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notquitecanon · 5 months

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Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

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chvoswxtch · 5 months

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hi um so this is like my first time making a request, like ever. I’m not even sure if this is where I’m supposed to put a request. So I’m really nervous but this idea has been in my head for weeks and I need it to be brought to life? Idk but can I request Matt Murdock with a sort of shy reader? Where he tells her about his abilities and daredevil and everything (established relationship) and she doesn’t really care as long as he’s safe but she has something in her mind and he notices and keeps asking and basically she has a question about his senses, specifically his taste and idk if you know but Matt can canonically know ALL of the ingredients of anything just from a taste and she basically wants to make him taste a bunch of stuff and tell her the ingredients of it so she can make them? I know this is probably WAY too specific so feel free to completely ignore this, I just wanted to get it out.

hi my darling!

so I actually read this request right before going to the grocery store, and while I was looking through produce, it made me think about how matt would absolutely know which produce was the freshest and which ones to avoid. I kinda mixed that in with your idea about being able to tell exactly what ingredients were in something, and I hope this is close to what you were looking for! <3

warnings: tooth rotting fluff and matt being a lil shit word count: 1.3k

lemons.

“Not that one.”

You hand instantly stilled over a lemon that your fingertips had already grazed over. Glancing at Matt over your shoulder, a crease formed between your brows while you looked back down at it.

“What do you mean? This one is perfect-”

“It’s not ripe enough.”

“But…it’s so yellow, like sunshine yellow.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s lips when he felt the way your own pursed into a bit of a confused pout. It was something you always did when you were intensely focused on something, and he found it endearing. Reaching his hand out, he used the pad of his thumb to smooth away the furrow that had creased in the middle of your forehead, and his soft smile curled up into a light smirk catching the flush of heat that immediately coursed through the tops of your cheeks.

“Well, I’m sure it’s a very pretty lemon, but it doesn’t taste ripe.”

Ever since Matt had told you the truth about his vigilante identity and his abilities, you’d had countless questions. You wouldn’t voice them at first, almost as if you were afraid to cross some invisible boundary that Matt might have, but he knew you, and he knew how to dismantle that shy exterior of yours. From the moment the two of you first met, you had been overly polite and accommodating about his disability, but not in a way that made him uncomfortable. You didn’t walk on eggshells around him or call any extra attention to his blindness. In fact, the way you interacted with him was so seamless, it was almost like it came second nature.

If you guys were grabbing coffee with Karen and Foggy, you would automatically place the raw sugar packets within his reach because you knew he preferred it to the artificial sweeteners. If the four of you went to check out a new lunch spot, you always called ahead to check if they had a menu in braille and made sure Matt was given one. There were so many little things you did to make him feel included and normal. It was part of why he fell so hard for you.

You never asked about the origin of his blindness, and even after he opened up and told you about his accident, you were reserved with your questions. He could tell you were curious, and he wanted you to ask. He wanted you to know things about him. You were a bit of a wallflower, and Matt could always feel you silently observing him, but he wanted you to understand him. He quickly realized he would have to flat out grant you permission to be nosey, and so he did.

Out of everyone he had revealed his Daredevil secret to, you had taken it the best. He didn’t know if he would ever get over the surprise of just how well you handled it. You didn’t get angry or yell at him. You didn’t call him a liar or a traitor, or ask him if he was faking his blindness; all reactions he expected. You just sat there in pure confusion, and you were silent for so long, Matt was panicked that he’d sent you into a state of shock. When it finally settled in that it wasn’t a joke, your brows knit together, and Matt could feel the way your face contorted into an expression of irritation when you flat out asked him if he was crazy. The memory of that night never failed to make him smile.

“Um…well, I mean…not in the traditional sense-”

“Matthew, what the hell are you thinking running around on rooftops, going after guys with guns and knives with…sticks? How do you even do that?”

“They’re batons, actually. Look it’s hard to explain, but I have heightened senses that help me-”

“Are those super senses going to keep you out of prison? Because that’s where you’re going if you get caught. What was the point of going hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt for law school if you were just going to wind up a prison cell for doing backflips off buildings in your underwear?”

“Heightened senses. And it’s not underwear. Underwear is comfortable.”

There hadn’t been a hint of anger in your voice. Annoyance, sure, but mainly concern. All you wanted was for Matt to be safe, and he did his best to assure you that he would be. Matt went into as much detail as he could to help you understand his abilities, and the more comfortable you got with asking him things, the more you learned.

Like how he could tell exactly what ingredients were in the lemon bread at the cafe down the street from your apartment that you loved so much, which was currently the reason behind your little trip to the store at the moment. All it took was one bite of the bread, and he knew exactly how to replicate it.

Apparently he could also tell when lemons were at their peak.

Reaching into the pile of lemons, Matt grasped the one that was in perfect condition to him and held it out towards you. Taking the lemon in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, noticing that it was firm to the touch but easily gave into the gentle force of your fingers testing its density.

“Feel the rind.”

Following Matt’s instructions, you brushed your thumb along the bright yellow rind. It was smooth to the touch, and somewhat glossy as it nearly reflected the brightness of the overhead lighting in the grocery store.

“It’s shiny.”

Matt chuckled at your response and lightly nodded his chin in your direction.

“What else?”

“It’s smooth.”

“It’s perfectly ripe. The zest on this one is the freshest. It has the most flavor, and the right amount of juice.”

Arching one of your brows, you stared up at Matt curiously while still faintly squeezing the lemon in your hand.

“You can tell how much juice is in this just by touching it?”

A grin stretched across Matt’s lips, showcasing his dazzling teeth and causing indents to appear in his cheeks. His thick brows rose slightly above the rim of his crimson glasses.

“Are you doubting me, sweetheart?”

“No I’m just…still trying to figure out how you do…what you do.”

A bashful twinge of heat coated your cheeks once again, and Matt thought it was adorable that you diverted your attention back to the lemon shyly to avoid his gaze even though he couldn’t see your reaction. He reached out to tenderly brush his knuckles along the warmth in your cheeks while he smiled in your direction.

“I’ll try to do better at explaining. Now c’mon, we have more ingredients to get. You know, I think this bread is gonna turn out so well, the one at the cafe might not meet your standards anymore.”

The confidence in Matt’s voice caught your attention, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. Sometimes you forgot that your boyfriend was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that everyone was so afraid of. If only they knew that he spent his Saturdays sniffing out ingredients at the grocery store like a bloodhound to help his girlfriend recreate the recipe for her favorite lemon bread.

“You know, if you didn’t love law so much, you could’ve made out like a bandit in a baking competition.”

“Oh I would’ve won with my sob story of being a blind little Catholic orphan alone.”

“Matthew!”

Matt snickered at the disbelief in your tone, but he could also detect the way the edges of your lips twitched, like you weren’t sure if you should laugh at that or not. Snaking his arm around your waist, he pressed a light kiss to your forehead and gently nudged you in the direction towards the spice aisle.

“Come on, we need flour.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock request #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request

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souliebird · 2 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 18]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

warning: canon typical violence || vomit

“Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor, lift your open hand - Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling. So, kiss me.”

You hum along with the song playing quietly in your ear as you scrub the bathtub. It is one of your cleaning nights and you are focused on getting everything back to tip-top shape. The tub currently has a bit of a purple tint to it after you tried a new brand of bubble bath for Minnie - you are lucky she isn’t now grape flavored as well - and you would very much like it gone. It is coming off easier than you expected, but it is taking a fair amount of elbow grease.

It is easy to space out and listen to music as you work. Your cleaning playlist are songs you can vibe to that you don’t really associate with anything in your life - mostly you think about the movies the song has been featured in - but you are finding, as you scrub and romantic lyrics float through your head, a certain name and face keeps appearing in your mind’s eye.

You know it isn’t wise for you to develop a crush on Matt - just because you have a daughter together does not mean he wants to kiss you. You know you need to squash the feelings down before you get yourself hurt.

But sometimes it is nice to have silly impossible daydreams while you are cleaning alone at ten at night. Having a goofy little smile while you picture yourself spinning around a garden in a dance isn’t hurting anyone. You have a good grasp on reality - you just sometimes want to pretend to be the lead in a cheesy 90’s teen romcom - is that too much to ask?

No one else needs to know Matt has replaced the lead actor. It is a secret just for you.

As you scrub bleach powder around your purple-haze tub drain, you catch movement reflecting in the shine of the spout. You can’t hear anything over your music - even though you only have one earbud in - so you sit up and turn around. Of course, it is Minnie standing in the doorway, clad in her jammies, and dragging Scooby by his big paw.

You pull the earbud out, frowning to your daughter, “Is everything alright, Mouse? Is my music too loud? Did it wake you up?”

She shakes her head, then in the most miserable voice you have ever heard from her, whines, “My tummy hurts.”

Instantly, you set down your sponge and your earbud so you can go to your daughter, “your tummy hurts?”

You move to pick her up, wanting to comfort her, but it is made clear she doesn’t want this by stepping back and holding up her toy between the two of you. It hurts, but it passes, as you know you don’t like to be touched when you feel sick, so instead, you kneel down to be in front of her and try to find the root of the problem.

“How does your tummy hurt?”

She sways side to side, face scrunching up as she self-analyzes. You can see the little wheels turning in her head, but then there is a very subtle shift in her eyes that only years of being a mother makes you notice. With lightning speed, you grab Minnie under her arms and spin around to hold her over the toilet just as her dinner begins to regurgitate.

Your heart breaks as she empties her stomach and you try to soothe her the best you can, rubbing her little back as she coughs and hacks.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, get it all out. Get all the icky out,” you tell her.

Luckily, her stomach is small and there is not a lot of expel. Once you are sure she is done, you flush the toilet then close the lid, intent on setting Minnie down so you can clean her up, but of course, now she doesn’t want to be put down. She wiggles and turns until she can bury her head into your neck, sniffling and hiccupping, and clinging to you the best she can.

You can feel bits of vomit on your neck, but since you aren’t completely covered in it, you try to ignore it in favor of your distressed daughter. You begin to rock her gently, humming one of her favorite lullabies as she processes how distressing throwing up is.

You don’t remember when the last time she got sick was, but you have a guess as to what caused this upset - you tried a new ice cream for dessert tonight. It had made your stomach a bit gurgly and you had solved that with a TUMS.

It hadn’t occurred to you to ask if Minnie needed one, too.

A lesson for the future.

Minnie doesn’t dissolve into full on tears and after about two minutes, she pulls back and croaks out, “‘cooby?”

She had dropped the toy when you had first picked her up, so you stretch to grab him for her. She quickly switches to clinging to him and you go right for a washcloth. You wipe down your neck first - you can only handle so much - then start on cleaning up your poor Mouse.

In a blessing from the gods, she only has a little bit of gunk around her mouth and nose. It doesn’t seem like anything got on her clothes.

Getting her to rinse her mouth out takes a bit of convincing.

“It will help the icky taste go away,” you promise, but she just clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. You very much get why she wouldn’t want anything in her mouth after throwing up, but you also know she needs a good rinse. She only gives in after you demonstrate what you want of her by brushing your teeth and gargling some water. However, the condition is that you have to brush her teeth for her while she squeezes Scooby for dear life.

Once her mouth is clean and the only sign she was ever sick is her puffy red eyes, you scoop up your baby and bring her out to the living room.

“How does your tummy feel now?” you ask as you set her on the couch and begin to cocoon her in the throw blanket you keep there.

Minnie rests her head on top of Scooby’s, lip jutting out into a pout, “Icky. And Hurty.”

“Icky and hurty?” You sympathize. You know well the aftermath of throwing up and how sometimes the aftermath is worse than the event - your stomach often turns sour and you feel drained. You know certain fluids will help relieve this, so you kiss Mouse’s forehead and tell her, “Let me see if we have any things to help.”

“Blue Pedi-lyte?” she asks and you can’t help but smile over how observant and smart your little one is. She may not have thrown up in recent memory - but other digestive problems have occurred, and she clearly remembers enough that the drink helped.

“Yeah. Let me go see if we have any, okay? Do you want to put on some Mickey?”

“Goofy,” is her quick, but mumbled reply.

You turn on the television and bring up some Goofy related shorts, then head to the kitchen, hoping you have some old Pedialyte.

But you don’t.

You have leftover drinks Karen brought you and the only thing that is comparable to what you promised Minnie is yellow Gatorade. However, you have nothing to turn it blue. You have the feeling that trying to give it to your little one is not going to go well, but you try, nonetheless. You fill a sippy cup halfway with yellow liquid and mentally cross yourself as you bring it to Mouse on the couch.

She takes one look at it before pouting at you, “That’s yellow.”

“I know, sweetie. But we don’t have any blue Pedialyte. We only have yellow Gatorade. It will help your tummy, too.”

To her credit, she takes it and holds it in her lap, looking down at it with disdain. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then wrinkles up her nose and holds the cup back up to you, “It’s stinky.”

You try to not sigh - lemon-lime is an intense flavor and probably won’t taste the best after vomiting, but it is all you have. You crouch down so you are eye level with your daughter and rub her leg, trying to be encouraging, “I know, but it will help your tummy. Can you try for me?”

She looks between you and the cup about fifteen times, her little eyes full of doubt, before bringing it up to her mouth and taking a sip. She does not swallow - instead she looks disgusted before opening her mouth and letting the drink spill down her chin.

“Oh, no, no, let’s not do that,” you groan. You use your t-shirt - which is luckily your cleaning shirt and gross anyways - to wipe her face and soak up the yellow liquid.

“Icky,” Mouse informs you, then adds, “I want blue Pedi-lyte. Please?”

You take in your daughter, looking so tiny wrapped up on the couch. How awful it must be to not only be nauseous, but to be so with enhanced senses. You’ve thrown up enough times to know what an unpleasant aftertaste it leaves, so she must be so miserable.

You rub your hands over your face and give in, “Okay, let Mommy go change into real people clothes, and we will go get some for you.”

----

You are no stranger to midnight runs to the bodega two blocks west. You had moved into your current apartment when you were about six months pregnant, and you had spent month seven waddling your way there almost every night for a slice of cake. The late-night cashier, Sal, practically watched Minnie grow up and he is one of the few people who she will talk to unprompted. So, you don’t feel embarrassed when you stroll in wearing sweatpants and a band-tank top, with Minnie still in her jammies - Sal has seen you in worse states and at least you aren’t wearing a robe and slippers.

There’s a couple of college aged boys lingering around the snacks section who smell heavily of marijuana, and they seem more interested in talking about what chips to get than anything, so only your hyper paranoid mind makes you take notice as you make your way to the drink coolers. You pass all the fun things and go to the very back corner of the storefront where the small selection of medicinal goods are.

Tampons, Tylenol, and band aids are stacked low on the dry goods shelf, and across from them, practically on the floor of the cooler, is one row of Pedialyte. The gods must be smiling on you because it is indeed the blue flavor your daughter is desiring.

You open the cooler, and with Minnie on your hip, squat down to retrieve your prize. Almost instantly, she starts making grabby hands for it, asking with a bit of a whine, “Mommy, open it.”

“We have to pay for it first, then you can drink it,” you remind her, feeling guilty as you do. You can see the upset in her eyes, and to try and mitigate the damage, you offer, “Do you want to help buy it?”

Mouse, always the eager helper, nods against you, so you hand over the drink, stand, and start making your way to the counter. The stoned boys are debating which chips will leave the least amount of residue on their gaming controllers as you pass them and part of you wants to stop and listen. You don’t have an interest in video games beyond silly ones on your phone, but their passion is intense, and you agree Cheeto dust is one of the worst things in the world. You are lucky Minnie finds them gross and much prefers pretzels as her chip of choice.

As you come up to the checkout, Sal looks up from his phone and gives you a pleasant smile, “Late night snack run?”

Minnie pipes up before you can, leaning forward as far as she can to hold out the bottle towards him, “I wanna buy this, please, thank you.”

Sal, ever kind, reaches across the counter to get it so you don’t have to try to lean in, “Ahhh, no snacks. Tummy troubles?”

“Tummy troubles,” you confirm. You dig into your purse for your wallet as he begins to ring you up.

Sal clicks his tongue in sympathy, before telling you, “My daughter, Sasha, the tall one, she always had the tummy troubles, too. Turns out, she was allergic to corn. Do you know how much corn is in everything in America?”

You make a face at that because you do, in fact, know how much corn is in everything. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

In your arms, always wanting to mimic you, Minnie gives a solemn nod to Sal, “Sorry to hear.”

Sal laughs warmly, “You are kind. I hope your tummy troubles are not from corn, but too many sweets.”

That makes Mouse giggle, which warms your heart. When you are told the total, you hand her your card to hand over to Sal. The sweet man swipes it, then addresses Minnie, “Debit or credit?”

Despite not knowing what that means, she instantly replies with, “Credit!” making you smile all the more.

“Yes, we will charge it,” he says. The receipt prints and he hands that and the card back to you before bagging the Pedialyte in a little black baggie and handing that to Minnie. “Your purchase, little ma’am.”

“Thank you!” she chimes, and you thank Sal as well. The college boys have finally decided on their snack, so you vacate the counter so they can make their purchase, wishing the cashier a good rest of his night.

As you exit the bodega, Minnie bonks your arm with the bagged bottle, “Mommy, open it now. We buyed it.”

“Okay, okay.”

You set her down on the ground, then get the bottle out so you can crack it open. You help your little one take a few careful sips and once she is done, she smacks her lips.

“Not icky?” You ask and she gives a big nod in response.

“Not icky.”

“How is your tummy?”

Her fist goes right into her mouth as she thinks over the question. You use the time to recap the drink and drop it back into the bag, then put that into your purse.

“It feels like jumping dinosaurs,” Mouse finally tells you, “Going ‘bah bah bah’. Like sheepies.”

You have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but you guess that she feels better. She seems more chipper, which isn’t what you need closing in on midnight. If you don’t get home soon and get her back into bed, you are going to have a very grumpy toddler in the morning.

Which will go great with your expected grumpiness - you still have to finish cleaning the bathroom and who knows how long that is going to take. You’ll need to redo the toilet and throw a load of laundry into the wash. You’ll probably get to bed around two if you are lucky.

So, with the complete intention of tiring your daughter out, you ask her, “Do you want to walk back home holding Mommy’s hand?”

Which completely does the trick and Minnie takes your hand so you can walk back home together, and you begin heading that way.

Despite being the city that never sleeps, the streets around you are pretty empty. You haven’t come across any other foot traffic and you’ve only seen a few cars roll by, so to you, it seems like a quiet night.

You wonder if that is how Minnie sees it - or in her case - hears it.

It has been mind boggling learning her range of hearing and how much input she must constantly receive.

Matt is still working on making you his binder - Karen has apparently taken to copy editing it - but he has given you a preview of a few pages and you can barely comprehend it. You think you would go insane if you could hear everyone talking all at once, all the time. Your anxiety would be astronomical, but your sweet Mouse doesn’t seem bothered in day-to-day life.

You’ve been watching her play more and more and you’ve been learning what catches her attention and interests. To your surprise, it has been music. The little wiggles and shakes she sometimes does is apparently her interpretation of dancing and you have been making her a little playlist for her birthday. You think a dance party would be a fun thing to do the night before the zoo trip, to help get out all her energy. You haven’t told her this yet, but you did ask her to let you know when she hears a song she wants to dance to, so you can look into it.

You don’t want to add anything inappropriate after all.

You look down at your daughter as you walk, a little smile coming to your face. She’s watching her feet, and it looks like she’s trying to step on her own shadow without making a big deal of it. You’ve seen her do that before or try to walk one foot in front of the other. You aren’t the fastest walker - you tend to stroll - so you never worry about her games slowing you down.

Plus, if it wears her out, all the better for you.

You are about half a block away from your building when Minnie suddenly halts and whirls her head back towards the bodega. Curious, you stop as well, wondering what she has heard now.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“There’s a hoot-hoot!” She whisper-yells, looking up to you with the biggest, purest smile.

Your heart practically bursts from your chest with love and your smile grows to match hers, “A hoot-hoot? Can you tell me about the hoot-hoot?”

She nods, then you watch in slow motion as your daughter’s absolute joy morphs into that of horror and before you can even process what is happening, something is ripping you away from Minnie by the base of your neck.

You are pivoted left and slammed face first into the brownstone staircase you were just walking by. Your vision goes spotty as pain erupts from the center of your forehead - confusion and panic begin to consume you.

All you can hear is your daughter screaming in fear.

You have no idea what is going on, but all you know is Minnie needs you, and that ignites something deep and primal in your chest.

There is something grabbing and pulling at your top and your purse - which you wear crossbody - and you realize someone is trying to mug you. Fear fills you as you struggle to get away, break free, but whoever it is is stronger than you and keeps slamming you back against the stone.

“Mommy!”

The thing inside your chest bursts to life when you hear Minnie cry for you and you kick backwards best you can, trying to dislodge your attacker. Your foot catches their knee and both of you go tumbling to the ground. You hit the cement hard only to be crushed under the weight of your assailant as they land on top of you.

You refuse to stay still, squirming and trying to army crawl out from under the mugger, but they easily overpower you. Hands wrap around your throat from behind and you are temporarily overwhelmed by the stench of body odor and filth. You are pressed down into the sidewalk for a split second before being yanked back and you just barely manage to turn your face as you are violently forced back down again. Gravel and glass tear at your cheek.

Something tangles itself into your hair and your head is once again being pulled back, but you won’t give up. You reach back over your head and grab onto the arm of the person attacking you. You feel flesh, so you curl your fingers and dig your nails in the best you can.

There is a feral, pained yowl, then your head meets the ground again, but it doesn’t stop. They are trying to push you down into the sidewalk using all their weight, like they are trying to crush your skull.

You kick and buck as hard as you are able to, thrashing desperately in an attempt to break away. The pain is quickly becoming all encompassing, but Minnie is crying, and you need to get to her.

You try to get an arm under you, to try and help to push you up, but there is so much weight and all of it is centered on your upper back and skull.

You can’t get up.

You can’t get to Minnie.

You can’t save your daughter.

There is a deep and furious roar, then the crushing weight of your attacker is ripped off of you.

You gasp for breath as you quickly roll onto your side, terrified you're going to be pushed back into the dirt and smothered. Your vision is swimming, blurry and half black, and everything, everything hurts.

“DADDY!”

Your eyes snap open and you try to push yourself up onto shaky arms. You try to turn around to find your daughter, but your body doesn’t want to obey anymore, and you collapse back onto the ground. You force your legs to move the best you can, trying to roll until you can find your daughter.

“Minnie..” you try to call out but you aren’t sure if any noise escapes your lips.

“Mommy!”

The darkness wraps itself around you and begins to drag you down into its depths. The last thing your mind catches before it switches off is your little Mouse, screaming for you.

“MOMMY!”

“MOMMY!!”

---

:3C

---

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium

@anehkael

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood@mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you

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bornagainmurdock · 18 days

Text

four times matt put his hand around your neck & one time you had to beg

author's note: at this point it's canon this man is obsessed with having his hand on people faces/neck, so i've decided to fed the beast and cause myself emotional pain thinking about matt's hands again

contents: 18+ ONLY, smut, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, dom!matt, choking (both sexual & non-sexual), no sex, possessiveness, grinding, shower sex, begging, size kink, use of 'bunny' (once), dumbification, desparation

work count: 1.4k

Matt adored your neck in every way possible. He would do anything to kiss your neck, bite at your skin and watch you squirm under his touch. He also had the bad habit of touching the back of your neck in public setting, rubbing at your muscles until you moans just loud enough for only him to hear. But most importantly, he liked holding your neck. Not necessarily choking you, but holding you there in front of him unable to move unless he let you.

You were laying on the couch when Matt got home, barely conscious and blinking incredibly slowly drifting between sleep and reality. Matt knew you were exhausted after the last two weeks you had at work, and decided to let you rest. But there was something about how innocent you looked curled up in a ball lightly snoring.

He leaned over the back of the couch and brushed your hair oh so gently, removing it from in front of your face.

"Matty," you whispered, "how was work?"

"I love you baby. Get some rest."

"Nooo, c'mere." You reached up and grabbed his face forcing him to lean down towards you so you could give him a kiss.

You meant it to be gentle, but Matt had other plans.

He pressed into you with a bit more force than you were expecting, but it wasn't unwanted. He deepened the kiss until you were whining against him begging for more. Matt eventually climbed over the back of the couch to hover above you. His body warm and lucid covering you.

While he shifted, he moved one arm to hold him up, and the other one up your body until it sat at the base of your neck, gentle and waiting. He felt you shudder under him when he finally made contact and it sent fire through his body.

"Mine."

----

Matt loved showering with you. He would often sneak in and join you, which was where you were tonight, pushed up against the shower wall with Matt grinding against your ass. Both of his hands were on your hips, keeping you from falling over.

Matt had snuck in only a minute ago and skipped the pleasantries, biting at your neck until there were imprints in your skin blushing bright red.

He was moaning into your ear and unable to focus, already so far gone inside his own head thinking about how hot you looked under him like this.

"You have no idea how good you look." His right hand gripped tighter on your hip so the other could find your neck.

Once he reached the base of your neck he squeezed gently as a warning, an opportunity for you to take a breath before he grasped you tighter.

You took your last deep breath before his pointer finger and thumb dug into the sides of your neck, pressing into the arteries there.

You whimpered and Matt increased the pressure once more before giving you another second to breathe.

"Deep breath. So good for me." And then your eyes rolled back as far as they could into your head moaning Matt's name until he growled in your ear.

----

You had gotten into bed at a reasonable time tonight, but as much as you wanted to, you couldn't sleep. Matt was out on patrol with a promise to be home by 2am, no matter what and it was only a couple minutes until his deadline. You kept glancing at the clock on your phone, trying to go a full minute without checking, but failing every time.

At 1:59am you heard the door open and Matt slink through the door. You heard the slide of the zipper of his suit and the plop of it against the ground.

Matt finally entered the bedroom and without hesitation found his comfy spot next to you as the big spoon, pulling your body into his, and wrapping his arms around you.

He seemed frustrated but you didn't bother asking. Patrol was physically and emotionally taxing for Matt and the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. So, you allowed him to move you into his arms and hold you there, that was until you started to feel him grind against your body and groan into your ear.

"Matt."

"Had a bad night. Really want you."

"Then have me." And so he did.

His grinding got more intense, pressing his hips into yours desparatly for any amount of touch, your skin against his.

And then, as usual his hand snaked it way up your body, stopping at your waist, then at your collar bones, and then reaching for your neck, using that leverage to pull you closer against him. His forced pulled your head back to, exposing more of your skin to him to grab for.

He was rough and messy and it was exactly what he needed after a long night.

"Take off your clothes"

----

Today was both of your days off from work. Planned of course, never would you be lucky enough to have the same days off during the week. You woke up slow in Matt's arms enjoying the rising sun flood into the bedroom window.

Matt was slowly making his way to conciousness when you left bed to suprise him with breakfast. With his super sensitive hearing it wouldn't be a suprise, but it was the thought that counted.

When he finally rolled out of bed, you served him the coffee and eggs you made and forced him to sit on the couch with you to relax. You weren't about to let him out of your sight today. Matt needed a break and he knew that, too.

Throughout the morning and into the afternoon, Matt and you had tangled yourselves together eventually falling off the couch and onto the floor in a giggle fit over a game of rock paper scissors.

Eventually y'all settled back down, your head on his shoulder feeling his vocal chords vibrate and humm under you while he told you stories about the office drama, college with Foggy, and growing up in the orphanage. When he finished telling you for the third time about why Fog took Punjabi instead of Spanish, silence fell over the both of you.

The sun was beginning to set and Matt and you had gotten comfortable, falling asleep on and off in each others arms. At one point when waking up, you felt Matt's hand around your neck. Not squeezing, just holding. It was a gesture of his love.

When you had wiggled enough in his grasp, Matt woke up and threw his hand from your body.

"I'm sorry I was asleep."

"I know. You can put it back." And so he did.

----

"Matt please."

"You want it so bad, then beg. Tell me why you need my hand around your throat." Every word he said went straight to your core, warming you up from the inside out, burning like a fire.

Matt was standing over you, your body kneeling at his feet in desparation.

"Please, I need your hand around my throat. I need you Matt. I need you to choke me until I cry and can't speak and can't remember anything but how good you make me feel."

"So good for me. Look at you, such a mess at my feet."

Matt bent down to stroke your cheek, a gentle offering before finding your neck with his hand. The force pushing you down on your back, excitement-fear in your eyes.

He held you there as he got down oh his knees, straddling your hips, now only a few inches from your face.

"Is that what my baby wanted? To be treated like my plaything?"

"Yes, oh my god Matt." Stars were floating around you from the pressure on your neck. The blood flow making you dizzy and thoughtless.

"Dumb bunny." With his other hand he grabbed your jaw and shifted your head around while he let go of your neck, feeling you shake and squirm on the floor.

"Please, again."

"Then beg. Again."

#matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader

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e-nonsense · 2 months

Text

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟'𝗦 𝗞𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡 - 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵. 𝘰𝘯𝘦

prev / next | masterlist

pairing. batfam x batsis!reader + platonic!matt murdock x batsis!reader

warnings. swearing, child neglect, mentions of an accident that makes you blind, canon/typical violence, nothing goes with comics, OOC matt murdock

wc. 1.2k

Jason had disappeared again, where to, no one knew. All that you had been told was he and Bruce had another one of their many fights, this time it had gotten physical.

You had only found out weeks after his disappearance. Having been in New York for the last two weeks.

You were amused to find out that he hadn’t actually left Gotham, instead he was sitting across from you munching down his burger, the sounds made were disgusting and you thanked whatever God out there that you couldn’t see it.

You listened with a smile as your older brother rambled on about how pissed off he was at Bruce, your unseeing eyes hidden behind a pair of tinted circular glasses.

The glasses were new, not the fact you were wearing them, just the fact that instead of them bearing the usual black tint you often wore it was now a dark purple.

Jason was the only sibling you confided in with your newest secret, a new name whispered amongst Gotham crooks and villains. He was against it at first, completely against it but when he saw you fight finally. His mind was changed.

If you learnt this much in two weeks, what could you do if you had two months. Or two years?

Jason wouldn’t this but he could see the Bruce in you, how quickly and how resilient you were becoming. Someone who could match the Batman in skill despite not having sight, he’d stick by to help you figure all that stuff out.

So for now Jason would support your decision, help you from behind the computer for now until he’d be ready to come back as Red Hood. But for now he could settle with lunch dates with his little sister during the day and helping you kick ass during the night.

“So, you going back to New York so this Murdock guy can train you more?” Jason asked with a mouth full of burger and you grimaced at the sound of his chewing.

“I might not if I’m going to be hearing your chewing in more detail from now on.” You grumbled, reaching out for your milkshake. Jason snorted in response, swallowing down his food.

“You can hear that?” He asks intrigued.

You only nodded in response, before shrugging. “‘S not much. Matt can heat heartbeats, but he said if i continue focusing and blocking out noises I don’t need to hear I’ll get there soon enough.”

Jason nodded along, you assumed by the sound of hair ruffling.

“So what can you hear so far?” He asked.

“Breathing, chewing, things far away sometimes, i can hear more sometimes and then other times i can’t hear anything at all.”

Jason hums, pausing to watch you, “you look happier.” He blurts out, “i mean compared to how you were, stashed away in the manor.”

You hide your smile behind the milkshake and Jason smiles, “I’m glad.”

———

“Breathe,” Matt instructs, hands on your shoulders. “Focus on his heartbeat, ignore mine, find him.”

Your breathing evens out, and Matt can hear your heart slow down, relaxing from your earlier training as you tried to find the heartbeat of the other man in the room. “I can’t—” you try to complain.

“Do it,” Matt repeats, “focus.”

Then you hear it, another heartbeat echoing through your ears coming from your, “left.” You mutter and Matt grins, ruffling the top of your head.

“That’s creepy,” Peter’s voice calls out, “it’s like there’s two of you now.” His footsteps get closer, stopping right in front of you.

“I should properly introduce the two of you,” Matt says. “Peter this is y/n Wayne. Kid, this is Peter Parker, he’s Spider-Man.”

"Spider-man?" You snorted, "what, were there no other names available?"

Peter groaned, crossing his arms like a pouty child. "Shut up," he grumbled.

"breaks over," Matt calls out and now its your turn to groan, all morning since you got back to New York he's been training you.

Starting with sitting silently in one place and picking out quieter sounds and now you were training to fight more.

Because no way in hell was Matt going to let you fight freely in Gotham city without further extensive training. So for now, you were getting your ass handed to you, and it sucked.

———

Bruce started at the screens in front of him, the sound of his youngest sons sparing in the background didn’t phase him, he was getting irritated with the new presence in Gotham. Some newbie calling themselves Duchess, a who had never crossed paths with him by some miracle.

actually it seemed every time Bruce arrived on scene, the Duchess just disappeared, as if she had some sixth sense for him. There was limited footage of her too, just little blurs of shitty CCTV cameras of a girl with a bandana tied around her eyes and in full black. Hands wrapped in black bandages, any distinguished features covered up, leaving the possibilities of her identity to thousands of candidates.

The only other thing Bruce had on her being her constant travel between Gotham and New York, specifically Hell’s Kitchen. But he got no leads from there, other than the Duchess being in cahoots with the Daredevil and his allies.

So, after hours of analysing footage, names and failing to hack into SHEILD’s servers, the only thing Bruce had gotten was that this Duchess being; female and lives in Gotham or New York.

“Nothing?” Dick’s voice comes from beside him, arms crossed as he leans back against the desk, sweating as he had just returned from patrol with Cass and Steph.

Bruce grunts in response and Dick takes it as a yes, “damn.” He mutters with a sigh, “well I’m heading home. I need sleep and I have work in the morning,” Dick says, stretching his arm, patting his shoulder as he heads up the stairs and out of the cave.

Was he actually heading home? No. He was off to do his own investigation about this Duchess. Hopefully he’d actually find something.

———

Navigating Gotham was easy when you had the heartbeats of the people who you want to avoid memorised. But New York? Not so easy, the streets were louder, busier, people walked around freely and not in quiet groups armed with knives to avoid being attacked.

At first the noises were overwhelming to your senses, but overtime you had learnt how to block out certain sounds, like cars, random clicking, rats, water, the unimportant things. And the noise became more bearable, you could tell the difference between human heartbeats and animal ones.

“This way,” Matt spoke, jumping over building to building with you following closely behind.

He had talked about getting you a suit made but until then the outfit you had on currently would do fine. The sounds of Peter’s webshooters were in the background, “are you sure about this? I mean she’s still new to this, taking her out on patrol might be a bad idea.” Peter spoke, trying to be a voice of reason.

“I’m sure,” Matt says his voice distorted due to the sound of an explosion in the background, the smell of smoke filling your noses.

“That can’t be good,” you mutter, nose scrunching at the smell.

“Definitely not,” Peter nods in agreement before the three of you head over towards the scene.

—tbc

#duchess au #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #matt murdock x reader #platonic batfam #batfam x reader #batsis #enzo writes [📝]

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 year

Note

since you’re literally my FAVOURITE matt murdock writer, i had to slip this by you :’) <3

high pain tolerance bf vs “noo i got a papercut” gf trope pls

Nonny, you are way too sweet!! :'') I love this!! TBH, I've had this written probably for a few months on my phone, but I ended my day with a nasty paper cut, and it reminded me to post! I hope you like it!

Tolerance (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Warning: Fluff and sweet domesticity, canon-typical injuries/Matt getting patched up

“Almost done, Matty,” you tell him as you work to stitch up the wound on his side.

“It’s really not that bad—it didn’t need stitches,” he tries to insist.

“Matthew, I can literally see inside of you,” you sigh. “Don’t go Monty Python on me.”

“I’ve been in worse scrapes, and you know that.”

“I do know that, and I don’t like that you’ve been in worse scrapes.”

“I have been more careful, though.”

“I appreciate it. But shut up.”

“Argumentative.”

“Badgering!”

“You’re doing the badgering, angel.”

“And you’re being argumentative,” you counter as you tie off his wound.

“I see my legal skills have rubbed off on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smirk, kissing his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re back down to your normal amount of holes now.”

You watch as the confusion dances across Matt’s face, absorbing the weirdness of your statement before you notice him slip into careful thought as he goes over his anatomy.

“Was . . . Was that supposed to be a compliment or insult?” he tries.

You begin to giggle uncontrollably before you lean over to kiss the top of his head, moving to gather all the scraps from patching him up.

“Compliment,” you clarify. “My big, strong, brave Daredevil is all patched up.”

“Sweetheart—.”

“Don’t brush off your nightly beatings like you’re being tickled with a feather duster. You have an unusually high pain tolerance.”

“That part is the Catholicism,” he says with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, yeah, either way, you should see a medical professional about that brain of yo—hmmm!” you whimper.

“(Y/N)?” Matt asks, snapping his attention toward you, doing his best to get up as fast as he can with his wounds restricting him.

“‘M okay.”

“Not with that whine.” He grunts and shuffles his way over toward you, his hand wrapping around your own that covers your wound. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It really hurts,” you mutter, keeping your head tilted down.

“What happened?”

You stay quiet.

“(Y/N)—.”

“Paper cut,” you grumpily admit.

“You . . . Got a paper cut?”

“It’s big and it’s deep and it’s not in a good spot!” you whine. Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Matty, it’s not funny, it really hurts!”

“Need me to kiss it better?”

“Well, I’m not opposed, but not if you’re gonna laugh at me!”

“I could never laugh at you, angel, just the things you do and how you make me feel.” He exposes the cut and lifts your hand to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “Does that feel better?”

“A little,” you admit. “It really stings. And I’ll have you know that I put up with a hell of a lot of pain for a week every month just to have your babies one day!”

An amused smile pulls across his lips.

“You just said—!” you start.

“You wanna have my babies?” he asks as the smile on his face grows even bigger, his eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated happiness.

“Well . . . Yeah. I love you, Matt, and I’d be a big fat liar if I said I didn’t think about our future together.”

“How about when my ribs are in better shape and any superfluous holes have closed, we get some baby-making practice in.”

You feel your face grow hot as you blush deeply.

“You’re so cute when you’re bashful,” he hums, angling his head so he can kiss you.

“You know, Mr. Super-sense, if you weren’t covered in holes . . . !” Your mouth turns into an angry pucker as you try to think of where you were going the insult of your sentence.

“Yeah, angel?” What a punk, he is.

“Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles brightly, bringing his lips to yours, cradling your head with his hand.

You happily return his embraces, getting carried away and lost in his lips before you manage to pull back. “There goes that blood loss, taking control of your mouth again,” you blush as his hands happily settle on your waist. “Let’s get you to bed before I have to give Claire a buzz, hm? I can only patch up holes in your body so well.”

Another soft chuckle escapes his lips as he kisses your again before turning and letting you guide him to the mattress and tuck him in so he can get a few hours sleep before he goes to defend his city once more, albeit in a less physical capacity.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987

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farfromstrange · 2 months

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Carpe Noctem [PREVIEW]

Main Masterlist

PREVIEW.

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Warnings: (additional tags to be added/changed) Dead Dove Do Not Eat, religious imagery & symbolism, vampirism, Dark!Matt, blood consumption, corruption kink, SMUT (18+), pain kink, blood play, ANGST, canon typical violence, physical assault, allusions to sexual assault, hunter and prey vibes, allusions to stalking (possibly full-on), scent kink, marking, blasphemy, no happy ending

Summary: Over the past centuries, nothing could have stopped Matt Murdock from wanting, craving, everything, even what he could not have; money, power, and sex, among other more materialistic things, but nothing has him in quite a chokehold like the insatiable hunger for blood he was cursed with the night he died. Nothing could have stopped him from getting what he wants until one day in March, you enter his life.

Matt has stolen, beaten and killed without care, but corrupting a child of God is a line he dares not cross. You, a nun. It’s unthinkable. The part of him that longs for the life he was torn out of—the boy still riding the waves of Catholicism, that Matt Murdock—would rather see him impaled on a wooden stake than allow him to take your blood. Your blood, your innocence, and all that you are; the aroma of rosemary and sanctity that surrounds you is a siren’s call that draws him inevitably closer. The same walls of Clinton Church that house you would incinerate him, and he still wants you. He wants you, but he can’t have you.

Devoting yourself to the church saved you from the abyss, but it may also lead to your eternal corruption at the hands of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt Murdock. A vampire. Soon, you find yourself not only on the verge of losing your innocence to this angel of the night but your life, too, and your world drastically changes for what you realize might be worse than death itself.

(18+ MINORS DNI!)

A/n: I’m back, back, BACK again! Vampire!Matt brainrot is real, and this idea was so dark in my head and kind of ironic, really, I had to put it out there for you. I will be doing my research on Catholicism religiously (pun intended) to make this as accurate as possible, but it’s still an alternate universe and I like making up my own rules. Everything I write is my personal playground, and I invite you to join me for this steamy piece of angst. So far, this is only a concept, but I will get to writing it as soon as I can! The idea is there, and I’ve got some things planned out already. So, if you’re curious, do stick around!

AESTHETIC.

Matt.

You.

RELEASE DATE: TBD!

(If you want to be tagged to know when I release it, as always, feel free to let me know. I don’t bite. Well, only sometimes.)

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock #vampire!au #nun!reader #alternate universe #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #dead dove do not eat #preview #carpe noctem #charlie cox #tw religious themes #this is dark y’all

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cowgurrrl · 7 months

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Angel of Small Death

Pairing: Matt Murdock x lawyer!reader

Author’s note: this may or may not turn into a series plan accordingly

Summary: Nothing seems to go your way around your college rival, Matt Murdock [3.8k]

Warnings: June didn't go to law school so take all legal talk with a grain of salt, discussions of custody cases/child abuse charges, A shitty father, mentions of the Red Room/Widows, canonical type violence, Matt Murdock being a menace to society, set in season one of Daredevil (~2014)

You're fuming when you walk into court. The familiar smug smile at the opposing table doesn't do anything to deter your anger. You slam your briefcase down on the table and stand before Judge Harlow.

"Good morning, Miss-"

"Your Honor, I find it highly inappropriate I was not informed of Mr. Parsons hiring new counsel. Not only that, but he hired new counsel three hours before our hearing today. There is no possible way for this proceeding to be fair without his counsel being adequately brought up to speed. For this reason, I am petitioning for another court date to be held so Mr. Murdock can be properly briefed about the case." Your words are cutting and exact, as you were trained to make them. In law school, your classmates rarely wanted to go against you in mock trial. Moments like this, when your frustration rises to the surface, make you realize why. The dark-haired man with red glasses clears his throat from the opposite table as he stands. It takes everything in you to remain professional.

"With all due respect, your Honor, I believe opposing counsel is just stalling. I have reviewed all the necessary documentation, and it is my fault that Mr. Parsons was pressed for time in finding new representation," Matt says. "Mr. Parsons just wants to resolve this issue as soon as possible so his daughter can be brought home safely after such a… harrowing experience with her sister."

"Ms. Parsons is currently being held without bond at Riker's on an unsubstantiated charge that has no bearing on her ability to raise Bea. This judicial hurdle is a hardship I would think Mr. Murdock would be sensitive to considering his status as a defense attorney and not a family lawyer." You retort, and Matt scoffs. You whip around to face him and find him shaking his head as his fingers flex around his cane.

"Do you consider robbery an unsubstantiated charge when it's caught on video and has multiple witnesses willing to testify to what they saw?"

"Mr. Murdock, if your father kicked you and your thirteen-year-old sister out of the house in the middle of a New York winter, how would you, at eighteen years old, handle it?"

"Order!" Judge Harlow bangs her gavel several times to get everyone's attention, and you take a deep breath. "All of your concerns have been made abundantly clear, counselors, but if Mr. Murdock says he feels prepared, I will have to believe him. However, I do apologize on behalf of Mr. Murdock's office for not properly warning you of this matter, and I trust that he and his office will not make the same mistake again. Now, can we please get on with today's matter without another outburst?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Matt says, that stupid charm dripping from his voice. You bite the inside of your cheek and summon whatever willpower you have left.

"Yes, Your Honor." You say before returning to your table and gathering the relevant documents for the day's hearing.

Robert Parsons is not the first shitty father you've had to deal with in all your years of family law. However, he might be one of the worst. Bea and Morgan's mother, Diana, died in the 2012 attack on New York. Since then, Robert, an NYPD officer, has been able to keep his emotional and physical abuse of his daughters under the radar until this winter when he kicked the girls out after he found out Bea snuck out of the house. He said he was "teaching them a lesson about discipline." Morgan, a kid herself, panicked when Bea spiked a fever and tried to steal Tylenol and some food from a local bodega. A fight broke out between Morgan and the cashier, and the police (her dad) were called. You've been trying to help them since Megan came to you at sixteen, but the system has been working against you at every turn. It doesn't help that the NYPD doesn't protect anyone as well as they protect their own.

So, the fact that the asshole changed counsel three hours before one of the most important custody hearings of your entire year was enough to make your blood boil. The fact that the person representing him is none other than your law school rival, Matt Murdock, made you want to scream. Matt Murdock: Columbia's golden boy, a childhood hero who sacrificed his vision to save an old man's life, Battlin' Jack's son (RE: orphan), the guy who made all the girls in your classes swoon, the guy who told you that family law was a waste of your time. "You just wanna deal with whiny kids all day?" He asked you when you got your internship at one of the top family law firms in the city. For a kid who grew up in an orphanage, you would think he'd have a little more compassion for people who deal with "whiny kids."

It doesn't matter because that was years ago, and you've since worked your way up the ladder to become one of the state's best, most aggressive family lawyers. People come from all over just to get you to represent them against abusive ex-husbands or piss-poor foster parents. You do good work. You know you do. You also know that Matt does, too. You've kept up with him since he graduated, mainly to compare career tracks and see if the days of winning smiles and perfect dark hair would ever end, but of course, it hasn't. Being on his own time in his own law firm suits him, and you hate that it does.

Maybe that's why you show him absolutely no mercy in the court proceedings. You pull every piece of evidence you have that shows neglect, abuse, or even just a smidgen of the mental anguish he's put those girls through. Matt quickly and impressively pivots and challenges that this is not a criminal court and you're going above and beyond what's necessary. You argue about where Bea should go for about fifteen minutes while the custody arrangement is still in the air. You contest that Bea should go upstate with her maternal grandmother, Susan, while Matt says she should go back with her father after the emotional distress of Morgan's arrest.

"Do you honestly believe the best thing for a child undergoing such stress is to move her miles away from the only home she's ever known?" Matt asks incredulously, cocking his head in your direction. You narrow your eyes at him even though you know he can't see you and square your shoulders.

"No, but being away from the man with child abuse charges pending might."

"Mr. Parsons is ready and willing to testify in a court of law that Morgan ran off with her sister in the middle of the night, and he was deploying his squadron to help locate the missing children. However, we aren't here to talk about that. We're here to talk about the safest place for Bea, which could later unfold into where she lives permanently until she becomes a legal adult. Do you really feel comfortable enlisting an elderly woman in the care of a rowdy teenager?"

"Thank you, Mr. Murdock, for the reminder of what today's hearing is actually about. I would've worried you were too ready to treat Mr. Parsons as a defendant." You snap, and Judge Harlow calls to order again. You exhale long through your nose and turn to face her.

"While I appreciate your passion for this case, I encourage you two to find it within yourselves to keep these proceedings as professional as possible," she says. You recognize the tone. It's legalese for "shut the fuck up before you give me a reason to kick you out of my courtroom." "Beatrice Parsons will stay in her current foster home with supervised visits from her grandmother, Susan Kelsey. Given the emotional state of the child, I will not be releasing visitation time to the father until we see an improvement."

"And Ms. Parsons, Your Honor? Will she be allowed to visit Bea upon her release?" You ask.

"That is a matter we can revisit upon Ms. Parsons' release from Riker's. Until then, the only allowed contact with the child is her grandmother and the legal teams. We'll reconvene next Monday morning. Court is adjourned." With that, she bangs her gavel, and you're left reeling. Matt and Robert whisper to each other as you gather your paperwork and pack it away again. Your phone buzzes in your jacket, reminding you that you have to meet with another family regarding another custody agreement in two hours. You sigh and quickly make for the door when Matt and Robert start standing from their table.

You're halfway to the elevator when you hear your name and reluctantly turn around. "Shit," you mumble as Matt taps his cane down the hallway. Thank God Robert is nowhere in sight, and you plaster on a fake smile for potential onlookers. "Mr. Murdock, how can I help you?"

"Well, I was hoping you could hold the elevator for me," he says. "And maybe we could strike a deal on our way down." You chuckle at his confidence and white knuckle the handles of your briefcase.

"I don't think we could agree on anything within a thirty-second elevator ride, but I appreciate your enthusiasm."

"Really? Not even where I can buy you a coffee?" He asks as the elevator dings down the hallway.

"Unfortunately not. I have another client meeting soon. I would've expected a man with his own practice to have similar meetings today, but I guess I was mistaken?" You say as you walk to the elevator. Matt follows suit, laughing at the dig. You press the button for the lobby, and the doors shut, and for a second, it's silent in the elevator. Years of competition and hate linger in the air.

"I've gotta say, I'm impressed with you." He says in a low voice like it's a secret, and you turn to look at him. "Yeah. It's really hard in this line of work to make quite as many enemies as you have."

"It's not that hard to piss people off when you say they shouldn't have custody of their kids. Just like I'm sure people get pissed at you when you defend murderers."

"I don't defend murderers."

"Oh, Karen Page wasn't a murderer?" The name makes him still next to you as the doors finally open. "See you next Monday, Murdock." You say as you step out of the elevator, leaving Matt in the dust.

For the next week, you bounce between client meetings, hearings, mediations, visits to Morgan in Riker's, and late nights in the office, trying to find a way to take down Parsons and get Morgan out of jail. You would think being the daughter of a cop would be better in this kind of situation. You try to pull every string you can find, milk every connection, and almost beg any defense attorney you can corner for long enough. Still, Morgan remains in Riker's the night before the next hearing, and you're exhausted.

Your phone rings that night, and you try not to make a habit of answering work calls outside of your normal hours, but the unrecognized number is too tempting to not pick up. "Let's make a deal," Matt says before you can even get out a proper greeting. You scoff and tuck your phone between your ear and shoulder as you close your curtains.

"Make it worth my time, Murdock. I answered your call on a Sunday night before court."

"I'm willing to defend Morgan in court and get her out of Riker's by the end of the week," he says. You're about to argue that it's a conflict of interest, that if he'd paid attention in the first semester classes of law school, he would've known that, but he beats you to it. "If you agree to drop this case and get Bea home."

"You're asking me to drop charges of child abuse and reckless endangerment of a minor."

"No, I'm asking you to drop the custody portion for now. The child abuse and endangerment charges will move onto criminal court, but that trial will be a waste of time if you don't have a witness like Morgan." He says. It's true. Even though Morgan is beyond the statute of limitations, Bea isn't. Jurors will be sympathetic to a victim but not a criminal. "No one else is gonna help her, and I'd much rather defend her than her father."

"So, what happens if Bea goes back and he beats the shit out of her?" You ask as your phone beeps with another notification. Matt starts a long ramble, but you're not fully listening. "Matt, I have another call coming in. Can we talk about this later?" You don't wait for a response. You just end the call and quickly press the red notification, a crackly voice coming in on the other end.

"And you're sure that's the right amount?" Parsons asks, oblivious to your listening, and someone chuckles in response.

"That is typically the starting payment," you recognize the accent and glance around your apartment, trying to come up with a plan. "Now, if you keep up the flow, we can discuss upping the payment."

"That shouldn't be a problem. It'll be smooth sailing once I get my kids out of the way. You can tell Mr. Dreykov that."

It's cold. Even under all your layers and your gear, it's cold. The city moves like a living beast all around you, its inhabitants oblivious to you hiding on a rooftop with a gun. It's been two hours since that phone call, and Parsons still isn't home. The call ended within a minute of the notification buzzing on your phone, but they didn't make any plans to meet up anywhere. And why would they if their business together is riding on the results of this custody case? You sigh, your mask pushing the air right back at you, as you sit back on your heels and glance at the night sky.

It's rare that you can ever see stars in New York, but sometimes, if you squint, you can catch little glimpses. You struggle to focus on constellations with the screeching of subway brakes and loud horns penetrating the otherwise peaceful night. You've been doing this for a long enough time that you no longer stress yourself out about things like this. It's work. It's what you're supposed to do, and you get away with it. With all the other masked idiots running around the city— not limited to The Masked Idiots that moved upstate after Stark Tower was destroyed— and the gangs, police are never able to track where bullets are coming from. If they happen to, it's just another job to finish. Not a big deal.

You look to Parson's apartment again and find it still dark and empty. It isn't until you go to adjust the scope that something shuffles behind you, and by that point, it's too late to stop the arms from wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you backward. You throw your head back until you hit something hard, and the grip on you falters enough for you to slip out. There's a mess of punches, kicks, and elbows thrown as you try to get away from your attacker, but with every movement, they seem to anticipate it before you do. It isn't long before you're pinned to a brick wall, too far from your gun, with a gloved hand wrapped around your throat.

"Why are you targeting him?" A deep voice asks above you, and you kick your feet under you, trying to get the upper hand, but he's too strong. His grip on your throat tightens, and you gasp for air. "Last chance." He threatens, and your head swims with no oxygen.

"The recording," you croak. His hand loosens around your windpipe just enough for you to get more information out. "Listen to the recording. On the phone." He drops you as fast as he grabbed you, and you collapse to the ground in a heap of heavy breaths and gasps. You can hear an old, familiar voice in your head calling you pathetic and weak, but you ignore it to focus on getting breath in your lungs.

"This is your phone?" The voice asks as he holds up your burner flip phone from 2007, and you scoff.

"Didn't realize I'd be interrogated for my choices in cellphones," you manage, and you imagine the eye roll rather than see it through the red of his mask. You've seen pictures of him before. You've read the articles calling him a vigilante, a wanna-be Avenger, a menace to society. You know him. He stares at you (through you?) carefully as he puts the phone to his ear and listens to the most recent recording from Parson's phone call. You wait for the muscle in his jaw to clench and unclench before pulling yourself to your feet and walking over to him. You take it as a good sign that he doesn't try to throw you off the building for moving and get close enough to him to make out the faint stubble on his square jaw.

"Parson's trafficking girls?" He asks, more to himself than anything, and you nod. "How'd you know about this?"

"Parson's been receiving huge payouts from off-shore accounts for a few years. All it took was tapping the big mouth's phone to figure out who he was talking to and about what," you explain as you open your hand to ask for your phone back. He obliges, but not without a dramatic sigh. "Y'know, I thought you would've had a better idea of what goes on in the city, Devil Boy."

"How has this not been flagged by anyone else?" He ignores your jab, much to your dismay.

"The Red Room has informants and Widows in almost every functional part of society. If they want something to stay quiet, they'll find a way."

"I thought Romanoff exposed them."

"Deykov made it impossible to cut ties with the Red Room and other Widows for years. Somehow, Romanoff got out. Barely, but she made it out. There's no way she'd do anything to piss them off now. Not when she's gotten this far," you say. "As far as the public knows, Black Widow is an Avenger and nothing more."

"You got out."

"I'm not a Widow."

"No?" He asks, and you shake your head. "So, you just had a military-grade weapon and tactical gear lying around?"

"Can't a girl take herself on a shopping spree?" You ask, not willing to justify him with a real answer. The rooftop goes quiet as you think about what the next step is.

"You don't have to kill him." He says softly, like he's anticipating your reaction. You bite the inside of your cheek and turn to him, annoyance building in your stomach.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I know you want him to suffer, and trust me, he will, but if you want things to change, you need to get information from him. To get information from him, he needs to stay alive."

"What are you? A fucking altar boy?"

"Those girls don't get justice if you kill him."

"Justice," you laugh. "He gets to kidnap, torture, and brainwash little girls, and I'm supposed to just let him rot in prison? Is that justice to you, Red?" He's silent, and you shake your head. "Yeah, I didn't think so." You're about to turn back to your gun and find a way to make him leave you alone when three police cars go speeding down the street behind an FDNY truck. They're speeding and more urgent in their driving than you've seen in a long time. A rogue thought pricks at the corner of your brain, and you mumble a curse.

Quickly, you open your phone and jam a few buttons until the sound of a police scanner comes through the shitty speakers. "Explosion reported at the corner of Ninth Ave and West 42nd. Multiple casualties have already been reported by people at the scene," a voice reports on the other line, and you hold your breath. "Officer Robert Parsons was reportedly inside the bar when the gas line blew, and he is assumed dead."

The first thing you do when you get to the office in the morning is file an emergency petition to assign temporary custody of Bea to her grandmother. You're almost positive it'll get approved, considering how there's no one else involved in this custody case. Now free from his obligation to Robert, Matt sent you an email early this morning saying he would defend Morgan in court. You didn't respond. There are too many moving parts to focus on to care about responding to a pity representation in court.

Robert was talking to somebody from the Red Room not even four hours before he died in a fiery explosion. FDNY ruled it as an accident, but you know better. Did he blabber to someone on the force about the off-shore accounts? Did Dreykov's men just finally decide he wasn't worth all the trouble anymore? Did they find out you tapped his phone? If they did, it's only a matter of time before someone finds you. All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you stare at the blinking cursor on your computer screen. Your secretary, Margaret, saying your name makes you jump harder than it should've.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She says in all her midwestern politeness, and you shake your head.

"I'm just a little jumpy this morning. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night." You wave her off, and she raises her eyebrows at you sympathetically.

"D'you want me to go get you a coffee?"

"No, thank you. I probably need to lay off coffee for a few hours," you sigh. "Did you need something from me?"

"Oh, yes. Someone called and left you a message... A Matt Murdock?" She says like she's hoping you'll recognize the name, and you nod.

"What'd he say?"

"He wanted to meet with you for lunch to discuss something. He didn't say what." Fucking Matt Murdock, you think. Finding a way to wiggle back into your life just because of one stupid case. "I can tell him no if you want me to."

"No, it's okay. I'll meet with him. We have some unfinished business together." You say, and she leaves to confirm lunch plans with Matt's office. You take a sip of your water, and your throat screams in pain from Devil Boy nearly choking you to death. The reminder that he knew about Parson's involvement with the Red Room before disappearing into the night makes your skin crawl. Another loose end to tie up at another time. Still, your head pounds with all the swirling information and the knowledge that there's no way you'll be getting rid of Matt Murdock anytime soon. "Shit."

#matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #mcu fic #i wrote this for me but you can read it too i guess

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frankenhookersmonster · 2 years

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fictober day twenty - candles

warnings - pure fluff

word count - 112

fictober masterlist - masterlist

twitter - ko-fi

got something to say? a request or concept? speak!!!

a/n - this is a little stupid but objectively i am right about all of these

Frank likes a musty candle, something smoky and gritty. He likes the idea of cigar scented walls and alcohol stained carpets, and candles that match it are his favorite.

Matt likes apple cinnamon scents. They’re a staple, you can always find the scent in a grocery store and he finds it comforting.

Eddie is into citrus. It probably took him a while to get into candles, but he likes the freshness of a lemon scent, he might even spice it up with some mint.

Steve is a lavender guy. It’s calming when the scent lingers, it helps him sleep at night, and even just having the smell makes him warm and fuzzy.

taglist - click here to be added!: @monimickell @lunarxeclipse @capbrie @iwantaharrystylesalbum @diksy1112 @kateaesthetic @kittenhawkk @aerynxanimation @glllllow @witchcraft-osteology @rosie-16 @lucyyy-16 @bajex @merleisapartygod @rafesbabe @bxxbxy @babysian777 @quackson03 @kaqua @wheresmybells @domepleaselol @gloryekaterina @lorosette @bxmaaa @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @alltoowellllll @mrvelfan @recklessworry @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @kathrynlupin @maddiewinchester @gayunicorn5689 @imawhoreforrenandriddle @mclting @simple-lovebot @bitchmilf @brokebackpacino @franksbulletproofvest @maresmiley @flowerbox @danis-punishing-daredussy @molllybc @vadinaleme @merleisapartygod @ninadohmen @iiced-teas @slavic-empress @midnight-memories04 @yourfavouriteboytoyroy @yomolo @jaidarei412 @mayas81 @midwesternwitchery @theroyalbrownbarbie @lost-in-a-reckless-summer-night @notarealscorpio @theirkenfiles @evankemlpp @danis-punishing-daredussy @molllybc @vadinaleme @merleisapartygod @iiced-teas@yourfavoriteboytoyroy @jaidarei412 @theroyalbrownbarbie @cherryandsugar @evankemlpp @molllybc @jaidarei412 @theroyalbrownbarbie @joshkizkal0ver @ezzynf @wheaty-melon @vyralew18 @theirkenfiles @myranda222 @mil0fl00d @rapnuster @dazedgxth @peter1ismybrother @strangerthingsfangirlsuntie @eddiemuns0nl0ver @angelina0191

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briefcasejuice · 1 year

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i choose to believe that matt helped the nuns around the orphanage when he was recovering in 3.01 and became friends with the kids

#marvel's daredevil #netflix daredevil #daredevil #matt murdock #stick my head down the canon #gabs.txt

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bewitchedme-body-and-soul · 11 months

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all sides of you

a/n: this came to me late at night and i had to write it; shout out to @humanalien01 for helping me and supporting my simping. idk how i feel abt the ending tbh :/

summary: a night at josies bar leads to you admitting your thoughts about the devil of hell's kitchen, and a few months later your words come back to haunt you.

word count:2427

warnings: swearing, canon typical violence, reader is victim in an attempted mugging & fights back, cursing, reader is called a bitch

Standing around the pool table at Josie's bar with the Nelson and Murdock team, playful banter spewn between the four of you. Each of you taking turns shooting while also trying to make the others mess up. The laughter coming from the four of you carrying throughout the bar, the three deserved this after a hard case, and you being Matt's partner were happily invited. Foggy happily uses you as a means to try to embarrass Matt with silly stories from their college years. You and Karen, doubling over in laughter as Foggy finishes his current story, Matt's cheeks tinted pink. Upon noticing you move closer to him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek, then resting your head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your middle.

It's not until Foggy scoffs begrudgingly that your attention and Matts is pulled away to look at what Foggy's upset about. On one of the Tvs hanging around the bar you notice a news story about The Devil Of Hell's Kitchen. Foggy going on a rant about how he thought the man was bad news while you stared at the grainy footage someone caught of the man decked out in all black, as he beat up a group of gang members. You slowly zoned out as you watched how the man in the mask’s body contorted as he flipped and took the bad men out.

“Y/n!” Foggy's voice pulled you out of your daydream, your head snapping to look in his direction, giving him a hum in acknowledgement. “What do you think? What's your opinion on the masked man?” he asks, you know he's hoping you'll take his side.

Your cheeks tint a slight pink at the question, aware of the two pairs of eyes locked on you and Matt's head tilting, obviously also looking forward to your answer. “Um, i don't really have one” you lie, moving to lean over the pool table and shoot one of the balls. Karen's giggle goes in tandem with the clack of the cue ball hitting one of the stripped balls.

“You're lying!” Foggy calls out pointing an accusatory finger at you, “did you know lying is a sin? I can't believe you would do such a thing while dating our good Catholic Matt Murdock” he gasps a hand over his heart like you wounded him deeply with your tiny fib. The smile on Matt’s face tells you he did not care and he finds Foggy's dramatics hilarious.

“Oh no, however will you forgive me, my love?” you gasp dramatically leaning against Matt. “But seriously my opinion on the man in the mask isn't that important.” you say trying to move on.

Karen laughs before speaking “oh, trust me, too foggy it is very important, and honestly now I’m interested cause it's been just me vs foggy about this since Matt tries to stay out of these conversations” after she's done speaking the attention turns back to you. You sigh as Matt moves to take his turn, now seeing you have no way out of this conversation.

“I don't know, I don't think he has bad intentions or anything” you shrug before continuing “He’s also kinda hot” you say the second part quieter. The other three members of your party all have varying reactions, Karen laughing, Matt giving an awkward chuckle, and Foggy with his over the top dramatics acting as if you’ve insulted his mother. You watch Matt out of the corner of your eye worrying you may have upset him, you’d only been dating a month and a half, the relationship still new, you're still learning things about the other. What if you hurt him?

Foggy's voice pulls you out of your anxiety fueled downward spiral. “I can't believe you would do this to me” he speaks with a voice obviously trying to make you feel bad for not agreeing with him. He puts his head in his hand as he begins to fake cry. You and Karen look at each other before you both double over laughing, Matt joining in as Foggy's fake cries ramp up at your laughing.

You spend another few hours at Josies before you all decide to part ways, you going home with Matt after deciding to spend the night. Once you're in his apartment your anxiety returns from the prior conversation. You both make your way to his bedroom and change into clothes you can sleep in. It's only when you're both in bed, your head on his chest as he rubs your back, that you decide to broach the subject. “Hey Matty, can I ask you a question?” he hums in response. “Earlier at Josies, did I upset you?” you question, heart rate picking up slightly.

Matt feels your heart rate pick up so he quickly leans forward to kiss your forehead before he smiles at you with a soft chuckle, “no, not at all, I trust you, it’s no different than the people who have a crush on the avengers.” you sigh at his words. Anxiety subsiding, you know Matt well enough he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. You nestle closer to him before grabbing his other hand and kissing his knuckles, ignoring the cracks and healed over abrasions. “Besides, I know I’m your favorite” he says and you don't need to look at him to know he's wearing that cocky grin of his.

You roll your eyes at him “i suppose” You tease him, no matter who came to you and professed their love, you knew you’d always choose Matt. You feel his chest vibrate under your cheek as he laughs. Eventually the two of you fall asleep in eachothers arms.

~~~

A month passes and you forget the aforementioned conversation ever happened. So many things happening that small moments get buried and forgotten about so easily. It's not till you're walking home one night that the conversation gets catapulted back to the forefront of your mind.

On your way home from a girl date with Karen you get yanked into an alley and thrown against one of the brick walls of a building. The bricks sharp and your head immediately begins to throb as your head smacks against it. A hand goes over your mouth and fight or flight takes over as you feel your heart rate pick up and the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. You struggle before biting down with all your might on the hand, the taste of copper coats your tongue. The man who grabbed you yanks his hand back and you spit the blood out onto his face before screaming, hoping you’d be lucky enough for someone to be close enough to hear you. You knew basic self defense but you’d rather be safe and hope someone would at least call emergency services.

“You bitch” the man yells before slapping you across the face. You bring your knee up in an attempt to connect it with his groin. His hand shoots down, your knee still connects but not with as much force as you hoped. As you attempt to shove him off you hear a thud to the side of you and you can only hope that it’s some good samaritan here to save you. It's only a few seconds later your attacker is yanked off of you and thrown to the ground.

You watch with bated breath as the man in the mask repeatedly punches the guy in the face and head. Once he finishes he makes his way over to you, you can hear him speaking to you, asking if you're alright, but you're distracted by the shape of his jaw and the way his lips move. A sense of familiarity washes over you and you're unsure as to why.

“I’m fine, thank you, I just need to get home.” You quickly rush out before speed walking away. Wanting to be in the safety of yours and Matt's home as quickly as possible, and wanting to scrub your mouth to rid it of the copper taste. A part of you hoping Matt is home so you can just crash into his arms and sleep.

You arrive home to an empty apartment, the billboard on the building across the alley lighting up the living room. You drop your jacket and bag on the counter before moving to the bathroom and brushing your teeth for far longer than the usual two minutes. Afterwards moving to your shared bedroom and changing into the clothes you'd be sleeping in.

As you're changing you spot a picture of you and Matt on top of your dresser. You pause, taking a moment to admire your partner, that's when it hits you. The sense of familiarity, why the bottom half of the devil of hell's kitchen face looked so familiar. You'd kissed those lips hundreds of times, it's no wonder your body recognized them. Everything begins falling into place in your head, like placing the last puzzle pieces in a puzzle and seeing the finale picture.

Matt's injuries always lined up with when you'd see the man in the mask on the new fighting bad guys. How a part of you always believed there was more to the story than him just falling or whatever excuse he’d give you. He was always so careful, far too careful to just take a tumble as often as he’d tell everyone. You never called him out cause even if a part of you believed he was lying you trusted him enough that you never questioned. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Matt's voice calling out for you.

“In the bedroom!” you call back, wondering if he’ll tell you or if you'd have to call him out and question him. You hear him approach and turn to look at him, he looks relatively unharmed, ‘that's good’ you think. “Hey baby.” you can't help the small smile that graces your features, he moves closer to where your voice came from, reaching a hand out towards you. Once he reaches you he wraps his arms around you pressing a kiss against the top of your head. You hear and feel him take a deep breath, you wouldn't be surprised if he was also a little shaken up, he’d just saved his partner from being mugged, you wouldn’t blame him if he was. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before you decide you can't take it anymore.

“Baby?” you begin, he hums in response. You take a deep breath before you continue, turning in his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. “When were you gonna tell me?” you question, you figure it's best to just rip the bandaid off.

“Tell you what sweetheart?” he questions tilting his head, eyebrows furrowing. He looked like a puppy, confused by the trick its owner is trying to teach it. You understand why he’d try and play this off but you also wish he’d just be honest. Your face morphs into a deadpan expression.

“Matty, seriously, you know what I’m talking about.” You cross your arms over your chest. “When were you going to tell me youre daredevil?” you question. He huffs out a small laugh.

“What? Honey what are you talking about? I’m not the daredevil.” he lies through his teeth.

“I know you can’t see my face but just know it's a look of disappointment cause you should really be better at lying if you're gonna be a vigilante.” you speak before moving just out of matts reach. Deciding he could touch you again when he confessed. A defeated sigh leaves him, you assume he's come to the conclusion that there’s no way of getting out of this without being honest.

“I don't know, honestly.” he begins “I always wanted to tell you, I hated lying to you, especially after seeing how worried you’d get.” he takes his glasses off sitting them on your dresser. “I was waiting for the right moment I guess. I was worried how you’d react, I didn’t want to lose you.” he finishes looking in your direction. He looks like a puppy that just got scolded and was trying to look cute to get out of punishment.

“First of all, low blow, you know your puppy eyes work way too well on me” you speak trying not to giggle. “Second, Matt I’m literally so in love with you, it’d take a lot more than you running around at night in a mask beating up criminals to lose me.” Now the laugh escapes you, a smile making its way to his face as well at your laugh. He moves closer to you again, hands landing on your waist, before he leans in to kiss you.

“You handled this a lot better than Foggy did,” he laughs. “Also, if you were wondering, yes, i am actually blind”

“I wasn’t, but good to know.” you laugh “and to be fair, foggy did hate your alter ego.” you lean up to kiss his cheek, “lets go to bed baby” you whisper before crawling into your shared bed as he moves to change into pajamas. Once he joins you in the bed you snuggle into his arms, resting your head over his heart. Thinking over everything as you trace shapes against his chest, it’s then you sit up quickly realizing something. “You little shit!” you yell with a laugh as you playfully hit him in the chest.

“What? What’d I do?” he asks shock and confusion taking his features

“A few months ago, at Josies with Foggy and Karen” you begin, you can tell by the look his face morphs to that he's beginning to understand. His cocky smile finding his face again. “I confessed that I thought the daredevil was hot and you just let me?” you ask incredulously “no wonder you were so unphased by it” you playfully shove his shoulder

“Would it help if I said I found it very flattering that you did?” he laughed “but seriously, that was when I started seriously thinking about telling you. It made me feel a little bit better about it.” he speaks, moving his hand to rub against your knee.

“Maybe, it does a little,” you confess. “You're still a little shit though.” you laugh moving to kiss him. “My little shit though” you whisper. The rest of the night is spent full of soft touches and laughter as the two of you bask in your love of the other.

#they have bewitched me #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x original character #matt murdock x oc

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skyfallslayer · 4 months

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They're Gonna Taste My Venom

-The DD Trio x Symbiote!Teen!Reader-

Main Masterlist || Part Two || Part Three

🕷️Summary: Due to their expansion in their business, the trio decides to hire a helping hand to help string things along. The girl is… a little quirky, Karen admits, Or Foggy notices she’s a bottomless pit for snacks, Or that Matt can hear her talking to herself quietly sometimes. But it’s nothing they can’t handle– Oh, no! Now she just bit someone’s hand off, she’s speaking in a deeper tone, and she’s apologizing profusely as she hangs from the ceiling. She might be way out of their league after all.

🕷️Pairings: DD Trio x Platonic!Teen Reader; Karedevil; Foggy x Marci; Teen!Reader x Platonic!Venom

🕷️Rating: Teen-Mature

🕷️Word Count: 6,305

🕷️ Date: 2/21/24

🕷️Warnings: Implied Bad Homelife; Mention of Blood; Canon-Typical Violence; Interrogation; Kidnapping; (Underage) Drugging; Heavy Language; Heavy Dialogue; Mention of Cannibalism; Mention of Body Parts Being Torn Off; Mention of Eating Someone/Biting Off A Limb (Via: Symbiote). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

🕷️ A/N: Hello, dear readers! Welcome to my three part series of an idea that I have no idea where it came from. Lol. Seriously, this strange AU just popped into my head and I was like- "Man, maybe I should make that my next fic?". And BAM! Here it is! Hopefully it's good as I imagine it would be. Enjoy!

These past twelve months have been… something else. The snap that lasted for five years messed up everything that the troublesome trio worked for, which was to rebrand their business: Nelson, Murdock & Page. But hey, I guess in a… morbid(?) sickly? depressed? way, it did work out in the end. Business was pretty much booming, especially now that everyone who blipped was trying to get their homes or anything else they own back under their names and care. Now, not to toot their own horns, but they say they’re pretty good at multitasking.

Until…

They weren’t.

As they get busier with each passing day, the trio realizes that they’re stretching themselves so far thin that it’s starting to affect them. So after some intense conversations, they decided to hire a helping hand.

Y/N L/N.

Their new assistant that was just shy of seventeen and on her way to graduating high school. She was nervous, of course, when they first met her, but the nerves soon settled and she turned out to be a very charming person that they all agree they loved to have in the office. She was extremely helpful and willing to learn, always on her toes when they needed something, always organized and had everything ready when they had a case or a client coming in. None of them could ask for a better person in the position. Even though the girl was…

Well…

Kind of quirky.

Like she always prefers it cold, no matter what the temperature is. Karen notices she was barely wearing anything when they first met. It was in the middle of winter, and the girl was just wearing an oversize sweatshirt and a thin beanie. At first a bit of a motherly instinct took over and wondered if the poor girl just didn’t have anything to wear at home, or maybe couldn’t afford anything. Y/N eventually apologized and laughed saying that she just prefers this weather more than the heat. But despite that, Karen did gift her a warmer coat that the teen decided to wear (even if it felt forced).

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that Miss Page.” Y/N said once she was handed over the nice coat.

“Please, I insist. I know you said you like the cold, but I would rather not see you sick.” Karen said, as the girl smiles and nods, promising to wear it until Spring.

Then it was the food. Now, Franklin Percy “Foggy” Nelson loved to eat just like any other person out there. But if there was an eating competition to suddenly spawn inside his office he would surely lose to his assistant. The kid was… a freaking bottomless pit. Just as Karen had suspected Y/N might be on the poor side, Foggy thought the same when he brought take out for lunch and the kid nearly ate everything on the table. She did it in a mannerful way but still (He’s surprised she didn’t inhale the table). So out of worriedness he started bringing her lunch, and the one day he forgot, she brought her own “five course” meal of sandwiches and sides.

“Maybe… she’s just a growing kid.” Karen once said as he shook his head.

“Don’t girls go through puberty early? There’s no way Y/N’s still growing.” He boasted as the blonde tried another excuse that he shot down quickly. “Nope! Matt! Can’t you tell?”

“Foggy, Matt is not about to smell nor hear if the poor girl is going through puberty!”

“Karen, come on–”

“NO!!”

The conversation ended up being wrapped up and placed in the back of the shelf for now, but occasionally it’ll come up when the girl polishes off something huge by herself (And everytime Karen proceeds to hit Foggy over the head with her shoe as Matt tries not to laugh).

Then there was the human lie detector, Matt Murdock and his tales of Miss L/N. When he first met her of course he was a little on edge, I mean he was still learning to not leave his guard up all the time after promising Foggy and Karen he was going to do better and be trustworthy. The girl was nervous during the interview, but managed to win over their hearts about halfway through yet…

Matt couldn’t shake what his senses were picking up.

On her first day of work she seemed cool as a cucumber, nothing to worry about. However her heartbeat was… strange. It was pulsing like any other healthy human being, but there were times where it would randomly accelerate. Like she would just be stapling papers together and it would pick up speed like a racehorse. A few times he feared she was having a heart attack before it went away.

The other thing he notices, and to follow Karen’s observation, the girl does tend to run rather hot. And when she does she would either shed off an extra layer or turn the tiny fan on her desk in the middle of a snow storm.

Hmm, maybe she’s just a natural furnace. He told himself once, recalling that his father was someone who always seemed to stay warm (but even he wasn’t crazy enough to go outside half dressed in -10 degree weather).

Then lastly, he realizes the girl likes to talk to herself quietly. At first he thought maybe she had an earbud in and was talking to someone, or maybe she was mouthing the lyrics of a song but… no. Sometimes it’s even hard for him to pick up what she’s saying ‘cause she’s so quiet, but the couple times he does hear her it sounds like she’s scolding herself.

Matt tilts his head, slightly zoning out on the conversation him and his partners were having as Y/N was in their kitchenette. From the smell of it she was making herself coffee and muttering and even jerking at something or someone that wasn’t even there.

“Shut up, I’m not eating that– No I’m not– You’re not either.” He hears her eye roll and almost sighs. “You’re not going to die, stop being a baby– Don’t call me the baby, you numbnut– Hey, you fucking bastard, I’ll–”

And then he kind of tuned out when he noticed Foggy was asking him a question.

A million different scenarios went through his head of what it could be. One that he’s just sticking with right now is she’s just a very imaginary kid. The other lingering thoughts weren’t so innocent. Someone’s home life could affect certain things. Maybe it’s–

“So what shall we do to celebrate?” Foggy said out of the blue in the present day. The sun was out shining, the weather was cool and just right, everything was blooming peacefully just as Spring should be. The blond looked between the two perplexed adults before gasping. “Don’t tell me you all forgot?”

Karen glanced in Matt’s direction, lost as well. “Uh, remind us again?” She asked, sheepishly.

“Oh, come on guys! It’s our anniversary!” He throws his hands in the air. “This marks the full year of the grand reopening of Nelson, Murdock & Page!”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up above his glasses in surprise. “Is it April 24th already?”

“Yeah! A full year, baby! We fucking did it! We brought this extinct beast of a place back to life.” Foggy exclaims, making Karen laugh. “We need to celebrate.”

“And how so, Mr. Nelson?” The woman asked, curious to what he had to say.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Maybe a nice dinner and a club.”

“Aren’t we too old for clubbing?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who says that?”

“Says the guy who pulled his hamstring running up the stairs.” Matt quips with a grin, as Karen hides another laugh in her hand.

“Hey!”

“Half-Joking.” Then he perks up. “Y/N is here.”

“Already?” Foggy looks at his watch. “She’s really early.”

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Karen asked, mother henning again. “Matt?”

“I’m not picking up on anything.” The blind lawyer replies, truthfully. “She’s coming. Relax.”

The teenager opens the door, her usual blouse and skirt with her backpack on her shoulder. She looked like she was in thought as she greets them with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Matt and Karen greet in unison as Foggy cracks the ice.

“Hey, Y/N/N. You’re early.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. My building’s power went off and I couldn’t cook anything so I just went to a diner. Guess I overestimated how much time I needed to eat.” She replies, her heart steady. “Is it okay if I start early?”

“That’s fine, there’s probably not much to do though.” Matt says, as she sets her stuff down on her desk.

“Whatever you got I’ll do.”

Foggy’s concern washes away and goes back to his bubbly self. “Are you free tonight, Y/N?”

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Well, today marks our anniversary of getting this place up and running again and we want to celebrate with maybe dinner at least. Our treat.”

“Dinner?” The teenager looks concerned. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to tag along? I’m just your assistant.”

“Nah, don’t use that talk.” He waves her off. “You’ve helped us a lot these past few months. You’re one of us. Right, guys?”

“Of course she is.” Karen said, her red lips curling upwards. “We would be all over the place if you hadn’t helped organize when we got so overwhelmed.”

“And customers are always complimenting you on how wonderful you are with them.” Matt adds, making the teenager blush.

“Yeah, kiddo. You’re great.” Foggy says, throwing his arm around her with pride. “Keep this up for a few more months and… maybe we’ll add your name to the plaque.”

She laughed. “Your business will officially be a mouthful to remember.”

“Hey, it was mouthful before Karen came in, we might as well keep rolling with it.” He shrugs. “So what do you say? Dinner at least?”

“I can do dinner.”

“Fantastic! Where shall we go?”

And that was pretty much the only thing they talked about for the rest of the day.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Foggy asked for the third time tonight as he hitched along for the ride. He was the person you called a… backseat driver (but he has every right to do so at this point).

“Yes, Foggy. I’m just following the directions on my phone.” Karen replies, slightly irritated, but also a little bit worried (like she’ll admit that to him just yet).

“‘Cause this is a really bad neighbourhood.”

“I know, Foggy.”

“Is it really that bad?” Matt asked, after listening to his surroundings. He didn’t really hear that much going on outside the vehicle.

“It’s… extremely sketchy.” Foggy says, with a sigh. “It’s like one of those places they tell you not to go after dark.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah, and we close pretty late. Do we really make Y/N walk through this?”

Matt’s eyebrows raise up, amusement on his face. “Sounds like someone’s going to be her chauffeur soon.”

“Don’t tempt me, Matthew. I’d consider. Or we all pitch in and buy her a car.”

“Sure she knows how to drive?”

“Or better question–” Karen cuts in while making another turn. “Maybe you should talk to her parents first about this concern before we start gifting our assistant with stuff? Maybe she’s not allowed to have a car? Or even to drive?”

“What seventeen year old isn’t allowed to drive?” Foggy asked, confused.

“I mean, I wasn’t allowed to drive at all until I was an adult.”

“What? Why?”

“Foggy I was what you called uh… ‘wild child’, I’m not exactly a saint you know.”

Foggy sighs and flicks his attention to the backseat. “Matt, would you have driven a car if you could?”

“Who says I haven’t?” The blind man replies with a grin that made Foggy not want to question it.

The blond man throws his hands up. “I give up. Naysayers, all of you.”

“What are we ‘naysaying’?” Karen asked, with a chuckle.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Oh my god.” She shakes her head and parks the car along the curb. Just as she was about to snatch her phone off the dash, a report came up. She quickly reads over the headline and frowns. “Hey, did you hear about those people who disappeared a few days ago? Rumors saying they were special forces?”

“The ones that were going door to door down on 36th?” Matt asked, hearing about it on the news and even word about it at night. Even some criminals he ran into that night thought it was strange and found them suspicious.

“Yeah, those. Apparently they just turned up. Parts of them.”

Foggy’s face scrunched up. “Ew.”

“Someone hacked them up?” Matt asked, worried about a possible new killer on the loose.

“The strange thing is, no. From what it says here it looks like their limbs were chewed off.”

Foggy made a gagging noise now. “Ugh. Great. Now we have a cannibal in the Kitchen. That’s just great–” He opens the car door. “More reasons to get Y/N a car.” His friends shake their heads and get out also.

“You know, you’ll make a great father one day.” Matt says, getting the middle finger.

The three of them buzzed themselves into the building, going up to the second floor to the third apartment in. It wasn’t as luxurious as the apartment Foggy shared with his fiancée, but it was definitely on the same level as Matt’s: -Not-in-the-safest-of-places-and-was-the-“cheapest”-on-the-block- They definitely felt wary of wearing their nice and expensive clothes out here.

Karen was the one who knocked and got a response.

“She’s alone.” Matt said afterwards, getting the woman to check her watch.

“I guess her parents work the nightshift?” Foggy said, slightly worried. They didn’t get the chance to talk about it when the door swings open. The teenager opens up a nice, simple purple dress paired with a blue jean jacket and flats.

She smiles. “Hope you found the place okay.” She replies, greeting them and locking their door behind her. “Seriously, you guys didn’t have to drive to get me.”

“Oh, we don’t mind.” Karen says, honestly.

“Are we still planning on dinner?”

“Of course. You hungry?” Matt asked, making her laugh out of embarrassment.

“Heck yeah, I am.” She said, making them giggle.

“Well then, after you, Ladies.” He gestures for them to go first.

“Oh, such a gentleman.” Karen replies, starting the trek off, smiling and pulling their assistant along for the ride.

They started chit chatting about the place they were going to go, Foggy boasting about how good the food was the last time he went (Now frank that was pre-blipped, so fingers crossed it’s still as good as back then). As they started descending down the stairs, Matt’s cane unfortunately got caught into a hole that was forming in the wood and was falling forward. To his surprise, Y/N was the one to react extremely quickly and place her hand on his chest to stop his fall.

“Shit, you okay?” She said, as he regained his balance from her strength.

“Uh, I’m…” And then he trails off when he catches a whiff, the smell of dried blood just beneath her fingertips. The chilling part of this was that it was NOT her blood. He swallows, and forces a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the catch.”

She frowns apologetically. “I’m sorry, I probably should have warned you about the stairs. They’ve been falling apart for a while. If you stay to the left you’ll miss most of them.”

“Noted.” And then they continued again with Matt being careful…

And it was not just about the stairs.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Sure I can eat anything?” Y/N asked, as she scanned the menu over again.

“Of course, our treat.” Karen reassures for the hundredth time.

“I know it’s your treat, and I appreciate it. But–” She flips the menu towards them. “Have you seen the dollar signs for this place?”

“Well, I can’t exactly ‘see’ anything.” Matt replies, feeling his assistant give him ‘the look’. He hoped he sounded sarcastic and not rude (he was trying to push away what he smelled earlier and enjoy the night (And not be a paranoid freak again).

“Mr. Murdock–”

“Matt, kiddo.” Foggy says, lightly tapping her shoulder. “How many times did we tell you you can drop the formalities? It’s been months.”

Y/N blushes. “Sorry, habit.” She replies, only to mumble something under her breath two seconds later that everyone kind of ignored. “I’ll shut up and figure out what to eat.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The group eventually ordered their food and soon slipped into a nice conversation. Between some fun exchanges between the law trio or funny memories from their childhoods, it eventually led to laughter.

“I never realized how big your family was, Foggy.” Y/N said, intrigued by the chaos of the Nelson family.

“And I swear it just keeps growing. It’s a little baseball team at this point.” He replies, smiling.

“Does anyone else have a sibling?”

“I had a brother, but he’s passed.” Karen explains, with a sad smile.

“Only child.” Matt replies, with a head tilt.

“What about you, Y/N? Any siblings?”

She shakes her head. “Just myself. I kind of wish I had a sibling though. It does get lonely at home sometimes.”

“Well… it’s not too late to ask your parents for one.” Foggy jokes, half heartedly; It causes Matt to nearly spit out his drink, Karen scolding him and Y/N chuckling behind her hand. “Don’t kill me! It’s just a joke.”

“Franklin Nelson.” Karen warns like she was his nagging mother, and kicks his shin.

“Ouch, Karen, geez.”

Y/N smiles, amused. “I don’t mind, really.”

“But still, most people I meet here want more than one kid. I’m actually surprised you’re an only child, Y/N.” Matt said, being honest, which suddenly got her heart rate to pick up, but not in the racehorse kind of way he had been hearing. The teenager had stayed quiet for a moment before she shrugged, trying to shake it, or them, off.

“My mom’s not really in the picture anymore, not for a long time actually. I just really have my dad, but he’s always working. So, to be honest, I’m on my own. I don’t think he even realizes I have a job.” She replies, taking the last sip of her drink while avoiding eye contact. She could feel the concerned stares on her making her feel uncomfortable.

“Y/N, that’s not right.” Karen said, worriedly.

“It’s… fine. I’m used to it, you know?”

“Just because you’re fine with it, doesn’t mean it is.” Foggy replies, brows pushed together, distress wrinkles forming. “You know, if something’s up or wrong, you can tell us anything. We’re here for you, you know?”

“Not everything though…” She said, frowning (Her heartbeat picking up again, which was enough for Matt to start questioning what she actually means).

Just before anything else could be said, the waiter came over to drop off their refills and took the empty appetizer plate away. “Your food will be out shortly.” He said, and they thanked him.

“Man, I’m starving. The wait better be worth it.” Foggy said, after a second.

“I know, right? I know it’s been awhile, but I don’t remember it taking this long.” Karen admits, stirring the lemon around in her ice tea.

Y/N starts to take a sip of her new drink and pauses, like halted to an immediate stop. Matt picks the way her whole demeanor changes from nervousness to anger, and mutters, “It’s coke. It’s fine…”

What are you hiding, Y/N? Matt wonders as he takes a sip of his own beverage, worried out of his mind for what could be happening to her. What was happening at home that you didn’t even want to talk about it?

But as soon as that red wine tickled down his throat he immediately knew something was wrong.

He couldn’t even taste it or smell it, but he knew there was something mixed inside that wasn’t supposed to be in there.

He immediately feels all his remaining senses start to go wack and before he could even say a word, Y/N beat him to it.

“Hey! We have to throw up!” She says, shooting up to her wobbly feet. “The drinks were–”

And then she proceeded to crash back into her chair, her face falling onto her dining mat. Karen calls out her name before passing out as well.

“Uh… M-Matt…?” Foggy calls out, struggling to stay awake. “W-what just…”

Matt hears him render unconscious as well and tries to fight it off the best he could, but he knew it was useless when his whole body started to grow numb, and he cussed under his breath from it.

And the last thing he sensed was their waiter standing over their table smiling like the cheshire cat.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

When the four of them came to, they all had splitting headaches that made it almost hard to even realize where they were. Tied to individual chairs and under some “interrogation” lighting in some strange, seemingly unknown, building.

“Ugh… where are we?” Karen asked, looking around with a slight squint.

“Warehouse district.” Matt replies, after a split second of analyzing. “I recognized the smell.”

Foggy clears his throat before whispering, “Uh, Matty, might not want to out yourself to our assistant here yet.”

The blind vigilante completely forgot that Y/N didn’t know his secret and held his tongue. Luckily, it seems like she was preoccupied with her worries, making some weird faces only two people present could see. Well… maybe a third now because some random ass man wearing what looks like tactical equipment (minus its helmet) comes in through a door.

Baldy (yeah we’re calling him that) looks disgusted and rather annoyed to even be here, as he stands before each of them before spewing, “Where is it?”

Yeah, no ‘Hi’, ‘Hello’, or ‘Good Afternoon’, just straight to the fucking point that nobody even knows what it’s about.

The adults looked at each other, going into overprotective mode.

“Who are you?” Matt asked, ready to start listening for clues (and silently try to get out of his restraints).

“Not any of your business.”

“Why are we here? Why did you need us?”

Baldy said nothing, instead directing his attention to the bound teenager. “Where is it?”

Y/N blinks, clearly confused. “Where is what?”

“The thing.”

Another blink. “What thing?”

His jaw clenches, irritated. “The thing you stole from us.”

She scoffs. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“For fuck’s sake–”

“What is going on?” Foggy cuts in, bitterly.

“Who are you people?” Karen asked, same expression as his.

“The people who want our stuff back.” Baldy replies, shrilly too. “Our boss has been desperately looking for it ever since it went missing. We know she has it.”

“How do you know she took it?” Karen asked, maternal mode kicking in once more and ready to throw hands if necessary (I mean, did this guy even have any evidence?).

“Her school was required to go on a field trip to our company, and soon after, our… subject disappeared and we know one of those kids took it. Took us a while, but we finally tracked down who it was.” He jabs his finger at the girl. “You.”

“Y/N–” The blonde woman looks her way.

“Subject?” Matt asked, turning the interrogation around. He feels everyones’ gazes on him now as he tries analyzing the situation. “First you say ‘thing’ and now you say ‘subject’. Are you saying Y/N stole a person?”

“Matt–” Foggy warns under his breath, urging him to tread carefully.

“I wouldn’t call it a person.” Baldy said, feeling the blind man’s intense stare.

“Then what is it again?”

“Matt–” Karen tries now.

Baldy holds his tongue. “Listen, Blindly–”

“So what’s this ‘subject’ Y/N supposedly stole?” Matt pressured, feeling the man’s blood spike.

“You need–” He pulls his gun out. “To shut the fuck up.”

“Matt!/Hey!” Karen and Foggy yelled in unison, their racing hearts pouncing in their friend’s ears. But the Murdock stays as calm as he could be, tuning them out to focus on the gun on hand.

“I would hold that spicy tongue of yours, and let ME do the talking.” Baldy continues, getting silence as an answer. “Good. Now–” He redirects the barrel at the teenager. “Talk.”

Y/N’s eyes widened just as the adults started yelling again.

“Hey!” Matt snarled, thinking the gun was going to be trained on him the whole time. He tries giving the most intimidating look he could muster with his blind orbs showing. “Don’t fucking point that at her.”

“Yeah! You really gonna kill a kid?!” Foggy snaps, getting the man’s attention.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?!” Karen adds, making Baldy’s eye twitch at their comments.

“Listen, motherfuckers.” He snaps, a craze look on his face. “I will do whatever needs to be done. If that includes bathing my hands in red, then so be it.”

She shakes her head, furious. “You’re a sick, twisted, human being, you–”

“I’m sorry…” Y/N blurted out of the blue, suddenly looking really pale and distant. Her boss unknowingly hears her heart start picking up like a rabbit, and her blood pressure starts spiking (not to mention she was starting to run like a furnace).

Badly looks her way again and scoffs. “What? You scared?”

“Not of you, but for you.” She swallows. “You really might not want to point the gun at me, it’s upsetting him.”

He tilts his head, confused. “Upsetting who?”

“You need to leave.” She pleads, her (Y/E/C) eyes starting to change to an odd color.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Seriously, leave, please–”

He starts to sweat and presses the gun into her head more. “What are you fucking talking about?!”

“Leave! He’s–” Then her body stood stiff, and her fingers started to twitch, and then… her voice got super deep. “I’m pissed off.”

The trio widened their eyes at how scary and inhuman she sounded, which was enough for Baldy to start panicking, thinking of the worst.

“Enough with the theatrics!!” He snapped, trying to regain control. “I’m–”

And then nobody expected this next.

If you told anyone you were going to watch the girl get engulfed in black goo, and a monstrous face to form in her place then they wouldn’t just bat an eye and walk away because it sounded like insanity.

It became even more insane when the face suddenly bit the man’s forearm off clean and swallowed it whole, along with the hand pistol.

An ear piercing scream erupted from the back of his throat as blood pooled from his remaining limb. He stumbled backwards as the substance from her body disappeared, Y/N reacting with a look of horror on her own features.

“Oh, my god!!” She screamed. “Oh, my god! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!!”

“What the fuck!!!” He yelled back, baffled just like everyone else in the room.

“I’m so, so, so sorry!! I told him not to do it! He never listens!! I–”

Then a black tentacle comes out of her skin and whips the man into a wall, causing another scream from her and even the trio. The adults could only just watch/listen to it unfold, no clue to what’s happening.

“Oh, my god– Fuck!!” Y/N says, shutting her eyes shut tightly like she was in pain. “I told you not to do that!! Why did you– Ah!!”

Her bosses watch as her body stiffens again, eyes glassing back over to purple before slowly fading to white. Then, the tentacles came back out to smash the chair she was in, bringing her to her knees. The goo was started to cover her form again, prompting her to ask the question,

“Venom… What are you– Saving your life. And theirs too.”

Then the door bursts open again, this time with a crowd of other people dressed just like Baldy, except that had a little more artillery. Suddenly, the trio watches as Y/N jumped and dangled from the ceiling, the red lasers immediately pinpointing on her.

“FIRE!!” Someone shouted, and the bullets started flying.

Then their little assistant disappears again, replaced by the face with big white eyes and a wide mouth full of spike, and a tongue that was licking its lips with delight from the bullets ricocheting off of him. Karen screamed at the sound, and they all buried their faces into their shoulders for protection just as the beast let out its battle cry.

It started crawling faster towards the crowd, hunger in its face before it suddenly stopped halfway. The beast let out a huge sigh, muttering, “Fine.”

It then started grabbing whatever it could get a hold of and fling it towards them like a game of extreme darts. One by one they started to fall, one by one they were getting broken ribs and blacking out, one by one they were–

Then a flash grenade was suddenly underneath it and exploded.

The beast roared in pain from the sound, the goo vibrating and then dissolving at the snap of fingers, causing the teenager to resurface and fall to the floor.

Matt definitely heard her ankle snap from the fall despite his own ears ringing, and called out her name. The girl cries out, and hugs her leg as she squeezes her eyes shut to block the tears from flowing. Just as the noise started to settle, it was about to become a whole lot worse. Just as the last remaining attacker was about to shoot the poor girl dead, with Karen and Foggy shouting their pleas, the vigilante managed to to unloosen the last knot from his wrist, springing to his feet and chucking the chair straight at him.

Matt lets out a breath he was holding before his instincts kicked in again. He quickly unties Foggy from his chair, saying, “Get Karen.”

“Right.”

He sprints over to the girl, getting down to her level. “Y/N?”

She lets out a groan, cracking open her eyes, slight shock upon seeing him. “M-Matt?”

“Hold still, I’ll pick you up.”

“H-How did you get out? Or throw a chair so accurately?”

Well shit.

He really wasn’t thinking about his secret ID at that moment. Just the thought of making sure his assistant wasn’t going to die on his watch.

He bites his lip. “Y/N, I’m–” His gaze snaps towards the door where he could hear footsteps approaching. A lot of them. “Shit. There’s more. We have to–”

“I-I have to get you out.” She croaks, rolling herself to be on all four. “It’s my fault you’re involved in this.”

“Y/N, you broke your ankle, you can’t do anything else.”

“But…” She groans again and then slowly lobs her head in his direction, a smug tugged across her lips. “But I insist, Mr. Murdock.”

And before he could say a word, the beast reappeared and lifted him straight off his feet, along with Karen and Foggy who yelped in surprise. Suddenly they found themselves running at an incredible speed, prayers leaving their mouths just as they broke through a window and free falled down.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Not even sure where they ended up but it was completely unoccupied and covered by the shadows of the night. The beast had set the weathered adults down against the wall before doing the same; the body disappearing back to the teeanger who fell right on her bum. She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes like she did earlier, trying to hold the pain in.

“Oh, my god, Y/N, your ankle.” Karen manages to say once the shock ran out (And that was for a while).

Y/N smacks her lips, grinding her teeth, replying, “I-It’s fine. It’ll be fine in a minute. I advise not looking.”

“What do you mean?” Foggy asked, eating his words as he witnessed her ankle snapping right back into place causing him to gag and avert his gaze. “Oh, hell…”

“T-Told ya.” She mutters and then sighs.

Silence fell over them, the trio all kind of looking at one another before deciding it was time to address the elephant in the room. Or whatever that thing was.

Foggy clears his throat, shifting his weight around. “So…”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N said, opening her eyes and looking at them with guilt. “I… I never wanted you guys to see that.”

“Well, I can see why.” He mumbles, getting a smack in the shoulder by Karen. “Ow!”

“So what is it?” Matt asked, straight to the point and curious, actually (and concerned too now that he’s realized this girl’s got no control over whatever it is).

Another sigh as Y/N pushes herself to stand. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. I don’t know.” She crosses her arm uncomfortably. “I went on a mandatory field trip for school to this lab, and… some of my classmates begged me to go ‘behind the scenes’ with them. I honestly didn’t know what to expect, except that the only thing back there was this container with a tiny blob in it.”

She frowns. “One thing led to another and it broke, but I had no idea that… this blob got absorbed into me.” She throws one of her hands up. “I honestly thought I was going crazy for several days when I could hear shit in my head, and when my appetite went through the roof. And then…”

“Then… what?” Matt said, sensing her discomfort.

“I got mugged. Well… attempted mugging until… Venom came out.”

“Venom?” Karen asked, eyebrow raised.

“That’s… what he calls himself. The thing you saw.” Y/N starts nervously playing with her hands. “Anyway, the mugger didn’t do much since– you know– uh…”

“Let me guess, he bit the guy’s arm off?” Foggy says, as she shrugs.

“More like… above the neck…” Then she gets the shocked stares again. “Okay, in my defense, I have no control over that. I didn’t even know that Venom attached himself to me. I…” She groans. “I just ran away after that! I didn’t know what to–” She then pauses like she is listening.. “You what? – You finished him off?”

Now it was her turn to have her pupils blown wide. “When? I don’t remember you doing that? – You did it when I was asleep?! – Oh, ho! That is not consensual whatsoever! We talked about this!” She scowls. “No, you quit complaining, you parasite!”

Y/N groans again, this time into her hands. “Ugh! He’s so annoying sometimes!”

“This is the strangest thing I think I’ve ever witnessed.” Foggy said, running a hand through his locks. “And aliens attacked New York.”

“Technically, Venom’s an alien.”

“Oh, my god.” He holds the sides of his head. “It’s ‘Invasion of The Body Snatchers’.”

“Foggy.” Karen tries to get him to calm down.

“So you just decided to live with this… Venom guy?” Matt asked, not really sure how to ‘perfectly’ respond to this situation. I mean for the many years he’s fought in Hell’s Kitchen, he’s never experienced something like this before.

“It’s kind of hard to get rid of him. He’s… persistent, I’ll give you that.” Y/N replies, with a small smile. “If I’m being honest, it was around the time you guys accepted me for an interview. I was more worried about acing that than dealing with a vicious conscience.” Then it fades. “Homelife not exactly… easy, so I guess it was nice to have someone to talk to. In a crazy kind of way.” A sigh. “I had no idea that he was important.”

“Are you going to give him back now that you know?” Karen asked, worried at what might come if she doesn’t.

“That’s the thing, If I give him back, they know who I am, and you saw what happened tonight. They’ll kill me no matter what.”

“Like hell I’m going to let that happen to you.” Matt says, confidently as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder (he could hear her pulse spiking at what she had said). “We’re going to figure this out. Don’t you worry, Y/N.”

She shakes her head. “I-I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Then don’t ask me.”

“You almost got hurt because of me! I’m not letting you put your life on the line for me. I can figure this out on my own.”

“Y/N, I’m a lawyer, you should know by now I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer easily.” His lips tug upwards, trying to make the best reassuring look he could make. “I’m going to help you–”

“We’ll help you.” Karen corrected.

“Yeah. We’ll help you, don’t you worry.” Matt faces his old roommate. “How long’s Marci out of town for?”

“Uh, next week. Six days to be exact.” Foggy says, after quick thinking.

“Good. We don’t have to worry about her safety.” Matt goes quiet, using his senses to figure out where they are before they move. “Alright, let’s go to my place.” He gestures for everyone to follow, his friends were, but not his assistant who was perplexed.

“Wait.” She blurts out, stopping them. “Shouldn’t we try finding somewhere else? It might not be smart to go to your own home.”

“It’s fine. It’s where we need to be for our next step.”

“Next step?” She asks, watching him start walking away again. “Which is…?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

(TBC)

Stay tune for the next parts! || Part Two || Part Three

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@indestructeible @mirkwoodshewolf @aew-kun-age-regression

#marvel fanfiction #mcu daredevil #daredevil #matt murdock x karen page #matt murdock x platonic!reader #matt murdock x teen!reader #karen page x teen!reader #foggy nelson x teen!reader #nelson murdock and page #Daredevil Trio x Assistant!Reader #venom symbiote #venom x platonic!reader #matt murdock x symbiote!reader #matt murdock x reader #my fanfic writing #skyfallwrites

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shiorimakibawrites · 4 months

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Image Credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Greta Punch (Unsplash) / Stephanie Harvey (Unsplash)

A Tale of Two Men (Part 1 of Cozy Corners)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 6,595 Summary: One week after you open your cafe, you meet two handsome men - defense attorney Matt Murdock and the vigilante Daredevil. Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, description of anxiety and panic attacks, referenced oral sex (f receiving), referenced p in v sex, referenced masturbation, dirty thoughts, female gaze Cozy Corners Masterlist Shiori's Masterlist A03 link Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @danzer8705 Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

A Tale of Two Men

You couldn’t stop smiling. Owning your own cafe had been the dream of you and your best friend Dora Morales since high school. And now, after years of hard work, it had finally happened. One week ago, you had opened your doors for the first time. You looked around. You and Dora had done everything you could, within the limitations of your lease and budget, to make Cozy Corners to live up to its name. Warm, comfortable, and inviting.

You were especially pleased with the little nook, tucked away from the main bustle of the cafe where people could read and study in relative quiet. You had found some nice chairs in a secondhand store, their brown leather the color of chocolate and butter soft. The little library of reference books and fiction was small but you hoped that over time it would grow. Yes, people were more likely to use the internet to look things up these days but you liked having analog back-ups. Just in case something got broken. Or the city was invaded by aliens. Again.

You found having back-up plans helped calm your nerves, made the anxiety gremlin in your head less loud. You were a big fan of keeping that gremlin quiet. You didn’t like it when the gremlin got loud. It was mean.

Hearing the bell on the front door chime, you looked up to greet your new customer. And immediately felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Because one of the most beautiful men you had ever laid eyes on had just walked into your cafe. Dark brown – no, dark auburn, you could see the glint of red in the sunlight – hair that looked like it would be very enjoyable to run your fingers through, excellent bone structure, and a mouth practically begging to be kissed. Round sunglasses with dark red lenses hide his eyes from view. Which was unfortunate. Especially if they were just as pretty as the rest of him.

The brown suit he worn, by contrast, did very little to disguise how well-built he was. Which was very, if the strain on buttons of his dress shirt was any indication. He moved an enviable grace as he walked toward the counter, his long white cane sweeping in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” you said. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning,” he replied. His voice was pretty too, nice and deep. The kind you could easily imagine whispering everything from sweet nothings to dirty promises in your ear. The thought made your cheeks warm and your heart beat at little faster.

His lips twitched into something like a smirk before he asked, “Do you have a menu in braille?”

You sighed, then said, “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side.

“I have something in braille. The printing service claims that it’s my menu.”

“I take it that you disagree?”

“I don’t sell a cinematic rainbow muffler.”

“What?”

The sheer disbelief and confusion put into that single ‘what’ had you biting your lip to not laugh. You didn’t want him to think you were joking or making fun of him.

“Cinematic rainbow muffler,” you repeated. “Not something we sell here at Cozy Corners.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t think anyone does. What was it supposed to be?”

“Cinnamon raisin muffin.”

His brow furrowed. “That . . . doesn’t even have the same amount of letters. How did they manage get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” you said, shaking your head. “The whole thing is like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you said, pulling out the copy you had left under the counter in case you needed a laugh. Which was about the only thing it was good for. You sat it down in front of him. “It’s at your twelve o’clock if you want to see for yourself.”

Mr. Handsome took you up on that offer. While he read – or rather attempted to read since you knew sections were completely unintelligible – you idly wondered if the dark facial hair dusting his face was the start of a beard or if he just didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . you had the feeling he would look good either way . . .

Case in point, all that look of utter befuddlement like he didn’t whether to laugh or to be irritated by what he was reading did was make him look adorable. You needed to be careful. This guy was dangerously pretty.

“What is 78554.051?” He asked, looking like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What?”

“It’s listed as one of the drinks. I think. I assume you don’t serve dribbles.”

“No, sir,” you said, thinking. “My best guess is that someone put the number sign where it didn’t belong.”

Mr. Handsome hummed thoughtfully, re-running his fingers over one section of the menu of nonsense. “Green tea.”

“Now that I do have,” you said. “Speaking of which, would you like to order a drink?”

“I don’t know . . . ,” he said with a teasing grin. “Drinking a coffin sounds dangerous.”

“It does,” you agreed, ignoring the continued presence of the butterflies to go along with the banter. “Does coffee sound better?”

“Infinitely.”

You gave him a quick rundown of the coffee options. He ordered a red eye for himself, which always sounded like a lot of caffeine to you but you didn’t know this man’s life. While he didn’t look tired, maybe he had been working a lot of hours lately and needed the extra oomph. Apparently he didn’t think his coworkers needed extra caffeine as they got a cappuccino and a dirty chai.

“What’s the name?” you asked. Mr. Handsome might be the only customer right now but that could change any minute. It was only a little after nine. Plenty of people might still be heading toward school or work, people who might decide to grab a coffee (and maybe some food) on their way.

“Matt.”

“Matt,” you repeated, both to make sure that you had heard him correctly and because you wanted to say it. If for no other reason so you wouldn’t accidentally call him Mr. Handsome outloud. He nodded in confirmation. “Just coffee this morning?”

He made another thoughtful hum. “I probably shouldn’t have just coffee for breakfast. What’s on offer?”

“We have bagels, muffins, croissants, turnovers, doughnuts, frittatas, and breakfast sandwiches.”

“Hmmm, those all sound great,” he said.

“Take your time,” you said, “Think about it while I make your drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You turned to start making the coffee. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flinch a little when the machine started grinding the beans. Which you couldn’t really blame him for. It wasn’t a nice sound. Easily one of your least favorite. But Dora, who was a coffee aficionado, might actually kill you if you even thought about using anything other than freshly ground coffee for espresso.

She had explained why it mattered. And demonstrated how changing how fine the grind was effected the drink. But that didn’t make the noise any less unpleasant. Which was probably why she hadn’t been able to talk you into freshly grinding your coffee at home. Not yet anyway. You were getting worn down on the issue. Agreeing would at least mean she would stop giving you that look of actual pain everytime she saw your can of already-ground coffee.

Pulling the shot part of the espresso was a lot more pleasant on the ears. With the added bonus of putting out that nice fresh coffee smell. You poured the shot into the waiting to-go cup of the house brew. You knew some places poured the hot coffee into the espresso but Dora thought that method disturbed the crèma too much.

You were pouring in the frothed milk with the chai concentrate into the double-shot of espresso for his coworkers’ dirty chai when Matt spoke again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did but you can ask another one,” you said, feeling a little bold from his earlier friendliness, as you put the finished drink into the carrier alongside it’s companions.

He chuckled. “Left myself wide open for that one . . . Are you the owner?”

“Co-owner with my best friend, Dora,” you answered, tapping the used grounds into the knock box.

“Dora and who?” Matt asked with a charming smile. You felt your heart sped up. Something about smiling transformed his already handsome face into something breathtakingly beautiful. You had no resistant to something like that. You told him your name.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“And that was a line,” you said. One that you had heard numerous times. Through never from someone this good looking.

“It can be,” he acknowledged before subtly shifting his posture. He hadn’t been slouching before but there had been a relaxed air to the way he carried himself. Now he was standing there, straight-backed and shoulders square, his hands resting on the white cane held upright between his feet like it was some medieval courtiers’ staff of office. He had a presence. One that you suddenly realized had been there all along. It was just front and center now.

When he spoke again, there had also been a subtle shift to his voice. Easy self-assurance had been replaced with rock-solid confidence and conviction. Not thundering like an angry priest, just the calm, even voice of someone who knows they are correct, that the facts were on their side.

“Does that phrase being used as a pick-up line mean that a name cannot be pretty?”

“No,” you said. “A name can still be pretty.”

“Generally speaking, is your name one of the pretty ones?”

“Yes?” you said slowly. Why did you feel like you had just walked into a trap? Maybe it was that little edge of sharpness to his smile? . . . .

“Well, if names can be pretty and your name is one of those pretty names, then you have a pretty name.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. It was hard to argue with that logic. Especially when you didn’t actually want to argue that your name was ugly. You liked your name. And it was nice to hear something about you called pretty. Even if it was just your name.

“A pretty name for a beautiful girl.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks. That smile should be illegal. As for the words . . . he probably didn’t mean them. He was obviously something of a flirt. Regardless . . . it was still nice to hear. Still made your heart flutter.

“And that was absolutely a line,” you said, fidgeting with the ties on your apron. “Flattery is not going get you a free muffin.”

“It’s not flattery if it is true,” he said. Which did nothing to lessen the warmth in your face. “And since muffins are off the table, what about the doughnuts? Or the turnovers?”

You laughed. “Sorry. As much as I would like to give out free coffee and food, unfortunately there are all these places that expect me to pay them with money.”

“Instead of an excellent pie, like a sensible person?”

“Exactly,” you said, once again finding yourself drawn into the banter in spite of your nerves. You knew one thing for certain about Matt – he was definitely charming.

He nodded solemnly, like this was a serious conversation. “I’ve encountered the same problem with my small business.”

“You did?” you said. Then, feeling genuinely curious, you asked him, “What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who wants to get paid in pie?” you said, feeling a little skeptical. Didn’t lawyers usually work in big offices that paid them big money? Granted your experience with lawyers was largely limited to baby-faced ones who were grabbing coffee for the office or law students who looked like they had forgotten what sleep was . . .

“I like pie,” he said mildly. “But, as you said, since so many people want money instead of pie, my partner insists that’s what we charge for our services.”

“That’s a shame,” you said.

“It is,” Matt agreed solemnly. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “What to know a secret? If you ever need to bribe Foggy, try bagels. He can resist pie but never a good bagel.”

“Duly noted,” you said. “I assume Foggy is your partner?”

“Yep,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.”

“Nelson?” you repeated. “Any relation to Nelson’s Meats?”

You expected the answer to be no. This was New York City, after all, not a small town. But, to your surprise, Matt nodded and said, “Yes, it’s his family’s butcher shop. How do you know Nelson’s?”

“We buy the meat for the cafe from them,” you explained as you placed the to-go carrier by the cash register. “Did you ever reach a verdict on breakfast?”

He chuckled. “Jury is still out, I’m afraid. It all smells so good. Can you give me a recommendation?”

Your heart gave another excited flutter at the compliment as you thought about it. Then, with a little hesitation, said, “Maybe bagels? That way, if I need to bribe your partner, he knows what he’s getting out of the deal?”

“Good idea,” Matt said with a smile. “What favors do you have?”

After being given his options, he opted for a plain for himself and an everything for Foggy. After some further consideration an apple turnover for Karen, the third person at his office. He thought the sweetness of the turnover would compliment the spices of her dirty chai better than a bagel.

Soon the rest of his order was bagged up and paid for. Before he left, he tapped the menu of nonsense with his finger. “Can I have a copy of this? Otherwise I’m pretty sure Foggy will think I’m making it up.”

“Go ahead,” you said. “I’ve got other copies.”

He smiled, then tucked the menu into the bag with the food. He feed his arm through the handles of the bag, then picked up the drinks carrier. Considering his left hand was occupied with his cane . . .

“Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“Please.”

On the downside, Cozy Corners wasn’t very big so that particular journey didn’t take very long. But on the upside, you got to watch him walk down the street, discovering that he had a perfect ass. Because of course he did. You sighed. Why was everything about this man so attractive . . .

“I saw that.”

You jumped with a small shriek and whirled around. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Dora. How long had she been standing there?

“Saw what?” you demanded, walking back over to the counter.

“So many things,” she said with a knowing grin. “You flirting with Mr. Matthew Murdock, Esquire? Undressing him with your eyes? Checking out his ass? I saw it all.”

Warmth flooded your face. “I wasn’t undressing him with my eyes!”

“Yes, you were,” Dora said with the utter confidence of someone who had known you since you were ten and therefore knew all of your tells.

“Maybe I was,” you muttered as you tidied up the work station. It needed to be done but also gave you an excuse not to see that knowing grin. Which you knew, without even looking, had just gotten bigger.

“And now you are thinking about how loudly he could make you scream.”

“Dora!” You exclaimed, your head whipping around to make sure the cafe was still as empty as it was the last time you looked. It was. “Is this really the time for that? We’re at work!”

“That wasn’t a denial,” she pointed out in a sing-song voice. “I’m betting on very loud.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked, suspicion in your voice. “Did you sleep with him?”

The very thought sparked a little flame of jealousy inside you. Which you hated. You didn’t want feel jealous of your best friend . . .

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know someone who did. She said Murdock loves eating pussy. That he fucked her better with his tongue than any man ever had with their dick.”

“Dora!” You whined. Because now you were thinking about it. Now you were trying to imagine that handsome face buried between your thighs. It was an appealing image. Very appealing. But one you would rather not have when you could do nothing to quench the heat growing between your legs. “Why are you telling me this?!”

“You’ve been under way too much stress lately. Orgasms are wonderful stress relief.”

“Matt Murdock isn’t a requirement for me to have an orgasm,” you said mulishly. You had hands. And a vibrator. Both had served you well in that department. Often better than men had.

“Perhaps not,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment before flashing you a wicked smile. “But that’s who you are going to imagine fucking you senseless while you flick the bean, isn’t it?”

You were spared from having to answer that question by the arrival of new customers.

&&&

You managed to avoid any further conversation about Matt Murdock and what he could do with his tongue. Or other body parts. You put that down to two things. First, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you both busy. Most had been simply curious about the new business in the neighborhood or tourists needing a quick break. The latter made you a little nostalgic, remembering your first days in the city and how overwhelmed you had felt. But some of the customers were repeats from earlier visits. Something that you hoped would continue.

Second, while you were still working on hiring, you did have some staff. Staff that had come in around lunch time and were there until final clean-up. It was one thing for Dora to speak so frankly about your sex life (or the lack thereof) when it was just the two of you but in front of others? Others who were your employees? Who likely would be very uncomfortable with that conversation? That was an entirely different kettle of fish. Not one that Dora or you had any desire to partake in.

By the time you were locking up the cafe and setting the alarm, Dora had seemingly forgotten all about Matt Murdock and how you had – allegedly – been undressing him with your eyes. It might only be temporary reprieve. Assuming he didn’t hate the coffee and food, Matt would be back. Despite the certainty of teasing from your best friend, you hoped that he came back.

Not because you thought had any chance with him. You weren’t delusional. Men that good-looking didn’t go for people like you . . . but if he was a regular, you could at least look at him. You’d get to talk to him. Though seeing him with girlfriends was going to suck . . .

“Are you sure that you don’t want me and Steve to walk you home?” Dora asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” you said, looking over at your best friend and her steady boyfriend. He had come to pick her up as usual. “I’m in the opposite direction of you guys.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. You knew that he didn’t. He made similar offers since he and Dora had started dating. And never complained or acted annoyed when you accepted the offer. But your apartment was much closer to Cozy Corners than their place, which weren’t even in the Kitchen. The only time you had accepted the offer since the cafe opened was the day before and only because you were dropping off the deposit at the bank. Then, carrying your opening week’s worth of cash, you felt like you had needed some extra security. Steve was a very sweet guy but he was also a tall man with large muscles. Not exactly the easy target that most criminals are looking for.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s not that late and my place isn’t far.”

“Okay,” Dora said. “If you are sure?”

“I am.”

Mollified by your conviction, Steve and Dora left. You watched them go around the corner before heading off yourself. You walked swiftly. Because rain had been predicted tonight and it was starting to get chilly at night. It wasn’t quite cold yet but brisk enough that you needed a jacket and didn’t fancy getting soaked. You couldn’t afford to get sick right now. Your business was too new . . . and Lady Who Sneezes A Lot wasn’t exactly the second impression you wanted to give Matt.

You might have very few hopes of attracting his interest but that didn’t mean you wanted to completely tank what little chance you had . . . You shook your head. You needed to stop the daydreaming. This wasn’t the time for it. Daredevil was back from wherever he had disappeared to but the vigilante only made things safer, not safe . . .

There was no warning. You were walking, almost home. Then you were grabbed from behind. You screamed as you were dragged toward the gap between two buildings. You dropped the sack holding your dinner and tried to struggle, to resist, but your attacker was too strong for you. You were pulled into the shadows and slammed into the side of a building. It knocked the wind of you.

Heart pounding, you desperately tried to suck in air. To get your breath back. You needed to scream again. Scream in the Kitchen and the Devil came. That was the story. That was the hope. But was one scream enough? You didn’t know. So you had to scream. Scream and pray all those stories were true . . .

You started to scream . . . then agony exploded on the left side of your face, transforming that scream into a cry of pain. Everything from your cheek down to your jaw immediately began to throb. It hurt. Worse than the time your sister Alex had accidentally given you a black eye with a softball. The bruising grip on your shoulder that kept you pinned against the wall barely even registered.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man ordered in a low hiss. “Make another sound and I’ll slit your throat.”

Tears were blurring your vision but you could see the knife he was brandishing. It wasn’t a small pocket knife. It was a chef’s knife. Like the one you had at home and at the cafe. And it was stained with something. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to stop a terrified whimper. It was too dark for you to tell with what but you feared that it was blood.

Apparently satisfied that you were too frightened to be anything but compliant, the man released your shoulder.

“Purse,” the man demanded. “Watch. Jewelry.”

Trembling, you removed your crossbody bag and held it out. It was taken and slung onto his shoulder. You ignore the watch directive since you weren’t wearing one. It was when you tried to remove your jewelry that things went wrong. The only piece of jewelry that you were wearing, a necklace, had a very delicate chain with a tiny clasp. Your hands were shaking too much for you to get a good grip on the lobster clasp, let alone open it and slip out the ring. The chain wasn’t big enough to pull the whole necklace over your head. Every time, the clasp slipped out of your fingers, your panic grew. Which only made the trembling worse.

It didn’t take long for the mugger to lose patience. His hand darted out and grabbed the necklace. He yanked hard, snapping the chain. More tears filled your eyes. It was bad enough that he was stealing your favorite necklace. Did he have to break it too? Then, to your horror, he raised the knife. You screamed, instinctively throwing up your arms to try to protect yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the pain that you knew was coming.

Except it never came.

What came was a growl, low and furious. It was accompanied by the sound of something flying through the air. You heard a pained yelp and something metal clattering to the ground. You cautiously opened your eyes just in time to see someone put himself between you and the mugger.

Someone dressed entirely in black, save for the thick white ropes tied around his forearms and hands. Someone wearing a mask. Daredevil, you realized with a dizzying sense of relief. It might not be the more distinctive red outfit and its horned helmet but you were sure it was him . . . the stories were true. Scream in Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil will come to save you.

“You made a big mistake,” Daredevil snarled at the mugger, each word dripping with fury and utter contempt. “By not fleeing when you had the chance.”

Then he threw himself at the man.

Your legs turned to liquid. You fell back against the wall and slide down. You didn’t care the street was getting your pants dirty. You had to sit. While your legs were uninterested in supporting your weight, you could pull them up and wrap your arms around them. So you did. It was almost like a hug and you could use one right now.

You couldn’t stop shaking. The sound of breaking bones, meaty thwacks, and a man’s screams were oddly distant. Like you were listening to something through a well instead something happening just a few feet away. Scent, however, was viscerally and intensely present. Acrid car exhaust, rotting garbage, coopery blood, sweet peaches, and sour sweat filled your nose. You gagged, then tried to breathe through your mouth to lessen the nauseating combination. But you couldn’t get your throat to work . . . you couldn’t get enough air . . . your vision darkened . . . . you couldn’t breathe . . .

You weren’t sure which penetrated past the panic first – the hands massaging your shoulders or the deep voice speaking. But once it did, you were suddenly aware of both. You almost couldn’t believe your own eyes and ears. Was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really kneeling in front of your huddled body? Were those gloved hands gently gripped your shoulders, really the same ones that had just literally beaten a man bloody?

“You’re safe, it’s okay . . .”

The soft, quiet voice was completely at odds with his grim reputation. It also sounded a little familiar but you were too exhausted to try remembering where you had heard it. It had been a long day and panic attacks always took a lot out of you.

You weren’t so tired that you missed that the Devil was a good-looking man. And not just in the face. Those grainy surveillance photos in the newspaper hadn’t conveyed just how tight his clothing was. Which was very tight. His shirt, for example, was practically painted on. You could see his muscles. His many, many muscles. He had clearly hit the muscle store during a clearance sale . . .

The thought made you giggle. It sounded more like a wheeze and more than a little hysterical but still a giggle. But you needed a laugh. You were alive. You had been sure that you were about to die. That you were going to be stabbed to death in a robbery gone bad . . . you started to tremble again, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather . . . you could have died . . . your bottom lip quivered . . .

Hands squeezed your shoulders, “Hey, hey, look at me.”

That didn’t sound too hard. Only half of his face was visible but what you could see was mighty fine.

A deep chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment.”

‘Note to self – abject terror followed by panic attack completely dissolves your brain-to-mouth filter. Shut up before you ask if it is actually possible to bounce a quarter off of his abs.’

Another deep chuckle alerted you that you might have also said that outloud. A theory confirmed by his statement, “I’ve never tried. Can you do something for me?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled at you. It was a nice smile. “Follow my lead? Deep breathe in . . .”

You mimicked the inhale, the short hold, then slow release out.

“Good! Now again . . .”

It seemed like forever but eventually you felt calm. Or at least not like you were about to have another panic attack. That was good. Panicking was exhausting. Daredevil seemed to agree with your self-assessment as he had stopped instructing you to take deep breathes. After one more reassuring squeeze, his hands slid off of your shoulders. He sat back on his heels.

“Feeling better now?” he asked, his voice returning to what you assumed was his Daredevil speaking voice – low, deep, with a growling rasp. It was possible he sounded like this all the time. It wasn’t like you had ever meet him outside the mask. Well, as far you knew. You supposed that you could have but how would you know . . .

“Yes,” you said, when you remembered that you had been asked a question. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not from a certain point of view. You were feeling better now that you were no longer teetering on the edge of a second panic attack in a short space of time. You knew this calm, almost numb, feeling was fragile. It would shatter instantly if pressed too hard. But that was the best you could hope for right now. Feeling any better than this would require things that weren’t here – like your most comfortable clothes and your pets – along with time.

Daredevil frowned, tilting his head slightly to one side. It was hard to interpret the expression on his face since you couldn’t see most of it. But it seemed like he was staring at you (through how he saw anything through that mask was a mystery) as if you were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Or maybe he was simply skeptical. That was possible. You had seen how you looked after panic attacks. In his shoes, you wouldn’t believe you about being fine either.

“I’m as fine as I’m going to get tonight,” you amended.

That answer, at least, was deemed plausible to him. He nodded, then pulled something about the little pouch attached to his belt. A cellphone. Who was he calling? Since you had no energy for guessing games, you simply asked.

“The police,” he said.

Well that was your cue to get out of here. You couldn’t think of something you would rather deal with less right now. Your usual post-panic attack headache was already growing – no need to kick it into migraine territory with sirens and flashing lights. You shifted onto your knees so you could get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Daredevil asked.

“Going home.”

“Home? Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital?”

Amazing, he had found something worse than the police. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t wanna.”

His lips twitched. “You don’t wanna?”

“What are you, a parrot?” you demanded, feeling your temper flare. If you had been less tired or not in pain, that question would have playful. But you were tired and hurting so that question was grouchy. So was the rest of your statement. “Yes, I don’t wanna. No, I don’t care that is whinny. I’ve had a shitty night! I’ll whine if I want to!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, spitfire. No hospital.”

As the anger drained, you felt a swell of guilt for yelling at him after he just saved your life. This was why you did your best to avoid people when your social batteries were running too low to manage basic human interaction. It seemed like you always ended up biting someone’s head off for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shifting back onto your bottom. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your knees. You didn’t care that your pants were dirty. You needed to hide. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just too tired to be peopling right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I understand.”

You cracked up an eye and turned your face to peer at him with that one eye. Again, it was almost impossible to get a read on his expression but he didn’t seem bothered. And vigilante like him probably did know a thing or too about having a temper. Suddenly feeling curious, you asked, “How good does it feel to punch crime in the face?”

A wolfish smirk spread across his face before he answered, “Sometimes very good. Why?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for a career change. Punching bad guys sounds more fun than getting punched by bad guys.”

You got the impression he was giving you a very stern look from behind that mask. That mouth pressed together in a thin line was all disapproval. “How about you leave the punching bad guys to me and I’ll leave the baking to you?”

“How did you know I’m a baker?” you asked. Then felt a little stupid for asking. You were still wearing your chef’s jacket and an apron. It was pretty obvious that you worked with food . . .

“You smell like flour, yeast, butter, sugar, and spices which all says baker to me,” he said. “Through you also smell like peaches. The fruit, not the flowers.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. You also hadn’t realized that the scent of your peach beauty products were that strong. They smelled pretty light to you. But before you could think of a response to that, Daredevil rose to his feet. Which gave you a nice look at his legs which like his torso and arms was muscles for days barely contained by tight clothes. The black trousers weren’t quite as painted on as the shirt but they were snug enough. The naughtier parts of your mind wondered what it would be like to ride him, feeling those powerful thighs under you as he thrust up . . .

“Spitfire?”

Embarrassed warmth flood your face. While you were distracted, Daredevil had held out his hands and obviously asked if you wanted help standing. More than once if that amused smirk was any indication. You put your hands into his before you could embarrass yourself any further. A goal immediately challenged by watching the muscles in his arms flex as he helped pull you up onto your feet without a hint of strain. Because damn if that wasn’t hot . . .

Thankfully this time you managed not to become so distracted by the sexy vigilante that you just stood like there drooling like an idiot. You slide your hands out of his and then, to prevent yourself from staring at all those muscles (again), started looking for your crossbody bag. You hoped that the mugger had dropped it during the fight with Daredevil. Because as much as you wanted and needed your things back, you also would rather not get any closer to that man than you had to.

It didn’t matter that mugger was (probably) unconscious and (very probably) too beaten up to be a threat anymore. Not to anxiety brain. Anxiety brain was seldom appeased by such frivolities as fact and logic. So when you spied the large, still shape on the ground, your heart started racing again.

“Don’t worry about him.”

You looked over at Daredevil. He wasn’t even looking in the same direction that you were but still seemed to know what you were looking at. Almost like he read your mind . . . could he read your minds? God, you hoped not . . .

“I promise he’s not going anywhere soon,” Daredevil continued, his earlier rage coloring his voice a little. Part of you wanted to know what the mugger had done to make him so angry but most of you decided that you were better off not knowing. Your brain did not need help coming up with nightmares.

Feeling reassured by Daredevil’s confidence (and the knowledge that he was still between you and the mugger), you looked for your bag again . . . there it was. It was closer than you expected. You started to move closer but your foot encountered something. Something metal judging by the sound against the concrete. You looked, hoping it wasn’t the knife.

It wasn’t . . . too small . . . you knelt down and discovered your necklace. You picked it up, glad that you wouldn’t have to try to find something so small in such poor lighting or run the risk of it being gone by morning. Which it probably would have been. Aside from the broken chain, you hoped the rest of it was undamaged. You ran your thumb across the surface . . . it didn’t feel like any of stones had gotten chipped or cracked . . . the engraving could still be read . . .

“What are you doing?”

You jumped a little at the voice before remembering Daredevil. You were surprised he was still here. Weren’t there other damsels in distress he needed to be rescuing?

“Not at the moment.”

Either you were still saying things outloud without realizing it or Daredevil could absolutely read minds. You decided to believe the former because the latter was too mortifying to contemplate.

“Checking my favorite necklace,” you said as you darted forward and grabbed your bag. “Doesn’t feel like anything but the chain got broken.”

He nodded. “Ice those bruises when you get home – ten minutes on, twenty off. And try to keep your head elevated. After two days, you can use a heat compress.”

“Ice and prop up tonight, heat in a couple days,” you repeated. At his confirming nod, you asked, “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Just familiar with bruises” he said. “Trust me, spitfire, the bad guys often hit back when you’re punching them.”

You nodded, then realized that any further delay was just stalling. But as much as part of you wanted to keep talking – how often did you get a chance to talk to one of the city’s heroes? – the rest of you was still tired, still feeling jittery-numb from the panic attacks, and still hurting. And you had work tomorrow. It was time to call it a night.

“I guess this is good night,” you said, taking one last look at the vigilante. Odds were, the only time you’d see him again was in the newspaper.

“Good night, spitfire,” Daredevil said. Maybe it was projection but his smile looked a little sad. Like he also knew this was probably the first and only time you would ever see each other.

You paused when you reached the street to pick up your bag of food. It was probably a mess but you were definitely weren’t going to cook when you got home. As you walked away, you faintly heard the low rumble of Daredevil’s voice, presumably talking to the police on that phone.

Notes:

A Tale of Two Men is a reference to A Tale of Two Cities, an 1859 novel by Charles Dickens. I’m thinking about making all of the titles for this series reference book titles.

It occurred to me recently that my Reader characters in the series all are some level of anxious. Probably because I have anxiety and that colors how I perceive the world. Hence the Reader with anxiety.

The alien invasion is a reference to the events of Avengers I. Fair warning that some of the larger events of the MCU will not be depicted same as they were in canon. Accept that this is an alternate universe and move on.

I know Charlie Cox has brown hair but in some lighting for Matt Murdock, his hair does have reddish tint . . . and Matt in the comics is (generally speaking) a redhead so I’ve compromised by making Matt Murdock have dark auburn hair, the kind that looks brown unless the light hits it right and brings out the red.

Reader is sighted but knows how to read braille. The story behind this will be revealed later.

This knowledge is only reason Reader considers the misprinted menu of nonsense to be funny. She would have not find it funny if she found out about the misspellings and such after handing it to customers.

From my understanding, using the hands of a clock is the best way to tell a blind person where something is relative to their position. The menu of nonsense was right in front of Matt so at his 12 o’clock. Directly behind would have been his 6 o’clock, etc.

In braille, the symbols for numbers 1 – 9 and the letters A – I are the same along with J and 0. The number sign is written before tells you those symbols are meant to be read as numbers instead of letters. So 123 instead of ABC. If I have the information right, a second number sign is used to indict the end of the numbers and return to letters.

But all of my knowledge of braille is self-taught so don’t take my words as gospel here.

A red eye is a 12 oz (340 g) cup of drip coffee topped with a single or double shot of espresso.

A cappuccino is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso topped with a very frothy milk. It is slightly stronger than a latte because it has less milk.

A dirty chai latte is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso, then a chai concentrate is poured into the milk which is frothed. Finally the milk and espresso are combined.

Crèma is a dense layer of foam that forms the top of an espresso shot and is a unique characteristic to the brewing method (forcing very hot water under pressure through finely ground compacted coffee).

At least in this fic, Matt Murdock is a proud member of The Pie Appreciation Society. The Society ranks include its long serving president Dean Winchester.

How much a lawyer makes a year depends on where they work and what kind of law they practice. People who work in public sector offices like a public defender or a state prosecutor generally make a comfortable living but they are never going to get wealthy doing that job. There are some lawyers who charge six figures or more per billable hour but those seem to be litigators and they aren’t as common as the associates who charge something less crazy (through probably still an eye-watering amount of money to some).

It’s Nelson & Murdock because (1) this takes place not too longer after the 3rd Season so they are still working out of the back of Nelson’s Meats and (2) New York law prohibits the formation of the Law Firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page unless all three are attorneys. So if Karen wants her name on the sign, she has a law degree to earn and a bar exam to pass. Which she just might do in this universe.

The white cane is held in one’s dominant hand. I picked the left hand for Matt as another nod to his comic book counterpart who is (again usually) left-handed.

Esquire is an honorific title that is only used in the United States for lawyers for . . . reasons. No one seems to know why.

‘Flick the bean’ is a euphemism for female masturbation.

A chef's knife is a knife about 8 inches (20 cm) long used for chopping, slicing, and dicing meat and vegetables. Unless you have something like a meat cleaver, it is probably the biggest knife in your kitchen.

The favorite necklace is part of some story elements so this is not a generic favorite necklace but a specific favorite necklace. But if you want to mentally change the specific elements of its later description to better suit yourself, go right ahead.

A lobster clasp is the one that looks a like a lobster claw.

Matt is in the Black Suit since he has yet to replace the Red Suit – the old one being too damaged by the Midland Circle and only other one in existence was worn by the impostor who murdered people. A version of the Red Suit will eventually appear (since as hot as the black suit is, the guy without a healing factor needs body armor) but I’m still working out how.

The description of the panic attack (shortness of breath, sensory overload, etc) along with its aftereffects (exhaustion, mood swings, etc) are based on my experiences.

Spitfire is nickname for someone with a temper, possibly referencing the WW2 plane.

The treatment for bruises comes from internet so grains of salt are advised.

A chef's jacket is a double-breasted jacket with mandarin collar commonly worn by chefs and bakers, traditionally made from thick, white cotton cloth but can be made in different colors these days. The thickness of the jacket is meant to help protect the chef or baker from heat, steam, and splashing liquids in a busy kitchen. Frequently the jacket has long sleeves to help protect arms while reaching into the ovens.

#daredevil #fan fic #fan fiction #cozy corners #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #tw anxiety #tw panic attack #ao3 link

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