#matt murdock whump

[cricket-reader]

Sick Day

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Summary: Matt isn’t very happy when he comes home and discovers that his girlfriend had kept her sickness from him. He makes sure she is well taken care of before they go to bed.

Warnings: language, sickness, pet names, Matt being an overprotective simp, fluffy

Word Count: 960

Prompt: Sickfic, headache, cold/fever, blankets, hot drink (except I changed it to hot soup)

A/N: day 5 of March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump

Today had been horrible. She awoke to see that Matt had left early to go to work. On top of that, she felt like shit. Her head was pounding and she was burning up. Her nose felt stuffy, and her muscles ached.

She got up and took her temperature to see that she had a fever of 100.7 degrees Fahrenheit. She called into work and made her way over to the couch, not wanting to get the bed all disgusting from her sickness. Matt would still sleep there, after all. He didn’t need to come home to a bed that smelled like sweat and sickness. Whatever the hell “sickness” smelled like.

Matt frowned as he entered his apartment. He could hear the coughing as soon as he entered the complex. He could hear shifting on the couch, telling him his girlfriend was camped out in the living room with some blankets.

“Sweetheart?” Matt questioned, setting down his cane. He heard a groan as he walked over to the couch. “Why didn’t you call me to tell you that you were sick?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” she mumbled, sniffling a bit. “I know you’ve been busy lately.”

“I’m never too busy for you, love. I would have come home earlier if you called.”

She sighed. “I know, and that’s why I didn’t.”

“Well you should have,” he admonished her. She always did this. Her needs were never one of her priorities. She put everyone before her, and it bothered the ever-loving shit out of him. Because Matt knew she deserved the world. No, she deserved more than that. The universe, maybe.

She just huffed in irritation, knowing that there was absolutely no way she was going to win this argument.

“Have you eaten today?” Matt questioned as he leaned against the armrest of the couch. She cursed how well he knew her.

“No, I didn’t wanna get up.”

Matt just shook his head as he got up to make some soup. He glared in her direction when he heard her shift, knowing that she was trying to get up to help him. “Don’t you even try, young lady.” He put a pot on the stove.

“I just wanna help. You’ve been at work all day while I’ve just been sitting on my ass!”

Matt turned his head in her direction and gave her an incredulous look. “You’ve been sick!”

“That’s no excuse!”

“What if I was the one that was sick?”

“That’s different,” she pouted, crossing her arms as she watched him pour a pre-made homemade soup into the warm pot. She blew her nose with a tissue, her nose already red and raw from blowing it so much.

“And how, pray tell, is that different?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s you!”

“Your logic is lacking, hun.”

She just groaned and flopped back onto the couch dramatically. A cold spell made her shiver. She grabbed one of the blankets and furrowed into it. She had been having hot and cold flashes off and on all day. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Turning off the stove when the soup was finished, he put it in a bowl before moving over to the couch. Setting it on the coffee table, he noted that her breathing had slowed; she must have been asleep.

“Sweetheart?” Matt gently shook her awake. He felt horrible for disrupting her, but she needed to get food in her system if she wanted to get better. She groaned, turning to bury herself further into the couch. “Baby, you need to get some food in your body. Then we can cuddle and get some sleep, okay?”

She blinked awake, groggily lifting her hands to rub at her eyes. “Cuddles?”

Matt’s heart melted hearing her soft little voice. It’s moments like that when he falls impossibly deeper in love with his precious girlfriend. He never thinks it’s possible to love her even more, but somehow he does manage. “Anything you want, baby.”

She smiled and took the soup from him. Matt scooted closer to her body and she snuggled against him as she began to blow on the soup.

The soup was hot in her mouth, but it felt good, warming her insides. “Thanks, Matty. You’re the best boyfriend.”

“It helps to have such a great girlfriend,” he flirted with her, loving the skip of her heart whenever he would. She blushed as she lifted another spoonful of soup to her mouth.

When she finished the soup, Matt made her drink some more water. She just huffed in exasperation. “I thought you said after soup I’d get cuddles.”

“Sorry, hun, can’t I just take care of you?”

She shrugged, taking a sip from the glass. “I’m just not really used to it.”

“Which is exactly why I’m making sure you get the best treatment now,” he stated.

“You’re too good for me, Matthew,” she sighed, leaning her head against his torso.

He just chuckled, “I’m pretty sure you got that sentence twisted.”

“Let me win for once, please,” she pouted. Matt sighed and agreed to let her have that one. It was the least he could do after she had asked him so sweetly, after all.

When she finished the tall glass, she set it on the table, making sure to exaggerate the sound of it being empty. “Snuggle time!”

He laughed as he was ambushed by her. Wrapping his arms around her, he picked her up to bring her to bed. She protested, hating being picked up, but Matt just shushed her as he lied her down. He undressed and crawls in next to her. She burrowed closer to her boyfriend, and he could hear her sigh contentedly, smiling against his warm skin.

She really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

[munsonownsmyass]

Never let you go

Matt Murdock x reader

Notes: This is for @mindidjarin . It's her birthday and she often says she wants our boy Matty to suffer, so... Happy birthday, Mindi my dear, here's some whump.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, massive injuries, crying. Whumpy shit. I made myself cry.

Feeling lightheaded, Matt stumbles down the corridor, searching for you. His bleeding had slowed down, but his suit was already drenched with blood. Not all of it his, but most of it was. He should probably do something about it, bandage it up, but there was no time. He had to find you.

The metallic smell of blood hangs heavily in the air, overpowering his senses. His own. The guys who now lay unconscious or dead on the floor. You.

He hears you, finds your ragged breath and weak heartbeat. Falling to his knees beside you, his hands roam your form, assessing your injuries. Small wounds scattered all over your body, some deeper than others, but most he could handle. Bruised skin, a few broken bones and…

He tries to convince himself it isn’t bad, that he can get you help, but as his hand covers the huge gash on your throat, he can’t keep the tears away. Even with the wound covered, the blood trickles freely past his fingertips. Sliding down your chest and his arms, dripping onto the floor.

“Just tell me.” You cough out, your words drowned out by the blood in your mouth. Your breathing is shallow, fast, as you try to hang on. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No, no, sweetheart. It’s okay.” He lies, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that much blood, that people have survived worse. But you’re already so cold, your heartbeat getting fainter by each beat. “You’ll be okay.”

“Matty-” You try, but your words fail you. You’re already so weak, but you try to be strong. For him. And he tries to be strong for you, keeping the tears at bay. He should never have brought you here, but you insisted. Wanted to help. You’re always so strong, so stubborn. One of the reasons he loves you so much.

“Help will be here soon. I promise.” It’s more for himself than you, trying to hold onto hope. Whispering silent prayers between sobs as he caress your hair, feeling your body become weaker in his arms. You can’t do this, you can’t leave him like this. It’s not fair. He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose you too.

“Sweetheart?” More a plea than a question, he shake you awake. You can’t fall asleep, not yet. Not when there’s so much he wants to say. A soft whimper is all you give him, as the tears stream down your face. He can feel them fall on his hands, hear your sobs in between your strained breath.

“I need you to hold on for me, okay? Just-” You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart and he breaks. Sobbing, he kisses you, hopefully not for the last time. “Just be strong for me. I can’t go on without you. I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

“I’m sorry.” You croak out, voice so weak it’s barely there. He can feel you looking at him and how much it drains you. It’s not gonna be long now. “I’m so sorry, Matty. Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, sweetheart.” The tears sting in his eyes, the silent cries now turned into sobs as he caress your hair, rocking you softly in his arms. “Just… Hold on.”

“I can’t… You-” You cup his cheek, hand trembling as it takes all your remaining strength. “You have to let me go. Move your hand.”

“No, please. Please don’t make me do that. I can’t-” He pleads. You just nod, moving your own hand to his. His lips find yours in the last kiss you’ll ever share. As he keeps you in his embrace, lips locked with yours, he moves his hand from your throat. He keeps holding you, caressing you and whispering pleads to anyone who will listen. Even after you’ve turned cold, your heartbeat gone, he holds you close, never wanting to let you go.

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @saintmurd0ck @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago @pedrito-friskito @officialjanetsnakehole @a-bang-for-your-bucky @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

Tagging: @freshabogados @lucy-sky

[skvatnavle]

Heartbeat

Matt Murdock x reader

Warnings: whump, angst, character death.

Note: this is made for the lovely @mindidjarin who wanted some whump for Matt. I believe her words were "I want our boy to suffer". So... ask and you shall receive 😅❤️

Words: 483

When Matt finally reaches you, you're already shivering. The warmth you once radiated slowly leaving you as the pavement is painted red. The crimson stain shines in the moonlight, as it grows bigger.

"No, no, no… please." He can smell the blood in the air, taste the sweet metal on his tongue. He doesn't have to reach for your pulse, he can already hear it slowing down.

"Call 911!" He screams at his phone. He has to get you help, you're already so cold.

Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.

Your heartbeat is still there, the sound that's been his anchor for all these years, the sound he yearns for every single day. But it's fading.

Da-dum… da-dum… da-dum…

"No, baby. Please. Just… hang on a little longer." He begs, voice almost breaking when he feels the way you're shivering in his arms.

He yells the address to the operator, screaming for them to come and fast. He doesn't even care if they see him in his suit, you're more important. You're everything. His reason for waking up each morning.

Da-dum…… da-dum……

"Please, just… fight for me sweetheart. Just a little longer."

The operator keeps asking questions, but he doesn't listen. Nothing exists but you and you're slipping away.

"Matty… I-I love you." You're voice so weak, so small, tainted with fear.

"No, don't say it like that. Don't say it like it's goodbye."

Da-dum…

A single little weak beat. When he first heard your heart, he swore it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. The sound he would want to listen to all days from that to his last breath. The sound he sound solace in all those hard nights where he didn't know if he could keep on fighting.

The sound that was his foundation, his home. The way your heartbeat would pick up when you laughed. The way it would skip a beat when he kissed you.

Da-dum…

He pleads to the heavens, asking God not to take you from him, not to take you home. He needs you here.

Da…. Dum…

He thought there would be more time, that somehow you would always be there. He swears to God he will give anything to have you longer. He needs more time.

Da…… dum……

You're so cold, so weak. So still… Holding you closer, he pleads over and over. Don't take her from me. Please let her live.

And then…. Nothing… the faint sound of your heart is gone, leaving him in the defeaning silence.

"No… no, no, please…" he pleads, holding you closer, kissing you softly as he brushes a stray hair away from your forehead. You're limb in his arms, so cold. Desperately he listens for your heartbeat, but it's not there. Gone, like he wishes his was. He would never forget the moment when your heart stopped and his kept beating.

Life isn't measured in minutes, it's measured in heartbeats.

Thank you so much for reading <3

Tagging the TFC girls: @itwasthereaminuteago @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @e-dubbc11 @phoebe-danvers @saintmurd0ck @mattmurdocksscars @pedrito-friskito @a-bang-for-your-bucky

Tagging: @lucy-sky @freshabogados @murdocks-devil @chasingdreamer @sweetfictionalworld

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Wish These Snakes Were Your Arms ||

Matt Murdock x succubus!reader (and if you're into this ship check out Le Belle et le Bad Boy)

Tags/warnings: Matt's in a bad place, think season three but worse. Sexy whump/angst, biting, blood, sadomasochism, p in v. E 18+

Word count ~3700

A/n: I've been waiting to use this title from the lyrics of Kimdracula by Deftones, and the fic was inspired in part by the song Hypnotize by Sleep Token.

The pain is both a balm and penance for the pleasure he feels as her claw-like nails shred him open.

Blood leaks and drips like a maroon banner over his pale skin, a warning that he doesn't see but he can feel.

It's warm and wet but then so is she, delicate, raging and addictive even as he's being torn apart. He could stop, sure… but he won't, it's what he thinks he needs, it's punishment for his sins and he wants to receive it all. It hurts, and he's getting off on it.

I bleed only for myself.

He faintly hears you mocking him with his own words. He's halfway broken but you need to break him all the way before he can rise up again.

"You're lost, Matthew."

"Not when I'm with you." He claims desperately, the words falling over your skin like rain as he pants against your neck. He needs this, he needs this…

"I can't give you what you need, you have to find it yourself."

"You are what I need, just… make me forget."

His muscles ripple under your bloody hands every time he moves against you.

"You know it doesn't last, you need something real to live for. Find your faith."

"Stop talking." He hisses, his fingers digging harder into the meat of your thigh and dragging you closer. "You're not my fucking priest."

You almost laugh then. "Aren't I, Matthew? Don't you unburden yourself with me, don't I forgive your sins?"

He whines as you roll your hips up taking him even deeper inside you. He always feels so good.

"This is the last time." You tell him, lips trailing across the top of his scratched shoulder as he ruts into you.

Teeth puncture the skin and rip a tortured and perverse groan from his throat. You feel him throb inside you moving faster, holding onto you more tightly, urging you to keep going as the blood flows.

You sigh. "This isn't fun for me anymore."

"No… no no, I need this, I need you- fuck!"

'You've made me your whore."

He lifts his head at that as you lick across the wound, almost stopping fucking you but you know he won't. "W-what? No, I lo-"

You don't let him say it, smothering the meaningless words with your kiss. His own blood spreads over his tongue and you hope it reminds him of what you are, what he is supposed to be.

He tenses, still driving relentlessly towards whatever it is he thinks will fix him and for all your words you let it happen.

"God. Do it again." He spits. "More."

You flip him easily, pinning him to the bed and scoring fresh red marks over his chest as you ride him. He winces, reaching up to grip around the base of your neck, his eyes fluttering shut, so near the edge.

You grab his hand and wrench it away, pinning both wrists above his head as you lunge for the other side of his neck and bite down. The crimson banner unfurls, he can see it this time. He cums instantly as you split his skin again, grunting loud with the flood of pleasure and pain, moaning, jerking and spilling violently as your teeth are still embedded in him.

You eventually release, sitting up and swiping your tongue over your bloody lips.

A single tear rolls down over his cheek.

He tries to pull you into his arms, to hold you more for his comfort than yours, but you climb off him.

The silence is heavy as you carefully clean his wounds, your eyes scanning over the many scars that already marr his skin. Another couple won't make much difference. You know he's strong enough, but does he?

"You have to be the person Hell's Kitchen needs, not this."

Hunched over with his head in his hands at the side of the bed, you hear him sob.

"Get up, Matty."

He hears you, and echoes of Stick. His father's voice.

Get. Up.

Matt tags: @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

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Hi! If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means that others get to enjoy them too! I also love to hear if there's anything in particular you liked, please comment! Thank you so much for reading 💕

@hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fucker @creatingjana @echos-muses @lazyxsquirrel

[whumpees]

Are you kidding me?

And the nun was like matt you're bleeding we have to stitch you up

[greaseonmymouth]

fic: darling tonight, i've got you in my sights

darling tonight, i've got you in my sights (4765 words) by nerakrose Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Daredevil (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Post-Season/Series 03, POV Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock Whump, not compliant with any MCU canon post Daredevil season 03, Bisexual Male Character, Nelson family party, Cheesy 80s Music

Summary: Foggy might be used to seeing Matt’s dinged-up face by now, but his stomach still swoops with worry each time. This time, the worry is tinged with horror; Matt’s got a nasty bruise on his left cheekbone travelling up to his brow—his eye must be black under the glasses—and a split and bloodied lip. He’s holding himself stiffly too, and there’s blood and dirt on his clothes, shirt and jacket rumpled, bloody stain on one knee—shit, he’s wearing the same suit he was wearing when he left the office for his Thursday afternoon thing.

You know what I noticed the most when I rewatched Daredevil seasons 1-3 these past few weeks? Matt gets beaten up a LOT but he never ever gets any comfort after being horrifically injured. :( What's the point of a bloodily banged up character if he's not going to receive any tender ministrations afterwards??? :(

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

I love the trope of the badass character who can face impossible odds time and time again and still walk away. The ones who can take on an entire room of guards or a league of assassins by themselves through their fighting skills, marksmanship, or intellect.

However, nothing bores me more than when this character does this and walks away without a scratch. It just shows there are no real stakes and the character is never in any real danger so what's the point?

Instead, give me a hero outnumbered 30 to 1 and who still wins, but they are shot up, bloody, bruised, and broken. Let them barely make it back to their safe house before collapsing in pain and exhaustion. Let them have to be patched up or out of commission for a while so they can heal. THEN I will believe there are actual stakes to future conflicts and there is a chance that character might not make it out the next time. Doing this will leave me on the edge of my seat the next time they find themselves in a similar situation instead of just sighing as they once again avoid hundreds of bullets without a scratch.

Without showing that they are human who aren't perfect and can actually be hurt, you lose so much empathy and emotional attachment to the character.

So, let them bleed. Let them be in pain. Let them struggle. Then let them get back up and continue on despite all of that.

That's the badass I want to see.

[ellephlox]

Head Over Heels

Summary: It's technically not your fault that you sprained your ankle, but Matt's annoyed with you anyway (at least, he pretends to be annoyed with you — but you know better).

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A few swears, but otherwise just a whole lot of whumptober fluff!

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"I am not."

"I just heard you nearly fall over in the bathroom—"

"Because I'm rushing, Matt, that's what happens when your partner holds you captive for too long in bed and makes you late for work!"

Matt was in the process of buttoning his work shirt, a task that you noticed was taking him nearly triple the time it usually took, because his attention was entirely on you. "No one at the presentation will care if you're not wearing heels, sweetheart."

"I care!" You jangled your keys, checked your pockets again for your wallet, and slipped on a jacket. "It's a fashion thing. High heels equal professionalism."

"I like to think that I'm a professional lawyer, and not once in my life have I ever had to wear high heels to court."

"You're overreacting. I'm like a gymnast in heels. Ready? Watch this."

Your stilettos clacking against the floor, you performed several twirls, rotating as though you were a ballerina. For the first few, Matt said nothing, but then he reached out and stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

"The heels sound like precarious twigs," he said.

"They're not precarious and they're not twigs. They're pretty." For added effect you started to skip by him towards your purse.

"Just — please stop," Matt said, finishing with his last button and gesturing downward. "Walk like a normal person, at least?"

"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on skipping into the office," you assured him. "Look, I'll see you for lunch, okay? I've got to split."

"Twelve o'clock. And also promise me you won't twirl like that during your presentation," he said, and leaned in to kiss you before you left.

It was another of those impossibly busy days when you and Matt wouldn't be able to spend much time together. He was going to be in court the entire afternoon, and you had a major annual presentation for work, meaning that you'd both be out overtime and wouldn't get home until late. The bright side was that you both had an opening at noon to meet at a small diner in Hell's Kitchen and catch up over lunch.

You cursed your high heels as you tried to speed down the stairs of Matt's apartment. They really weren't conducive for someone who was running late. Halfway down, you lost your footing; the stem of the heel missed the edge of the step and you jolted downward.

And, mercifully, caught yourself on the railing.

Knowing for certain that Matt was listening to you and likely heard your misstep — as well as the way your heart was hammering from the adrenaline of nearly falling down a flight of stairs — you muttered aloud, "See? Everything's fine," and continued on your way. Shortly after, your phone vibrated with a text from Matt:

Are you trying to give me a heart attack?

Laughing to yourself, you stowed your phone back in your purse.

And the high heels did work out, for most of the morning. You gave your presentation and then buried yourself at your desk in paperwork, confined to work for the rest of the day on everything you'd fallen behind in while prepping for the presentation. You couldn't help but glance at the clock every ten minutes; noon was going to be the breath of fresh air in an otherwise stressful day.

Fifteen minutes to noon you got up from your desk and made your way out onto the street. The sun was shining, a soft balmy breeze carried the fragrance of blooming lilacs as you passed a small garden, and plush clouds drifted overhead idly.

And then, just as you were hurrying to crossing the street — technically the pedestrian light was red, but you had a solid seven seconds before the approaching car would actually reach you — there was an ominous snap, and you found yourself falling onto the pavement, your ankle rolling in the process.

Well, not just rolling. It felt more like your ankle was jerked down into a direction it definitely shouldn't have been in, accompanied by a soft pop and a flaring of sharp, throbbing pain.

The car that you would have easily made it past had to brake, honking angrily at you, and you waved vehemently in apology as you struggled to your feet — shit shit shit that hurts — and hobbled out of the street.

"Bitch!" the man shouted from his window as he accelerated by you, tossing a middle finger at you.

Usually that would probably be enough to ruin your day, being yelled at by a stranger, but you were much more preoccupied with the stabbing pain in your ankle. Did I break it? Should sprains hurt this much? You stared, stunned, at the broken stiletto that was half-dangling from your shoe. It had simply snapped in half, for no reason at all.

"Traitor," you muttered to it, taking shelter in the shade of a building to assess your ankle. Gingerly you tried touching it, but it flashed with pain as you pressed on it. Inhaling deeply and tilting your head backwards — do NOT cry don't cry don't cry don't cry— you began to continue your way to the diner.

Matt wasn't going to be happy about this. And you already knew there was no way you could hide it from him. You were limping so badly that it was difficult to walk; each movement felt as though you were tearing your ankle again. If you could arrive at the diner first and get yourself seated, then maybe you had a small chance of the injury going unnoticed, but your limping must have delayed you just enough, because you could see Matt through the window of the restaurant — he'd already arrived.

And his head was already tilted in a way that meant, yep, he's definitely onto me, he can already hear me.

"Hi," you greeted him weakly as you walked in, ignoring the fact that tears were spiking in your eyes. Matt was already on his feet, grabbing his cane almost as an afterthought and approaching you quickly.

"I didn't think it was you at first," he said, quietly so that other patrons in the diner wouldn't hear. "Your gait was so different. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's not so bad," you said, knowing he'd hear right through the lie, but not caring much in the moment.

"Let me feel it."

There was no sense in objecting; Matt, you knew, wouldn't be satisfied until he'd done his radar scanning of it so that he could know precisely what was going on in your ankle. "Okay," you agreed. "But let's use the bathroom. These people trying to enjoy their meals don't need to see you feeling up my ankle."

It was a single-user bathroom, fortunately. Matt entered first and held the door open for you, and only once it was shut and locked did he abandon his cane and stoop by your feet. You leaned against the sink as his fingers grazed your ankle.

"What's my diagnosis, Mr. X-Ray?" you asked, trying to come off as playful, but it was hard hiding the pain in your voice. It didn't help that Matt wasn't having it. He stood up, hands on his hips, jaw twitching.

"You fully tore the ligament," he said. "I told you that those heels would get you hurt."

"Whoa, excuse me. This was not my fault. I didn't trip. The heel just happened to snap on me, so it is one hundred percent, completely, utterly, not my fault."

"You knowingly wore dangerous shoes," Matt insisted.

"Stilettos aren't inherently dangerous, Matt! They're shoes! I just got a bit unlucky—"

"Unlucky? You can hardly walk."

"I'm fine," you said, a bit more firmly, and tried, recklessly, to do the twirl you had done that morning to prove it, but had to stop immediately because it sent a rocketing flare of pain through your leg. "Ow. Shit."

Matt steadied you instinctively. "You should take the rest of the day off and go to the doctor."

"No way. I'm so far behind in work. Besides, I'm good once I'm sitting, it's just walking that's hard."

Matt said nothing at first, but helped you get from the bathroom to the booth, one hand loosely holding his cane and the other supporting you as you leaned on him. You were grateful for his strength practically holding you up; already your ankle was swelling and walking alone would have made a scene. Still, it earned a few stares from several of the other people eating in the diner, but you ignored them.

"I guess I should clarify," Matt said, only once you were seated. "You are taking the rest of the day off."

You furrowed your brow, outraged. "You can't tell me what to do."

"And I'd really recommend seeing a doctor," he continued, "because—"

"Last week you—" You realized your voice was loud and lowered it to a whisper. "Last month you came flopping onto the bed at three in the morning, gasping for breath because you fractured a rib, and when I begged you to see a doctor, you said, 'I'm fine. Don't worry about me so much.' Don't you see how much of a hypocrite you are?"

"I don't care whether or not I'm a hypocrite, I care that you go to the doctor," he said, then added, "But if you don't, you're at least not going back to work. You need to rest, elevate the ankle, and ice it."

You bit your lip. "What if I simply refuse?"

"Then I'll call Claire and make her come pay us a visit tonight to check on you."

The thought of burdening Claire with having to make a trip out to Matt's apartment just for your sake was enough to make your cheeks burn. "You wouldn't."

"I would," he said. "Unless you at the very least stay home the rest of the day and ice your ankle."

"I can't believe you." You fell into silence, punctuated only by the waitress coming to take your beverage orders. Once she left, you tried to brighten things a bit, because Matt's mouth was curved in such an unhappy frown that it was beginning to stress you out. "At least it wasn't my favorite pair of stilettos. If it had been, I might be tempted to try super-gluing the heel back on."

It didn't seem to improve his mood, because Matt didn't smile. "I'd prefer if you just stuck to flats from now on."

"That's a lie. I know you love my heels," you said, impetuously leaning across the table to grab his hands. "You may not be able to see my legs, but I know you can sense them, and I know that stilettos make them, like, ten times sexier."

"You know what's not sexy? A sprained ankle."

"Wow. Thanks for really bulldozing my self-esteem." You paused. "If my ankle makes me so un-sexy, then maybe I'll just... sleep on the couch tonight instead. Wouldn't want you to be near me if I'm all sprained-ankle-ish."

"You're impossible."

"I have a better idea. I can be bait," you said, watching Matt's expression carefully. "I'll stumble out onto the streets tonight — you know, all 'Woe is me, I've got a sprained ankle' — and that'll attract every mugger in the vicinity, seeing a vulnerable girl alone. They won't be able to help themselves, they'll just be dying to come over and rob me. And then, lo and behold! Daredevil dives in and catches all of Hell's Kitchen's criminals in one fell swoop."

Sure enough, you could see an irritated amusement in Matt's mouth, the type that meant he was torn between smiling and getting annoyed. "I'll agree to that plan when Foggy learns how to meditate for more than five minutes at a time."

The waitress arrived and took your orders. You sipped on the water she had delivered, your eyes not leaving Matt's face.

"What is it?" he said, finally. "You're dying to say something."

"Yeah. I want you to admit that it's not my poor high heels you're angry with. You're just worried about me."

"Can't it be both?"

"Leave my high heels out of this and admit it, Matt."

"Fine. I'm worried about you. Does that make you happy?"

"Sure does," you said, squeezing his hands and smiling. "By the way... did I ever mention that I'm head over heels in love with you?"

"Oh, my God."

A/N: This was just a short piece inspired by two separate asks I received that fit together quite well:

Prompt 1: hi!!! could you do a hurt/comfort where reader breaks her heel and sprains her ankle while walking home and matt finds her??

Prompt 2: May I request a Matt fic? I've been seeing girls on YouTube that test their heels out by running around in front of their s/o, and I thought it would be really funny with a clumsy reader and Matt having an absolute heart attack. Thanks!

Just realized that I completely altered the first prompt by having them meet at a diner rather than Matt finding her, so I apologize! I hope it was still alright to read :) happy whumptober, everyone!

[whumpypepsigal]

Daredevil (2003): “I was just trying to protect you, Elektra.”

[cricket-reader]

His Whole World

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: a restless night gives way to anxiety about her boyfriend and their relationship.

Warnings: language, insomnia, self-doubt, self-hatred, negative body image, pet names, worries of infidelity, fluff

Word Count: 1,093

Prompt: Stress, Insomnia, “Get some rest.”

A/N: day 2 of Whumpril 2023 by @whumpril

Twisting and turning in her bed, she cursed her mind. It would never shut up when she needed it to. Thoughts raced through her mind like cars in a NASCAR race. The lights were out and she was all alone.

Huffing in irritation, she threw the blankets off of her and ambled to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass, she wondered where her boyfriend was. Looking at the green digital clock on the stove, she saw that it was much later than he was usually out.

Ever since they moved in together Matt had always tried to make it home earlier. Often times she couldn’t sleep without him. She usually called him her personal teddy bear.

She sat down on the couch and watched the stairs. Matt should be home any second now. He’s going to be okay. He’s talented beyond belief and has made several promises to always come back home to her.

Biting her nails, she wonders if he got hurt. He did once tell her that he got left in a dumpster to die. What if that is where he is now? What if he’s in the alleyway by the apartment, too weak to make it up the stairs? What if he is silently hoping that she will come down to help him?

Cursing under her breath, she slips her sandals on and scurries down the stairs. She doesn’t even bother to change out of her pyjamas. If Matthew is hurt, that is the last thing she should worry about.

It was still damp outside due to the rain that had just fell. There were a few people ambling the streets along with some cars passing by. It is the city that never sleeps, after all.

Checking in both alleyways next to the apartment complex, she didn’t find her boyfriend. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or even more worried. On one hand, he wasn’t bleeding out whilst she was being useless up in the apartment, but on the other hand, he could be bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere blocks away.

Shivering, she notes that she probably should have at least thrown on a sweatshirt. The wind nips at her skin as she makes her way back into the building.

Whilst climbing the stairs, a brief thought passes her. What if he was out with some other girl? She knows that he’d never do that to her, but what if? After all, she’s not all that amazing of a girlfriend. Even if Matt can’t see her, he surely knows that she’s ugly. She has too much fat in all the wrong places. She has too much anxiety and struggles a lot with mental health problems.

He could do so much better.

She paces back and forth, stress gnawing at her brain. He’d be better off without her. What if he’s injured? She can’t deal with needles so he always has to do it himself. Maybe he could find someone pretty that also wasn’t given the heebie jeebies with needles.

She didn’t even hear him come in. Although that could be attributed to the fact that he is so quiet on his feet.

He could hear her steps back and forth and back and forth. Her heart was beating fast and he could tell she had been at it a while.

He knew she struggled with anxiety and felt horrible that his vigilante act had gone longer than usual. She must have been worried if he was okay.

“Baby?” Matt questions, taking his Daredevil mask off. He heard her spin on her feet and her heart skipped a beat.

“Matt,” she breathed out. She wanted to run up to him and wrap him in an embrace and never let go. But she couldn’t get those pesky thoughts out of her mind.

“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m late. There was a lot going on and I couldn’t get away.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. He could easily be lying to her. She didn’t have the ability to tell if his heart was beating any faster. It wouldn’t be the first time one of her boyfriends had lied to her.

“Are you okay?” Matt questions, moving closer to the love of his life; his everything.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

He frowned, not even needing to hone into her heartbeat to tell that she was lying. “What’s wrong?”

She huffed, hating that he could read her so well. It wasn’t fair that he knew everything about her whilst she could never even discern what his mood was. It was dumb. She hated it so damn much. “I’m fine,” she grumbled, moving to go to the bed.

“Stop lying to me.”

She rolled her eyes that were filling with tears. “Why? Why can you lie whilst I can’t?”

Matt furrowed his brows, taken aback. Lying? When did he lie? “What?”

“Just admit it, Matthew. You could do better than me. You probably just didn’t want to have to come home to deal with my annoying clingy self. Admit it! You don’t want me anymore and that’s why you come home later every night. You’re tired of staying up with me because I can never fall asleep and you hope if you stay out longer I’ll be asleep.”

Matt was speechless.

How could she think such things? Had he not done enough to show her that she was his whole world? How could she doubt herself? She is perfect. Too good to be true.

“What makes you say that?” His throat was dry. Was this her way of breaking up with him? God, he hoped not. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

“Don’t play dumb with me Matty. I’m.. I’m just me… and you’re you. You deserve better than me,” she pouts, plopping down to sit on the bed.

“Baby, you’re crazy if you think that I could ever find someone better than you. You’re perfect and I’m so sorry that I haven’t done enough to prove that to you.”

She sniffles as he moves to hold her on the bed. His gentle caresses immediately make her feel at least a little better.

He gives her a gentle kiss on the forehead before saying, “get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up, yeah?”

She nods, curling into his chest and yawning. Matt holds her the entire night, occasionally giving her small kisses. He’d do anything to prove her worth. He’d make her see. She is his everything. And he’d never give her up for anything.

[briefcasejuice]

marvel's daredevil - 1.10 charlie cox as matt murdock

[green-typewriterz]

You Owe Me.

Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: Matt’s used to you showing up in his apartment, but something feels different this time. 

ASK: N/A

Warnings: injury, blood, descriptions of gore

Author notes: You are a vigilante in this fic named ‘Viper’ !!! viper is very based off of catwoman and was an old discontinued DC OC of mine! 

word count: 1058

Matt was used to you breaking in. Sure, the first time it had happened he tried to fight back, but you had made it clear you weren’t there to fight. You had found out his identity just three days before and you were far too curious to not come and say hi. He knew you were his enemy…technically…but you hadn’t tried to attack him yet, nor had you attempted to poison him as you had done to others in the past, so he found himself letting you stay. Sometimes he even kept the window unlatched just to make it easier for you.

It was a well known fact about you that you could move silently and, though you’d never fooled him yet, he often had to listen closely to tell when you had walked in. “How did you even find out who I was anyway,” he spoke, seemingly to himself as he put his coat on the rack. You moved out of the shadows, still in your vigilante uniform.

“Wasn’t exactly hard, Daredevil and Matthew Murdock move in very similar circles…one’s just holding a cane.” You replied nonchalantly. He smiled to himself as you got comfortable on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other in a polite fashion (though you knew he wouldn’t see it).

He continued to unwind as if you weren’t there, just letting you observe him. Finally, once his tie was loose around his neck, he spoke again, “Will I ever know who you are?” He asked, taking his place in the chair beside you. You leaned forward, placing your chin in your palm and sighed.

“No. I’m a secretive person.”

It was certain, almost like a promise. Matt would never know, not if you could help it. He seemed to inch closer to you, a smile budding on his lips. “Is that why you’re still wearing your mask?”

You weren’t sure how he knew, maybe there was a difference in how you moved or acted when you wore it. There was a long pause, silence blooming in answer to Matt’s question, then, as if he had begged you, you took the mask off.

You placed it in his hands, skin never coming in contact, “Who said I was?” He smiled to himself now, feeling the texture of the snakeskin mask. It was smooth, leathery and there was a large scratch down the middle of the left eye. Though he couldn’t see you, he seemed to look into your eyes, a glint hidden in his that you couldn’t understand. “If you’re satisfied, I’d like my snakeskin back.” You said nonchalantly, as if the vulnerability of being without your mask didn’t scare you.

Matt waited for a moment, then handed it back. You headed for the window, thinking. “Oh and Matt,” You turned on your heel, “I took my mask off for you. You owe me.”

“No thanks.”

You slinked out of the window before he could speak again, latching it shut as you had so many times before. Locking it was supposed to mean, ‘don’t let me in again.’ but he always unlocked it anyway. It was almost like he wanted you there.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

He was waiting for you, that much he had admitted to himself. Matt sat idly in the same seat, head turned toward the open window to listen for you. You were late. From the first time you had shown up, you’d always climbed through the window at 11:00 on the dot, no later, no earlier. It was now 11:35.

Eventually, you practically fell through the threshold of the window, breath rapid and heartbeat fast. “Are you alright?” Was the first question that left his lips as you corrected yourself. You leaned against the doorframe as you usually did, though this time you clutched a large wound on your side.

“Never better.” You replied as you pulled the mask from your face, feeling as though you could finally breathe again. You pulled your hand away slightly, wincing at the sight of the blood. There was far too much. “Sorry I’m late, I had a run in with a man, a dog, a knife and a particularly vicious chain link fence.” You joked, breathing in sharply when the motion pulled at your skin.

He moved closer. “How badly are you hurt?” He asked. You motioned for him to drop it and a moment passed. “I can’t see you, remember. I’ll ask again, how badly are you hurt?”

You sighed and placed the mask on the cluttered side table. He could smell strong metal, something recognisable to him. It seemed to weep from you, joined by the faint and slowing heartbeat that tapped gently every so often. It was like Matt was drawn to you, the metal scent pulling him closer. Close enough that you gave in. You let go of a sharp breath and tumbled forward, collapsing into his arms like a falling leaf. Matt tried not to laugh at your gracefulness even in your worst moments.

Matt carried you to the sofa, placing you down as gently as he could and apologising quietly as he searched for the wound. He cut part of your uniform from your body in a neat square and delicately traced his fingers along your skin, feeling the tackiness of the blood coat his fingertips.

Eventually, his hands reached the wound and he got to work, bandaging you as softly as he could. Each movement was deliberate, and laced with worry. He wanted you to keep climbing through his window, just not like this.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You woke up a day later, side stinging and body heavy. You felt stronger, well rested (that was something new for you). You looked down to your stomach and saw a neat row of bandages, completely clean. Matt had been changing them every few hours - what a gentleman. You sat up with effort and grabbed the mask he had placed by your feet. The apartment was eerily empty, no sound of his gentle breaths. All that lingered was his soft cologne.

He had gone to work, leaving nothing but a note on the table. ‘You owe me - DD’ the words were simple, printed out from a computer in a clean and simple font. You smiled and grabbed a pen from the side, scrawling your own message before heading out of the window.

‘No thanks - V.'

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Not You ||

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Tags/warnings: torture, injury, blood, pain, whump, semi-suicidal thoughts, minors DNI. E.

A/n: a lil suffering break for our boys.

"It'll be over soon."

The sadistic promise pierces through the gritty wash of pain soaking through Matt's beaten form. A solemn pledge of more. Let's see just how far he can be pushed down to slump against hell's door, how much more earthly torture God's little soldier can take before he breaks.

A gnarling groan is drawn out of him as he feels the hot, wet probing of Frank's finger in his wounds. Nerve endings singe and burn with the intensity of the pain signals traveling through them as the sanctity of his own skin is violated.

He pointlessly strains at his bindings, shaking his head, loose and loling like it could fall off at any moment as the pressure stops and he faintly senses Frank stepping back.

"This… isn't -" he croaks after the boot kicks him hard, square in the chest, breaking whatever is left unbroken.

this isn't you

Matt wills air into his collapsed lung but it only burbles and chokes. "You're not…"

you're not a bad person

The words grate and halt in the back of his throat unborn. It's not the pain that's keeping them unsaid, he's giving in. Maybe this is who Frank really is after all, maybe he was wrong to have any shred of faith in him. The rosary still hangs from his fingers behind him, the zip ties slicing into his cut wrists as his thumb shakily moves over the beads. A gift that will be left behind.

Frank's fingers slip through Matt's hair and there's a split second where he's somewhere else, somewhere soft. But it's torn from his mind as he's gripped and pulled by the roots, head wrenched to one side then the other. His legs jerk hard against the restraints, wet noodles stapled to wood.

"Please…"

It's almost automatic as he feels the soothing cool sharp edge of a blade against his skin.

He splutters alongside the clattering sound of the knife on the ground as Frank's huge hand encompasses his throat, closing over the not-quite-deep-enough opening he just made. The coppery blood-slick fingers screaming a high note above the main choir of crimson that is weeping from his body.

His eyelids flutter as he starts to squeeze, the man's other hand cradling his face in ridiculous gentle contrast. Matt's wheezing, coughing, choking on lost love for this bloody breath and he can hear his own weak pulse calming as Frank's hot tongue drags up his jaw. A laughable normalcy of coffee, bacon, and pancakes from his harsh breath before he's forcing Matt's mouth open to spit it all inside.

"Fucking pathetic."

Matt gasps at the brief respite, all his body's want is to draw the stale and fetid air of the basement inside the parts that still work, trying not to let it displace his will to die.

Because he's going to die.

Frank promised.

Tags: @mindidjarin @munsonownsmyass @castlesnchurches @honeyedheartss @sausagesquirrel

[capturedpain]

Daredevil 3x10

Matt does everything he can to protect the ones he loves.

[cin-was-taken]

punches him punches him pu-

[whumpees]

Highlights