#matt murdock x age gap!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldenlikedayl1ght · 24 days ago

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bed chem | m. murdock

a/n: hey guys guess who's back with a matt one shot! i started this a loooong time ago so i decided to finally finish it!! not much to add other than hi guys i've missed you so much and am excited to be back in my writing weird and quirky readers era. so. enjoy!! maybe if anyone's interested in reading a part two, i can write one. warnings: 18+, Smut, lots of flirting and pining, reader being emotionally unavailable and way too insecure, matt being flirty and dom, lots of pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, one kid), no one's ever made the reader cum, reader is super effing poor, has two jobs, hates her job, age gap, lowkey just strangers hooking up. lots of teasing, lots of banter, reader says 'hooker' a lot, matt makes you an offer you can't refuse, probably some other stuff i'm forgetting but isn't that kind of our deal by now? wordcount: 4.6k summary: A handsome stranger makes an otherwise dull and annoying night worth your while. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: bed chem - sabrina carpenter "come right on me, i mean camaraderie/said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be/where art thou? why not uponeth me?/see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy."

You meet Matthew at a party.

Your story starts like so many do.

Music is playing, people are chattering all around you. More than that, you feel out of place. You clutch your champagne glass immaturely, unsure how you’re supposed to hold it.

How did you get dragged here, anyways?

Wasn’t there some shitty early 2000’s apocalypse movie and an edible that you needed to attend to? Didn’t you long to order shitty bar food and use your vibrator for hours? Wasn’t there something, anything more important than your attendance to this party?

It’s too fancy for you, anyways.

Yeah, sure, your degree sits framed on your wall, but your soul tells you that you’re no academic, that if you wanted to go to a party, you deserve to be at a house party in your shitty neighborhood, the village that raised you, where your mother, the girl who gave you your first hit of a joint, and the teacher that taught you to read still lived, reliving the same high school gossip you’ve known for ten years. You’d be wearing ripped jeans and a too revealing top that your friend talked you into.

Instead, you’re trying to recall facts from your undergrad education that you haven’t thought about, trying to figure out how to impress these people.

Didn’t Ernaux write about the transition from being poor to being an academic? Didn’t she write about—

“You sure like this bar.”

The voice you hear makes you turn your head—You’re faced with a handsome man, red glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There are whisps of grey in his scruff. He holds a glass of.. Something.. maybe resembling whiskey? You’re not sure.

“I’m sorry?”

And you are. Men don’t really talk to you, and in your brain, maybe this blind man—you assume he’s blind based off his glasses and his cane but you don’t dare say this assumption out loud, maybe this blind man is playing some sort of trick on you.

“You like this bar. You’ve been standing here for a half hour.”

You struggle to find anything clever to say.

So, maybe because it’s all you can think, or maybe because you think it’ll get the handsome stranger to leave you alone, you respond,

“I’m just trying to figure out if everyone at this party can tell I grew up poor or if it’s all in my head.”

And though you’re one hundred percent serious, handsome stranger laughs.

Something sparks. Deep in the confines of your soul where you’ve locked away any routes to passion or excitement, having thrown away the key when you got your mind numbing poorly paid office job.

“I’m Matt.” He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you give him your name. At least you shake his hand properly. “So, if you feel so out of place, why are you here?”

“My boss told me I had to.” You respond, your voice carrying a bored edge as you mention him. “Told me I needed to come to make the company look good, because everyone brings secretaries to this thing to show their appreciation. Like it’s a privilege to have these men talk down to me, to have them coo and aw at my lack of money or maybe my lack of intelligence and have them go,” You lean over to this man who told you his name two minutes ago, and put your hand on his thigh—“Don’t worry honey, I’ll happily sit here and explain basic government systems you learned in eighth grade while you worry about paying your rent because you had to buy a dress for this stupid party and you only make enough money to choose between the dress and your rent,” You explain, your thumb rubbing his thigh for a little extra emphasis on your point.

Matt blushes.

That spark grows.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” He hums.

You withdraw your hand to take a sip of your drink.

“Just exhausting.” You sigh, neglecting to mention that you’re further unable to pay your rent because you had to take off your second job to be here. The job you’ve had since high school. The job you swore to quit one day. “Anyways. I’ve probably annoyed you, Sorry.”

“No, no, I appreciate the honesty. I grew up poor too,” He answers, “And now I feel like part of the problem.” He shrugs.

You look to him. In his finely pressed suit, his expensive scent.

“Prove it.”

His face twists into something of amused confusion.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. Tell me something only someone who grew up poor would understand.” You request, daring him. He knows this is serious to you, that if he’s lying to you, whatever he hopes to get out of this is not going to happen. So, he sips his drink and goes to the dark corner of his mind to when his dad was alive.

“Well, besides the fact that I grew up in an orphanage,” He starts, and you feel like an asshole, “When my dad was alive, I used to have to do my homework in the laundry mat, moving over our clothes, while he was at work. Then I’d wheel the load home in this laundry basket on wheels.” He told you. You smile, comforted—You can see through the graying hair and fine pressed suit. At his core, he is just like you.

At that shitty house party you don’t go to, he’s smoking a cigarette in a tee shirt and cargo shorts, and you’re just as attracted to him there.

“Alright, I trust you.” You promise. You take another sip of your champagne, looking around the room. The party is starting to dwindle down and bosses are taking their secretaries to dark corners. Your back hurts.

“Good.” He takes a sip of his drink and stands up, leaving the now empty glass on the bar counter. “How much?”

“How much what?”

Matt grins and holds a room key card to one of the many rooms in the hotel above this stupid fucking party.

“How much do you trust me, sweetheart?”

His room is on the 8th floor, and it’s.. bigger than any hotel room you’ve ever stayed in. It’s clean, the lights are warm, and you’re pretty sure you could sink right through the bed. You step into the room and find yourself taking off your heels, with no real idea if you were allowed to stay the night.

“Nice place,” You admire, and you predict his words before he says it,

“Thanks. Smells pretty fancy, I guess.” He shrugs. He listens to as you jump onto the bed, stretching out. Matt slips out of his shoes, and he lays next to you, groaning a bit as he lays down.

“Can I ask you something?” You wonder, just admiring his face. Your hand comes up to touch his cheek.

“Anything.” He hums, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“How old are you?” You wonder.

“Forty-two.” He responds, and he goes to say something else, but you lean in to kiss him. But just before he can gratify you, before you can learn the taste of his lips, his hand, quick as lightning, comes up and grabs your jaw, holding you in place, “Really, sweetheart? The fact that I’m forty-two turns you on?” he asks.

You can’t help but defend yourself—

“Well, just kissing you doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m turned on or anything—”

“So if I snuck my hand up this pretty dress of yours, you’d be what? Not soaking wet?”

You just look at him for a long time.

“Okay, what do I have to do to get you to kiss me, instead of just talking to you?”

“Why? I like the sound of your voice,” He smirks, and you roll your eyes. You feel defensive, like he’s making fun of you. Like he knows how badly you want him, and he’s withholding it from you on purpose, just to see you squirm. As your mind starts to spiral, you pull away from him, the lustful heat in your cheeks being replaced by hot, bubbling rage.

“You know what, I don’t need this shit—” You move to get off the bed, trying to find your heels when Matt grabs your wrist—with gentleness he’d use to care for a skittish animal—and pulls you back towards the bed, trying not to laugh when you stumble over your feet, now standing between his legs.

“Stop.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He hears the way you inhale, the way you try to mask your anger. It turns him on. “You really want to kiss me?”

You hesitate to respond—you want to kiss him so fucking badly. You can’t remember the last time you wanted anything other than wanting to pay your rent or wanting a new chair at work.

“Yeah.” You finally breathe. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “Well, if I ask you a question, are you gonna try to leave again?”

You clench your teeth.

“You just asked me a question and I’m still standing here, aren’t I?” You see him smile.

“Okay, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

“..A while ago.”

“How long ago since someone’s made you cum?”

Your silence is deafening—it’s revealing. Matt starts to chuckle.

“Oh, fuck this—” You turn to leave but Matt pulls you in, and then his hand is on the back of your thigh, pulling you close.

“C’mon, sit on my lap,” He starts, and hesitantly, and admittedly clumsily, you sit on his lap, your legs resting on either side of him, while his hands hold your sides, as if they were made for him to hold. “So, no one’s ever made you cum before?”

“No one except my vibrator.” You say, and Matt just shakes his head.

“I’m a lawyer.” He starts, and you groan, your head tilts back,

“Jesus Fucking—”

Matt’s hand squeezes your side.

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart—”

“Is this some sort of joke? Am I being—”

Matt comes forward to kiss you, his lips silencing your thoughts. He tastes like whiskey and vanilla, and it eggs you on. You deepen the kiss, any anger or frustration slowly melting. And when he pulls away, his teeth catch your bottom lip and he tugs just enough to drive you crazy.

“Are you going to listen now, sweetheart?” he asks, and all you can do is stare at his pretty pink lips.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He clears his throat. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, “So part of my job is to help deliver justice. And it is..” He laughs a little like his plans to fucking ruin you are funny, “a fucking injustice that no one has ever made you cum. That all you know is some battery-operated thing instead of my fingers or my cock,” He sighs, “So how ‘bout we deliver some well-deserved justice, sweetheart? How’s that sound?”

It sounds like you could die. What is happening? Weren’t you just complaining about how badly you wanted to get away from this whole scene? Why do you want him so bad?

“..Sounds like you have all the power in this situation.”

Matt grins like he knows it.

“Does sound like that, huh? Here, I’ll tell you a secret,” He leans in, his lips grazing your ear, “You have the power here. You say the word, and I’ll stop. I’ll stop, and you can stay here for the night, or you can leave, I’ll pay for your cab, or..” His hands begin to gently rub up and down your sides.

You smile. He’s trying to make you feel better, and it’s working.

“Or..?” You prompt.

“Or.. I could teach you how good it feels to cum from something with a pulse. And not something.. battery operated,” and the way he says it, you know he’s repulsed by the idea that your vibrator is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

And it makes you smile wider.

“My vibrator is very good to me, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh,” He chuckles, “Not nearly as good as I’ll be to you.” He promises.

It’s a big promise.

You just look at him for a long minute, trying to decide. As if there’s even a choice to make. You’d let him break your heart if he asked nicely.

“Can I take off your glasses?” You ask softly, and Matthew nods, and you find yourself taking them off and just holding them for a moment. You stare for a long time, to the point where you start to nibble on the ends of his glasses, and he smiles. He likes how authentic you are. How unable to hide yourself from him you are.

“So, what do you say?”

“Hm..” He suspects you’re fucking with him. “Well, I’d have to—”

“Yes or no?”

“I thought I had all the power here.”

“You do. But I’m running out of patience here, and,” He brings your hand down to his pants so you can feel his bulge, “I am way too hard to wait for much longer.” He confesses. He thinks he might die if he can’t feel you clench around him, so he quietly, desperately hopes you’ll say yes.

“Okay,” You smile, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“Not very enthusiastic—” You inhale, and he knows you’re close to leaving, so he tries to entice you, “C’mon, just.. humor me, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“Making a whole lot of promises, Mr..?”

“Murdock.”

“Matthew Murdock,” You hum, “Okay, Mr. Murdock. I want you to fuck me, just like you’ve promised. Make me forget all about my vibrator.”

And before the words finish leaving your mouth, his mouth is against yours, swallowing any insecurity you had earlier. His fingers begin to slowly move up and down your sides, and you already know that whatever is about to happen will ruin your vibrator for you forever.

You could see yourself becoming addicted to this feeling, to him, to the feeling of being wanted.. You could feel yourself already slipping down that rabbit hole.

As you kiss him, he lets out this soft moan into the kiss, and in response, your hands come up to play with his hair. You start to roll your hips a bit, as if you want to tease him. Matt’s hands squeeze your sides, and he pulls away from the kiss just for a second.

“Safe word?” He wonders, and you scoff.

“No one’s ever made me cum, you think I have a—Woah!” You cut yourself off, because Matt suddenly flips you over so you’re beneath him against these too expensive sheets.

“So, if things go too far, you’re uh.. you’re gonna say Lava, okay?” He wonders out loud.

“Yeah, Okay,” You nod, “Lava, got it,” and then he’s kissing you again, and his hands are slipping off his jacket, and then he starts to loosen his tie as he kisses you, but then he gives up on that to put his hands on your thighs and then beginning to travel up. You shiver as his hands travel up your dress,

“Pretty fucking dress..” He mumbles, between kissing you silly, “Pretty girl, too..” He mumbles, “Gonna need to rip this dress off you—”

You fully pull away from the kiss to say,

“Rip this fucking dress and I’ll leave so fast,” And Matt knows you’re not joking, but he smiles and says,

“How about I buy you a new one?” He asks, “Or two or three—”

“Oh, my god, just leave the dress intact,” You request, and Matt’s smirk begins to grow.

“Then how about I just fuck you in the dress, huh?” he wonders, “How would you like that, sweetheart?” You nod, letting out a soft ‘mhm’, but Matt shakes his head, “No, no, I gotta hear you say it, baby. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you in this dress. Maybe I will.”

You stare at him for a long moment, wondering where your dignity went.

“Matthew,” You start, “If you don’t fuck me in this dress, I think I’m gonna go crazy. I can’t.. I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this badly,” You confess, and the words start tumbling out before you can stop them, “I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel pretty like you have, and I can’t ever use my vibrator again because I already know how much better you’re going to be, and holy fuck¸ yes, it turns me on that you’re forty two and—”

Matt kisses you again, this time only for a short time, because he pulls away after a moment to tell you—

“I think we should work on your dirty talk, but, good. Was it so hard to just do what I asked?”

“..no.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He says softly, and then his lips are against yours again, while his hands explore, and when his fingers brush over your panties, you moan against his lips, barely registering it as he slips your panties off and stuffs them in his back pocket, because his fingers are caressing your folds, slipping inside you as you moan and writhe beneath him.

“Holy fuck,” You whine, “Matt—”

“Sh, sh, sh..” His lips press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure the first time someone else makes you cum is on my cock.” He tells you, and he chuckles when he feels your folds flutter around him at that. “I’m gonna fuck you in this dress now, okay?” He wonders, and you nod,

“Yes, please.”

“Aw, pretty girl does have manners under all that brattiness, huh?” He smirks, and before you can retaliate, he kisses you.

When he slowly eases your cock into you, you moan against his lips, and you try to really just feel it. You try to really remember how full you feel, the feeling of Matt’s breathless pants against your lips and skin, the feeling of being wanted by him.. and you know you can’t quit him.

His thrusts begin slowly, and that becomes a feeling you want to remember too. He thrusts into you while burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wait, hold on, Matt,” but when his thrusts don’t stop, you say, “Okay, Lava,” You offer, and Matt’s thrusts stop, and he very hesitantly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck,

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I just..” Your hands come up to rest on either side of his head, and you just stare at him for a moment, “I just want to memorize your pretty face so I can live in this moment forever.”

Matthew blushes.

You know you’ve won.

You’re not sure what you’ve won, but you definitely feel like you’ve won whatever it is.

Matt presses his forehead against yours and while you stare into his pretty brown eyes, he whispers,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” Then, after a moment, he asks, “Can I keep going now?”

“Yes, please.” Matt smiles and kisses you again as he begins to thrust into you, and you realize how dirty this entire situation is—an older man, still mostly dressed, fucking you in your expensive (rent stealing) dress just after meeting him, and it makes you want him more. Your hands move to play with his hair as his thrusts increase, one hand gripping the bottom of your chin and the top of your neck, the other sneaking up your thigh to rub circles in your clit.

You’ve never felt closer to God.

This is so much better than your vibrator.

Matt can feel you clench around him, and it makes him chuckle, so, in the most condescending tone he can muster when you are being so good for him, he asks,

“Wanna cum, sweetheart?” He wonders, and when you just whine in response, he continues, “C’mon, use your manners, I know you know how to respond properly,” He reminds, and if you didn’t want him to cum inside you so badly, you’d tell him off.. maybe.

“Please,” You manage out, “Yes, I wanna cum,” and Matt begins to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, and your neck, and only after leaving quite the bite mark on your collarbone, does Matthew say,

“Alright, pretty girl, let me feel you cum on my cock,” He says, and you do, and the way you clench around him makes him moan against your skin, his speed increasing, “Fuck.. Fuck, kid, I gotta..” He sighs.

“Inside,” You beg quietly, “I’m on birth control and—”

“Are you.. sure?” He asks, but his voice is shaky from how badly he wants the answer to be yes.

“Yes, please, please—” And before the third please can leave your mouth, he lets out the prettiest moan against your lips, cumming deep within you, filling you in ways you never thought possible. His hips roll a few more times, just to help you through your high (and just a little bit because he can’t think of anything clever to say that isn’t ‘Will you be mine forever so I can keep fucking you like this?’) but after a few moments, he whispers,

“So.. what did you think?”

You feel amazing. You could die happy. You can barely think, so you respond,

“I think I’m gonna throw out my vibrator.” And it makes him laugh, and you think he’s even prettier when he laughs than when he cums, so you kiss him. And in between kisses, you say, “We made a fucking mess,”

And he finally pulls away with a sigh.

“Well..” A smile tugs at his lips, “Wanna.. check out the shower, sweetheart?” He wonders.

“Do I have much of a choice, Mr. Murdock?” You smile.

“Nope,” And before you can say much else, Matt is grabbing you and swinging him over his shoulder to carry you to the most expensive bathroom you’ve ever stepped foot in.

In the morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of the shower running again. You slowly blink away your sleep, rubbing your eyes. You have a bit of headache, the consequence of a long night of drinking.. and bad decisions.

You blink, and anxiety begins to well in your chest. Your heart beats out of your chest quickly, and you kind of feel like you can’t breathe. What did you do last night? Well you know what you did, you weren’t that drunk, but if Matt was at that party last night he must’ve been important or—

Your eyes drift over to the side table, and you see a delicious smelling coffee next to an envelope, an envelope that is sloppily marked with your initial, the sign of a blind man attempting to write. You find your bra and then find yourself unable to find your underwear—whatever, you’ll deal with it later, you decide, so you begin looking in drawers and find a pair of Matthew’s boxers. You pull them on, and then take a long sip of the coffee that’s been ordered for you.

Then, you pick up the envelope, and halfway through the sip you stop. It’s an envelope full of cash, it would cover your rent and then some..

So naturally, you put down your coffee and then begin to bang on the bathroom door, hitting it over and over again,

“Matthew! Hey, we need to talk!” You demand, and you hear some shuffling as the shower turns off, and the door opens, and you see Matthew with his hair, and scruff, damp, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

And you have to admit, in the middle of your anger, he is so hot.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He smiles, handsome devil. “Everything—”

“What the fuck is this?” You ask, smacking the envelope against his chest, “I’m not a fucking hooker,” and your voice matches how badly you want to smack him.

“I know,” he starts,

“Well, only hookers get left an envelope of cash after they fuck some stranger,” You snap, “And I’m not a fucking hooker.”

“Are you wearing my boxers?” You see him smile.

“Do you think I’m a fucking hooker?”

“Boy, you sure like saying fuck and hooker.”

“I’m being serious,” You remind, “I’m not a hooker. I don’t need your money.”

Matt, although he won’t tell you this, doesn’t need his super senses to know that last part is a lie.

“Can I talk without you accusing me of thinking you’re a hooker? Because I don’t think you’re a hooker, I know you’re a very distinguished young woman, and—”

“Alright, I’m not president, I’m a secretary, relax,” You scoff, and start to move around the hotel room, trying to find your shoes, dress, accessories.

Quietly, it turns him on that you’re so difficult.

“Can you just—” he sighs, finding his own boxers and pants, and then starting to put his button up back on, but it hangs on him without being buttoned up as he sits down. “Can you please sit, so we can talk about this?” He wonders.

You’re still holding the envelope.

“Fine.” You grumble, walking over to the bed and sitting next to him. He’s really hot, so you just admire him, and wait for him to talk.

“I know you’re not a hooker.” He starts, “But I am a lawyer, like I told you last night. And.. I make more than enough money for me,” and You want to tell him he doesn’t need to brag about it, “And.. I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now, but.. I really like you.”

Your face flushes.

“You do?”

He smiles gently.

“I really do. So, here’s the deal, sweetheart—And you can’t get mad at me just for offering, okay?”

“Okay.” You concede.

“Let’s keep seeing each other.” He starts, “Nothing committal, we’ll just hangout, sleep together, I’ll get to hear your pretty noises.. and I’ll pay your rent, and.. and buy you things.” He shrugs.

You blink.

“You want to be my sugar daddy?”

Now it’s Matt’s turn to blush.

“That makes it sound so.. dirty,” he starts, “Which it is.. But you never.. have to do anything, I just.. want to hangout with you. Fucking you will just.. be a nice benefit. A really.. really nice benefit.” He breathes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”

You consider it for a long moment, thinking. You’d be able to quit your shitty second job, the one you’ve had since high school, the one you swore you were going to quit. And last night was amazing. You really do want to throw out your vibrator, but maybe you could convince him to show you some of his favorite toys.

He’d tell you that you are his favorite toy, and then you’d have to fuck him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

“I’d like that.” You smile, “But on one condition.” You say, and he nods.

“Anything.” He smiles.

“You can’t fall in love with me.” You say, “And I can’t fall in love with you either. We can be friends, and we can fuck, but no being ‘in love’ with your sugar baby.” You request, and he nods.

“Deal.” He holds out his hand to you, “Shake on it?”

Your fingers wrap around his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Deal.” You echo. “We won’t fall in love with each other.”

Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #matt murdock #matt murdock fluff #smut #daredevil smut #matt murdock smut #marvel smut

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farfromstrange · 21 days ago

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Teacher’s Pet | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Pairing: Professor!Matt Murdock x F!Student!Reader

Summary: Professor Murdock shows you how remarkable you are.

Warnings: Smut (18+), professor/student relationship, age gap, religious imagery, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl), use of honorifics (professor, sir), praise kink, oral f!receiving, soft!dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, hand on neck, basically porn without plot

A/N: I’m not gonna lie, this is heavily inspired by Charlie’s role as Mr. Teacher in Adults. It may have gotten a little bit out of hand, but it was nice to just write again. I haven’t written in past tense in a while, so I may be a little rusty. Is it my best work? Probably not, but I wanted to post it anyway. I hope you enjoy!

WC: 1.9k

Read Me On AO3!

“You wanted to see me?”

The floorboards creaked under your feet as you stepped into his office. It was dark, safe for the last bit of daylight streaming in through the window front. A storm had been rustling the trees on campus all day, and you barely escaped the rain on your way to class. Even now, the afternoon sun was overshadowed by a blanket of grey, sucking the light out of every room you walked into.

It wasn’t like him to ask you over during office hours—it wasn’t safe, he had once told you—but you wouldn’t dare complain.

He was sitting at his desk, his silhouette only faintly illuminated. When he picked up on your heartbeat, though, he perked up. Your name rolled off his lips effortlessly. “Yes,” he said, rising to his feet, “Please, come in. Close the door.”

You stepped forward, and the closer you came, the clearer you could see him. Round glasses perched upon his nose, strands of brown hair glinting silver, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the first two buttons of his dress shirt undone; he was ever the sinful picture of a man that often starred in your wettest dreams.

His fingers flexed around the edge of his mahogany desk. You paid no attention to the mess of legal essays in front of him, not when he looked like that—like he’d had a rough day, but the moment you walked in, it turned brighter.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

You watched as he lifted a familiar stack of paper out of the pile on his desk. “I wanted to talk about your essay,” he said.

“My essay?”

“Yes.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Is something wrong with it?”

“What?” He tilted his head at the frantic change in your pulse. “No, it’s… It’s remarkable.”

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Oh.”

You were so scared of failure, scared of not being enough, and scared of disappointing him that the thought of positive resonance to your work hadn’t even crossed your mind until he uttered it.

Matt rounded his desk and walked toward you, slowly, as if you were a frightened deer in headlights. “Your stance on the shortcomings of our justice system and its core,” he said, placing a gentle hand over his heart, “I’ve never read anything like it. My first read-through, you actually had me stumped because I… I have never thought about it the way you have, and I’ve been a lawyer for a very long time.”

You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, blood pulsing in your cheeks. It was wrong, you knew that, craving a man twice your age as if he were the air you breathed. But standing this close to him, all you could think about was how his fingers had felt the last time they were buried deep inside you.

He cupped your chin. “Hey, look at me,” he said. You did. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m giving you an A.”

Your knees buckled. There was something about the way he towered over you. You could only see your reflection in his glasses, but you knew the brown eyes hiding behind them. How soft they turned and how they crinkled when he smiled. You liked to imagine they were soft now, too, just like his smile.

“An A?” you breathed.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Did you think I was gonna fail you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d never–”

“I don’t want you giving me special treatment just ‘cause you’re fucking me.”

A breathless chuckle rumbled through him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed. “You have no idea how remarkable you are, do you?”

Your tongue darted out, licking the tip of his thumb. All the while, you were peeking up at him through hooded eyes he did not need to see to drown in. “Show me,” you purred. “Show me how remarkable I am, Professor.”

He nearly fainted.

A shiver ran from his head down to where his toes curled. You were all over him, smelling of vanilla and something so distinctly you he had long grown addicted to. Matt had been to confession many times since meeting you. He tried to repent for what he was feeling, but how could it possibly be sinful to want you and to have you when it felt so right?

He could pray to God all he wanted; when your body was on his or you were under him, writhing on his cock, or even when he was buried deep between your thighs like a man starved, he felt closer to divinity than he ever had before.

His hand wrapped around your neck, and he pulled you in, finally. He knew every inch of you by heart, yet he kissed you as if it was the first time, and he still had something to prove.

His free hand slipped around your waist, then lower. He read the fabric of your skirt the same way he would read Braille. He brushed the edge, just barely. “You’re wearing that skirt again,” he groaned. “Y’know what it does to me.”

You moaned. “That’s why I wore it.”

“Oh, you wore it for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Matt inhaled sharply. “What’d you just call me?”

“Sir,” you purred again.

“Oh.”

It was just one word, sir, but it opened something in him—a part of him that was primal and buried deep. It made his cock throb painfully in his slacks.

He pulled your hips flush to his. You could feel how hard he was, pressing against your soaking cunt through far too many layers of fabric, and your words turned into a breathy moan messily against his lips.

The leg of his desk trembled when he lifted you on it. His lips slipped from yours, down your neck, and the outline of your breasts as he sank to his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Maybe we shouldn’t–” do that here, you wanted to say.

He cut you off with a sharp tug to the edge of the table. “Mhm, we shouldn’t,” he agreed, but your legs were already over his shoulders.

“Matthew.”

He tutted. “Not my name, sweetheart.”

“M’sorry, Professor. Sir…”

“Shh,” he inched closer, “It’s okay. I’m just showing you how remarkable you are. Be a good girl for me and take it, yeah?”

His glasses fell to the floor. Your panties ripped in two. No warning, not a second for you to think—he wrapped his lips around you, and he feasted.

He parted your folds, licked, and sucked, tasted all of you, and drowned in you, completely. The pleasure wrapped a noose around your core, pulling you even closer to the edge. You were sure you would end up with splinters under your nails and crescent imprints of his fingers on your skin, but God, if that meant he was yours and you were his and you could carry that evidence like a tattoo on your body, it was worth it.

You cried out his name. You were right there…

He pulled away.

You choked on a breath, “No…”

There was no regret in his eyes, though, only desperation in the way he kissed you—devoured you. You could taste yourself on his lips. Every last thought you had dissipated.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “I have you.”

And he did. You should never have doubted it.

He unbuckled his belt, freed himself from the tight confines of his slacks, and then he filled you. One thrust, and his cock, thick and hard and pulsing, filled every inch of you. Like he was made for you, or you were made for him. You breathed gasps into each other’s mouths and sustained each other like oxygen. You became one then.

Matt cupped your face. He didn’t move, didn’t even think, he just stayed buried so deep inside you that you swore you could feel him in your throat. Every prominent ridge and vein of his cock had already left their mark; your pussy was his, entirely, the same way his cock—his body and entire soul—belonged to you. Neither of you needed words when your bodies spoke the same language.

“Please,” you begged.

He shushed you again. “M’gonna let you come, I promise. Just…” His voice cracked.

He didn’t look into your eyes, he couldn’t, but the way he held you felt like he had a direct line to your soul.

“Just need to be inside you.” He gave a tentative thrust. Your name escaped him, soft, wrecked, broken. “Fuck, you feel so good.” Another. “So good.”

His breathy moans, from high to low to high again, were a symphony conducted solely for your pleasure, you were sure. The way they slipped past his lips into your mouth, or echoed off your sweaty skin when he licked down your neck, tasting your pulse through the skin. No one else got to see him like this.

Your jaw was slack with the sound of your moans. Matt didn’t hesitate; he pushed two fingers against your tongue, deep enough to fill you—fill you everywhere. You gagged, but you endured.

“Good girl,” he said.

You moaned around his digits, sucking and licking until the salt of his sweat exploded on your tongue. Though he pulled away far too soon.

“C’mere.”

He rubbed his wet fingers against your swollen clit, tight little circles that made your entire world spin. The heat engulfed you. The earth shook beneath you. Every drag of his cock made it harder to hold on, to keep the wave from crashing in, but it just kept building.

He angled his hips just right, and the sound you made was barely human. He tucked you into his shoulder, closer, closer. “Gonna come?” he asked.

You could only nod.

The kiss he pressed to your temple almost made you cry.

“Can I–” you choked on a moan.

He chuckled, the sound a mere breath against your ear. “Can you come?”

You whimpered, yes.

His hips stuttered, holding onto the last bit of sanity he had left, breathing, “Yeah, you can, baby. Come for me.”

The wave crashed in. Your orgasm tore through you, throwing your head back into the palm of his hand. Matt was right there, though. He caught you, and he fucked you through it like the gentleman he was.

“That’s it. That’s– fuck!”

The dominos started falling, and with your cunt clenched so tightly around him, he came, too.

In the wake of it, quiet settled in. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, through it and into yours. You felt the way his chest heaved with every labored breath he took, face buried in the crook of his neck so he could feel you, all of you.

He rode out his orgasm with the softest moans you had ever heard from him, his cock twitching until he was sure he had filled you to the brim. Then, he stilled.

“Jesus,” Matt’s voice came muffled against your skin.

You slid the essays under your ass aside. “I, uh, think we ruined those,” you said.

He kissed you. Softly, at first, with a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s fine. I can’t read the hard copies anyway.”

You wanted to laugh, but before you knew it, he flipped you under him. His desk creaked under the weight of both of you, but he did not care. He didn’t pull out. No, he kissed you, he devoured you, and nothing else mattered but that.

Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @lucienofthelakes @mochie-is-a-librarian @buckyssugarchick @unclearblur @xoxabs88xox

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #professor!matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil smut #charlie cox

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ravensmurdock · 2 months ago

Text

innocence

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: age difference, implied daddy issues, freudian, impact play, no actual smut, thigh riding, oral fixation, reader calls him dad, mean!matt

matt likes to believe he's a patient man. many times he is, really, he is. except when you're running your mouth, or putting yourself in danger. in moments like those, when his patience is hanging on by a mere thread, you place yourself strategically on his lap and pout and pout— hoping to lessen your punishment.

it's his fault, really. you're too young for him, a little immature. what more can he expect from a 20 year old? what more can he expect from a curious, bright eyed intern who is always following him around like a pet? it's always 'mr. murdock this, mr. murdock that,' can he blame you? no. the fault is on him, for not being able to resist your charms. you never tried to be subtle either— he could quite literally hear your heartbeat rise whenever his voice would get too low while closing, when his smirk would get too cocky. he's sure if he could see, he'd be met with you constantly trying to shove your cleavage in his face. which, he would never complain about.

but he does feel like a dirty old man sometimes. he's had his own moral conflicts— deep into the night when you're pressed into his side, and all he can think is, 'im a fucking cradlerobber, tainting her innocence, corrupting her mind, devouring a little girl like a mad man with no self control—'

and the moment you mumble sleepily against his neck, those thoughts vanish and he's immediately pulling you closer.

he doesn't realize how much your age gap does for you. how the greys in his beard shine when he rises from between your legs, chin covered in your slick. how his strong, protective arms make you feel safe like nothing ever could. how his care taking tendencies are almost fatherly in nature, making you forget all about your own bad experiences with your own father. the rasp in his voice when he scolds you for being reckless, too curious, too presumptuous— it hits the right spots. makes you want to provoke him more. which is exactly what put you in this position.

you'd followed him down to an important meeting— one he specifically told you to stay away from, and you ended up witnessing him break the guy's hand. your heartbeat was indication enough, but it was your gasp that truly got his attention— his head snapping up in warning and you running away almost immediately.

catching you wasn't hard, and you weren't running because you were scared of him hurting you— you were scared of disappointing him. which is exactly what you did. and now you're here, pressed against his chest, his fingers gently massaging your scalp.

"what did i tell you, hm?" he asks, voice low, almost mocking. his hand suddenly tightens into a fist— yanking your head back by the hair. you whimper, eyes tearing up at the sting. you try to search for any mercy in his features— but his glasses stay as a barrier between your eyes and you sniffle.

"sorry," you mumble softly, gently caressing his chest, "i should've listened—"

"oh yeah, you should've." he agrees, a small smirk on his face, "but you didn't. you never do. all my little darling does is listen to herself and piss me off. do you want me to hurt you?"

"no!" you shake your head, desperately leaning forward to bury your head in his chest. he presses you closer, and you deeply inhale the comforting smell of his cologne. scratch your cheek against his beard like a cat. there's something so oddly comforting about this, even when you know he's mad at you. something about it is making your brain feel fuzzy— a kind of feeling that can only come from a grown, mature man. maybe that's what prompts you to mumble your next words, hoping to soften the blow of his wrath.

"pleeeaaase, dad." you whine, voice soft. he tenses under your body, and you immediately feel scared. you don't actually want to make him uncomfortable, you hope it doesn't. his chest rumbles with a chuckle.

"oh that one's new," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, "is that supposed to make me feel sympathetic? you think i'm your father, baby?"

shit.

your heartbeat rises again, and he hears it. loud and clear. there's been a bit of a dynamic between you two, but you've never said something so directly out loud. and neither has he. but the 'father,' that's what gets you. and he hears the hitch in your breath, and the smirk that appears on his face is downright evil.

"oh you like that, huh?" he pulls your head back again, grabs your jaw. makes your lips pucker up. "is that what you want? you want me to be your father? you want dad to punish you?"

"fuck—" you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. he thumbs your bottom lip, and your mouth snaps open. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you suck, head feeling fuzzy. your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and it makes him moan.

"my stupid girl," he huffs with a chuckle, pulling his thumb out. you chase his hand with a whine, "what will i do with you?"

he presses your mouths together and you moan into his, crumbling in his arms. you're relieved that it worked, you won't get punished. as you pull away for air, his hand pulls back and smacks you across the face— making you gasp. you look back at him, wide eyed, and there's not one bit of remorse on his face. your cheek stings, the skin there feels hot. you're more in shock than you're hurt. he pulls his hand back again and you flinch. he chuckles, lowering his hand to your thigh.

"you're gonna make yourself cum on my thigh," he says calmly, but you can sense the threat behind his words. his thumb gently rubs against your skin. "and if you fail, dad will hit you again. you don't want that, do you?"

your lips wobble and you sniffle, nodding. your hips begin to move on their own, albeit messily. and you hope you don't disappoint him again.

it's going to be a long night.

for matt fans, girls with daddy issues and murdock circle

@deermurdock @fairymurdock @foxmurdock @https-murdock @jellyfishmurdock @kit-murdock2 @bunmurdock @lambmurdock @parker-murdock @pupmurdock @sirenmurdock @starmurdock @swanmurdock @moth-murdock @bumblebeemurdock @mewmurdock @froggy-murdock @sharkymurdock

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil born again #charlie cox x reader #matthew murdock #daredevil x reader

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nozo-muu · 2 months ago

Text

NEVER WAS THERE EVER A BOY SO PRETTY

Pairing: Matt Murdock X Male Reader X Frank Castle

Content: nsfw, implied established relationship, implied age gap?, oral, handjob

Author's note: Tumblr won't let me add "diet mountain dew" as a song so...

This is a 1000% self indulgent and ooc, but I don't really care, so enjoy...

The living room was filled with papers, empty glasses and cans scattered all over the floor of your apartment. The tension was palpable, the importance of this case weighted heavily on the three of you.

Matt was seated on a chair, deep in thought while Frank paced around murmuring to himself. You were seated on the floor flipping through the papers on the low table at the center of the living room.

"There must be something we're missing..." Matt whispered.

"We need more of those bastards to speak on what happened.” Frank cursed under his breath.

“Maybe if you hadn't killed them all, we wouldn't lack so much intel.” Matt objected.

Frank gritted his teeth.

“What are you insinuating, red?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

The punisher clenched his fist and was about to reply when you got up.

“Will you shut the fuck up already! If you're not going to be cooperative, you're free to leave. I'll be more productive without your bitching anyways.”

They both turned to look at you, walking towards the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Who do you think you're talking to, kid?” Frank yelled from the other room.

Getting out of the kitchen and walking into the living room towards your room, you glanced towards the other two.

“I'm not doing this today. You're free to go.”

Frank was about to take a step when he felt Matt's hand on his chest, stopping him with a murmur of his name.

“Calm down, Frank. I'll go talk to him.”

Matt approached your door and knocked lightly before getting inside. Once in your room, he could feel the essence of the familiar space. You were seated at your desk, doing something on your laptop.

You looked up at him. He could sense how you were feeling. Sad. That's the best way to put it. He took another chair and sat beside you.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone is dry.

“Look, I know you don't like when Frank and I fight. I'm sorry for that.”

“Yet you don't seem to stop.”

The words hit him like a truck. You had a point. They were almost always bickering, even though they knew you didn't like it.

“That's how we are, that's what we are. And you know we don't actually mean harm to each other…”

Bullshit, you thought to yourself. But you didn't say anything…

Your lack of answer made him uneasy. He took your hand in his and gave it a light kiss. You glanced up at him. You scoffed at the absurdity of the action and your reaction made him smile.

The door slowly creeped open, and Frank came in. He looked at the two of you, smiling slightly. He got behind you and placed his hands on your arms, caressing them slowly.

“I'm sorry darling. Didn't mean to raise my voice at you like that.”

Matt glanced up at him, still smiling.

“And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start anything.” He interjected.

“It's okay, it's in the past now. Just don't let it happen again, you know I don't like when you guys fight.”

“No, no, no. We have to make it up to our pretty boy here.” Frank whispered.

“Seems fair… We've upset you, so we’ll make sure you're happy with us.”

You humm in contentment. Matt got on his knees in front of you while Frank continued to caress your arms.

“Is that so?” You asked in a sultry tone.

Matt had already started to unbutton your jeans while Frank took care of your shirt. He slowly took it off and he leaned down to give you a passionate kiss.

While this was happening, Matt didn't waste a second and got rid of your pants while he caressed your now exposed torso.

A low guttural moan left your lips, making Frank grin. Matt was now caressing your thighs and kissing your lower belly.

He slowly tugged at the hem of your boxers…

“Wow there cowboy, I'm not about to be the only one naked here.” You remarked.

Frank and Matt looked at eachother, and took of their shirts immediately. You smile at the sight.

“That's more like it.”

Matt continued getting your lower half undressed, exposing your member to the colder air of your room.

He started kissing the area while you and Frank continued making out.

Frank pulled away, lingering on your neck for a bit.

“Why don't we lay down…?”

“Attaboy.” Frank said.

Matt got up, starting to unbutton his own pants while you took care of Frank's, leaving them both in their boxers.

You laid down on your back, while they both kneeled in front of you. They started kissing, slightly rougher than they did with you… it was a sight for sore eyes.

You started stroking yourself, the two men in front of you still switching saliva with each other. The way their muscles clenched at each other’s touch was mesmerising.

Frank glanced at you and smirked. He loved having that effect on you. He slowly pulled away from Matt, and turned his attention to you. He started caressing your thighs while Matt climbed on the bed to kiss you.

God you loved it, the taste of his sweet lips on yours, caressing his toned body while he grinded mindlessly on you.

Meanwhile, Frank had started kissing closer and closer to your length, the sensation making you shiver in pleasure. He took you into his mouth and started swirling his tongue around your tip.

Funny to think he was this good given that he had only started sucking cock when he began hanging out with you.

He took you further into his mouth, going up and down repeatedly. Your low moans were being swallowed by Matt, who pulled away and started to kiss your neck leaving light red marks all over your collarbone and chest.

You were getting close, overwhelmed by the sensation, and you could feel Matt was hard as a rock. You pulled him aside and made Frank pull away, who was already stroking himself.

“How about we do THAT at the same time?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes gleamed with excitement at your proposal, so he got up and crawled on top of you and kissed you before rolling to the side to lay beside you, propped on the headboard. Matt did the same once he removed his boxers.

Seeming as they couldn't keep their hands to themselves, they started caressing your body and Frank started stroking your length while you kissed Matt.

You weren't any better than them, and the lust consuming your mind, you grabbed their members, already leaking with precum, and started moving your fists up and down.

The sensation was electric. Frank's mouth approached your neck, his grunts being drowned by the flesh of your neck while he left marks in the surrounding area.

You were nearing climax, and so were they. With a final groan from Frank, he came, and while you turned to kiss him, Matt and you did too.

You three laid there for a while, worn out. After a while, you kissed both of them before getting up and going to your bathroom for a towel. You came back and cleaned up before laying between them again.

Frank placed his head on your chest and Matt hugged you from the side. You rested quietly for a while before Frank spoke.

“Is our pretty boy happy?”

“You bet.”

#male reader #x male reader #fanfic #gay #fanfiction #matt murdock x m!reader #matt murdock x male reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x male reader #daredevil smut #punisher x male reader #punisher x reader #frank castle x m!reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x male!reader #male reader smut #mlm smut #smut

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halfway-happyyy · 3 months ago

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2025 masterlist ✨️

i do not give permission for any of my works or their included components to be copied, translated and or/reposted.

*i don't specify the age gap in my writing, but in my mind, reader is in her 30s.

currently writing for:

jon bernthal characters: frank castle, braxton wolff

shawn hatosy characters: andrew 'pope' cody (animal kingdom), jack abbot (the pitt)

requests are open and encouraged 💖

home to you (oneshot) - jack abbot x reader

late night hospital meet-cute (drabble) - jack abbot x reader

a note on mornings (drabble) - jack abbot x reader

jack takes care of your sunburn (drabble) - jack abbot x reader

stargazing with pope cody (drabble) - pope cody x reader

lovin' on pope's freckles (drabble) - pope cody x reader

cockwarming with pope (18+) - pope cody x reader

Frank Castle x reader:

it'll all work out (oneshot)- Matt Murdock x reader, Frank Castle x reader

a million mornings (drabble)

an attentive scorpio lover (drabble)

more attentive lover drabble

frank takes a bath with you (drabble)

salvation (oneshot) (18+)

old soul lover (drabble)

frank has a nightmare (drabble)

frank removes your makeup (drabble)

frank lays it all out on the line for you (drabble)

frank takes you to a wedding (drabble)

grumpy !boyfriend frank (drabble)

the aftermath of a fight with frank (drabble)

frank talking you through it (drabble) (18+)

fumbled, sleepy morning sex (drabble)

frank takes his girl on a scar tour (drabble)

Achilles' Heel (series) (18+)

the sunshine and the storm (drabble)

roadtrip HC's with frank

cutting frank's hair and beard (drabble)

more frank talking you through it (drabble) (18+)

period sex with frank (drabble) (18+)

soft frank things

frank with a kitten hc's

frank introduces his girl to his blind lawyer (drabble)

more cat-daddy drabbles

wasted on each other (oneshot) (18+)

reader adopts franks mannerisms (drabble)

washing frank's hair (soft drabble)

frank catches you watching punisher thirst traps (drabble)

overstimulating frank (drabble) (18+)

loves notes in frank's lunches (drabble)

asking frank for a dick pic (drabble) (18+)

fall with me (oneshot) (fluff)

frank with a girlfriend who tinkers/makes gadgets (drabble)

!boyfriend frank with reader who's going through a depressive episode (drabble)

thinking about frank's lap (drabble)

frank and his diner girl (drabble)

more soft scar drabble

reader comes out to frank as bi (drabble)

frank with a reader who needs music to sleep (drabble)

nsfw hc's - (18+)

sunday morning vignettes - (18+)

Michael Kinsella x reader (KIN 2021)

will you think of me later? (oneshot) - Mikey Kinsella x reader

Michael (Mikey) Berzatto (The Bear 2022-)

My Sun, My Moon, and All of My Stars (oneshot)

Braxton Wolff (The Accountant 2016 / The Accountant 2025)

reader indulges brax's oral fixation (18+)

#masterlist #halfway-happyyy #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #ddba #frank castle

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chrisisvbun · 6 months ago

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little intern. matt murdock x ftm!reader.

synopsis: you, a lawyer intern, found matt, your boss, in his office at night.

cw: boss/intern dynamic, dom!matt, sub!reader, piv, possessive matt, innocent reader, age gap (matt is 30, reader is nineteen), slight fingering, riding.

words: 1.3k

a ten nsfw chapter series masterlist.

You were about to open your mouth but Matt spoke first.

"I know it's you, handsome." He smiled, taking off his glasses on the chair of his office.

The warm light of the desk lamp allowed you to see his loose tie, his wrinkled shirt, and some scratches on his eyebrow and cheekbone. He sighed, evidently tired.

"You know you don't have to stay this late, sweet, you still have classes in the morning." He rubbed his temple.

"I-I don't mind staying, Mr. Murdock, and classes start pretty late for me." You said, squeezing your forms on your chest. "A-a friend of mine found some archives that might be useful for your case, I just finished checking them." You spoke as you put down the archives.

He smiled almost proudly, his eyes never really finding yours. Beautiful, dead eyes that shined from that innocent nature they kept due to the fact they never got to see how hurt their world was.

"Workin' so good for us. I like that." You noticed how that 'us' was a 'me' that he swallowed. "Come closer to me, sugar." He made a little sign that made you get closer like he was magnetic.

You stood in front of his chest, your hands fidgeting behind your back, swallowing nervously.

"How are your studies going?" He got rid of his tie, folding it on his desk.

"G-good..." You blushed.

Matt was your boss, someone older than you, almost —that almost is important— double your age, a good lawyer, someone smart, kind, strong and very, very hot.

You couldn't help it, you couldn't help but to stare at his body, a part of you taking advantage of his blindness to roam your eyes over his body again and again and again.

You shook your head when you noticed that your answer was to vague. "I've been studying a lot, my grades keep getting better, t-thanks to everything I've learnt with you... a-and Mr. Nelson."

He chuckled softly. "I'm glad about it, sweetheart." He smiled up to you —to where he could partially tell your face was—. "Come closer, I won't bite." He sat straighter in his chair.

You swallowed, nervously stepping closer to him, standing next to him as he turned his chair to you.

"L-like this?" You said blushed.

He shook his head and patted his thigh. The mother fucker patted his thigh.

"C'mon, don't keep your boss waiting." He smirked.

You shivered at his words, shyly sitting on his knees. His hands ran through his thighs, trying to fins your waist. Once he found it, he pulled you closer, you gasped at the sudden feeling of the hardness on his jeans.

"Mr. Murdock..." You shivered.

"Yes, handsome?" He ran his hands through your back.

"I-I'm not sure how okay this is." You said shyly, he chuckled.

His hands moved back to your hips, one of them moving under your shirt and caressing your tummy, making you squirm.

"Shh, don't worry about a thing. I want that pretty mind of yours to focus on studying and me." I have pressed a gentle kiss on your collarbone, making you bite the inside part of your cheek, whimpering. "Is this okay, love?"

You nodded quickly. "Yeah..." You pronounced as you swallowed hard.

Matt knew that wasn't a good thing to do, he was your boss and you were only nineteen, a shy little boy who found his boss very hot, and he was taking advantage of that, he knew it. But even being catholic, he never considered himself a good man.

His hands moved to your back, running them up and down over your skin beneath your shirt until the hem of your binder.

"Are you gonna let me feel that pretty body of yours?" He purred as he peppered kisses over your collarbone and throat.

"Y-yes. Yes, Mr. Murdock." You whined quietly.

Matt pulled away. "C'mon, take it off." He ordered.

You couldn't not obey, he was your boss.

You unbuttoned your white shirt, throwing it on the office floor.

He noticed when you stopped moving. "Everything."

He wasn't even thinking of your comfort, of how that would make you feel, and God, that turned you on even more.

You unzipped your binder, sighing when breasts stretched free.

Matt's mouth instantly went to your chest, his hands roamed your stomach and the small of your back while his mouth worshipped your breasts, taking your nipples into his mouth and sucking from them.

"You feel so good..." Matt almost moaned against your tits, rubbing his face against them.

You were a whining, red mess, your face was burning hot while your lips were parted with whiny sounds that came out of it, and all of that while your brain tried to process the fact that you had your hot boss sucking your tits in his office.

With one swift move, he sat you on the edge of his desk, kissing your knees and thighs while his hands worked on taking off his belt and pants. You did the same with yours, pulling down your pants and Matt quickly moved a broad hand to the pit of your boxers, one rough pad rubbing your already wet clit. You sank your nails on his shoulders, not expecting that sudden touch, moaning out loud.

"So wet, handsome, is this all for me?" He smiled, rubbing harder. You couldn't answer, you were a mess, unable to pronounce anything other than whiny sounds with 'Mr. Murdock' in between of them. "C'mon, don't lie to me, is this cunt all mine, pretty boy?"

"Y-yes! Yes, M-mr. Murdock!" You moaned when he pressed your sweet button.

"That's a good boy." He groaned, biting the inside part of your thigh. "Take them off and come back here." He bossed.

Of course, you obeyed. Shyly but quickly, you removed your boxers, getting completely naked for him.

"Very good." He smiled again. You wouldn't lie, his praises were making you shiver, you thought you would come if you heard even one more little praise.

He moved you again to his bare lap, his pants all pressed on his ankles, his shirt open, and his cross necklace hanging from his neck. Your hands held his shoulders, squeezing them when you felt his cock hard between your bodies.

"Feeling how you got me? Huh?" He moved your hips, making you grind against his hardness. "This is every fucking day. How am I supposed to focus on work and on teaching you when you get me so freaking hard?"

You whined, desperately. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock."

He shook his head, one hand moving to cup your cheek. "No, handsome, sorry isn't enough." He lifted your hips, making your slowly sink on his hard cock, your wetness making that smoother. Your eyes opened wide, you could feel his broad, fat cock spreading you open, warm and deliciously.

"You are gonna be mine, you got that? That pussy belongs to me, for me to use when I want." He moved his hips in circles, his veiny dick rubbing against your velvety walls. "Understood?"

"Uh-hum..." You whined out, hugging his neck.

He smiled when he heard your little whine, his hips slowly rocking upwards against your little wet cunt, you let out little cries as you felt him all over your tight walls that clenched around him, sucking him in.

"I almost can't move here, handsome, so freaking small and tight." He almost mocked you, kissing your chest softly. "You can't ride, can you? You can't even move."

He smiled, you were squeezing his shoulders as you tried your best to accommodate his length, but it was almost impossible.

"Just for tonight, I'll be doing the work, but we are gonna need some practice here, alright? I want you to ride me everytime, pretty boy, and I'll teach you all about it, my good little intern."

#matt murdock x male reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #ftm reader #chris writes

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10ava01 · 4 months ago

Text

Secretly yours

Matt Murdock x F reader

Trope: Brothers best friend | secretly dating | age gap | fluff with a little smut | happy ending

Summary: secretly dating your brother’s best friend is fun until you get caught.

Masterlist

//// //// //// //// //// //// //// //// //// //// ////

Law School is a pain in the ass but you somehow are thriving in it. Of course you were following Foggy‘s footsteps, refusing to be anything less than extraordinary.

You are sharp, witty and fashion-forward- because who says you can’t serve courtroom looks and still be an academic weapon?

Other than studying law, dating Matt Murdock in secretly is one of the most thrilling and infuriating experiences of your life.

On one hand, he is everything you ever wanted in a man-brilliant, devastatingly handsome and the kind of man who can make you feel week with just a well-placed smirk.

On the other hand?

He was Foggy‘s best friend. And you are head over heels for him.

Which means sneaking around, stealing glances from across the room, brushing against each other “accidentally“ when Foggy isn’t looking and swallowing down the desire to touch him whenever you damn pleased.

Your „secret relationship“ has been going on for months without Foggy’s knowledge.

You did fall first. Of course, you had. You have been in love with Matt since you were sixteen. Matt Murdock is the most attractive men you had laid your eyes on and that realisation hit you hard even when you were younger. But what you didn’t know is that he fell harder.

Sure Matt is your nightmare.

Your biggest distraction.

And yet, the best thing in your life.

The late nights in the library when he would sneak a hand under the table to brush your knee. The secret study sessions that always ended with heated make-out sessions in his apartment or yours, your lipps swollen, your mind hazy and your thoughts full of HIM.

The way he melts under your touch, like he has been starving for it his entire life. The touch starved look on his face.

It drives you insane.

HE drives you insane.

“You drive me nuts,” he mutters once, pulls you onto his lap, his fingers trailing up your thighs. “Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don’t want you all the damn time?”

Oh you knew. You feel the same way. The need to touch him ever living second, kiss him whenever or wherever are but you only want to tease him for now.

“Maybe you just don’t have enough self-control, Murdock,” you teased as you start to roll your hips against his.

And God, the way he growls.

You are at his mercy.

This man is going to be the death of you.

You have all the power in the world when it comes to Matt. You know it and he sure as hell knows it as well.

But he also knows something else.

Something bigger.

Something he has been keeping hidden for years.

////

Another Late Night where you were tending Matt’s wounds (as always) whole Foggy’s was out.

“You don’t have to do this,” Matt murmurs, voice hoarse as you dabbed at his busted lip.

You roll your eyes. “Please. Like I’m just going to let you bleed all over your sheets”

Matt chuckles, then winces. “I-I love when your get mean with me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you still love me.”

Your hands start to stilled.

Your breath catches your throat.

Suddenly the room feels smaller.

Your heart starts to hammer against your ribs as you met his gaze-those deep brown eyes holding something more.

Something serious.

Something terrifying.

“Matt-“

“I’ve been in love with you the moment we’ve met.”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

You state at him, mouth parted, unable to process.

“What?”

He exhales, hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer. “I tried not to be. Jesus, I truly tried. You are Foggy’s little sister, and I told myself it wasn’t right. And I-“ he swallows hard, shaking his head. “I never stood a chance.”

You blink, still not processing any of this. All this time you have been thinking that there was no way that THE MATT MURDOCK would want anything to do with you. That he only cares for you because of Foggy. But his confession is the last thing you expected.

“And now?” You whisper.

Not wanting to hear the next words that might come out of his mouth.

That he still sees you as Foggy’s little sister.

Matts lips curl into something soft, something unexpected, something real. “Now I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

His hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to him. And then-

He kisses you.

And it’s everything you ever wanted.

Hot, desperate, earth-shattering.

Like every stolen glances , every brush of fingers, every yearning moment has built up to this exsact second.

His lips hungry, demanding, but his hands-gentle. Holding you like you are made of glass. Afraid to break you, hurt you.

You moan into his mouth as his lips move to your neck, sucking, biting-leaving marks that you’d have to cover up in the morning.

Even though you were lost in the pleasure Matt was giving you.

Reality hits you harder.

“Matt,” you gasp. “F-Foggy’s gonna-“ unable to finish your sentence because the felling of Matts lips was like heaven.

“Foggy isn’t here baby,” Matt murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding up your skirt. “And right now, I don’t give a fuck.”

You’re re loosing your mind. Everything is too much. The dirty talk, Matts hands, his voice and the damn SPEACH he just gave.

You are too caught up in the situation.

You should have been more careful.

But all you can feel is Matt.

His hands.

His body.

His lips.

His breath down your neck that makes you stutter.

You should have locked the door.

You should have done a lot of things but all you care about is HIM.

He not only took over your body but also mind.

And you gladly let him.

“What the actual FUCK?”

Foggy’s standing there.

You and Matt froze.

Lips swollen. Clothes everywhere. Matt’s hands still on your waist.

You’ve never seen your bothers face this red before.

“Foggy let me expl-“

“NOPE.” He holds up a hand, glaring at Matt. “NOPE. I don’t wanna hear any of it.”

Matt clears his thought, but doesn’t move from you. “Okey , so-“

“So help me GOD, MURDOCK,, if you try to bullshit your way out of this-“

You sign, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Foggy calm down.”

“CALM DOWN Y/N?” His voice pitched. “I just walked on on MY BEST FRIEND making out with my BABY SISTER like some goddamn-“ he made a strangle notice. “HOW LONG?”

You bit your lip. Afraid Foggy’s gone be mad after hearing your answer. Matt winces.

“Well- Uhhh-mm six months.”

Foggy’s jaw dropped. “ SIX FUCKING MONTHS?!”

You cringe at the situation. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed. But before you start threatening Matt’s life, maybe consider that I’m a grown women who can make her own choices?”

Foggy looked at you sceptical. Then at Matt.

Then back at you.

And slowly, the fury faded from on his face-replaced with something softer.

Some kind of realisation.

“You really love her?” He asks Matt, voice quieter now.

Matt doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“With everything I have.”

And that was it.

Foggy groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. You two have been in love since we were young, haven’t you?”

Silence.

You and Matt exchange glances.

Guilty.

Foggy lets out a heavy sigh, then-shockingly-he smiles at you two.

“You know what? Whatever. Just-no more secrets. AND no making-out where I can see you, or I’m gouging my own eyes out because of you both.

You smirk. “So dramatic.”

“Shut up”

And just like that-

No more sneaking around.

No more hiding.

Just you and Matt.

Finally.

#matt murdock x reader #marvel #matt murdock #daredevil #brothers best friend #matt x reader #matt murdock x y/n #smut #fluff

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alisonsfics · 24 days ago

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♡ john walker ♡

⁂ = smut

⤜♡𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨♡⤛

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 ⤔ your boyfriend was a dick, no way around it. and john loathed him. tonight is no different when the three of you and the rest of the thunderbolts go to a hockey game. so when you and john end up on the kiss cam, john seizes his shot. (x thunderbolt!reader)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⁂ ⤔ bucky and walker couldn’t stand each other, and that was before they both starting competing for your affection. you remind them that there’s much more productive ways to get their energy out. (john walker x reader x bucky barnes) (winteragent x reader)

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 ⤔ john was the only one of the thunderbolts that you hadn’t bonded with above an acquaintance level. but, he was always there quietly brooding. so, when you find him crying in the middle of the night, you know you have to help him. ( x thunderbolt!reader) (matt murdock cameo)

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⤔ you should’ve known that a secret relationship with john while living with spies could only last so long. so, you’re not exactly shocked when yelena bursts into your room and finds you both in bed. ( x thunderbolt!reader)

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ⁂ ⤔ you and john walker should not be together. he is much older than you. and, you have a boyfriend. but that doesn’t stop you both from thinking about each other late at night. on your first mission with just the two of you, you both stop fighting the temptation. (age gap) (coming soon)

#john walker #john walker x reader #john walker marvel #john walker masterlist #john walker smut #john walker fic #john walker fanfic

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 years ago

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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

#fic #collab fic #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matthew murdock x fem!reader #matthew murdock smut

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multiharlot · 2 years ago

Text

cayendo // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your husband takes a business trip to la

warnings: it's always the "my wife" guys...looking at you NED FULMER........i'm so sorry for this, lmao

i like feeling pain so uhhhh song inspiration is cayendo by frank ocean.

main masterlist || series masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

you sighed as you sat next to your husband's half packed bag on your bed.

"what?" he asks, stopping after he places a t shirt into the bag.

"i just...why the suit?" you frown, and he just smiles, sitting next to you.

"hey, it's just in case. i'm literally going to defend my suit tailor from a vigilante. i might need it." he shrugs, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips.

you just groan, throwing yourself backwards onto the bed and flopping your arms dramatically above your head. matt laughs softly, shaking his head at your antics. he places the last item of clothing into his bag and pushes the bag off of the bed before laying right on top of you.

"you know i love you, yeah? and that i'll always come home to you?" he asks, leaning up on his forearms and pushing a few stray pieces of hair away from your face.

"yeah but-"

"no but's. you know that, right?"

"yes." you sigh, and matt smiles, placing his hand softly on your cheek.

"i'll be okay. it's just a week, my love." he says, your heart fluttering at how softly and delicately he spoke to you.

you closed your eyes, leaning your face onto his hand and letting out a soft breath before opening your eyes and smiling up at your husband.

"i love you"

"i love you more" he smiles, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips.

liar. liar liar liar.

it's all that ran through your head as you looked down at your phone, seeing pictures of daredevil and she-hulk flood your timeline. edits of them together and a video of your husband leaving an apartment building early in the morning with his shoes in hand. clearly doing the walk of shame.

you'd seen enough.

you throw your phone to the opposite side of the couch and just sit there, staring at the blank wall in front of you. you weren't really sure what to do. scream. cry. call him and yell. leave and never speak to him again.

you genuinely didn't know what to do.

your phone violently began to vibrate and ring, and you just sat there, letting it ring. letting the texts and calls pile up. undoubtedly foggy and karen calling you after seeing the news all over their timelines. but let's be honest, even if you did pick up the phone, you'd have nothing to say. what could you say?

your husband just cheated on you.

what in the world could you possibly say?

your thoughts were interrupted by violent knocking at your door. you took a moment to breathe before making your way to the door and slowly bringing it open, and you're face to face with your best friend, leanne. she stands there, slightly out of breath and her eyes fixed onto you, seemingly waiting for you to say something.

"what do i do?" you breathe out, your eyebrows furrowed as you stand there in front of her, still in disbelief.

"you do whatever you need to do. and whatever it is, i support you. need to leave? i'll pack your things. do you need to stay? we'll get comfy and we can talk through it. wanna set his stuff on fire? i'll grab the matches. need to disappear and change your identity? i know a guy. you tell me whatever it is you need right now, and we'll do it." she says firmly, walking into your home and shutting the door behind her.

for a moment, you just stood there, still in the hallway. everything around you felt like him. hell, you were wearing his clothes. and even in his betrayal, you'd never felt safer than when you were surrounded in these pieces of him. knowing that made part of you angry, but it also made part of you break more than you thought it could. the place where you felt safest is a place you didn't belong. a place you weren't sure you ever belonged in the first place. deep down you always kind of knew. you knew that you weren't really his...type.

you almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

a type. what a small menial thing in comparison to falling in love. who cares about an archetype when you're in love.

but deep deep down, and every now and then, very sparsely, the thought came into your head. you'd considered the women he'd loved. the hard headed type, fighting the world in their mini skirts and heels. the bold type. they were so outspoken and strong. physically and mentally. when they spoke, everyone turned their heads to look and listen. they captured the attention of a room full of people simply just by walking in. you'd admired it. admired them. but you also knew, that just wasn't you. and even though you knew that, you'd always figured it was dumb. it wasn't an insecurity so much as it was just....a known fact. you were his type breaker. but that didn't really matter because at the end of the day, he married you. he built a life with you. why would something as dumb as a type matter when he chose you to spend forever with?

but now, suddenly, types mattered. and while he was always yours, it's clearly evident that you were never his. wether he married you or not, at the end of the day, you just weren't his type.

"what's going on in your pretty head, huh?" leanne asks softly, coming up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and laying her head on your shoulder.

you didn't bother to answer. not wanting to burden her with everything going on in your head.

he was supposed to come home tomorrow. you'd counted down the days. but now, you weren't sure you wanted to be there when he got home and yet you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

*****

matt murdock didn't think it was possible for him to run this fast. as soon as the plane landed, he'd run out of the terminal gates about to flag down a taxi when he'd heard foggy shouting.

"HEY YOU GIGANTIC IDIOT GET IN THE CAR!"

for a moment, he'd considered walking instead. he'd rather suffer walking 20 miles back to his apartment than a 30 minute car ride with foggy, who was beyond pissed.

matt walked towards the car and foggy snatched his suitcase from his hand, quite literally throwing it into the backseat and slamming the door shut as he walked over to the drivers side.

"i'm not opening your door"

matt opened his mouth to speak, but he decided it was best not to. he slid his hand across the door before grabbing the handle and sliding into the passenger seat before sinking into himself. all he could think about was getting home to his wife. hoping and praying that she'd be there when he got back.

"why'd you do it" foggy asked, his voice cold and angry.

his tone was harsh and he was short with matt. rightfully so.

"i...i don't even know."

matt wasn't even sure why he did what he did. he'd just...slipped into his old ways, he guessed. he loved his wife. he loved you. you were everything he'd ever dreamed of in a woman. you two fit like a glove. complimented each other. your lifestyles complimented each other. so he didn't even know how it happened. he just knew that he was sorry, and he'd do anything to fix it.

foggy scoffed, shaking his head.

"you don't know? you don't know. great. that's just great, matt. so you did it for no reason then?"

"no. not for no reason i-"

"then what? huh? what fucking reason could you possibly have to cheat on your wife, matt? the woman who makes you elaborate lunches to take to work and- and- brings the entire office coffee in the mornings on the way to work? the woman who re-sews the buttons on your shirts with silk thread so they're more comfortable for you and who planned an elaborate beach honeymoon so that for once in your life you'd be able to experience silence? that's the woman you deiced to cheat on?"

matt didn't have an answer. he wish he did. any answer, even if it was an awful one. but he really didn't know why he did it.

"i just...got caught up in the moment. the adrenaline of it all-"

"the adrenaline of it all. okay. right. so do you just have sex with everyone you fight with out there? that a normal occurrence for you?" foggy sarcastically spit out.

matt almost physically winced at foggy's coldness. never in their many years of friendship had foggy been this angry at him. never had matt ever felt like foggy would give up on him. except for right now.

"fog i-"

"no. no you don't get to speak. you're gonna sit there, and you're gonna think about what you're gonna say to her."

and that's what he did. matt sat there, thinking about you. thinking about if you'd be there when he got home. how he'd fix this. he opened his mouth as he turned to foggy and dared to ask

"how is she?"

the question almost made foggy want to laugh. like...maniacally laugh.

"i dunno. her husband just cheated on her. i'd say not very good."

"is she...did she-"

"leave? no. but if you ask me, she should have."

deep down matt wanted to argue that face, but he didn't. he knew better.

"so she's still-"

"i said yes, matt. she's still at home."

matt sunk further into his seat, if that was even possible. and while he and foggy sat in silence, so did you. you were sat at the living room table, a cup of tea in your hand, your leg bouncing up and down in attempt to release your anxiety.

you looked down at your phone, and part of you didn't want to do it. you were sure you wanted to stay here. work through it. but the next thing you knew, you were running across the apartment, stuffing clothes into a bag with your phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear.

"y/n? are you okay?"

"no. i can't be here when he gets here. i need to go."

there was a moment of silence and then lianne's voice came through, harsh and determined.

"i'll be there in five."

taglist:

@multibishh @anothersworld @fuck-goes-on @Mrbillymontgomery @takeyour-pants-off @alexxavicry @eddiemvnsons @caseket @glowstick-lesbian @inas-thing @luvr-bunnyy @desert-fern @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @drunkangels @nia_um @afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock

#murdock #marvel #x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel men #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #netflix daredevil #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x age gap!reader #matthew murdock

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet on You, Chapter 6

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~3700

A/N: Guess who's back, back again? Matty's back, tell a friend...

After months of fucking off to who-knows-where, Matt finally sauntered back into the writing room in my head with a smirk on his face and the DDBA trailer in tow, so expect updates to all of my Matt fics to start back up!

As always, many thanks to @realfernmayo for the divider!!!

Tag List: @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86 @yarrystyleeza @indestructeible @pepperthebi-spy @kezibear

“I need you to stay late,” Mr. DiStefano said the following evening as you prepared to leave the office.

You paused in the middle of unlocking your desk drawer to retrieve your purse. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Harrison just called, he wants to completely redo the condos we're designing for him so he's coming in for an emergency meeting. I need you here to take notes.”

You frowned. Harrison Coco was the head of the Coco Corporation, one of the largest and most prestigious development companies in New York. “He’s coming in tonight ?”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “I don't like it either, but he's our biggest client. I don't want to run the risk of losing his account.”

“Can't it at least wait until tomorrow? I had plans this evening.”

“Oh, well, if whatever it is you had planned is more important than your job , then…” Mr. DiStefano trailed off, his meaning evident.

You sighed. You had been looking forward to a quiet dinner with Matt after an already hectic day. “No, sir. It's fine, I can see if I can reschedule for another day.”

“Good. Make a pot of coffee, would you? We're going to need it.”

You pulled out your phone as Mr. DiStefano walked back to his office, sighing once again as you texted Matt. I'm really sorry, but I can't make it to dinner tonight.

Your phone immediately chimed with a response. Everything okay?

Yeah, an important client is coming in so my boss is making me work late.

Ah. I see.

“He probably doesn't believe me,” you muttered to yourself. Would you mind taking a raincheck for this weekend? Or I can even do an extra dinner next week if that's preferable.

You chewed on your lip in anticipation, hoping that Matt didn't consider you already in breach of your contract and tell you to just forget about the whole thing.

Would tomorrow work for you? 6 PM at the restaurant instead of 7?

You huffed out a relieved breath. Yes, that should work. Again, I'm so sorry, my boss literally just sprang this on me.

That's quite alright, I have some things I needed to finish up tonight at the office anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

You put your phone away and headed to the kitchen to brew the requested pot of coffee. Design meetings typically ran for several hours as it was, but meetings with Harrison were always even longer and more detailed. Might as well make extra since I'll probably be here until midnight.

You measured out the coffee grounds then added water to the reservoir, wondering if you'd have the time and energy to at least scarf down the leftover baked chicken you had made the previous evening before needing to get ready for bed or if you should order something to eat at the office for dinner.

You pressed the start button on the coffee machine, deciding to err on the side of caution and order in something.

You headed back to Mr. DiStefano’s office. “I'm going to grab something for dinner, do you want anything?”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Yeah, actually. What were you getting?”

“I was thinking maybe that ramen bar down the street.” It was relatively inexpensive and close enough to the office to where you could just run and pick it up rather than having to wait on delivery.

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “That sounds good. Give me a minute and I'll let you know what I want.”

“Okay.”

You went back to the kitchen to pour the coffee you had made into a carafe to keep warm, then brought the carafe into the meeting room and set it on a table against the wall along with some cups, a caddy full of various sweeteners and creamers, and several bottles of water. Okay, I think that's everything.

You walked back into Mr. DiStefano's office. “Decide what you want, sir?”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Yeah, get me the black tonkotsu with a side of takoyaki.”

You pulled your phone out to place your orders. “Okay, not a problem.”

Mr. DiStefano pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took out some cash. “Here, this should cover mine.”

You took the money and stuck it in your pocket. “I’ll let you know when I leave to go pick it up. What time will Mr. Coco be arriving?”

“Around 6:30 or so. He just got back into town from a business trip and will be on his way shortly.”

You nodded. At least that would give you enough time to eat. “I’ve got coffee and water set up in the meeting room. Do you need anything else?”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “No, I think that’s it for now.”

You went back to your desk and responded to a few emails from clients that you had originally left to answer the next morning, then stopped by Mr. DiStefano's office once again in order to let him know that you were leaving to go pick up dinner.

At least Abbott and Williams have already left for the day so I don't have to worry about having to deal with them too , you thought as you locked the office door behind you.

You walked the three blocks to the restaurant and picked up your order, then headed back.

“Mr. DiStefano, I'm back,” you announced as you unlocked the door and stepped back inside. “They had initially forgotten your okonomiyaki sauce, but I made sure to get them to put extra in the bag for you.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mr. DiStefano said as he came into the lobby. “Before Harrison gets here I need you to pull the current renderings for the condos as well as the designs for the Baker, Hawkins, and Guiducci accounts. Hopefully we can convince him to stick with the original design or at the very least go with something similar to what we've done before.”

There goes my time to actually sit and enjoy my dinner , you thought . It was already 6:00 and it would take you at least 15 minutes to find and pull the requested designs. “Yes, sir.”

You handed him his order and put your own on your desk before going to pull the designs. While most architectural firms were utilizing digital-only designs, DiStefano and Associates still used mostly hand-drawn renderings depending on the needs of the client. “Digital renderings may be faster,” Mr. DiStefano had once put it when you had asked him about it, “but a computer can't give you the warmth and depth of a space that hand-drawn designs can.”

Apparently the architecture world agreed, because DiStefano and Associates had been named one of Architecture Today ’s top firms for the past 5 years straight.

You found the requested plans and brought them to the meeting room then returned to your desk to hurriedly eat your (now cold) dinner.

You had just finished when you heard a tap on the front door. Perfect timing.

You hurriedly threw your take-out container in the trashcan next to your desk and walked over to unlock the door. “Mr. Coco, it's good to see you,” you said with false-but-professional pleasantness as you opened it.

You honestly didn't have anything against him personally -- he was a tall, medium-built, good-looking man around your age with dark hair and piercing blue eyes -- but you couldn't help but be annoyed that he had (unknowingly) caused you to have to cancel your dinner plans for the evening.

“Same to you,” he replied. “And I've asked you before, please call me Harrison. Mr. Coco is my father.”

You stepped out of the doorway to let him inside. “Come on in.”

You locked the door behind him and led him to the meeting room. “I'll let Mr. DiStefano know that you're here.”

Harrison nodded. “Thanks.”

You walked back to Mr. DiStefano's office. “Mr. Coco is waiting for you in the meeting room, sir.”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Okay, thanks. I'll be right there.”

You passed by your desk to grab your notebook and returned to the meeting room. “Mr. DiStefano will be with you in a moment. In the meantime, there's fresh coffee and bottled water if you'd like anything to drink, or I can bring you a cup of tea if you'd prefer.”

Harrison looked over at the coffee station, then back at you. “Actually, a cup of tea would be nice.”

You nodded. “We have English Breakfast, green tea, Chai, Earl Grey, honey-chamomile, and herbal peppermint. Which would you prefer?”

Harrison thought for a moment. “Let's do the Chai.”

“Okay, I'll be right back with that.”

You went to the kitchen and brewed a cup of hot water then placed a tea bag in it before returning once again to the meeting room. “Here you are.”

Harrison nodded as you handed him the cup. “Appreciate it. So, how have you been?”

“Fine, thanks.” Harrison was one of the few clients who always took the time to actually speak to you and made you feel seen and not like furniture. “How about you? Mr. DiStefano said you just got back from a trip?”

Harrison nodded. “Actually, yeah, which is why I --”

“Harrison, hello!” Mr. DiStefano's voice boomed as he walked into the meeting room. “It's good to see you.”

Harrison turned to shake Mr. DiStefano's hand. “John, thanks for meeting with me so quickly.”

Mr. DiStefano shook his head. “Not a problem. Please, have a seat.”

You sat in your usual chair in the corner of the room as the two men sat at the table.

“So tell me,” Mr. DiStefano said. “What's the issue with the condo design? I thought you said you loved it.”

Harrison sighed. “I did, I did, it's just that upon looking at it again I realized it looks like every other condo building in New York. I want something different, something that makes Coco Corp stand out. I need something… inviting .”

You wrote down different and inviting as Mr. DiStefano nodded. “Okay, I can absolutely see that. I've pulled a few comps for you to check out.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. You knew you were just Mr. DiStefano's office assistant, but the least he could do was to say he’d had his assistant pull the blueprints rather than act like he had actually taken the time to do it himself.

Mr. DiStefano reached over and unrolled the first rendering. “Here's one we did for the Taylor Group --”

Harrison shook his head. “No, you don't understand me, John. It's gotta be a completely original design, unlike anything else in New York. I want people to look at it and see something unique, not just another high-rise taking up space where there used to be a park. And I want it to be as environmentally friendly as possible.”

Environmentally friendly, you added to your notes.

Mr. DiStefano sat back and scratched at his chin. “Well, going back to the drawing board and starting over completely from scratch is going to cost you, Harrison. I mean I've already put a lot of time and effort into the original design…”

“I don't care how much it costs. I'll pay you triple your usual hourly rate, I just need a completely new, unique design by Monday morning. I have to get the new plans over to City Hall for approval before I leave for Taiwan Monday afternoon.”

Mr. DiStefano nodded. “It'll require me to work through the weekend, but considering it's an emergency and it's for you, I'll do it.”

Harrison grinned. “Great. Let's get started then.”

You sighed to yourself. You'd been hoping that Harrison would like one of the other designs with just a few tweaks being made to make it part of his signature style, but to completely start the design process over?

It was going to be a long night.

“Walk me through step-by-step what happened when you arrived on scene,” Matt's voice said on the recording of his interview with Officer Stanton from earlier that day.

Officer Stanton had sighed. “The housekeeper answered the door and let us in, then led us to Senator and Mrs. Thompson’s bodies.”

“She was the one who discovered the victims, right?” Matt had listened to her original deposition that morning and already knew that she had arrived at the Thompson residence around 8 AM to start her workday only to discover Senator and Mrs. Thompson dead in the foyer, but he'd wanted to confirm it with Officer Stanton.

“Yeah.”

“Was anyone else at the residence?”

“No, but Mrs. Thompson’s sister arrived shortly thereafter.”

“Ah, yes, Ms…” Matt had paused to check his notes. “Stafford.”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“The Thompson’s deaths hadn't yet been made public and no next of kin had been contacted at the time, correct?”

“Right.”

“So her reason for being there?”

“She said she had made plans with Mrs. Thompson to go shopping and to have lunch.”

“And she was the one who first mentioned that my client had argued with Mrs. Thompson the previous day?”

Officer Stanton had shifted in his seat. “Yeah.”

“Yet you testified in court that it was Ms. Davies who initially mentioned the argument.”

There was a rustle of clothing as Officer Stanton had shrugged. “I got mixed up. Ms. Stafford mentioned it to us then Ms. Davies confirmed it during questioning.”

“How did Ms. Davies know about the argument?”

“She overheard Mrs. Thompson telling Ms. Stafford about it during tea at the Thompson residence.”

“Did either one know what the argument was about?”

“No.”

“Had anyone else other than my client ever been considered a suspect?”

“I don't know, you'd have to ask Detective Fraser. He was the lead on the case, I was just the first officer on the scene.”

“I will. That's all the questions I have for you, thank you for your time.”

Matt turned off the recording and took out his earbuds. He needed to talk to Detective Fraser, but he was pretty sure the police had never looked beyond Conrad -- who was clearly innocent -- for suspects.

He sighed. There wasn't anything else he could do on Conrad's case that night and he had already wrapped up his other tasks earlier in the day in anticipation of his scheduled dinner with you.

Matt had admittedly been disappointed when you had texted him to cancel and initially thought that maybe you had changed your mind about your arrangement, but had believed your explanation of having to work late, especially after you had offered to make it up to him.

He checked the time as his stomach rumbled. 11:34 PM. Shit, I should call it a night. Probably should eat something, too, since I skipped lunch.

There was a deli nearby that was open until midnight, so he gathered his belongings and headed out of the office, locking the door behind him.

He unfolded his cane and headed down the sidewalk, the smell of freshly-baked bread and sliced meat becoming stronger and more enticing the further he got down the street.

His brow furrowed as he picked up the sound of your voice. Your office was about a half a block from the deli and you had said that you'd had to work late, but Matt definitely hadn't expected you to be working this late.

“Goodnight, Mr. DiStefano,” you were saying. “See you in the morning.”

Matt frowned. He presumed that you would be walking home since cabs were scarce at this hour, but even with his efforts as Daredevil the streets weren't 100% safe. I should make sure she gets home okay.

He bypassed the deli and kept walking, reaching your office right as you were finishing locking up behind you.

You double-checked that the door was locked tight then turned towards him. “Matt?”

Matt said your name in what he hoped was a believably surprised tone. “Hi. Wow, are you just now getting off of work?”

“Yeah, design meetings always take forever, especially meetings with this particular client.” You paused. “What about you? Are you just now getting off too?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, I lost track of time working on this one particular case and totally skipped dinner, so I just left the office and was heading to Raoul’s to grab a sandwich to eat at home.”

“Oh, um, you passed it. It's about half a block back the way you came.”

Matt made a fake grimace. “Oh shit, did I? Damn, it's late and I'm tired, I must've miscounted the steps.”

“Want me to escort you there?”

“You don't mind?”

“Of course not.” You moved to stand next to him and offered him your arm. “Come on, it's right down here.”

Matt took your arm and allowed you to guide him back down the street to Raoul's. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.” You slowed to a stop as the two of you reached the deli. “Here it is.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks again.”

You huffed out a light laugh. “Part of the service, remember?”

Matt grinned. “Right, right.”

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Matt bit his lip. “...Unless you don't mind waiting a few minutes for me to get my sandwich then letting me walk you home?”

He could feel you relax as you shook your head. “No, I don't mind. I'd actually really appreciate it.”

“Okay, great.”

The two of you headed inside and walked up to the counter.

“Welcome to Raoul's, what can I get you folks?” the clerk said.

“Ah, yeah, can I get turkey and ham on a sub, hold the mustard?” Matt turned towards you. “Would you like anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you replied. “I had dinner at the office earlier.”

You were telling the truth, so Matt just nodded. “Okay. That'll be all, thanks.”

He paid for his sandwich then the two of you moved to the other end of the counter to wait for it.

“So do you work late often?” Matt asked.

“No, not really,” you answered. “And even when I do it's usually never this late. We just had a very important client insist on meeting tonight about an emergency redesign on a project my boss is doing for him and I had to be there to take notes.”

You paused briefly before continuing. “I shouldn't need to cancel dinner so last-minute again.”

Matt shook his head. “Honestly, it's fine. I might have to do the same on occasion.”

“Also, thank you for agreeing to reschedule. I was afraid you'd tell me to just forget the whole deal.”

Matt's brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

He heard the ruffle of your coat as you shrugged. “I dunno,” you hedged. “I thought that maybe you wouldn't believe that I was working late and that I was actually seeing another S&S client or something.”

The thought had never crossed Matt's mind, but now that you mentioned it... “ Do you have other clients?”

“No, you're my only one right now. But what about you? I know you said you're single, but you could still have a friend with benefits… with actual benefits.”

Matt shook his head. “No, there's no one in my life in that capacity right now either.”

He chewed on his lip as he thought for a moment. “How about for both our peace of mind we add an addendum to our contract? Something along the lines of ‘Neither party shall seek out or participate in other companionship or romantic entanglements while joined under the terms of this contract’.”

You let out a breath. “Agreed. I mean, since we're going to be letting people believe that we're legitimately dating it makes sense for both of us to be otherwise unattached.”

Matt nodded. “I'll write it up and we can sign it tomorrow before dinner. And now that I'm thinking about it, I probably should increase your monthly stipend since I'm preventing you from taking on other clients.”

You hesitated briefly before answering. “I appreciate that, but it's not necessary. You're already paying me more than enough as it is.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind increasing it.”

“I'm sure. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay then.”

“Do you still want to meet at the restaurant? Or would you rather meet at your office to sign the addendum?”

“Restaurant is fine. It's just one extra clause so it's only one page.”

“Okay, that sounds good then.”

Your conversation halted as Matt's order was called. “You folks have a good night,” the deli clerk said as he handed Matt a plastic bag containing his sandwich.

“Thanks, you too,” Matt replied.

“You as well,” you added before the two of you headed outside.

Matt unfolded his cane and took your elbow. “Alright, which way are we heading?”

You turned back towards your office. “This way.”

The two of you walked silently, each lost in your own thoughts.

“By the way --” Matt began.

“Hey, thank you again --” you started to say at the same time.

Matt chuckled. “You go first.”

You took a breath. “I was just gonna say thank you again for walking me home. I really do appreciate it.”

Matt nodded. “It's not a problem.”

“So what were you going to say?”

“Oh, just that Foggy and Karen want to meet you.”

“Oh, okay. That's not a problem, just let me know when and where.”

“I told them maybe in a couple of weeks once we see how things go.” Matt grinned. “I want us to be comfortable with each other before I subject you to the rest of Nelson, Murdock and Page for cross-examination.”

You huffed out a light laugh. “I'll be sure to prepare, counselor.”

Matt felt you slow down as you reached your apartment building. “Well, this is me. Thanks again for walking me home.”

Matt smiled and gave you a slight nod. “Usually I'm embarrassed when I accidentally pass up places I'm trying to get to, but tonight it worked out. I'm glad I ran into you.”

“Me too. Do you need directions back to your place?”

Matt shook his head. “Nah. I can use the GPS on my phone.”

“Okay.” You gave his arm a light squeeze. “I'll see you tomorrow evening then?”

Matt nodded. “See you tomorrow evening.”

He waited as you went inside your building then turned and headed towards home, his mind going back and forth from Conrad's case to Matt's contract with you. There was something he was definitely missing in order to definitively prove Conrad's innocence, but he couldn't quite figure out what.

He shook his head. He needed to eat, shower, and sleep. He'd work on proving Conrad's innocence and writing up the addendum to his and your contract tomorrow.

#lotmf writes #Sweet on You Masterlist #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 4 months ago

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what is this feeling? | m. murdock

MAJOR DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!!!!

a/n: here's my swing at an angsty but cute daredevil born again fic!! hope y'all like it, i think it's alright although the pacing is kinda meh, but. oh well! i like it so i hope you do too. enjoy!! warnings: uhm. SPOILERS FOR DDBA!!!!!!!!!! please head that warning!! lots of fighting, yearning, enemies to lovers, matt is mean and has a moment where he yells at her. then theres a lot of hurt/comfort, lots of softness, a bit of making out. i dunno it's what i got! lots of cursing, strange office behavior, matt and reader have an odd dynamic, kinda implied age gap? wordcount: 3.8k summary: you're pretty sure your boss hates you. pairing: dd:ba!matt murdock x reader now playing: what is this feeling? - wicked "what is this feeling?/fervid as a flame?/does it have a name?/yes/loathing/unadulterated loathing."

All Matt does is mope.

It annoys Kirsten deeply.

He was the one who wanted to open this firm with her, after..

Well, everything.

Maybe mope is the wrong word. Matt’s not moping, he’s mourning.

Mourning everything, even the things Kirsten doesn’t know about—Mourning Foggy, mourning Daredevil, mourning the relationship he had with Karen, mourning the firm.. Mourning the life he had. Mourning the person he had become.

So Matt throws everything he has into Murdock & McDuffie, because he’s not Daredevil anymore. He’s not anyone’s friend. What else is there?

But it’s starting to have a negative impact on his work.

Because all he does is work! All he does is talk to clients, do paperwork, talk in court, and mourn. He’s beginning to slip. He’s not sleeping, he’s barely eating. His work is suffering because of it, and Kirsten has not come this far to let Matt falter like this.

She knows he’s grieving. She knows he misses Foggy. Misses his entire life. But she knows this isn’t sustainable.

So, she hires you.

You’re a twenty something year old English Major, fresh out of college, with.. no real idea of what you want to do. And no job.

Kirsten, a family friend, tells you her new law firm needs an office assistant. The pay’s pretty good, she tells you, and the office is pretty. All you must do is get Mr. Murdock to his appointments.

Get him coffee.

Tell him a joke.

Ignore how he ignores you.

You show up to your first day of work with a bright smile, a donut for your new boss, and ambition.

Kirsten opens Matt’s door without knocking, smiling as she steps in.

“Who’s this?” he wonders.

“Our new office assistant,” You try to ignore the frown that tugs at his lips when he finds this out.

You hold out your hand to him, giving him your name. He doesn’t stand from his chair when he shakes your hand.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to talk, I have a meeting with a client,” And before either of you can say anything, Kirsten is gone.

“Listen, I—”

“I brought you a donut,” You offer. Matt smiles a bit, but you can tell it’s forced.

“Thank you. You’re sweet, but..” he hesitates. “I don’t really need a secretary.”

“I’m not your secretary; I’m the office assistant.” Matt raises his eyebrows, and you feel your face flush. “Fine, Kirsten hired me to be your secretary, but she did hire me. I want to work here—For you.”

“I’m sure Kirsten has lots of things for you to worry about that aren’t me.” He promises.

You glance down to the small donut box you’re holding in your hand. Then, you place it on his slightly messy desk.

“Well, I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Matt doubts that he will, but he forces a smile in your direction anyways.

Silence. Schedules. Phone calls. More silence.

Weeks pass like this.

You’re beginning to feel like you don’t deserve to be paid for this, half the time you just sit around doing crosswords or sudoku until Kirsten can come up with something for you to do.

You wait for Mr. Murdock to notice you like a puppy, always glancing over to his office.

You think he might hate you. He’s never outright said as much, but he acts like it. The coffee you make causes him to grimace. The research you do is never good enough. And Kirsten does her best, pestering Matt to engage and giving you things to do..

But there’s only so much she can do. So, there are some days where you sit around writing ideas and brainstorming, always thinking about writing.

After two weeks, you’re yet to start using your free time to write on the side.. But after a particularly bad Wednesday morning..

You were just there to take notes at the firm’s general morning meeting. You want to get down anything important, hating all the nervous energy you have. You’re ignoring the way Matt’s thigh feels against yours.

Then, Matt leans over to you, and whispers against your ear, sending a chill down your spine,

“You know, you don’t really need to be here, I can get my notes from someone else—”

From down the table, you hear giggles, and you glance over to see two of the younger, more annoying new attorneys laughing and whispering to each other, all while looking at you and Matt.

Something snaps inside of you.

What the fuck was this, High School?

Why do you tolerate this bullshit?

You nod, turning your head towards Matt.

“You’re right. I don’t need to be here.” Then, with a quiet, ‘excuse me’, you pick up your things, stare straight ahead and go to your desk.

The meeting room goes kind of quiet, every one of them wondering if this was the epiphany you needed, to stop letting yourself be pushed around so often.

Meanwhile, your brain is committed to one thought:

Don’t cry, Don’t cry, Don’t cry—

You manage to make it to your desk, turn your head away from your colleagues, before the tears finally fall. You wipe them quickly and inhale and exhale slowly.

So everyone thinks you’re a fucking pushover who’s just letting Matt hate you so intensely, so what?

You take a deep breath in.

You exhale.

You open Linkedin and update your resume, before browsing for jobs. You apply to one or two.

You do this all day. You don’t get up from your desk, you don’t bring Mr. Murdock coffee, you don’t ask Kirsten what you can do for her, you don’t even respond when Matt asks you if you want anything from his thai food place, his treat.

You do some work, because you’re afraid of getting fired, but you just scribble down emails and addresses and pros and cons of staying, and you focus intensely at the task at hand.

You don’t even hear his footsteps as he approaches, all you hear is—

“Boo!”

You jump, gripping the arms of your swivel chair. You quickly spin around to be met with Matt. Anger burns within you.

“What the hell is your problem?!” You glare.

Matt laughs.

“What? I scared you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” You spit, and then you cover your mouth, your eyes wide. You’re mortified!

Matt just smiles and offers you the bag of, admittedly delicious smelling, thai food.

“You know, I like you better when you don’t let people walk all over you. It’s a better look.” He hums, and you take the food.

“..Thanks.”

“No problem.” He pauses, “But this doesn’t mean I need a secretary, I can still do all my own work,”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” You say bitterly.

“What’re you doing, anyways?”

You don’t hesitate to respond because he deserves this—

“Looking at job listings.” He pauses, as if caught off guard by your honesty.

“Maybe you should stick around, things’ll get easier.” He taps his cane on the ground, and you try to name the emotion inside you.

“Maybe.” Is all you respond before you turn back to your desk and start working.

After that, you hold no reserves about spending the hours that Matt ignores you writing. And you, of course, hear no objections from him.

After that, you and Matt are not quite.. enemies.. Well, you never were, but.. things aren’t as hostile as they were before. Occasionally, He’ll listen to you when you give input on a client. Occasionally, he’ll ask you if you want any coffee from the place down the street.

This is the closest the two of you get to a love language or a back and forth—Coffee and notes.

One day, you decide to clean his office while he’s out.

It’s an innocent gesture—Something to try and convince him that you can be useful, when given the opportunity!

You start by taking out the trash, making sure not to mess with any important documents. You note how barren his office is—Compared to your desk full of trinkets, at least. You suppose it makes sense, for a blind man not to concern himself with decorating.

You hang his scarf on a hook on the wall, noting the soft texture.

You don’t even mean to find it.

You just pick it up off his desk, and you’re reading it before you can stop yourself.

The picture on the card depicts a blonde man with a kind smile, handsome, too.

‘In loving memory of Franklin Nelson’ is as far as you get when the door swings open, and Matt is standing in the doorway to the office.

“Oh! Sorry—I was just trying to clean up before you got back from your meeting and—

“What are you holding?” You suspect he already knows based off how he asks, but you’re not sure how. Maybe it’s that important to him, but you’ve noticed that he knows things, weird things. But you have no time to think about that now.

“I found it on your desk,” You hold it out to him and as soon as his finger runs over the braille on the card, you watch his shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry, I just—”

“Never touch this!” He snaps, and you stop, taken aback. “Never ever touch this, do you realize how important this is? What would’ve happened if you lost it or threw it out?!” He steps towards you as he raises his voice, “This isn’t for you! Never come into my office without permission again, and never fucking touch this, do you understand?!” He yells, and when you don’t answer, he yells louder—“Do you understand me?!”

Silence.

Then, a whimper escapes your lips as you cover your mouth, tears already running down your face. You quickly place the card back on the desk, before speed walking out of his office, hot, thick tears running down your face.

You’re so fucked, you think. You’re going to get fired. As if you hadn’t spent weeks getting paid to do practically nothing, you’re absolutely going to get fired now. Maybe you should just quit, save yourself the embarrassment, or, maybe you can get on your hands and knees—Absolutely beg Matt to forgive you.

You feel awful. You had heard bits and pieces of what had happened to the man on the card, of how it affected Matt. How they were best friends. How they had their own firm together. How that was destroyed in a matter of minutes.

And sure, Matt’s been a dick to you for a while now, but you have an intense empathy for him. You couldn’t even imagine how he feels.

You grab your jacket and your bag, and then you walk straight back to your apartment. You assume you’re fired. But instead of worrying about it or applying to more jobs, You open a big bottle of wine and sit with the record player on. You keep thinking about how fucked you are.

You fall asleep on your couch, still in your work clothes.

You wake up to your phone buzzing and the sun in your eyes. You glance at the caller ID, only to find.. Kirsten calling you. Probably to chew you out.

“Hello..?” You answer hesitantly, your head pounding.

“Hey, where are you? You’re usually here an hour ago,” You glance at the time. You’re not late, but you’re chronically early. “Everything okay?”

“Uh,” Then, it hits you.

Kirsten isn’t calling to chew you out. So, that means..

Matt didn’t fire you. He didn’t even tell her.

“Sorry,” You finally answer, “I slept through my alarm, but I’ll be there soon.” You tell her. You two say goodbye, and then, you take a second to breath, then, make a plan.

First, you chug a bottle of water, along with a dosage of ibuprofen. Then, you hop in the shower and change, before grabbing your things and making your into the office. Everyone continues what they’re doing, business as usual. You say nothing to anyone as you settle in. You feel crazy, like you’re not in on some joke.

Then, as you’re shuffling around, Matt appears in the door of his office. He calls your name. You jump, tightening your grip on your chair.

“Can we talk a second?”

“Uh, sure.” Your heartbeat is loud, thumping quickly.

You make it into his office and sit on a chair in front of his desk, as he leans against the desk next to you.

Then, he leans back to the desk and picks something up. Then, he hands it to you—and relief washes over you as you realize it’s a coffee.

You take it.

“Thank you.” You say genuinely, talking a long sip of coffee.

“Two splenda and half n half, right?”

You glance up at him.

“How do you know my coffee order?”

“Despite what you think, I pay attention.” He reveals. You feel silly.

You open your mouth to begin,

“I’m so—”

He holds up a hand, a quiet command to be quiet. Closing your mouth and waiting for him to speak is your first reaction, and you’re not sure how to feel about it.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes in, “I’ve been a dick to you, and last night I took it too far. You were just being kind and you didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to push your boundaries,” You offer. He shakes his head.

“I’ve been mean every day since we first met. You don’t deserve that.” He inhales, “I’ve been such a dick because I’ve been.. stuck and stubborn, because the guy on the prayer card.. He was a..” Matt’s jaw clenches and he tilts his head away from you.

You don’t need Matt to finish. His grief, his love for Franklin Nelson, whoever he was, has outlived him. And it radiates off him in this moment.

“Can I ask you a question?” Your voice is quiet. Matt just nods. “And you can’t laugh at me or tell me I’m being an idiot, or—Whatever, you just have to answer.”

Matt’s lips just twinge up, only a bit.

“Mhm?”

A beat.

“..Can I give you a hug?” You wonder, and he just nods, and before his head is able to pick back up, your arms are wrapped around him. You squeeze tightly, and Matt returns your embrace. Your hand gently rubs his back as Matt lets himself be held for the firs time.. in, well, months.

The two of you stay like this for a while, before you pull away. Your hands come up to cup his face, wiping his tears from his face, resisting the urge to pull off his glasses to dry his eyes.

When his tears stall, you finally break the silence.

“Are you gonna be okay if I go back to work? I can stay here if you want me, but—”

“No.” He shakes his head, “Go ahead, go back to work. But, can I tell you a secret?”

“Hm?”

“Now that you’re my new secretary, I’m gonna have to whip you into shape,” He teases.

You pull away, swatting his chest lightly before grabbing your coffee.

“I hate you. Don’t bother me.” You joke back.

“I do really need the case notes on the Jason family and I need to know when my first meeting is,” He says as you walk out the door.

“10 am. I’ll get you the notes in five minutes, tops.”

Matt smiles as he goes back to his seat and begins to search for his headphones.

“Thank you, kid,”

“Oh, I hate that.” You call back.

Matt just laughs.

Yeah, maybe you’ll stick around for a couple more weeks. Just to see.

It happens slowly at first.

You’re hesitant to engage with each other, suddenly not used to this.

His foot nudges against yours under the table at meetings. Sometimes on accident. Most of the time on purpose.

You bring him a breakfast sandwich.

He listens as you cry to him about an annoying witness you were assisting.

He touches your arm. You ignore a familiar, unnamed feeling.

You’re not sure when exactly you start to fall in love with him. But once you do, you find it impossible to stop.

You begin to fall asleep thinking about him whisking you away. Maybe just downtown. Maybe just to his office with the blinds closed and the door locked. Maybe to Scotland, to a castle where the two of you become the finest rulers in the land.

You find yourself just staring at him, and you’re right back to waiting for him like a lost puppy. You suppose there are worse fates than this.

Really, it’s not that bad.

You can just be a hopeless puppy following him around for the rest of your life. That’ll be fine. You tell yourself you’ll be fine.

Just ignore the way your stomach turns as Kirsten talks near your desk, just yapping about a date she went on, and then, out of nowhere, she asks,

“So what’re you looking for?”

“Huh?” You wonder, not fully paying attention.

“If you could go on a date with the perfect person, what would they be like?”

Your reaction is instantaneous. It’s instinctual. It’s incriminating.

Your head picks up, and your eyes lock onto Matt from across the office. He’s just shuffling through some old documents, but the way he focuses so intensely, a smile creeps up on your face before you can stop it.

When you realize what you’ve done, your eyes go wide, and you realize that Kirsten has followed your eyeline.

She starts to laugh.

“I knew it!”

“No, no! Kirsten,” You say, your voice now wobbly, “Kirsten, listen, you cannot say anything, you don’t know anything, just—” You’re panicking, because if Kirsten has found you out, your secret is no longer safe. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell Matt you—”

“Shhhut up!” You whine, your hands covering your face. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You’re so fucked.

Why do you keep thinking that in this office?

“Why? What would be so bad about—”

“I swear to god,”

“You won’t even let me say it out loud!” She laughs, and you feel pathetic.

“No, I won’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m just going to ignore it.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because he has spent the past couple of months being mean to me and we’re only now starting to be nice to each other, I highly doubt he wants anything to do with me.”

“You know there’s this old saying,”

“I’m so sick of this conversation.” You grumble as you stand, gathering your things, and placing the list of Matt’s meetings on the top of it, preparing to make your way to his office.

“You’ll never know unless you try.” She finishes. You look to her. Then, you glance back to Matt.

“Just promise me you won’t say anything.”

“Promise me you will.”

You don’t respond, but you do knock on Matt’s door before you enter. Despite his apology and the relationship you’ve been developing, his words still ring in your head—Don’t come into his office without permission.

He answers, so you go in, and immediately, something in you relaxes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” You pretend he’s being more than friendly, “What’s up?”

“Uh,” You breath out, “I got your meeting schedule.” You offer him, and he smiles.

“Thanks. Did you get my email about the expert witness for the Doyle trial?”

“Yeah, I did. I’ll keep an eye out for a follow up. Don’t forget, it’s that intern, Sarah’s birthday, so say happy birthday.” You remind.

“Oh, right. Sarah.. She’s.. the one with the crush on me? She giggles every time I enter a room?”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Yeah, I guess she does have a bit of a crush on you. Are you.. going to do anything about that?” You ask, as if you’re not brimming with jealousy.

He laughs.

“No, no. Date a coworker? It would get.. messy.” He blushes like he speaks from experience.

“Oh.” You attempt to hide your disappointment. You don’t do a very good job. “Okay, let me know if you need anything.” You smile weakly and turn to leave.

You stop in the doorway. You turn back to him.

“You would date me though, right?”

His head picks up immediately. He smiles a bit.

“What exactly are you asking me?”

“I’m your coworker, sure, but.. you’d date me, right?” You wonder.

His grin widens.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” He wonders, and gets up from his spot at his desk, taking a few steps towards you. You meet him in the middle, your hands coming out to smooth his tie.

“Do you want me to be asking you on a date?”

“As long as it’s not out to Chinese, I just had that last night.” He responds, and you roll your eyes with affection.

“Italian?”

“Overrated for a first date.”

“French?”

“No, I’m Irish, actually.”

“Oh my god, Matthew.”

“Okay, okay. Thai?”

“Perfect.” Of course, You don’t care where you get dinner. You just want to get dinner with him.

And you almost kiss him, right then and there, but you tell yourself that in front of all your coworkers? In this office with these giant offices?

“Let’s go right after work. We can leave together, around six?” He asks, and you can’t help but smile.

“Perfect.” You repeat.

By five forty-five, your last coworker to leave heads out, leaving just you and Matthew waiting for six. At five fifty, you pull your jacket on.

At five fifty-three, Matt comes out of his office, and smiles to you.

“Ready to go?”

“Ready.” You smile, and Matt holds out his arm, quietly asking you to guide him. You happily take it, and begin to ask, “Thai, right? Could I toss in sushi as an option or—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, because Matt leans his case next to your desk, before cupping your face with his free hand, and pressing his lips against yours, finally doing what he had been craving for months.

You tense at first, then you melt into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his tie before pulling him closer. It comes naturally to you, and you’re beginning to wonder why you waited so long to do this.

He deepens the kiss and for a moment before pulling away, his lips brushing against yours.

“Do you know how badly I want to skip dinner and take you right back to my apartment?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in months, I don’t.. I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to even risk it..” he confesses, “So I want to take you out to a nice dinner, kiss you until you’re unable to think.. Then take you back to my apartment.”

You breath out deeply.

“One more kiss, and then we’ll go,”

Matt answers by kissing you again, his hands going to gently nudge you against your desk, unable to stop kissing you.

But, he hears no objections from you.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #daredevil: born again #dd:ba #daredevil spoilers #dd:ba spoilers

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

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