#matt murdock x enhanced!reader

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 8

Chapter 8: We’re Nothing But Myths Now That Neither Of Us Believe In

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with magic and the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn (I lied it’s a SLOW BURN), Disassociation, Magic, Superpowers, Insecurities, Guns, Bullets,

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: WELCOME TO S2!!! I TOOK A LONG ASS BREAK FROM THIS STORY IM SORRY!! At some point, I got stuck and was so scared to keep writing… ANYWAYS “Started making it… had a breakdown… Bon Appetit. 🙂”

Song: Hurt by Sleeping At Last

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A FEW MONTHS LATER…

KAMAR-TAJ, NEPAL — SUNSET

"Again."

Your frustration boiled over as you let your hands fall to your sides, the faint shimmer of your magic fading into the morning air. With a heavy sigh, you cast an irritated glance skyward, then towards Ancient One's patient gaze meeting yours.

"Again," she repeated, her tone unwavering.

Months had passed since the apprehension of Wilson Fisk, yet your progress in mastering the art of teleportation remained agonizingly slow.

"What if I just throw myself off the temple?" you quipped, a trace of exasperation in your voice.

"Perhaps you should. Sometimes, the greatest lessons come from unexpected places," came the Ancient One's cryptic response.

You groaned audibly, clearly expressing how frustrated you were. "This is hopeless. We’ve been at this for months, and I can barely teleport across the courtyard."

"You need to focus. It's a miracle you didn't end up scattered across the multiverse on your first attempt at teleportation without a sling ring," the Ancient One remarked, her voice tinged with a blend of patience and admonishment.

Your eyes closed in frustration, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you hung your head, shoulders weighed down by the burden of your struggles. Sensing your inner turmoil, the Ancient One regarded you with a penetrating gaze.

"Is this about Matthew?" she inquired, her tone gentle yet probing.

Your arms folded defensively across your chest, you shot her a guarded look. "I do not want to discuss my personal life with you," you retorted.

Undeterred, the Ancient One raised an eyebrow, prompting you to relent. With a resigned grimace, you approached and seated yourself beside her on the steps of the temple courtyard.

"I haven't told him yet," you admitted, the pressure of your unspoken truth evident in your troubled expression.

"And I'm terrified of what comes next. I have a feeling that our encounter with Fisk was merely the beginning of something far greater than any of us," you confessed, anxiety lacing your words.

The Ancient One regarded you with a pitying expression, her gaze fixed upon you as she spoke, her voice carrying an otherworldly resonance. "Prophet girl, anointed by the One Above All," she began, her words imbued with a sense of ancient wisdom. "Do you hear the gods muttering their faint starlight words? Destined daughter, muttering insanities no one believes,” she continued, her tone tinged with sorrow. "Do you regret taking the vow?" Your jaw clicked with tension, but you remained silent, unable to muster a response. As the Ancient One turned to leave, her form blending seamlessly with the shifting rays of the setting sun, you were left alone with your thoughts. The golden hues of twilight painted the landscape, casting long shadows across the temple courtyard as the day drew to a close.

A WEEK LATER…

2624 BROADWAY, NEW YORK — EVENING

The golden portal sealed shut with a soft hum as you trudged through the alleyway, the cool air of the night enveloping you. Casting a cautious glance around, you found the dimly lit alley deserted except for a stray cat rummaging through a nearby dumpster.

Though you could have requested to be sent back to the church, you opted for a solitary stroll to clear your head, despite the lingering soreness in your muscles. With a resigned sigh, you rolled your shoulders back and stepped onto the bustling streets, seamlessly blending into the flow of pedestrians.

The silence was broken abruptly by the cracking sound of gunfire coming from behind you and a terrified cry from a lady. Whipping around, your senses heightened as you spotted a group of armed robbers clad in ski masks, each clutching a silver briefcase tightly in one hand and brandishing a gun in the other. Reacting instinctively, you extended your arm, swiftly maneuvering bystanders out of harm's way as the robbers barrelled past.

Moments later, the urgent wail of police sirens pierced the air, signaling the arrival of law enforcement. Two officers darted into view, hot on the heels of the fleeing robbers. Yet, before they could apprehend the criminals, a sudden gunshot rang out, causing one of the officers to stagger and fall to the ground.

Amid the chaos, you swiftly directed one of the bystanders, your voice firm and authoritative, as you dashed past them in pursuit of the fleeing robbers. "Call 911! And apply pressure on that wound!" you instructed urgently, your words punctuated by the urgency of the situation.

Navigating through the bustling streets with purposeful strides, you veered into a nearby alley, utilizing it as a shortcut. With a deft flick of your hand, you manipulated the fabric of your clothes, transforming them into a cloak that billowed around you as you emerged from the shadows. Spotting a police officer kneeling on the ground, vulnerable to the imminent threat posed by the robber's gun, you felt a surge of energy course through you.

With swift precision, you seized the assailant from the shadows, pulling him into the confines of the alleyway. The dim light cast eerie shadows across your features as you unleashed a flurry of strikes, each blow calculated and purposeful, momentarily subduing the robber.

However, your solitary vigilante act was short-lived, as the distinctive presence of Daredevil materialized beside you, his imposing figure radiating an aura of determination. With a fluid motion, he intervened, swiftly incapacitating the assailant with a decisive blow before turning his attention to the pursuit of the remaining robbers.

"I was wondering when you would show up," you remarked, your voice tinged with the subtle distortion of your powers. Daredevil's lips curled into a smirk, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he regarded you.

"Missed me, angel?" he teased, his voice laced with a playful undertone.

Tilting your head slightly, you lowered your hood, revealing a fraction more of your face as you shrugged nonchalantly. "And if I did?" you countered, your tone laced with a hint of shyness.

His lips curled into a charming smile, a glint of mischief in his tone. "Then I'd have to kiss you," he quipped, his tone playful yet suggestive.

You responded with a playful roll of your eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. With a light bump of your hip against his, you teased, "Let's deal with these guys first, and then we can discuss dinner plans."

You and Daredevil dashed into the bustling kitchen of a Chinese restaurant, slipping through the backdoor with practiced ease. In perfect synchrony, you swiftly engaged the assailants, each movement calculated and precise. With a surge of power, you ignited your hands, the iridescent glow casting an ethereal light as you delivered a series of decisive blows, swiftly incapacitating your opponent and leaving them to the restaurant staff as they began to gang up on him.

You and Matt burst back onto the chaotic streets, a whirlwind of action and determination. Matt swiftly dealt with one of the robbers with a decisive blow, rendering him unconscious as you raced past. You spotted the final assailant, his grip tight around the arm of a woman conversing with her friends outside a building. Without hesitation, he dragged her hostage, disappearing into a nearby church.

You cast a glance at Matt, his breath heavy as he stands at your side, his red suit a stark contrast against the dimly lit alleyway. With his billy clubs gripped firmly in hand, he appears every bit the vigilante defender Hell's Kitchen has come to rely on. As you peer ahead at the imposing doors of the church, doubts gnaw at your resolve. How much longer could you maintain the facade? The fear of his disappointment weighs heavily on your mind, threatening to unravel the fragile balance between truth and secrecy.

You push aside the gnawing fear, burying it deep within as you trail behind the Devil's imposing figure into the solemn sanctuary of the church. With a swift strike, he shatters the light, the echo of glass breaking resonating through the sacred space. Gunshots ring out, a chaotic symphony of danger, as the robber unleashes a barrage of bullets, blindly firing into the darkness. But in the middle of all the turmoil, the flickering lights created an ethereal glow that highlighted the two of you standing guard at the door, your silhouettes a sharp contrast to the darkness.

Two shots pierce the air, but you and Matt evade them effortlessly, a dance of survival in the dimly lit church. With practiced precision, he swiftly disarms the robber, while you, with a gentle touch, render him unconscious, the power coursing through your fingertips quelling the threat. As the assailant falls, you offer a comforting squeeze to the girl's shoulder, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos. With a shared nod, you and Matt ascend to the rooftop, vanishing into the cover of night as the wails of police sirens herald their arrival.

PARK AVE & E 118TH ST, NEW YORK — DAY

"You ever wake up in the morning…" Foggy begins with a heavy sigh, his tone laden with fatigue. "From the second you get out of bed, it's like… every molecule in your body hurts?"

"No, never," Matt responds with a playful smirk, his hand resting on the crook of your arm as you guide him through the bustling streets, Foggy walking alongside.

"I'm in agony, dude," Foggy groans, eliciting chuckles from you and Matt alike.

Matt's smile widens. "What, did you go back to the gym?"

"Hell, no. Do I look capable of making healthy life choices?" Foggy retorts, prompting a raised eyebrow from Matt.

"Why am I even here?" you interject teasingly as you look between your two friends.

"Because you missed us.” Matt grins and then continues, “And you wanted to grab some supplies for the church by the store near the office, and you said you wanted to help in the office today after you heard about what had happened to Mrs. Almeida," Matt explains patiently.

"Oh, right, okay, gimme a sec, I’ll be right back," you reply, darting into the store to retrieve your items.

As you engage in conversation with the kind lady at the register, the voices of Matt and Foggy continue in the background, their discussion gradually fading into a distant murmur. Through the glass doors of the store, you catch glimpses of them still deep in conversation, their expressions earnest as they deliberate over matters that could range from Matt's nighttime activities to the recent client who sought refuge at Nelson & Murdock.

The name Zuly Almeida comes to mind, bringing back memories of the recent troubles that had shaken your workplace. Her desperate plea for help had come in the dead of night, her life dangling by a thread as she recounted the horrors of her situation. You had helped her find safety with Matt's help, recommending the shelter for battered women where you volunteered, only to learn of the news that he woke up in a hospital with two broken arms and a restraining order safety pinned to his chest.

Exiting the store with your paper bag in hand, you catch Foggy's smile directed at you, a warmth in his eyes mirrored by Matt's grin. You inquire, "What's going on?"

"Foggy's got me swearing on my life," Matt replies, his hand finding its familiar place on your arm.

"Don't mock me," Foggy retorts, his tone laced with playful seriousness, while Matt's chuckle punctuates the air as he forms a cross over his heart. "I swear."

"Alright, you guys need to get to work before Karen loses her mind," you agree, adjusting to the heaviness of the bag in your hand.

"Yeah, this heat's killing me," Foggy continues, sounding a little uncomfortable with the weather.

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE – MORNING

“Good morning, guys. You take the scenic route this morning?” Karen says while popping a hip out and you take note of the crowded waiting room in the office.

“Morning to you, too.”

“Morning, Karen.”

“I tried to make them walk faster.” You loudly whisper to Karen as you hand her a coffee and some croissants.

"Thank you, I appreciate you helping," Karen says, her smile warm and grateful. You return the smile, then turn to Matt and Foggy, a touch of humor in your voice.

"Alright, you're all fed and caffeinated," you say briskly. "I’ll take my leave now. I need to head over to the shelter and then stop by the DA’s office to sign and drop off some papers. I’ll catch you guys later."

You’re just about to turn when Karen calls out, "Wait!"

You pause, eyebrows raised as you meet her gaze. "Yeah?"

"Will you swing by Josie’s with us later? Grab a couple of drinks, maybe play some pool?" Karen asks, her expression hopeful. You glance at Foggy and Matt, who are both watching you expectantly, waiting for your reply.

You hesitate for a moment, juggling your commitments in your mind. "Uh… yeah, sure," you finally say with a smile. "I’ll see if I can swing by if nothing comes up."

Karen’s face lights up, and she lets out a little cheer. "Okay! Yes! Great, thank you!"

You wave them off with a quick goodbye, heading for the door. As you step outside, the cheerful chorus of farewells from your friends follows you, their voices muffled as the door swings shut behind you.

You linger in the hallway just outside the door, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead filling the silence. Taking a deep breath, you let it settle into your lungs, grounding you. You try to collect your scattered thoughts, brushing off the creeping exhaustion that’s taken root in your bones. 

After a moment, you turn, making your way down the narrow, dimly lit staircase. The wooden steps creak under your weight, each sound echoing off the walls, like a heartbeat reverberating in the quiet of the old building.

As you reach the bottom, your gaze catches on the worn, slightly faded sign mounted on the wall: Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law. You feel a familiar pang, an ache in your chest that comes from memories and ties that run deeper than you sometimes care to admit.

You let out a slow, deliberate breath, steeling yourself as you reach out, brushing your fingers across the lettering. It’s a quiet promise to yourself—a way to remind yourself why you’re here, why you keep coming back despite the burden of secrets, the ever-growing distance between you and the people you care about.

Cut the costs, limit the feeling, you tell yourself. It’s become a mantra of sorts, a shield you wear to keep from getting hurt, to keep from hurting anyone else. And yet, standing here, it feels thinner than ever, as if one wrong move could tear it apart completely.

But you push that thought down, lock it away. There’s no room for weakness. Not here. Not now. 

With one last glance at the sign, you straighten up and step out onto the bustling street, letting the noise of the city swallow you whole.

JOSIE’S BAR – EVENING

The bar’s packed, dim lights casting a hazy glow over the bustling crowd. Shots are passed around, laughter mingling with the sounds of clinking glasses. You’re standing by the pool table with Matt, Karen, and Foggy, the familiar warmth of camaraderie thick in the air.

Karen lines up her shot, her focus intense as she takes aim, the pool cue sliding through her fingers with practiced ease. The ball sinks into the pocket, and Matt chuckles, holding his beer close.

“See, I don’t know, that definitely sounded like cheating to me, Miss Page,” he says, his voice laced with a playful skepticism.

Foggy scoffs, gripping his own cue stick, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Matt, are you sure we’re not being hustled here?” he stage-whispers, glancing at Karen with faux suspicion.

“As sure as Josie’s AC is busted,” Foggy adds, shrugging.

Right on cue, Josie appears with two pitchers of ice water, a smirk on her face as she overhears them. “What AC?” she snorts, setting the pitchers down with a thud.

Karen moves to grab one, but the three of you shout in unison, “Oh!”

Matt and Foggy quickly interject, words tumbling out in a rush.

“No, you don’t wanna do that,” Foggy warns, his tone almost grave.

“You can’t drink the water here,” Matt adds, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Josie’s pipes… they’ve got issues,” Foggy continues, and Matt chimes in with a knowing nod. “Rust, mold.”

Foggy leans closer to peer into the pitcher, feigning horror. “I think I can actually see the bacteria floating in there.”

Karen pulls her hand back with a shudder, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, ew. Ew.”

Matt chuckles, taking a swig of his drink. “That’s why we keep our cocktails neat.”

You sip on your ginger ale, hiding a grin as Foggy laughs, “Just pretend you’re abroad, someplace exotic. No mojitos, though—Josie just throws mint in the beer.”

Matt’s laughter echoes softly, and then Foggy nudges you with his cue stick, raising his brows in mock anticipation. “Come on, your turn.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, holding up your hands. “I don’t know how to play.”

“Right,” Foggy sighs, smirking as he hands his cue to Matt. “Take over, buddy. I gotta hit the head. And don’t let her out of your four working senses. She’s as quick as she is beautiful.” He pauses, casting you a cheeky grin. “Reminds me of myself.”

Foggy ambles off to the bathroom, and as you stand between Matt and Karen, you notice the way she leans in close to him, her laughter soft and genuine. There’s a lightness in her expression, an ease that somehow feels like it belongs.

Something twists in your chest. You clear your throat, mumbling, “I’m gonna go grab another ginger ale… be right back.”

You weave through the crowd, slipping up to the bar, where Josie hands you a fresh ginger ale without a word, just a quick, knowing nod. Leaning on the bar, you steal a glance back toward the pool table, watching as Karen leans over, adjusting Matt’s grip on the cue stick. She’s laughing, he’s smiling, and there’s an undeniable spark that hangs between them.

“Aren’t they something to admire?” Josie murmurs over your shoulder, her voice low, and it takes all your willpower not to let the sting show.

You force a tight smile, nodding. “Yeah. They are.”

As you shift your weight, you accidentally bump into someone standing nearby—a man with shaggy blonde hair, a heavy coat clinging to his shoulders despite the stifling warmth in the bar. He looks like he’s been sweating bullets, and his gaze darts around, uneasy.

“Sorry,” you murmur, offering a quick nod.

He merely grunts in acknowledgment, his eyes flicking past you, but something about him feels… off. Years of working in shelters have taught you how to read people, and he wears the tension of someone with something to hide.

“Hey, you new around here?” you ask, giving him a careful once-over.

He swallows a sip of his drink before replying, voice low and gruff. “No, actually.”

Before you can press further, you feel a gentle yet firm grip on your elbow. Turning, you see Matt beside you, his face calm but his expression etched with a subtle concern that only you can read.

“You okay?” he asks, his hand lingering as if ready to pull you away.

You give him a reassuring nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” You glance back at the stranger, then decide to offer a word of caution. “Hey, it’s all right. Just letting you know, this place has good people. Lots of places a guy like you could drink. Just saying.”

The man shakes his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not what you think. I got business here. With Nelson and Murdock.”

Matt’s grip on your arm tightens, his posture shifting ever so slightly, like he’s readying himself for a confrontation. He subtly angles himself between you and the man, his body language protective, a silent barrier.

The man’s gaze slides to Matt, his eyes narrowing as he takes him in. “You must be the blind one,” he mutters, a hint of a sneer in his voice.

Matt’s expression doesn’t falter, his jaw set as he holds his ground, his presence an unspoken warning. You can feel the tension simmering between them, thick and charged, as the crowded bar fades into the background.

JOSIE'S BAR – NIGHT

The bar hums with low chatter and the clinking of glasses, but the quiet tension at your table cuts through it all. You, Matt, Foggy, Karen, and the stranger—sit in a tight circle, leaning in to hear his story, his voice rough and hurried, carrying the weight of something horrific.

“Fifteen men,” he says, looking each of you in the eye, his gaze darting from face to face. “Tough Irish. Armed. All of them blown away. It was a massacre. We weren't hit by any rival family there. I'm telling you, we were… hit by an army.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he holds his beer. “That’s quite the story,” he says, tone skeptical but edged with curiosity.

“It’s a fact.” His voice drops to a near growl, his hand clenching the edge of the table. “And believe me, you can go see for yourself. Burren Club, 47th and 10th. Can’t miss it. It’s the… part of New York that looks like a goddamn war zone.”

Karen leans forward, her eyes narrowing as she studies him. “What’s your involvement in their organization?” she asks, her voice steady, probing.

The stranger’s gaze shifts, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Who are they?” he asks, eyeing both you and Karen with suspicion.

Foggy doesn’t miss a beat, his tone hardening. “Answer the question.”

The man sighs, seeming to deflate just a bit. “Brannigan. I’ve run with them for a long time. I don’t deny it. Pick-ups, drop-offs… sometimes doing things I shouldn’t be.” He rubs a hand over his face, guilt flickering in his eyes. “No question, I’m… I’m no choir boy. I’m tellin’ ya, I just skirt the surface. Unlike the men I work for, and the guys that did this. I’m telling ya, I had nothing to do with that massacre.”

You glance over at Matt, watching as he tilts his head, focusing in that subtle way he does when he’s listening more intently than anyone else at the table. After a moment, he gives a slight nod to Foggy, the confirmation unspoken but clear— he isn’t lying.

Matt leans in, his voice calm but firm. “Assuming you’re correct, and the Irish were hit by a powerful crime syndicate tonight… if you’re the only one who survived, your good fortune’s gonna rub some dangerous people the wrong way.”

He snorts, his expression a mix of fear and frustration. “No shit! I got a pack of killers gunning for my men. My people think I’m a traitor or a rat.”

Foggy nods slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. “So, what can Nelson and Murdock do for you, Mister…”

“Grotto,” he says, cutting in quickly. “Just Grotto.”

Matt’s brow arches, unimpressed. “Grotto what?”

“Just Grotto.” He sighs, his voice dropping, almost pleading. “Witness protection. You guys need to get me the hell out of here before I end up in the only place hotter than this… permanent.”

Matt shakes his head slightly. “We’re a private law firm,” he points out, though there’s a trace of sympathy in his tone.

“Yeah, but a trustworthy one. You got quite a reputation after you took out Wilson Fisk.” Grotto’s gaze shifts, desperation settling into his features.

Foggy sighs, shaking his head. “The DA’s office is the only place that can make a deal.”

Grotto’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, I’m not walking to the DA without representation. I know a lot. I’ve seen a lot. I’ll give the cops anything to get me out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Matt’s expression hardens. “We have a reputation for representing the good people of Hell’s Kitchen, not for negotiating on behalf of career criminals.”

Grotto’s shoulders slump, and he casts a weary glance at each of you, his voice breaking just a little. “What if a criminal wants to… change his career? A second chance, that’s all I want. I know I’m only coming here with my word. I got nobody to vouch for me, but I can… barely cover your fee. But word is… that Nelson and Murdock put their faith in people. And I need a little of that right now.” His gaze turns pleading, desperate. “Please.”

There’s a moment of silence. Matt sighs, the tension in his expression softening slightly, and he shares a look with Foggy. Finally, Foggy nods, his voice firm but reluctant. “Lie low. We’ll look into it.”

Matt leans forward, his tone cautious. “You have somewhere you can stay?”

But before Grotto can respond, his face goes ghostly white. His hand trembles as it knocks against his glass, which slips from his grasp and shatters on the floor. In the same instant, his body slumps, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

Instinct takes over, and you’re the first to move, rushing to his side. You kneel down, your fingers pressing against his neck as you check for a pulse. He’s clammy, unresponsive. Your hand brushes aside his coat, revealing a dark, wet stain spreading across his shirt—a wound, still bleeding.

“Guys, he’s bleeding,” you say, urgency sharp in your voice as you look up at the others. “Someone call 911.”

The world around you fades to the background as you work, your focus narrowing in on Grotto, who’s barely holding on. The bar’s noise, the patrons, everything else becomes a distant hum, your mind honing in on one thing—keeping him alive long enough to get help.

Matt, Karen, and Foggy exchange tense looks before Foggy fumbles for his phone, dialing with shaky fingers. Time feels like it’s slipping through your hands, each second marked by the faint, unsteady rhythm of Grotto’s heartbeat under your fingertips.

BURREN CLUB — NIGHT

The humid evening air clings to your skin as you, Matt, and Foggy make your way through the crowd gathered outside the Burren Club. The blue and red lights from NYPD cruisers flash, casting long shadows across the grim faces of onlookers. People crane their necks, desperate for answers, while the officers keep them at bay. You catch sight of Brett Mahoney by the police tape, managing the restless crowd. His expression is hard, tired, as he fields questions from civilians.

“The paramedics said he’s stable,” you say, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. Your voice is steady, but the adrenaline from earlier hasn’t fully faded. “They’re taking him to Metro-General Hospital. I told Karen to text me when he woke up.”

Just ahead, you hear a man’s frantic plea. “Hey, I just need to know if my brother’s in there!”

Brett shakes his head, holding his ground. “Step back, please. I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t answer that right now.”

Foggy lifts his hand, calling out, “Hey, Brett!”

Matt’s hand grips your arm as he maneuvers his cane with his other hand, letting you guide him around the clusters of people and the scattered debris. You glance at the scene unfolding before you—a forensics team combing through evidence, cops sectioning off the area, the dull murmur of a distressed crowd. The entire place is bathed in tension, thick as the heat that presses down on the night.

Brett turns to see you all approaching, and his expression barely softens. Foggy gives him a small shrug. “I would say it’s good to see you, but under the circumstances…”

Brett’s brow lifts, unimpressed. “Would you please step aside, sir?”

“We just have a couple of questions, Brett,” Matt says, his voice calm but purposeful.

Brett sighs, rolling his eyes. “If you’re here to chase ambulances, you might notice there are none.”

Foggy forces a casual chuckle, but his eyes stay sharp. “Any leads on what happened?”

Brett doesn’t give an inch. “Oh, you wanna know what went down? Read about it in the papers like everybody else.”

“We’re not everybody else, my man.” Foggy tries to lighten the mood, his attempt landing with an awkward chuckle.

Brett cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Did you just say ‘my man’?”

Foggy looks mildly wounded but presses on. “All right, we get it. You can’t talk about an active crime scene. However… what if… hypothetically speaking… we may have recently acquired a new client that could help… shed some light on this investigation?”

Brett’s gaze sharpens, scrutinizing him. “How recent?”

“Farm fresh,” Foggy replies smoothly, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Brett’s lips twitch into something that might be amusement. “Was he here?”

Foggy shakes his head, giving him a diplomatic look. “Client privilege.”

Brett lets out a low chuckle, though there’s no humor in his eyes. “Well, uh, Mr. Nelson, if that was true… hypothetically speaking… I’d tell you that withholding your client from the NYPD would be obstructing governmental administration, and I’d probably just arrest your ass myself. In theory.”

You can’t help but arch a brow, smirking just a little as you reply, “Guess we really can’t help each other after all.”

Matt shifts closer to Brett, his voice dropping to a low murmur, almost lost in the ambient noise. “It’s over 100 degrees out here tonight, Sergeant. Why would an Irish mobster wear body armor to a private meeting inside his own club?”

Brett’s eyes widen just a fraction, momentarily thrown off balance. You can see him recalculating, a spark of realization glinting in his eyes. He shoots a warning look over his shoulder toward the bustling crime scene, then mutters to a nearby officer, “Hey, tell those guys to keep it down in there, or someone’s getting written up.”

He turns back to you, his stance shifting, the guarded walls dropping slightly. “I help you… you help me?”

Matt gives him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all we want.”

Brett hesitates, glancing around before lowering his voice. “There’s a total clampdown on any of this getting out to the press. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Brett… you can trust us,” Matt says, the sincerity in his tone carrying weight.

Foggy grins, attempting a charming smile. “We’re lawyers.”

Brett rolls his eyes but gestures for you all to follow him. “Come with me over here. Come on.”

He leads you past the police tape, around the perimeter of the crime scene, to a quieter corner near an NYPD vehicle. The flashing lights cast ominous shadows against the nearby walls, and as you step further into the restricted zone, the air feels heavier, thick with the secrets and violence that hang over Hell’s Kitchen.

The heat lingers in the air, thick and oppressive, pressing down on every breath you take. The faint sounds of sirens and agitated murmurs from nearby cops create a gritty symphony, underscoring the heavy tension surrounding the Burren Club. Brett's face is a hardened mask as he turns back to the three of you, lowering his voice just enough to keep this conversation from prying ears.

“DA's going batshit trying to figure it out,” he mutters, glancing around as though the very walls might betray him. “This isn’t the first hit that matches this MO. Call it massive gang-on-gang overkill. Downtown office thinks we got new players in Hell’s Kitchen, and whoever they are, we’re talking some kind of paramilitary-type organization with the training, knowledge, and hardware to take out half the city.”

You exchange a look with Matt and Foggy. The implications sink in, heavy and sharp. Whoever’s out there, they aren’t playing by the same rules as the usual scum in Hell’s Kitchen.

Matt, calm but intense, tilts his head in Brett’s direction. “What do they want?”

Brett exhales, the lines on his face deepening. “That’s what’s driving the DA nuts. We don’t know who they are. We just know who they’re not.”

Foggy gives a dry, humorless chuckle. “I’d say they’re definitely not fond of the Irish.”

Brett’s jaw tightens, his eyes steeling over as he nods. “You think?” His voice lowers, tone shifting to something darker, more personal. “Now, we got history, so I’ll tell you as a friend: stay out of this shit. If you got a witness, the smart move is to turn him over and walk away. Hell’s Kitchen is about to explode.”

With that, Brett gives one last look, something almost like a warning in his eyes, before he turns and walks back toward the swarm of uniforms, resuming his duties among the controlled chaos.

There’s a beat of silence as you, Matt, and Foggy stand there, absorbing Brett’s words.

Foggy breaks the silence with a faint grin. “Did you hear that? He called me friend.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, giving him a nudge. “Try not to let it go to your head, Nelson.”

As the three of you start to walk away from the crime scene, the reality of what Brett said hangs in the air, dense and heavy. You lower your voice, casting a cautious glance around. “I told you guys this morning that I was gonna swing by the DA’s office. When I was there, it was… busy as hell. People working overtime on some case. Couldn’t get all the details, but one of the biker gangs—Dogs of Hell—they were hit too.”

Matt’s brow furrows, his expression contemplative as he processes the information. Foggy’s face reflects a mixture of confusion and worry, the wheels turning as he tries to piece it all together.

Before you can say more, a buzz from your pocket snaps you back to the present. You pull out your phone, glancing at the lock screen to see a text from Karen. It’s brief, but urgent.

You bite your lip, the weight of it all sinking in as a sudden tension tightens your chest. “I gotta go,” you mutter, slipping your phone back into your pocket and taking a few steps back. “Grotto just woke up.”

Foggy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, worry flickering across his face as he realizes what that could mean. “Hey! You be careful, alright?” His voice is firm, an edge of protectiveness lacing his words as he watches you turn to go. 

Beside him, Matt’s grip on his cane tightens. His fingers curl around it, knuckles turning white, as though holding himself back. He stands silent, but the way he angles his head, listening, tells you everything. You can practically feel his attention zeroing in on the situation, calculating, strategizing. You know him well enough to understand that he’ll be up all night, digging for answers in his own way, likely stalking rooftops and alleyways before dawn even thinks of breaking.

You meet Matt’s gaze behind his lenses for just a heartbeat, exchanging a look of silent understanding. A small, knowing smile touches your lips as you nod. “You too.”

And with that, you turn and disappear into the night, leaving Foggy and Matt behind in the wash of streetlight and shadow. As you walk away, you can feel their eyes on your back, both of them watching, each in their own way, knowing that you’re all stepping into something none of you fully understand yet—but can’t walk away from.

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL — EVENING

The fluorescent lights hum softly in the quiet hallway as you approach Grotto’s room. You knock lightly, almost hesitant, and after a moment, the door cracks open to reveal Karen’s face. She offers a quick, tense smile and steps aside, letting you slip into the dimly lit room. She shuts the door behind you, sealing the three of you in this small, sterile pocket of safety—for now.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself as your eyes settle on Grotto. He’s lying in the hospital bed, looking more irritated than wounded, though the medical equipment surrounding him says otherwise. Wires and tubes attach him to various monitors, which beep softly, a reminder of his fragility despite the rough edge in his glare.

Karen steps closer, her voice barely above a whisper as she updates you. “Bottle sliced through his flesh. Multiple lacerations into the muscle, but no vessel damage.” She glances at Grotto with a mixture of relief and amazement. “Nothing that a few weeks of physical therapy can’t cure. It’s… exactly as you said.”

You pull the chart from the foot of the bed, scanning over the notes with a practiced eye. Grotto’s file confirms what Karen just told you. Bruised but alive, and somehow, still intact despite the hell he walked through. You smirk, setting the chart back as you mutter, “Well, I’ll be damned, ‘Steve.’ Got real fuckin’ lucky.”

Grotto glares at you, irritation flashing in his eyes. He shifts in bed, wincing slightly as he adjusts against the pillows, his voice a low, rough grumble. “It’s not safe for either of you to be here.”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow, meeting his defiant stare with a calm resolve. “We’ll manage.” 

A flicker of something—fear, maybe regret—crosses his face, but he quickly masks it, casting his gaze out toward the window where the night stretches dark and endless beyond the glass. Karen looks between the two of you, worry etched into her features, but she stays silent.

The room’s tense silence is shattered by a shrill scream echoing from the hallway. You and Karen freeze, your heads snapping toward the door, the distant sound of chaos prickling down your spine.

“Oh, God,” Grotto mutters, his voice low and laced with terror. He clenches his fists, his face pale. “What was that?”

Karen glances at him, alarm widening her eyes. “What’s going on?”

Grotto’s gaze darts between you both, panic setting in. “No, no, no, no, no,” he hisses. “Someone's come to finish the job. Shit.”

Karen takes a step toward the door, but you hold up a hand, stopping her. “Shh! Don’t move,” you whisper sharply, placing a hand against her shoulder to keep her back.

But Grotto is already unhooking himself from his IV line, the heart monitor beeping wildly as he yanks the wires away. “No, to hell with that,” he mutters, adrenaline overtaking fear.

You edge closer to the door, cracking it open just enough to get a glimpse of the hallway. Your heart races as you spot a figure moving through the chaos—a man, bulky, gripping a shotgun. His face is shadowed, but his intentions are clear as terrified hospital staff scatter, screaming, desperate to escape his path.

You whirl back around, your voice urgent. “We gotta go. Now.”

Karen grabs Grotto by the arm, and together, you three bolt out of the room, slipping into the flow of fleeing doctors and patients. Karen leads the way, practically dragging Grotto, who’s stumbling along, while you bring up the rear. The shotgun’s blast rings out again, deafening, tearing through the air as people scatter in panic, and Karen lets out a startled yelp, shoving her way toward the stairwell with the assailant close behind.

The three of you burst through the stairwell door, taking the steps two at a time, adrenaline propelling you forward as the sounds of gunfire and shouting echo above. Reaching the ground floor, you push your way outside, lungs burning. Karen fumbles with her keys as you spot a parked car nearby.

“What? You… You don’t have the right keys?” Grotto yells, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Karen snaps, frustration flashing across her face. Grotto’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“Is this even your car?”

Karen shoots him a withering look, unlocking the door with a quick flick. “Belonged to a friend.”

“Where’s he?” Grotto demands.

Karen doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s dead.” She yanks the door open, gesturing to the passenger seat. “Get in!”

But you’re already moving, shoving Grotto into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut. Without a second thought, you bolt to the driver’s side, your voice low and firm as you lean in through the open window. “I’ll meet you at the precinct. Go!”

Karen calls out your name, worry flashing in her eyes, but you’re already sprinting toward the nearest alley. She curses under her breath, hitting the gas and disappearing into the night. The distant roar of her engine fades as you duck into the shadows, feeling the energy course through your veins. You close your eyes, letting the familiar glow shimmer over your skin as you pull your mask and suit into place.

With a deep breath, you focus, teleporting yourself up to the rooftop of the hospital. The world blurs for a moment, and then you’re there, the wind whipping against your face as you land. Your hunch was right—the assailant is crouched on the roof, sniper rifle aimed at the street below, ready to take the shot.

“Hey!” you call out, your voice slicing through the night air like a blade.

The man’s head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he quickly raises his weapon, aiming straight at you. But before he can pull the trigger, a dark figure swoops in from the shadows. Daredevil, silent and precise, lands a brutal kick to the shooter’s head, knocking him back. The assailant stumbles, but he’s far from finished.

You dart forward, instincts flaring, but keeping your power in check. Every move feels calculated, the electricity pulsing at your fingertips, begging to be unleashed. The shooter swings at Daredevil, and Matt ducks, his movements fluid, barely missing a beat. You try to find an opening, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The assailant shifts, pulling a pistol from his side, aiming point-blank at Daredevil. There’s a flash, the sound of the gunshot cutting through the night. "Bang."

Time slows as you watch in horror. Matt’s head snaps back, his body teetering dangerously at the edge of the rooftop. You scream out but he’s already falling, the darkened streets below yawning open to swallow him whole.

Without thinking, you dive after him, launching yourself over the edge, arms outstretched as you chase the falling figure through the night air. The wind whips past, cold and unforgiving, as you reach out, fingers brushing against his chestplate just as the ground rushes up to meet you both.

TAGLIST: @scoliobean @thychuvaluswife @pantrashtic @ofmusesandsecrets @c-losur3 @coco-karfunkel @lunaticgurly @loves0phelia @theclassicvinyldragon @iusedtofloat @megara0224

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me - Masterlist

-Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Reader-

Main Masterlist

🖤 Summary: You were shocked to find out your childhood friend turned out to be the Kingpin of the underworld, but you had to put those thoughts aside to bring him down. You were Hell’s Kitchen vigilante, its protector. There's no valid reason not to stop him. However, when your hidden feelings for him start to surface once more, how will you be able to even think about bringing him down?

🖤 Pairings: Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Fem.Reader

🖤 Rating: Mature - Explicit

🖤 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter (This series will contain 18+ themes)

🖤 Word Count: 25,966

🖤 Start Date: 8/8/23

🖤 End Date: N/A

🖤A/N: For those who aren't the biggest Marvel fans, I'm going to give you a little backstory behind this fic. This story is based on the "Spider-Gwen" comics where in this universe, Earth-65, Matt's origin story is very similar to the one where we already know, except Stick was killed by the Hand and takes Matt under their wing. He's turned into an assassin, but still goes to law school and eventually becomes Wilson Fisk's defense lawyer. Somewhere along the line, Matt cuts ties with Fisk and becomes Kingpin himself. This story was kind of a 'A-ha!' moment, and I decided it would be interesting to see this take on Matt with a reader insert. Don't know how many stories I'll do, but if you readers seemed to like it I'll keep going :) Enjoy!

-INDEX-

🖤 Story 1: The (Wo)Man Without Fear

Summary: After all these years away, you’re finally relocated back to Hell’s Kitchen, the place where you were born, a place filled with happy memories. However, the city is not what you remembered, and when your job as a detective is not enough to save it, you might have to become something more.

🖤 Story 2: Auld Acquaintances

Summary: Deciding you have no choice anymore, especially how your new partner scares you half to death, and the police in this city seemed not to care, your hundred percent committed to becoming a vigilante. But before you could do this, you run into an old childhood friend and his business partner. But unknowingly to you, he’s not the same little boy you remembered hanging out with. He’s… something else entirely.

🖤 Story 3: Kingpin & Daredevil

Summary: Your night trying to save a kid takes a dangerous turn. Now fighting to stay alive after a possible life threatening injury, you soon find yourself face-to-face with the man that runs this city’s underworld: The Kingpin. Aka… your childhood friend.

🖤 Story 4: Snapdragon (Coming Soon)

Summary: Your world is officially upside down. Your small taste of nostalgia has been ruined by what you discovered. Now, you’re out on investigations with Frank, and decide to dig deeper on other cases to take your mind off things. But of course, you always had the worst luck, and nothing can make your heart stop when you find the King of Darkness in your living room.

🖤 Story 5: A Euphoric Misery (Coming Soon)

-Taglist Is Open-

@utterlynuts @etanordoesbullsh1t @mattmurdocksstarlight @l3xiluve @lunaticgurly @margoo0 @swift-enchanted @athenniene

@up-in-space-reading @itwasthereaminuteago @lazyxsquirrel @yeonalie @scoliobean @kayden666

@nkmblackhyuuga @nk1023 @queenofnigthdarkness @badbishsblog @nornawerdandi @lov3vivian @mixedfandomthings @crispyfunstarlight

[mcrdvcks]

— butterflies

summary: You decide to blindfold yourself for the day to learn what the world is like for Matt. word count: 2.9k+ pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader notes: this was meant to just be a short, fluffy thing but somehow like half of it is smut? anyways, this is my first time writing smut for matt, so feedback is appreciated! warnings/tags: blindfold, fluff, smut (while blindfolded), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie

“Sweetheart.” Matt said, as he stepped into the apartment. He could hear you somewhere in the kitchen, walking slowly and holding onto the wall.

You froze in place. “Matt? You're home early.”

He tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you said quickly. "I'm fine."

He smiled a little, setting his cane down by the door. “Then why’s your heartbeat going crazy?”

You sighed softly, turning toward the sound of his voice. “Okay, don’t laugh.”

He took a cautious step closer, grin widening. “Can’t promise that. What’s going on?”

“I... decided to spend today experiencing things your way,” you confessed, fingertips gripping the counter. “So I blindfolded myself.”

Matt chuckled softly, warmth spreading across his expression. “Really? All day?”

“Since you left this morning.” You shrugged lightly, embarrassed. “Figured it would help me understand you a little better. But I'm starting to regret it—I ran into the coffee table twice already.”

He crossed the distance slowly, footsteps gentle, stopping just a breath away from you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Good unbelievable, or weird unbelievable?”

Matt reached out, gently finding your hands. “Good unbelievable.” His voice softened. “You're sweet.”

You smiled, relieved. “So, you’re not mad or anything?”

“Why would I be mad?” He laughed lightly, squeezing your fingers. “But you know you could’ve told me first. I’d have given you some tips.”

“Maybe I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your palm. “Do you want some help?”

You hesitated, chewing your lip thoughtfully. “Just... show me how you do it. How do you walk around here without knocking everything over?”

“It’s mostly memory,” he admitted gently. “And paying attention.”

You smiled playfully. “You sure it’s not your echolocation?”

“Echo—” Matt chuckled, “I don’t have echolocation.”

You tilted your head. “Then what do you call using your enhanced hearing to guide you?”

"Listening carefully," Matt said simply, lips curling into an amused smile. "Echolocation makes me sound like a dolphin."

You laughed softly, squeezing his hands. "Alright then, Daredevil the dolphin."

He groaned, leaning closer to rest his forehead against yours. "Please don't let Foggy hear you say that. I'll never live it down."

"I make no promises," you teased, smiling warmly at his closeness. "So, show me how Daredevil—I mean Matt—listens carefully?"

Matt chuckled, gently sliding an arm around your waist and guiding you away from the counter. "First, relax. You're tense, and it's making everything harder."

"I'm tense because I've been tripping over everything all day," you complained lightly.

"Trust me," Matt murmured, voice soothing. "Close your eyes under that blindfold."

"They already are."

"Good. Now listen." He held you still in the center of the room, his thumb rubbing comforting circles at your side. "Notice the sounds around you. What do you hear?"

You tilted your head slightly, focusing carefully. "I hear... traffic outside. The hum of the refrigerator. And your breathing."

He smiled softly. "Good. Now, deeper. Listen beyond the obvious noises. The way sound reflects off objects, how it changes around furniture or walls."

You breathed deeply, brows knitting together as you concentrated. "How can you possibly hear all that?"

"Practice," Matt admitted quietly. "And necessity."

"It's amazing," you whispered softly. "You're amazing."

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "It's just a skill."

"Don't downplay it," you said gently, leaning into his chest. "I can't even manage one day like this."

Matt pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, holding you carefully. "I appreciate that you're trying."

"Just trying to understand you better."

He smiled into your hair. "You already understand me better than most."

You grinned, lifting your face slightly toward his voice. "Matt?"

"Hm?"

"Am I facing you right now, or am I about to kiss your chin by mistake?"

He laughed softly, cupping your cheek and gently angling your face upward. "Now you are."

"Good," you whispered, brushing your lips softly against his. "This I can get used to."

Matt's smile warmed, and he leaned in again, his voice a playful whisper. "Me too."

You scrunched your nose in thought. “Think I can make dinner like this?”

Matt laughed softly, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted playfully. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you,” he assured gently, fingertips brushing against your waist. “But I’d prefer if you didn’t accidentally set the kitchen on fire.”

“You cook blind every day,” you argued lightly. “If you can do it, I can too.”

Matt hummed thoughtfully. “True. But I’ve had years of practice and enhanced senses. You’ve been at it for...” he paused, smiling teasingly, “less than a day.”

“Fair point,” you conceded, smiling. “Alright, what if you help me?”

“I can do that,” Matt agreed. He gently guided you toward the counter, keeping his voice calm. “Step forward, carefully. Counter’s right here.”

You reached out slowly, fingertips brushing cool marble. “Okay, got it. What next?”

“What do you want to cook?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “Something easy. Pasta?”

Matt smiled warmly. “Perfect choice. Pot’s in the cabinet beneath you.”

You bent slowly, hands reaching hesitantly. “Left or right?”

“Left,” Matt instructed calmly. “Careful though, there’s another pot stacked inside.”

You grinned triumphantly as your fingers closed around a handle. “Found it!”

“Good,” he said gently. “Fill it about halfway with water. The sink’s—”

“I know where the sink is, Matthew,” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Just making sure.”

Carefully, you moved toward the sink, guided by memory and touch. “How am I doing?”

“You’re a natural,” Matt praised, voice filled with gentle amusement.

You smiled proudly, turning on the water and filling the pot halfway. “Okay, next?”

“Stove,” he prompted gently. “Two steps to your right.”

You shuffled sideways, cautiously. “How do I know which burner to use?”

Matt moved closer behind you, his chest lightly brushing your back as he guided your hand. “This one,” he murmured, gently placing your hand over the correct dial.

You smiled softly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice softened affectionately. “Now, turn it halfway.”

You obeyed carefully, listening to the quiet clicking and hiss of gas. “Done.”

“Perfect,” Matt encouraged. He reached around, taking your hand in his and carefully guiding the pot to the burner.

“How do you always make this look so easy?” you muttered, shaking your head.

Matt laughed softly near your ear. “Years of frustration and burns, honestly.”

You sighed dramatically. “Great, something to look forward to.”

He chuckled gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing fine. Better than I did my first time.”

You leaned back slightly, smiling at the feel of his warmth behind you. “Really?”

He nodded, lips curving softly. “I spilled boiling water everywhere. Foggy banned me from the kitchen for a week.”

You laughed, relaxing into his hold. “At least I haven’t done that yet.”

“Keyword being yet,” Matt teased.

“Hey!” you protested, elbowing him lightly.

He laughed warmly, holding you closer. “Alright, focus. The pasta is on your left, on the counter.”

You reached carefully, fingers finding the familiar box. “How much?”

“Half the box should be fine,” Matt instructed gently. “The water’s not boiling yet, though. You’ll hear it bubble when it’s ready.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, listening. “Do you always cook by sound?”

Matt hummed thoughtfully. “Mostly. Sound, touch, and smell.”

You smiled softly. “Teach me.”

“Okay.” Matt took your hand gently, guiding your palm toward the steam just starting to rise from the pot. “Feel the heat?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Listen carefully, the bubbles will start softly. Then louder.”

You tilted your head, listening intently. Gradually, the faint whisper of bubbles grew clearer. “I hear it.”

Matt smiled warmly, proud. “Good. You’re learning fast.”

“I have a good teacher,” you whispered playfully.

Matt chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You jerked slightly at the contact, covering your mouth to hide a giggle.

He paused, grinning curiously. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” you muttered quickly, cheeks warming. “Well… I knew you were moving, I just didn’t know where you were moving.”

He hummed, clearly amused. “Still haven’t quite mastered that hearing thing yet, have you?”

“You mean my echolocation skills?” you teased gently, leaning back against him again.

Matt groaned quietly, forehead briefly pressing against your shoulder. “Please don’t call it that.”

“But it fits,” you said innocently. “And it’s adorable.”

“It's ridiculous,” he protested, chuckling softly as his hands settled comfortably at your waist.

You smiled, relaxing further. After a few moments, you heard the soft click of the stove turning off. You tilted your head in confusion. “Why’d you turn the burner off?”

Matt didn't respond immediately. Instead, you felt his hands shift, suddenly lifting you up effortlessly.

You yelped, arms quickly wrapping around his neck. “Matt! What are you doing?”

He laughed warmly, carrying you confidently through the apartment. “I just realized something.”

“What?” you asked suspiciously, gripping him tighter. “That kidnapping is easier when the victim is blindfolded?”

Matt chuckled, amusement clear in his tone. “No. That having you blindfolded could actually be a lot more fun than cooking.”

Your cheeks flushed deeper. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he whispered playfully, kicking the bedroom door open gently with his foot. “Oh.”

You laughed softly, your fingers gently sliding into his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmured as he gently placed you down onto the bed, “you seem to like it.”

Smiling, you reached blindly for him, fingertips grazing his cheek. “Maybe just a little.”

Matt's breath hitched like you’d caught him off guard. Then you felt it—his smile, warm against your palm.

"Only a little?" he murmured, voice dipping low as he leaned into your touch. "I’ll have to change that."

You started to say something snarky, but his hands were already sliding down your sides, steady, careful. His fingers found your hips, squeezing gently. He kissed you again—soft, slow, lips dragging over yours until your breath caught.

Then he dropped lower.

You could feel him shift, the brush of his nose at your throat, the warmth of his mouth trailing down your sternum, kissing between your breasts, slow and unhurried. Your fingers hovered in midair, unsure what to grab onto.

"Matt?"

He didn’t answer. His breath skimmed lower, down your belly, and your breath hitched as he nosed at your waistband. Then he laughed—quiet and low.

"Relax," he said, his voice rough silk. "You look nervous."

"I can’t see you. I don’t know what you’re—"

Your words cut off in a sharp breath as he kissed just below your navel, slow and maddening. Then lower.

"That’s kind of the point, sweetheart."

You flinched when your waistband slid down. His hands were back, working slow, easing your pants down over your hips. You were still reaching out uselessly when he tugged them off completely, and then—silence.

"Matt?"

Nothing but his breath, hot against your thigh.

You tensed. "What are you—"

Then his mouth was on you.

A gasp ripped out of you, head tipping back against the pillows, hands clutching the sheets as his tongue flicked slow, deliberate. You bucked involuntarily and felt a hand on your stomach, grounding you.

"Jesus—Matt—"

He didn’t stop. Just a slow, relentless rhythm, his mouth moving like he could hear every twitch of your body, every gasp, every choked sound.

You whimpered, thighs twitching. "Fuck, I can’t—I don’t know what you’re—"

"Good," he said against you, voice muffled, smug. "Don’t think. Just feel."

You whined, fingers tangling in the sheets tighter, blindfold still in place, the lack of sight making every touch sharper, hotter. You could hear everything—the wet sounds of his tongue, his soft hums against your skin, your own breathless cries.

He licked up slow, then sucked—sharp, sudden.

"Ah—fuck!" You arched, breath stuttering. "Matt, oh my god."

"Mm," he hummed, tongue flicking cruel and perfect. "You sound so good like this."

You were unraveling, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth. He held you steady with an arm slung over your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I—I can’t—"

"You can," he whispered, the tip of his tongue circling you slow. "C’mon, sweetheart. Let go for me."

One more flick, and the world snapped.

Your whole body jerked, heat crashing through you like a wave breaking over raw nerves. A cry spilled from your mouth before you could muffle it, your thighs shaking, muscles tight. You felt the way he kept licking through it, unrelenting, dragging it out until you were gasping his name again and again.

Finally, finally, he pulled away. You could hear him breathing—steady, controlled. The mattress shifted as he crawled back up.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, finally brushing his lips against your ear.

"Still think you only like me a little?"

You turned your head toward his voice, smiling weakly. "Okay... maybe more than a little."

His hand slid under the blindfold, thumb brushing your cheek.

"Then let me keep proving it."

You bit your lip. "Is that an offer or a threat?"

He laughed, mouth brushing yours. "Yes."

You were smiling, about to fire back with something snarky, when he moved again. Not a warning. Just his hands on your thighs, nudging them apart, slow and purposeful.

"Wait, what are you—"

"Shh," he whispered, the word soft against your lips. His body slid lower, fingers trailing fire down your sides, slow enough to make your breath hitch.

You reached out blindly, fingers brushing his shoulders, his chest, trying to figure out where the hell he was going next.

Matt's chuckle was low and maddening. "You're really not used to not knowing, huh?"

"No," you muttered, squirming under his touch. "I don’t like surprises."

"You will."

And then he was shifting up again, the heat of his body over yours, chest brushing your shirt where it was still bunched above your breasts. His hand slid under your thigh, lifting, guiding it up around his waist, his other hand braced near your head.

You could feel him now. Thick and hot, dragging against your thigh, teasing where you were still soaked from his mouth.

"Matt..."

He leaned down, lips grazing your jaw. "Still nervous?"

"Only because I can't fucking see what you're about to do," you hissed, hands fisting in the sheets.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and unfairly confident. "Then I'll make it easy. I'm gonna fuck you now."

Your breath caught hard, head tipping back into the pillow.

"Say yes," he murmured, mouth at your neck now, voice rougher. "Say it."

"Yes," you breathed. "Fuck—yes."

You barely got the last syllable out before he was pushing in, slow but steady. Your mouth dropped open with a gasp, the stretch burning and perfect.

"F-fuck—Matt—"

He groaned into your neck, the sound guttural. "God, you're tight."

You clung to his shoulders, digging your nails in as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were flush with yours and you couldn't breathe around the fullness.

"You okay?" he whispered, voice tight with restraint.

"Yeah," you managed, nodding, biting your lip. "Just—move. Please."

Matt pulled back, slow at first, then thrust back in with a sharp snap of his hips that made you cry out.

"Ah—fuck!"

He grunted, thrusting again, a steady rhythm that made the bed creak. You were so hyperaware, every sound amplified under the blindfold. The slap of skin, the ragged edge of his breath, the wet drag of your body clenching around him.

"You hear that?" he growled, fucking into you harder. "That's how wet you are."

You whimpered, fingers scrambling to find something to hold. He caught your wrists, pinning them above your head, fucking you deeper, harder, each thrust angled like he knew exactly what would ruin you.

"You're fucking trembling," he rasped.

"Because I can't see anything—"

"Exactly," he growled. "You can't brace for it. Can't anticipate. Just feel."

You sobbed out a moan, back arching, thighs shaking around his hips. "Matt, fuck—oh my god—"

His mouth was back on your jaw, your throat, kissing, biting. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let me hear you."

You did. Every snap of his hips forced another sound out of you. Moans, gasps, whimpers that spilled uncontrolled. You could feel yourself unraveling again, tighter, hotter than before.

"You gonna come for me again?"

You nodded frantically, barely able to speak. "Yes—yes, please, I'm—fuck, I'm close."

He let go of your wrists, hand sliding between you. Two fingers found your clit, circling, rubbing just right, and that was it.

You broke.

"Ahh—fuck! M-Matt!" You cried out loud, body locking up as the orgasm tore through you like a live wire, your hips jerking, thighs squeezing around him.

He groaned hard, breath catching as you clenched around him. "Jesus, you feel so good when you come."

You were still shuddering, barely conscious of anything but him still thrusting through the aftershocks.

"Gonna fill you up," he muttered, the pace faltering. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"

You barely managed to whimper a "yes" before he buried himself deep, hips grinding against you as he came, groaning low in your ear.

Neither of you moved for a long moment. You were still gasping, blindfold damp, your fingers twitching.

Matt finally shifted, brushing his nose along your cheek. "Still don’t like surprises?"

You let out a shaky laugh. "I might be warming up to them."

His smile was against your mouth. "Told you."

the title was meant to insinuate "butterflies in my stomach." anyways, weird fun fact about me, i'm terrified of butterflies. don't ask why bc i don't know i just am, lol

[outoftheseine]

- MATT MURDOCK FIC RECS 2 -

hot hot hot hot hot | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, blood, swearing. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

let you break my heart again | matt’s pov | part two • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @angst-cravings (some angst, fluff, unrequited love)

one more time | part two • matt murdock x fem!enhanced!reader

↳ by @murdock-barnes (flufff)

hold them gently (these confessions) | part two | part three • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @privateanxieties (fluff, some angst, mystery, pining)

sweetest poison • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @place-called-space (this is so good i can’t wait for more parts)

seeking forgiveness • matt murdock x pregnant!reader

↳ by @bellaxgiornata (very angsty, a lot of grovelling, hurt/comfort)

sad girl • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @cellophaine (fluff, smut, angst)

buttercup • matt murdock x baker!reader

↳ by @thyme-in-a-bubble (fluff, smut, angst, tw: rape, ptsd)

do no harm • matt murdock x fem!doctor!reader

↳ by @farfromstrange (angst, smut, tw: dv, child abuse, mental illnesses)

stitches | part two • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @megthemewlingquim (angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, second part is smut fyi)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

saw you dancing in a crowded room • matt murdock x fem!accountant!reader

↳ by @scarletsloveletter (angst but fluffy ending, second chance romance)

matt murdock as a dad would include...

↳ by @bowieandqueen11 (fluff)

home sweet home • husband!matt murdock x wife!reader

↳ by @maple-the-awesome (very fluffy, dad!matt, comfort)

tragedy • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @modern-vellichor (angst, comfort)

deserving • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @sgt-morgan (angst)

ask me tomorrow • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdockparker (fluffy adorable)

rising in the east • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdockparker (fluff)

choice and chance and promise • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (slight angst, mostly fluff)

calling out • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @ithebookhoarder (angst, comfort)

the perfect cheesecake • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @cece-writes-fanfic (fluff)

be still • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @dameronology (comfort, a little angsty)

the defence rests • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @dameronology (fluff, a little angst)

the lakes • matt murdock x hard-of-hearing!reader

↳ by @goldenlikedayl1ght (comfort, fluff)

more of you • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @chellestrash (smut, bantering)

your wedding dress • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @shadowbriar (very angsty)

sincerely, anxiety • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings (veryy fluffy)

skin • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @reckoningss (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

black friday • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @goldenlikedayl1ght (very fluffy)

here • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amberlynnmurdock (angst, comfort)

lifeline • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @sunflowersandsapphires (angst, comfort, fluff, panic attacks)

play along • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @mayfieldss (fluff)

orange roses • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @bornagainmurdock (fluff)

[murdock-slvt]

𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓’𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 (matt murdock x f! reader) ▄▀▄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt always seemingly had good taste; good taste in music, good taste in food, somewhat good taste in women… and he knows exactly how good you taste

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 16+ CONTENT, oral sex! pussy eating, matt being a munch, cum eating, hair pulling, cocky! matt, lowercase! intended

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: matthew murdock, u will forever be my sex fantasy. i know this man eats pussy like it’s his last meal. I write matt the way I see him, so enjoy!

✟ ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ ✟

matt murdock was a man that seemingly always had good taste. he had good taste in music, good taste in the suits that he wore, and good taste in entertainment. he always thought he had good taste in women too… but every single relationship failed— up until with you, but the women were hot, so technically he had good taste in women.

it didn’t help that taste was one of the senses enhanced after his eyesight was deteriorated by the acid when he was a kid.

he learned how to not metaphorically get good taste in things, he also learned physically how to taste good. how to choose the good flavors of wine and good sauces without being able to see anything.

but there was always a taste he enjoyed the most.

you. in matt’s head, you are forever the greatest thing he’s ever got to taste… and it will never change.

he got good at knowing what you tasted like, what your skin felt like against his lips, what your lips tasted like after meals, what your chapstick or lip gloss you painted your lips with, what your cum tasted like.

he loves how you taste, and he’d never get bored of how you taste… especially when you make those pretty noises and wrap your thighs around his head everytime he gets a taste of your pussy at night.

“ohhhh, matty…” your voice lingered in the bedroom, the moonlight shining on you as the only light source in the room.

your thighs sat on each of his shoulders, his scruff scratching against your skin as his tongue flicked up and down, sliding so easily into your folds.

your heels rubbed against his shoulder blades as his back muscles shined beautifully in the moonlight. his hands rubbed up and down your thighs, feeling them close in on his head as he continues to eat you.

the way he moved his jaw is intoxicating.

groaning against your folds, the sound vibrating through you. his hands move to your hips, holding them as he devours you like a man who’s been starving for the past year. he’s relentless with his tongue.

his gaze peers up at you as his mouth sucks on your bud, knowing there’s no actual sight within his brown eyes but it still made you flustered. (as if him eating your pussy wasn’t already) “taste so good angel… ‘can’t get enough of this delicious fucking pussy…”

head leaning back into the pillows, your right hand goes into his brown hair, yanking on it as he sucks hard on your clitoris. “oh fuck! matt!”

he circled your clit with his tongue, sucking up all your wetness with glee as he felt your fingers tug at his hair. he can taste you. you’re getting close. he can hear your heartbeat, it’s increasing and he’s ate you out so many times he can tell how fast your heartbeats go when you’re close to your orgasm.

“you like that, sweetheart?” he asks roughly, using his right thumb to spread your folds out, swiping his tongue up and down your inner lips. “like how my tongue makes you feel?”

you nod with intense enthusiasm, your back arching off the bed as you moan louder. “oh yeah! fuck! love it— love it so fucking much, matt!” you moan, not meaning to get so loud but of course the bastard has to suck on your bundle of nerves again.

he chuckles at your enthusiastic answer, continuing to suck you dry. you keep on getting wet, so you’re never truly dry in his grasp. he can hear how close you are, your heart palpitating in his ears.

he moves a finger up and down to tease your puffy clit, his finger rubbing across the sensitive nub, licking over it as he gets a taste of your wetness. fucking delicious, as expected.

you whine as his mouth moves again, speeding up their ministrations as his tongue padded against you in a quicker motion, clearly knowing you’re close to orgasming. “matt! matt! ohhhh, ‘m close! please!” you whine out loud, tears beginning to prick from your eyes as he sucks and licks you quicker.

he grins at your words, his grip on your hips tightening as he continues to eat your pussy so easily, his tongue moving at a practiced, calculated pace. his voice low and rough with desire. “please what honey? use your words sweetie…”

he purposely pushes his chin in further, rubbing his scruff all over your folds as he sucks harder, cheeks hallowing slightly as he brings you to the metaphorical edge of an orgasm.

you cry out as he sucks harder, the feeling of both his scruff tickling you in all the right ways and the way he flicks his tongue back and fourth with your clitoris in his mouth is just something straight from heaven. “matt! please! p-please! matt, let me cum! l-let me cum!”

he approves of your begging; “go on sweetheart.” he says. he can sense your heart beating so fucking fast now, tasting you so good. “cum for me, give me all your cum, c’mon good girl, let me taste you.” he groans against your flesh, shutting up the moment your hand pushes him deeper as you go over the edge.

his words (and his tongue) cause you to go over the edge, your fingers tightening in his hair hard and in the sheets as your back arches, your eyes rolling back into her skull as a moan rips through your throat, crying out his name as your orgasm hits.

matt becomes relentless through your orgasm. it’s so good that you couldn’t hear him as you yank his hair, tightening your thighs around his head as your heels dig into his shoulder blade.

“there you go, good girl… cumming all over my tongue… let me taste you…”

his words are a mix of praise and the desire to taste you, and the moment your cum comes in contact with his tongue, he’s slurping every bit of it possible. his tongue curls as he collects your cum on his tongue.

with a smirk, he swallows it all, using his right pointer and middle fingers to decorate his fingers and eating more of your cum. “fuck sweetie… tasting so damn good… holy fuck…” he mumbled, like he’s in a heaven he doesn’t want to leave.

your eyes finally roll forward, letting you look at matt as he gets every possible chance to eat your cum. you know just how good he likes the taste of you, swallowing a breath.

“taste good, handsome?” you ask him in a broken, raw tone, knowing the answer.

matt grins, his lips and scruff glistening with your semen and your wetness as his brown eyes look at you. “baby, you don’t even know how good you taste to me…” he says, and in the dirtiness, you know the truth to it; his enhanced taste makes it ten times better.

swallowing one last bit of the sticky substance, your cum lingers in the back of his throat as your thighs unlatch from his head. he crawls up to you, his forearms flexing as both hands go to the pillow you’re laying your head on, his blind gaze looking down at you.

“c’mere baby, didn’t say I was done with you…” he says, left hand cupping your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

you smile as he leans in to kiss you. “wouldn’t want you to be…”

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

@murdock-slvt 2025!

[lessersole]

Bridging Boroughs

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Bartender!Reader with a past. Platonic!Matt Murdock

Summary: You and Matt come up with a plan to take on Kingpin politically.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Spoilers for DD:BA episode 8, (but works if you're not watching). Probably misunderstandings of the US political system.

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

Matt groans as he wakes up. He feels like he got punched in the chest by a truck.

He tries to take in his surroundings - it’s hard over the beeping of the machines, but under the stillness of night he realises someone is sitting beside his hospital bed.

“Heather?” He croaks.

“Nope,” comes the unapologetic answer. He recognises that voice, but hasn’t heard it in a while. Matt frowns - is he wrong?

The pressure of booted feet landing on his bed, one ankle crossing over the other as his guest casually stretches out her legs gives him a better idea who his visitor is. He tries another name.

“You got it," you confirm. Matt can hear the mirthless smile in your voice. “Glad to hear we’re not complete strangers, even if I never would have guessed you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet aimed at the Kingpin.”

“I wasn’t-” Matt’s protestations are cut off by a tightness in his chest and he coughs, wincing at the pain, “I wasn’t trying to protect him.”

Your feet leave the bed as you press a plastic cup of water against the back of his hand. Matt takes it as silently as it's offered, a few sips doing little to soothe the roughness of his throat.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks, reluctantly letting you take the glass from him when the wires tangled around him stop him reaching the sidetable himself.

“Well, that’s rude.” Your tone is more amused than offended.

“I mean it. I haven’t seen you since-” his voice dies in his throat.

“Since the funeral.” You finish for him, voice softer, “But I keep up to date. You’re all over the news. Thought it would be polite to visit an old friend in hospital.”

“We’re barely friends,” there’s a bitterness to Matt’s tone, more from regret than animosity. It’s been a long time since you were close, “And I’m pretty sure visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

“I make my own hours, you know that. And I said old friend.” You pause, continuing when his only objection is an irritated sigh. “Plus I saw a mutual acquaintance of ours recently - he was worried about you.”

Matt’s mouth sets in a hard line. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” your eyes scan over his damaged body, the tubes and machines keeping him alive, “And honestly, when Frank Castle is concerned about your mental health, something’s gotta be pretty wrong.”

“So you’re still in touch with Frank. And you think I’m the one who’s in trouble.”

“I drop in on him now and then, make sure he’s not dead. I don’t charge in on him like a madman with a deathwish.”

Matt grimaces.

“So come on, Matt. I’ve seen the other news about you too. The other you. What’s going on?”

In the absence of anyone else to talk to who won’t judge him, Matt reluctantly opens up.

Time passes, and as the sun threatens to break over the horizon, you both sink into thoughtful silence.

"Did you ever think that maybe you need to meet Fisk on his level?” You ask.

“I’d never do what he does,” Matt spits emphatically, “That’s the difference between us-”

“That was the difference between you. The difference now is that he’s the one who’s gone ‘legit’. Officially, at least.”

Matt opens his mouth to object, but you talk over him. “You not changing the city as a lawyer is nothing new. I thought you'd resigned yourself to that after - after Foggy. But Fisk isn’t fighting in the dark any more; you’ve lost your advantage.”

“So what, are you saying I should run for Mayor?”

“God, no. But we need to look in that direction. Maybe someone else, someone who’s pro-enhanced p-”

“Wait,” Matt bolts upright, ignoring the pain that slices through him, “There is someone. We could at least ask for help, while I’m stuck here.”

“Oh, so there’s a ‘we’ now?”

Matt grins, “How familiar are you with Brooklyn?”

—

Getting inside the Congressman’s office is easy for you, even in broad daylight. Plenty of people filing in and about, milling around - and you know how to go unnoticed. The bustling space is a much more casual, open place than you'd expected.

Getting access to him directly is more of a challenge.

After holding a store room door open for a smiling volunteer, you duck inside. Spotting a pile of discarded t-shirts from the recent campaign, you grab one and quickly swap it for your own plain top, before adding the casual blazer you'd worn to look appropriately professional on top of it. No need to be too obvious.

You'd spied his private office on your first loop around the floor, and now you make your way indirectly towards it. One well-placed slippery flyer in the path of a rushing intern later, and the woman stationed at the desk outside his door is running to the bathroom to try and soak the hot coffee out of her shirt.

Smiling benignly, you slip unseen into the Congressman’s office. The man you're looking for has his back to the door, standing behind a desk leafing through a file.

You have a moment to admire his broad back, the white shirt straining over strong shoulders, tapering down where it tucks into dark pants over narrow hips.

Forcing your eyes away from where they’ve drifted down, you've barely taken two steps into the room before he speaks.

“Are you one of those people who breaks in to try and sell me extra security?”

You stop abruptly - he hasn’t even turned around.

“No,” you answer casually, continuing to approach, “But maybe I should be, that sounds like a fun job. Do you think it pays well?”

“No idea,” finally Congressman Barnes turns to face you, dropping his papers onto the desk between you.

You let your gaze linger over his torso. He must get those shirts custom made, you think, so they're snug over his flat stomach without bursting the buttons over his chest.

Barnes crosses his arms, and the motion reminds you to look at his face, where he’s quirking an eyebrow at you, unflustered and unamused.

“So what are you doing breaking into my office?”

“Breaking in?” You try to sound offended, “I just wanted to meet the person I’ve been door knocking for-”

“You’re not one of the volunteers,” he interrupts cooly, “And you’re definitely not on the payroll. So now you need to explain why you’re lying as well as breaking in.”

“What, you know every single person who works for you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat while you recalculate your approach, then take the last few steps towards him, smiling broadly and holding out your hand, “I just wanted to say hi, have a quick chat.”

Instead of answering or shaking your hand, Barnes narrows his eyes suspiciously at you.

“And there was no breaking anything, so it wasn’t breaking in,” you grumble, lowering your hand.

“I’m still not hearing an explanation.”

“Okay,” you sigh, presumptuously dropping into one of the chairs in front of his desk, “I’ve come to ask what you’re planning to do about Mayor Fisk.”

Bucky’s neutral facade cracks in surprise. “What I'm planning to do about Mayor Fisk?” he repeats.

“His crusade against ‘vigilantes’,” you put air quotes around the loaded term, “His so-called taskforce are breaking every law they come up against to wipe out anyone they decide is suspicious, including everyone with enhanced abilities they can get their hands on. You were elected on a platform of protecting those same people, right? You can’t just do nothing.”

“I ran on more than one issue,” Bucky says, sitting down opposite you, “And Mayor Fisk was also elected by the people - and even if it wasn’t a key part of his campaign, as I understand it his opposition to vigilantes wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“That’s no excuse to just roll over and let him do what he wants!”

Bucky frowns. “No, it’s not,” he muses, “But so far his taskforce have restricted themselves to Manhattan. Unless they cross into Brooklyn, there’s not much I can do about it.”

You're visibly unimpressed at his answer, crossing your arms and glaring at him in place of a response.

After a moment of thought, Bucky’s gaze intensifies, and he leans towards you across the desk, “Do you have a - vested interest - in this?”

Fighting to keep your heart rate steady, you answer him honestly, “I’m here on behalf of a friend. And everyone else who feels hopeless about what the Kingpin is doing to our city. Everyone else who wants to fix it.”

Bucky studies you silently. Your answer was true - and you have no intention of sharing more than you need to about your history, or those nights when it bleeds into your present. Even Fisk never knew about you, and with Karen in California, Matt and Frank are the only people left in the city who have any idea what you've done, and neither of them know you've not given it up as thoroughly as you suggest.

"This friend," Bucky starts, clearly not believing you, "they didn't want to speak to me themselves?"

"They're in hospital." Your answer is more vehement than you intended, and you hope you've not given too much away.

Barnes sits back with a sigh, “Okay. I’ll talk to my team about it. We’ve been considering putting out a statement; a citizen complaint is a good enough reason to push that through. And I’ll look into what else we can do. Encourage an investigation into the taskforce, or some kind of oversight requirements. Legal protections for enhanced people with no record of vigilantism.”

It’s less than you wanted, but more than you'd hoped for from a politician. “Sounds like an okay start,” you allow.

An amused smile flickers across Bucky’s face as he stands up, dismissing you. You mirror him.

“Are you a Brooklyn resident?” He asks.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s a no.”

“Compassion doesn’t stop at the East River,” you retort, and Bucky’s smile widens.

“I agree. And I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to rein Fisk in and keep innocent people safe, inside my jurisdiction and out.” He holds his hand out to you.

“Good,” you answer begrudgingly, grasping his hand firmly, “I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he squeezes back, “And your friend - if it’s dangerous for them in Manhattan, there’s a safe place for them this side of the river. Always. If Fisk’s taskforce follows - well, there might be more I can do.”

“Good to know. And if you ever want to update me on your progress - save me trekking all the way out here again - I work at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen,” You give him the name as you turn to leave. “If you make good on your promise, I might even buy you a drink.”

Bucky smiles. It’s an appealing offer. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wait,” he nods to your shirt, where Vote Barnes for the 9th District is emblazoned across your chest, “Did you pay for that?”

Rolling your eyes, you slip your jacket from your shoulders, Bucky’s eyes following the smooth motion, “I was going to give it back,” you lie.

“Don’t.” he stops you, a quick twitch at the corner of his lips, “You can keep it. Looks good on you.”

You smile languidly as you pull the jacket back on.

“Thanks, Congressman,” you reach for the door handle, adding over your shoulder, “I’ve been looking for something to wear in bed.”

Once his door has swung shut behind you Bucky lets out a long breath, rubbing his right hand over his face as he sinks into his chair.

He could have handled that more professionally, but something in your fearless attitude and sly smile had intrigued him - and the reason for your questionable visit was smart, principled - and ballsy.

He’ll definitely be stopping by that bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

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

Part two

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

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

Summary:

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

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

ao3 link

It is not often that you get a night to yourself. 

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead. 

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry. 

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.  

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy. 

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone. 

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice. 

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself. 

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell. 

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.  

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks. 

You are going to suck his dick. 

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality. 

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor. 

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire. 

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you. 

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have. 

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him. 

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread. 

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back. 

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.” 

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want. 

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game. 

And you can’t allow that. 

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping you sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.” 

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.  

You need to use his advantages against him. 

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you. 

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you. 

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep. 

“Good boy.” 

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room. 

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.” 

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself. 

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees. 

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to. 

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the skin just under the gauze. 

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark. 

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain. 

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you. 

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body. 

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize. 

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself. 

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.” 

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.” 

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him. 

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it. 

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him. 

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants. 

You know he doesn’t mind being messy. 

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest. 

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin. 

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden. 

Then you press down. 

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name. 

You want more. 

You need more. 

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it. 

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough. 

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them. 

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs. 

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed. 

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself. 

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time. 

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him. 

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man. 

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty. 

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does. 

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that. 

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

--

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[sirenmurdock]

siren song

explicit | 2.1k | matt murdock x reader

for @bunmurdock, for keeping us so well fed and welcoming me and so many others with open arms, and for @nocaptainonthisship, for being my biggest enabler and greatest encourager, and a delightful friend.

Bun’s welcome post tagged me in a delicious voice kink blurb, and I immediately wanted to write something about reader’s voice enticing Matt from blocks away. So…here’s that for my first attempt at posting Matt x Reader. Hope you enjoy! *throws this in your general direction and disappears into the woods*

It’s late, when Matt hears you.

You’re blocks away, safely in your apartment for the night. He checked before heading out to Josie’s with Foggy and Karen. You’d politely declined their incitation to join them tonight, needing a bit of quiet after the long, busy day you’d had. He’d asked if you wanted him to stay, if you’d wanted company, but you’d encouraged him to go out with his friends.

And you’d been right to do it. It had been too long since the three of them had gone out. Matt has a tendency to forget that nights like this are like medicine for his soul, Foggy’s laugh and Karen’s excited voice soothing a raw ache in his chest that he’s never aware was there until it’s gone. Normally he’s wound so tight he could snap; tonight he’s loose and carefree and sufficiently buzzed on cheap beer and the increasingly foul shots that Foggy keeps bringing back from the bar. The only thing missing is you.

But suddenly, you’re not missing at all. Suddenly you’re there.

Not in physical form. Your heartbeat isn’t close, the scent of your shampoo and perfume absent from the musty air. He’d know if you were in the bar, even if he couldn’t see your smiling form drifting in from the street. No, you’re nowhere in his relative proximity, but he hears your voice softly echoing in his ear anyway.

You’re singing.

There’s surely music playing in your apartment; Matt knows that unless you’re sleeping, you tend to shy away from total silence unless something is wrong. There’s always something soft and soothing playing when he’s at your place, smooth against his sensitive ear and sweetened by your voice humming or singing along. Tonight it sounds like Nina Simone — he can hear the opening notes of “I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl”.

As always, the sound of your voice just does something to him. Of every sound he’s ever heard with his enhanced sensory abilities, this has to be his favorite: listening to the rise and fall of pitch and tone, the drifting dance of melody and rhythm, the way that it simultaneously settles his restless heart and stokes up something scorching hot under his skin.

He sits there quietly, just soaking in the sound as it washes over him, letting Foggy and Karen carry the conversation for the time being as his focus drifts to you. The urge to call it a night, to head back to your place and let himself get completely lost in you, swells up inside of him.

No, Matt thinks, he should let you have this. He should let you have your quiet night, let you rest and relax and recover from a stressful day. There will be other nights, a lifetime of softly sung music carried on your lips. He can be patient.

Or so he thinks, until he hears the next line of the song.

“What's the matter daddy, come on, save my soul…”

It’s abrupt, the way he suddenly rises from the table and bids his goodbyes to his friends. He faintly registers Foggy’s teasing comment and Karen’s knowing laugh, but he’s halfway out the door before the sound fully resonates. All sensory input besides the sound of your voice drifts to the back of his consciousness, processed but not pondered.

He might as well be in a fugue state, drifting through the streets like this. Vaguely aware of things like street names and obstacles in his path, but no real consideration of them beyond their use as navigational tools on his way to you. It’s a short journey that feels like an eternity — a guilty man’s march to the gallows, a mutineer’s walk to the end of the plank, a doomed ship’s race towards the jagged rocks. An inescapable consequence of supposed sin that has never felt shameful, not with you. This way, to a drowned death that feels like paradise each time he dies it.

There’s awareness of the sliding key and slipping tumblers as Matt lets himself into the building, but it’s muted. A muffled hum washing out any sound that isn’t you, as he climbs the stairs. Things only sharpen when he’s quietly letting himself into your apartment, when you’re so close that he can taste you on the current of air that washes over him. The world regains some measure of clarity, even if the world as he registers it shrinks until it’s exactly the size of your one bedroom walk up. There’s nothing outside of these walls that could hold a candle to this, to the sheer relief of your proximity and the promise of the inevitable next step.

Your tone is surprised, but not disappointed, when you greet him. “At some point, I think Fog and Karen are going to start taking your absence personally,” you tease as you set down a wine glass on the counter. The bouquet of scent from the liquid swirls around him into the air, mixing in with the scent of you, and Matt feels like he’s intoxicated three different ways, on beer and scent and sound. You step towards him and the world tilts on its axis in the best way, gravity shifting around him as the two of you meet in the middle of the room. “Though I suppose, they do get you all to themselves all day.”

“Needed you,” he hums as he tugs you close, body moving on instinct as he pulls you into a dance. Nina’s voice plays on in the background, slow and smooth as she croons through “Lilac Wine”, and you relax into his embrace with no protest as you let him lead. It’s an easy little spin, nothing flashy, just him holding you close and breathing you in.

You tilt your head to his and let your lips brush, a kiss that he’s sure you intend to be nothing but sweet and loving. It hits him like a shock to the system, a stark reminder of the need that’s been swelling under his skin like the rising tide. When you move to break it, his hand rises to your neck, gripping just slightly enough to keep you in place. He kisses you firmer, deeper, stronger, and you respond in kind. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, the other moving to his chest and curling around his shirt to pull him closer.

The little sound that escapes you, tender and needy, is what pushes him over the edge.

He’s too far gone to think to apologize for ripping your blouse open, splitting seams and scattering buttons to the floor. There’s a vague, hazy memory that maybe you were attached to this top, that maybe it had been one of your favorites, but the thought leaves him as quickly as it arrived. You don’t seem to be too concerned, since you’re all but tearing at the buttons on his own shirt. The trip to your bedroom becomes a clumsy, fumbled expedition, both of you tripping on clothes as you shed them.

Matt has one last burst of clarity as you pass through the doorframe ahead of him, and he reaches over to where your speaker sits on a side table next to the door, switching the device off.

He wants to hear you. Only you.

You sink onto the silk sheets you bought when he started sleeping over and he follows you down like a man possessed, chasing the high of your lips against his and your skin under his hands. He can never get enough of this, of the sensation of being this close to you.

Two fingers slip into your cunt easily, and he smirks at how soaked you are already. He’s sure, now, that you’d only sent him out to the bar because you would have felt guilty if he’d turned down his friends for you. You’d been here, wanting him, and had been too shy to say something.

He can make that shyness disappear. He’s determined to, in fact. He dips his head down and licks at your clit, earning a sweet little gasp from you, and it spurs him on. It takes only a moment to find that perfect rhythm and then he settles in, working you over until you’re gasping and moaning his name like a prayer, over and over.

One of your hands moves up and away from where it had been buried in his hair, and he hears the sound of you suddenly muffled, hears your teeth sink into the meat of your palm to keep yourself quiet. He stills, fingers pulling out of you as he speaks in a rough voice.

“Don’t you dare. Let me hear you.”

“The neighbors,” you remind him in a shaking voice, surely considering the last time he stayed over and the couple next door had called the super to complain.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “The sound of your voice lured me all the way here, and you think your neighbors are going to stop me from getting what I came for?”

You laugh weakly, head falling back against the pillow. “Matt…”

He pushes his fingers back into you, three this time, before you have time to broker an argument. You shudder out a loud, broken moan at the sensation, seeming to lose your train of thought. The hand that had briefly covered your mouth grips tightly at the sheets as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, smirking when he curls them up into that spot that always makes you fall apart as his tongue swirls around your clit.

“That’s it,” he croons as you come on his fingers with a sharp cry. “Let it out, sweetheart.”

It’s the best music, really, this symphony the two of you compose together. The rabbit rhythm of your pulse keeping time, your pleasure and his harmonizing together. Sweeter than any violin, steadier than the beat of any drum. Infinite compositions, all unique and all perfect, every single time. Even the slick slide of his cock inside you, when he pushes in, rings sticky sweet in his ear when you pulse around him, still coming down from your orgasm.

He knows what to do, what gets you into that place past self-consciousness and beyond any awareness that there might be someone who overhears. A tight grip on your hip as he fucks into you, one that might leave marks in the morning, or that hand wrapped loosely around your neck to hold you in place. Biting at your neck and collarbone, letting his lips and tongue soothe any sting he might leave behind. And always speaking to you: coaching, praising, coaxing, demanding. His voice has the same effect on you that yours does to him, it seems.

He gets what he came for: it takes very little time for Matt to work you into a mess, gasping and groaning into his mouth as he steals kisses between smirking taunts and whispered praise. He’s dragging out your orgasm, knowing that yours will send him right over the edge with you, wanting to soak in as much of the sound of you as possible. You’re begging now, desperate little pleas that stoke the fire under his skin even hotter until he’s burning up.

“Please, Matt, pleasepleaseplease-“

And your voice breaking on the last please, that’s what does it. He presses his thumb against your clip and gives it a harsh circle, gritting his teeth as he groans in your ear. “Let me hear it, baby.”

“I can’t,” you sob, somehow still self-conscious, and he hears the lie flutter in your chest.

“You can,” he answers lowly. He’s too far past the point of patience praise, too riled up to do anything but remind you that he knows exactly what you can take, and he’s not going to settle for giving you anything less. “You can, and you’re going to.”

One more sweep of his thumb does it, and he knows you couldn’t stop the sound you make if you tried. Sweet and high and perfect, keening and crying from the force of the orgasm as it crashes over you like a wave at high tide. He feels you tremble from the impact, shaking as you ride out the sensation.

Matt lets the riptide sweep him away with you, finishing just after you do. Silence settles over the apartment, only broken by the settling breaths the two of you take as you come down.

He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling deeply to stay lost in the scent of you, and your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp. A contended sigh falls from his lips at the simple pleasure of the sensation, and he feels a similar one echo from you.

The melody you start to hum takes almost no time to lull him to sleep.

[morganwrites12672]

"I Need You."

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt realizes that he can't live without you in his life.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: DDBA Spoilers, grief, depression, making out.

A/N: I hope that you guys enjoy this! Also! Please note that the banner above does NOT represent what the reader looks like.

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Foggy's death had left a gaping hole inside your chest. It had released a black fog that ruined everything in its path of destruction. That much was evidently clear. No one had been normal after what had happened. No one had been able to cope. How could any of you? Everyone had lost one of their best friends.

Karen had tried. She really had at first. But, you were worse company than a brick wall. Any attempt she made at getting through to you had failed. You hadn't been able to find it in yourself to be angry whenever she moved across the country. It's not like she had had anything left in Hell's Kitchen. She did what she needed to. She tried moving on. And, some might say that she did a pretty good job with that.

Foggy might have been the one to die, but no one else escaped unscathed.

Matt had been worse than Karen. The two of you had shared an apartment, and yet it was like he'd disappeared. He wasn't home. Ever. The apartment grew empty. Your only company had been the creaky floorboards and the shadows that talked back after one too many glasses of wine. Lonesome nights became the new normal. Matt worked too late, he made sure he was on a case during every single one of your days off too.

Eventually, it had gotten to be too much. You made the painful choice to end your relationship with Matt and move out. Suffocating around all of the reminders of him had gotten to be too much. Moving into your very own apartment would at least be a fresh start, or so you hoped.

Your apartment reeked of grief and despair. Everyone was gone. Was it really living if no one knew that you were alive? There was no friend left to call whenever the black fog felt suffocating. There was no lover to greet you whenever you came home late at night. It felt less like living and more like drowning. Could it always hurt this much? You weren't sure. You also weren't sure how much longer you could manage to keep going like this. Being alone was a horrible thing. Being alone while grieving was even worse. It made the pain more obvious. There was no hiding behind your friends and family. The only hiding you managed to do was behind a bottle.

A draft blew through your apartment, making you shiver despite your sweatpants. The curtains were closed tight, blocking out all of the light from the bustling city. It made you feel even more isolated than before. Every single thing that you did seemed to make you feel worse. It didn't matter what it was. Trying a new hobby ended with tearful reminders of either Foggy, Matt, or Karen and broken glass, getting out more led to late nights spent at the bar, nothing worked. Nothing.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. It startled you to say the very least. It wasn't often, or really ever, that you had a visitor stop by. Getting to your feet, you cautiously made your way to the door. Peering through the keyhole revealed that it was Matt.

Seeing him standing at your door after all of this time made something crack deep inside of you. He wasn't supposed to be here. The two of you were over. Nothing would be able to convince you otherwise. He was only a painful reminder of the past.

You opened the door, fully taking in Matt's appearance. He had changed. A light dusting of facial hair coated his jaw. During the two and a half years that you had known Matt, he had rarely grown his beard out past a little bit of stubble. It made him look older. So did the sense of weariness that encapsulated his body.

"How do you know where I live?" You asked, the tone of your voice sharper than intended. You knew all about Matt's enhanced senses. He would be able to feel your pain. Even if you didn't want him to. And yet, some small part of you wanted him to feel some of your suffering.

Matt chuckled, "I saw you around the area a few times." His answer was vague and left much for you to ponder on. What he didn't tell you was that he kept a very good eye on where you lived. He knew exactly what kind of people lurked in the darkness of Hell's Kitchen and he refused to allow you to become one of the many victims.

"I didn't know that you got out that much," you replied, finally stepping aside so that Matt could enter your apartment. His walking stick tapped against the ground as he entered the unfamiliar space. The door shut behind him. He had gone too long without seeing you. Your absence had been felt like an open wound that wouldn't heal. Festering and bleeding even whenever he thought that the wound had began trying to heal.

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't get out that much." For some reason his words sounded slightly defensive in the moment. He leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking in what parts of you he could sense. He knew that you weren't okay. That much had been shoved in his face three blocks away from your apartment. Your grief had lingered in the air.

"Cut the bullshit," you finally said, ignoring his previous words. The tension between the two of you was clear. You took a seat on one of the barstools. The cool metal cut through your sweatpants like a knife as the chill ran up your spine. "Why are you here Matt? Why now?"

Matt let out a deep sigh as doubt filled his gut. After how he had treated you after Foggy's death he had no right to try entering your life again. And yet, he didn't leave. He couldn't. Not whenever your depression nearly suffocated him. Your despair filled the air of your apartment. He knew that he had made a mistake. He shouldn't have left you alone when you needed him the most, even if his own grief had simply been too much for him to bear.

"What if I came because I wanted to apologize?" He bit back, old emotions rising up his throat. "I know that I messed up." His tongue darted out to lick his lips. A hand ran through his already tousled hair. He had no idea what he was really doing here. Did he want to apologize? Or, did he just want you back? Deep down he knew the answer. . .

"Matt, I know that you messed up. I don't blame you," you said softly. His words made your guts twist up in knots. The thought of what could have been made your heart ache. Old wounds tore open, ravaging through your soul. He had said the words that you had wished on stars for.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words catching in his throat on unshed tears. He needed you. Even if he knew that he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve your love. That couldn't make him turn around. In this moment, there wasn't a force on the planet that could make him do anything but beg for your forgiveness.

"I screwed up. I know that I did. But, I'm sorry," his voice was almost raw. Every word sounded like it caused him great pain. And, in a way, it did. His chest burned and ached with hidden emotions and desires. His whole soul was at war right now with what he wanted and what he deserved.

"I know that you screwed up!" You snapped. You were living proof that he had. The way that things had happened had screwed up your life. You were merely a shadow of your old self. So similar, and yet so different. The dark fog had taken away all of your joy, leaving your heart barren and uninhabitable. You stood from the bar stool and Matt stood up straight. "I know and, and I can't bring myself to blame you for it."

Matt knew that he deserved to be blamed. He deserved to be resented by you for the rest of his life. Your erratic heart rate made him hope. It also made him realize that maybe you needed him just as much as he needed you. It was like the two of you were opposite sides of the same coin, always keeping the other balanced.

Instead of speaking, you crossed the distance between yourself and Matt. One of your hands grabbed onto his shirt as your mind screamed. Warning sirens were going off in your head. This was a terrible idea. Hadn't you been through enough?

All of those thoughts ceased as Matt pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was needy and nearly primal. Your teeth gently sunk into his bottom lip as his hands wrapped around your waist. His walking stick clattered to the ground, he had forgotten to fold it up, and now it would be forgotten for as long as it took the two of you to work things out.

Your fingers threaded through his hair as he deepened the kiss. His movements pulled a strangled moan from somewhere deep inside of your throat. Every move felt strategic. What would it take for this to end right? The two of you danced on burning rocks, one wrong step could end in a way that neither one of you could even think about.

Matt pulled away for a moment. "Are you sure about this?" Matt said, his hands hesitating as they danced along your lower back where your shirt had ridden up. He could sense how emotional you were, your judgement was probably clouded. But, so was his. Both of you were laid out bare before the other, your souls on full display.

"I need you," you whispered in reply. Your words held a deeper meaning than how they sounded and Matt knew that. His hands gripped your hips, as if he was holding on for his life. his head dropped onto the crook between your neck and your shoulder.

"Tell me to go," he whispered, "and I'll leave. I'll never bother you again."

"I can't lose you twice," you said before pulling him even closer. Your bedroom door inched closer and closer as the two of you once again entangled with the other. Every move burned, every kiss seared. The raw need in the air choked Matt every time he kissed you. Your back finally collided with the bedroom door. You were quick to open it without even having to break the kiss.

Clothes flew and so did any hesitation either one of you held.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

A/N: After all of the kind comments on my last Matt fic I decided to post another one for you guys!Thanks!

Taglist: *crickets*

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[farfromstrange]

Hi Lisa, can I make a Matt Murdock x reader request?

Reader is learning braille and reading a smut book. Matt is a little annoyed that you don't put this book down when he gets home and smells you getting wet reading it. One day he is home earlier than you and he starts reading this book and masturbates while doing so and at that moment Reader comes home.

Nonnie, thank you so much for your request! I was planning for this to be a short one, but I got carried away...

Sweeter Than Fiction | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: You get a new book to learn Braille and Matt is curious about what you're ready (because why is this book getting more attention than he does?)

Word Count: 4.2k (how???)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, this is Matt we're talking about, slight voyeurism (?), slight Dom!Matt, not proofread

A/n: I have no words. My inner whore took over.

You’ve always admired how Matt navigates the world even with one of the most crucial senses missing. After he told you about the accident and how his other senses were heightened beyond average capacity, you thought he meant it in a way that made up for his loss of sight, but you soon realized you were wrong. 

Matt had to learn how to blindly navigate his way in the world just like any other blind person. He goes out at night to fight criminals, sure, and he has an impeccable way of knowing your body’s every quirk due to his enhanced hearing and sense of smell, but beneath all of that, he is still blind and he needs his world more accessible than you do. 

When you moved in together, you made sure not to disturb his system. He labels the jars in the kitchen and the food containers in the fridge. You got used to it, and now even add labels to your leftovers so he knows what you had–to be fair, that is something he can use his other senses for, but it makes it easier for him when he’s too tired to focus.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

You make sure everything always goes back to where it was, even when it comes to clothes. You told him where you keep your things and developed a system that fits you both best, and you made your world more accessible for him as your universes merged, and now you’re living together in perfect harmony. 

You would point out things to him whenever you go out, and he would listen to your detailed descriptions. Your voice has always been the most beautiful sound on earth to him, and he hears a lot of things every day. A lot of cruel things, too. You’re not like that. You’re not harsh or annoying, you’re calm and just perfect.

He gets lost in you, not just the sound of your voice. Even sweeter than your voice though is the way your body responds to him, and he makes sure to use every last trick up his sleeves to satisfy all four of his working senses, and all five of yours. 

Sex with Matt is phenomenal. He pays close attention to detail and he knows what buttons to push to drive you crazy, and he shamelessly uses his heightened senses to his advantage every time you’re together. That also means your love life never gets boring. You can be sweet and gentle, but sometimes you indulge in the most primal needs that drive you, and you lose yourselves in each other. 

A few weeks ago, you told Matt that you wanted to learn Braille. He was taken aback at first; Braille itself is complex to learn, but you are always eager to broaden your horizons, and when you told him that you desperately want to understand some of the things he reads with his fingers, he caved. You want to do this for him, and the love you show him is almost too much for his scarred little heart. 

You have been busy for days now, your mind reeling with the alphabet and the different sensations under your fingers as you navigate the Braille book you bought to learn the letters. After that, you started experimenting with his Braille typewriter, and once you felt comfortable enough to read something a lot more… challenging, you decided to put your newfound knowledge to the test. 

Braille may be complicated, but you feel so much better about yourself now that you can keep up with Matt. You’re not as fast and you still mess up some words, but even he told you that you’re getting there, and he showered you in kisses and ‘I love you’ for your effort. But you want to do it. You want to learn, and you want to do it for him because you have never loved a man more than him. 

The book you found is a little unconventional, to say the least. You’re not sure how long it’s going to take Matt to find out, but you found the ad online and you ordered it because it is the kind of book you like, even though you haven’t read one of these in Braille before. 

Matt is good in bed; you’re not lacking anything, and you know that if you’re desperate, all you have to do is spread your legs and he’s between them in seconds, even when he’s currently halfway across the city. He always comes when you need him, physically and emotionally, and that’s what makes your relationship so much fun. 

You didn’t buy this particular book because you’re lacking something in your sex life–you could have just watched porn if that was the case–you were simply interested in how it would be to read something a little more erotic than the teaching books Matt left you with, and so you bought it. 

Amazon delivered it on the first day after ordering it, and you opened it while Matt was in court, probably arguing his way through every case, charming every juror, and intimidating the prosecution–you can only imagine his demanding tone and the way he stands with his hands on his hips, showing that Matt Murdock does not live to mess around. He does everything with precision, and it makes you clench your thighs when you think about it again.

Surprisingly, the book is easy to read, and it is good. Your fingers trace the delicate dots on the paper, your eyes closed as you visualize the scenes. With every sentence, the need in your lower stomach grows. You’re lost in another world, and you’re oh-so-horny. 

Matt comes home triumphant with another win under his belt, but he’s tired from being on his feet for so long, and he barely had any chance to eat or had coffee today, so his body is in a weird state. He needs rest and sustenance, but most of all, he needs you. Not in a sexual sense, at least not yet, he just needs some kisses, a hug, and attention. 

After some time with you, you made it mandatory for him to ask for what he wants, and while he still struggles with that sometimes, he’s grown to love your affectionate nature, and he allows you to take care of him whenever he needs it. 

That’s where you seem to have heightened senses; when it comes to his well-being, you’re always the first to recognize the signs and act accordingly.

He’s so in love, he could burst, and it makes him the happiest he has ever been.

Stepping through the door, he listens for your heartbeat. It’s slightly elevated, but nothing serious. You’re sitting on the couch, your fingers gliding over the paper, and he figures you’re learning your daily dose of Braille again. 

He only notices the slight change in the atmosphere when he drops his bag and removes his jacket to feel the air in the apartment. He takes a deep breath. Usually, you smell of his body wash and soap and some kind of flower or vanilla, but today something else seems to dominate your naturally perfect scent. And it shoots straight to his cock.

You flinch a little when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. His head is buried in your neck. He wasn’t wrong; the air is thick with the sweet and metallic tang of your arousal, and he licks his lip to taste it. Whatever your fingers are gliding over, it isn’t one of his textbooks. 

Still, he doesn’t act, he just relishes your warmth. He waits. You sometimes forget he can smell you and hear the changes in your heartbeat and the distant pulse between your legs when you’re aroused. It makes things more fun, but today it doesn’t seem to be because of him that you’re horny, and it makes him frown a little.

He wants to have your attention, not that stupid book. 

You cradle his cheek, but your eyes remain glued on the pages before you, which is ironic because they’re just dots, he knows that better than anyone, and yet you’re very focused on that text. 

“Hi,” you murmur. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Matt replies, snuggling closer. “Just very long.”

The dramatic sigh goes right over your head. “Maybe you should take a shower then,” you suggest. “There’s leftovers in the fridge that you can eat.”

His lips press to your cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You are still not putting the book down.

“Take a shower with me,” he’s pulling all the registers, but you still won’t budge.

“Already did,” you say. 

He interrupted you during the best scene in the book so far, and that’s what you want to get back to. 

Matt’s lips move to your neck. “Then take another,” he says.

“My hair will get greasy.”

“Tie it up.”

“No.”

He pouts. Since when has he become worth less than a book? One that gets you wet, no less.

He gets jealous easily, he would never deny that, but he thought he would be better than a book. He never thought he could be envious of one, either, or of the language he had to learn how to read because he lost his eyesight. He never thought he’d see the day he would become envious of a few pages with dots on them, but he is, and when you happily indulge back into your back while he gets ready to shower, passing you half-naked and still not eliciting a reaction, he gets frustrated.

He makes a plan.

The next day, you’re at work, and he has some time to spare. The paperwork is done and Foggy sent him home earlier while you texted him you had to work late, and that he could cook or order food and you would just warm it up after. 

He makes his way to your side of the bed and grabs the book you took with you last night. 

“Let’s see how good you really are,” he says to himself. 

Matt always thought you to be a person with impeccable taste, but he never thought it would extend to your choice of erotica books. He’s never read the ones you usually keep around–he can’t read them, obviously–but this one, he can read, and his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

He’s done the things you’re reading about, but it still sends a flush straight to his cheeks. The rest of his blood instantly travels between his legs.

It’s not the story itself or the words, it’s the faintest scent of your arousal still lingering on the paper, and suddenly you’re right next to him, whispering these sweet words into his ear, and his hand finds its way into his slacks he hasn’t yet taken off. 

The smell of your pussy gets him high. You taste as sweet as you smell, and if he could dive deeper every time he eats you out, he would. He has explored every inch of you he can, but it can’t ever be enough, not with you. 

His hand turns into yours as he traces his fingers over the pages wildly. He’s so painfully hard; all he had to do was think about you spread out on the bed like the lady in the book, your nails raking over his skin and your cunt hugging his cock as he pounds into you hard like the man in the book does, and he’s done for.

He can’t control himself. He knows it’s wrong because it’s not just the text, it’s you he’s jerking off to like a teenage boy, but you smell so good, the memory of your voice sounds so sweet, and he can’t help but imagine the feel of your body as he works himself higher and higher and higher with his own fist until his cock aches and his balls tense up with his impending orgasm–and then it is roughly taken from him as reality seeps back in.

And it is your fault. 

“So that’s why you were so needy last night,” you say. Your voice isn’t quivering. You’re not shocked.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom, and your eyes trail over your boyfriend’s disheveled frame. His cock is hard, weeping in his hand. There is pre-cum everywhere. His thighs are shaking, and the orgasm that had been building fades away. His fist doesn’t loosen, but his eyes point in your general direction as shock and embarrassment flood his cheeks. 

He looks beautiful with his cock in his hand. You’re desperate to reach out and help because he hasn’t done anything bad, has he? But then you look at the book–your book–he’s tracing his deliciously thick and calloused fingers over, and you click your tongue.

You should have known he wouldn’t let it slide that easily that you got off from a book while he was so obviously desperate the night before. 

Matt swallows. “You were so wet,” he says, his voice sounding more like a growl than a husky whisper. “You were so wet, I could smell you the second I got in the door.”

“And when you realized it wasn’t you who got me so wet?” you question. 

The mattress dips until your weight as you crawl toward him. 

He tosses the book aside. “I was jealous,” he admits. He meets you halfway in the middle of the bed, his face close to yours now. 

“Jealous?” you ask.

“Yeah, jealous.”

“Of a book?”

“Can you blame me?”

You bite your lip when he smirks at you like a devil – the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, that’s who he is, and he is yours. Always, forever, but especially right now.

He manages to look adorable yet irresistible every time; you can’t help but stare back at his cock. It’s still hard, just resting against his stomach, and he has no shame. He knows what he’s doing to you. But you’re also not having a much different effect on him, it seems, because when you reach for his face and press your lips together, he moans.

His nerves are on fire. Even the simple act of kissing manages to shoot straight to his throbbing cock, and your hands are magical as they work through his hair next, along his scalp, and down his neck where you only seem to pull him closer into you. 

He flips you over so you’re on your back underneath him. “Tell me,” he says between gentle nips to your neck, “What exactly turned you on so much about that book to get you so fucking wet without even touching yourself?” 

You want to snap at him that he was getting off on it too just as you came in, but then his hand slips into your pants and your underwear, and you moan instead. 

“And you’re wet again,” it’s a statement he makes as he smirks into your neck, his fingers parting your slick folds and testing the waters. You’re soaking, he can tell, but he already smelled it when he flipped you over. 

You arch your back into his touch, chasing more friction. He complies. His middle finger starts circling your clit. “Did watching me jerk off get you so desperate?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

“Oh, you’re dirty, aren’t you?” 

“Matt–“

He kisses you to shut you up, his middle finger speeding up. He paints the most colorful masterpieces over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Matt plays your body like a fiddle, and your moans are the melody. 

“What was your favorite part?”

“What?”

“The book,” he asks, “What was your favorite part?” His finger slips from your clit, between your folds, and right to your entrance. “Was it this–” 

Your eyes roll back when he inserts the first finger into your tight cunt. 

“Or when he did that–” Matt slides another finger in, curling them up at the same time to brush your G-spot. 

Your lips part in a lewd moan. “Fuck!” Your fist tightens around the silk sheets. “Matt, please…” 

He keeps fingering you at an agonizingly slow pace, just like the scene in the book, but he puts the cherry on top when he ghosts his thumb over your clit. 

“What was it?” he asks, head dipping to capture your lips. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me and I’ll show you something sweeter than fiction.”

His silver tongue will be the death of you one day in more ways than one. 

He thrusts his finger faster now, slowly reaching the pace you yearn for. With every thrust, he massages the spongy spot inside of you just right, and you’re moaning and whimpering beneath him as he works you closer and closer to the edge within minutes. 

He knows your body inside and out, and you fall victim to his games every time. He wants to hear the cacophony of your moans; he thrives off of hearing the effect he has on you, and yet it’s never enough. He wants more. He’s greedy. He wants to listen to you moan and scream for him until your voice is hoarse, the sheets are soaked and your pussy is stuffed to the brim with his cum. He’s only satisfied then, but it doesn’t last long because as soon as he smells you again, he will worship at your feet all over again until you’re a cockdrunk mess and can’t walk straight for a week. 

Your eyes fall on the book that’s now on the floor, his lips ruthlessly attacking your neck, his fingers moving faster and faster and faster–your orgasm is about to crash in, but you manage to cry out, “Page fifty-eight!”

Matt stops, pulling away slightly to feel your eyes on him. His hazel eyes turn black. “Is that so?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Alright…” He pulls his fingers out of you. 

You scramble to get out of your clothes while he does the same, but he’s impatient, and soon enough your shirt is a ripped mess on the floor, and he’s towering over you again.

Your hands trail over his chiseled torso and the many scars that never fail to fill you with wonder for the man he is, the wars he fought, and the battles he survives, and you take a moment to feel each other up. It’s always like this; no matter how intense it gets between you in bed, the first few seconds are spent with you touching each other, feeling the goosebumps you cause on each other’s skin, and only when you’re fully satisfied in that regard do you focus on what other needs you find brewing within you.

He kisses you hard, his hand wrapping around your neck possessively, and he pulls you closer. You moan. His tongue slides into your mouth. You surrender to his control. 

His large hand keeps your thighs spread wide open as he thrusts his cock into you. He doesn’t wait; like on page fifty-eight, he thrusts into you, and he throws your leg over his shoulder without a warning or a moment to adjust.

You wrap the other leg around his waist. The pace he keeps is brutal, and your breath gets stuck in your throat as you let out a lustful cry, followed by a string of curses because damn him for knowing exactly what to do. 

This is better than anything you could possibly read. The angle is perfection, and with every hard thrust, he buries his cock to the hilt inside of you. He fills you up to the brim, and every time he pulls out, he makes sure to drive back in just as fast. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, but you don’t want him to stop. He keeps stroking the fire inside your belly. Your head is void of any thoughts. His moans reach your ears, and you clench around him; he always sounds so sweet when he’s being vocal for you, showing you he’s enjoying this as much as you are, and it encourages you to let every last sound tumble from your lips. 

Skin slaps against skin in the dimly light bedroom. The silk of the sheets sticks to your sweaty body. Matt hoists you up suddenly as he gets on his knees, and that wasn’t in the book, but he still pulls you forward to meet his cock ruthlessly. Your back arches so far, you feel like you’re floating. Luckily, he thinks about putting a pillow underneath to make it more comfortable for you. Though it’s not the ache in your muscle you can focus on. 

Your walls contract, hugging him even tighter, and the way he throbs sends shivers down your spine at the same time his moans cause your body to shiver even more. 

The coil in your stomach is so tight, and with every thrust, it keeps growing bigger and bigger and bigger until the glass is threatening to overflow. He doesn’t look like he intends on stopping, and when you open your eyes, the sight is enough to make you convulse underneath him. 

His head is thrown back. You’re half-resting on his muscular thighs. With every thrust of his cock into your tight cunt, his abs tense up. The light falls upon his body, and he’s glowing brightly in the colorful serenade of the billboard outside. He thrusts harder and harder, and his muscles do the lord’s work in stimulating you. He’s absolutely divine, and you could stare at him forever without getting sick of him. Especially sweaty, with his eyebrows furrowed and lost so deep in pleasure as the noise of the world fades into the background, he looks ephemeral. You want to stay like this with him forever. 

His hand splays across your stomach, pushing down where his cock seems to be, and the added pressure makes you clench down on him so tight, you’re sure you might burst any second now. Feeling his cock bulge your belly is too much. 

His thumb rubs rapid circles over your clit, and his pace falters. He falls back over you, hugging your thigh around his waist as he turns to deeper strokes, and you try to lean into his touch as much as you can, meeting his thrusts. 

Your jaw slacks, moaning into his ear. He kisses you in return, his hand coming back to rest around your neck, and your vision blurs with the pressure in every part of your body. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he grunts, “I know you want to. C’mon, come for me.”

You tangle your hand in the pillow above your head, the other digging into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood, but it’s all you can do when the full power of the held-back orgasm crashes into you, and all lights go out. 

Your body convulses, your walls flutter uncontrollably around him, and you are sure that your scream echoes in the room and reaches your neighbor’s apartment, but it feels too good not the let the world know the name of the man who is making you feel like heaven and hell at the same time, driving you over the edge like a man on a mission–because that is precisely what he is. 

His fingers dig into your thighs, leaving their marks, as do his lips on your neck. He grunts as your orgasm washes over you. He fucks you through it, the tightness engulfing his cock just right, and with one last hard thrust to your G-spot, his legs shake and he comes too, his hot seed spilling into your needy cunt as you take all he can humanly give you, sounds, liquids and all. 

You find his lips, swallowing his moan of your name. The kiss is more a clashing of teeth and tongue instead of anything else, but the closeness is exactly what you both need. 

Matt fucks his cum deep into you as he always does, making sure not a single drop is spent, and only when you’re about to squirm away from the overstimulation, he stops stroking your clit and stops thrusting, and he drops on you. 

Your lungs open to grasp a deep breath. “Holy shit!” you choke out. 

He takes a moment to return to his body. The world spins until it doesn’t, and he can finally move his limbs again. Your heartbeat coaxes him back to consciousness, allowing him to lift his head and relish in the way your hands cup his sweaty face. 

He’s never himself after sex, it takes a few minutes, and you’re more than ready to be the one to coax him through the aftershocks. You always do. 

“You okay?” you ask him softly.

He nods. “Fuck,” is all he can say. 

“Yeah.”

You cradle his head in the crook of your neck. Silence settles back in between you. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

You smile, pressing a kiss on his scalp. “And I love you,” you answer. 

Another beat of silence passes. “Oh,” he says, and you can feel him smile against your collarbone this time when he tells you, “Next time you read porn, make sure to tell me exactly what you’re reading so we can do that again.”

A chuckle passes your lips. “Oh, Matty,” you stroke his hair, “That can be arranged.”

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky

[its-all-stardust]

Heyy

I’ve always have had a weak spot for sensory deprived matt (like when he looses his hearing). The angst and neediness that may come from it. So maybe for an idea what about a matt x reader…Let’s say the weeks or days that it takes for him to recover and how that affects him and the relationship as he’s not used being the one in need of help and is momentarily no longer Daredevil, as well as all of the complications not hearing may entail.

(Also unrelated but if you could add a cat as a pet just like a little detail it would be fantastic jsjs )

Thanks !

Ask and ye may receive! Sorry this took a month to get out, but I'm bad at prioritizing my hobbies and even worse at editing my fics once I finish writing them (this took like a week and a half to edit because my brain is dumb lasjdfljs)

I really hope you enjoy this fic (and yes I included a cat!!)

And as for the other requests I got, don't worry, they're still handing around. I started writing the next chapter of Sugar and want to finish that up before jumping to the next request!

Masterlist

Matt Murdock/GN!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Matt refused to let go of you in those first few days. The world didn’t feel right, he said. You made it better, letting him know he was still alive—that you were still alive. He would press his ear to your chest, begging for the sound of your heartbeat.

Matt thought he died after the homemade bomb went off next to his head. Maybe he had finally died in an explosion, no underwater cavern-turned-sewer saving him. Maybe the shrapnel got him. A piece of metal penetrating his suit and making it to his heart or brain.

But no. He was still alive. Everything was just…gone. Or rather, it felt like it was.

He’d experienced it before, the loss of his hearing. This time was different, though. Age or one too many hits to the head, neither of you had figured it out. All you knew was that it had been days, and nothing was as it should have been for Matt.

His hearing wasn’t gone completely, as what happened before, but it was so dulled, to him, it was like he was practically deaf. Touch and smell were still sensitive, but their intensity felt lessened in the face of losing yet another of his senses.

It left the world around him feeling empty.

“I have to go to work, Matty,” you said gently, stroking a hand through his hair.

Matt sighed and held you tighter. He hadn’t even heard your alarm go off. No matter how deeply he slept before, he could always hear the tinny tune of a violin playing through cracking speakers. Now, there was nothing unless he was already on the verge of waking up.

“Can’t you stay?” Matt asked, refusing to remove his weight from your body, still pinning you to the bed.

“It’s been a week,” you explained, regret filling your voice. “I have to go back.”

You stayed with him because he needed you. The bomb—and the fight leading up to the explosion—did enough damage to his body that you wouldn’t have left him alone in the first place. Adding his dulled hearing meant you definitely weren’t going to leave him.

But it had been a week, and Matt’s external injuries were healing well. However, there didn’t seem to be any sign that his hearing would return. As far as you could figure since Matt barely had a basis for comparison—he has had heightened sense for the majority of his life and barely remembers what it was like not being able to hear a heartbeat from across the room—his hearing was like that of a non-enhanced person.

At this point, it could very well be Matt’s new normal.

Both of you agreed that he shouldn’t go to the hospital. Very few things could make Daredevil seek professional treatment, and considering he was still breathing, he wasn’t going anywhere. And if he did go, there would be the trouble of trying to convince a doctor that Matt has hearing loss when he can still hear you speaking at a normal volume across the open spaces of your apartment.

He was also holding out hope that his hearing would return to normal. Temporary hearing loss from loud sounds is well documented. In another week, Matt may very well be back in the suit, counting the number of goons in a warehouse through the walls.

But nothing was certain.

You tried shifting out from under Matt, but he squeezed you and whispered, “Please.”

“You’re not helpless, Matt.” You loved your boyfriend but couldn’t stand letting him mope around the apartment with you for another day, praying something would change. He needed to try. Maybe if you weren’t around, he finally would.

Matt didn’t move for a moment, still lying on top of you. Then, he silently lifted himself off you and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow on his side of the bed.

“Matt?” you called, seeing the tension in his shoulders. You hated seeing him like this.

“Go,” he said, voice flat, almost lifeless. You touched his shoulder, but he flinched at the contact.

You sighed, giving him one last look before climbing out of bed to start getting ready for work.

“I’ll let Foggy and Karen know you know you’re still not feeling well,” you told him just before you left. You had walked back into the bedroom and stood at his side, giving him another chance to speak to you.

Still, he said nothing. In fact, you were sure he was pretending to be asleep.

Regardless, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

With that, you left Matt. Alone.

When he was younger, Matt was used to being alone. As he got older, though, it became a thing of the past. Even if one of his friends wasn’t nearby, there would inevitably be some noise that rose above the din, breaking through the unintelligible cacophony of voices and sounds to remind him that there were always people around.

Now, without you in the apartment for the first time since the explosion, it was as if he was the only person left in the world. 

He was almost afraid to leave the bed. What if he tried stepping out of the room and fell into the void? What if this was a special Hell just for him? The fear was irrational, he knew, but he came close to death so many times now a part of him would always wonder if he truly was still alive.

But then he heard something he couldn’t ignore: the very distinct yowl of a very persistent cat. It was the sound she usually made when begging for food.

You must have forgotten to feed her before you left.

Whatever he thought of himself, of you, then, didn’t matter. Beans, the short-haired calico you and Matt adopted a couple of years ago, let out a particularly annoyed screech from the bedroom doorway, and Matt knew she’d be in his face in a moment if he didn’t follow her wishes.

After filling her bowl, he lay on the couch, not having the energy to go back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, after the crunching of the kibble stopped, Matt’s breath got knocked out of him when Beans launched herself onto his stomach.

Afraid of knocking her off, he held still while Beans walked across his body. She took a place on his pillow, wrapped herself around his head, and started purring.

At least the cat wanted to stay with him.

When you came home, you didn’t know what you’d find. Matt hadn’t answered your call at lunch, though you weren’t surprised, not after what you said and how he reacted.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him sitting on the floor, back against the couch, playing with Beans. He held a plastic stick in his hand, making her chase the bundle of feathers attached to it with an elastic string. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked carefully, stopping next to Matt and interrupting playtime. “You didn’t answer the phone earlier.”

Matt let the toy drop, Beans mauling it immediately. “Fine.”

You waited for more. He knew you were waiting. After a moment of nothing but the sound of Beans dragging the toy out of Matt’s hand and across the floor, you gave up and went to the bedroom to change.

During dinner, the air between you and Matt remained tense.

“I’m pretty sure Foggy and Karen are going to break down the door tomorrow if they don’t hear from you,” you said, trying to prompt Matt into some sort of conversation. This past week, he hadn’t wanted you more than an arm’s length away, needing to feel you, hear your voice. Now, he was doing his best not to acknowledge your existence.

“They won’t need to. I’m going back into the office.” There wasn’t any feeling to his words.

“You are?” you asked, surprised. When you last tried having that talk the other day, he shut you down, saying he couldn’t.

“I’m not helpless,” Matt sneered, throwing your words from this morning back at you and making you flinch. He didn’t notice, though, unable to perceive other people as well as he once did.

You said nothing more, and Matt got up from the table, done with dinner and the conversation.

That night, in bed, he stayed on his side.

“Matt,” you called softly. You reached out to touch his back. “What I said this morning—”

“Forget it,” he said, cutting you off. He didn’t want your apology. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

Maybe you should have tried harder to talk to him, to apologize for hurting him, but you didn’t. Instead, you rolled over so the two of you would be back to back and fell asleep.

Try as he might, Matt couldn’t focus. More than once, Karen or Foggy caught him losing himself in the middle distance. Like the past week, Matt was prone to sitting in silence, unmoving, unthinking, waiting for his hearing to return. While a fine thing to do at home, it caused concern and frustration at the office when his partners were trying to get him up to speed on their cases.

Though not usually one to coddle, Foggy asked if Matt was even ready to return to work.

“Maybe you should go home for the day, and we’ll pick this back up tomorrow,” Foggy said after the fourth attempt to regain Matt’s attention.

Matt gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have t—” Karen started.

“I can do this,” Matt insisted, not letting her finish.

Nothing more was said on the topic, and Matt was able to keep from falling into the void. He didn’t let himself stop, moving from one task to another almost manically. He didn’t even realize the end of the day arrived until Karen touched his shoulder, urging him to go home.

And then Matt was lost again.

It took him longer than usual to get home that day. Not because he lost his way but because he knew when he finally made it home, the whole day would repeat again.

He’d get up, go to work, come home, and still not be able to hear as he should.

Most importantly, he’d have to forgo being Daredevil.

To Matt, this didn’t feel like a natural end to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, making it hard to reconcile that that part of his life was over. There was still so much he had to do, so much he would be capable of doing. If he had the full scope of his abilities.

He wasn’t ready for it to end.

“Hey,” you said when Matt finally walked through the door. You’d been waiting for him, had even left work early on the chance he did too so you could be with him. You didn’t call when he didn’t arrive at his usual time. You weren’t sure he would have answered if you had.

Since then, you’ve been nervously awating his return. With how he took your comment the previous day and his brushing off your attempt to apologize, you weren’t sure what he’d be like today.

“How was work?” you asked when he didn’t respond, trying to sound like it was any other day and that his frigidness didn’t bother you.

“Fine,” Matt sighed, giving no sign of elaborating.

“You wanna help with dinner?” you asked tentatively, unable to parse out his mood and not wanting to answer any potential resentment with a negative response.

Matt nodded, subdued, and moved toward the kitchen, not bothering to change.

You wished you knew how to help him.

As it neared two in the morning, something rustled in the other room. 

Living in New York City, having a cat, and being with Matt made you immune to certain sounds at all hours of the night, but this past week, you seem to have gotten used to certain sounds not coming from inside your apartment.

You knew immediately what it was before you even opened your eyes. You thought nothing of it at first and were tempted to nuzzle deeper into your pillow. It took a moment for recent memory to come back to you, reminding you that you shouldn’t be hearing the sounds of Matt’s suit being dragged out of its hiding place.

“What are you doing?” you asked after stepping out of the bedroom and spying Matt in the dim light from the windows pulling his suit from his father’s old trunk. He jumped, dropping his suit and turning to face you. You’d never been able to sneak up on Matt before.

“I need to go,” Matt said, voice stern.

“And what do you think will happen?” You stepped over to him and crossed your arms.

“I’ll be fine.” He’s told you that multiple times, and you didn’t believe him for a second.

“You didn’t even notice I was behind you. Apparently, you didn’t even hear me get out of bed, and that mattress creaks like nobody’s business.”

Matt clenched his jaw, his fists twitching at his side. “I can do this. I know I can. Maybe if I just—”

“Just what?” you interrupted. “If you just got your head knocked around a couple more times, your hearing would come back?” When he didn’t respond, you assumed that was precisely what he intended to do.

Your heart started to race. You worried about Matt as it was when he was in perfect health. You didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if he went out as a regular man.

“Matt, I can’t let you do that,” you said gently.

“You can,” he argued, fist clenched in the top half of his suit that he still held out in front of him.

Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his, subtly trying to loosen his grip.

“It’s too dangerous.” You shook your head. “Maybe in the future, once you’ve had more time to adapt. But right now? It’s just not a good idea.”

Matt was frozen in place. You waited, the seconds ticking by, wanting to see what he would do.

Then the suit slipped from Matt’s fingers, falling in a heap back into the trunk.

If Matt had been cold to you before, the following few days were worse.

He’d managed to wake before you and practically run from the apartment as soon as he realized you were awake. Matt has never done anything to hurt you. Sure, there were small things here and there, as with most couples, but never something like this. Never something so intentional.

Was he trying to hurt you, or was he just trying to protect himself? Did he think he wouldn’t be reminded of everything that’s changed if he stayed away from you?

Either way, you knew you needed to talk, yet some part of you wanted to wait for Matt to come to you. But Matt was as stubborn as you were, and you didn’t want to lose him more than you already had.

“Are you going to talk to me today?” you asked over dinner, letting some of the hurt you’d been feeling slip through.

For the most part, Matt had avoided saying more than a few words to you. At night, you both were careful to stay on your own sides of the bed.

It was like living with a roommate who didn’t particularly care for you.

“There’s not much to say,” Matt said, focusing intently on his food. “Work wasn’t anything special today.”

He had actually made dinner that night, volunteered for it, in fact. You had hoped that meant he would be more willing to talk to you, sort out whatever it was he felt you were the cause of. 

Apparently, you were wrong.

“Do you blame me for what happened to you?” If he wouldn’t bring it up, that meant you had to.

Matt shook his head. “You weren’t even there.”

“So you’re upset because I stopped you from going out the other night,” you concluded.

“No,” Matt said immediately, but the words lacked any sort of feeling.

“Then what? What is it? Because you’re not acting like the Matt I know.”

He was still. Then, quietly, “Because I’m not.”

He’s not that man anymore, and Matt thought, not for the first time, that you didn’t deserve to be with something as disappointing as him.

You had been talking to Karen and Foggy. Matt didn’t need his enhanced hearing to figure that out. He didn’t know what the three of you talked about, but he knew he was the general topic.

His friends tried harder to get him to go out, make plans, but he always declined, coming up with one excuse or another.

It went on like that for another week. Matt tried to make more of an effort with you and Foggy and Karen, but he still wasn’t his usual self. He wasn’t who he was before and didn’t know if he would ever be again.

He didn’t know what to do at all. He was just going through the motions, and because of that, he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when you finally said something.

Matt had been sitting at the kitchen table, the paperwork he wasn’t reading as carefully as he should have been spread across it. Truthfully, Beans was making more use of it as a bed than Matt was after he shooed her off his laptop.

When you walked up to him, Beans immediately awoke, releasing a chirp and standing. She hopped from the table to wind herself between your legs. She had always favored you but had been sticking closer to Matt the past couple of weeks as if sensing his distress.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked without preamble, and Matt froze. Before, he would have sensed the stuttering of your heart, the nervous shaking in your hands. He would have had a warning before you worked up the courage to say something that would be difficult.

This time, though, he was blind-sided.

“What?” was the only thing he could make come out of his mouth.

Matt didn’t want you to leave. Yes, he was a disappointment to you and knew you needed better. But he loved you, and he was still as selfish as ever.

But…if you no longer loved him, if you wanted to leave…

“No, of course not,” he finally said. He licked his lips, a nervous habit. “But…”

“But what?” you asked sharply.

Were your arms crossed? Or your hands on your hips? Were you running a hand over your face in anger? Frustration? Was your chest tight with fear of what he would say? Matt can still figure out some movements, can still feel the shift in the air, but some things, especially when he’s stressed, are lost to him.

“But I won’t stop you...if you want to leave,” he finished quietly.

You didn’t move; didn’t make a sound. Matt strained his ears, focused entirely on you, trying to pick on anything.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you spit. You stepped toward Matt, and Beans skittered away, her claws scratching on the floor.

“I’m not going to make you stay with me. Now now that I…that I’m like this.”

Will you yell? You never have before, but he’s different now. Maybe you are, too.

“Matt.” His name is an exasperated sigh on your lips. Then your hands are on his face, gently cradling it like he was a precious thing. “You’re not a different person, even though you’re acting like it. And I’m not dating you because of what you could hear.”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m not what I once was. I’m not—” He choked on the words. “I’m not Daredevil.”

It was the first time he said it out loud.

“Just because you’re not Daredevil doesn’t mean you can’t help people. You were a lawyer long before you put on that suit. That doesn’t stop just because you put it away.”

That was true. Matt had been Daredevil for so long that sometimes it was hard for him to think beyond it.

Your hands dropped from his face, and Matt threw a hand out, not wanting you to leave him. His hand landed on your waist and twisted into your shirt to keep you close. He had lied when he said he wouldn’t stop you.

“I’ll tell you now, though,” you started. You didn’t move away, but neither did you touch him. “You can’t keep acting like you have been. You can’t keep shutting me out. Can’t keep shutting Karen and Foggy out. You need to start living again.”

Matt went quiet.

“So, what are you going to do?” you asked after a moment.

“You’re not going to leave?” Matt asked, his voice soft and quiet, almost like he didn’t want you to hear.

You sighed, and Matt’s heart seized until he heard the light, teasing tone of your voice.

“Depends on what your answer is.”

Matt pulled you into him so he could wrap his arms around you. You didn’t object and let him hold you.

You were right.

Matt was pushing everyone and everything away again. He had done it before, and it didn’t work out. His friends wouldn’t let him. He should have known better than to think they would let him slip away.

“I’m sorry I…” He wasn’t sure how to put it. “I’m sorry I stopped trying.” Then he corrected himself. “I’m sorry I gave up.”

Your arms settled around his shoulders. “That I wasn’t there for you enough.”

Matt started to shake his head. He had been acting like the world had ended. Like a child withdrawing from the world when it got too scary. Your words were the push he needed.

“I could have done something better,” you said, already knowing he would try to shoulder all the blame. “You’re allowed to tell me I need to do better. Just like I’m allowed to do the same. You don’t have to do it, but I still get to say it.”

Matt gave a small smile, the tugging on his lips an unfamiliar feeling.

This felt…normal.

“We’ll both do better. Deal?” he asked, a lightness returning to him, missing since the night of the explosion.

“Deal,” you answered and kissed him.

[curlycow01]

Quiet

Pairing: Matt Murdock X reader

Summary: Matt helps you when you're at your lowest

Warnings: Hints to depression, self-loathing

Sometimes you'd have days where you go quiet, lock yourself in a room and just stay there, trapped in your thoughts. you wouldn't move for hours, just sit there on the floor, eyes emotionless as your thoughts suffocated you.

You heard the door opening. Matt, you thought. He doesn't deserve you. A pathetic person like you shouldn't be with a man like him, perfect in every way.

As soon as Matt stepped inside the apartment, he sensed that something was off. Your heart was beating at a slower pace and your breathing was shallow and irregular. He puts down his bag and cane and goes to your room. He knocks on the door. "Sweetheart?" "Are you alright?" When you didn't respond, he turned the knob of the door and enters.

The lights were switched off, and the only source of light was the sunlight seeping in through the windows. You were sitting on the floor, with your knees to your chest. Matt crouched down beside you. "what's going on?" he asked in a comforting tone. You didn't reply, the thoughts in your head were getting louder. He exhaled softly. You were having another depressive episode. It broke his heart, he hated when you suffered like this.

You add more stress to his life, he already has enough on his plate being Daredevil. The pessimistic voice in your head taunted. Matt gently took your hands in his calloused yet warm ones. "Hey......talk to me" He asks, in the same comforting tone. You took a deep breath before speaking. "I....uh..." He waited patiently for you to find the words.

You mumbled in a low voice "I'm not a.......good enough person for you......or a good person in general" Matt heard everything clearly, thanks to his enhanced sense of hearing. He rubbed the inside of your wrists. "Why do you think that?" Your gaze is on the floor. "I just add to your list of problems, and you already have a huge responsibility, being Daredevil and protecting the city-"

"No" He interrupted firmly. "Look at me" it was a request. He took off his red glasses. You gazed into his hazel eyes, never really meeting yours. "You're not a problem, not for me or anybody else." He gently put one of your hands over his heart, and you could feel the steady and rhythmic beating of his heart as he continued to speak in a low voice.

"You are kind and empathetic. You care for people and understand them in a deeper way, and I love that about you." He took a small pause. "You're the most important person in my life. And I would choose you over everything else, even Daredevil and Hell's Kitchen." His heartbeat didn't falter once. Matt truly meant everything he said.

He heard your heartbeat spike up as his words finally sunk in. "Really?" Your voice cracked. Tears clouded your vision. "You're alright" Matt whispered before leaning in and wrapping his arms around. You returned the embrace and hugged him back tightly, as if he'd disappear if you let go even for a second. You buried your face in his chest as silent tears streaked down your cheeks, wetting his suit.

"You're okay" He whispers "Don't think even for a second that you're worthless. You're not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." His voice slightly cracked. You pulled back slightly, eyes still glistening with tears. "And I'll say it every day till you believe it. Till you believe in yourself." You sniffled and gave him a small nod. The tears had taken your voice away. Matt gently pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead as you closed your eyes, back pressed against his front.

Matt listened to your heartbeat slowing down as you drifted off to sleep in his arms. No matter how unworthy or unlovable you feel about yourself, he would always be there for you, the light during your darkest days, giving you all the love and support you deserve.

[ithebookhoarder]

Open Arms (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Description: There are some nights where just having someone waiting for him is all Matt can ask for...

A/N: Who wouldn't want this loveable doofus to curl up in bed with?

Masterlist

It was always late whenever Matt finally got his ass home, after a night out patrolling across Hell’s Kitchen.

Sure, most people would have found your decision to wait up for him night after night insane - especially when you normally had to be at work bright and early the next day - but you didn’t mind. 

In fact, you felt relieved to know that Matt had someone watching out for him, whilst he so tirelessly continued his crusade to watch out for the people and place he called home. You may not have been as strong as Elektra, or any of the other super companions that somehow seemed to gravitate towards your boyfriend, yet this was your way of helping. Of showing up. Of being there for him without donning a mask and mantle yourself… even if you had jokingly mentioned it once or twice. 

Tonight had clearly been a long and gruelling shift, but successful nonetheless. You could tell without him even saying a word, from the way he drifted around your apartment, slowly shedding his mask and muttering to himself as he eventually made his way over to join you on the sofa. 

Cocooned in your favourite throw, you’d been trying to make your way through your seemingly never-ending stack of files you'd brought home from work, but had felt your eyes drooping every time you made it to the end of a sentence. However, it was a better alternative than trying to stay awake watching the late night shopping channels.

Your credit card had been abused enough for one month, and even Foggy had said your home had started looking like the inside of an IKEA show room. 

“What time do you call this, young man?” you teased, turning to gaze up at Matt as he approached.

His smile was immediate. 

Good God, you’d never tire of that adorable grin. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he purred, arms winding around you, hauling you close enough for him to press a kiss against the top of your head. “You still working? I thought we agreed it could wait until tomorrow?”

“Wow, Matthew Murdock! You are such a hypocrite.” 

Matt laughed. “Fair enough, I had that coming - but I’m home now and you’re the one still at it.”

Damn it. He had you there. 

“Any chance you fancy taking a break and coming to bed with me?”

With a sigh, you began to put the file down, knowing better than to argue. After all, it was bad when Matt Murdock was the one to tell you that you needed to take a break. Besides, the idea of curling up in his arms sounded pretty good about then. 

“Alright,” you conceded, extending your hands towards him. “You win.” 

With that, Matt grinned and helped you to your feet, clearly pleased with his victory. The pair of you then began to make your way to your bed, peeling back the covers and nestling together in a routine that was second nature by now. 

You didn’t even need to ask for Matt to slide in next to you, crawling across the mattress to rest his head against your chest. It was a moment of vulnerability - one you cherished as you felt the tension seeping out of the Devil in your arms with every passing moment. 

“Rough night?”

Matt nodded. 

He didn’t need to explain. 

He never did. Not when you could read him like an open book. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have his enhanced “super senses”, as you liked to tease. You could tell what he was thinking, and how he was feeling from a single glance. Like tonight - tonight, the way he was so willing to come to bed said that whatever had happened out there, in the dark, he was happy to leave it there. 

His focus was entirely on you, in the here and now, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a rush of selfish pleasure at the prospect. After all, it was a rare thing to have Matt to yourself, and to not to have to share him with the city he called home. 

“You smell good.”

His soft murmur made your lips flicker upwards.  

“Thank you. I may or may not have used your shampoo while you were gone…”

He chuckled, the vibrations making your chest shake. “No wonder you smell so good.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked him on the nose in retribution. Matt yelped but was clearly exaggerating. This was the man who’d once split his head open and had carried on walking about like nothing was wrong. In fact, he’d only been given away after he collapsed in the middle of his office, giving the game away and terrifying poor Foggy in the process. 

“Ow!” 

Bending down as best as you could, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips by way of apology. You also began to gently run your fingers through his hair, the motion causing him to hum and nestle back down against you. 

So much for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. If only the world could see him now. Like this, it was hard to equate the fearsome vigilante that prowled the night, with the man curled up around you like a stray kitten. 

He seemed so much more vulnerable like this. 

As if sensing your train of thought, Matt spoke. “I love you, you know?” 

“I do. I love you too,” you replied. “Go to sleep, Matty. I got you.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

Ed x Daredevil-like Female Reader Part 1:

Summary: Ed being the scary dog privilege for this bold blind woman, he’s almost the one who gives the potential mugger a black eye for trying to steal her purse. It ended up being her giving the mugger the black eye.

Turns out, that’s only one hint as to who she actually is.

Author’s Notes: I did not watch the Daredevil shows, but Matt Murdock is a character I became interested in. The first comic I read from cover to end was Daredevil & Elektra by Chip Zdarsky, specifically volume 1, which is part of the Red Fist Saga.

Brief info on Daredevil-Like Reader: She’s not exactly like Matt Murdock. She has a career in voice acting, so she is an entertainer during the day, but at night, she acts as a vigilante, depending on her hearing and smell. Which brings me to my next point: her hearing and smell are not enhanced like Murdock’s, instead it’s more realistic with blindness, which is her just being more dependent on her other senses to “see” the area around her. Oh and instead of batons, she uses a staff, which doubles as her cane. And some slight Tsundere Ed to add in there. 😉

The writing with reader is possibly (most definitely) very clunky and weird, because this is me also practicing my work-around the name “Y/N” in third-person pov because I know for some readers, it affects the flow of the reading. I could’ve made it easier with second person pov, but I’ve done that shortcut multiple times already, so I decided to just challenge myself as a way of trying to improve my writing skills.

Part 2 will possibly have sexual content, I’m not sure yet. Because we all know I cannot help myself when there is a hot video game man. Seriously thought, this gif below is hella hot, lol.

It was no secret that Ed’s unexpected new friend would be blind. He knew what he was going to expect. What he didn’t expect, however, was the fact that she could fight, and fight back viciously.

Her bite was way worse than her bark as he saw from her socking the mugger right in the face that resulted in a TKO. She sighed, shaking her hand to try and ease the stinging pain in her now bruised knuckles.

“Huh. Well you saved me the energy of punching that poor bastard.” Ed joked as he kept walking with his friend. She smirked confidently and replied, “We both know that he was going to get knocked out for trying to steal a blind lady’s purse.”

“I kinda half expected you to just smack him with your cane or purse.” Ed said honestly. “That’s one thing you gotta work on, Eddy. Not assuming everything on anyone. Unless they’re an idiot.” Ed chuckled at this and said, “I guess I’ll take your advice.”

The smile she always gave to him when they talked was pretty, he’ll admit only to himself. Lest she finds out and gets all smug on him. Little does Ed know, however, she can hear his heartbeat, making her smile, knowing that she has an effect on him. Which is good for her too since she also likes him.

…

During the day, she’s a bit of a small celebrity, as she voice acts as different characters or lets her voice be used in commercials. Her talent for voice acting has let her get away with her secret at night. That secret being, she is a vigilante, roaming around the night making sure no one gets kidnapped by any Shadaloo soldiers.

In fact, the way she met Ed was by accident. While the Devil Herself jumped from rooftop to rooftop, she thought about how she went toe-to-toe with Ed while half her face covered the top of her head. She feels a bit guilty for keeping such a secret from a new friend.

She was the one who threw the first punch, which in hindsight, he was 100% justified in fighting back, and fought back hard. With her staff, she smacked it against his midsection, causing him to grunt in surprise and pain. Then with the intimidating Psycho Powers, he zoomed across from her and swept her off her feet with a low swing.

This caused her to land on her back, but she rolled away in time and she used her staff to trip him back. “That purple light…” She muttered. “We can both see that the stuff comin’ outta my hands is purple dummy.”

“Psycho Powers are dangerous and you know that. So why join Neo-Shadaloo and play with Psycho Powers like it’s a toy?” She accused. The Lady Without Fear never felt guilty for throwing such an accusation at him until now. She really wants to take it back.

Then after your fight was down with both of you kneeling on the ground bloodied and bruised, Ed oddly enough laughed at the misunderstanding. “You… are a damn judgmental idiot.” Ed said, a harsh bark after the bite. “Shadaloo made me like this. I just made Neo-Shadaloo to spite those bastards for what they did to me and others.”

“…One of my friends was kidnapped by Shadaloo.” She confessed. “I thought I was close to finding them. Dammit.” Her grip on her staff tighten as she barely got up. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. If you want a rematch, we can meet at the station at night.”

“Hey!” The blonde man called out, stopping her in her tracks. “Yes?” Ed walked closer to the woman, whose upper half of her face was covered in a cloth. “I never got your name.” She gave him a fake name and went about her day. When she met up with him again, he jokingly called her a “She-Devil.” Which was kind of deserved for attacking him unprovoked she thought.

She has no time to keep thinking about her crush however, as she heard a muffled scream and she dove down and took out a box headed gangster.

“Let them go, now.” She threatened as she twirled her staff around. When the other gang members didn’t budge, they laughed at her at first, until they realized, that they were in danger, not her.

One of the bigger guys tried to grab her from behind, but with her quick thinking, she swung the staff in-between the man’s legs and ducked. Next, she pulled the staff upwards and hit his groin hard, causing the man to collapse on his side and favor his crotch. The other three tried to get to her, but before she could get to them, a purple aura and a punch from a familiar face took out the second guy.

“Hi, Ed. You’re a little late.” She joked as she put her concentration on the third gang member who was flabbergasted at their predicament. “You literally do not know when to quit sometimes.” Ed snarked as he helped her hold back the remaining gang members with some hooks and straights.

The remaining box-heads fled the scene, their tails between their legs. The She-Devil had to take a breather before she took the burlap sack off of the would-have-been kidnapped victim. “Are you okay?” The frightened victim nodded and shakily said, “Y-yes… thank you.” The blind vigilante nodded, and said, “Let us walk you home.”

After the victim went home with her help and Ed’s, she plopped on one of the benches, exhausted. “So… you just play superhero or what?” Ed asked, gesturing at the makeshift cloth mask over this vigilante lady’s head. “I was helpless when I couldn’t find my friend after a group of box-headed creeps jumped me and my friends.”

He had many questions about what else happened to this woman, but he thought about letting her talk about it first instead of prying. “Sorry about that, She-Devil.” Ed said, before offering a hand to the masked woman on the bench. “I’ll walk you to where ever you need to go. This ain’t a good neighborhood from what I saw.” “Right. Thanks. I’ll let you know when I need backup again.” She said gratefully.

These late nights became the norm for the two. The woman Ed nicknamed “She-Devil” stuck with her and he even gave her a devil-horn headband as a joke. She wore it and it became a part of her gear.

When it was daytime, she is a voice actor who made a decent amount from uploading videos bi-weekly online, reeling in many fans that admired her voice acting, and many that have gained an attraction towards you. She ended up gaining a stalker from the para-socialism. Which was unfortunate. For the stalker that is.

She sighed in an annoyed huff as she remembered just how bad things got for her to have to make a video statement, telling every single one of her viewers that she is not actually their friend or girlfriend, she doesn’t not know them and she hopes that something like that does not happen again. As she was sitting down thinking about that time in the park, she heard Ed’s footsteps and she turned her head to greet him. “Hey, Eddy. I thought you were more of a night owl.” She said, pointing her cane to his owl shaped chain.

“That was corny. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.” Ed told her bluntly. “Being followed again?” She guessed correctly. “Yeah… those pricks need to know when to quit.” Thinking back on how she dealt with her stalker, leaving the creep bloodied and bruised, she had an idea. “You mentioned running into some woman you called a “She-Devil.” She actually saved me from a creepy man who was stalking me.”

“When did this happen?” He asked, concern lacing his voice. This made her smile and she answered, “I’m alright, Ed. It was months ago. But anyways, she took care of him. Never saw him again.” Ed raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t kill him or anything, did she?” She smiled and shook her head.

“So what? I just seek the She-Devil out and she’ll help me?” Ed asked, skeptical. “She doesn’t even know me. Besides, I don’t think she would want to help me after I tried to knock her lights out that one time.” She shrugged and got up. “Oh don’t worry, she’s been through way worse from what I heard.” Ed thought about it carefully and then eventually nodded. “How about I walk you home again this time?”

“What for? It’s only one in the afternoon.” She asked, tilting her head in question. “Day, night, whatever, this is still a bad neighborhood.” Ed said, tapping her hand as a wordless offer. Smirking flirtatiously she said, “Oh I see. You wanted an excuse to hold my hand.” Ed was glad the girl he likes is blind because his cheeks had heated up. “No, I just didn’t want another creep to put their hands on you.”

He hates to admit it sometimes, but he’s whipped for this woman.

…

A typical night of having to run around all day, every day from box headed weirdos that just won’t leave him the hell alone. Ed cursed to himself as he tried to find the She-Devil. Then, he was greeted by the sound of a staff smacking someone across the face followed by a guy yelling, “Oh my nuts!” He turned to see who else, but the masked woman who rested her staff on her shoulder and smiled at him. “A little late, don’t you think, stranger?”

“Where were you?” Ed asked, slightly annoyed yet relieved that she FINALLY came to see him, and saved him the energy of having to knock an idiot’s teeth out.

“I was out trying to find the dumbass leader who gave the order to stalk you and your friends. Safe to say that you’ll have a bit of a hiatus from them at best. At worst, if I didn’t do my usual thing, they would up the ante.” The little devil said.

“What exactly did you do to them?” Ed asked. She gave him a slightly sadistic smile. “You don’t wanna know. The sugar-coated version? I gave them a bloody and broken bones warning.”

“THAT’S the sugar-coated story you’re going with?” Ed asked sarcastically. Chuckling, the She-Devil moved a little closer. “If you want to hear the more explicit version… well, that’s for some other time.”

What is this feeling he’s getting? His cheeks were flushed once again, but why? This woman hides her face 24/7.

“Yeah, well whatever, I don’t care, what matters is you helped me… so…” Ed muttered. “Tch, real smooth,” he thought to himself. Putting her staff on her back, the mysterious woman said, “You’re welcome.” Ed cleared his throat and replied with a “thank you.” Smiling, the woman turned to be on her way but they were both blindsided by a gang that had nothing to do with him, but had something to do with her.

“Looky here, the Devil Chick here has a boyfriend! Let’s say we beat him up and then take her!” One gang member said. Another chimed in, “Hey, now hold on, this is the same bitch that broke my brother’s collarbone, let’s just kill her!”

Snarling, she grabbed her staff again and said, “You assholes don’t know who you’re screwing with.” Ed rolled his eyes and uppercut the nearest guy and he started fighting alongside the masked woman. Her technique seemed to be a combination of different fighting styles, as she sometimes kicks, punches, and uses her staff. It was hard for him to get a read on her mainly due to the fact that he’s now the one helping her fight off a gang that’s targeting her this time.

Why is he doing this? Simple. She helped him with his gang problem, and now he’s gonna return the favor. That thought was interrupted by her getting kicked to oblivion and landing on her front and dropping her staff. He dashed over to help her only for a bigger guy to tackle him to the ground, making him feel like a bull ran him over.

The two guys that were taunting and threatening the woman earlier walked up to her, grabbed her by her long sleeved shirt’s collar and they yanked at her mask, only for her to kick one of them off only for them to punch her in the back of her head, concussing her and knocking her out.

Ed was preoccupied with fighting the bigger guy, but then he said, “Oh screw it!” His eyes were glowing a bluish purple color and he delivered the nastiest straight towards the big man’s face, breaking a nose and knocking him back several feet.

“Oh crap! Hurry up and unmask this chick already!” Ed was running fast towards his ally’s direction, and was shocked at the sight of the woman, now maskless on the ground. Wasting absolutely no time and filled with anger, he grabbed one of the goons by his tank top and headbutted him, a move he learned from his father figure and was merciless in using his Psycho Powers to tie them both down. “You bastards have a lot of nerve doing that. I had no business with any of you. Get outta here before I REALLY get pissed off!”

The remaining gang members ran off while the others stayed on the ground, definitely needing hospital trips. Ed walked up to the maskless woman and gently picked her up, and it turned out to be his friend the entire time. “How in the hell…”

…

“Come on, wake up, idiot.” A familiar deep voice awakened her. Waking up from a hospital bed, she opened her eyes to show the person that she was awake. “I’m awake. With a terrible headache.”

Ed had his arms crossed, many mixed feelings stirring up in his head, but not knowing how to handle all of it. Which led to the following.

“Finally, she speaks.” Ed said sarcastically. She frowned, not knowing why he’s suddenly pissed off at her. “What just happened? Why am I in a hospital bed? What time is it?”

“I am gonna be the one asking questions, She-Devil.” Her eyes widened and she shot up from her bed, feeling her face. “Hey! Lay back down, you just got a concussion from an asshole who punched you while you were down!”

“Goddammit…” She softly cursed, lying back in the uncomfortable hospital bed, which was made all the more uncomfortable with the fact that it took a gang she took out multiple times unmasking her out of spite for Ed to know. She was also upset, but chose not to let it show, except for her screwing her eyes shut and being quiet.

“How long were you doing this and why?” Ed asked. “I told you before… my friends got kidnapped by Shadaloo. I’ve been at this for many years.” Ed was not satisfied with the vague answer. “How many years exactly?” He asked. Sighing, she answered, “Five years ago maybe?”

“Never mind. What about the blindness?” She felt a hand wave at her face. She harshly grabbed Ed’s wrist, making him jump in surprise by her strength, opened her eyes, and gave an annoyed glare. “My blindness was caused by those assholes that kidnapped and experimented my friends. Happy?”

She let go and turned away from him. “I did not want you to find out like this.” Ed let go of his frustration at his friend for hiding this from him and mellowed out. He took a breath and scooted his chair closer. “How were you going to show me?” She bit her lip nervously. “I… I was going to walk back to my home with you and then take my mask off, and then… well you fill in the rest…”

It explained a lot of things, but there was one thing that bothered him. “Ed, if you have something else to say, say it now. I’d much rather get this rejection over with.” Ed’s eyebrows shot up when she said this to him. “Whoa, back up. You really are judgmental. I’m not just gonna dump you because I busted your little… superhero gimmick.” Ed joked lightly. “Yeah, they say that I remind them of that one superhero and then they just dump my ass even after I saved them multiple times.” She turned to the other side, facing away from him.

“Listen to me. I’m NOT any of your shitty exes. Screw them.” Ed tried reassuring. “Besides, you saved me, I saved you, we both kind of evened each other out. Goddamn, didn’t think I would have something in common with you.”

“There’s a lot of things I have not told you.” She mumbled, and shifted, seemingly trying to hide herself some more but to no avail. The blonde quietly walked on the other side and saw the cute embarrassed expression on her face. He covered his mouth to stifle his chuckle, but she ended up hearing it and became more flustered. “It can’t be more embarrassing than me freaking out badly over someone walking in my direction with a needle.���

Sighing, she sat up. “There was some other question you had on your mind, right?” Thinking about it, he crossed his arms. “How did you make your voice all different and deep or whatever?” Ah, now he’s curious about that voice talent she has. “It’s a bit of a secret. Let’s just say I’m kind of an actor in a way.”

“Huh, that explains that creepy ass stalker you told me about.” Ed stated, recalling that time she talked about having a stalker. “Yeah, until I broke his arm and threatened him.” He smirked at how truly strong she was and thought about sparring with her when she recovers fully. “How did it feel to take him out?” She smiled a little awkwardly. “Would it be bad if I said that I never felt satisfied in my life and that I slept good afterwards?” Ed replied, “No, not really.”

After a long recovery, the She-Devil and Ed both went back to her place safe and sound. There was an occasional gang member or three who glanced over on their direction, but kept walking. In fact, some of the others were power walking after seeing the two.

“Kind of feels weird having no one chasing me constantly,” Ed admitted. Laughing, his friend and crush said, “Why? You miss your secret admirers?” There was even a hint of flirting in the question, which made Ed blush once more. Once again, he was thankful she could not see his cheeks turn strawberry pink. “Tch, no. I only want one person.” Whoops, he slipped up. She turned her head in his direction as they walked closer to her home. “Really? Who’s the lucky lady?”

Ed suddenly had a twist in his stomach and his head was putting him down to the point of pitying himself. He told himself in his head that he was a freak and no sane person is “lucky” enough to be with someone dangerous like him. Why string along an innocent person due to his life? How can he even plan dates? How can he be normal with all this crap he has going on?

“Ed? Are you okay?” Her question pulled him out of his self-deprecation and overthinking. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He lied. Frowning, she reached for his hand. “Listen, I may not be able to see, but I can tell that you’re not fine. Something’s on your mind after I asked that question. We also agreed at that hospital that we wouldn’t just be keeping secrets from each other from now on.”

That got him to talk, surprisingly. “Alright, alright. It’s just… if it ever gets bad just like before… you can just leave me, y’know. I wouldn’t blame ya. I’m still gonna have those annoying goons chasing me and my friends even with you clearing them out.“ She nodded after he finished that part of his speech. It wasn’t the first time they had this conversation. When he first decided to open up when these two knew a bit about each other, that’s when she started understanding and getting to know him. He said that he wouldn’t even be angry or bitter if she were to leave him if things got worse.

“And… you could always find someone more normal.” This statement made her hold his hand tighter. Scoffing, she argued against this. “If I have to be brutally honest with that last part you just added to your little speech… normal is overrated. I’m not even close to being normal with the whole voice acting thing I do or the superhero thing at night.”

That reassurance is gonna be a repeat, she felt, knowing how insecure and self-deprecating Ed can be towards himself. She’s not having any of it. She knows what she wants from him, which is him and only him, no one else. Just like before, she always found a way to get through certain issues. Right now, she’s all about being there for her friend. Maybe even tell him another big secret of hers.

End notes: Next up, it will be a Ed x Reader Russian roulette thing for me, because I’ll never know which fic will get the green light from me as so many are in wip hell, lol. Either way, heads up for part 2!

[murdock-slvt]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 (stranger things)

✦ BAE AT SEA (fisherman! max + nba! lucas thoughts!) — 16+ — coming soon!

✦ YOU LOOK HOT TRYING TO STEAL MY GIRLFRIEND (college! tennis! madwheeler)

✦ TOXICITY IS LOVE (toxic! max x nice! reader thoughts) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 (fantastic 4: first steps)

✦ DADDY JOHNNY (x female reader) — 16+

✦ HELP A GOOD FRIEND (x female reader) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 (outer banks)

✦ BOY NEXT DOOR (x female reader) — 16+

✦ PANTIE STEALER (x female reader) — 16+ 

✦ PERFECT MUSE (painter! rafe) — 16+

✦ BLOW SMOKE (dealer! rafe) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊 (outer banks)

✦ ADDICTED (ex! jj maybank) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊 (daredevil, marvel comics)

✦ AN EXPLICIT EXAMPLE OF MATT’S ENHANCED TASTE (x female! reader) — 16+

𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒 (the last of us)

✦ A SIMPLE SUMMER FLING (camp counselor! ellie x counselor! female reader) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐙𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 (fear street: 1978)

✦ TIP THE BOAT (x sunnyvale! male! reader) — 16+ — coming soon!

✦ DESERT BEFORE DINNER (x sunnyvale! male! reader) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐗 (max mayfield x lucas sinclair, stranger things)

✦ BAE AT SEA (fisherman! max + nba! lucas thoughts) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓 (jean grey x scott summers)

✦ SAY YOU LOVE ME (college! jeanscott thoughts) — 16+ — coming soon!

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑 (stranger things)

✦ YOU LOOK HOT TRYING TO STEAL MY GIRLFRIEND (college! tennis! madwheeler)

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

a lot of them don’t have links yet because this is simply a page of characters I’m writing for rn, not an end all list, I just forget a lot of shit easily, so this is a list so I don’t forget :) and things u can look forward to!

some of them are shorter stories then other are longer ones, it’s all depending, but all characters are written with love and care :)

I might add actresses and actors, but idk yet! may be sticking to fictional characters for the start! more characters will be added! just writing for these guys for right now

hope u enjoy whatever u chose to indulge in!!

@murdock-slvt 2025!