#matt using his misfortune in order to get sympathetic head scratches

[pastafossa]

A Brief Existential Crisis (Matt Murdock x f!Reader; Fic)

Because this fluffy idea wouldn’t let me go so now you all get a drabble. Set in TRT!Verse but not required reading. SFW. Minor spoilers for ep 8 of She Hulk!

"She didn't know who I was," Matt said mournfully, staring blindly up at you.

"I'm sorry," you said, radiating as much sympathy as you could while also still kinda distracted by the Los Angeles weather report on the hotel tv. How was 68 degrees considered freezing?

"No one else recognized me either," he mumbled, his chest heaving on a great sigh. "All night. One guy even called me a gold ninja devil."

"Ridiculous," you agreed as he slowly edged his head further into your lap. You forced down your grin, which was especially difficult when his expression was so pitiful, not unlike that of a kitten caught in the rain. "Yes? What is it, beloved husband of mine?"

"You know what I want." He made a sad little noise, arching further into your lap until his head bumped your opposite hand where you'd settled it on your thigh. "Please, sweetheart. I need the dopamine after everything that happened."

You snorted and gave in, running your fingers fondly through his dark hair. You even made sure to scratch with your nails just for the way it made him purr and melt into your lap, his eyes rolling back as his mouth fell slack.

Unfortunately, this particular existential crisis was too great to be struck low but something so minor as your fingers in his hair.

"Is it... the suit?" he mumbled, the words just a little slurred. "Not... mm, mm.... recognizable?"

Honestly, considering the color, he's now recognizable from space.

It was just a good thing he was handsome enough to pull it off.

"You're always recognizable as the only Devil-based hero with any real charm," you said confidently, keeping your thoughts to yourself. You shifted your fingers to his temple, scratching at a new spot. You were rewarded with a blatant moan, Matt's toes curling in his socks. "Trust me. It's not you. It's them. LA is, uh... just... more focused on... its own thing. You know how it is. So fuck em. You're still my favorite even if they don't know you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. And think about it this way. You might be less known, but that just means you're like, uh..."

"...I'm small-time," he sighed gloomily. "Just admit it."

"Hang on, I've got a comparison coming." You rolled your head up, narrowing your eyes at the ceiling in thought as Matt rolled over to burrow in against your abdomen with an exaggerated groan of sorrow. But there was no hiding his grin, not once you could feel it. "Don't suffocate yourself just yet."

He mumbled something unintelligible, and presumably tragic and martyr-y.

It took you a minute, but then you nodded. "Ok, I've got it."

He grunted, and tipped his head a little in prompting until you started dragging your fingers through his hair again, this time at the back of his head where the Devil mask always made him sore. The, "Mm?" he let out in response was glutted and thick, like the slurred purr of a cat on its back in a puddle of sunshine.

"You are basically one of those 'best kept secrets of the city' things," you said lightly. "All the tourists flock to the flashy stuff, restaurants that are shiny and get all the attention. But the locals know where the good stuff is, the quality stuff, and they know the best burgers always come from that one mom and pop hole in the wall. They don't tell the non-locals, cause someone might steal the recipe or buy it out. That's what you are. You're that burger."

There was a pause, and then he tipped his face up so you could see his warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That was very sweet."

"Thank you."

"It's also horseshit."

You groaned, rolling your head back as he laughed and dropped his head back onto your lap. "Come on, it was a good comparison!"

"No, no, there's no helping it. I just have to grieve my murdered ego," he sighed, blinking sadly up at you. Or your chin, really, but it was close enough. "There is one thing that might help me feel better, though, and distract me from my wounded pride."

"What's that?"

He hummed, licking his lips as he rolled onto his side, his head still on your lap, close enough for him to nuzzle at your abdomen. "I could eat."

Your brow furrowed. "We literally ate an hour ago. We went through In-N-Out. You were not impressed, you blasphemer."

He hummed, before leaning in and pointedly nipping the waistband of your sweats.

Oh.

"I'm hungry, sweetheart," he murmured, tipping his head down towards your lap as he drew in a slow inhale. "So hungry and empty where all my pride used to be. Can't I just have a little to help fill that void?"

"Oh my god, Matt," you choked out, two seconds away from losing it as he rolled upright to grab your legs and drag you down the bed until you were flat on your back.

"You're the one that chose food for your metaphor," he said with a grin, nudging your legs apart. "I'm just following my wife’s example."

"Oh alright, I suppose I could be charitable just this once. You did get spanked by a Hulk today, after all."

"She caught me. She didn't-"

"Spanked," you repeated gleefully, making him snort. "Want me to kiss the print on your ass and make it better?"

"At least let me eat dinner first."

"Fine. But I expect it as my tip at the end."

"Deal."