#matt murdock one shot

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the abandoned tie

a/n: this man... this man, this man. i've missed him so much. he has been on my mind all summer and now i finally snapped and wrote some yummy yum about him.

summary: It was terrible, you knew full well that he was your boss, but what had started as an innocent little crush the moment that you were hired as a secretary at Nelson and Murdock only grew and flourished the longer that you worked there. It didn’t help matters either that Matthew was a natural flirt, or at least was with you, always making you stumble over your words and blush like a damn schoolgirl. But even though it was the right thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to go on and actually quit, because if you did, then he wouldn’t get the chance to make your heart flutter on a daily basis anymore, bittersweet as it may be.

warnings: matt murdock x secretary!reader, smut, coworkers to lovers, kissing, office sex, clothed sex, ripping pantyhose, manhandling, oral, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, protected sex, alcohol consumption, foggy slutshames matt (as he deserves. he a hoe and we love him for it)

word count: 4144

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“Okay,” Foggy huffed out a long exhale, “I can’t look at this anymore, I’m going all cross-eyed,” he slammed shut the laptop on the conference table before him, “I gotta call it a night,” and as he raised from his seat, your head tilted up from the intimidating stack of paper your nose was buried in, “any of you up for a round at Josie’s?”

“Uhm, actually, I think I might stay here a little longer,” your thumb brushed against the corner of the pile before you, a mountain of perhaps the most boring paperwork you’d ever given your time of day, but the small chance that some tiny nugget hid in there, something that could help the firm on their current case, convinced you to volunteer to take on the job, “see if I can make a bit more of a dent in this.”

“Alright, fair,” your colleague eyed the papers, then shifted his glance to his partner, seated on the stool directly beside where you sat, “Matt? Come on, man. Don’t let your best friend drink alone.”

“I’m sorry,” he shifted slightly in his seat, then uttered in a tone that almost made it sound as if he was just making up his answer to match yours, “but I think I’m gonna keep going as well,” though the hope that he had changed his verdict to sync up with your own was a dream you’d never truly let yourself believe.

It was terrible, you knew full well that he was your boss, but what had started as an innocent little crush the moment that you were hired as a secretary at Nelson and Murdock only grew and flourished the longer that you worked there. It didn’t help matters either that Matthew was a natural flirt, or at least was with you, always making you stumble over your words and blush like a damn schoolgirl. But even though it was the right thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to go on and actually quit, because if you did, then he wouldn’t get the chance to make your heart flutter on a daily basis anymore, bittersweet as it may be.

“Workaholics the both of you!” Foggy groaned light-heartedly, conjuring an airy chuckle to bubble out of you, “well,” he puffed as he bent down to grab his bag and stuff his laptop inside, “then I guess I’ll just see you guys in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Matt flashed his friend a smile as he crossed the threshold of the door to the conference room. 

Catching his eye through the windowed wall as he made his way out towards the exit, you waved, “night!” before he raised his hand to mirror your gesture. 

After silence had consumed the office once more and your eyes returned to their tedious scanning, a yawn soon forced its way out of your lungs. 

As your hand flew up to cup your mouth, Matt’s soaring fingers stilled over the braille on the pages before him and his head tilted up in your direction. 

“You sure you’re not done for the day?” he quietly asked. 

“No,” you uttered before the yawn was through, “I wanna stay.”

“Alright,” he breathed, “how about some coffee then?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can go make some–”

“No, no, stay, I didn’t mean for you to–… I’ll make it.” 

“Oh,” you blinked back at him, perhaps finding the role reversal a bit more staggering than you’d expected as you were usually the one making everyone else beverages, “y-yeah, that would be great,” before your gaze then shadowed him as he got up and crossed the small width of the humble office to the little kitchenette nook. 

You should have probably just returned to your reading as he stood there and waited for the water in the electric kettle to boil, but you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. 

When he returned with a steaming mug, he held it out for you to grasp, “here you go,” before he returned to his seat beside your own. 

“Thanks,” your fingers enveloped the warm ceramic before you took a small sip, one that was swiftly cut short as soon as the flavour enveloped your tongue, “wow…” 

“What? Is it bad?” 

“No, no, quite the opposite actually,” you glanced down at the coffee in amazement before your gaze flickered up to him, “it’s perfect,” you uttered, unsure if you were more shocked or just plain weak in the knees at the fact that Matt somehow knew how you took your coffee.

The evening however didn’t drag on for too much longer following the very last sip of your caffeinated beverage. You tried to return to your work, you truly did, but no matter how hard you tried to get back into the flow of things and make a proper dent in the colossal workload, you just couldn’t. 

You were too occupied staring at Matt. 

Gazing longingly at his burly forearms, exposed and framed by the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, at his wide hands as they danced over the papers before him, nearly caressing them in the manner you always fantasised he would touch your goosebump-ridden flesh, and even at the slight furrow line that appeared betwixt his dark brows as his brain absorbed the texts he read, the little crease you so badly wished to soothe with a kiss. 

As your eyes continued to linger and your heart thumped in your chest at the way your mind ran wild, Matt’s right hand then extended in search of one of the items on the cluttered table, though before his fingers located the wanted folder, they first wandered so close to you that they grazed against your forearm resting there on the surface. 

Though the contact sent butterflies soaring throughout your stomach, the spark also managed to snap you out of your daze and jolt you back to your senses, though the realisation bolted through you so severely that in your haphazard and hazy attempt at both hiding any trace of what you’d let yourself do, as well as dive back into what you should have been doing all along, your clumsy ass twisted away in a manner that almost caused you to fall off your chair. 

Almost. 

You would have fallen face first on the cold office floor if a pair of swift hands hadn’t seized your waist. 

“Wow–, I’ve got you.” 

As your head tilted up, gratitude ready to drip off your tongue, it ceased and shrivelled as you realised just how close you now were to Matt. Your noses almost touched as his grasp didn’t move to unfasten their strong hold on you even though you were now completely out of danger. 

“You’ve got–…” you echoed hazily, “I-I–…”

As his breath fanned across your face, your eyes flickered down to his lips. You’d never been this close to him before, but now that you were, impulsivity swiftly seized your soul. 

Pressing your lips against his in a chased kiss, you soon sensed his grip shift as he kissed you back, his fingers gently digging into your sides to claw you even closer.

Though as you felt yourself melt away in the dream you’d always yearned for, a flash of sense sparked within you and caused you to plant your palms on his broad chest and push him back. 

“Oh my goodness…” your shoulders shot up towards your ears, “I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t fire–”

But no more fretful words managed to leave your lips as Matt then primally grabbed your face and shut you up with a kiss, a taste of hast tingled on his tongue as he let his own desire take over and rush for more instead of other civilised methods one could opt for in such a situation, he didn’t stop to put out the fire, only fanned the wicked flames and kissed you as if it was the last thing he’d ever do. 

It had caught you completely off guard and was only when he slowed his heated lips to smouldering pecks that you got the chance to catch up. 

“Oh my god…” you whispered slowly between kisses, utterly stunned and reeling in the reality. Your tone at first came out a bit timid as you still couldn’t believe what was transpiring, but as soon as his lips began to wander down the side of your neck and your eyes fluttered at the dizzying sensation, you felt yourself melt into the moment and echo, “oh my god…” though now in a completely different manner, one that dripped with the desire that you evidently hadn’t been the only one to keep bottled up for so long. 

As the lawyer soon rose from his seat, he dragged you up with him by the starved hold he had on your face, keeping you close and devouring your lips. 

Your fingers found his dark tie for support, the fabric of which had already previously been loosened slightly by his own fingers when they long ago drifted up to pop open the very top button of his collar. 

When his feet then shuffled and your backside bumped into the table’s edge, Matt’s palms coasted down your frame till they greedily swept over the pencil skirt you wore and cupped your ass, only letting himself cop a feel for a second before a small yelp bubbled out of you as he then lifted you up to sit on the conference table. 

As your fingers then untangled themselves from the silk hanging around his neck and swept up to the sides of his face, your eager touch bumped into his tinted glasses, which you swiftly removed and cascaded to the messy tabletop beside you where you sat. 

“Oh… Matt…” a small whimper rolled off your tongue as he then ducked down to plant sloppy pecks all along your neck, “please don’t stop…” 

His low voice then vibrated against your rapid pulse, “yeah?” 

“Uh-huh,” your head tilted slightly in a nod as your fingers stretched to weave in with his dark hair, “I–… I–…” you tried to fight through the foggy feeling he distilled in you, though ended up only offering him a short and desperate, “please.”

When you glanced down at him, fully expecting the lawyer’s lips to return to your own, you instead watched as they dipped down even lower, straying from your throat and wandering down to the sliver of skin on display in the neckline of your silky blouse. Your breathing was heavy as you watched your chest rise and fall beneath his hot pecks. Mouth agape, you stared intently as his kisses wandered even further south, his nose nuzzling against the soft material of your shirt as he dropped down to his knees. 

Planting your palms on the surface of the table for support as you watched Matt crack open your pantyhose-clad legs, his lips then dipped down to one of them as he plucked it up to rest it upon his broad shoulder, all the while a series of kisses smothered the sheer nylon clinging to your skin. 

Soon he had your skirt pushed up and bunched around your hips, fervently opening you up and peeling back your layers till he reached what he most desired. However when his touch finally did sweep up to graze against your covered centre, it didn’t continue on the journey up towards your waistband as you had assumed, but instead, his fingers pinched the sheer core of your stockings and tugged till a ripping sound rung out through the dark office. 

“Fuck…” he groaned as he finished tearing the hole, nearly making it huge enough for the nylon to just give up completely and split right down the middle, that’s how little he let remain intact before he moved on and reached for the underwear now accessible to him. 

His thumb stayed hooked in the soaked gusset of your underwear as he rushed to dive in for a taste of your divine. One of your hands shot down to gently grasp his hair as his tongue lavishly licked you up, making your whole body quiver from the way he made out with your cunt. 

Scooping a palm up to cup your tit through your clothing, Matt groaned, “shit…” his fervent rumble vibrating against your puffy pearl before he sucked down on it, “you taste so good…”

As you swiftly felt his kisses push you over the edge, your hips began to rock back against his efforts, grinding your pussy against the lower part of his face as he lapped you up, his fingers too raising to dent your thigh, both to keep your leg draped over his shoulder, but also to keep you steady through all of your squirming as you rode out your high. 

“Oh my–, fuck!” you gasped, catching your breath. Blinking down at him, you watched as he slowly rose back up, planting a few pecks in a sporadic pattern up your form till his lips again found your own. The taste of yourself was heavy on his tongue as you drifted a hand up to wipe your slickness from his stubbly chin. 

“Miss Y/l/n,” he smirked as you tilted away from his kisses to clean him better, addressing you with the same formality he only occasionally still withheld for you during your working hours together, “whatever would I do without you?”

Still in your haze, you thought too hard about the flirty comment and instead turned it into some kind of unnecessary riddle, “well, first of all, you properly wouldn’t have the evidence of what you just did all over your face, and second, then I also wouldn’t even clean it up because it wouldn’t be there, because I wouldn’t be here, and–,” but then, he simply cut off your words, frankly, as well as your brain, and pressed his lips to yours. 

“I fucking love how your mind works,” he grinned, a hand floating up to offer a feathery stroke through your hair. 

“Oh, I–,” a shiver ran down your spine as you blinked back at him, “thank you.” 

A gentle chuckle then rumbled in Matt’s chest as his fingers reached up to tug at his tie, “sweetheart, if you’re gonna thank me like that every time I pay you a compliment or talk dirty to you,” he yanked the loosened accessory over his head, “then I don’t know I’ll ever be able to stop,” and tossed the silky material to one of the dark corners of the dim room.

Tangling your arms around his neck, an amazed giggle bubbled out of you as you then settled on simply repeating, “thank you,” softly egging him on as your nose nudged against his own. 

Groaning lowly, “you little minx…” a smile tugged at his lips as he then leaned in to claim your lips once more.

As he kissed you once again, your legs snaked around his form, dragging up against his sides like a cicada in his arms.

And when he soon shifted a bit before you and extended an arm to something on the table, you breathlessly asked as your fingers floated down to undo his belt, “do you have a–,” but then you twisted your neck to see what he conjured from his bag, “oh,” you glanced down at the small foil packet in his hand, “you do,” you let out a relieved exhale, “good, because I didn’t, so here I was scrambling my mind for what other options we had.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, the sudden presence of his hands working at freeing himself caused your own to retreat, “and what did you come up with?”

“Oh, well…” you swallowed, conjuring enough courage to utter, “we could just touch each other…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you hazily nodded, “or I could repay you the favour.”

“Yeah?” his hard length sprang free, “you’d suck my cock?”

Scarcely breathing at all, you stared as he swiftly rolled on the condom, “more than you know…” 

“But none of that’s what you really want right now, is it?” 

As his hand snaked around your hip to scoop you that much closer to the edge, you foggily shook your head, “no…”

“Tell me what it is then,” he uttered as he rubbed the bulbous head of his dick through your folds, making you squirm from the dizzying sensation, “tell me what you want.”

Though the mission of getting words out and offering him an answer seemed more difficult than you anticipated as his tip nudged against your swollen clit and made it near impossible for you to think, “I–… you. I want you,” your arms draped around his neck he inched back in for a kiss, “I-I–, Matt, please just put it in–”

Answering your prayer, he then slid his cock inside, slowly filling your dripping pussy up till his pelves pressed against your puffy pearl and the tip of him kissed a spot so deep inside of you that you felt as if you could scarcely breathe at all. 

“There you go,” his groan rumbled in your ear, “that what you wanted, huh?” though when you tried to respond, only whimpers flowed from your lips, “then be a good girl and thank me again,” he dared to request as he gently began to move, “tell me thank you for giving you exactly what you want,” and you moaned, eyes rolling at the way he dragged his girth out of you, so overwhelmingly slow that your cunt clenched around him so tightly that he had to carve anew when he finally thrust forward and filled you up once more, “come on, you can do it. Your pussy’s already doing it in her own incredible way.”

As his lips lowered to flutter against the side of your neck, you faintly murmured, “t-thank you–” 

Though the cocky lawyer only bucked into you harder, making you tremble in his grasp as he smirked against your goosebump-ridden skin, “what was that?”

“Thank you, M-Matt!” you successfully squeaked.

“Atta girl,” his hand slid up the column of your neck as your head began to lull, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“Uh-uh,” you hazily shook your head as you clung to his broad shoulders. 

Lightly enveloping his fingers around your neck, just to keep you close, his other digits then reached down between your bodies to find your clit in a harsh rub as he dared to say, “then say it again…”

The words of gratitude then became like a mantra on your lips, incoherently flowing through your moans as he rocked into you so hard that the conference table rattled beneath you, fucking you till you both tumbled over the edge, though the simple phrase still kept rolling off your tongue even when he offered to walked you home afterwards and too when he pressed a soft peck to your forehead, whispering you goodnight before you disappeared inside your building. 

The cups of coffee you had nervously bought the very next morning were quite the task to balance in your hands. It would have been strange if you didn’t buy one for all of your coworkers, even though the brew truthfully had ulterior motives. 

It wasn’t just the regular kind and thoughtful round of coffee to start the day, but in truth was a thanks for the bang last night, oh, and by the way I am head over heels in love with you, I know I was too scared to tell you last night, but I’m terrified of fucking this up kind of coffee. 

It was a lot of pressure to put on a simple cup of coffee, you recognised that, but what else were you to do? 

Though when you managed to push open the door to the office without dropping or spilling any of the balanced paper mugs, Foggy was the first one to spot you.

“Oh, you bought coffee?” he grabbed one out of your arms, “thanks!” before he called over his shoulder, his voice flooding into the room to the left, “hey Matt! Y/n got a round of coffee!” 

It hadn’t been the suave delivery you’d hoped for, having Foggy force the mood in a purely platonic and professional direction as Matt appeared and casually seized the cup his friend caught from you and extended to him, instead of the fantasy that had tickled your mind all morning of effortlessly slipping into his office and sliding it across his desk with some clever line you hadn’t been able to come up with yet.  

Though Matthew still smiled and said as he raised the cup up to his lips, “thank you, Y/n,” and the mirroring echo of the words he’d made you repeat last night so many times that it lost all its meaning, caused your cheeks to heat up. 

“Uhh,” you blinked back at him, trying to shake the memory off of you, “y-you’re welcome…”

However, before you could part your lips, ask your boss for a private moment and finally make your move, Foggy opened his mouth once more and spoke. 

“Hey, remember how I put out feelers to Karen?” he began to saunter into the conference room.

As Matt began to follow his voice, you too shadowed them, all the while trying your best to keep the butterflies on your belly at bay as you returned to the scene of the crime, most of the papers on the table still in a mess from how little the pair of you had bothered to clean up afterwards. 

“Yeah,” Matt tilted his head, “she got anything?”

“Yup,” Foggy took a sip of coffee, “called me this morning and said she’d pop by later with the stuff she–, hey,” his sentence then took a sharp turn as his gaze found something on the floor that puzzled him enough for his brows to crinkle up. Bending down, he picked up a silky string of fabric and wrapped it around his fingers, “Matt, did you forget your tie here?”

“Uh, what?” the man beside you stiffened up slightly. 

“Your tie, this looks like the one you wore yesterday.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah,” he coughed, fidgeting lightly with the to-go cup in his grasp, “it just bothered me last night, so I took it off, must have forgotten to put it in my bag.”

As Foggy’s eyes scanned Matt’s reaction and too let his gaze wash over your flustered form and spot how the truth virtually poured out of your pores from the way your eyes grew, he simply hummed, “…uh-huh…” not believing his pal for a second. 

Sucking in a breath, Matt tried to extend his hand and asked, “can I have it back?” though his forced casual tone was utterly unconvincing. 

“Oh my god…” Foggy sighed before tossing the tie in his friend’s face, “you have a problem, man.” 

To your surprise, the man beside you caught it, though you were still just one step too far behind him to catch the way a smug smirk tugged at his lips, “what?” as he couldn’t for the life of him hide the pride of the discovery his friend had surely made countless of times throughout their friendship. 

“I leave you two alone for one night, one night!”

“…and to Matt for giving the closing argument of a lifetime and winning us this case!” Foggy raised his drink to the centre of where he, his colleagues and Karen sat around one of the small tables at Josie’s. 

“Oh, come on,” the dark-haired man beside you humbly tilted his head, “you were on fire as well–”

“Matt,” his friend cut him off by briefly planting his palm on his shoulder, “just shut up and take the compliment,” before he tilted his beer bottle back up and roared, “cheers!” 

“Cheers!” Karen, to the left of you, sang before the rest of you echoed, clinking all of your glasses together. 

“Thank you,” Matt gave in and smiled as everyone took a sip, “I couldn’t have done it without you all,” before he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “especially you…”

The sound of his low voice directly in your ear was enough to turn your knees into jelly, but as your eyes fluttered up to gaze at him, the personal space he had now eliminated betwixt you two caused you to positively melt. 

As you breathed out an audible smile, his lips stayed close as his breath once again tickled the shell of your ear, “so now that the trial’s done, I was wondering,” he uttered slowly, making you cling onto each and every syllable that flowed from his lips, “would you let me take you out on a real date?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[inkdrinkerworld]

if you’re still on your Matt kick would you consider writing about him and his gf who bakes weekly and Matt bugging her while she does it but like in a loving way??

You’re in the kitchen trying to decide what to bake. You’re between blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies, both delicious you just can’t seem to choose.

“Matty?” You call, staring at your ingredients like they’ll jump out at you.

“Sweetheart?” He’s home today, the one day that’s just for you and him- Sunday.

If he thinks about it too hard, the Catholic guilt will eat at him, but Sundays are your days.

“Would you prefer blueberry muffins or chocolate chip cookies? I can’t decide.”

He comes up behind you, smelling as he usually does; whiskey and vetiver, warm and inky. His arms wrap around your waist as he hums.

“The muffins,” he says thoughtfully, kissing the groove between your neck and shoulder. “We haven’t had those for a while.”

You smile, leaning back to kiss the hinge of his jaw; “Thanks Matt.”

He doesn’t leave you as you weigh the ingredients, no. Matt stays glued to you the entire time. He doesn’t make it easy to work either, he’s leaning all of his weight on you, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips.

“Matthew!” You giggle and he laughs. “Ten minutes and then I’m all yours, you clinger.”

He laughs, “I’m not a clinger,” you scoff as you mix the blueberries in the batter. “Can’t a man love on his girl?”

You know Matt knows your heart skips a beat at his words. “You can love on me after I put these in the oven.”

Matt sighs all dramatic like and takes two steps away from you as you scoop the batter in the muffin cups, apply the streusel top and slide them in the oven.

He wastes no time in pulling you close to him after you set a timer. “All mine now,” you giggle as he kisses all over your face.

“You’re like a caveman.” You wrap your arms around his neck as he hauls you to the living room, kisses smattered to every part of you he can reach.

There’s no better way you want to spend your Sunday.

[allllium]

Perfect for Me

~ Matt Murdock x insecure!reader

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

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

- Matt comforts insecure reader -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds perfect. How can I help?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So." He starts.

"So?" You repeat.

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

"That sounds scary."

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

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong?"

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

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

"Yes but this feels different."

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

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

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

You try to seem nonchalant by stirring the pasta sauce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you see?" You ask now.

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

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

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

"Feeling is different than seeing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's a nice plan."

[petertingle-yipyip]

COINCIDENCE - MATT MURDOCK

//it was intended as a rewrite but is just a part three i guess, idk there was a lot of discussions so peer pressure. plus the original request wanted a happy ending so i did that!!// pt1 // pt2

Pairing: Matt x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 2,083

Summary: The problem never ended, just hid. The most painful solution is acknowledged but Matt refuses to stand idly by.

The rest of the day was a blur. Matt only stayed for one hour and left. Your other classes complained that they didn’t get a special guest speaker, and while you wanted to explain it to them so they weren’t upset, something wasn’t sitting right in your stomach.

You were still upset with Matt. The idea of Elektra being in your shared apartment made you feel like the other woman, even though you were the wife. You wanted to burn down the building, throw Matt’s things into the dumpster, knock Elektra’s perfect teeth in, punch Stick in the nose. You were still so angry.

The reconciliation was supposed to be enough. That’s what your mother had always told you about marriage. Nothing was too big for you two to get over if you loved each other. Sometimes someone had to swallow their pride and forgive a fight before you lost the other. But why were you letting him off the hook without knowing that he’d do anything you asked? And what was to keep Elektra from making moves on him?

Once your kids were finally out and dismissal was done, you dropped back into your work chair. The photo was still face down, and maybe that was the indiciation you really needed that nothing was really settled.

You picked up your phone.

“Foggy Nelson.” Foggy answered.

“Hey, Fog… Did Matt make it back?” You asked, filing assignments into folders and sliding them into your bag to grade later.

“No, he said there was something he needed to take care of before you got home. Why?”

“Can I come by the office then? I need to talk to you.”

“Sure? Is everything okay, Y/N?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You sighed. “I thought it would be a ‘sweep under the rug’ instance but it’s just… not.”

“Okay, yeah, come on by. You want me to have some food delivered?”

“You’d be a lifesaver if you did.”

“Pizza will be ready when you get here.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit.”

You ended the call and finished packing up your classroom. By the time you were done, nothing made any more sense than it did before. You were frustrated walking to your car because talking about things was supposed to help.

But you and Matt hadn’t really talked about it, had you?

You told him how to resolve the physical part of the issue. Get Elektra out of your apartment and finish whatever mission he was on as Daredevil. The latter you only added because you knew he wouldn’t leave well enough alone, stubborn bastard. But it didn’t get to the heart of the issue.

Just answer the question!

Elektra!

The understanding settled in your stomach like a rock. Despite your marriage, despite everything she had done to Matt, he said her name. He knew you were in the next room. He knew you had been restless, unable to sleep without him beside you. He knew there were nights you had stayed awake until you heard him come in just to know he didn’t die out there. He knew you would’ve dropped everything if he had called you from an alley and needed your help to get home. But maybe, all of that, he’d still do for her.

You walked into the building, smiled politely to Karen, and walked into Foggy’s office. He smiled widely and brandished the still steaming pizza. You closed the door behind you.

“I think I need a divorce.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What happened to ‘hello’? ‘How are you’?” He replied, setting the pizza down. You almost laughed. “What’s going on?”

You sat at the table and he sat across from you. You spoke quickly, giving every detail you thought relevant. He listened quietly, probably comparing it to what Matt had told him about the situation. When you finished, he sighed heavily.

“I thought it’d be enough to just hear him say he didn’t mean it.” You sniffled. At some point during your story, you began crying. “But I can’t stop thinking. Is she friends with his friends? Does he think about her? Is she less controlling? Easy-going? Well-traveled? Well read? God, she makes me so upset!”

“Okay, let’s slow down a little.” Foggy offered.

“She’s beautiful.” You laughed bitterly. “And he loved her. She’s been on the other side of his bed.”

“They haven’t even talked before whatever came up.”

“I know it’s crazy, but I can’t stop thinking that he’s been thinking of her when he’s talking about me.”

He was quiet for a minute, taking it all in. You took the time to eat some of your pizza. So many thoughts were running through your mind.

Did you want the divorce? Did you need the divorce? Would Matt agree or would he drag it out in court? Would you be about to convince Foggy to help with your side or would he remain loyal to his friend? Whose side would Karen take? How long with Elektra wait before stepping in?

The questions were so loud you didn’t even realize Matt had shown up. Your eyes went wide when he sat beside you, then you immediately turned your glare towards Foggy. Your friend put his hands up in surrender and offered a nervous smile. When your stare didn’t lighten, he ducked out of the room.

“Y/N…” Matt began and your heated gaze turned on your husband. “I thought-“

“You know, it’s a real coincidence.” You cut in sharply. “Without her even being here - Well without me knowing she was here - she was back in your life. It was like she just knew. Now her name comes up once, comes up twice, comes up every goddamn minute since I saw her.”

“You know I don’t feel that way about her.” He insisted.

“But she’s in the same damn city every damn night. And wow, what a coincidence that you’ve lost all your common sense now, huh?”

“Seriously?” Matt scoffed and you crossed your arms. “I’m the one that’s lost it?”

“Last week, we were perfectly fine. We were normal. Now, it’s like you’ve been holding space for her in your life, and now she’s right there to fill it.”

“There’s no space! It’s only you!”

“Is it?” You laughed in disbelief. “It’s not someone trying to turn the past into the present tense?”

“No!”

“If she wasn’t here, would you be going after the Yakuza?”

His mouth opened then shut. He clearly thought better of whatever his initial answer was going to be, so he took a moment to decide on a better answer. “Not immediately, I don’t think so.”

“I’m surprised she’s not trying to suck up to ask your friends.”

“Y/N, sweetheart-“

“Don’t sweetheart me, Matthew.” You said sharply, maybe sharper than intended. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t.” He defended.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. You told me the truth, minus seven percent. Which just so happened to be the important seven percent.”

“This isn’t about Elektra.” He shook his head.

“It’s about you, you fucking idiot! She’s the girl you outgrew. That’s what you told me! Isn’t that what you told me?”

He nodded quietly.

“Then what the fuck was that when Stick got you to say her name?” You screamed.

There it was. Your admittance to what truly started it all. When he had said it, your heart sank. It fell into a hole so deep in your chest, you still didn’t feel it beat in your chest. You went through your day as normal as you could, but everything in your body felt numb. You felt hollow and you thought you could blame it on Elektra’s general presence.

But you were wrong. When it came down to it, when it was just you and Matt locked in a room, the truth came out. It wasn’t completely Elektra’s fault.

It was Matt’s.

“What was that, Matt?” You asked quietly, hot anger shifting to betrayal.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I want to say that I was just caught up in the moment.”

“You were defending our marriage two seconds before.” You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie to the woman that loves you. I can do that myself.”

“I never meant for this to happen.”

“That doesn’t change that it did. That doesn’t change that you hurt me, Matthew. Why can’t you admit to that?”

He reached for you, to feel your body whether it be your leg or your arm. Without thinking, you scooted your chair back. He froze immediately and his brows furrowed behind his glasses. You tensed in your seat when you realized.

You had never shied away from Matt’s touch before. You never avoided him.

“So you meant it…” Matt said quietly. You didn’t need his super senses to hear the heartbreak. “You want a divorce.”

“You said you’d pick Elektra.” You confessed quietly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I’ve already picked, Y/N.” He leaned forward in his chair. It was as close as he dared to get to you. “I know what I said. I know that you heard it and I know that it broke your heart. If I could take it back and just think about that goddamn question, I would.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Hell’s Kitchen is nice, but who do you really want by your side?” You pressed. “And when you and Elektra inevitably break up again, would it be a coincidence then too? Would it be worth it?”

“I can’t lose you.” He nearly whispered.

“I’m going to stay at a hotel for a little while.” You decided. “I won’t draw up divorce papers just yet, but I am considering it… Call me when you can actually have this conversation with me.”

“Y/N..”

“No, Matt, just don’t. I love you so much, but I… I can’t just pretend this will go away. I thought when we talked earlier it was enough, and I was able to forget for a little while. But once the kids were gone… Fuck, it hurts. I’m so confused.”

“I’m not.” He looked at you hopefully. “I love you, Y/N. I want you. I would marry you again and again. I choose you, always.”

“Not always… What might be the only time it truly mattered, you chose Elektra. I get the whole notion of having soft spots for first loves, and I know Elektra was different for you. I accepted that when I fell for you. But look at what she’s done, what she’s put you in the middle of.”

“I chose to get involved.”

“Yeah… And it might’ve cost our marriage.” You stood. “Was it worth it?”

“No.”

“Good. Sit with that regret for a little while. When you can stand in front of Stick, with Elektra in full health, and honestly tell him you pick me, you can come find me.”

“I’ll do it right now.” He stood quickly and took a step to block your path to the door. “I care about Elektra, but not the way I need you. Please…”

“What am I supposed to do, Matt, just let it go?”

“No… Please, just give me a chance.”

“I am, but I need to think and so do you.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“And I need you to need me, just me.”

“I do.”

You smiled slightly to yourself, thinking for a brief moment of your wedding. You knew it’d be a lot of rebuilding to get your marriage back to what it was, and it wouldn’t really start until Elektra was gone. You didn’t know her true motives with Matt but you could take a guess. Regardless, he was trying to convince you and you so badly wanted to believe him.

So you took the chance.

“I’ll be at the Presidential for the rest of the week. Figure it out, Matt, or I’ll do it for you.”

You didn’t return to your shared apartment until that Sunday. When you did, Matt was waiting for you. No sign of Elektra’s presence was a relief. No sign of Stick either.

Rather, your favorite flowers were on the coffee table, the newest book from your favorite author and a stuffed animal were beside them.

You stared at them in appreciation.

You didn’t believe everything was back to normal, but Matt was showing you that he was going to try and fix it. He was fighting for your marriage, so you would too.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hello!

If possible could you write a fic with reader and matt in an established relationship and he hears something when he's around them and it starts driving him nuts and then he finally realizes is a tiny heartbeat bc reader is pregnant but doesn't realize it, and he's like overjoyed?

sorry this is my first time requesting lmao

hii!! this is very cute :( very happy to be first to write one of your requests☺️ thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

HEARTBEATS.

matt murdock x fem!reader

word count. 481

Recently, whenever Matt was near, he wore an expression you couldn't quite place, looking as though he was concentrating - like his brain was preoccupied. You knew he often had a lot on his mind, so you waited the questioning - wanting him to come to you when he was ready, though he never did. 

Another week had passed, and he continued to model that same sceptical face around you, still no closer to the route of his confusion.

-

You're lying on the sofa, basking in the early evening sunset, nursing your nausea and awaiting Matt to return home from the store. He told you he'd briefly pop out to pick up some things for dinner - that he'd get something to help with your sickness bug, something to ease the upset in your aching body.

You hear the keys jingle in the door, indicating Matt's return home.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls out, closing the door behind himself. "Sorry about the wait. Was so busy out there," he continues, placing the bags on the counter. He makes his way to you on the couch and takes a seat on his knees in front of you. "How you feeling?" he asks, slipping his hand into yours.

"Gross," you simply reply between a soft breath, closing your eyes. You were starting to feel it again - like the room was spinning. 

His thumb circles over your skin, attempting to ease you. "I'm sorry, angel," he coos, speaking gently. 

Matt props himself higher on his knees, extending to reach himself over your middle. He places a light kiss to your stomach over the fabric of your top and then carefully rests the side of his head in that spot - trying to comfort you. He keeps hold of your hand and laces his fingers between yours, playing with your hand as if to distract you. 

You peek down at Matt on your stomach, watching his brows furrow, seeming like he was focusing - that same darned face again. You extend your spare hand towards his head and nestle your fingers in his hair, soothingly stroking over his scalp. "What is it?" you ask, your confusion mirroring his.

He faintly shakes his head and shushes you softly, a smile growing. 

"Matt?" 

"It's not the flu, honey," he beams at you, lifting his head from your stomach abruptly. "It's not the flu," he repeats, the words almost catching in his throat.

"What do you mean?" you question, following his movements.

"Sweetheart," he coos, drawing out the petname with a gentle nod - like he was trying to prompt you.

"No?" you whisper, speaking in disbelief.

He nods once more, his features softening and melting upon hearing the news. His grip tightens in your hand, and he brings it to his lips, placing another kiss where the last one dried. 

"We're going to have a baby?"

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

some reason when I was writing this it reminded me of when vision said “yes, my love,” to wanda when she got her baby bump🥲 now im sad

[endofthelinegang]

Would Matt Murdock have hard time being around an emotional & sensitive person? Like, when someone raises their voice slightly or be mean to me, I'd be holding back tears.

alrighty let me crack my fingers here, whip out the keyboard, here are some headcanons and a little bonus fic

Matt picks up on every little change in your heartbeat, breathing. There is no hiding your sensitive behavior and feelings. He’ll know the second something is wrong and will gently nudge you to talk about it.

He’s used to dealing with intensity and conflict, but when it comes to you it is personal which makes him a lot softer. If someone raises their voice at you, Matt immediately steps in, positioning himself between you and the other person, voice low and steady. “Hey, that’s enough.” He doesn’t need to get aggressive, he is confident that his presence will do the job.

When he senses you’re on the verge of tears, he’ll make sure that he is properly handling the situation. He will either reach for your hand or if you are in a group, even a small one, he would guide you somewhere quieter. He knows how embarssing it can be to have a crashout moment or a cry in public. He is just the right amount of touch, not too brutish but not so soft it makes your skin tingle.

Matt’s seen the worst of humanity, he in fact has told you that humans are the worst monsters to ever exist. Your kindness and sensitivity? It’s a kind of a relief, I mean to see a human be human in a non-criminal way, happy heart moment. He never gets frustrated if you’re overwhelmed easily. Instead, he’ll talk you through it, using that soothing lawyer voice of his. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

If someone makes you cry, he interalizes it. He won’t lose his mind and go on a killing spree, but there’s a quiet, dangerous edge to him if you allow him to confront the responsible party and or person. He would not go out of his way to do that outside of your permission unless you were physically injured.

If you’re spiraling, he’ll do whatever you need him to do, of course he does not always expect you to be able to tell him. His go to is to take you anywhere that is away from everyone else and firstly try light touch and talking, if that is not sucessful then physical touch with your body as his guide, and if nothing else he will give you space and just sit with you.

He admires your ability to feel so deeply. He’s seen too many people become numb to the world, himself included sometimes. Loving you reminds him that softness isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength.

Matt hears it before you even step through the door—the unsteady rhythm of your breathing, the uneven thump of your heartbeat, the way your shoe pats against the floor like you’re quickly tapping, possibly shaking.

Something happened, something Matt knew he would not like.

He feels you, tracks the way your keys rattle to open the door. Then the door opens, and even though you don’t say a word, he feels the weight settle into the apartment with you, he hears the tiniest sigh escape your lips.

You linger in the doorway, hesitant, like there’s something pressing against your chest, something you can’t quite push down. You knew Matt already knew it was written all over the way he stood with his ear facing the door just listening to every single thing you did. You don’t even take off your coat, don’t put your bag down—just stand there, staring at your shoes.

Matt sets his cane aside as quietly as he can, stepping toward you carefully. “Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet, meant to coax, but you still flinch ever so slightly as you completely spaced out.

“Hey,” you say, and the sound of it makes his stomach twist. It’s thin, a ghost of your usual tone, fragile like brittle glass.

He waits for you to say more, maybe even start to sob or cry, but you don’t. You don’t move, don’t breathe properly, like you’re standing with a gun pointing into your back.

“Talk to me,” he says, stepping closer. “What happened?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.” The words slip out under your breath like they were not even meant to be spoken.

His brows pull together. “It’s not.”

You hesitate, your fingers twisting into the hem of your sleeve, you could feel your face heat up. A type of heat that would travel everywhere in your body that allowed you to move just with trickling pains. Then it all spilled out.

“I went to meet up with some people after work.” You pause, choosing your words carefully, like they might come out wrong if you’re not precise.. “I thought—God, I don’t know. I thought they were my friends.”

Matt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He just listens.

“They weren’t mean exactly,” you continue, you could not stop playing little moments about that interaction through your head, it felt like it would never end. “It was just little things.”

Your breathing shudders, as you allow yourself to use more of your body to take steps, the sound of your shoes were just as loud to you as they were to Matt.

“They kept talking over me. Every time I tried to say something, they’d just—move on, like I wasn’t even there. And when they did acknowledge me, it was just—” You break off, swallowing hard. “Little jokes. Stuff about how I’m too sensitive, how I take things too seriously, how I always ‘look like I’m about to cry.’”

Matt feels a sharp, quiet anger coil in his chest, but he keeps his voice soft when he speaks. “Did you say anything to them?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Yeah. And you know what they did? They laughed. Said I was proving their point.”

Matt closes his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw clenching hard enough that it aches. He knows—God, he knows—that kind of cruelty, the kind that hides behind lightness, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the problem.

You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, your breath hitching. “I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate that I can’tjust brush things off, that stuff like this gets to me so much.” Your voice breaks on the last word, small and aching.

Matt steps in without hesitation, if anyone knew how it felt to not be heard or understood. Though he did not interalize his feelings as deeply as you he knew how damiging to the mind not being understood could be. The closer he got to you the louder your heartbeat seemed to get, your skin looked red and angry especially your hands.

His hands find yours, gently prying them away from your face. His touch is steady, warm, careful. He cradles your face in his hands letting you keep your hands to yourself, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones, tracing the heat lingering beneath your skin, the tremble in your lips. His hands feel cool against your face, a nice soft cool.

“You feel things deeply,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “That’s not a flaw.”

Your throat works, but you don’t speak, something about being able to smell his cologne and slight leathery smell from the couch made you feel okay to breathe.

Matt leans down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady. “They don’t get to decide what’s too much. They don’t get to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling.”

You let out a shaky breath, and your hands come up, gripping his wrists, grounding yourself with him.

“But they made me feel so—” Your breath hitches again, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “So small.”

Matt feels that, too. A loss of a sense is enough to make freshly blind young Matt feel so tiny when he was a child and that is a very hard feeling to forget. To think about the fact that you felt this way so often shook him up. Something in his chest cracks, deep and aching. Because he knows. He knows what it’s like to be dismissed, to be talked over, to have the world act like you’re invisible. He knows how it rots inside you, how it makes you doubt your own voice, your own presence.

He slides his arms around you, pulling you close, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you like you’re something precious, he softens your hair down on your head as he feels you attempt to settle down.

“You are not small,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “Not to me.”

Your body shudders, and then you break, your arms wrapping around him as you bury yourself in his comforting presence. He feels the damp heat of your tears against his collar, the way your shoulders shake as you let go, letting him hold you, letting yourself be seen.

Matt presses a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his hands tracing slow circles against your back.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, when you grip him tighter, when you press yourself closer like you believe him—Matt knows you do.

[amberlynnmurdock]

Neighbor

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're Matt Murdock's neighbor, and one night he hears you pray.

Words: Under 1k

A/N: I just be posting anything now lol wrote this in my notes app hope you like it!!!

The building was quiet most of the time, but unfortunately for Matt Murdock, that wasn't the case, ever. Most people couldn't hear apartments three doors down and the conversations that went on in them. But Matt could. And he could never avoid them.

He distracted himself from the outside noise with menial chores–cleaning whatever dishes were left in the sink, reorganizing glasses in the cabinet, and practicing his fighting. But when dusting and cleaning wasn't enough, when even the music he played couldn't drown out the noise, he tended to listen to a particular apartment: hers.

She lived alone. Right across the hall, diagonal from his own door. Of all the apartments he was forced to listen to day in and day out, hers was the most peaceful. The quietest. She didn't have loud conversations with anyone, she didn't have a dog who would bark in the middle of the night. Instead, she had a teapot on the stove that would whistle when ready; she spent most nights quietly flipping through pages of a book. She got up to that annoying phone alarm and trotted to the bathroom to get ready for work. Matt's not sure what she does, but sometimes he hears her come home late when he's about to get ready to patrol the streets as Daredevil.

Matt realized going over this in his head was a little more than creepy and trod the thin line of being a stalker, but his heightened senses and what they picked up on were unavoidable. The times he couldn't focus on anything else or tune out the other noises in the apartment he focused on hers because it was the most calming to his senses.

He's only run into her a handful of times on the rare occasion they both leave for work in the morning. One time, they both exited their apartments at the same time. She quietly waved good morning until she realized she waved at a blind man and then uttered a more audible "good morning." Most people would ignore the realization and awkwardly go about their day, but not her. She always made sure to say good morning from then on. Matt liked that–no, liked you.

Matt found himself eager to get home after work more often than not, in hopes of coming home at the same time as her. Anything to get a small interaction would be enough for him. Even if it was as small as her holding the door for him or wishing him a good night. He looked forward to these small interactions so much that if they didn't happen, Matt would have a much less than good day.

One night, though, when he was just about to let himself fall asleep after a rather rough night patrolling Hell's Kitchen, he heard her. He heard her in a way he hadn't before. From the hiccups, to the shaky breaths, and the lingering taste of salt in the air, he knew she was crying.

Matt shot up in bed as he began to listen more intently–what happened?

"Please, God," he heard her whispered prayer, "Please make sure I make it home safe and unharmed from work. Please. There's so much violence in this city and I'm scared to walk alone at night."

Matt took a shaky breath, gripping his silk sheets in his hands. She was scared, he confirmed. Well, rest assured, he thought. Tomorrow night, he would make sure she arrived home safely from work himself.

TO BE CONTINUED??? IDK.

[cricket-reader]

What the Night Took

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: A year after Foggy’s death, Matt is trying to distance himself from Daredevil, afraid of losing anyone else. One night, he comes home bloody and bruised to you, questioning if he had made the right decision as you patch him up with tears staining your cheeks.

warnings: mugging, wound caretaking, spoilers for DDBA, injury

word count: 2,429

A/N: prompt fill for day 8 for @juneofdoom | Mugged | Concussion

{Read on A03}

Matt’s ribs ached with every breath as he stumbled up the steps to his apartment. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with his keys, sticky with half-dried blood. His head pounded, the sharp sting of a cut above his brow sending slow trickles of warmth down his face.

He could have fought back—should have fought back.

But Daredevil was dead.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Daredevil died along with Foggy Nelson. Daredevil died the day he failed to protect that which he held dear. Daredevil died, overcome with guilt for the precious life which had been taken from this earth far too soon.

He could hear the muggers before they got to him, of course, he could. Too sloppy to be professionals, but too desperate to be harmless. They wanted money that he didn’t carry, and for that, he paid in blood and bruises.

It was safer that way. If he didn’t fight back, if he never gave them reason to suspect he was nothing more than a blind man who happened to wander down the wrong street at the wrong time, he could protect the fragile, normal life he was trying to build.

He could protect you.

As he slid the key into the lock, he heard steady breathing coming from inside his apartment—he blamed the beginnings of a mild concussion for almost missing it. Heart dropping to his stomach, he suddenly regretted giving you a key with the invitation to come over whenever you wanted. There was going to be no escape from your scrutiny, your care. He didn’t deserve it, but he knew you’d be too worried to leave him alone to patch himself up if he’d asked.

He braced himself the best he could as the lock clicked, as the door creaked open and shut behind him. The moment the door shut, he heard your sharp intake of air, the hurried footsteps approaching from the kitchen where you had been getting out some tea.

“Matt! What took you so long? I thought you were going to come home earlie-” Your voice came to an abrupt stop as you, no doubt, took in his battered state.

His heart clenched in his throat as you let out a wounded sound in the back of your throat. You were in front of him in an instant, gentle hands on his arms, fingers brushing over fabric darkened with blood. He wanted to tell you that he was fine. That it probably looked worse than it was. That you didn’t need to worry.

But the words never came.

Because your hands reached up to cup his face, your fingers ghosting over the swollen bruise blooming across his cheekbone.

Because he could taste the tears building up in your eyes—could hear your stuttering breaths as you tried your best not to cry.

Because then your voice broke as you asked, “What happened to you?”

A brick lodged in his throat, words escaped him as your finger brushed against his face again—so gentle, so full of care. Your hands were warm, grounding him even as his body ached under the weight of every bruise, every hit he had allowed them to land.

He could hear your heart pounding—fast, anxious, scared.

He did that.

Matt swallowed hard, lips parting to answer your question, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t want you to know what had happened to him. Shame coiled in his chest, burning hot as the flames of hell. He couldn’t avoid it, though. His usual “I tripped” or “I ran into a pole” excuses would never hold up under your scrutiny.

“I… got mugged,” he finally said, face heating up in the tell-tale sign of a blush.

“Oh, Matt,” you lamented, sniffling back tears. “I’m so sorry, I wish I could’ve been there, oh god, I could’ve walked you home or-”

He interrupted you by saying your name. “Don’t… you couldn’t have known. You can’t blame yourself.”

“We should get you to the clinic or something—make sure that they didn’t-”

“No, I’m fine,” Matt interrupted you again. He hated hospitals with a burning passion—not to mention he’s had worse. What those muggers did to him could never hold a candle to those he had gone up against in his past life as the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He could practically sense the disbelief radiating from your body; however, he clearly wanted to press the issue. “Honestly! I just need to patch myself up, and I’ll be good to go. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Where are you going?” You stubbornly followed him as he stumbled to the bathroom.

“To get the first aid kit. Why don’t you make some tea? I’ll be out when I finish-”

“Matthew Murdock,” you stopped him in his tracks with a hand to his bicep. “Do you actually think I’m going to let you off that easy? Let me help you, okay? Sit on the couch, and I’ll grab the kit. It’s in the closet with the towels, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded in assent, voice choked off. He retreated to the couch, thoroughly ashamed. He never wanted you to see him at his lowest. For that, he was glad that Daredevil had died long before Kirsten had dragged you into his life. He was glad that you would never come home to find him beaten bloody in his suit, never have to worry if, each time he left the apartment, that would be the last you saw of him. Now, even without Daredevil meddling in his life, he had done the very thing he promised himself not to do—he worried you—came home bloody and beaten for you to pick up the broken pieces. That part of his life was supposed to be over. It wasn’t supposed to touch you. Maybe he should’ve fought back—if only so that you wouldn’t have to see him so utterly defeated, but no—

He couldn’t let history repeat itself. Matthew Murdock could not be both the lawyer and the vigilante. He could not endanger those he cared about—not again.

You came back with a kit and a damp towel; remnants of the tears he heard you shed in the bathroom remained heavy on your skin. He wished he could make it go away, wished he had never made you cry in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he said as you gently dabbed at the blood on his face, feeling like such a burden.

A strangled sound escaped from your mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for, Matt.”

When you were finished with his face, your hands rubbing in the bruise cream with a sort of gentle care that he never took the time to use himself, you said, “I need to check under your shirt.”

“I’m fine,” he automatically said, pleading to God that you wouldn’t press him on the matter.

A muscle twitched in your jaw. “You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

Which… okay… He couldn’t really argue with that. Well, he could… You just would never relent in your pursuit to help him.

“Please, Matt, just let me help you,” you pleaded, voice so saccharine and sad that he had no choice but to listen to you. He sighed, something unbearably heavy in that single breath. After a moment’s pause, he reached for the buttons holding the white fabric of his shirt together to undo them. His hands were shaking, knowing that the sight underneath was blemished, knowing that it would bring questions and possibly disgust. He held his breath as he slid the material off his shoulders.

And you—

You forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t just the bruises. It wasn’t just the angry, red knife wounds.

It was everything else.

Scars. So many of them. They crisscrossed over his skin in jagged lines, some thin and faded, others so deep they’d never fade. His chest, abdomen, shoulders, arms—there was barely a place untouched.

Your fingers trembled as you reached up, abandoning the movement as quickly as you started. “Matt…” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. He’d never heard you sound so pained, so anguished.

“Who–” you swallowed, trying to find your voice. “Who… did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt easily brushed off, hoping that you’d just let it go. It couldn’t look that bad, could it? He had run his fingers over his torso multiple times, felt the raised bumps that were left as mementoes from his Daredevil days, but he didn’t think they’d be that bad.

“It doesn’t–” your voice was near hysterical, “It doesn’t matter? What… How could…” You shook your head, tears coming back full force. “Of course, it matters,” you finished, voice firm despite the heartbreak clear in your tone.

You allowed yourself, then, to reach out. Hesitant fingers barely grazing an old scar along his ribs. He didn’t flinch, but you felt the way he forced himself not to react. You wanted to gun down every last person who had hurt your loving, sweet boyfriend—wanted to make them suffer as much as they had made him suffer. So many questions rampaged through your brain, kicking up a giant dust storm of confusion and concern.

You allowed your gaze to settle back on his face. There was something distant in his expression. “What happened? Who did this?” You bulldozed right over him as he opened his mouth. “And don’t tell me that it doesn’t matter or that it’s not a big deal. Because whoever hurt you… They deserve… they should be rotting in hell—they should be… they should-” What had started as a strong argument had quickly devolved into sobs. How could people be so cruel? Matthew was the sweetest, purest, most wonderful man you had ever met. He was kind and patient and never ever pushed you. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. The perfect man. Who could, in their right conscious mind, hurt someone as kind as him? As vulnerable as him?

You startled slightly as his strong, warm arms enveloped you. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” you said in protest, voice trembling over your poorly concealed sobs.

Matthew frowned as he held you closer. “I’m used to it by now,” he said, hoping to assuage your sorrow.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” you muttered.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, “I just don’t want you to worry. I’m fine, really. This is nothing.”

“I hate that you can say that.” You pulled out of his embrace. “Who did this to you? Please tell me they’re either in jail or six feet under.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he murmured. He could tell you wanted to keep pushing, could tell you had a million questions swarming in your head, but you knew to let it go—at least, for now.

“Okay,” you sighed, clearly not satisfied with his answer. Whoever hurt your boyfriend must still be out there—they could be walking free, no one any the wiser that they were capable of such evil. “Sit down, let me take care of the cuts.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again. “I really could’ve done all this myself.”

“Nonsense. You deserve to be taken care of, Matthew. One of these days, I’m going to make you believe that.”

You finished patching him up in no time at all, your hands careful as they smoothed the last bandage over his bicep. Your fingers hesitated over the older scars, each raised line an untold story of pain and misery. You swallowed hard. Someone had hurt him before. Hurt him really bad. Someone made him believe that his scars meant nothing—that they didn’t matter. Your heart ached for him, fire burned in your chest, hatred swirled violently through your body.

You wanted to ask.

You wanted to press him about the scars—demand to know why there are so many—why they look like the work of malice and hatred instead of accidents. You wanted to ask who hurt him and why.

But you didn’t.

Matt was already guarded enough, his expression carefully blank despite the pain he must’ve been in. He wasn’t ready, and you’d be damned if you didn’t respect that. The last thing you wanted was for him to push you away when he clearly needed you. You wanted to be a safe space for him, wanted him to feel comfortable coming to you when he needed someone, for him to associate you with solace and safety.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk,” you murmured, hands ghosting over a scar on his chest. “I don’t care how long it takes—if you’re never ready to talk about it, that’s okay. I just want you to feel safe with me.”

Matt’s throat bobbed, tears lining his eyes at the sincerity he found in your words—he didn’t even need to listen to your heartbeat to know that you were telling the truth. “I do,” he said, voice choked with emotion. “I do feel safe with you.”

That was a part of the problem. He felt like he could tell you anything—like there was nothing holding him back from sharing all the dark pieces of himself that he’d tried so hard to push down. Like one carefully crafted sentence could send his walls toppling down. It scared him how much he wanted to confide in you—how much he trusted you.

“I want to tell you,” he said, because he did, he really did. “I just…”

He paused, licking his lips as he thought of what to say. Was he really going to lay it all bare for you right now?

“It’s okay,” you spared him from having to further explain. “Don’t tell me right now. You’ve been through a lot and need some rest. Do you want me to read to you?”

Words couldn’t describe how grateful he was to have you in his life. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you go lie in bed? I should pack up my stuff quick, so I don’t make too much noise when I leave,” you said, giving him a peck on the cheek for good measure.

As you turned to leave, he grabbed your arm. “Stay?”

“Of course,” you said, heart melting at the vulnerability he was allowing you to see. Little by little, Matthew Murdock was tearing down his walls for you, and you were going to be there for him every step of the way.

Taglist: @harleycao @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

[spider-stark]

DAUGHTER OF THE KING

pairing | matt murdock x fisk!reader

summary | the devil should've known better than to trust the daughter of the king

warnings | reader is wilson fisk's daughter, angst, definitely some father/daughter trauma in there somewhere, matt being a smartass, betrayal, adult themes, warped religion, lightly edited no beta we die like foggy in ddba, MDNI 18+

word count | 2.3k

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

You found the Devil on his knees.  

Darkness surrounded him. Bled down the walls from stained glass; crawled out from beneath aged pews. Like all wicked things, it seemed to live and breathe and ache—for him, for him, always for him. 

But then there was light. 

Beautiful holy light emanated from the votive candles spread across the altar, their wicks crackling to the sound of prayers gone unanswered. Same as the darkness, the light seemed to live and breathe and dance—moving around his body like a fiery waltz, protecting him from all things wicked. 

It was easy in moments like this. To want to believe. 

Not in God, of course, nor any so-called truth to be found in wafer-thin pages. No, it was never easy to believe in Him—but in him? You saw it sometimes. Glimpsed divinity in the rounded curve of the Devil’s shoulders, crimson leather straining over muscled arms bent at the elbows, his fingers laced in silent conversation. 

Worship. That was the word for it, wasn’t it? When you believed in something more than anything. When your bones itched to be carved into an altar just for them, just to have something to point to and say: Look! Look what I did! Look at how I’ll tear myself apart for you! 

But not every follower is devout. Not every acolyte knows how to wield a chisel and a gouge. 

And not every sinner wants for absolution. 

Standing in the arched entryway of Clinton Church, you allowed yourself a moment to watch him. To admire. Memorize. 

Then you glanced up towards the rafters, sucking a steadying breath deep into your lungs. Imagined there were ribbons sewn into your flesh like the strings of a prized marionette: lifting your chin, straightening your spine. 

Confidence, your father rasped in the back of your mind, is a construct. 

Instinctually, you replied: A performance. 

To win the game was to be someone else. 

The church echoed with the hollow c l i c k of stiletto boots as you strode down the aisle. 

“Are you praying for me, D?”  

The Devil didn’t look up, didn’t so much as flinch. Why would he? He already knew you were here. You’d been banking on it, actually—his habit of listening to your heartbeat for miles and miles, amused by how it stuttered and skipped whenever you got closer to where you were supposed to meet him that night. 

But there was nothing “amused” about the Devil now. Nothing warm in the laugh he coughed out; a sound once so sweet now turned to citrus fruit rotting on your tongue. 

“Someone has to.” 

Your lips pursed in thoughtful consideration, fingertips trailing over the dusty pews as you passed. 

Maybe he was right. 

Despite everything, you were glad it was him. That if God was to finally learn your name, it would be from the mouth of one who spoke it as if there were petals on his tongue rather than thorns between his teeth. 

Brushing the dust from your hands, you came to a stop some distance behind him. “What do you want?” 

When you got the message to meet him here, you had been surprised to say the least. You hadn’t expected to hear from him. Much less for him to want—no, to be willing—to see you. 

Not today. 

Not tomorrow. 

Not ever again. 

The Devil loosed a breath as he lifted his head, rolling his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” 

Neither were you. Not at first, anyway. 

“That’s not an answer,” you said. 

“Kneel with me,” he replied softly. 

You almost scoffed. Was he serious? 

Six months, two weeks, five days. That was how long you’d worked with the Devil. The amount of time spent learning the ins and outs of each other’s souls, trading hopes and fears like sacred secrets. 

Most of what you’d shown him had been fake. A persona crafted to achieve an aim. But some of it had been genuine. Tattered bits of you that somehow slipped through the cracks. 

“You know I don’t do all that religious bullshit.” 

“You don’t have to pray to spend time on your knees,” he rebutted. Then, with a ghost of a smile, “I figured you of all people would know that.” 

It took a minute for his words to sink in. 

When they did, you had to suck your teeth to suppress a grin. 

“Are you slutshaming me, D?” 

“Me? Oh, God no,” he said. “I’m just stating facts.” 

You hummed. “Facts can be fickle.” 

“And the truth?” 

“Subjective.” 

“Personal experience?” 

“Pliable.” 

Another laugh, except this one had a hint of sugar in it. “I’m not sure the claw marks on my back are what I’d consider pliable.” 

Heat swirled in your belly, bloomed over your cheeks. 

Twenty-two days. That was how long it’d been since you last shared the Devil’s bed. And while you were sure you’d left considerable marks—namely because the Devil was a masochist who went harder, faster, deeper at the mere thought of pain—you were also sure they had already healed and faded. 

“Everything can be bent,” you managed, forcing another steadying breath. “Reality is malleable, D.” 

“Spoken like a true con artist,” he said. 

“Spoken like a realist,” you corrected. 

The human mind was weak. Susceptible. 

What if you told him all those nights spent in silk sheets hadn’t been a product of lust or l-ve? That you hadn’t enjoyed yourself, hadn’t wanted him to touch you? He would start to view them differently. Would comb through memories for signs and clues until eventually they reflected the very narrative you wove.

Which was precisely why you kept that example to yourself. Hadn’t you done enough damage to the Devil’s memories? Was it so wrong to hope that, in even one, you might remain something he didn’t regret? 

You sighed. “Cut to the chase, Devil boy. You might be a creature of the night, but some of us actually enjoy our eight hours of sleep.” 

Again, he urged you to kneel by gesturing to the empty spot beside him. “Humor me,” he said. Before you could say no—and you would’ve said no—he added, “Just one last time.” 

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. 

Your body moved towards the altar like an actor through a familiar scene, so acquainted with their mark that they could find it eyes-closed, hands tied behind their back. 

On the ground next to him—close enough to feel the warmth of him, to smell leather and cologne, but not to have your shoulders brush—you smoothed your overcoat and kept your eyes pinned straight ahead. High on the wall behind the altar, the Son of God hung crucified. His sad eyes gazed Heavenward, but you still felt you were being watched. 

You resisted the urge to look towards the rafters. 

“There. Happy?” 

Out of your peripheral, the Devil tilted his head. “Are you?” 

You laughed. “What is this? Therapy?” 

“Do they have therapists for daddy issues?” he asks. 

“You tell me,” you shot back. 

“My dad was a good man,” he said stiffly. 

The corners of your mouth took on a bitter curve. “Mine’s not.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled between you. In it, you dared a sidelong glance at him, watching his gloved fingers twitch at his side before curling into a restrained fist. 

Twenty-two days ago, he would’ve reached for your hand. 

You hadn’t expected to miss something so simple. Not this much. Not at all. 

The Devil cleared his throat. “Speaking of your father,” he said, the fourth word drowning in vitriol. “He’s in prison.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“The U.S. Attorney charged him with twelve RICO counts—” 

You spoke over him. “Should you be talking all scales of justice when you’re still in your hero get-up?” 

“—each count is twenty years—” 

“I’m leaning no.” 

“—that’s life,” he said, sharp enough to make you shut up. “No parole, no exceptions. Life—in Ryker’s Island, no less.” 

Were you supposed to feel something? Guilt, worry? Maybe. 

Instead, you checked your nails and said, “Yikes.” 

In all fairness, Yikes was as good a word as any to describe Ryker’s. Considered a fate worse than death, the island penitentiary was most widely known as “Hell on Earth.” More prison guards died each year than inmates—an uncommon statistic, to say the least. 

You were sure dear old dad was fitting in just fine. 

The Devil let out a frustrated sigh. “Is that how we’re gonna play this?” Even without looking at him—unable to make yourself look at him—you knew his attention was fixed on you. Could feel it, sightless eyes burning into your cheek. “You’re gonna sit there and act like—” 

“Shouldn’t we be celebrating?” Your tone was cold, clipped. “Isn’t that what you wanted? What we wanted?” 

Hesitant, the Devil shamefully admitted, “I thought you needed to be saved.” 

“I did,” you told him. Just not in the way you thought. 

Six months, two weeks, five days. That was how long you worked with the Devil. Since you took the first step in turning yourself from a pawn to a queen. 

Selling your father’s secrets had been easy. Earning the respect of his closest men, manipulating or securing blackmail on the rest… Achievable. 

But convincing the Devil to trust you? To believe you were the innocent daughter of a corrupt monster? 

That had been the hard part. 

Not because he didn’t. 

But because he did. 

“You should be proud of yourself.” You sniffed. “The hero won, the big bad got locked away. End scene, roll credits.” Pretend not to see what happened next. 

“But it’s not over,” the Devil mused, haunted and resentfully amused. “Fisk might be in jail, but his kingdom lives on. It’s just someone else on the throne.” 

Burning burning burning, through flesh muscle blood. 

What wouldn’t you give, you wanted to scream, for the keys to a kingdom? 

This world was evanescent. Facts were fickle and the truth subjective, the mind susceptible and the heart unstable. So few things lasted, and what you felt for the Devil—Matt—was no exception. It was poison. A slow death over weeks, months, years. 

Because everyone turned eventually. 

Even a daughter. 

But power? Power was forever. 

So power was what you took. 

The burning stopped when the Devil looked away, back to the candlelit altar, to the crucifix high behind it. You knew he couldn’t see the Son. Not really. But a lack of sight didn’t make the act any less reverent. 

“Was any of it real?” he asked, almost whispering. 

Answers ran through your head like lines in a script. Some bold, some blasé, others defensive or angry or cruel. 

But in the end, the truth was all that remained. Your very own version of it, moth-eaten and shattered, a fragment of your soul never to be spoken aloud. 

Yes. 

More than I would’ve liked. 

“You didn’t have a reason for asking me here,” you said instead. “Did you?” 

He shook his head No. “Just a hope,” he admitted. 

“Hope is a Catholic’s biggest vice.” 

“And what’s yours?” he shot back, another question you’d never answer. 

For a moment, you watched the candle flames dance. Considered the dying Son of God and thought to ask: Did it hurt? Not to have nails driven into your flesh, but what came after. To know the cost of survival was becoming what led you to death? 

“I could end this,” the Devil said so suddenly that, for the first time, you turned to fully face him. “Take you to the Feds. Let you rot next to your father.” 

Your stomach twisted, but then imaginary ribbons snapped tight against your flesh, reminding you to paint an oily smile on your face. 

“You could.” You held his red-eyed stare. “But you won’t.” 

His jaw ticked. “What makes you so sure?” 

With a flippant sigh, you rose to your feet and smoothed the wrinkles from your overcoat. “Few things distract you, D. I’m proud to be one of them.” 

His cheeks scrunched, brow furrowing beneath his cowl. 

Even though he couldn’t see you, you pointed up at the rafters as you said, “Listen.” 

You saw it on his face the moment he noticed the other heartbeat in the room. Watched the range of emotions that washed over his features, bleeding like watercolors until you couldn’t tell rage from hurt from self-contempt. 

“Poindexter,” he finally uttered, harsh and disbelieving. Then he laughed, an antagonizing sound that got caught on the thorns between his teeth. “How’d you pull that one off?” he asked. “I thought he was your father’s pet.” 

“You wouldn’t believe what a girl can accomplish on her knees.” 

Dex needed someone to orbit. 

You needed someone to control. 

Even without an altar, it was a match made in Heaven. 

“I didn’t realize you trusted me so little.” His brusqueness couldn’t mask the bit of hurt that slipped through. “But if you think I’m afraid of him, afraid of death, then—” 

“Cute,” you said. “You actually think it’s you I’ve told Dex shoot.” 

Time stopped. The Devil froze. 

Your smile grew. Not because of ribbons or performance, but simply because you liked it. Power, control. 

Winning. 

“Step one foot out of line,” you warned sweetly, “and it won’t be a cell you put me in, D—it’ll be a grave.” 

This was a gamble. A dangerous one, at that. One that even Dex was thoroughly against, though you had no doubt he’d follow through with his task. 

But you knew the Devil. 

And he knew you enough to know you weren’t bluffing. 

So, he didn’t respond. Didn’t do anything other than turn back towards the altar, the cross, the forsaken Son. 

And you turned your back on him. 

“For what it’s worth,” you uttered, unsure of the words even as they left your mouth, “I never enjoyed lying to you.” 

Then you left.

a/n | would you believe me if i told you this idea started as me wanting to write smut in a church with matt wearing the daredevil suit? no? fair.

like always i’ve got about a million things i wanna ramble about with this piece, but i’ll keep it short and say: i'm never writing for matt murdock ever again cause he gave me a headache <3

thank you for reading and as always, comments & reblogs are super appreciated :)

[madschiavelique]

˖𓍯. 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐬. ★. ₊ ⭑

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x audhd!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : your family is an ordeal to endure, full of disparaging remarks that make for a horrible evening. fortunately, Matt and Frank come to keep you company during the family diner and take you home to look after you.

⟢﹒ content warnings : hurt/comfort, extremely self-indulgent, reader's family are degrading, audhd reader close to breaking down, reader having sensory issues, reader getting overstimulated, the guys in this are so lovable and sweet boyfriends, afab!reader, no use of Y/N

⟢﹒ word count : 9,3k

⟢﹒ note : had quite a shitty christmas ngl, so i thought writing this piece of comfort would be helpful ! if you only want to read the comfort part, i'll place a separation by using a black divider between the hurt and comfort part. a huge thank you to my bestie @sunflowersandsapphires who proofread this <3. have a good read lovelies!

You passed a q-tip close to your eyes in the hope of correcting the curve of your make-up, trying with that scatterbrained perfectionism that accompanied you in even the most minute tasks to ensure that everything was symmetrical.

Nothing too extravagant, just something elegant, neutral, but that would do. The standard was just to look presentable, from the face to the rest of the body. Jeans, an oversized hoodie, nothing special.

This lack of personal distinction was undoubtedly due to the rejection of perception, the insistent stares, the embarrassing compliments that could suddenly put you in the spotlight tonight, an idea that made you feel profoundly uneasy.

You stepped back a little, checking to see if the much-desired symmetry had been achieved, and no sooner had you put down your utensil than you were asked to do the little cousins' make-up.

Tonight was an annual family reunion: Christmas, where aunts, uncles, grandparents and grandchildren got together over foie gras, salmon and dubious discussions. Where guests who have just left are criticised, where disparaging remarks are exchanged, and where the meal always ends up drifting into politics with more or less heated debates at the table.

You anticipated the evening, an anxious knot already forming in your stomach. You had a particular link with your family, of which the affection was strangely displayed if at all in a way you despised entirely. Every year was a different pain, a different bitter taste that lingered in your thoughts like poison, and you were not delighted to participate in this celebration when you would’ve preferred staying home.

Only one thing held you in place and convinced you that the night wouldn't be a constant and unrelenting hell: Matt and Frank were coming over.

This winter, it was the first time you would’ve been accompanied by them, and by anyone in fact. Knowing the rather strong opinions of your family, the simple idea of saying that you shared your life with two men in a more than platonic way had been dismissed a long time ago. A trouple? If that fell in the ears of one of your family members, you could be sure that you'd become the next freak of the night.

So you talked it over with the boys and came up with a plan to make sure you could bring them both along and not make a big deal of it: one of them would pretend to be your boyfriend, while the other would just be your friend that had nothing better to do for the celebration.

The choice of boyfriend fell on Frank, and friend on Matt.

He had asked why, and you had explained that it was obviously in no way because of favouritism or anything of the sort, but rather the simple fact that he would get more compliments behind his back if he wasn't with you than if he was. 

He'd frowned, but you'd had to explain to them how your family was sometimes built on clusters of shrill gossip, talking behind others' backs and later making remarks to their faces in tones of passive aggressiveness and wicked irony.

You also had to educate them, that no matter what was said about you tonight, not to react. They'd probably be itching to, it would be like a thread sticking out, but they were forbidden to pull on it.

You looked at the clock, seven past. You'd texted Frank to ask where they were and when they'd arrive. Eight thirty had been their reply, and you took a deep breath. An hour and a half to go.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, assuring yourself everything was alright and that you were presentable enough. You can do it, you kept telling yourself, this night knows an end.

The first complications arose sooner than you thought. 

First of all, you'd managed to find a decent seat in an armchair and not on a sofa. However, this seat was very close to the fireplace, where a blazing fire licked the brown logs with appetite. Very close, too close, close enough that it felt suffocating. 

You moved your chair back slightly as best you could, trying not to disturb the conversation that was already well underway.

You tried to take a few snacks, perhaps some cashews, crackers or cherry tomatoes might ease your boredom and distract you from the growing heat.

You pulled out your phone, hoping that Frank and Matt would get here sooner, and would've sent a message to that effect. Or perhaps was there a notification from any of your friends, a reel, a meme, anything-

"Put your phone away, we're with the family."

You looked up, your mother watching you and taking her glass in hand with a look of dissatisfaction. In a single instant, your cheeks heat up all the more as the fire in the fireplace presses against your skin, and you gulped.

"I just wanted to check if I had any news about Matt and Frank's drive," you explained simply, gently stuffing the phone into your pocket.

"They'll arrive when they arrive, but for now, be with us."

You nodded, discreetly biting your cheek as one of your only escapes for tonight went up in smoke. You would have much preferred to be able to escape a little and block out what was going on around you, even sorting out your gallery and deleting useless pictures would have been a more pleasant and less stressful activity.

But you couldn't, and you said nothing when it was your mother's turn to pick up her own phone and connect to the speaker to play her Christmas playlist. 

The children played together, which should’ve been a joy, but their overexcited screams, incessant movements and all that noise were enough to make you feel the headache setting in.

There were easily three different conversations going on around you, and your mother turned up the music in response. You waved, putting your hand in front of you as if you were lazily dribbling an invisible ball to indicate her to lower the volume, and she turned the music down a notch.

You clenched your jaw, thinking to yourself that this was a good start, even if everything else was getting harder to hold on to.

Choosing to wear a hoodie became almost a regret as the ambient heat from the fireplace worked its way up your spine to the nape of your neck, creating an unpleasant feeling. Soon enough, you had to take it all off as the first signs of nausea began to make themselves felt.

You weren't particularly comfortable with the idea, but everyone's attention was obviously diverted enough to take no notice of your actions. Except perhaps for one.

"You could have made an effort on your outfit, it's not very festive." Your mother sighed before taking a sip from her glass of champagne. "Hadn't you lost weight? It would be a shame to spoil the occasion."

You swallowed, the ground looking awfully interesting at this very moment. You knew what would have been said to you if you'd worn something more in the spirit of it, "You've got a nice body, you should wear that more often," and other remarks falling into the famous "you should insert-disobliging-action more often" category.

You should wear that more often. You should smile more often. You should come more often. But none of these requests were of the taste to be fulfilled by you tonight.

So you simply shrugged, having nothing in particular to say, and feeling your heart clench. You were stuck in this contradictory place where if you made one move slightly changing from your usual self to them, you were reprimanded on it, but if you didn’t do anything in particular, they highlighted the fact that it was disappointing you hadn’t done anything.

"Well, we're delighted to have you with us tonight!" chuckled an uncle, raising his glass to you.

"It sure makes a change from knowing she's in her cave," chuckles an aunt.

You smile, but there's no warmth behind the gesture. By cave, they mean your bedroom. Your habit of isolating yourself had brought you a certain reputation within your family, and for years now it has been a recurring joke. They laughed about it every time, but you saw it more as a broken record replaying the same snippet of music... speaking of which, your mother turned up the sound again, thinking you wouldn't notice.

"Could you turn it down please? It's really loud." you ask politely, in the most calm, composed and polite tone you could produce at the moment.

"Oh come on," your mother grumbles, rolling her eyes, "we're allowed to have fun."

She turned up the volume once more, and finally someone other than you told her it was too loud. Reluctantly, she lowered the sound slightly, but it was still not enough for you. Your hands lodge over your ears, hoping with all your heart that this would ease the strain on your eardrums.

Conversations sought to drown out the music, each member pushing their voice for any discussion. Kids were still running around, chasing one another by screaming at each other, and adjusting your eyes on anything without the certainty of getting a headache felt like mission impossible. 

Your hands on your ears helped slightly, and it was only then that your mother looked at you with a surprised expression.

"Does it really hurt?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes," you nodded, "it really does."

Finally, she turned it down, and you exhaled as the others resumed a more appropriate though still higher volume of discussion than you'd prefer. The kids had been changed of room, making it more bearable for you to live through. 

"So, what have you been up to lately?" asks one of your grandparents, "how's work?"

Your cheeks heat up, the discussion now turned towards you, prompting you to take your glass in hand just to have something to quench your throat suddenly arid as the sahara.

"Very well, business is good." you smiled falsely, forcing your face to display the features they might normally expect to see.

"Great, and those two guests coming tonight, do you know them from work?"

How could you say that the circumstances in which you had met these two men were in a situation that included Frank and Matt falling into your flat, bloodied, and asking you for help? 

Karen, who you’d known through college, had advised them of your address, and when the first opportunity came up, they had taken the chance to make the most exceptional introduction you'd ever had in your life : stumbling at your place with cuts all around

"In a way, yes," you replied, pressing your lips into a thin line.

"One of them's her boyfriend, and the other's a lawyer," your mother informed the others, who seemed delighted by your seemingly noble company.

It's a good thing the flames in the fireplace were dying down and that it wasn't so hot anymore, because both your cheeks felt like you were resting the back of your hand on hot embers. It was a never-ending embarrassment to have such behaviour around you, saying aloud everything regarding you without you consenting to any information to be given. Wherever ridiculous actions or the slightest subject that was even a little new and out of their boredom-inducing daily lives occurred, they swarmed.

Nevertheless, the conversation drifted away to your delight, and at the mention of your loves, you couldn't stop thinking about them. You would have liked to check the time, to see if they had any problems on the way that might have delayed them, but you knew that such conduct was likely to earn you an additional remark about the use of your telephone. After all, she could find openings as easily as water in a colander.

Just then, a dance song began to play which, objectively, had nothing to do with the Christmas spirit. So everyone stood up, moving the chairs to get more room, and you helped in this cacophony of moved furniture. 

You stood to one side as everyone got to the centre of the room, their dance steps resembling a veritable collective epileptic seizure of which you had no desire to become another member.

You took the opportunity to take refuge in the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and sitting down on the toilet to take a deep breath. The after-effects of all these mixed sensations were beginning to make themselves known.

Your body was as taut as a bowstring, as if every muscle had contracted from a high fall, and it felt as if releasing all the tension would break you in thousands of small pieces. Your heart wasn't beating particularly fast, but it was beating hard, and you couldn't ignore it.

You took a deep breath, letting your head fall back as you closed your eyes. Your throat and chest were tight, so tight that you felt like crying right now. But you couldn't, it would be too noticeable once you got out of here, and you didn't want to give them the pleasure of having an extra subject to talk about at the end of the evening once you'd gone. It would do them too much honour, and you couldn't afford to give them any.

You were so tired, you couldn't take it any more, the fatigue coursing through your body like you'd run a marathon of shame. You breathed in again, feeling your previously tight chest slowly relax as your body was jolting a bit from the unease.

This wouldn't last forever. By the end of the evening, after dessert, you wouldn't be in this house surrounded by all these people, all these eyes, all these mouths, all this noise.

That's when your phone buzzed, and without missing a beat, you pulled it out of your pocket. On the screen was a single message from Frank that gave you tremendous reassurance:

We're here.

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. One last breath for courage and you stood up, opening the door of the bathroom. Without anyone noticing, you grabbed your hoodie and stepped outside into the cool of the night.

The sudden chill brought you unparalleled comfort, biting your cheeks hot with frustration and embarrassment. Perhaps the night would heal you, that its cool caress would apply its balm of softness to all that pressure and relieve you of your tension.

You turned your key ring to find the one for the gate a little further on, trying to walk and not sprint to it. Inserting the key almost frantically but controlling your excitement and relief at their presence, you opened the game.

And there they were, smiling at you.

"Evening sweetheart," Frank smiled when he saw you.

"Sorry we took so long," Matt apologised, pressing his lips together.

You looked behind you to make sure no one had followed you outside, closing the gate slightly so that you wouldn't be seen. You knew that even from here, your group of three could be seen as a pile of meat around which the vultures would circle, and you didn't want to risk being their next meal.

You hugged them both, relieved to have them close to you, and the suddenness and desperation in your gesture almost seemed to surprise them. They hugged you back, kissing your temple.

"Your cheeks are warm," Frank chuckled, pressing his face harder against yours, making you giggle.

"Is everything okay?" asked Matt, stroking your hair, "you're all tense."

Of course, Matt noticing every microscopic detail as usual, couldn't help but pick up on how stiff your body looked, and how the smell of stress covered your skin in the thinnest film. There was no point in lying to Matt, or pretending to divert the subject with Frank, so you sighed.

"Lots of noise, not much serenity," you replied, letting your head fall against the devil's chest.

You were trying to cherish all this a little more, because once you were back in the house, you and Matt wouldn't be able to touch each other again except perhaps to pass a plate across the table and let your fingers deliberately brush against each other.

They'd already been told by you what to expect, and even if they were prepared, they were sorry to find you like this.

"We won't stay here the whole night," Matt reassures as he wraps his arms around you, stroking your back. "Let's hope we get out of here before Frank goes so far as to take the silverware from the table and threaten anyone with the butter knife."

"You're ruining my fun, Red. Now I've got to find something more inventive," sighed the latter.

"Take the star at the top of the pine tree, it'll be sharp enough," you suggested, turning your head towards him, cheek still pressed against Matt's chest. 

"See that, that's Christmas spirit," smiled Frank.

You loosened your embrace, Matt gently kissing your lips. He savoured the moment, and so did you, because this kind of proximity with him wasn't going to happen again for several hours. 

"Ready?" asked Frank, letting his pointer finger form a hook to caress the skin of your cheek.

You looked at the lights further away from the house, hearing the music from here and already preparing in the second part of the night.

"Ready," you breathed in before reopening the gate and letting them through.

You felt your heart clench again, the unpleasant tingle of anxiety coursing through your veins in a fluid traffic that seemed impossible to dilute. You tried to breathe calmly, preparing yourself once again to face the suffocating interior of sounds, movements and remarks.

"Remember, if you need to take a break from all this and go outside, squeeze my hand three times, okay sweetheart ?" reminded Frank, placing his hand on the small of your back.

"Yeah," you swallowed, nodding softly as a tight little smile spread across your lips.

You'd agreed to pretend, in case things got desperate and you needed a break, that Frank was a smoker, and that you and Matt shared his ciggy break together.

All of this preparation had come from the fact your mother had passed an entire questioning about your boyfriend - or at least one of them - to prepare herself conventionally. You knew how she was, and such coaching with the guys was for the better.

Still, his hand on your back was reassuring, and made things easier to bear.

You opened the door, and everyone turned to you with a big "Ah" of satisfaction. Introductions were made as both took off their jackets. Frank remained friendly but guarded - as usual, typical Frank - and Matt seemed to bloom in this social environment like a freshly blossomed flower.

It didn't take long for most of your family to decide that they loved Matt. His well-timed humour, his natural charm, his eloquence, everything about him made him a man to be admired.

"Isn't there any way he could be your boyfriend instead?" said an aunt, approaching you as Matt and Frank continued to be introduced.

"He's way out of her league," sneered another, "they both are, actually."

You pressed your lips together, blowing falsely from your nose to feign amusement. You knew Matt could hear every little jab at you tonight, and if he was feeling any frustration, he was hiding it perfectly.

"Where did you get them? I want one too," said the first, making the other laugh.

"Might get the lawyer's phone number," she replied.

"Yours is very fine too," remarked the other, "how'd you manage to get him ?"

They both said these sentences as if their own husbands weren't in the room, and as if the possibility of you being in a relationship with one of them was a miracle, or just a huge stroke of luck.

"Through work," you replied mechanically and through clenched teeth before moving into the kitchen to help with the dishes.

You knew these sorts of remarks were to be brought up, on how you’d managed to surround yourself so well. Matt and Frank had long wondered how your confidence in yourself was so low, but maybe tonight would’ve been the perfect example as to why it was the case.

The transition to the table was almost seamless. Everyone sat down, the seating order meticulously adapted for everyone. Fortunately, you found yourself between Frank and Matt. You were inwardly grateful for the choice of decorations when you realised that the tablecloth was quite long, and that the reassuring hand Matt had just put on your thigh wouldn't be noticeable.

You breathed softly, the warmth of his hand anchoring you better in all of this and giving you something to focus on that was sweeter than any mean remarks.

Of course, with every new person around the table comes an interrogation to get to know them. Questions of all kinds followed for the boys, about their work, their activities, your aunts of course looking for answers as to how you and Frank had ended up together.

You'd worked it out and decided that Matt had introduced you to Frank and that, through your shared tastes in literature and other things, you'd ended up bonding.

"If books are the new way to getting to a man I've got some reading to do," joked one of the aunts, making the table laugh unanimously, "never thought you'd manage anything of the sort."

The pique directed at you made you feel as if you were swallowing a large ice cube with difficulty, but you covered your discomfort with an expert fake smile. Masking all that discomfort since the start of the evening was beginning to prove complicated, but you weren't going to use the smoking-break Joker just yet.

You could see in the corners of your eyes how Matt was wearing a stiff smile, and how Frank's jaw was tense. Gently reaching under the table, you took both their hands, turning to Frank with another smile that this time wasn't imbued with the polite mask you wore, but with sincerity.

"Let's just say I was lucky " to have found two such extraordinary people who fill my life with love on a daily basis, would you have finished.

You squeezed their hands, drawing small circles on their skins as they both smiled.

The starter was over, the main course continued as your stomach was refusing to let you eat anything, and the whole thing brought together discussions that made you uncomfortable to say the least. All sorts of unconscious or simply cruel racist, homophobic and even transphobic remarks were placed on the table. 

You remained silent, not speaking particularly. You had no desire to take part in this kind of discussion, given how horrible the venom on each other's tongues was. You just hoped it would all be over soon, looking forward to going home with Frank and Matt.

The cousins were chatting away like fascists, one talking about Napoleon, and the old days being the best, while talking about the questionable politicians he was listening to on the radio. 

The cheese arrived, and then came the little break just before dessert. They put on a film for the children, so that the adults could have a quiet chat without all the heckling.

Hearing the parents' arse jokes, you'd think they'd be fucking each other on the table if they thought it was funny. You could very well let your own sassy tongue out, say that if this aunt isn't listening to what's being said already it's because she's working out her next gossip, but you have to forgive her because she wouldn't be like this if her husband wasn't cheating on her, or maybe he's cheating on her because she's like this. 

To tell the uncles that they're less likely to die from terrorism than from alcoholism, to tell one aunt to strap the kids up tight because her husband is going to be driving as if he had an autonomous car. And that you would’ve liked to finish by saying that no matter the smiles, the village fete, all it took was a small difference for everyone to see the real faces.

But you said nothing, keeping to yourself those comments that would only serve to fuel their hatred. 

As Frank came up to grab another drink, your mother sat next to you on the sofa while the two boys came to be monopolised by aunts and uncles. A procession of rednecks near Frank discussing his familiarity with weapons and his military past, while the aunts were wiggling around Matt hoping to curry favour with the young lawyer.

"It's too hot in here," you murmured as you shifted a little from your mother, but she wasn't letting go and placed her head on your shoulder.

"But I want to be close to you," she said with a pout, the alcohol making her visibly affectionate.

You tensed, the desire to get away from it all running through your body, screaming under your skin. But there was nothing you could do, frozen there in the middle of it all, having to endure the situation as best you could.

The familial conversation drifted onto the subject of intellectuality, on the fact that your family was made up of nothing else, or at least for the most part. And you felt tiny, because they were generally right: they were all huge readers of the classics, who knew a lot about history, literature, philosophy and other human sciences. 

All these subjects were familiar to you, because you had had to learn them, to master them in the face of the global family demand for the cultivation of excellence.

Even though you were the ugly duckling of the family, that didn't stop you sharing this knowledge and they were all aware of it. You were able to inject the conversation with valid arguments and insights you'd learned on your own that were important to the topic, and whenever the occasion to say something wise came up that you grasped, they seemed more tolerable to you.

When the discussion turned to the descendants of a painter, you were asked to verify the accuracy of certain statements. So you looked it up on your phone, but barely half a minute later, your mother couldn't resist reprimanding you:

"What did I tell you on your phone? Not when we're with the family."

Irritation from all the previous events of the evening was beginning to press down on you, and it was with some irritation that you replied: 

"But I've been asked for some information."

Your voice was almost like that of a child defending themselves against someone calling them a liar, and this tone seemed to displease her when her gaze hardened.

"Don't talk to me like that, and put your phone away."

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it felt like it was going to bleed, and said nothing as you put your phone back in your pocket while the conversation around you resumed.

You didn't meet Frank's gaze, nor did you turn to Matt, because you knew that this simple gesture would show weakness and a cry for help. However, you had made them swear not to interfere, and you remained silent for a while, trying to calm yourself down as you watched the fire ripple in the fireplace like an orange veil dancing in the wind while you fiddled with your fingers.

The tic was automatic; Matt and Frank would have preferred to have taken your hand in theirs to prevent this torment. 

What irritated you most of all was the profound injustice of the whole evening. You wouldn’t say anything, and you’d be considered too silent so people would ask you questions, but once you opened your mouth they were not satisfied with your answers. You couldn’t take your own phone, when all the aunts had their own, texting to their friends and all. Children had the right to get away in another room and watch a movie, while you had to stick there doing nothing but listening to whatever was said.

You couldn’t wait for the night to come to an end.

It was time to store the presents everywhere and pretend to the children that Santa had stopped by while they were watching the movie. Everything was placed in colourful piles, and when the children were called, they ran down the stairs and began the frantic tearing of gift wrap to an orchestra of shrieks and shredding.

All the accumulated sounds made you grit your teeth, tightening your throat and making you want to cry. You could feel the limit coming, and you needed a break to prevent you from imploding.

This time you took Frank's hand and squeezed it three times. He turned to you immediately, stroking your cheek before telling Matt. As quickly as they could without looking rushed, they put on their jackets and went out after you.

The night air calmed some part of you instantly, the contrast between all the hectic ambiance inside and the calmness of the outside felt like two extreme opposite worlds living by the only separation of a door.

To make sure that even from the outside there would be no doubt about this cover, Frank had to play along by taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He seemed irritated, and the idea of that Joker card almost seemed to play a real asset in all this to calm him down.

"How the fuck do they sleep at night?" he grumbles as he puffs out his first drag, "it's like they take every opportunity they get to pull you down."

"It's alright, let it slide." you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No it's not," he continues, "I can't believe you managed to handle their company for all these years."

"Didn't have much of a choice," you breathe.

"I know you said it was bad, I just didn't imagine it was constantly so," Matt confirmed.

"If I go back there I might actually punch them in the face," Frank grumbles before taking another drag on the cigarette.

"All that's left is the presents from the adults, then the Yule log, and then we'll be off, okay?" reassured Matt, placing his hand gently on your shoulder.

The touch of his hand brought a comforting warmth, and his words managed to reassure you. You looked at them both, thinking about how it would’ve been without them : unbearable, definitely. You had barely been able to handle it before they came, but now that they were here, you felt safe, like half of the poison that was thrown at you was not as effective.

They had changed you, made you feel loved, cherished, proud. They had been trying to break these patterns, the self depreciation, the self sabotage, the lack of self confidence. They were helping you build yourself back up from the ruins everyone else had left, and you were the most grateful to the universe to had brought them in your life.

"Thank you both, for being here," you admitted, your voice almost cracking, the coolness of the night giving you a feeling of security that was enough to relax your knotted throat.

They turned towards you, their faces softening. They knew what you were going through, what you were enduring for the night, and how complicated and unpleasant it must have been until they arrived. 

Frank took you in his arms, the smell of tobacco already permeating his clothes. Matt must not have been enjoying it at all, smelling that darkly sugary, smoky smell all around him, but whatever personal discomfort he was experiencing he didn't let it show. 

"It's the least we can do, beautiful," he replied, stroking your back.

"We just wish we could shut their mouths," Matt agreed, holding back from participating in the embrace as you’d instructed him.

"And stop this whole group of women from praising you?" sneered Frank, which made you smile.

Matt's nose scrunched up and his bottom lip curled in disgust at the remark.

"One of them wanted to feed me appetisers, and another asked me about being blind and whether I'd mind being in a relationship with someone whose looks I can't see." he said with a sigh.

"And then?" asked Frank curiously as you both turned to face the lawyer.

"I told her that I didn't need to see to know who was good-looking, and that if I chose my relationships purely on looks, I wouldn't know true friendship or love."

"All those poetic words must have pleased her," Frank punctuated with a whistle.

"Not until I told her my grandmother wore the same perfume as her."

You and Frank both laughed softly, truly impressed at how Matt was handling all this flirting and cringe from several women altogether. 

But this calm moment had to have an end, as the cigarette grew smaller and smaller by the minute. Frank broke away from your embrace to finish it and stubbed it out on the wall.

This little outing had done you a world of good. The cool night air had refreshed you, its delicate silence giving you a break from all the noise and the terrible comments from your family all the while Frank and Matt allowed you this break from constant barbs.

You returned again inside, the end of the opening of presents for the children welcoming you. And so the opening of those for the adults began, all the parcels being stored on the table in more chic and sober wrappings. The grandparents started, Frank standing behind you with one hand on your shoulder and the other holding his glass of champagne.

One by one, they all opened their presents, until it was your turn. Embarrassment gripped your body as all eyes were on you, and you dreaded the opening simply by being watched with boredom mixed with curiosity - to see how you might react and make the slightest faux pas.

You went about it slowly, wishing to unpack properly and not act like a barbarian tearing everything apart at once. Your aunt beside you imitated a yawn at the fact that you were making them wait, and everyone laughed, a tense little smile nailed to your cheeks.

What you got in the end wasn't too bad, nor too far from what you could appreciate, surprisingly. Of course, you had to force yourself to smile at most of the useless gifts that gave you absolutely no pleasure, but you thanked everyone, and the presentation of gifts moved on to the next ones.

"Didn't you get her anything?" your mother asked the boys.

"Her presents are at my place," Frank informed her.

The sentence made your heart spike up, a sudden warmth colouring your chest in pink softness as the sparkles of it brought the tingling sensation of tears at the corners of your eyes. Presents, they had gotten you presents. 

You were not going to cry, of course not, but the lump formed in your throat gave you enough of a hard time that you had to grab your drink and sip on it.

"Speaking of your place, have you looked at the traffic to get home?" questioned Matt, "I don't think I want to take too long."

"I'll have a look," he said, taking his hand off your shoulder to pick up his phone.

You wondered if Matt had had enough, if his own senses had been overwhelmed by all of this and he was pondering on going home. But then realised what they were doing : feigning traffic disruption in order to get home early and save yourself a lot of awful time.

"I think we're going to have to go," Frank nodded as he put his phone away. "Sweetheart? Ready?" he asked, bending over so that his chest pressed against your back.

"Yes," you said as you took a big breath and stood up, saying goodbye to the whole family.

You dreaded the hugs, the kisses on the cheeks or simply the fact of pressing them together and imitating the sound of what should have been a fake smooch, but with a surge of tiredness you objected to this using the excuse of " time is running out".

In no time at all, Matt and Frank had gathered up all your things and were carrying them, heading for the entrance hall to collect theirs.

In less time than it takes to say it, you were finally outside, walking up to the gate. You felt as if your lungs were being squeezed as you went along, almost expecting to feel a rope being pulled tight inside you to tie you to the house, for someone to come out and catch you or whatever. You felt almost like a gnat trying to escape from the spider's web in which it had been stuck a little too long.

You stuck the key in the lock of the gate, turned it hastily, then opened it to let them go with you, closing the big opaque metal door with that step. The pressure hadn't gone away from your body yet, every limb feeling like it was made of thick, rough foam where multiple needles had pierced you in the many crevices they'd already left and were digging even deeper. 

You looked for the car in the hope of getting to it as quickly as possible, but you let out a little squeal of surprise when your feet flew off the ground as Frank swept you up in his arms like a princess.

"Ain't no way you're gonna walk, you've had enough exhaustion for the night," he said, tightening his grip on your back and the back of your knees.

"But-" you began reflexively, although the idea of giving up this position didn't bring you any comfort.

"Ah ah," he stopped, "don't wanna hear about it." If he had his two hands free and was being childish, he would have put them over his ears, singing la la la and pretending not to hear anything.

But his hands were firmly under you, giving you all the security you could have dreamed of and the beginnings of a comfort that would last all evening until you'd sleep.

"Circus night is over," Matt huffed, taking a deep breath, "I think I've heard enough nonsense for one year."

"Lucky for you, next one's less than a week away," sneered Frank.

"I'd rather lose a second sense than inflict this on myself and our angel a second time," the demon replied as he grabbed the car keys from Frank's pocket and opened it.

He opened one of the rear doors, letting Frank gently place you in and strap you in place, placing a kiss on your forehead as he stepped aside to let Matt pass and place the few bags in the boot.

Matt sat down beside you, and you let your head fall on his shoulder. You felt the tingles of anxiety under your skin lodge in your legs and squeeze your chest, the rush to get out of here weighing heavily on your head.

Frank sat in the front seat, turning the car key and making it purr, then drove off. 

As the car rounded the corner, all the tension began to dissipate and you let the breath you'd been holding in escape from your chest. Your whole body felt heavy, your hands gloved with marble, your legs booted with lead and your head stuffed with cotton.

You felt the softness of Matt's lips as he placed a kiss on your forehead, his hand coming to rest on your thigh as you hummed under the sweetness of his comfort.

"It's all over now," he said, resting his chin on your head, "we're going to take care of you."

You snuggle up to him, your hand coming to rest on his as you breathe softly. Your fingers drew soft, formless patterns on the back of his hand, fighting the fatigue that had fallen on you like an anvil.

The moment was sweet, Matt's warmth through his clothes spreading close to you as you turned his hand onto his back to gently trace the lines from his palm up to his callused fingers. 

"I'd have to get rid of some of them," grunted Frank, who clearly hadn't yet calmed his frustration, "I'm sure they'd be much better off in an asylum."

"It's an insane asylum, not an asshole asylum," Matt remarked, "you'd have to build asshole asylums but... you can imagine the size of the buildings."

"Yeah, still, maybe I should have burnt my cigarette on one of their cars."

"What a nice Christmas present," chuckled Matt.

"I can be generous sometimes," confirmed Frank.

"Especially when you threaten people," you agreed.

"A pittance," Matt snickered, "Is that one of my sweaters by the way ?

"Yes," you sigh, "I'll have you know it's been criticised tonight."

"Really? By whom."

"I'll let you guess."

"A bit bold coming from someone dressed like Norman Bates who dresses like his mother," Frank grumbled.

You laughed softly, a sort of little venting session taking place in the car like a debriefing following a bizarre situation.

"With all those women around, Red's charm knows no bounds," laughed Frank, "you've caught the eye of one in particular it seems."

"My aunt? She's suffering from too much oestrogen. If you're interested, I can put you in touch," you grinned.

" I'd rather sleep on cotton sheets." grunts Matt as his hand grabs your thigh and squeezes a little tighter, letting a small chirp of amusement escape from between your lips.

The ride continued, and your stomach went all hollow, grumbling with displeasure at the emptiness you'd left it.

"Didn't eat much, did you ?" asked Matt softly.

"Barely touched her plate," confirmed Frank at the front.

"Didn't feel like it," you murmured.

"Is there anything you'd like when you get home?" proposed the demon, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Something sweet," you hummed, adjusting your chin to rest it on his shoulder.

"Anything else?"

"Two pairs of arms around me," you smiled.

They both grinned, and the ride went by in a flash. You untied yourself once you'd arrived, stretching slightly as you shifted to open the door beside you, but Matt's hand from your thigh came to grab your hip and pull you back to him in a gesture that seemed immensely easy.

You turned to face him, confused for a moment, as he kissed your cheek.

"No walking, remember?" he smiled as Frank opened his car door to come towards yours.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly as you roll your eyes. They were overdoing it, but you weren't going to stop them. 

"Come here princess," Frank said as he pulled your hips towards him to take you in his arms again.

You wrapped your hands around the back of his nape, nestling your face in his neck and smelling his subtle cologne on his warm skin.

Matt took the bags and went ahead to open the door for you. The familiar smell of your real home seemed to wash all your worries from your body as you took a simple breath.

The bags were deposited in the hallway, Frank walking over to the sofa to set you down.

"Stay right there and don't move," he informed, hands on either side of you as he kissed you softly.

"What happens if I move ?" you asked, placing one of your hands on his arms.

"I'll tie you up like a pretty present," he chuckled as he kissed you again, "the most perfect present we'd ever have."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you teased, your foreheads pressed together.

"It's a statement," he concluded.

He straightened up, and you were already missing his presence near you, but you respected his request - or rather his order - and remained seated on the sofa. Your head fell back, your body moulding itself to the shape of the couch under the effect of the evening's emotional turmoil. The tension drained away more and more, relaxing your tired muscles and making you yawn. 

It wasn't long before Matt and Frank returned with more casual outfits and packages in their hands. You straightened up, bending your knees on the sofa about to get up, but remembering the fact that walking wasn't a possibility, you explained: 

"I've got some for you too, am I allowed to go and get them?"

"For us?" said a surprised Frank, pointing at himself as if there was some mistake.

"You mean the packages under the first step of the stairs?" questioned Matt, "I thought those were packages you forgot about for the others."

"No, these are for you," you confirmed as you sat back down on your knees on the sofa.

They stood like that, one blinking repeatedly while the other kept his lips parted.

"You really didn't have to-" Matt began, but you stopped him immediately.

"Tsk tsk, if I don't have the right to stand up, you don't have the right to stop me from giving you presents."

"But-" resumed Frank.

"Ah ah," you smiled in the same tone he'd given you earlier, "don't wanna hear about it."

He parted his lips in a smile but said nothing as Matt laughed softly to the side. They approached you, Frank placing the packages on the coffee table as Matt turned away.

"I'll get them," he eventually says, heading for the top step, cracking it open and pulling out three packages to take back to the coffee table.

"The medium one is for you," you say, pushing the first one towards Frank, "and the big and small one are for you," the two boxes sliding across the smooth table towards Matt.

The packets seemed a particularly complex conundrum to them, but you urged them to open their presents.

Matt opened his and discovered a 7kg weighted blanket and an anti-stress ring that could be twirled on his finger.

"I know you sometimes ask me or Frank to lie on top of you because the weight makes you feel better, so I got you this, which should help if neither of us is ever there to give you what you want. As for the ring, I know that times at the Court can be stressful, so I thought it might help you find a point of anchorage." 

Matt seemed at a loss for words, taking the duvet between his fingers and touching the silk sheet you'd wrapped it in. Putting the ring on his index finger, which fit perfectly, he smiled to himself.

As for Frank, he removed the wrapping and his lips parted.

"I've been looking for these for months," he said, looking at the few books he'd been talking about over and over again. "How did you... ?"

You'd scoured countless bookshops, searched book repositories, researched the clearance of certain titles by libraries to find these books that had all but disappeared very quickly while the work was being republished and retranslated.

"A good girlfriend never reveals her secrets," you smiled.

The two of them placed their gifts on the table and came to embrace you, nestling their faces in the crooks of your neck. They held you close, gently kissing your skin between hushed "thank you's", dotting your neck and face with soft pecks.

"What did we do to deserve you," Frank murmured, pulling back slightly.

"I could ask the same about you both," you smiled, running your fingers through their hair.

They kissed you again, then handed you their own gift. You opened it, and it was something you'd talked about several times before, something that was very close to your heart and that they'd decided to give you. This time it was your turn to hug them, and they laughed as you showered their faces with kisses.

"What do you say to a nice bath, and then some dessert before bed?" offered Matt.

"I think that's the best idea of the evening," you confirmed, caressing his cheek and kissing his nose.

Without further ado, Frank took you in his arms like a koala, letting your legs cross behind him as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. He led you and Matt into the bathroom, the devil bending over the tub to prepare the bath.

Frank lifted you slightly and sat you down on the wash basin counter, letting his hands fall on both your thighs and stroking them gently.

"As much as I love your makeup, we're gonna have to remove it sweetheart", he explained, kissing your cheek.

So mechanically, you grabbed your make-up remover, ready to start the process. But Frank stopped you in your tracks, gently taking the bottle in one hand and a cotton pad in the other.

He poured a small amount onto the white disc, dosing as you did regularly.

"Close your pretty eyes for me," he murmured, taking your chin between his fingers and starting to remove your make-up.

Frank had this charming habit, in the evenings when you were getting ready for bed and he wasn't out playing vigilante, of watching you remove your make-up. He knew a lot about your day by the way you went about it: slow and thoughtful was the result of a good day, faster and more jerky obviously reflected one full of frustration, and sometimes when your movements were slow and your eyes half-closed, it generally meant that the day had been very, very long.

He concentrated, pressing tenderly against your skin as he removed iridescent, matte and mascara from your eyelids, occasionally pausing to kiss your lips, making you smile and giggle softly with each peck.

You almost wanted to put lipstick on his lips and let him kiss your whole face until the red of your cheeks was indistinguishable from the colour of the lipstick.

He asked you to look up this time to clear away the mascara smears and the black marks left in their path. He was doing this with the utmost precision, and this personal attention sent tickles all the way to the back of your skull.

"Look at me?" he asked and you complied, a smirk forming on his lips. "The prettiest girl."

He came over and placed a strand of hair behind your ear before stepping aside to throw away the little cotton disc.

"I'm gonna go and check what snacks we have, Red? I'll leave you my favourite part, but only because it's christmas alright?" he informed before kissing the tip of your nose one last time and stepping out of the bathroom.

Matt, so far checking the temperature of the bath water to make sure it was correct, shook off his damp fingers and wiped them on a towel before standing up and moving between your legs.

"I'll have you stand up just for a bit," he cautioned, taking your hands and pulling you slightly towards him to get you to your feet. "Arms up."

At his request, you raised your arms. His hands pinched the bottom of your hoodie and pulled it up your body. He laid it to one side, continuing with your t-shirt, his fingers still warm from the water sliding delicately against your skin.

"So that's Frank's favourite part?" you smiled, "undressing me?

"I have to say it is," he stated as he unbuttoned your trousers and panties, sliding them to the floor where you lifted your feet to get out of them.

"And what's your favourite part?" you asked as he took off your socks and raised up to your level.

"The one that's about to happen."

He guided you to the bath and let you slide in gently. The temperature was perfect, just as you liked it, and you let out a moan of ease from between your lips until most of your body was submerged in the bath.

Matt took a stool from the bathroom and placed it beside you, taking a cup at the same time to pour water over your hair. He applied himself with great care, taking his time to make sure no drops got into your eyes.

Your muscles relaxed naturally with the heat, finally eradicating the tension in your body once and for all.

You felt Matt's fingers dip into the bath water, sliding up from the skin of your thigh and gently up your body, tracing your silhouette under the water.

"You're beautiful," he whispers as his wet fingers rose from the water to caress your cheek.

"How could you know?" you asked softly, watching as he stared into the emptiness.

"My hands don't lie to me, and I know the beauty of the mind at first sight of the heart" he smiled as he took your bottle of shampoo, pouring some into his palm before massaging your head.

To help him, you straightened up, pivoting slightly to get your back to him. His fingers snaked through your hair, massaging gently and lathering everything up slowly. He worked the back of your neck, muscles tense, letting your head go with the movement of his hands.

With your neck now leaning back, Matt smiled gently before kissing your forehead.

"That's my favourite part," he confirmed, resuming the massage.

You let your eyes close, surrendering to the gentleness of the moment and Matt's touch. He was pressing, caressing, painting with his fingers as if he were holding the most beautiful and delicate material in his hands. 

Too soon for your liking - because you would have preferred this moment to have no end - he rinsed your hair, letting the white mousse spread over your shoulders and applying it lightly to your skin. He took the sponge, soaking it in shower gel before squeezing it into a foam so that he could spread the bubbly cloud over your skin.

He took one of your arms, raising it so that he could get it straight and soap you up properly, and he kissed the length of your skin before the softness of his kisses was erased by the little soap bubbles that the sponge left in its wake. He did the same for your second arm, and your leg, and the second after that, covering your whole body with kisses and softness.

At first you thought it was unfair, because no sooner had he placed a kiss on your skin than he wiped it away with white foam. But you were soon comforted by the idea that these weren't kisses being chased away, but kisses being kept, kisses that seeped under your skin and brought you all the warmth that the bath was beginning to no longer contain.

Before the water got too cold, he gently rinsed you off and got you out of the tub, wrapping you in your bathrobe.

Frank came back into the bathroom at last, bringing clean, more comfortable clothes in his hands. They both took their time drying your hair and dressing you, whispering sweet nothings to you as they kissed your cheeks and temples.

Each kiss washed away the stress you'd been feeling, replacing bitterness with sweetness, and you relished every moment of it.

Once again they carried you in their arms to the sofa, where Frank had placed a plethora of foodstuffs of all kinds on the table, snacks and other sweet products that you might have wanted at the time.

You watched several episodes of a series that you'd been watching together lately, commenting on it and falsely - or actually - taking offence at the particularly stupid choices made by the main characters.

You didn't need any more than that. All the love in the world was with them.

They had taught you how one hand changes when you put it on top of another, that another world is possible but is present in this one, that there is always a dream asleep.

They were standing on your eyelids, and their hair was in yours, they were engulfed in your shadow. Their eyes were always open, they wouldn't let you sleep, their kisses in the light made the sun evaporate.

Back pressed against the chest of one, face hidden in the nape of the other's neck, tonight you fell asleep, fulfilled, safe and loved.

[ddejavvu]

m.list - matt murdock

blurbs:

you interrupt matt's patrol

matt's tired after patrol

you like matt's chest hair

professor!matt

showering with matt

matt + "where did your clothes go?"

prince!matt

kidnapper!matt

matt + edging

matt + enemies to lovers

stalker!matt | 2

matt comforting you after a nightmare

you're insecure during sex

matt notices your harmful habits

matt cuddles you on your period

mafia!matt

matt learns to braid

patching matt up after patrol

priest!matt

roommate!matt

matt + rivals to lovers

matt makes a better second impression

your dog likes matt's seeing eye dog

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

if you could write something about matt murdock with

"My breath just made you quiver. Can you imagine what my tongue will do."

and/or

"Shh... just a little bit more."

i would eat that up :))

a/n: thank you, darling. i rarely get requests for matt, but it always lights up my life when i do

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

masterlist | join my taglist

“I–, u-uh…” you foggily blinked down at Matt’s head nestled betwixt your legs, “was that an actual question?” the tremble to your tone caused his grin to widen as he teasingly let the very tip of his nose ghost against the apex of your inner thigh, “I’ve never tried that before, you know having someone do that,” you timidly coughed, “but I mean, I do have a very vivid imagination, so I probably–, oh my god!” 

Your babbling was then cut off as Matt finally closed the last bit of distance, a groan slipping from his lungs as he let his tongue run through your glistening folds for the very first time. 

“Matthew!” your squiggly legs tried to tremble shut around his solid skull, “t-that’s–, oh fuck,” your body quivered as he slithered his burly arms up your frame, hooking your legs before he flipped them back open like a heart-racing page in a book he wasn’t quite done reading yet. 

“Shh,” his deep voice vibrated against your puffy clit, “just a little bit more…” as he greedily kept up his efforts even as you squirmed from the overwhelming sensation, “just one more taste and then I’ll fuck you,” you cast your gaze down past where his broad palms laid splayed across your abdomen, to where his lips, glossy from your want, barely lifted to make his murmur coherent, “promise…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[inkdrinkerworld]

❛ come back to bed’ for Matt Murdock? I loveeed that stern Matt you just did, I can’t wait to see more of your stuff on him!

Hehe thank you! And thank you for requesting! Slightly suggestive themes so MDNI 18+only

You groan as you feel the bed for Matt and come up short. You know it’s not morning yet, Matt’s alarm would’ve gone off, and he’s been back from his Daredevil outings for hours.

His spot is still warm at least.

Groggily, you knuckle at your eyes and sit up on your elbow. The bed sheet falls off your shoulder and when the cold air hits you, you remember your nakedness.

“Matty?” He isn’t in the room and you sigh, draping the sheet over you as you go looking for him.

You find him in the kitchen, the fridge open as he gets a bottle of water.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” His words are quiet to compliment the night.

“Can’t sleep when you’re gone.” You’re past the point in your relationship where admitting a thing like that would make your cheeks flame.

Matt smiles, opening an arm out to you where he stands. “Is everything okay?” You ask him as he hugs you, the scent of rum and vetiver, soaked deep in his skin, envelops you both.

“Perfect, was just getting something to eat. Tired ourselves out for a bit there, don’t you think sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flame then and you know Matt can feel it. “Come back to bed.” You manage to get the words out before a yawn takes you over.

“Alright,” Matt reaches in the fridge again, pulling out another bottle water and then reaching into your little basket of protein bars for two blueberry yogurt ones. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You let Matt lead you to the bedroom, your face in his chest as you get there.

“Here,” he cracks the water for you the moment you’re sitting on the mattress. You take a few sips and accept the open protein bar he hands you.

“Thanks Matt.” Despite the snack, sleep has you in its clutches and refuses to let go.

Matt hardly finishes his before you’re curled up beside him, head somewhere near his side as you get comfortable again. “Don’t leave again.”

He coos at your words, stroking the hairs at your temple. “M’right here, sweetheart. Let’s go to sleep.”

[allllium]

⋮ Matt Murdock / Daredevil ⋮

{ Oneshots }

↳ Pinky Promise ⋮ [Matt tells you he's Daredevil]

↳ Cuddles ⋮ [Tired Matt coming home from patrol]

↳ Cat ⋮ [Reader finds a "cat"]

↳ I Promise I'll Try ⋮ [Reader stays up for Matt]

↳ Peter ⋮ [Matt brings home a kid]

↳ Christmas Eve ⋮ [Matt and Reader celebrate their first Christmas together]

↳ Perfect For Me ⋮ [Matt comforts insecure reader]

↳ Taste Test ⋮ [You don't think Matt's senses are as strong as he says they are]

{ Drabbles }

↳ Coming Soon...

{ Series }

↳ Coming Soon...

[peejay-docs]

[1 - Caffeine and Chaos]

A Daredevil x Vigilante!OC series

Trigger warnings: 18+ ; mentions of violence, swear words

Word count: 2.6k

Prompt:

#9 - "Close your eyes, you don't need to see this."

Author's note:

This is my first tumblr post, and official entry for @bellaxgiornata's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge! It has been quite a while–and I mean YEARS–since I last wrote anything close to this. This concept was already in my mind for a while and when I saw the writing challenge, I figured what the hell, let's do it. As mentioned, this is an OC one-shot but feel free to imagine yourself as the OC in this series. This is also my first experience writing action sequences, so please be gentle.

Huge thank you to @sleepyflorian for helping me edit and proof-read my work. I can't thank you enough ❤️

Might also continue this and turn it into a series 👀. Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy.

Update: It is a now a series. I repeat. It is now a SERIES! I just made a Masterlist, which you can find by clicking on the hyperlink provided, or you can find it in my page. Hope that you'll join me on this journey. Man, i'm excited!

"Hi, what can I get you?" I ask the customer in front of me with a tight-lipped smile, itching to finally get off of work and be rid of the scent of roasted beans that will probably stick with me even after I leave the shop. Before the man in the overcoat could tell me their order, I felt a light tap on my shoulder by a recently hired barista, asking for assistance about the steamer. With no hesitation, I immediately had someone else to take over for me and went to help out the rookie.

As I counted down the minutes until my shift was over, the blend of soft indie music, the gentle hiss of steam, and the clatter of porcelain echoing through the place—mixed with the scent of roasted beans—was already making me sick to my stomach. Again, I continued showing her the ropes and how the steamer worked, making sure she was paying close attention. I took a quick glance at her pinned name tag.

“You got it, Mal?” I asked reassuringly.

She smiled and gave an enthusiastic nod. Watching her, I was suddenly reminded of when I was in her shoes—starting out behind the counter. I began working at the shop two years ago, right after moving to Hell’s Kitchen looking to start anew.

My mentor at the time was harsh with me and would throw insults whenever they could. Sure, I could’ve just punched the daylights out of that person with no problem, but that wouldn't exactly help me achieve the somewhat 'normal' life I wanted for myself. I wished I had been treated the way I treated Mal back when I was just starting–but unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Now that I am assistant manager, I made it a point to be kind and patient with the trainees, not wanting them to feel the way I did back then.

Once again, I was tapped on the shoulder—this time by Kyle, a colleague-turned-friend who started working here about a year ago—signaling that a drink was ready to be handed to a customer. With a long sigh, I smiled at Kyle and made my way to the counter, ready to hand it over to whomever ordered the drink.

"One white chocolate mocha for..." I raised the cup to eye-level, squinting at the name scribbled on the to-go cup. "Froggy?" I said, my voice laced with confusion. Rolling my eyes, I let out a quiet huff. I swear, some of the baristas here write names wrong on purpose just to mess with me.

Just then, a faint laugh echoed from a corner of the shop and I turned toward the sound and spotted a familiar blonde woman grinning widely at a man grimacing—probably her friend. I see them here often, always stopping by for their daily coffee. There were usually three of them and only now did I realize that their other friend—whom I've always thought to be intriguing—was not with them. They’ve certainly come to the café enough to be deemed regulars. I took note of the other one's absence, which I found just now to be more significant than I'd ought it would be.

"I think that's you." The pretty blonde woman teased.

Begrudgingly, the pale-skinned man walked over to collect his drink. Once he was close enough he said "It's Foggy, actually."

“This isn’t one of our finest moments,” you admit. “And probably not our last." I say with threatening eyes directed toward the crew behind me in search of the culprit, only to be met with their collective, muffled laughter.

"Ah, it's alright, I guess." He says lightly. "As long as the coffee’s good, it’s more than enough compensation." He reassures me with a kind smile. "Besides, as much as it kind of pains me to hear my name mispronounced, I can't deny that I'm also curious to see what you guys come up with every time I come here."

I let out a soft chuckle at his comment before he thanked me and left the shop with the blonde woman.

Turning towards Kyle who was making another drink, I caught his eye—and as if he could feel my gaze, he shot me a knowing look, brows raised.

"That's my last one for today." I expressed through a tired breath. He chuckled with a shaking head as I turned and headed toward the back of the shop.

I swiftly untied the knot holding my apron together, and lifted it over my head. Opening my designated locker, I grabbed my backpack and replaced it with the apron I just worn. Then I aimed for the backdoor of the shop, pushing it open. As I was about to step outside, Kyle called out to me and said his goodbye.

After hours of making and serving caffeinated beverages, I was finally free and out walking through the busy streets of Hell's Kitchen, mentally preparing for another night of patrolling. Last night had been smooth, to say the least. I stopped a mugging, two pickpockets, and even retrieved a stolen bike from a teenager who clearly had nothing better to do with his life. It was one of the more peaceful nights around here, but nonetheless, I was glad to be of help—no matter how small the impact might seem.

My apartment was just a few blocks away from the coffee shop, and my main goal at the moment was simple: get home, change into my suit, and stop crime where I could. Even though I trusted the people back at the café, I still kept my suit and gadgets at home, not wanting to risk someone invading my privacy and snooping through my things only to discover that I'm actually a certain vigilante roaming the streets at night.

Occasionally, I’d end up in the papers—usually after stopping a major crime, like the time I prevented a jewellery store robbery.. But I don't do it for the glory or fame. And to be honest, even if I did, I still get nothing out of it, not with my strong conviction to keep my identity a secret.

As I rounded a corner, just a few meters ahead, I spotted five men in jumpsuits cornering a man clutching his bag for dear life, right outside some establishment.

"Ugh, I'm not really dressed appropriately for this." I mutter to myself looking down at my jeans and sneakers, mustering the courage to interrupt them.

"Hey!" I shout toward the group of men. All five of them—and the defenseless man—turn to face me at once. "Leave that man alone."

"This ain't any of your business, missy." The bulkiest of the bunch spoke menacingly, his voice low and threatening. "Get lost."

I sigh in disappointment. "I should've seen that coming." I mutter under my breath. Then, raising my voice again, "Look buddy," Staring straight into him. “I really don't want any trouble, Just please don't hurt the guy."

He laughs at my attempt at bravery, urging his jumpsuited friends to laugh with him. "And what makes you think I will do whatever you tell me to?" He snarls.

"Honestly, I don't.” shifting my weight from one leg to the other.“But I was hoping you would since it would probably be best for all of us." I shrug. “Most especially you.”

"Little lady,"

A chill ran down my spine—and not the good kind—as I heard his nickname that he’s clearly made up for me. He starts walking closer, with each step of his growing heavier and more deliberate.

"Why don't you go on your way and let us finish our business?"

I sigh, "I didn't want to do this." I said while shaking my head in disapproval.

"Do what, exactly?" He smirked, completely unthreatened by my words.

Unfortunately for both of us, my patience doesn’t run very far—so I took it as a challenge.

Without another word, I swing my right leg up, my foot merging with his jaw. He crashes to the ground with a thud, grunting in pain.

His friends glare at me, eyes wide, fists clenched—I could practically see steam flowing out of their ears and noses.

That was my cue to run.

As I sprint down the street, I hear his voice yelling behind me, faint but furious, "Get her!"

With urgency, I passed through the crowd in Hell's Kitchen—doing my best not to bump into anyone—and shouting a quick, genuine "Sorry!” to those I couldn't. The sky was growing darker so the bright green glow of the stoplight up ahead immediately caught my eye. That’s when I quickly conjured up a plan to shake them off.

I pick up speed, ignoring the ache in my legs from all the sprinting. Patrolling at night was one thing—but this? Running away from trouble? That wasn’t my usual style.

Without looking back, I dashed across the crosswalk, dodging people as best I could, Escaping them was proving harder than I thought.

As I neared the other side of the road, the light turned yellow, giving me only just a few seconds to execute my spontaneous plan. I took it as a sign and pushed myself to run faster.

By the time the light turned red, I had already crossed. Behind me, the intersection exploded with the chaotic roar of engines and angry car horns. Still I forced myself to calm down—just enough to steady my breathing. Hands on my knees, I fought through the burning sensation in my legs which were intensifying by the minute.

This was already too much for one night.

And yet... It only reminded me why I do what I do.

I glanced behind me with hopes of finally losing my tail—only to feel that hope evaporate. They were still coming. Determined. Reckless. They darted across the road, dodging cars and buses, ignoring every traffic law in the book.

"Oh, come on." I mutter, breath hitching as I keep sprinting down the sidewalk.. I turn a sharp corner—only to find myself in a dark, dead-end alley.

"Shit." I cursed under my breath.

I spin around, desperate to make a run for it, hoping they still haven't caught up. But the sky has now turned nearly black, and the shadows aren’t doing me any favors.

Then I see them.

They’re just a few meters from me, the bulky one trails close behind, pushing through the group like a tank.

My heart slams against my chest, adrenaline buzzing through every vein.

At this point, there's no way out.

No more running.

I clench my fists, steady my breath, and brace myself.

I have no choice now—I have to fight.

And without my suit, this is going to be a whole new problem.

"Hey boys," a voice called from somewhere above the alley.

All of us—including me—looked up, scanning for the source.

There, standing atop the building behind me, was a dark figure looking over us.

"You can do better than ganging up on a girl." The figure taunted, his low-pitched voice carrying a smug edge.

"Daredevil." I whispered in realization.

It was the vigilante, in the flesh.

He casually leaps off the building, using his baton’s grappling hook to land smoothly a few feet in front of me. He stood tall, planting himself between me and the men, his stance protective—broad shoulders blocking their view of me completely.

"Tell you what," says the man in the red suit, "I'm gonna let you off easy if you just leave her alone. How about that?" He negotiates.

In reaction to what he just said, one of the men laughed mockingly—but his expression hardened in an instant as he lunged forward with a punch towards Daredevil.

The vigilante swiftly dodged to the left, grabbed the assailant's arm then yanked him down to his knee, slamming hard into his gut. The man bent over as he grunted in with a pained grunt.

The men looked at him with anger, ready to retaliate..

"Close your eyes. You don't need to see this." He told me.

I remain standing, now even more unsure of what to do with this situation I put myself in.

Seconds later, he's already in full brawl mode with thuds and grunts echoing through the alley as he took on three at once with surgical precision.

The remaining two—including the bulky one—were eyeing me as they smugly approached, ignoring his group taking a beating from the vigilante.

Big mistake.

As soon as they were close enough, I sprang forward. Then, with one fluid leap I vault off the wall beside me, with my foot landing on one guy's jaw, sending him sprawling. The bulky one lunged at me but I twisted, caught his arm mid-swing and I drove my elbow into his throat. He let out a wet cough and collapsed in a heap.

When I looked up, Daredevil already got two guys on the ground, dealing one last big swing, making his final opponent drop unconscious.He turns to look at me, still in his fighting stance, only for his body to relax the moment he notices how quiet it had gotten and the bodies scattered around me.

"You alright?" He asks in-between breaths.

"Yeah," you exhale, "I'm fine."

"Did you do that?" He asks, nodding towards the unconscious men at my feet.

"I think so," I joked. "I mean, who else could've done that?" I shrugged, aiming to seem casual though I instantly worried it came off arrogant.

But he chuckled anyway.

"I'm sorry.” I quickly added, “I meant to say yes."

His head tilted slightly, as if analyzing me. I couldn't really tell the expression on his face through the mask. But the way he was looking made me little self-conscious.

“How’d you do that?" He asks, curiosity threading in his voice.

Panic flickered in my chest as I scrambled for an answer without giving anything away.

"I -uh," I stammered. "I took some classes." I answered, which was technically true, but probably not in the way he would imagine.

His lips curled into a smirk. "That's some class."

I let out a breath of a laugh in response.

"I better head home." I said, urgency creeping back into my voice. The whole encounter had reminded me—clearly, I still had work to do. Not that I blame him. He was just one person against an endless city of crime.

"Of course." He says as if coming to his senses. "And you'll be okay?" Asking with a softness in his voice, almost sounding like care.

"Yes, and um..." I respond, trailing off. "Thank you."

He dipped his head in a quiet nod, and then raised his grappling hook. My eyes followed his figure as he ascended effortlessly, vanishing onto the rooftops—probably off to save someone's day again.

With determination, I started walking towards my apartment with renewed urgency. My mind drifted off to the possibility of a new threat unfolding while I was still out of my suit. The thought unsettled me.

I need to get home.

And get out there—now.

I jogged along the same path where the goons had chased me earlier, with deja vu settling in with every step. Then my mind trailed off to the man I helped get away from the men in the jumpsuits. I certainly hope he found his way home safely.

As my apartment building came into view, I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. I stopped for a moment and turned, scanning the street behind me. People moved about, immersed in their own lives—laughing, talking, rushing in and out of nearby shops. Everything seemed normal.

But I felt it—eyes on me.

Watching.

Studying.

I searched the crowd, narrowing my eyes as I looked at every corner, every shadowed doorway, waiting for something—or someone—to stand out. Nothing did.

After a minute of fruitless searching, I shook my head. Probably just the aftershock of the night’s events. Adrenaline messes with your instincts sometimes.

Still uneasy, I pulled my keys from my bag and pushed open the door to my building, trying to brace myself for whatever the rest of the night had in store.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

EXTRA CREDIT

professor!matt murdock x student!female reader

co-written with @hailey-murdock

word count. 4185

synopsis. you’re a struggling law student at columbia and seek out help from your temporary professor, matt murdock

warnings. 18+ only!! sexual & taboo content, legal age gap, semi-public sex, praise, unprotected sex but matt pulls out. mdni

notes. collab with my bestie @hailey-murdock if you’re seeing this first on my account, check out hers too <3 link

Students often find themselves in need of that extra boost to achieve their desired grades or attain additional credit towards their coursework.

And that was the case for you - never did you think you would end up at Columbia trying to earn your law degree. 

Now in your senior year, you needed extra credit, and none of your other professors wanted to help.

So you went with your last chance, Professor Murdock. He just started teaching a couple of months ago. But you quickly grew fond of him. Based on what you knew - he took on the Frank Castle case alongside his partner Nelson but lost the case. Maybe the case downshadowed their firm and made everything fall apart.

Who knew? But that made no difference to you. You knew what you wanted and needed. The way to his office made you dizzy, and you didn't know what to expect. You needed him -no, that was wrong- you needed his help.

The moment you stood outside his office, you saw him standing over his desk with his sleeves rolled up. His muscular forearms displayed in front of you. The tie loosely hung around his neck. 

His red-tinted glasses cover his soft, beautiful eyes that you've only ever seen once before. He looked almost angelic - and you finally understood the saying 'sight for sore eyes.' Matthew Murdock was truly a sight for sore eyes. 

The way his fingers ran over the braille on the paper on the table made you have many unholy thoughts about the man that could change your life. It made you think how his hand would feel around your throat while thrusting inside you from behind. Or if he could feel how tight your wet cunt was around his fingers. No, snap out of it. It was a sin to think such a thing of a man 15 years older than you. 

But Matt sensed you there at his door. He had actually heard you when you walked inside the building. The sweet scent of your perfume hit his nostrils stronger than a punch he would take at night on his nightly activities. 

Matt thought you already smelled sweet until he noticed a change of scent. It was more of an intoxicating fragrance - seeping into his skin and staining his memory with your powerful smell, immersed in your essence.

The way you wet your lips was just like beauty drops from the shyness of your lips. Nectar flows of desire with your heartbeat. Matt was hypnotized by the smell of your arousal in the air, making his pants feel tighter.

He was snapped out of that trance when he heard the sweetest sound he could ever hear: your voice. He stood there for a good minute, thinking of all those times he had heard your extremely short skirts rustle against the soft breeze, how the fabric would rub against your skin every time you were near him.

The smile on your face or the light scent of your orgasm from the night before still lingered on your skin, and it drove him mad. Did you have any idea of what you were doing to him? All those times your voice would change around him, the slightly whiney pitch making him want you more.

The soft touch of your hand on him when you would help him through the university campus, guiding him through the buildings, even though he had a cane and memory of the directions. Matt desired your touch on his skin, not on his suit. He couldn't corrupt a sweet, innocent thing like you. Or at least he thought so before.

After you managed to calm yourself down, you walked inside his office. Matt looked like he was about to explode. He was red, flustered, and sweating, and you grew concerned. "Professor? Are you okay?" 

"W-what? Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just thinking. Is there anything I can do for you?" Matt sat in his chair and moved himself to hide his growing erection under the desk. It was so wrong and unprofessional for him to act like this around you, his student. 

Your eyes ran down to his lap, and if Matt wasn't blind, he could see how your pupils grew wide. Matt Murdock wasn't small. No, he was big - bigger than you had imagined before. 

It was disgusting and perverted to think of your professor when you would seek pleasure late at night, hand rubbing your clit and moaning out his name as you came. 

You cleared your throat before continuing. "I've had a hard time understanding torts. I've tried and tried, but I just don't get it. I've been to everyone else, and you're kinda my last resort." You awkwardly chuckle, scuffling your feet.

"And you didn't come to me first?" he playfully questions, stroking over his stubble as if he's trying to assess you.

"No-- well, I didn't want to bother you, you know? You're only here temporarily and--" you trail off.

"I was just messing," he interrupts, a soft smile lining his lips. "Sit," he nods, gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. "I'd love to help one of my favourite students."

"One of them?" you snicker, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. "That's disappointing. I thought I was your favourite," you smile, your tone sweet as you lay your textbooks on the oak desk.  

Your eyes remain fixed on him, and you notice an expression you can't quite place - a face that's unreadable.

You sighed dramatically, "Please, Professor, I need your help-- badly. I need you". 

The small noise ran a chill down Matt's spine. It made it cock twitch underneath his slacks. He made a fist to bite onto it, to make sure the moan that was about to escape from his throat wasn't heard.

The way you begged for his help made him feel pride in his chest, his famous smirk surfacing onto his face. Would you sound this desperate in the bedroom? Matt thought to himself, and his thoughts carried on.

"Professor?" you repeat, your ask falling upon deaf ears. 

"Yes, sorry, forgive me, sweetheart. But back to the topic, I might have something that can help. Let me quickly look for it." He opened one of the drawers and ran his fingers over the braille to know the assignment.

But while he was so concentrated on the paper, you were a flustered mess. Matt Murdock, your professor, had called you 'sweetheart.' It was like honey the way the word rolled off his tongue. Your thighs pressed together to try to calm the ache between your legs. 

The way your scent hit Matt's nostrils was like a hard punch he'd receive on his nightly patrols. A groan left his throat, and he tried to mask it with a cough.

"Sorry, I had this assignment planned for the class but never gave it out. You have a week to do it. When you pass, you'll have your extra credit." Matt handed you your assignment.

"'When,' I think you mean if. But thank you so much for your help professor. I don't know what I would do without you." You knew you could count on him, although you were nervous about the outcome.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're smart and talented. You have a long way ahead of yourself. I know you can do this. If you need help, please come to me. I'll be at your disposal." 

Matt would have given you the extra credit without hesitation, but he wanted you to have a valid excuse to see him. He needed to see you again.

"Thank you again. And I won't sell myself short." You gently smiled at him even though he couldn't see your beautiful smile. 

"Good girl. The sooner you start, the better."

If you weren't blushing earlier, then you certainly would be now. The praise made your knees weak. Your panties are soaked and uncomfortable. The sensation needed to be taken care of once you got back to your dorm.

"I- uh. Yes, sir," you nodded quickly. 

It made you even redder that you couldn't make out a coherent sentence. Matt, that cheeky bastard was enjoying every single moment of this. It fueled his pride and ego, his smirk wider by the second. His erection was starting to become painful. The way you called him sir had him over the edge. 

He felt himself about to cum in his pants like a teenager. Matt needed to desperately do something about it and he couldn't with you there in his office, not yet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you"? 

Yeah, you can fuck me on your desk, you thought. You let out a sigh as you released your bitten lip and responded "No professor, thank you so much. I'll do good, I promise." And with that, you left his office. 

Your scent lingered in Matt's office, he could taste it on his tastebuds. Once he knew for sure you were far away from his office, he closed the door and locked it. He sat back down in his chair, quickly fumbling with his belt to take it off and pull down his pants just enough to take out his cock.

He rolls over his swollen cock with his roughened palm, stroking himself to you, sinful and utterly shameful thoughts of you. Thoughts and notions that made him question his moral code. He knew he shouldn’t be touching himself to you – a student, his student, but he was on the brink, too far gone to stop now. He imagined the noises you’d make, the way you felt wrapped around him, he anticipated the way you would come undone beneath him.

But the overwhelming pleasure made Matt forget everything about his moral code. He knew he would go to hell for his double life and all his sins. But you? Oh, you were his greatest sin, you were the cherry on top of his ticket to hell. His lust and desires wanted him to feel ashamed but Matt did not care. 

The small whimpers Matt knew he could pull out of you only made him harder. Matt wished it was your soft and delicate hands around his cock instead of his calloused hands. He knew he could treat you better than any of those stupid college guys. Only looking for their own release. Pathetic and selfish were the two things guys at college are. After three thrusts, they'd be done, but Matt? Oh, the stamina he has is way beyond what you could ever imagine.

He was a real man who knew how to make you fall apart for him within seconds. The amount of times he could bring you to reach your release. You poor small thing, probably haven't had your sweet cunt eaten out. Maybe even hadn't been given an orgasm.

Matt wanted to ruin you for any other person who would have you. No - you're his. You belong to him. Corrupting you would only add another sin to his list. The more he thought of you, the more he grew closer to coming. Matt's lip was bleeding due to how hard he had been trying to keep his moans and groans quiet.

Matt squeezed his cock tightly imagining that it would be your cunt squeezing him while you come for him, screaming his name. And just with that he came all over his hand and shirt, the sensation was making his senses go overload. A small whimper escapes his mouth. 

Matt reaches out for something to ground himself back again, but he's found with nothing. He needs you- Matt needs you there to comfort him. What? No- he made a deal to cut all forms of relationships. No friends, no love interests, no nothing. What about you then? That was a different situation and he would use you for his own pleasure. There's a difference, Matt thought to himself.

He felt confused, humiliated, even. His mind slowly started to clear, and then he began to round up the pros and cons, weighing what would do more harm. But you were still consuming the logical part of his brain, and all he could muster was an exasperated sigh, dropping his face in his palms like he was soothing himself. He just had to make it through the week.  

You've been doing everything you could to get that extra credit - staying up late, turning down every party invitation, just doing everything you could to get a good grade. All you wanted was for your efforts to be noted and appreciated. You just hoped your professor could notice how hard you were trying and give you something to prove your efforts. 

You haven't seen him all week, practically counting down the days to his handsome face again, and today was finally the day. 

He had a relatively busy schedule, so instead, he asked you to see him at the end, just before hometime -when he knew it would be empty- 

All day you had an anxious pit in your stomach - wild butterflies fluttering around your throat from how nervous you were. You just had to make it until 5 pm, that was all.

The time finally rolled around, and you began to make your way to Matt's office, uneasy footing carrying you to his door. You collect yourself briefly before knocking, tapping in a rhythmic tune. 

"Come in," the voice called from behind the door. 

"Hi," you smile, stepping into the small closet-like room. "You said to come back at 5."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Take a seat," he smiles, gesturing to the seat beside him. 

Your breath catches in your throat when you realise just how close you would be sitting to him, much closer than you were expecting, though you weren't complaining. But you do as told and take a seat.

"How did you find it?" he breaks the momentary silence, crossing his leg towards you. 

"Eh," you sigh, sweetly laughing. "Wasn't awful. But I did it, so that must count, right?"

He lightly chuckles, adjusting himself in the chair almost like he was leaning into you - his body language very much interested. "That's good. How do you think you did?"

"I'd like to think I did good."

His pretty smile resurfaces at your reassuring words, and your thighs instinctively clamp together, your body having a mind of its own.  

"That's great to hear, sweetheart," he nods. "Oh, while I have you here. This computer has been making a weird sound. Can you take a look for me?" 

"Of course," you smile and scooch closer on your chair, perking yourself up as you lean over, accidentally knocking him in the way. "Sorry," you mutter, patting his arm apologetically.

Matt exhales, your delicate touch sending him into a frenzy. "Sorry about the mess-- books everywhere. I really should clean it," he murmurs, shaking his head like he was trying to redirect his blood flow. He continues to blabber, feeling the strain in his boxers once more. "I'll get around to it." 

"It's okay," you whisper, breath catching in your throat again when you feel his knee brush over the back of your leg. "It's no problem." This time, you sounded more desperate than you would've liked - pathetic almost. 

He abruptly adjusts his seating position, his hardened crotch hitting against the cheeks of your ass causing you to stumble forward, splaying over his desk for a brief moment before spinning back around to face him. 

He's big, you think to yourself. Your eyes widen when you realize the position you are in. Matt wanted to do more by assuming that you were excited or maybe nervous as he heard the hammering beat of your heart. 

Besides, it wasn't like you were pushing him away. Maybe you did want this after all, the sweet nectar scent between your legs confirmed his theory. Matt leans in closer towards you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, "Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?" 

You couldn't form any words, it was embarrassing. The need to have Matt's hand between your thighs to ease the ache was starting to fill your mind. A pathetic whimper fell from your soft lips as you nodded your head 'yes.'

His calloused fingers run over your knee, up your thigh, "Oh you sweet thing, I haven't even done a single thing and you already can't speak. Use your big girl words. Is this okay?"

"Y-yes," it was barely audible. The shade of crimson grew darker on your cheeks the more Matt touched you. His left hand gripping your thigh, while his right hand was on your hip, slowly creeping up your chest to your neck. It only made your arousal leak through your panties how his large hand covered your entire neck.

Matt's body heat radiated onto your skin with how he had you caged against his desk. He couldn’t get enough of how soft your skin was, even softer than the silk sheets on his bed. You were like a drug, his addiction. 

His hand moved to grip your jaw to look at him, he leaned in to kiss the soft lips of yours that he's craved to kiss, to have wrapped around his cock. Sucking him while he'd grip your hair, guiding you, being his good girl. Matt's cock twitches painfully under his slacks. 

"W-what if someone sees us?" You wanted to kiss Matt, badly, but that didn't mean you wanted to get caught. 

"Nobody's here, sweetheart. Don't worry that pretty little head of yours."

Before closing your eyes, you saw the smirk that Matt had grown to flash at you lately. God, how you wanted to make this man feel so good. 

His thumb brushes over your chin, tilting you up to face him once again, his smirk slowly faltering as he closes the distance, angling you to meet his lips. He kisses you with more vigour - more passionately than before, like he was desperate, finally kissing you like those times he's dreamt of.

His palm around your jaw slips behind and into a loose fist of hair at the back of your neck, holding you still and deepening the kiss as he presses his chest into yours, pushing you back into his desk. 

You hop onto the edge of the desk and slip your hands around his waist, finicking with his belt as you eagerly try to undress his lower half.  

He parts from the kiss breathlessly, chuckling as he shakes his head. "Not about me, sweetheart," he smiles, removing your hands from his waistband. He brings your hands to his lips and places a delicate kiss on the back of each. "It's about you."

Matt hastily clears the desk surrounding you, emptying the space for you to lean back. You do as asked, falling back and resting on your elbows as you gaze up at the handsome man standing between your spread legs. 

His hands trail your bare thighs, grazing up the goosebumped skin until his fingertips reach the frilled edging of your underwear. A gentle smile lines his lips as he brushes over the small wet patch of fabric, his thumb tracing your folds through the dampened material. His grin widens as he outlines the mound of your clit, teasing at the nub with small, soft circles. 

On any other occasion, Matt would've taken the time to work you up, to appreciate you - to coax out a couple of orgasms beforehand, but time was not on your side, and what you had was limited. He just wanted to give you a small taste of what he had to offer you, hoping you'd want to come back for more. All he wanted today was to satisfy a slither of his hunger while making you feel good - all while going uncaught. 

He returns his attention to you and slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly dragging them over your hips and down your thighs. He balls the damp, slinky fabric and shoves it in his desk drawer for "safekeeping," as Matt lightly put it.

"If we had more time, sweetheart..." he trails off, shaking his head at the thought. 

"I don't really understand law-- I'll be back again soon," you reply, tone flirty and breathless as you shimmy down on the oak desk, adjusting to accompany him. "Might need some more extra credit."

"That's good-- I can do that," his voice hoarse as he urgently unbuckles his belt, unzipping his fly. "I've got plenty more. Anything you need."

He pulls his cock out over the waistband of his boxers, keeping most of himself covered in the off and unfortunate chance of getting caught.

You perk yourself up higher on your elbows and glance down at him, eyes bugging out your head when you see his thick, swollen dick twitching in his tight grasp. He wasn't your first, but his size certainly was. 

Matt lazily rolls over his cock, massaging in a few beads of precum as he situates closer, standing between your legs with his thighs pressed into the back-side of yours. He pushes his dick through your folds, collecting your wetness on his head, slick lips parting around his girth.

"If it's too much, let me know," Matt reassures, stroking your thigh with his spare hand.

"I will," you eagerly nod, wrapping your hand around his cock, slowly guiding him into you.

He stills, allowing you to take what you want, letting you take it little by little til you're full solely of him. His thick cock stuffed into your perfect, pretty pussy - warm walls melting around him as you twitch and whine on the table. 

"That's it-- doin' so good," he coos, brushing comforting circles over your tummy, the action as if to soothe you. "Feel so perfect."

Matt slowly drags out a few inches and pushes back in, doing it repetitively as if to stretch you out, slowly fucking and filling you. One of his hands trails back to your waist, gripping your skin and gently tugging your body to meet his lazy, uneven jabs. The other placed calculatedly over your pubic bone, thumb swirling over your clit in a movement that juxtaposed his sloppy thrusts. 

The dingy room is full of stifled moans and muttering praises - wet, squelching noises accompanying the lewd sounds. 

It all began to feel like too much, as if Matt was pressing all your buttons at once - doing everything to get you off as fast and hard as possible. 

"Quiet, sweetheart. I can't be giving everyone extra credit," he hushes, continuing to leisurely wind his cock into you, going nice and slow. "That's only for you, sweet girl."

He leans over your body, swallowing your whimpers with rough kisses as if he knew you were close - like he was taking precautions, not wanting others to hear. 

His thrusts never falter in motion, giving you what you want, not changing a thing as he brings you to your ever-longing high. 

"Cum on my dick," he murmurs against your lips, resting his forehead on yours, softly panting. "That's it, that's it, that's it, that's it."

The internal balloon in your stomach wears thin, and you do as instructed - cumming around his thick cock as you entrap him to your body, caging him in a bear hug. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling moans and cries as you let go.

"Sound so pretty," he whispers, peeling himself from your grasp. "So, so pretty."

Once you come back down, he stands upright and yanks his cock from the perfect warmth between your legs, rolling over his reddened head as he spills his release on your inner thigh, mumbling curses and praises about how good you make him feel. 

Matt quickly tucks himself away, and his cheeks flush a light pink as he slips his hands into yours, pulling you up and helping you up. He sits in his chair and rolls it closer to you, pulling out one of his desk drawers and collecting a pack of tissues.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, wiping the tissue over your thigh, cleaning the cum. 

"No," you reply immediately, shaking your head. "Not at all."

"Good," he grins, throwing the tissue in the can by the window. "We'll keep this as our little secret?"

"Absolutely," you sweetly laugh. "But, I should be going. My roommate's waiting on me."

"Of course, sweetheart," his grin widens, nodding understandingly.

He helps you to your feet and adjusts your skirt, smoothing over the fabric. As he does that, you sort out your upper half - straightening your top and fixing your hair. 

"Oh-- my underwear," you giggle, feeling a slight breeze. 

He playfully tuts, clicking his tongue as he buckles his belt. "I'm keeping them for a few days. Will you give you a reason to come back."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and reach for the door handle. "I don't need another reason."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

matt taglist: @hailey-murdock @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @redecoratestan @kpopgirlbtssvt @scarletsloveletter @princess-pebbles-things @messymissy @schneeflocky @readerhead @thegreengoop @charmedkim @queerponcho @simplyreflected @kinglokisqueen4ever