope. Maybe he did like you. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided after all.

But every time you thought about asking, about saying something— he’d flash that same unreadable smile and change the subject.

So you kept your mouth shut. Kept watching. Waiting.

Hoping.

Meanwhile, Foggy was losing his mind.

“You can’t just— Matt, you cannot boyfriend her without telling her.”

Matt frowned, folding his arms. “I thought this was the part where I prove myself.”

“To who? To her? She already likes you. You’re not proving anything except that you’re allergic to communication.”

“I’m building a foundation.”

Foggy looked pained. “You’re building a bad sitcom plot. Just tell her.”

Matt hesitated. “She said she didn’t want that. She said she’d get over me.”

Foggy sighed so hard, his soul probably left his body.

“Matt. Listen to me. She said that because she didn’t think she could have you. You have ghosted every girl before her, remember?”

Matt winced. “Not every—”

“Every.”

“…Fair.”

Foggy ran a hand down his face. “You’re gonna lose her if you don’t speak up.”

Matt didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he knew it was true.

——————————————————————————————————

It started with Foggy texting you.

Which was already suspicious, because Foggy never texted first unless Matt was—

foggy: hey can you swing by the quad after class?

foggy: matt’s planning something

foggy: i’m scared :,)

Now, when someone like Foggy— sweet, unshakeable, usually-down-for-anything Foggy— is scared, you listen. You changed your route and headed toward the quad.

And promptly stopped dead in your tracks.

Because what the hell were you looking at.

Matt Murdock stood on a bench.

On a goddamn bench. In broad daylight. Holding what looked like a beat-up portable speaker above his head like he was channelling John Cusack in Say Anything.

Button-down rolled to the elbows. Hair tousled like it’d been run through about seven too many times. Foggy was standing off to the side looking like he was actively regretting every life decision that brought him here.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh no.”

A group of students was already watching, phones half-raised. Matt didn’t seem to care.

You watched, frozen, as he raised a hand and cleared his throat. Actually cleared his throat. Like he was about to deliver a valedictorian speech. You saw Foggy mutter don’t do it, like a prayer.

Matt did it anyway.

“I, uh… I know this is weird,” he began, voice carrying over the quad, “but I have something to say. Something important.”

The crowd murmured. A few giggles. One guy yelled “Murdock, you proposing?” which earned a sharp shut up from someone else. Foggy, probably.

Matt ignored it. His face was dead serious. “There’s someone I’ve been an idiot about. Someone smart and stubborn and too good to waste time on someone like me. But she did anyway. She does. And if she’s here—” his head turned slightly “— I want her to know I’m sorry. And that I like her. A lot.”

You blinked.

Foggy made frantic eye contact with you from the sidelines and mouthed stop him.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Matt continued. “I was scared, okay? I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin her. But then I realized I’d rather screw up trying to be with her than let her go without even trying. So, (Y/N),” he called, voice way too confident for a man committing this level of social suicide. “This one’s for you.”

A soft click, followed by the unmistakable synthy intro of Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

Savage. Fucking. Garden.

You clapped a hand over your mouth.

Someone nearby went “What is happening?”

Matt? he looked hopeful.

And you— stupid, stunned, wildly endeared— were just about to take a step forward when—

Cue the sprinkler system turning on.

Every. Single. Sprinkler.

They sputtered, then blasted to life across the quad like a synchronized ambush. A collective scream rose as people scrambled away, books and phones held over heads.

Matt? Got hit square in the chest, earning a strained Jesus from him.

Foggy somewhere in the periphery muttering “I told him” like a man in mourning.

You? Soaked. Wide-eyed. Laughing.

You actually had to cover your mouth, you were laughing so hard.

Matt stepped down, water dripping from his sleeves. He looked around like he was being personally smitten by the gods. It was like the universe waited for maximum dramatic tension just to drop the punchline.

The song cut out with a strangled sputter as the speaker died a wet, heroic death. Students screamed. Matt cursed under his breath as he was immediately soaked. Foggy, who had clearly seen this coming, was already power-walking toward the nearest tree, muttering “I’m too pretty for this.”

You stood there in shock as water poured down on everyone.

And then— you burst out laughing.

You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. You doubled over, drenched, laughing so hard it echoed louder than the chaos around you.

Matt stood on the bench, blinking water from his lashes, the speaker dangling uselessly from one hand. He looked like a wet, confused puppy. A hot wet confused puppy. Weird analogy. But still.

You pushed your hair from your eyes and walked over, completely soaked.

“This was your grand romantic gesture?” you asked between giggles.

He ran a hand down his face, sopping. “It was supposed to be better.”

You looked up at him, the pathetic speaker still crackling faintly in his grip. “It was absolutely ridiculous.”

A pause.

You smiled. “It was perfect.”

Foggy squelched up behind you both. “Okay, you’ve both had your romcom moment, can I go home now? My socks are... squishy.”

Matt turned to him, still trying to catch his breath. “Thanks for… whatever part you played in this.”

“I want that thank you in writing,” Foggy muttered. “And a refund for emotional distress.”

You turned back to Matt.

“Do I get to keep the boombox?”

He grinned. “It’s mostly water now. But sure.”

You took a slow step closer. “So… boyfriend material yet?”

He reached out— careful, gentle— and brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Getting there.”

And then you kissed him.

In the middle of the quad. Soaked to the bone. Surrounded by students who definitely started applauding and whistling, because of course they did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Foggy just shook his head.

“Seriously. I hate you both.”

You smiled at him. “Love you too, Fog.”

And Matt?

Well, he didn’t run.

Not this time.

a/n: alright so the fic took a detour from what i had originally planned, it was going to be angst, reader was going to be fwb with matt, and well it's a whole thing, a lot of changes happened but i didn't change the title because well i got attached. i know it doesn't really make sense now with how the story turned out, but i'm leaving it in the story anyway, hope you liked it!

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allllium · 2 years ago

Text

Cuddles

~ Ahhh I finally wrote something!! It's really short but I love it, it's so soft and cute

~ Fluff, WC: 673

~ Tired Matt coming home from patrol ~

“Matt, is that you?” You call from the bedroom as a loud bang brings your attention to the living room. You slowly climb out of bed and head toward the source of noise. Your boyfriend Matt is standing in the living room, still in his Daredevil suit.

“Hi, honey.” He quietly lets out, showing no intention of moving.

“Are you okay?” You keep your distance as you check on him. If something serious happened on his patrol, moving too close might worsen him.

“I’m alright, baby, just a long night.” After a moment, he finally moves across the room to you, wrapping his arms around you. You sigh softly in his hold, relief flooding your body as you see he’s not injured.

“How about I warm you up some food so we can go to bed?” You don’t get a verbal response from the devil clade man. Instead, you get an annoyed grunt as you pull out of his arms. “We can cuddle in bed, but first, you need to eat and change into something more comfortable.”

“Hm, can we cuddle while I eat too?” When you turn from your position in the kitchen, you can see he's taken his helmet off, leaving his face bare to you.

“We can cuddle whenever you’d like, baby.” A gentle smile lies across your face as you look at Matt standing before you.

While Matt decides to take a quick shower, you head back to the kitchen to warm up some food. Dating Matt can often be scary and stressful, but moments like this make it worth it. After a few minutes of humming to yourself in the kitchen while you wait for Matt, arms suddenly wrap around your waist, making you jump slightly.

“Shit.” You let out, not having heard the shower stop. “Don’t laugh at me. Not all of us have some super sensitive senses.” He continues chuckling behind you, clearly amused by your freight.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He makes no move to let go of you, only pushing his body closer to yours.

You turn around in his hold, holding out a plate of now-warmed food. “Eat.”

“Y’know, I seem to remember you promising cuddles.” He takes his plate from your hands with fake annoyance.

“I seem to remember you agreeing to eat. You haven't had anything since breakfast, and don't even try to lie about lunch. Foggy already told me you didn't have anything.” You lift your hand to his face to brush back a loose strand of damp hair.

“Wasn't hungry,” Matt mutters, dragging you towards the bedroom. He glances towards the spot next to him as he sits on the bed. “Lie down.”

You giggle quietly at his clingy nature. He’s often like this when he comes home from his patrol, needing to be next to you every moment. It's adorable. “Wow, you’re impatient tonight.”

“Hm” Is his only response. When you climb into bed next to him, he immediately pulls you into his arms, setting you against his chest while he eats his food. “You didn’t have to wait for me, baby. You should've gone to bed.”

“I like waiting for you. I like making sure you get home safe, plus the bed is always freezing when you're not here.” You burrow more against him after he leans over to place the empty plate on the nightstand.

“Ah yes, what would you do without your walking furnace?” He laughs, but it’s true. His apartment is always cold. Sometimes, you think he does it purposely, so you’ll use him as your source of warmth.

“Let’s go to sleep, Matty. I can see how tired you are.”

“Sounds good,” his words come out as half yawn. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” You lean up to give him a soft kiss before lying down against him, more than ready for sleep. Matt practically falls asleep in seconds, but you stay awake for a few minutes longer, simply enjoying the quiet moment and the man with his arms wrapped around you.

#matt murdock my beloved #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock imagines #matt murderdock x female reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader fluff

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r3ita-g4zette · 2 months ago

Note

could you plz have Matt feeling your face to memorize your face? I love the idea of his blindness affecting him genuinely instead of him being some sort of indestructible force. Thank you!!!

Yesss!! Having Matt understand your face due to his senses is already amazing, but having him intimately just feel your face to try and memorize you as good as he can feels much more personal.

Memorizing your face

Matt Murdock x GN! Reader

After a long day, you and Matt sat together on the bed, the home silent. your hands slid down to Matt's, taking note of how cold they felt against yours. He seemed tired, the way his thumb lazily rubbed over yours, staring at you but.. not quite. “Matt.. do you wish you could see me?” You asked with a certain tenderness.

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Well.. I know you can, kind of but.. you know? See me.” You murmured. The room was silent for a couple more moments, Matt's gaze lowering just slightly as he thought.

"No, I don't," he says without hesitation, shifting to wrap his fingers around yours. "Sometimes seeing too much can be...dangerous, even traumatic."

He raises your intertwined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, tracing them with a thumb. "Besides..." he adds, his tone a bit more playful, "you forget—I have other ways of seeing you."

Instinctively, you rolled your eyes, “well I know that.” You teased, your gaze stuck on your husband for a moment before looking down at your intertwined fingers.

“I still remember when we first got serious, back in College.. you were so shy to ask me if you could touch my face.” You whispered, unraveling your fingers from his and guiding the palm of his hand to your cheek. Your eyes closed at the gesture.

“I may not be the prettiest, but I like it when you “see” me. It makes me feel wanted.”

Matt's smile softens at the memory. "I was not shy; I was just being respectful," he counters, his hand finding your cheek, fingers gently tracing the lines of your face, mapping out every feature. Matt’s fingers curving into every dip and caressing, as if making a model of you in his head

"You're pretty to me," He murmurs, the pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "And there's only one way I want to see you—through my fingertips. It's more intimate, more...personal."

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, giving Matt the softest look, “You think I’m pretty?” You questioned in a hushed tone. Matt's expression was one of utter adoration. Despite his lack of sight, his other senses screamed at him that you were gorgeous. It wasn't just physical attraction, either.

"The prettiest," he said softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The shape of your lips..." His fingers trailed down to your jaw. "Your eyes..." The pads of his finger's grazed along right beneath your eyes. "...the line of your nose..." He finished, his touch as gentle a feather.

His hand moved down to the column of your throat, "the way you feel when I do this," Matt whispered, gently tracing the tender skin with his fingertips, feeling the way your pulse fluttered at the touch.

You let or soft laugh, pulling away Matt’s hand and placing it back on your cheek. “You don’t care that I don’t have that supermodel body? I’m glad you never see me when I’m fully relaxed. I look like a creature from a movie and develop 3 chins." You pickily chuckled.

Matt shook his head. "You don't need to look like a supermodel," he said adamantly, his other hand rising to caress the other side of your face, cupping it in a way. "I'm not looking for someone to put on a pedestal. I'm looking for someone real."

His thumbs gently brushed over your chin and jawline. "And besides," he added with a sly, gentle smirk, "I'm pretty fond of your chin(s). The more the merrier."

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, “I can’t with you-“ you laughed, your hand lightly patting Matt’s chest before leaning your head forward and resting on his shoulder. “You can touch my face whenever, if you want to see me.. if you're bored.. I’m okay with it all. You are my husband, aren't you?”

Matt chuckled at your familiar laugh, the warmth of it filling the room like a cozy blanket. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. He then pulled your head back softly and slowly, his gaze on you, but as usual, off.

"Your permission is appreciated, but I'd always wait for your consent," he said softly, his touch still tracing the features of your face. "And if you're bored, how about we keep things interesting?"

His fingers gently found their way to the nape of your neck, his touch light but possessive, a subtle claim.

wc; 751

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #marvel x reader #matt murdock fluff #matthew murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #x reader #matthew murdock fluff

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danysdaughter · 23 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

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.

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