#priest!matt murdock x reader smut

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

//remember when i said at the beginning of 'enter sandman' that i'm not seeing the pearly gates? this one is gonna solidify that.

priest!matthew who falls in love with your voice first on the other side of the confessional booth.

priest!matthew who demands that you repent for your sins by kneeling before him, your breath hot against his leg, and it drives him absolutely wild.

priest!matthew whose cock hardens as he hears you beg him for forgiveness, blurring the lines between repenting for your sins and worshipping him.

priest!matthew who fucks you with you sprawled out on his desk, his rosary against your skin.

priest!matthew who makes you suck him off as he says his prayers, claiming it to be a test of his patience and devotion to god.

priest!matthew who spits in your mouth as punishment when you use the lords name in vain.

priest!matthew who has mostly made peace with his quiet, modest life, but lets the devil out when you show up to the church already soaked for him.

priest!matthew who fingers you in the pews of his church, soaking his fingers with your juices, sure to lick it off his fingers as he tells you how good you taste after chastising you for being so needy in the house of god.

priest!matthew who takes advantage of how desperate you are to repent for your sins, no matter how small.

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[someplace-darker]

Kinktober Day 7: Costumes | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.7k (this is going to be the longest one)

Warnings: 18+, PWP, costumes, a lot of sacrilegious activities, party sex, dirty talk, no protection (wrap it!!), afab reader but no pronouns are used, maybe slightly ooc matt but i am too tired to care. it's porn.

Summary: You may have fucked up on picking costumes for Marci's Halloween party, but at least Matt looks hot, right? Surely this won't awaken anything in the two of you- right?

A/N: Hi! I kind of got carried away on this one, there's probably a lot off repeat phrases, but this is the late day 7 and the late day 8 should be coming tonight as well but if not: oops. Also cmon, i had to make it a priest costime.

It had taken months of begging and persuasion to get Matt to even consider putting on a costume for halloween. Much less a shitty priest costume that you had snagged from the local party shop two hours before Marci’s ‘ghoul gala’ party. You’re not exactly sure how to tell Matt what the two of you will be going as, the ‘hot nun’ costume you snagged alongside his currently laying on his bed in front of you as you contemplate your options. 

“It could be worse,” you nearly jump out of your skin, having forgotten you called Karen for help, her slightly glitched voice coming through your phone. Sighing, you pick up your costume and open the packaging, allowing the spandex like material to fall out onto the sheets. It’s incredibly skimpy considering what it’s portraying, the slats on the long skirt allowing most of your legs to be visible. Obviously the holy grail of it all, the wimple cutting off at your collarbones to allow a deep V to run down your chest “how can it be worse than this Karen, truly. I mean I could spit on a bible, maybe then-” 

“You’re being dramatic, I’m sure Matt will love it.” 

“I think Matt is going to have a stroke, but I appreciate your enthusiasm,” you remark dryly, biting back a smile when Karen snorts. 

“Well he just left the office not too long ago so he should be back to you soon. Marci’s thing starts in about an hour, Foggy left the office in costume so I assume he’s more than stressed about it.”

“Oh i’m sure he’ll feel better when we get there,” you laugh, perking up when you hear the door click shut “Matt just got home, i’ll see you at the party okay bye!”

“Was that Karen?” Matt asks, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Yeah,” you speak, voice tight as you prepare yourself to tell him about your outfits for the night. He notices immediately, concerned questions spilling from his mouth and you brush off each one, assuring him that you’re okay before pulling from his hold to grab his packaged costume. You turn back and hold it out in front of him, biting your lip when he takes it from you, squeezing the plastic that encloses it. 

You take the chance as soon as he begins to open it “don’t be mad at me.”

Matt pauses, sunglasses turning in your direction as he sighs “what did you do?”

-

The venue was huge, and you suddenly understood why Marci had spent so much money on it. You had been correct about Foggy’s mood improving when you showed up, the neutral look on his expression immediately turning into one of disbelief and elation. “You’re kidding me,” Foggy laughs, walking directly to Matt and pulling him into a hug before holding him back at arm's length. Matt is tense, you can feel it, but god he looks so hot, so you can’t find it in yourself to be that worried. The clerical collar accentuates the muscle and veins in his neck, adam's apple bobbing against it when he leans toward you to speak. “At least act like you’re not getting wet right now,” Matt grits his teeth, his volume dropped low enough so only you can hear.

Foggy’s voice is immediately drowned out by the rush in your ears, your thighs clenching together, his words like a warm rush through your body. “I need a drink,” you manage to spit out, weaving through the group of people until you reach the cooler on the opposite side of the room, pulling a seagram and beer from the ice. You’re half tempted to climb in, just to cool the heat that is spreading to the end of all your limbs and maybe clear your head. The beating in your chest is rapid, heavy thumps against your ribcage as your heart repeats what Matt has just said to you over and over and over, and you know for a fact that he’s listening to it purely because of the smirk that tugs his lips as you walk back towards him. 

“Fancy a drink, father?” you raise your voice over the music to tease, handing the bottle to him with a bit more force than intended. Matt doesn’t know what he expects to feel when father slips off your tongue with such carnality, but lust was not one of them. It burns fiery in his chest, everything he has ever been taught about Thou shall not covet suddenly thrown out the window. You see the dilemma in the shape of the sharp inhale Matt takes, jaw clenching tight enough to see the muscle work.

“You’re treading an incredibly thin line here, sweetheart,” Matt warns, hand going to rest on the base of your spine before pulling you flush to his . The open slats of your costume causes your legs to brush against his pants, the thin fabric not doing much to cover the feeling of his hardening cock against you. “What?” you say breathlessly, hoping the thumping of music will drown out everything you say “you can’t handle it father? Do you need me to confess my sins?” The pressure against your lower back increases, as does your heart rate. 

“You don’t need to confess them,” Matt replies smoothly “I’ll fuck them out of you.”

There’s a moment of pause as you gasp and Matt’s head cocks to the side as he focuses on something, bottle being taken from your hand and set on a table, his glasses nearly black mixed with the deep red lighting of the room. Grabbing your hand, Matt begins to tug you to the back of the venue, passing by people with ease and you hope that it’s too dark for anyone to notice the blind man leading you instead of the other way around. Soon enough he’s at a door, twisting the handle and pulling you inside. It’s a washroom, also bled in the same crimson lighting as if a bloodied glass was placed in front of your eyes. It’s giving you a headache. 

“Is this what you wanted? Play a game of blasphemy until I get fed up and make you feel good?” Matt twists the lock on the door and presses you forward until your thighs hit the sink, his breathing ragged and heavy against your back. The costumes may have been unplanned, but your choice of words throughout the night had not. This is what you wanted, but the admittance of it out loud seemed more like desecration than anything else. You do it anyway.

“Yes,” you grin, pressing your ass back into him. Pride blooms in your chest when he chokes out a moan, fingers frantically pulling the skirt up to bunch at your waist before undoing his belt and pants. Matt’s hand rests between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward to bend over the porcelain. You blink back the haze in your eyes glancing up at the mirror inches in front of your face to peek at him, the sight of the clergy shirt ridden up his stomach revealing his hand fisting his cock enough to make you whimper. 

You’ve never seen Matt so worked up before, and something tells you this is a subject you’ll have to tap into again at a later time. Right now though, he’s pressing into you slowly, lip caught between his teeth as he focuses on the feeling of your cunt taking him in. “Made for me,” he murmurs before pulling his hips back just the slightest to press in further than before. 

The counter digs into your legs with each roll of his hips, moans tumbling past your lips with no hesitation, your body responding to him as it always does. “Oh my god Matty, so good,” you whimper, eyes pinching shut. No one has ever made you feel like Matt has, romantically or physically, the call of his body always pulling a response from yours. Your hands press against the tiled wall, eyes blinking open and glancing over him in the reflection catching the quick dip of his head, his hips stalling momentarily. 

One hand leaves your hips to grip the white collar, pulling on it “gotta be quiet now sweetheart, someone’s waiting outside.The music is loud, but so are you.” Once it tugs free he reaches around to your face, holding it in front of your mouth. “Bite,” he instructs, voice ragged and terse. You do, clenching your teeth onto it to keep from crying out when his hips slam back against you. Your pussy clenches around him as your knees shake, the only thing keeping you from falling being the sink you’re bent over.

“Being so good sweetheart, need you to cum for me,” Matt moans, almost unheard through the ringing in your ears and hum of the outside music. Small shocks spark along your skin when his fingers find your clit, rubbing and applying pressure that has you keening, face falling forward to press against the cool metal of the faucet. He knows exactly how to play you like an instrument, knows how to make you sing the prettiest songs for him like this, and he knows it. You can hear his cocky chuckle when your legs begin to shiver, hands slipping from their spot on the wall.

Everything seems to slow except for your breathing, your orgasm racking up your spine and down your legs, inching through to your fingers and it takes everything in you to keep the collar clenched in your mouth as to not alert whoever may be lurking by the door. Matt praises you through it, slowing his thrusts but not stopping, waiting until he knows you’re coherent enough to hear him to speak. 

“That’s it, baby, you did so amazing,” Matt leans forward to press a kiss to the back of your head, pulling the white fabric from your lips “think you can do another?” He rolls his hips into yours once more, hitting something inside you that makes the red lighting of the room turn to white. You hum, pushing back against him.

“Yes, father.”

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Turn ||

Pairing: Priest!Matt Murdock x female reader

Tags & warnings: kinda inexperienced non-DD Matt, religious imagery, oral sex (both f and m receiving), choking, unprotected sex, giving up Christianity because the pussy is so good 🙏 Amen.

Author's note: Alrighty kids, this is clichéd religious trope corruption kink central and I'm living! If you are not a fan of the sacrilicious I strongly suggest you look away now and say a hundred hail marys.

@mindidjarin and @munsonownsmyass and I were thirsting hard over Priest!Matt so maybe keep yours eyes peeled for some more goodness...?

Okay slutty friends, take a pew, suck this wine off my fingers and let's gooooo!

The cold from the stone flags seeps up into the joints of his knees making them ache, but he'll gladly suffer such a minor pain for this.

A scuffing of thin paper over grit and dust draws his attention to the bible, now relegated to the floor as he shuffles closer to you.

You'd dropped it, his bible, just as easily as he had discarded his vows. He'd been so selfish in the newfound lust that you'd unlocked, made you find and read aloud passages of servitude, of worship…

'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'

He had made you convince him it was right, pushing him down in willing supplication before you, your gaze surely following his trembling fingers as he drew your ruined underwear down to your feet.

He wanted to give and give and give. The font of your beautiful cunt flowing freely on his lips, a taste to which he was now hopelessly addicted, to that and the sounds of your moans that echo around the nave like his own private choir.

"Father… fuck, you're so good at this-"

He draws his tongue up over you again, reveling in the way you squirm at his touch even though this is new to him.

"It's… M-Matthew, call me Matthew…" he murmurs, before his mouth is on you again, his fingers pressing the supple flesh of your ass as if he can't possibly tear himself away. You had enthralled him, lingered too long after mass with your 'difficult' questions, tested his faith and ultimately tempted him with the plush feel of your lips around his fingers as you took communion. It wasn't as if he didn't try to resist, but it wouldn't have been worth it. Not now he knew this true Eden existed with you in the quiet hours of his church at night.

"Matthew…" you moan, gripping hard on the back of the pew behind you. His name from your lips spurs him to work harder for more. More of your pretty sounds, more of the pretty nectar dripping from that heavenly and forbidden place between your thighs.

And over the next few days, when he returned to his studies with the other priests, the scent of you floats up like the devil's telegram from the pages of this tarnished Good Book. As he turns each one he grows harder under the desk, remembering how it felt when his fingers traced over the skin of your neck, the slight hemispherical indents from the rosary he'd leashed you with reminding him.

'Harder' you'd said, and he'd obeyed, pulling it tight as you choked so beautifully on his throbbing cock, your warm spit dribbling down over his balls as you encouraged him to fuck your perfect mouth, his other hand shoved down the front of your shirt groping at the soft tender skin of your breasts as you praise him for spilling down your delicately bruised throat with a strangled gasp of God forgive me.

He was certain you'd no idea what you had unleashed. You had stolen this pathetically repressed Catholic mess of a man, this student of God, for your own. He craved your sermons of sin, ached for more lessons, and when he excused himself to the bathroom hiding his shame behind that fucking weighty tome to which he thought he had dedicated his life, he came biting his fist with tears in his eyes because of this simple greed for you that may never be fully sated.

"I'm sorry." You'd told him.

Sorry for what?

Sorry for showing him pleasure?

Sorry for opening his blind eyes to a glimpse of a heaven he might have never attained?

You had either released or ruined him, no matter what you said it was always going to be his choice to make.

It wasn't difficult.

Even now as he lies on the altar with you he can't feel any regrets over the sheer need consuming his being.

Please, he begs as you grind into his lap. You kiss him and it stokes the crackling sparks of his free desire, he wants more, always more, his hands braver and roaming farther with each encounter. He marvels again as his fingers drift between your legs, at how you're soaking wet because of him, he did that to you. And you do the same, letting him lead your hands between your bodies to stroke over the physical embodiment of years of pent up lust. You grin wickedly, as he's wet too.

His hand closes over yours to rip the dog collar from his neck, unravelling everything he'd worked for. He knew it wasn't wasted time, it was practice. Preparation for his devotion to you.

Your nimble fingers work to free him from his pants and in a flurry of fervent need your clothes are strewn around the dais like simple offerings. He barely registers what happens next, everything is so much. All he knows is you're surrounding him completely, he's buried so deep inside you and he's never felt anything close to this bliss. You move above him, your hips rolling steadily and he tries his best to meet you, move with you but he's terrified he's going to lose himself in this, in you.

"That's the point, my love" you breathe against his ear. He realises he had moaned aloud, confiding his hopes and fears in you already.

"Oh, oh god-"

He knows the weight of that huge crucifix hangs over the two of you, what used to be a heavy judgement now just a silent witness to this carnal act, an indulgence from which he cannot abstain. The chain of the one he wore around his neck tangled in your fingers.

"You feel… so fucking good," he groans deep and you feel his hands firm on your hips, his confidence growing with every kiss, every passion filled thrust and drinking in every beautiful sound of pleasure you make blurring his path.

Maybe he wasn't worthy of God's love, but he could be worthy of yours? Your love had been his little secret, it tasted warm and tempting, felt so new and exciting, so hot and wet and-

"I… you're gonna make me- I can't-"

You wrap even more tightly around him pulling him closer to the exquisite heat of you. He feels you reach above where you're joined, he thought he could stop, he could pull out but your fingers are moving quickly and your heavenly cunt is squeezing around his cock and he can't take it he's going to cum inside you any second…

"Matthew!" you whine and how can he refuse the glorious pain when you dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders, your voice his only master as you command him, cum for me.

Fuck…

He comes hard, your name his only prayer now as he gives up his chastity. It's a fair exchange, something pure and holy for something pure and holy, baptised and reborn by this raw and powerful love you have shared with him, feeling empty and yet so full, the cascading waves of pleasure finding him lost and sweeping him off to a new shore.

He doesn't miss his church, now that he has a new place of worship with the sweetest blessings from your lips, endless lessons in your bed, and a loving home in your arms.

Tags: @phoebe-danvers @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass

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

[peterman-spideyparker]

Pure (Matt Murdock x Fem!Virgin!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I’ve strapped on my slut pants for this one. How I got this idea, I don’t know. All I know is that I had it, wrote it, needed to take a cold shower in the middle of writing it, and finished it. I think it’s even a little funnier after this last episode of She-Hulk, especially since I wrote it before I saw it. Is this self-serving? Yes. Is this also the perfect alternative fic option for me to include a gif of Bed Matt™️ when I wanted to but didn’t for another fic? Also yes. Enjoy, sluts (affectionate)! :)

Summary: After Matt overhears a conversation between you and Karen, his feelings that he holds for you already take on a new life, and his thoughts won’t rest until he sees them through.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual friends pining but neither of them know it until they know it, swearing, smut (virgin reader, nervous/excited reader, oral - f!receiving, fingering, sloppy kisses, P in V, praise kink! praise kink!, soft!dom!Matt (did I use that right?), Communication King Murdock, light corruption kink?, unprotected sex--if I’m gonna do a corruption kink, I might as well go all the way on it), cutesy cuteness because I just love seeing Matt happy.

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 5,957

Matt’s not sure what word he’d use to describe you—one single term seems impossible to ascribe. Every time he tries to think of one, it never seems to capture your essence. You’re the furthest thing from selfish, and you only want to help those around you. You’re like light, a soothing breeze on a warm summer day.

One day, he’s talking with Father Lantom, finally having taken the old priest up on his offer of a latte at a chat. When the word “pure” falls from his lips, Matt immediately thinks of you—your kindness, your laugh, your optimism, and your heart. Everything about you is pure, and only enhances every last thing that you do. 

But when Matt overhears you talking with Karen the following week, both Foggy and him up to their necks in casework, he comes to realize just how true that connotation is.

“So,” you hum, a lithe tone up-pitching your voice. “How’s everything going with you and Frank.”

Karen blushes and laughs, shaking her head as she files paperwork while you print. “We’re doing good. We went to Coney Island last night.”

“Cute. Did he win you a giant stuffed animal?”

“Actually, yeah. A giant frog.”

“That’s so sweet, I think I’m gonna get a cavity from the story. A full night just playing carnival games?”

“Well, we kind of cut it short. We went back to my place, and, well.”

It takes a second for it to click for you. “Oh.”

“C’mon, (Y/N)! You know how it is. That giddy excitement, especially when you haven’t had a chance to see one another in a long time. You get handsy with each other, he whispers something in your ear . . .”

You nervously clear your throat, and Matt can hear you nod your head as you work to organize the papers printing on the braille machine. Your heart is racing. “Y-Yeah,” you breathe. “Of course.”

Karen notices your shift in tone. “(Y/N), you have done it, haven’t you?”

“Well, um . . .”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I—,” she tries to backpedal.

“No, Kare, it’s fine. It’s just something I’ve done yet, that’s all.”

“Can I ask why?” she asks hesitantly.

Matt can hear you shrug. 

“It’s a big step,” you say softly. “And I don’t know . . .”

“Is it like a religion thing, or—?”

“No.” You pause, unsure how to explain your mentality, mortified when your brain plays a ‘What if?’ situation with the idea and your crush on Matt. “If I’m not good at it or . . . I don’t know. It’s the idea that they could just leave the next day because they don’t like me anymore or because I wasn’t good enough. I’ve been rejected for less. I don’t want that to be added to the list of reasons why. To know that they’d stay is important for me. So far, none of them have or have wanted to.”

Matt feels his heart sink while Karen shuffles, unsure of what to say. 

“I know the right guy is out there for you,” she settles on. “And I’m sure when you find him and when you’re ready, you’ll know, and it’ll be great. So great, you won’t be able to walk right.”

You let out a soft sigh; with your dating history, you’re not entirely convinced that her words are true, but you appreciate her sentiment. “A girl can only hope, right?”

He’s so caught up in what he just heard, Matt barely registers your footsteps moving towards his office. A gentle knock on his door brings him into the present and away from his thoughts. 

“I’ve got those files for you,” you say. “I can put it in the case folder if you want and you can get to them when you’re ready.”

Matt clears his throat and straightens. “I can take them,” he says with a little tilt of his head and a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Matt,” you say, placing them in his open hand before you walk back to your desk. 

After overhearing your conversation, Matt can’t prevent his mind from wandering. He’s thought about maybe asking you out before, but he’s been worried that with everything he is, everything he does, he’d ruin your friendship. But now that he had overheard this conversation? Not only does he wonder what it’d be like to kiss you, but now to feel your body under his, completely at his mercy as he is the first person to explore you in the most intimate of ways, his hands being the only thing to give you support as he ruts into you, feeling you clench him tightly. Having you sit in his lap, bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, your face buried in his neck as you moan and whine just for him. Bending you over his desk, leaning over you to kiss down your spine, marking up your flesh . . .

“Are you even paying attention to a word in saying?” Foggy says. Matt couldn’t tell God Himself the point at which his best friend and partner entered his office he’s so lost in thought. 

“Sorry, no,” Matt says sheepishly. 

“Who is it this time? That short lawyer with the curly hair heading the new GLK/H office in SoHo?”

He chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “No, not her.”

“Well, I expect the full details when you’re a little less horny.”

“Sure, Fog,” he appeases. “What’s up?”

“I have some things for the discovery on the Christiansen case. Turns out the McNeils were a little less honest than they lead us to believe . . .”

“Thanks for staying late,” Matt says, casually leaning against his office door frame, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long gone somewhere in his office with a few buttons undone. 

“No problem, Matt,” you smile, adjusting at your desk to turn and smile at him. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You always do more than you’re ‘here for’, (Y/N).” He pauses and licks his lips. “You know how much I appreciate you, right? Everything that you do, both for your job here and what you do outside of work.”

“Thanks, Matty,” you say softly, his words making a warm feeling spread across your skin.

He leans away from the doorframe, slowly walking toward where you sit, his hands in his pockets. “You want to get out of here? We could grab a bite, if you want.” His fingers graze over his watch. “It’s late, and I can’t go starving my favorite employee.”

You laugh, the pads of your chair gliding across the floor as you stand up and move toward him. “Don’t let Foggy hear you say that.”

“Eh, he doesn’t count. We’re partners. You’ve stepped up in an incredibly huge way since Karen started at the Bulletin full-time. Nelson and Murdock would’ve sunk without you.”

A blush burns at your cheeks as you dip your head. “You’re giving me too much credit, Matt. It’s all you and Foggy.”

Matt lifts your chin with his finger, gently urging you to look at his face, to stare at his eyes behind his the red lenses of his glasses. 

“You’re too good for everyone, you know that? Pure,” he says softly, his voice hitting a low register. “If people can’t recognize that, they don’t deserve you.”

You’re afraid that your words will catch in your throat while your heart races. “Are you saying that you deserve me?” you whisper. 

“I’d love to think I do, but, you’re far too good for me. But I’d like to stick around—find that answer out for sure.” He takes a half step closer, feeling your body heat pour onto his frame. “Tell me to stop,” Matt breathes, his voice hitting a sinful timbre as his hot breath tickles your skin. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Matthew, I . . .” you whisper, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your thoughts straight.

You shouldn’t. He’s your boss. 

He’s your friend. 

But you want him. 

And he wants you. First and foremost, he wants you for who you are and how you make him feel.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never had your heart race so fast and your brain short circuit like this. 

“Words, angel.”

Those two words make you lose all self control as you crash your lips to Matt’s, your arms flinging around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and tugging at the strands. Matt moans against your lips, pulling you impossibly close as he leans forward to meet your kisses. Your bodies spin around, pinning you between him and the wall as you exchange passionate embraces. The metal of Matt’s glasses creak between the force of your kisses. Matt’s tongue deftly slides into your mouth, needing to taste every inch of you. Your noses smush together as Matt tightens his grip on your waist, keeping your body in place as he pushes against you. This feeling of his hips against yours is enough to send goosebumps all over your body, parting your lips in a moan that allow him to capture your bottom lip between his, his teeth tugging at the flesh. You’re both breathing heavily as you stand in the office.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Matt admits, tucking some hair being your ear. His hand gently slides down to your neck, holding onto you softly before leaning forward to kiss you again. His tongue parts your lips once more, making the kiss a little sloppy and wet. His lips are as soft and plush as a new pillow, easily clouding your thoughts and judgement.

“Matt, wait,” you stop him, your hands on his chest to create some distance between the two of you, your chest suddenly feeling too small for your beating heart.

Oh no, he thinks. I fucked up, and I fucked up bad.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m sorry, I—,” he starts, but you halt him with some soft taps to his chest.

“No, Matt. It’s just . . . Well, I’ve never . . . I haven’t . . .” You dip your head, embarrassed at the moment, just like you have felt every time you’ve gotten to this point before. Unlike the other times, however, there is so much more weighing on this for you—this is Matt. “I don’t want to just be a fling for you, Matt. I can’t be a fling. I . . . I care about you too much.”

Matt hears your heart race faster, your entire being on the verge of becoming a complete and utter mess. You’re not sure at what point you started to have feelings for Matt, but you know that they’re there and they’re strong—the fact that he even reciprocates them in the slightest is exciting and terrifying. But at the same time, you know that Matt has quite a reputation, and you don’t want to be just another name on a long list of ladies.

Matt moves one of your hands directly above his heart, holding your other firmly in his. “You could never be a fling. You’re so much more to me than any relationship I’ve had before. It’s only you. And I want to show you just how much I mean that.”

Matt’s words wash over you like warm water from your shower head, His heart beats steadily with each word, the posture of your hand on his chest a silent, wonderful reassurance that he means everything he says. You capture his lips with yours, the embrace languid and tender but absolutely brimming with burning desire. He smiles down at you after your lips part, his nose brushing against yours. “Then I guess the question is if you can keep your hands to yourself long enough for us to make it back to my place.”

The door to his loft isn’t even closed before you bring your lips back to his, pulling him by his shirt collar and into your body, snaking you hands over his shoulders and onto the back of his neck when you feel you have him close enough. Matt’s hands slide down your body and under your thighs, lifting them up around his waist. You moan in delight into his mouth, his lips moving to your neck to nip, suck, and lick at the think skin that you are all too eagerly offering him. He tosses his glasses on the table by the door as he walks your bodies from the entryway to the bedroom. Matt’s attempt to gently place you down on the mattress is skewed by his own growing desire, turning the motion into more of a toss, your body bouncing up and down on the furniture.

Matt kneels at the edge of the bed, volleying kisses back and forth on the inside of your legs. Pushing up the fabric of your flowing skirt, he gains access to your thighs, becoming a little more aggressive with his ministrations, nibbling at the skin, licking down the little stings that accompany it. You let out breathy little sighs, each press of Matt’s lips against your skin making your heart race in a glorious fashion. Each kiss moves higher up your leg, spreading new branches of goosebumps and warmth all over.

That when you feel it—an overpowering wetness between you legs, trapped in your panties. 

“Matt,” you breathe. Internally panicking that you’ve started your period far before you were supposed to, you wanted to push Matt away to save your embarrassment. But Matt knows exactly what really happened—it’s a sign of your enjoyment, your eagerness for him, your want. You really are so pure. Part of him feels guilty for making a move on you like this no matter how readily you accepted him, no matter how you both feel for one another, but the thought of being your first, being the one to tarnish that pristine virtue, to make you his, it makes him rock hard. 

His hands snake up your thighs and push them wide open, letting your scent hit through his nose, permitting through your panties. 

“Matt,” you try again, begging God above or whatever supreme being is there to spare you any further embarrassment. 

“You smell so pretty for me, angel,” he groans, brushing his nose on your clothed core. “Can’t imagine how you taste.”

Matt presses soft kisses to your clothed core, pulling a whine from your lips. 

“Your panties are so soft,” he mutters, nipping at you through the soft, thin fabric some more. “I bet your cunt is even softer.”

Dragging his lips up your panties, he grasps the hem of your underwear with his teeth, slowly pulling it down your hips and off your body. You watch the movement as Matt seductively works, and you’re shocked to find the inside of your panties void of any red color. Instead there is just a large damp spot in the middle and a long string of a clear something coming from you and to the fabric. Once your underwear is midway down your thighs, Matt uses his calloused fingers to slide them off of your body, letting the fabric pool on the floor between his bent legs and the bed. 

“I want you to tell me how it feels,” Matt whispers, his hot breath fanning across your glistening folds as his nose brushes up against the top of your pubic mound, placing a little kiss there in anticipation. “I want to hear those pretty little sounds fall from your lips, okay?”

You don’t even get a proper chance to really comprehend or answer his question. Matt’s lips are on you in a second, pressing a soft, open kiss right on a special bundle of nerves that make you moan and your heart sharply skip a beat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he smirks, gently grazing his hands over your exposed thighs. “That feel nice, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathe, looking down at him, the sight of his face between your legs sending you absolutely wild. “Do it again.”

A devilish smile grows on his lips before he complies to your request, this time adding light sucks to the way he wraps his plush lips around your clit. You can’t help the needy moans that fall out of your mouth, keening for more attention from his lips. You can feel Matt’s lips pull into a big smile as he continues to work his mouth. He pulls away for half of a second before licking a stripe up your folds. You whine, your back arching off of his mattress while your head tosses to the side. It’s like you’re not in control of your body while Matt’s lips are on you, twisting and turning into the pleasure. Matt has to use his forearm and one of his strong hands to pin your hips down to the mattress as he eats you out like a starved man. The combination of licks, sucks, and kisses turn you into a whimpering and moaning mess. When he lightens the embraces, you think you’re getting off easily. What you don’t expect is for a finger from Matt’s free hand to lightly brush up against your glistening folds. You suck in a hiss at the sensation, causing Matt to glance back up toward you while his finger continues to move up and down. 

The sight is something glorious. His fluffy brown hair is disheveled and the tip of his nose, lips, and chin are covered in a marvelous slick from having his face buried between your legs. His honey hazel eyes are warm as they focus just to the right of you, making you feel safe as you cross a boundary you can never come back from.

“If you enjoyed that, angel, I think you’ll like what comes next,” Matt teases, his voice low with lust.

Dragging his fingers back down, you feel him at your opening. His fingers, absolutely covered in your arousal, gently push your lips open as he feels you; then, he carefully prods your entrance with his middle finger, pushing in slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan as you feel him, slowly moving his finger in and out of you.

“Tell me how that feels, angel,” he urges, unable to stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to your hipbone.

“G-good,” you exhale, closing your eyes to focus on the way that he manages to sneak his finger a little bit deeper in you each time.

“And do you like this better?” Matt punctuates his question with a curl of his finger, the tip of his digit scraping against your wrinkly walls and hitting something soft and spongey that draws an intense moan from you. A deep chuckle rolls from Matt’s lips and coats your warm body like honey. “Is that a yes, sweetheart? I need you to try and use your words for me.”

“Better,” you whine, writhing against his arm. “More.”

“More.” The way he coos my words back to you is somewhere between a question and amusement. Regardless of his exact tone, Matt carefully slides another finger in you. Rolling your head from one side to another, you let out a low groan, basking in how amazing the sensation feels as Matt manages to hit something so spongey and wonderful, increasing the pleasure with each ministration. You can’t but help the way that your toes curl and your back arches when he puts his mouth back on you. Your hand shoots towards his head, fingers tugging at his hair to keep him close. You’re an absolute mess as Matt works you, and you have no idea how or what to focus on more—his fingers or his mouth. What does begin to register, however, is a tightness in your tummy, a fluttering. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on, but you know that the longer that Matt works, the way that his touches set your body on fire, the more prominent the feeling gets.

You wine as he removes his fingers from you, his mouth kissing everywhere but where he had been thoroughly inspecting the real estate. Pushing your dress up and off your body, Matt wastes no time kissing as much of your gradually exposed skin as possible. Once the fabric is pushed over your head and off of your arms, Matt peppers kisses all over your collarbone and neck as he pulls your bra down and off, just avoiding your lips as he changes locations.

“You’re going so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his hands finding a home on your waist as he finally brings his lips to yours. “But that feeling you had? That good one in your tummy? I want to be in you when it finally lets go. Will you let me do that, angel?”

Matt barely has a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt “yes” and bring his mouth back on yours. The kiss is deep and needy, and he lets you undo his shirt and feel all over his sculpted figure. You don’t know what takes over you, but all you know is that you need Matt in every way, shape, and form possible. Matt finishes the work you started, wriggling off his white button down as he paints kisses all over your chest. His senses are in overdrive as he comes in contact with the supple skin of your breasts, his nose filling with a cocktail of your fruity body wash, your skin, and the thin sheen of sweat that has emerged on your body. While the noises you make as you move against his sheets is a beautiful symphony, the way your heart sings for him is the best thing he has heard in his entire life. Its rhythm is one of elation and tenderness—pure.

There’s that word again.

Even as you lay under Matt, completely at his mercy as the two of you engage in an activity that should pollute the very core of the term, but still manage to embody the fullest extent of the word.

As the thought crosses his mind as he brushes the tip of his nose up your skin to rejoin your lips, that’s when the thought comes to him.

You’re it for him.

“I thought I was the one who’s supposed to get flustered,” you chuckle breathily, your hand moving to caress his cheek. 

A smile pulls at Matt’s lips, bringing those beautiful crinkles out for your enjoyment. “I just want to remember this,” he explains softly before pulling you in for a lusty kiss, a moan falling from his lips into you. Matt gives your swollen and tingly skin a few more tender kisses before leaning back on his knees, undoing his belt and ridding himself of all fabric below the waist.

You suck in a gasp when you see his cock out, hard, painfully taut, and leaking. All for you. Matt shifts his weight to his left, twisting his body to reach for the nightstand. You take his hand in both of yours, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Angel, I—,” he starts, but you give his hand a squeeze.

“Matt, I want this,” you keen as you try to calm your excited breathing. Everything feels right. “I want you.” You pull him back into you, and he lowers himself over your body so his hair tuft flops in front. 

“Are you sure?” God above, is his voice so soft when he says that question. It’s brimmed with excitement, affection, tenderness, and nerves. 

“I’m sure,” you confirm as his thumb gently strokes back and forth on your cheek. The pad of his digit roams to your bottom lip, letting him feel just how soft it is. You open your mouth slightly, and Matt can’t help but slide his finger in, letting you capture it and envelope it in warmth. Now, it’s Matt’s turn to moan as he feels your tongue swirl around his finger, letting his mind wander to what your mouth would be link around his cock.

That question will have to be answered another time.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to be buried as far as he can possibly get in you.

Pulling out his finger, he presses one more kiss to your lips before adjusting himself between your spread legs. You've gotten even wetter for him, if that's at all possible, and the smell of it drives him up a wall.

"I'm gonna go slow, okay?" he tells you. "I want to hear those beautiful nosies from you, angel, but you need to stop me if it hurts and you need some time. Can I hear you promise me that?"

"Promise," you whisper, your heart racing in an out of control pace. Matt takes one of your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours in an effort to soothe you.

"Good girl," he coos. You feel a deep blush burn at your cheeks and your heart race as you squeeze his hand involuntarily. "You like that, huh? You like when I call you my good girl?" Just like earlier in the night, your brain short circuits when the name falls from his lips once more. "Oh, I think l'm gonna have fun with that," he teases, bringing your entwined hands to his lips for a kiss.

Carefully, Matt moves forward, and you can feel the head of his cock press against your opening. He pauses for a beat before he continues to press forward, making you a whimpering mess with each movement. With each gentle push into you, your pleasure grows.

"Wait," you squeak when the burning stretch becomes too much. "Hold on a second."

"That's my good girl," he praises. "Doing what I asked, using your words. Tell me when you're ready for more, angel."

As you take your time to adjust, Matt brings your wrist and forearm up to his lips, kissing, sucking, and nipping at the skin, licking down each mark he makes in an effort to soothe the sting.

"More," you swallow.

"Kisses, angel?" he smiles against your skin. "Or cock?"

"Cock," you breathe. "I want more."

Planting a kiss smack dab in the middle of your palm, Matt continues moving his hips forward slowly, letting out a low grunt as he pushes deeper in you.

"Oh, God, Matt," you moan, the sting of intrusion having turned into something only of pleasure. "Oh, so good.”

"So perfect, sweetheart," he sighs as his face controls in pleasure that matches your own. A low rumble falls from his chest when he bottoms out in you, somehow managing to fit all the way inside.

"Talk to me," he hums as he leans back over your body, kissing up the curve of your side and up and over your breasts, up the column of your neck, and finally to your lips.

"Move," you beg, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth before you press kisses up his jaw and to his ear. If that's what him pushing in felt like, you want it all. Over and over and over. "I-I need you to move."

A blissed-out smirk falls across Matt's lips before he kisses you hungrily, one hand resting on the side of your neck while the other weaves through your hair in the back of your head.

"You're doing such a good job taking my cock like that," he praises as he slowly beings to set a rhythm, the drag of his length against you unlike anything you have felt before. "Such a good girl for me, letting me spread you wide and take you. God, angel, you’re doing so good, taking me all the way like that, nice and deep.”

How Matt is forming coherent sentences is fully beyond you at this point. Maybe it’s because he’s done this before, maybe it solely something he’s doing to keep you calm as he pushes through his own pleasure. 

“So tight, angel,” he grunts, his hands sliding up your thighs towards your hips. “Oh, you feel so good. Fuck.”

You moan and whimper with each one of Matt’s thrusts, and you yank him down on top of you, desperate to feel every last inch of him against you. He groans but quickly lets out a little chuckle, thrown off and endeared by your excitement as he cages your body below his. 

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

“Y-Yes,” you moan, moving your hands along his incredibly soft skin. You paint a trail of kisses all along his shoulders, collarbones, and neck while he keeps on rocking into you. His hot breath tickles your skin as his beard brushes goosebumps all over your body while he tries to match you embraces. Matt whispers and grunts little praises into your skin, never faltering to let you know how good you’re doing for him. 

“M-Matt,” you whine, your nails digging little crescents into his back. “S-Shit! Mmm!”

“Words,” he grunts, his ability for full sentences now starting to escape him. 

“God, you’re so deep!” you cry, your eyes fluttered shut as you absorb the pleasure he gives you as your words being to slur together. “So big.”

Matt tunes into your body, listening to how the blood rushes through your veins down to where your bodies join together and your heart races. He knows you’re not going to last much longer. 

“Angel,” he pants. “Angel, it’s okay.”

“Matt!” you cry, your voice curving up in pitch. You’re so close, he can taste it—and it drives him wild. 

“I know, angel, I know. You’re gonna feel so g—fuck, that’s nice. So good for me.”

“Matt, I—.”

“‘M right here,” he assures with a kiss. “Right here. Let go for me, angel. Let me hear you.”

With a few more thrusts, an intense pleasure rips through your body, unlike anything you have felt before, and far better than what you’ve ever experienced. Your hips buck up to meet Matt’s while your legs latch onto his waist. Matt up above you is the only thing keeping you from thrashing around in euphoria. You hold onto him for dear life, your hands mussing his hair as he buries his face in your neck, moaning as he chases his own release and spills into you. He forces his hips to keep moving fast as he cums, desperate to make sure that your first orgasm is memorable, that the tremors ripple through your body long after it has past, even if it means the sensations verge on too much for him. Only once he feels you start to loosen up and your breathing begin to relax does he pull out, pressing kisses into your skin all the while his hands caress your shaking body. He hears your head roll to the side to face him as he lies down next to you. 

“Matt,” you breathe, and he can hear the blissed out smile spreading across your face as you curl your body into his.

“You alright, angel?” he whispers, kissing your forehead. 

“Amazing,” you sigh softly. 

“I’m gonna go get some things to clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You hum a confirmation as Matt gives you another kiss, carefully rolling out of bed and through the loft. He returns quickly with a warm damp towel, some water, and a pack of grapes. Putting the glasses down on the nightstand, he sits on his knees, pressing gentle kisses into the skin of your stomach, hips, and thighs. 

“Can you open your legs for me, sweetheart?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t think I can do more,” you breathe dreamily.

Matt chuckles, absolutely beaming at your happy disposition in his bed. “We’ll get you there eventually, sweetheart. But I want to clean you up. I’m gonna move your knee, okay?”

You oblige with his request, a soft moan falling from your lips as you spread wide for him, the delightful soreness reminding you of how perfectly his body fit with yours. “That’s it,” he whispers as he helps gently guide your leg open. “That’s my girl.” Matt is careful with his wipes, sprinkling kisses here and there as little reassurances. He’s extra careful when he gets to your core, knowing all too well how sensitive you must be. When he’s finished, he tosses it to the side and leans up over you to kiss you. 

“Can you sit up for me now and drink some water?” he whispers into your cheek before stamping another kiss to your skin. 

You do as he asks without another word and he hands you the glass, a gentle arm around your shoulders as you hydrate. “Can I get you anything else, angel? Do you want a snack? I can give you a little massage, if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, your mind beginning to reorient itself as you snuggle into his body. “That was . . . I don’t even know.”

“I hope it was a good ‘I don’t even know’,” he smirks. 

“The best ‘I don’t even know’,” you chuckle. “I, um . . .” You blush deeply before you mutter, “Thank you for being my first.”

Matt notices the skip in your heartbeat, the shy and scared tone of your voice, and the salty tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks.

You’re embarrassed—ashamed, even. Why?

Matt pushes your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at his face. 

“Thank you for giving me the honor. For trusting me,” he whispers, placing a light kiss on the apple of your cheek. “This is something important. Personal.”

“You don’t think . . . I mean, I . . .” you start, unsure of how to even form the question you were thinking.

“Not too many people are like you, (Y/N)—pure like you in everything that you do. I’m glad you were able to trust me with this.” Your wrap an arm around him and turn your face into his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else tonight with anyone else.” He kisses your temple. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow,” he whispers in your hair. “Let me date you. Because I don’t want this to be it between us.”

That sentence makes you tilt your head up, amazed how he’s facing you with nothing but utter adoration. “I told you you weren’t a fling. I want the chance to show you how happy you make me, how you make me feel. Please?”

A bright smile pulls at your lips, a new wave of energy washing over you. You pull your body up, having your lips meet his, rolling on top of him. You gingerly straddle his hips with your legs, kissing him passionately as he reciprocates with just as much emotion. 

“Can I take that as a yes, or?” Matt chuckles, a deep red blush speckling his fair complexion as you carefully place your body weight on his lap. 

“Yes,” you hum, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth before moving back in and slipping your tongue in his mouth like he did to you earlier. 

“Mm, angel,” he murmurs against your lips, and you feel something begin to press against your thigh, Matt’s strong hands moving up your waist as his thumbs brush the sides of your breasts. Your heart swells with excitement and your face flushes with heat, a tingly buzz in your lower abdomen. If you thought Matt was intoxicating just by sitting at his desk doing legal work, you are simply drunk on him with his body below you like this. 

“How about we test my stamina?” you sigh between kisses.

Matt smiles brightly and kisses you with urgency, understanding that tonight will probably go longer than he initially anticipated. Even in your desire to do something so sinful, you still remain so pure.

And you’re all his.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione

[reblog-reblog666]

Reblog Masterlist 1

Matt Murdock / Daredevil

Alleycat series masterlist - Fluff, Smut

Not your average male fantasy - Smut

Kneel at the alter - Smut

Lost - Smut

Bad dreams (hold me closer) - Angst, Smut

No better love - Fluffy Smut

Wicked games - Angst?, Smut

Need - Angst, Smut

Ease the pain - Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Coffee shop woes (1) - Fluff / First date jitters (2) - Fluff / Late night confessions (3) - Angst, Fluff

My darling, my baby. - Fluff, Smut

Lavender haze - Fluff

Lingering - Fluff

Tolerance - Fluff

Ask response - Smut

I just need you - Hurt/Comfort?, Almost Smut?

A slow day - Smut

Bandages - Fluff

Sub!Matt hcs - Smut

Good boys deserve to be taken care of (1) - Smut / (2) - Smut

Old fashioned - Smut

Feisty - Smut

Wordle - Fluff (OFC, Not Reader)

Matt as a bad priest hcs - Smut

Kneel. - Kinda Hurt/Comfort?, Fluff?

Michelangelo's Matthew - Fluff

Still here - Fluff

Daddy issues - Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Attention - Fluff

My own worst enemy - Angst, Hurt/Comfort

In the rearview - Angst, Hurt/Comfort

All I feel is you - Fluff

Castle in the sky - Fluff

Never an ear strain away - Fluff

Talk too much - Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Chaotic College!Matt hcs - Fluff

Nepenth - Hurt Comfort, Fluff

Forgiveness - Smut

Pain and pleasure - Smut

Sub Matt blurb - Smut

When the needle speaks (1) - Angst, Hurt Comfort / (2)

Stroke - Smut themes?

No interruption - Smut

Ours - Smut Blurb

Relax - Smut Blurb

I’ll be in good company - Hurt Comfort, Fluff

You’re somebody else - Angst

You are the best thing that’s ever been mine - Fluff that makes you cry

Matt Murdock x Autistic! Reader x Frank Castle hcs - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Bruises - Hurt Comfort

Matt Murdock x Virgin!Reader hcs - Smut

Guardian Angel - Teen!Reader, Pregnant!Reader, Dad!Matt, Hurt Comfort

A real first kiss - Little bit of angst, Little bit of comfort, Fluff

Corruption of innocence (1) (2) - Smut

Anchor - Hurt Comfort, Autistic Reader

And then I met you (1) - Slight Angst, Fluff, Dad!Matt, Mom!Reader

Stained glass love series masterlist

Rooftops and vigilantes - Fluff? Idk what else to say (1) (2) (3)

You learn something new everyday… I guess - Fluff, angst?, hurt comfort?

Praise kink - Smut / Good girls finish first - Smut

Ours - Fluff, Comfort

Chase - Smut (1) (2)

Frank Castle / Punisher

Bad dreams (hold me closer) - Angst, Smut

Fashion show - Fluff

Jealousy - Smut

Forgiveness - Smut

Out of mind - Fluff

Ours - Smut Blurb

Matt Murdock x Autistic! Reader x Frank Castle hcs - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Ours - Fluff, Comfort

Billy Russo

Penny for your thoughts - Smut

Jessie Pinkman

Celebrating Jessie’s birthday hcs - Fluff

Saul Goodman

His secretary but in a porno way - Smut

Peter Parker / Spiderman

Stim the stress away - Fluff, Neurodivergent Reader

Touch - Smut

Doughnuts - Fluff

Paparazzi - Dark! Peter, Smut, little fluff?

these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave] - Angst, Dark Fic, Not x Reader, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Darth Vader / Anakin Skywalker

The throne - Smut, Darth Vader

Derek Morgan

Size kink - Smut

BAU General

Autistic BAU reader hcs - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Rick Grimes

Our moments - Fluff

Bruce Wayne / Batman

Missing you - Smut

Words greatest detective - Smut

Other

Yandere Butler x Autistic Reader hcs - Dark, Hurt Comfort

[brokebonewritings]

Bless Me, Father

Priest! Matt Murdock x afab! reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, violence, smut, mention of religion, hurt/comfort

Summary: Seeking a priest for guidance. You just weren't expecting this priest to be an ex, and a vigilante.

Word Count: 4.2K

Navigation | Masterlist

A/N: This was written for a really dear friend of mine. I love them a lot, and I hope they love this story just as much! Pair this fic with A Question of Lust by Depeche Mode and Church by Chase Atlantic.

You walk into the church slowly as you think about what you would say. The cold bitter air pricks your nose, immediately warming as you step into the sanctuary. It’s been a long time since you have been here, though you feel comforted by the environment. Setting your bag and scarf on a pew, you walk towards the confessional booth and step inside quietly. You inhale and exhale before speaking to the priest on the other side.

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” You start. Hearing him shift in the booth next to you, you continue on. “It has been 3 months, and 15 days since my last confession.”

You continue to tell him about things you have done in the past few months. About things you feel are wrong, and how it makes you feel. How you felt shunned by your family for expressing your personal thoughts and interests. You begin to tear up as you finish speaking.

He sits for a moment before speaking. The air felt tight around you as you anticipated his voice.

“My child, there is no reason to weep.” His voice was soothing, much like a cup of hot chocolate. He continues. “What you are feeling about yourself is not wrong. You are on a journey of self discovery. Embrace it, and those who shun you will see the butterfly they mistook for a caterpillar. There is no penance for you today.”

You glance over at him, and catch a glimpse at the young priest. He looked stiff, as if he were a mannequin. You nod at his words and wipe the tears from your eyes. Stating the absolution, you thank him and step out of the booth. 

Lingering for a moment, you took in sight of the beautiful cathedral. Nothing felt more peaceful than the quietness of the church. A few nuns were staggered in the pews or kneeling at the altar. The smell of sweet incense flowed through the air.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you see the priest step out of the booth and turn his head in your direction. He smiles and makes his way towards you to walk you out.

“I haven’t seen you here in a long time, y/n” He starts, you can tell he was shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, it has been a while huh?” You avert your gaze to the wood flooring. “Not since our breakup” 

He winces at that comment. You didn’t have mal intent behind it. Just stating the fact. It had been a nasty one at that. He wanted to become a priest, and you wanted to have a family. Simple as that.

“Listen if you ever need to talk…” He sighs. “You know where you can find me.”

“Sure, sure. For godly insight I suppose?” You mutter. “Since when did Father Lantom step down?”

“About a month ago. I was appointed here personally.” Seeing the grip he held on his cane, you decided to take your leave. Not wanting to further the conversation before it got too awkward.

“I, uhm, have to head to work. Those court documents are not gonna write themselves, I guess.”

“Right. Well. Hopefully I will see you back again soon..” He said, giving a curt nod before you turn to leave. “And, God be with you, y/n”

“God be with you too, Father Murdock.”

“He WHAT?!”  Karen whispered in your shared office. She really was your closest friend so obviously you had to tell her.

“Right! So he was my ex from college which was so long ago, but god we were so in love.” You crossed your arms in defeat. “How could he look even better now?!”

“Oh no! You cannot go running back to that ‘used to be good’ feeling.” She stood and crossed to you. “Did you forget that, HE’S A FUCKING PRIEST.”

“I KNOW!” You huff. You were perfectly content without the knowledge of Matt actually achieving his dream. Sure it was extremely selfish of you to think, but he did break your heart. No wonder you hadn’t heard anyone talk about him, he basically fell off the face of the earth. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when your boss approached your office.

“What’s up guys? What’s the hot gossip?”

You look up to see your boss, Foggy, leaning against the doorframe. Hardly a boss though, he liked to consider himself a friend to everyone in the office. 

“y/n wants to fuck a priest!” Karen casually said. You gasped loudly at her sudden statement, and stood up from your chair.

“I never said that!”

“Woah, didn’t see that one coming.” Foggy chuckled at the response. “Why a priest though?”

You roll your eyes as you lean against your desk. “It was a really long time ago okay? And he definitely wasn’t a priest then.”

Foggy cocks an eyebrow and looks at Karen. Who in return gives him a look.

“So what was he then?” Karen asks, looking back at you. You considered the question for a moment before sitting back down.

“Just a good catholic boy, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Foggy says suddenly.

“I mean, sure we had some fun.” You start quietly. “But we always found our way back to church on Sundays…”

“I thought you weren’t religious?” Karen asked curiously. You considered the question before answering.

“I’m not anymore. Not after how everyone made me feel after our breakup.” You turn back towards your desk to end the conversation. Foggy and Karen both shrugged at each other before going back to their own tasks.

Letting the tears fall silently from your eyes, you didn’t like when people watched you cry. Not that you liked to be emotional, but you didn’t want anyone to see you as weak.

The work day was long and strenuous. You worked quietly at your desk, only looking up to answer questions or find more paperwork.

Clients called and you helped to the best of your ability to answer questions, sending them to Foggy if you couldn’t. Until it was way past your time to head. You hadn’t realized it was dark outside. Turning around, you noticed Karen was also still working.

You gather your belongings and stand to leave. Giving Karen a quick hug, before heading out.

You walked quickly down the street after getting off the bus. Not that you were trying to act in fear, but you definitely knew that someone was following you down the street.

Hell's Kitchen was never the safest at night anyways. Working late was the worst, especially in cases that involved some sort of underground organization.

Turning down another block, you turn your head to see if the man is still following you. Of course he fucking was. What is the deal with men these days? Maybe you were overthinking it, and he just lived on the same street as you. Clearly you were too lost in your anxiety to not notice the second man coming from in front of you.

“Hey, pretty thing. Where are you rushing off too?” He says before grabbing your wrist. You gasp suddenly, trying to rip your hand from his grip.

“Please let go, I’m just trying to go home!” 

“Oh honey… Our boss would like to have a word with you.”

Without missing a beat, the man wraps his arm around your waist, and begins to pick you up. The kicking and punches you were throwing didn’t seem to phase him.  His other hand covered your mouth to muffle your screams.

That’s when you noticed a dark figure standing on top of the building nearest you. You prayed that it would help you. 

And just like that, your prayer was answered. Maybe. You watched as the figure jumped down into the alley way. Forgetting that for a moment, you continue to kick and flail your arms to deter the man. 

Of course there was a parking structure for these guys' convenience. You never understood how no one caught on to these things. While putting you into the car, you feel his body slamming against the door with force. Laying on the floor you scream as you see a man clad in a full white suit tower above you.

“Wait! Wait!” He puts his hands up in surrender “I’m a good guy I promise!”

Finally getting a full look at him, you realized you had never seen this hero before. Sure you’ve run into Spiderman multiple times, and even that Dr. Strange guy.

He stretches out his hand to help you up and you hesitantly take it. You narrow your eyes at him once you’re out of the car. The accent was not from around here. British. It was definitely British. “So who are you supposed to be?” You ask.

“Oh erm. Just call me Mr. Knight.” He starts and then continues with a bow. “It’s a little late to be walking around here, innit?”

You shrug and stand there awkwardly. Reaching for your satchel you finally realize it was missing. Turning back to the car you bend and reach around for it. Once you find it, you climb back out and turn to see that this “Mr. Knight” guy was gone and replaced with a scarier version of a mummy.

He sees the surprise on your face and the fear flash in your eyes. “Same guy. Don’t call me Mr. Knight though.”

The once crisp white suit had turned into a wrapped garment with a large crescent moon in the middle of his chest. It really did look like a superhero outfit.

“Stay right here. I need to get rid of these guys.”

You nodded and watched as both goons got back to their feet in a battle stance. The man in white pulled two crescent shaped blades from his chest, and waited for one of them to throw a punch. As they began their battle, you ran further back to avoid any debris flying around.

Turning your back against the violence, you didn’t want to see what was going to happen. Your eyes shut tight as you hear the gargled screams of your kidnappers. Once you determined it was all over you glance back up and see another figure standing in the dark parking structure.

Gasping loudly you trip over your own feet before falling backwards. You scramble back up and run over to the man who just saved you. He looked confused as to what you were frightened about. That was until he saw the figure. 

“If you know what’s good for you then you need to leave.” He said.

The figure in front of him growled. “I’m only here for her.”

Wait. You had seen this silhouette before. Sometimes as you walk down the street you would catch a glimpse of him. ‘The Devil of Hell's Kitchen’ they called him.

“It’s him.” You let out slowly. The man in white looked towards you, before you noticed the grip on his crescent weapons.

“Listen, guy, the lady is not interested in getting kidnapped tonight.” He said harshly. “You look like you don’t wanna die tonight either.”

“What makes you so sure you’re gonna kill me?” The figure taunted before taking a step forward. You look at this stranger with begging eyes. Hoping that you wouldn’t have to be in the middle of a hero battle. He sighed as he looked at you and then back at the devil.

“You asked for it pal.” He muttered before running towards the dark figure. Each fluid motion of his fists were dodged by the other man. You could tell that he was growing tired of the devil missing his punches.

He snarled loudly before yelling, “I’m tapping out!”

Suddenly the wraps disappeared and the white suit returned. The crescent shaped knives were replaced with a long bow staff. Breaking it in half, he readied himself for the devil’s next attack.

He was quickly met with a kick to his face and the sharp inhale really proved how hard the kick was. The next rounded kick was stopped by the chain attached to Mr. Knight’s staff. The devil flipped back as he untangled the chain from his ankle.

It was like lightning the way that Mr. Knight moved. He threw his hook up towards a pipe and went into a sprint. Swinging himself around so that he could end up on the other side of the other man. Failing as the devil grabbed hold of his forearm and slammed him on the ground.

The sound alone made your ears ring. You stayed behind the car door watching them fight. It was the only battle you have seen up close, and boy did it not fail to both excite you and make you feel fear.

Continuing with his motion, the devil begins to punch the hero into the cement. Over and over. Until finally there was a sudden stop of movement.

Mr. Knight held the devil’s fist, straining to keep it from making contact with his face once again. You noticed that the man in red looked up suddenly at you. His intense gaze made shivers go down your spine.

“Oi, wait a minute I know you!” Mr. Knight said suddenly. “Daredevil! It’s Us!”

‘Daredevil’ snapped his head back down to look at Mr. Knight and pulled his fist away.

“Steven?” His rough voice sent more shivers down your spine. The tone sounded vaguely familiar, like you had heard it somewhere before.

“Yeah mate!” 

The man in red stood up fully and held his hand out to help Steven up. You don’t understand fully how he didn’t recognize him, if you saw a suit that crisp you would have remembered immediately.

You stand surprised as the suit morphed back to the wrapped garment. It changed right in front of you, just like magic.

“Where’s your partner, Spector.” Daredevil asked. “You never go anywhere without them.”

He winced after the question. Something personal you supposed. “It’s the reason why I’m in America.” He leaves it at that.

Both men turn to look at you. You cower a bit not really knowing what they are about to do. The devil takes a step towards you, and you promptly take a step back. He holds up both his hands.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He states. “I thought you were in danger.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yeah well, Sailor Moon beat you to it.”

“Hey!” The other hero said with offense in his voice.

You both turn to look at him. He hesitates a moment, most likely not going to say another word. How could you be meeting two heroes in one night? Well, not heroes, more like vigilantes it seemed like.

Clearing your throat, you looked around at the scene and wondered which lucky person would find that in the morning.

“This has been real fun, but I’d really like to go home and sleep.” You finally say. Daredevil and Mr. Knight both nod towards you as you start walking away.

“Let me walk you home.” A gruff voice says, turning to see Daredevil take a step towards you. It wasn’t a question, it was clearly a statement. “To make sure you get home safe.”

You shrug and walk towards the entrance of the parking structure. A voice calls from behind you both that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey Murdock, if you see my partner, give me a call…” Moonknight said with a hint of sadness in voice. You glance up at the vigilante beside you. Murdock. Matthew Murdock. The only Murdock you knew.

He reaches a hand up to touch your shoulder. Not believing what you had just heard, you flinch away.  “Matt?” You managed to choke out.

“I’m sorry.” He says gently. “Let’s just get you home.”

“No.” Tears pricking your eyes. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine.” He says before starting to walk again. You follow close behind him. Street after street you managed to keep up with him. Seeing the church come into view you realize that he was taking you to his own sanctuary.

Matt opens the side gate to the cemetery and steps aside so you could enter first. You step inside and head to the bench you both sat at when you were younger. He lingers a bit by the gate before entering and following you deep into the graveyard.

Once you both are inside, and he makes sure the coast is clear, he takes off his mask. Setting it down next to you, you stare at it. You cannot actually believe that you were saved by Daredevil. Well sort of.

And to make it all worse, Daredevil was your ex. Your knight in shining armor was someone who completely broke your heart. How poetic. You look up at him as he paces.

“You do realize how sacrilegious this is, right?” Your comment definitely breaks the ice. The smile that tugs on the corner of his mouth is only slightly comforting.

“This started way before the priest thing.” He stops pacing and sits next to you. “While we were together actually.”

“You’re joking.” Your mouth gapes open. He stays silent. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He grabs the mask before speaking up. “ It’s partially the reason why we broke up.”

“What?” You his through your teeth. Was this guy serious right now? “What do you mean it's partially the reason why we broke up? You said you wanted to pursue a life of Christ, Matt.” 

“I did! Didn’t I?!” He raised his voice. “I did what had to be done to protect you, y/n!”

You stood from the bench and put your hands over your ears. Not wanting to hear another word from his mouth.

“Okay what are you doing?” He asked.

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore!” You shout. “I mean do you even know how ridiculous that sounds!”

“I did it for you, y/n! I did all of this for you!”

Then there was silence. Not even the wind howled through the trees in that moment. Letting everything sink in, you felt your heart pounding against your chest. You bring your arms down in a folded position and stare at the man in front of you.

“I really was in love with you, Matt.”

“I’m still in love with you.” He stood as he confessed. “I think about you. Morning, Noon and Night.”

Air that was trapped in your lungs was released all at once. Like you have not been breathing for a whole year. You felt insane to think that this wasn’t some convoluted nightmare.

He took a step towards you, and you let him. Feeling like this had all happened for some divine reason, you let him take your hand. His glove was rough against your skin. You never broke your eye contact off of his face. Studying how his jaw tensed and untensed, or how his eyes always followed the sound of your voice.

“Please Matty.” You sniffle. “You broke my heart once. I can’t take it a second time.”

“I promise you, there won’t be a second time.” He says before leaning down and kissing you gently. It takes a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Once you realize it was in fact a real kiss, you kiss him back. Arms snaking their way around his neck and his around your waist.

The kiss becomes more hunger filled. You can tell you both were touch starved by the way your hands began to roam. His body was pressed into yours, and you could feel yourself getting more turned on every second.

“Sweetheart.” He says. “You smell so fucking good.”

You moan lightly against his lips. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you tug on it lightly earning yourself a low groan. The way it vibrated between both your chests went straight to your core.

“Matty. I need you.” You pant as you pull from him slightly. He cups your face with his hand and nods.

“I need you too, sweetheart.”

Rushing through the front door of the church, you kiss the man in front of you with an intense passion. You can’t remember the last time you were touched by a man. Let alone kissed by one. 

The way he grabs your waist with his gloved hands was addicting. You feel every desire and you’re sure that he could smell your arousal. You begin pushing him towards a pew before he turns you around and stops the motion altogether.

“Wait.” Hearing his voice startled you. “We should move to somewhere more private.”

“Where? The only other place is your office, and I’m not about to be bent over a desk, Matt.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks in thought. Whatever was going through his head made your heart start to race. Taking your arm, he leads you towards the confessional booth pulling off his suit, and your own clothes in the process.

Once he is satisfied with how naked the both of you are, he climbs inside. You follow behind him and once he makes himself comfortable in the seat, you straddle his lap.

Leaving a trail of marks down his neck, you feel the heat of his hard cock against your stomach. Moaning from the sensation you readjust yourself and begin to slide him into you. You hear the way his breath catches as your tight cunt passes over his cock.

It’s silent in the church, the only sounds being made were the moans coming from you and the priest you had underneath you. You can’t help but wonder if this was the wrong thing to be doing. Despite those thoughts, you continue to lewdly whimper and sink yourself onto him.

“Oh Father Murdock, how fucking holy art thou” You smirk as you hungrily kiss him.

This makes him groan against you as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. Gasping loudly, you feel his cock in the pit of your stomach. How he managed to thrust that far into you was an act of God. You look down to watch his hips thrust up into you, and you push down onto his cock. It was absolutely breathtaking knowing that he was doing this to you.

“Y/N, you are going to be the absolute death of me.” He gapes, “You feel like absolute heaven.”

“I’m not going to last much longer, Matty” You clench around his length as you begin to bounce more sloppily.

You hear a slight growl creep up from the back of his throat before he grabs your thighs and flips you both over. This new angle had you at a curve, which made each thrust more earth shattering.

“You don’t get to come until I allow it.” His voice echoed through the small booth. Chills were sent up your spine. Looking up at this holy man through your lust filled eyes, you try to focus on every feature of his face. The way his jaw was tensed, and how his eyebrows furrowed.

The intensity of each thrust sent you into an overstimulated galaxy. Seeing stars was typically not what you experience in times like these. Then again, you both had not had sex in a long while.

His panting mixed together with the groans falling from his lips was drawing you to your edge. The little voice in your head kept repeating itself. ‘You don’t get to come until I allow it.’. Fuck did that have an affect on you.

Your moans began to sound more high pitched as the overstimulation hit you. He lowers his head to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. The gasp you let out pleased him even more.

He continued to suck before moving his mouth to your neck, leaving small bruises here and there. You could feel his thrusts start to slow down as if he were getting tired. 

“Pl- please, I'm begging you.” You whimper pathetically. 

He smirks before whispering in your ear. “On the count of three. Okay, sweetheart?” 

You nod as you groan loudly.

“One.”

His thrusts begin to pick up, as he fucks you harder than before.

“Two.” 

Your cunt starts to clench around his cock as you try to hold on for that third number.

“Three.”

You both moan and pant as you come together. The pulse of his cock as it releases his hot seed into you feels good against your quivering pussy. Never before have you experienced an orgasm this good.

Breathing finally steadying out, you stare up at him. The sweat running down his forehead was very prominent. You noticed a smile beginning to make his way onto his face. You smile as well.

“What?” You ask quietly.

“I think this is the most sacrilegious thing I have ever done.” He says back in a whisper. 

“Oh and not the vigilante thing?”

He shakes his head before pressing his forehead to yours. “How bout you tell me about what has your heart racing at the moment?” He says instead.

“I just didn’t think I would ever be doing this.”

“How about you share your confession then?” He says while giving you another small thrust making you moan.

“Oh…” You ponder. “Then, bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 5

Chapter 5: Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with 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, 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, Disassociation, 

Word Count: 11.7k

A/N: Time to grab some popcorn folks! This one is full of action and a little bit of angst tehe <3

Song: Way Down We Go by KALEO

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dividers @/saradika-graphics

THE NEXT DAY…

CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

The worst part about anything that's self-destructive is that it's so intimate. It wraps its tendrils around you, becoming an inseparable part of your being. You grow close to your addictions and illnesses, entwined with them in a twisted dance of survival. Letting go feels like killing a part of yourself that taught you how to endure.

In your journey, you discover countless ways to embrace silence. There's the way you stand amidst the tranquil garden of the chapel, finding solace in its stillness. Then there's the way you position yourself in the vast field across the street, seeking solitude in the distance from others. You learn the art of not answering the phone, withdrawing into your own private realm. Sometimes, you even find comfort lying down on the cool kitchen floor, pretending to disappear when people come knocking. There's the silence of the daytime, when you simply gaze into the void, and the silence of the nighttime when you engage in activities that keep the noise at bay. There's the hushed serenity of the shower, the contemplative silence of the bath, the vast expanse of New York's bustling quiet, and the profound stillness of Kamar-Taj. Even within the confines of a car, you cultivate your cocoon of silence.

But amidst this vast array of silences, there's one that always returns—an all-consuming void that surpasses everything. It infiltrates your very bones, unleashing a deafening wail that reverberates within you. It's a silence that grows larger than life, overpowering your ability to remain quiet. That's how this intricate machinery of existence operates.

You sighed, feeling the tension in the air as you cricked your neck to release some of the stiffness from your restless sleep. Wearily, you entered the pantry area of the church, seeking the familiar comfort of coffee to kickstart your day. As you reached for a mug, Father Lantom's unexpected voice caused you to startle, almost dropping the cup in your hand. Your tired eyes widened as you spun around to face the priest.

"How nice of you to join us," Father Lantom greeted, a touch of amusement in his tone.

Your heart raced, and you tried to regain your composure. "Uh... Good morning?" you stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Matt, seated patiently on one of the folding chairs with his cane resting on the table next to him, offered you a small smile. "Good morning," he said, his voice calm and gentle. "Uh, how was your sleep?"

You shifted your weight uncomfortably, holding onto your empty mug as if it were a lifeline. "Difficult," you admitted, still feeling the lingering fatigue of the previous nights. "How about you?"

"The same," Matt replied, his words hanging in the air.

The awkwardness between you and Matt became palpable, leaving you at a loss for words. The overwhelming desire to please everyone intensified, making it even more challenging to form coherent thoughts or speak in a composed manner around someone you had genuine feelings for. The silence stretched on, filled only by Father Lantom's subtle amusement.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. "Well, um... I can come back later," you offered, gesturing with your thumb towards the exit, ready to make a hasty retreat. But before you could make your escape, Father Lantom intervened, calling you back.

"My dear, you know this machine better than I do," Father Lantom said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Do you mind helping me out by making our guest a latte?"

The request hung in the air, the tension between you and Matt now intertwined with a touch of awkwardness. You glanced between Father Lantom and Matt, uncertain of how to proceed, but ultimately nodded in response. With a mixture of apprehension and determination, you stepped forward and began prepping the machine as you grabbed the remaining ingredients.

Father Lantom and Matt sat side by side, their voices lowered as they engaged in a hushed conversation. Meanwhile, you focused on the task at hand, keeping yourself occupied with the intricacies of the latte machine. The hissing sound of steam and the clinking of cups filled the air as you worked to create their beverages.

After a couple of minutes, you successfully prepared two cups of steaming lattes. Carrying them carefully, you approached the table where Father Lantom and Matt sat, their conversation momentarily pausing as they turned their attention to you. Wanting to ensure Matt's comfort, you announced yourself, breaking the silence.

"Uh, here you go," you said, holding out one of the cups. "Do you want some sugar?"

Matt declined politely, his voice steady. "No, thank you."

You nodded in acknowledgment and turned your attention to Father Lantom, offering him the second cup with a slight smile. "Alright, uh, here you go, Father Lantom."

The priest's eyes crinkled with appreciation as he accepted the cup from you. "Thank you, my dear."

Feeling a surge of awkwardness, you cleared your throat, eager to make a swift exit. "I'll quickly pour myself a cup and go."

With your cup of coffee in hand, you gathered your belongings hastily, trying to conceal the fluttering of nerves that threatened to betray you. The sound of Father Lantom's chuckle reached your ears, “She’s an angel, that one,” his warm praise lingering in the air. You rolled your eyes playfully at the priest's comment, accustomed to his kind words.

But what caught you off guard was Matt's response, uttered with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. “She sure is,” his words hung in the air, a gentle affirmation that sent a jolt of surprise and curiosity coursing through your veins. The unexpectedness of his sentiment caused your heart to skip a beat, leaving you momentarily speechless as you continued your retreat from the room.

As you made your way out, the weight of Matt's words settled in your mind, leaving you with a mixture of confusion, anticipation, and a little bit of hope.

When Karen's urgent text summoned you to the office for a meeting with Ben Urich, your stomach twisted with a sense of foreboding. As you prepared to make your way towards the exit, Matt's voice broke through the quietude of the church, calling out your name. You turned to find him approaching, his figure outlined against the backdrop of the towering church doors.

"Hey, Matt. What's wrong?" you asked, concerned etching your features.

Matt chuckled lightly, a warm and inviting sound. "Nothing, really. I was just curious about where you're headed today."

Rubbing your arm nervously, you replied, "Actually, I'm heading to your office. Karen texted me for an emergency meeting with Ben Urich. I was going to go ahead, thinking you were still talking with Father Lantom, but..."

A charming smile graced Matt's face as he interjected, "Mind if we walk together to the office?"

Blinking at him in surprise, you let out a sound of agreement. "Uh, yes, sure. It does make sense since we're going in the same direction..." Your voice trailed off, and you winced at your own awkwardness. "I should probably stop talking now."

Matt chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. "But how will I know if you're still there?"

Realization washed over you, and you quickly apologized, "Wait, oh, shit. I'm so sorry."

A mischievous smirk made its way across Matt's lips. "We're still inside the House of God," he pointed out cheekily, and you couldn't help but smile as laughter bubbled forth. "You are so lucky I can't shove you out the door for being such a tease!"

"I don't think God, Father Lantom, or any of the sisters would approve of you pushing a helpless and defenseless blind man," Matt teased, a playful grin adorning his face. You looked up at him, exasperated yet filled with a sense of warmth. "Come on, Murdock. We've got to get to your office before anyone gets worried."

Gently, you guided Matt's hand and placed it in the crook of your arm. As you fell into step together on the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, a fleeting glimpse of Matt's smile captured your heart, and lighthearted energy infused the air around you.

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE – MORNING

As the familiar voices of Foggy and Ben Urich echoed through the room, you stepped forward, holding the door open for Matt as the two of you entered. Matt's heightened senses allowed him to navigate the space with ease, his cane tapping lightly against the floor.

"That's just a matter of asking the right people the right questions in the right tone of voice," Foggy's voice resonated, filled with confidence. Ben let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, that's how you get yourself hurt."

As you and Matt approached the group, Karen's frustration permeated the air. She introduced the two men, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Ben Urich, Matt Murdock. Attorney at Why the Hell Bother."

Ben extended his hand, expecting a handshake, but quickly adjusted as he met Matt's outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. "Mr. Murdock." Matt nodded, a polite acknowledgment. "Matt."

Foggy chimed in, offering his perspective. "My partner thinks we should be pursuing this through the legal system." Ben nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "A lot safer that way."

Karen couldn't contain her frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. "Well, why don't we all just crawl under the covers, then?"

Matt's voice held a note of caution as he addressed Karen. "No, Karen..."

Karen's frustration persisted as she voiced her convictions. "Well, I'm sorry, but if Fisk is really behind everything that has happened, then we need to do something."

The tension in the room mounted, each person grappling with their perspectives and the weight of the truth they sought. Ben nods, “If we were the only ones after him, I'd tend to agree. Friend of yours came to see me the other night… the man in the mask.”

As the conversation unfolded, your attention shifted between the speakers, observing their gestures and expressions. Matt's uneasiness was palpable as he walked over to his office, placing his cane by the door. You could sense his apprehension surrounding the topic at hand.

Foggy's voice dripped with contempt as he uttered the words, "Terrorist cop-killer." Your eyes shifted towards Matt, noticing his subtle movements, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features.

Ben continued speaking, undeterred by the tension in the air. "Says he was framed."

Foggy interjected with a touch of sarcasm, gesturing to the side of his golden hair. "I could say I'm Captain America, but it doesn't put wings on my head."

Karen's voice quivered with curiosity as she asked, "What did he want?"

Ben handed over a stack of papers and a folder, causing Karen to gasp in astonishment. "Oh, my god!"

"He told me Fisk was behind the bombings and shooting those cops," Ben explained as Karen avidly read through the printed text. "Said he owns half the police... that they helped him take down the Russians."

Karen's confusion seeped through her words. "But I don't understand. If you have all of this, then..."

Matt cut her off, his legal knowledge guiding his response. "Hearsay. Can't print any of it without corroboration, can you?"

Foggy's skepticism lingered as he pointed out, "He could just be throwing smoke. I mean, he just killed Detective Blake."

Ben acknowledged Foggy's concerns, his voice tinged with acknowledgment. "Said Blake's partner Hoffman did it, probably on Fisk's orders. But yeah, it occurred to me."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Your gaze shifted towards Matt, who wore a pensive expression, a small pout forming on his lips.

With a thoughtful tone, Matt suggested, "You could talk to Hoffman."

Ben shook his head, conveying the difficulty of that task. "Tried. He's in the wind. Or bottom of the river. Either way..." He shrugged, to which Foggy announces to Matt. Realizing his unintended gesture and offering an apology to Matt.

Karen brought up another angle, her voice filled with determination. "Wait, what about the Union Allied money? Is there a way that we can tie it directly to Fisk?"

Ben contemplated the question, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe. According to the Mask, a man named Leland Owlsley runs the books. But since getting roughed up by him, Owlsley's been surrounded by Fisk's security. Can't get anywhere near him. Same goes with James Wesley, the guy you said hired you to defend Healy."

Karen's frustration seeped into her voice. "Look, the Mask came to Ben for help. And I don't care how rich Fisk is, nobody can totally erase their past. I mean, somewhere out there, there has to be a piece of paper, a witness... the truth."

Foggy interjected, posing another possibility. "What about Confederated Global? The suit that hired us to defend Healy was standing right next to Fisk when he gave his big speech."

Ben nodded, confirming the information. "I looked into that. According to FCC filings, Confed Global is where Fisk gets most of his reported income."

Matt wasted no time in continuing the train of thought. "All right, let's play this out. If Fisk is connected to Confed Global, that means he's involved in Westmeyer-Holt Contracting, which..."

You eagerly chimed in, providing a vital piece of information, "Westmeyer-Holt is strong-arming tenants out of their rent-controlled apartments. They were hired by a guy named Armand Tully."

Ben sought clarification. "The slumlord?"

Foggy added a touch of humor to the conversation. "Landman and Zack say he's on vacation on an island that no one can pronounce, where they use coconuts as phones."

Ben hummed, acknowledging the elusive nature of their leads. "Another connection in the wind."

Matt's voice carried determination as he proposed a course of action. "Westmeyer-Holt to Confed to Fisk. We pull that thread, see what it unravels."

Foggy's doubts resurfaced as he questioned the vigilante's intentions. "Still not sure about this mask guy."

You couldn't help but defend the vigilante once again, a shift of tone in your voice. "He didn't hurt Ben, and he didn't hurt Karen. I'll take the Devil of Hell's Kitchen over Fisk any day. Plus, he kicks ass."

Foggy challenged your statement, seeking clarity. "Well, if he's such a badass, why did he come to Ben? Why not just take Fisk down himself?"

Your eyes covertly glanced at Matt, witnessing his expression darken as Ben responded with a somber truth. "Maybe he knows there's some roads you can't come back from."

While Karen and Foggy were outside running errands, you remained in Matt's office, seated across from him. Your fingers danced across the keyboard as you typed on your laptop, contemplating the risks of reaching out to your connections for information on the case.

"But I could..." you started, your voice trailing off as Matt interjected with a firm tone.

"No," he replied, his voice carrying a sense of finality. Frustration welled up within you, and you let out an exasperated huff.

"I can ask around without drawing suspicion," you argued, hoping to find a compromise.

His head shook slightly, and his response was resolute. "I can't let you do that."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why not?" you challenged, wanting to understand his reasoning.

Matt's expression softened, and he uttered your name with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine. "Because the moment Fisk’s men find out you've been asking around about them, they won't react as nicely as I did."

The memory of your first encounter with Matt flashed in your mind, causing a rush of warmth to spread across your cheeks. Father Lantom's introduction, the flutter in your chest and stomach—it was as if a bird desperately yearned to escape its cage. The sweetness and charm radiating from Matt had the power to make you feel like you could vomit flowers in his presence.

You couldn't help but pursed your lips, the playful banter filling the room with a mix of tension and anticipation. Quirking your lip to the side, you folded your arms across your chest, leaning back into your chair as you mustered the courage to respond. "That's... that was different."

Matt's head tilted slightly, his smirk growing more mischievous. "Different how?" he teased, his tone dripping with playful curiosity.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Are you implying something?" you shot back, your words laced with a mix of feigned innocence and subtle challenge.

Raising an eyebrow, Matt leaned in slightly, his shaky gaze locked onto yours. "Is there something you wanna tell me?" he countered, his voice carrying a hint of seductive playfulness.

The tension between you two continued to build, the air crackling with a mix of electricity and a sweet awkwardness. Your heart fluttered as you fought to maintain your composure, a blush creeping up your cheeks. With a soft chuckle, you averted your gaze, unable to fully meet his intense stare behind his lenses.

"Oh, you know... just... that I... uh..." Your voice trailed off, stumbling over your words as your thoughts scattered in the presence of his magnetic charm.

Matt leaned back, his grin widening as he enjoyed your adorable flustered state. "It's okay," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "You don't have to say anything. I think I get the message."

The room was filled with a mixture of playful tension and gentle affection, the unspoken connection between you and Matt dancing in the air. As the conversation continued, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and excitement, knowing that despite the slight shyness you possess, there was something undeniably special blossoming between you.

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the room as Foggy and Karen made their way to her desk. Their voices conveyed tension as they engaged in a heated discussion. You swiftly stood up from your chair, a sense of anticipation coursing through you, while Matt, ever observant, positioned himself next to you near the door.

Foggy let out a sigh, his frustration evident in his voice. "No, that's not what I'm saying," he clarified to Karen, hoping to make his point clear.

Karen arched an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on Foggy. "Well, it sure sounds like it," she retorted, challenging his statement. The atmosphere in the room grew more charged with each passing second.

As the conversation unfolded, you couldn't help but feel the need to be closer to Matt. You subtly leaned towards him, seeking comfort and support in his presence, while he reciprocated by drawing nearer to you. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a shared connection that transcended words.

Matt directed his attention to Foggy, his curiosity piqued. "You find something out?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine interest.

Foggy hesitated for a moment before confessing, "I, um, did a little back-channeling with Marci." He glanced at Karen, sheepishness creeping into his expression.

Karen, ever determined, pressed for more information. "Okay, ew, just... What did you get?"

You turned to Matt, whispering inquisitively, "Who's Marci?"

Matt leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper, as he shared the knowledge with you. "Foggy's ex-girlfriend from college."

You nodded, absorbing the information, before returning your attention to the conversation unfolding before you.

Foggy continued to explain the dead end they had encountered, sharing the details of Tully's island and the money he had acquired through Confed Global. Karen's hope flickered, suggesting a plan to go after Tully and convince him to turn on Fisk.

However, Foggy's somber shake of the head shattered their optimism. "Yeah, that island he's on? No extradition agreement," he revealed, dashing their hopes of a breakthrough.

Matt's voice resonated with a touch of sorrow as he acknowledged the reality. "It's another dead end," he admitted, the depth of the situation settling upon his shoulders.

Just as the group seemed to hit a roadblock, a knock on the door disrupted the solemn atmosphere. Without hesitation, you instinctively moved to answer it, revealing Ms. Cardenas on the other side. Her warm smile greeted you, and you welcomed her inside the office with a friendly gesture.

Foggy's attempt at speaking Spanish to Ms. Cardenas elicited a snort of laughter from you, unable to contain your amusement. Matt, always quick-witted, interjected, "You just asked her where the library is." His playful remark lightened the mood, momentarily lifting the tension that had filled the room.

Ms. Cardenas's rapid stream of Spanish filled the room, and you quickly translated her words for the others. "They doubled the offer to get the tenants to move out," you relayed, your voice tinged with concern.

Karen's frustration boiled over, and she let out a curse in response to Ms. Cardenas's revelations. "Oh, damn it," she muttered, clearly dismayed by the situation.

Curiosity piqued, Foggy inquired, "What?"

Your shoulders slumped as you delivered the news. "Her neighbors are thinking about taking it," you said, your tone heavy with disappointment.

Matt's nonchalant shrug surprised you. "Maybe they should," he suggested, his voice lacking the urgency and determination that Foggy possessed.

Foggy, however, vehemently disagreed. "No! Tell her to stand firm. We told her we're gonna help her, and that's what we're gonna do," he declared, his resolve unwavering.

Translating Foggy's words to Ms. Cardenas, you assured her that we weren't giving up, conveying the message of unwavering support.

A warm smile spread across Elena's face as she addressed Foggy, her admiration evident. "Such a good boy," she praised, and you couldn't help but smile at the exchange.

Elena then began to explain her plan to you, and you returned her hopeful smile. "She thinks... she can change their minds. Enough of them, maybe, to make a difference," you relayed, capturing the glimmer of hope that Elena held.

"I no take! This my home. We fight, yes?" Ms. Cardenas passionately declared, her determination evident. Foggy, caught up in the moment, enthusiastically responded, "Yes! ¡Sí!"

Ms. Cardenas chuckled with genuine amusement. "He is good man. All of you... good."

As Elena bid her farewell and closed the door behind her, a sense of gravity settled in the room. Matt shook his head disapprovingly at Foggy and voiced his concern, "You shouldn't have done that."

Foggy, undeterred, fired back, "What? Fight for the rights of the little guy, right?"

Matt's gaze held a mixture of worry and frustration as he pointed out, "Fisk wants the tenements. He's not gonna stop until he gets them."

Karen, incredulous, interjected, "Well, so what? We're just supposed to roll over?"

Matt, trying to emphasize the severity of the situation, interjected, "Fisk is public on this. If we tie him up with an injunction, maybe we find something in the deposition that we..."

Cutting Matt off, Foggy's voice brimmed with frustration, "Oh, come on, Foggy. You think we're gonna trip this guy up with a deposition? After everything that's happened, you don't get who we're dealing with?"

Frustration mounting, Karen burst out, "No, we get it! Matt, he's a rich dickhead who thinks he can pay people off to kiss his ass." She forcefully grabbed a nearby newspaper, thrusting it in front of Matt. "Look, he is standing on City Hall with his cronies like he's already won."

Foggy shook his head, recognizing Matt's limitations. He turned to Karen, explaining, "You know he can't see that."

Karen tossed the newspaper back onto the desk, determination blazing in her eyes as she faced Matt. "All right, we can't let him get away with this."

In a soft, resolute voice, Matt acknowledged, "I know."

Foggy, eager for a plan, pressed, "So, what are we gonna do?"

Matt let out a sigh, his gaze focused and determined. He turned back toward his office, retrieving his blazer. "Basic tenet of both law and war, know your enemy."

With a hint of sarcasm, Foggy quipped, "Thank you, Sun Tzu. What does that actually mean?"

Matt walked through the open door of his office, pausing momentarily. "It means we keep digging. Like Karen said, somewhere out there, there's a piece of paper or a witness, or something that'll lead to the truth."

Karen's relief was palpable as she voiced her agreement, "Okay, good."

Matt, now standing by the front door of his office, motioned toward the main entrance. "But, do it quietly. Stay under the radar."

Confusion laced Foggy's voice as he questioned Matt's departure, "Where are you going?"

With a thoughtful expression, Matt shared his plan, "Three people stood with Fisk when he addressed the city. His man from Confed Global, Owlsley, and a woman. The press said he seemed close with her." 

You nearly began hopping up in down as you excitedly knew what he was talking about, “Oh, yeah, uh, Vanessa Marianna. She works at Scene Contempo Gallery.” His head shifted in your direction as he gives a charming smile before leaving the office and said, "Maybe it's time I invested in some art.” 

CLINTON CHURCH – TWILIGHT

After Matt had left the office to go to the Art Gallery, you bid farewell to Foggy and Karen, feeling a sense of duty pulling you back to the church. As you stepped inside, the solemn atmosphere embraced you, accompanied by the faint echo of your footsteps on the worn stone floor.

Engrossed in your tasks, you found yourself vigorously wiping down a section of the pews, the fabric yielding under the pressure of your diligent efforts. The stillness of the church enveloped you, and the absence of visitors allowed you to immerse yourself in the quiet solitude of your work. Dust and dirt surrendered to the touch of your cloth as you moved down the aisle, leaving behind a renewed sense of cleanliness and order.

Father Lantom, seated a few rows closer to the altar, had been silently contemplating the crucifixion scene before him, his gaze fixed on the figure of Jesus suspended above. The flickering candlelight cast gentle shadows upon his face, adding a touch of serenity to his countenance.

After a few minutes of your dedicated cleaning, Father Lantom's voice, soft and inviting, called out your name, drawing your attention. Pausing in your task, you turned to face him, meeting his gaze with curiosity and respect. His polite request for you to join him in a moment of shared contemplation piqued your interest, and you nodded in acquiescence, placing the rag beside you as you settled in the pew beside him.

Father Lantom remained focused on the crucifix, his unwavering gaze fixated on the divine sacrifice it represented. He spoke, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue, as he posed a question that hung in the air, “When is the Devil, not a Devil?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected inquiry, you felt a flutter of uncertainty ripple through your being. Your fingers intertwined, fidgeting with each other as you searched for the right words to articulate your thoughts. Finally, you responded, your voice gentle yet filled with conviction, “When you love them.”

Father Lantom's curiosity sparked further as he delved deeper, seeking to understand the foundation of your statement. His eyes remained fixed on the crucifix, while you found solace in the presence of Jesus, His gaze seemingly meeting yours in silent understanding. With a thoughtful pause, you continued, your gaze shifting upward, “People can be surprising. I’ve learned that there is a lot more to someone than I originally thought, and sometimes there is less, a lot less.”

In the hallowed sanctuary, a gentle warmth accompanied the lingering resonance of your words, blending harmoniously with the sacred stillness that embraced the space. The flickering candlelight cast intricate shadows upon the timeworn walls, painting a tapestry of ephemeral beauty. You leaned in a little closer, your eyes steadfastly fixed upon the crucifix, its figure of suffering and redemption commanding your attention. In a voice hushed with reverence, you posed a question that had long lingered in the depths of your contemplation, "Do you think he's actually listening to everyone's prayers?"

Father Lantom shrugged, his eyes crinkling with a trace of mirth as he softly chuckled, "I think he does. It is my job, after all, to believe He does."

A tender sigh escaped your lips, carrying with it a gentle longing for understanding. "Sometimes, there seems to be a halfway point between where you've been and everywhere else. Before, I used to think it didn't make sense to trust a thing that could destroy you so quickly, to reach out your hand and stroke the deep separateness of a beast, that long gap of silence between you. There is a truth in that smooth indifference, a clean honesty about our otherness that feels not like the moral but the story."

Curiosity twinkled in Father Lantom's eyes as he leaned closer, his presence a comforting anchor in the vastness of your ponderings. "How about now?" he inquired, his voice a gentle invitation to delve deeper into the intricacies of your evolving faith.

With a soft shrug, you offered a glimpse into the complex tapestry of your beliefs. "Part of me still believes in that version, but I guess that's what faith is all about. To fully give yourself to the belief of someone out there who loves you despite the differences and otherness. It's an act of surrendering to the divine, embracing the mysterious dance of trust and vulnerability."

The ethereal light streaming through stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors upon the aged stone walls, infusing the atmosphere with a touch of divine grace. The crucifix, a poignant symbol of sacrifice, forgiveness, and the boundless capacity for redemption stood as a steadfast reminder of the profound depths of faith.

As Father Lantom turned to face you, a playful twinkle danced in his eyes, accentuating the kindness etched upon his weathered face. With a lighthearted jest, he remarked, "Maybe you missed your calling as a nun. You sure you don’t want to enter the convent?”

Laughter bubbled up within you, a spontaneous eruption of joy that echoed through the sacred space. Your eyes crinkled in mirth as you shook your head, a genuine affection evident in your response, “Oh God, no. Even He knows that.”

The banter shared between you and Father Lantom dissolved the weight of introspection, allowing a moment of levity to permeate the solemnity of the church. In that shared laughter, there existed a profound understanding—a recognition that the paths you traverse are as unique as the souls that tread upon them.

The peaceful silence takes over the small church only then to be soon replaced with the echoing of light tapping on the floor, a sound you recognized to be Matt’s cane as he glides along the edge of the pews before stopping right behind your row. He kneels and signs the sign of the cross while you and Father Lantom glance at him before bringing your gaze back to the cross.

Father Lantom says as Matt sits down behind the two of you and lets his cane rest on the side of the pew, “I like to have a moment... end of the day… sometimes just me and Him. Other times with her by my side as I talk to Him.”

Matt says softly, “Maybe you both could put in a word.”

You defeatedly exhaled, having the sense that his visit to the art gallery didn’t go as planned if he ended up back at the church. You turned and reached for the cloth rag on your side, beginning to stand up and move to the aisle while saying, “Um, I should probably go help Sister Maggie prepare dinner for the kids while you two have a heart-to-heart chat… I’ll see you around Matt.”

CLINTON CHURCH – EVENING

You stood upon the rafters like a solitary sentinel, you embraced the seclusion, the feeling of being an island amidst the bustling sea of New York City. The cool breeze danced upon your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you leaned against the outside banister, your gaze fixated upon the sprawling skyline. It was a vista that held both the weight of a lifetime's struggles and the promise of an unwritten future—a blank page upon which you had chosen to inscribe the story of your existence, a story set into motion by a divine hand.

Lost in your reverie, the sudden voice calling your name jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to yelp in surprise. Turning swiftly, your eyes met Matt, who stood by the staircase leading up to the rafters. With a mixture of relief and admonishment, you exclaimed, "Matt! God, you scared me. How did you get up here without making a noise?"

A lopsided smile graced Matt's lips as he replied, "I don't think God appreciates you using his name in vain."

Playfully smacking his arm, you chuckled and retorted, "Well, I hope he appreciates a good scare then." Your gesture seemed to amuse Matt, and you invited him closer, saying, "Come over here and feel the breeze."

Guiding him to the edge of the terrace, you released your hold on his arm, creating a small but perceptible distance between you. Leaning against the railing, you allowed the gentle caress of the breeze to cool your flushed skin, finding solace in the tranquil stillness that enveloped you both.

Amidst the comfortable silence, an unspoken understanding seemed to settle between you. But then, unable to contain your curiosity, you blurted out, "How did you know I was up here?"

Matt nonchalantly shrugged, his senses attuned to the nuances of the world around him. "I had a hunch you would be," he admitted.

Sensing your pointed stare, he relented, "Father Lantom told me."

With a sigh, you returned your gaze to the sprawling cityscape, its shimmering lights and bustling traffic a tapestry of human existence. "I always hid up here when I was younger and didn't want to play with the other kids," you confessed, a hint of nostalgia tinting your words.

Matt, ever the astute observer, connected the dots. "Is that why I never saw you around Saint Agnes when I was a kid?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Offering a half-hearted shrug, you replied, "Yeah. Then I was... I got sent away for school." There was a pause, a flicker of hesitance before you continued, "The school was near the mountains... somewhere in Asia. It was... a difficult part of my life, but I had to go through it for my sake and... anyways. Yeah, education was decent, and the classes were definitely… something else, but overall, I turned out okay."

Matt sensed the unspoken secrets lingering in your words, an untold tale that lay hidden beneath the surface. Respectful of your boundaries, he chose not to pry further, allowing the enigma of your past to deepen his intrigue about the person you had become.

You cleared your throat, the sound echoing softly in the nighttime air as you shifted your focus to the conversation at hand. "So... how did the art gallery visit go?" you inquired, your voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

As Matt's muscles tensed, his jaw clenching, you sensed the weight of his response even before the words left his lips. "It went fine. I, uh... I also met Fisk. He was there," he revealed, his words laden with a mix of apprehension and restrained emotion.

The gravity of his revelation hit you like a sudden jolt, causing your eyes to widen as you whipped your head in his direction. The city lights cast an ethereal glow upon his features, amplifying the intensity of the moment. With a hushed urgency, you whispered, "Holy shit!" However, the realization of using profanity in such a sacred setting washed over you, prompting a quick prayer of repentance and a flicker of guilt. You glanced at Matt, noticing the amused smile that danced upon his lips at your reaction.

Intrigued and concerned, you pressed further, your words filled with both genuine care and a hint of curiosity. "How did that go? Did you punch him?"

Matt's chuckle resonated in the space between you, his amusement evident. "How would I punch him if I can't see him?" he quipped, his voice laced with good-natured humor.

Your arms and hands gestured in an animated fashion as you tried to come up with a solution. "I don't know! Just swing your cane around," you suggested, the genuine concern for his safety apparent in your voice.

Matt, ever the pragmatist, shifted the conversation to a more practical aspect. "You know there were some pretty valuable art pieces in that gallery, sweetheart," he reminded you, his head tilting in your direction. The subtle increase in your heart rate and the way your body responded to the affectionate nickname did not go unnoticed.

Attempting to mask your concern with nonchalance, you replied, "You know what I mean! Just... what happened? Did he say anything suspicious? Was Vanessa at least... I don't know, nice? I need the details, or else I'm gonna keep pestering you for the entire week."

His chuckle, like a melodic reassurance, filled the air. Matt began recounting his encounter with Vanessa and Wilson Fisk, his words painting a mental picture as you leaned in attentively, soaking in every detail. When he concluded, you couldn't help but release a frustrated sigh. "Manipulative bastard," you muttered under your breath, the distaste evident in your tone. Offering a quick, apologetic glance to the heavens, you rested your elbows on the railing, your gaze once again drawn to the sprawling city skyline, contemplating the tangled web of intrigue that surrounded you.

“Do you think God would forgive someone if they did something cruel? Something unforgivable?” Matt's question lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of moral complexity. You took a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs as you pondered his words. Your gaze remained fixed on the sprawling cityscape, its lights twinkling like distant stars in the darkened expanse.

"There are a lot of different reasons why people did what they did. Hurt who they hurt," you began, your voice carrying a mixture of contemplation and empathy. "Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur, and cruelty manifest from a place of deep pain and brokenness. It's not an excuse, but it offers a glimpse into the intricate tapestry of the Anthropocene."

The city lights shimmered in the distance as you continued, your words measured and thoughtful. "There is a truth in that smooth indifference, a clean honesty about our otherness that feels not like the moral but the story. It still exists, it just escapes differently and evades vision. It colors the rain differently, makes the news boring, and distances my own rage."

You turned to face Matt, your eyes searching his through his lenses for understanding. "God's forgiveness is boundless, encompassing even the darkest corners of our humanity. But forgiveness isn't about erasing consequences or condoning cruelty. It's about acknowledging the potential for growth, redemption, and the capacity to change."

A gentle breeze swept past, rustling your hair and carrying with it a sense of solace. "We can only hope that those who have done unforgivable things find the courage to confront their past, seek repentance, and strive to make amends. God's mercy is vast, but it's up to each individual to embrace it and embark on the path of redemption."

The distant hum of the city served as a backdrop to your contemplative conversation, a reminder of the vastness of human experience and the interconnectedness of all lives.

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW, OFFICE – MORNING

After a quick stop at a local bakery, the aroma of freshly baked pastries lingering in the air, you approached the front door of Nelson and Murdock's office. With a gentle knock, you announced your presence before stepping inside, the warmth of the office embracing you.

The three of them, Foggy, Karen, and Matt, were engrossed in a conversation, their heads huddled together in a semi-circle. As you walked closer, Matt tilted his head, honing in on the sound of your voice. His keen senses detect your arrival. Holding something square and framed in his hands, Matt's eyes met yours, and you raised an intrigued eyebrow, your curiosity piqued.

"Yes! We finally got the sign!" Foggy exclaimed, a beaming smile illuminating his face. He eagerly approached you, accepting the paper bag filled with delectable treats. "And thank you, m'lady, for the generous gift of baked goods."

You returned Foggy's infectious enthusiasm with a smile of your own. "You're welcome, kind sir. Just make sure to save some for later."

Turning your attention to Matt, you noticed the "Nelson and Murdock" placard he held in his hands. Your fingertips lightly traced the letters, a gesture of appreciation for the significance of the moment. The emblem of their law firm held a profound meaning, representing the culmination of their shared dreams and aspirations.

"It's a little small, isn't it?" Matt remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of humor.

Foggy chuckled, offering an explanation, "Building regulations, my friend. We work with what we have."

Karen chimed in, her eyes sparkling with determination, “Anyway, so are we. We

are small but awesome.”

“And we're gonna make a difference. I know it doesn't feel like it sometimes… a lot of the time, but we are, with the power of the law.” Foggy said with hope and charisma.

Matt nodded in agreement, his charming smile gracing his lips. "Okay."

Foggy, overcome with gratitude, placed a hand on Matt's shoulder. “You dragged me into this rinky-dink firm, Murdock, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for it.”

Matt's smile widened, and he responded with sincerity, “You're not gonna kiss me.”

Foggy shrugged playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm feeling a little somethin'.”

Their brotherly bond evident, Matt sighed in amusement, his voice filled with affection. “Okay, come here.” The two friends embraced, sharing a heartfelt moment before parting with gentle pats on each other's backs.

You watched the exchange with a wide smile, appreciating the camaraderie and unwavering support between them. However, the joyous atmosphere was abruptly shattered by the shrill ring of your phone. Your face contorted in a slight frown as you moved away from the group to answer the call, a sense of unease gripping your heart.

“Hello?” you spoke into the phone, your voice tinged with concern.

On the other end of the line, a voice sought confirmation of your identity, and you responded, “Yes, this is her.”

The news that followed struck you like a bolt of lightning. Your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth as a choked sob escaped, tears welling up in your eyes. The devastating revelation pierced through your being, overwhelming you with grief.

“Something happened,” you managed to utter, your voice trembling with sorrow. “We need to go to the precinct.” The weight of the tragedy hung heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the once celebratory atmosphere of the office.

15TH PRECINCT POLICE STATION, THE MORGUE – AFTERNOON

As the medical examiner carefully lifted the cloth, revealing the lifeless body of Ms. Cardenas, a collective gasp escaped from Karen's lips. Overwhelmed with sorrow, she instinctively turned away, her hand covering her trembling mouth. Your gaze shifted to Foggy, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears, mirroring the anguish that weighed heavily on your own heart.

With a heavy ache in your voice, you turned to Matt, needing confirmation of the devastating truth. "It's her," you whispered, the words weighted with grief.

Matt's face remained inscrutable, but the thin line that formed on his lips betrayed the simmering anger and righteous rage that coursed through his veins. In a dangerously calm tone, he directed his question to Detective Sergeant Mahoney, his voice barely concealing the seething fury within. "How did it happen?"

Mahoney's voice held a hint of sorrow as he recounted the tragic details. "A neighbor witnessed a familiar junkie fleeing the scene with her purse. It appears she was attacked while searching for her keys."

Karen's sobs echoed through the room, her grief overwhelming her. Matt, concern etched on his face, suggested gently, "Karen, maybe you should wait outside."

But Karen waved off his suggestion, her determination shining through her tears. "No. No, I'm..." Her voice faltered, but she mustered the strength to address Officer Mahoney directly. Her voice trembled as she asked the painful question that lingered in the air. "How did she die?"

Mahoney's expression bore the weight of the tragic truth. Taking a deep breath, he delivered the heartbreaking news. "Multiple stab wounds. The ambulance arrived quickly, but... My mom says all the family she knew about has passed on."

Your eyes shifted between Karen and Foggy, witnessing their faces contort with raw grief as tears streamed down their cheeks. A quick glance at Matt revealed the silent storm of anger that raged within him, his jaw clicking and clenching in the face of such injustice.

Mahoney's gaze shifted to you, recognizing your connection to Ms. Cardenas. His voice carried a mix of sympathy and a request for assistance. "I knew you were helping her out and looking into her tenancy case. I thought you might be able to point us toward the next of kin."

You shook your head slowly, a subtle gesture filled with a profound sense of loss. "No, she didn't have anyone. Just us." The weight of the responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders as you stood united with your friends, the only family Ms. Cardenas had known in her final days.

“We'll see to the arrangements,” Foggy assured Brett, his voice filled with a mix of determination and compassion. The detective nodded in acknowledgment. "It's good of you to take that on. I'll let the ME know."

As Detective Sergeant Mahoney made his exit, Karen sought comfort in Foggy's embrace, their bodies clinging to each other in shared grief. Your gaze shifted to Matt, who stood with his knuckles turned white, his grip tight on his cane. The anger and rage within him seemed palpable, an untamed force straining to break free. It was as if something primal within him bared its teeth and fought against his restraint.

Uncertain of whether you could provide the comfort Matt needed, you took a leap of faith. Moving closer to his side, you extended a hand and gently placed it on top of his, carefully loosening his grip on the cane. As your hands intertwined, you squeezed his hand, conveying a silent message of solidarity and support. With a tender gesture, you rested your head atop his shoulder, seeking solace together in the midst of overwhelming loss.

At first, Matt stiffened, his body tense with emotions he struggled to contain. But then, slowly, he leaned his own head against yours, finding solace in your presence. It was a moment of vulnerability, a shared understanding that words alone could not express. In that simple act of connection, you offered him a lifeline amidst the weight of tragedy and its aftermath.

In the complex tapestry of human existence, it was the casualties who bore the heaviest burden, carrying the weight of grief and pain. And at that moment, as you and Matt found solace in each other's embrace, you became pillars of support, connected in the face of adversity.

JOSIE’S – NIGHT

Despite your initial intention to go back to the church and assist with the arrangements, Foggy and Karen were insistent on you staying and joining them for drinks at Josie's. You attempted to persuade them to spend some time together without you, but Matt's gentle touch on your hand and his whispered plea melted your resistance. How could you refuse when he asked so earnestly for you to be there?

The blaring sirens of a passing cop car pierced through the night, serving as a somber reminder of the harsh realities surrounding you. As you all sat in silence at Josie's, the weight of grief hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once lively bar.

Josie approached your table, bringing another bottle and sensing the somber mood. Foggy looked up at her with eyes filled with sorrow and gratitude, offering a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Josie patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'll keep 'em comin', love," she assured him before returning to the bar counter to mix more drinks. You took a sip from your glass, but the bitterness of both the alcohol and the grief seeped into your soul, causing your face to crumple.

Foggy began to recount their initial visit to Landman and Zack when they took on Elena's case, his voice laced with regret. Karen gripped her glass tightly as she chimed in, repeating Marci's mention of a "criminal element" in Elena's building, which drove the workmen away out of fear.

"I thought it was bullshit," Foggy admitted, a tinge of remorse evident in his tone. Matt interjected softly, "Maybe it was."

Foggy's words hung in the air, their weight sinking deep into your collective consciousness. The realization hit Karen, and her mind started to race. She turned to Matt, seeking answers. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Matt sighed, his nerves betraying him as he licked his lips. "Well, I don't know. It just doesn't feel right, does it?"

In the midst of your shared sorrow and the lingering questions surrounding Elena's death, doubt crept in, casting shadows on the truth that seemed too elusive to grasp.

"I'll drink to that," Foggy declared, pouring himself another glass of liquor. Matt's voice dropped low as he contemplated, "You think it was a coincidence? Elena decides to stay and fight, to rally what's left of her neighbors, and this happens."

Karen's question hung in the air, heavy with suspicion. "Do you think Fisk had something to do with this?" she asked, searching for answers. Matt shrugged, his expression a cute mix of uncertainty and doubt. Foggy's gaze shifted upward and across the room to the TV hanging on the wall, his finger pointing with intent. "Speak of the devil," he remarked.

Matt tilted his head in confusion, but before he could inquire further, you leaned closer and whispered, "Fisk is on the TV again."

Matt caught on and raised his voice. "Hey, Josie, could you turn that up?"

Josie obliged, pressing a button on the remote, and the sound of Fisk's voice resonated throughout the bar. Reporters swarmed around Fisk as he responded to their questions. You glanced at Matt, noticing the tension in his jaw as he took a swig of his drink, listening intently to Fisk's words.

A reporter posed a question, "How do you respond to reports that you knew the tenement was unsafe?"

Fisk replied, his voice calculated and measured, "That is accurate. That's why we offered a substantial sum to Ms. Cardenas and her neighbors to help them relocate." He paused briefly before adding, "We should never let good people get swallowed up by this city. I mourn this woman's death. Didn't have to happen. It should've..."

The TV screen turned into a target of your glare as Fisk continued his speech. The taste of bitterness filled your mouth, witnessing the manipulative lies he spewed. "Her passing is a symptom of a larger disease... infecting all of us," Fisk proclaimed, attempting to cast himself as a savior.

Foggy's phone interrupted the scene, and he answered with a somber tone, engaging in a conversation with the funeral home for arrangements. Meanwhile, Fisk carried on with his performance, lamenting the "disease of fear" that plagued the city, emphasizing his desire for unity against external threats.

"We shouldn't let people like that take our city from us. We need to stand together. Let them know that they will fail... because we believe we can make a difference. 'Cause they are cowards! Afraid of stepping out of the shadows. Afraid of standing up for people like Mrs. Cardenas," Fisk concluded before stepping away, his insincere apology hanging in the air.

Reporters persisted, trying to ask more questions, but Fisk's associate, Wesley, shut them down. Your gaze shifted to Matt, and although he tried to conceal it, the waves of his anger and rage were palpable, radiating from him like a furious storm. You knew he needed assistance, even if he didn't realize it himself—the silent support you were prepared to offer.

The muffled voice of a friend transformed into an electrical signal, delivering a message that a great war was approaching. Little did Matt know, you were there, standing by his side, ready to face whatever challenges awaited, providing the help he may not even know he needed.

"Jesus, he almost sounds like he means it," Karen remarked with a heavy dose of sarcasm, catching you off guard. To your surprise, Matt's voice carried a different tone as he responded, "I think he does."

Karen scoffed at the notion, "And he's calling the man in the mask a psycho? I hope they trace what happened to Elena right to his doorstep."

"He'd never expose himself like that. Plus, half the force is probably in his pocket," Matt reasoned. Karen gripped her drink tightly, her frustration evident. "Well, then, let's pray the Mask gets his hands on him. Knocks his goddamn head off." She downed her drink in a single gulp.

Curiosity sparked within Matt, and he turned to Karen. "You religious, Karen?"

Karen shook her head, explaining, "My parents were. That's probably why I'm not. You?"

"Catholic," Matt replied, and you chimed in softly, "Same."

Karen directed her question to both of you, seeking insight. "Does it help? With things like this?" Matt responded honestly, "Not today. I think I've had enough. Tell Foggy I'll see him in the morning."

As Matt prepared to leave, you quickly moved one of the stools obstructing his path, ensuring he wouldn't trip. The corners of Matt's mouth curled upward, appreciating the small gesture that meant more to him than you realized.

Unfolding his cane, Matt turned to depart, but Karen called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. "Hey, Matt." He turned his attention to her, awaiting her words. "Yeah?"

"If there is a God... and if he cares at all about... about any of us... Fisk will get what he deserves. You have to believe that," Karen declared, her words carrying a glimmer of hope. In that moment, you witnessed a shift in Matt's expression, as if he was deciphering her words as a divine sign, a call to action.

Matt paused, then affirmed, "I do," before turning away from you and Karen. The red neon lights of Josie's bar cast an ethereal glow upon his features as he walked away. There would be no grand chorus, no harmonious melody accompanying his departure. But in your fist, your feet, the hollows of your eyelids, you felt the tremors. Vibrating through your skull, your spine, and down into your ribs.

The time for action had come, and the weight of the city's injustices pressed upon your shoulders. With a kind of purpose, you were ready to face the darkness head-on, determined to bring justice to those who believed they were untouchable.

A few hours had passed, and Foggy's consumption of alcohol had taken its toll. He clumsily played with the empty liquor bottle, rolling it around in his hands. Eventually, he mumbled an apology, his speech slurred. Concerned, you exchanged a worried glance with Karen. You gently placed your hand on the bottle, attempting to discourage Foggy's request for another.

Foggy, oblivious to your gesture, called out to Josie, his words slurred, "Hey, can I get another bottle over here?"

Shaking your head vigorously, you interjected, "No, no, never mind, Josie. Hey, hey, Foggy. Foggy, she and I have had enough, and you have had... way, way past that."

"It's a wake, Karen. People drink at wakes. You know why? 'Cause it sucks," Foggy grumbled, frustration lacing his words. You offered him a sympathetic look, understanding the pain he was trying to drown. Karen responded softly, "I know."

Foggy's gaze shifted towards you, his eyes glassy and filled with sorrow. He spoke, his voice trembling, "You two speak Spanish. What's a good toast for the people that should... that should still..."

Your head tilted to the side, your shoulders sinking as you pulled Foggy into a comforting hug. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey," you whispered soothingly.

Foggy's emotions overflowed, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed, "I should have told her to take the money like Matt said."

You and Karen reassured him, your hands rubbing his arms gently. "No, no, no, no, Foggy... it's not your fault, okay?" you comforted him, your voice filled with sincerity.

Foggy brushed back his blonde locks, attempting to gather himself as he sniffled. "The Hell's Kitchen I grew up in was a real shithole. But it had a heart, you know?" You and Karen nodded in agreement, acknowledging his sentiment.

"Me and Matt... we learned the law, how to play by the rules. We were gonna help the people that we grew up with. Give 'em the same shot as the big boys like Fisk. It's all bullshit. It's all just... lies that we tell ourselves to make it through one more day," Foggy lamented, his tone heavy with disillusionment. Karen disagreed passionately, her voice vulnerable, "No, I don't... I don't believe that. I can't."

Foggy looked at both of you, his eyes glossy and filled with sadness. "What are we supposed to do... against somebody that owns everything? Everyone? What can we do to somebody like that?"

You offered him a comforting squeeze, your voice tender as you softly responded, "So this is your life, and you are going to be both moved and confused by it. You are going to experience things that will inspire you and things that you will never quite come to terms with." A sniffle escaped you as you continued, "You are going to laugh until you cry; you're going to ache in ways you never thought possible; you are going to be exhausted by the chaos of it all and ignited by the beauty. You are going to be hurt, and you are going to hurt."

Shaking your head and fighting back tears, you spoke to your two newfound friends with a mix of vulnerability and strength, “I wish I could explain what healing feels like. I wish I could describe how it feels to you—that it's like returning home, that it's like everything soft and delicate you've ever touched in your hands. But because healing is the messiest thing you will ever experience, it will never be artistic or elegant. Healing will never be linear, it will never make sense.”

With a gentle smile shared between the three of you, you concluded, “There isn't going to be a formula. Simply do the process over once more as the sun rises. You'll set out on everyday journeys. You'll move forward by taking steps. You'll retrace your steps.  But you will always be moving, and that is what you need to celebrate.”

PIER 81 WAREHOUSE — MIDNIGHT

After settling the bill and leaving a generous tip for Josie, you bid Karen and Foggy goodnight, watching as they climbed into a taxi. While they chose the convenience of a ride, you opted for a walk home. Despite knowing the dangers of Hell's Kitchen at this hour, you held confidence in your ability to protect yourself.

The fractured moonlight danced upon the rippling waters, casting ethereal reflections that seemed unchanged to your eyes. There was a certain tranquility in strolling along the pier at midnight as if the world's burdens momentarily eased. The weight you had carried for so long, the burdens that had shaped your path, brought you to this very moment. Standing at the water's edge, you faced it head-on, alone yet unyielding. From the edge of the water, you sensed an impending shift, a force approaching. There were no barriers to shield you, no respite of sleep, or anything to separate you from the water's embrace.

The gift within you, the power you possessed, came with its own cost. In this moment of introspection, you pondered the dichotomy of the lamb and the knife, questioning the roles they played in your life.

Suddenly, the night air became filled with echoing shouts and grunts emanating from an abandoned warehouse up ahead. Your senses sharpened, suspicion fueling your narrowed gaze and causing your brows to furrow in deep thought. The power within your fingertips surged, the mystical glamour enveloping you in a shimmering cloak of invisibility. With each step, your form glowed with ethereal light, rendering you unseen as you hastened towards the commotion, your heart pounding in anticipation.

As you approached the scene, you gasped silently at the sight that unfolded before you. A man, engulfed in flames, writhed and convulsed on the ground while Wesley, alongside another guard, stood by Fisk's side. Fisk himself, a commanding presence, seized Matt and hurled him forcefully into a nearby table, effortlessly shattering it in half. A mix of anger and concern coursed through you as you swiftly moved closer to Matt, invisible yet ready to defend him at any cost.

Fisk, unfazed by his display of power, withdrew a handkerchief from his suit's breast pocket and cast a disdainful gaze upon the masked man. "It's disappointing," he uttered with a cold tone.

Determined to intervene, you materialized in front of them, your previously invisible form now resplendent with an otherworldly glow. Your outstretched palms formed a shield of shimmering golden and silver magic, deflecting the bullets fired by Wesley's raised gun. Each round ricocheted harmlessly off the protective sphere, filling the air with a symphony of metal clinks.

Fisk's command halted the gunfire, and as the whisps of magic gradually faded, you lowered your hands, tilting your head to the left and maintaining a steady, composed stance.

Fisk's narrowed eyes locked onto you, a mix of curiosity and animosity in his gaze. He spat out his retort, "A guardian angel coming to save the devil of Hell's Kitchen? How poetic."

You fought to maintain your composure, lifting your chin defiantly as your voice, disguised and altered, resonated with authority. "I will give you one warning, one act of mercy. Leave."

Fisk's expression hardened, his voice dripping with disdain as he responded, "I take no pleasure in this… violence. It is a necessity to cleanse this city of vermin like him."

Undeterred, you scoffed, allowing your defiance to shine through. "I'm not impressed by your violence."

Fisk, his face contorted with anger and indignation, unleashed a torrent of words in response, his voice booming with a mix of fury and arrogance.

"You dare to stand before me and question my methods?" he bellowed, his tone laced with venomous conviction. "You, a mere interloper, believe you hold the moral high ground? How naïve!"

His eyes bore into yours, the intensity of his gaze attempting to pierce through your unwavering resolve. With each word he spoke, his voice resonated with an unwavering belief in his cause.

"I am the harbinger of order in this chaotic city," Fisk declared, his voice carrying an air of self-righteousness. "Every action I take is justified in the pursuit of a better Hell's Kitchen. And you, you claim not to be impressed? You are nothing but a fool blinded by your own misguided notions."

His words dripped with contempt, his anger boiling beneath the surface. Fisk, the embodiment of power and control, refused to be undermined by anyone who dared to challenge his authority.

You give a dismissive wave of your hand, maintaining a casual demeanor as you deliver your response. "You are neither a god nor a king, Fisk. You're just twisting the narrative to suit your own needs. Fear and deception? That's your go-to move, isn't it?" Your voice carries a tinge of sarcasm, highlighting your disdain for his tactics.

"But here's the thing," you say with a nonchalant shrug, "your reign of false incompetence? Yeah, that's not gonna last. Truth has a funny way of catching up with people like you. It always prevails in the end."

You punctuate your statement with a confident nod, emphasizing your belief in the ultimate triumph of justice. Despite the casual tone, your words carry a weight of conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

Fisk's sudden charge at you unleashes a childlike rage, evident in the way he reacts to your words. Reacting swiftly, you raise your hand, conjuring a radiant ball of glamour energy that shoots toward his chest. The impact pushes him backward, but you realize his suit is composed of some sort of formidable armored material, explaining why he is merely thrown to the side.

As Wesley and the other man resume their onslaught, you raise your other hand, creating an illusion that allows you to deftly evade the incoming bullets. Amidst the chaos, someone wraps an arm around your waist, causing you to yelp in surprise. But soon, you realize it's Matt, coming to your aid.

Harnessing his strength, Matt forcefully breaks the glass and plunges into the Hudson River. The tremors in his legs, the racing of his heart, the fall, the impact—it all happens in a whirlwind. Holding your breath, you wait in suspense but eventually resurface, your legs and feet treading the freezing water as you search frantically for Matt.

With a deep gulp of air, you dive once more, the murky water making visibility challenging. By some stroke of luck, you spot Matt, completely unresponsive. Swiftly, you wrap your arm around his heavily-muscled body and swim him to the shore.

Cursing under your breath, you mutter, "Fuck... shit, shit, shit. God, Matt, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a masochist."

Laying his body flat on the ground, you check for his pulse and breathing, relief washing over you as you confirm he's still alive. Retrieving the chain of your necklace, you swiftly grab the sling ring attached to it, sliding it onto your shaking hands. With determined focus, you conjure a portal leading to Matt's apartment, gripping him under his arms and wearily dragging him to the floor of his living room.

The portal closes behind you, and exhaustion sets in, leaving you disoriented. A loud clatter disrupts your senses, but you're too drained to comprehend what you pushed aside. However, amidst the confusion, you hear Foggy's voice bellowing from the other side of the apartment door, urgently calling out Matt's name before storming off to find another entrance.

Gazing up at the heavens with a tinge of annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand—stripping the wet clothes off Matt's body. Suddenly, the rooftop access door swings open, and Foggy's voice resonates through the apartment, his words laced with concern and humor. "Matt. It's me. I heard a crash. Not the fun, sexy-time kind, but... more of the...I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up variety."

Stepping on a broken floorboard at the staircase landing, Foggy's panic sets in. He swiftly grabs Matt's cane, wielding it as a makeshift weapon. Nervously, he asserts, "If anyone who's in here is not supposed to be, I will mess you up. I'm not kidding."

As Foggy turns, his gaze falls upon your disguised form on the floor, mistaking you for the Masked Man. He shouts, demanding answers, "Where's Matt? What'd you do to him?"

In response to Foggy's inquiry, you pivot to face him, allowing your disguise to shimmer away, revealing your true identity. Foggy whispers your name in shock and disbelief, his eyes taking in your battered form—cuts from glass shards, bruises from the water's impact, and blood, an unsettling amount of blood.

With your hands outstretched over Matt's chest, a brilliant golden and silver glow emanates from them as you employ one of the healing spells you've learned through your studies.

You release a shaky breath, attempting to maintain composure, but Foggy notices the tears welling in your eyes. He kneels down beside you, barely comprehending the revelation that the Man in the Mask was Matt all along. Brokenly, you address Foggy, "Foggy... It's too much... I need you to grab Matt's phone and call Claire. She's a nurse, she can help. I'll do what I can until she arrives, but I don't..."

You swallow back a gasp of pain, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind the realization that one of your deeper cuts likely still harbors fragments of glass. "Please, Foggy. I don't know how long I can keep this up before I..."

The dwindling magic within you intensifies the agony, prompting a yelp to escape your lips. "Foggy, please."

In that moment, you feel abandoned by the saints, as if the ropes that once bound you have been severed. A drumming noise reverberates inside your head, overwhelming you and causing you to collapse. The thunderous sound feels all-encompassing, louder than sirens, louder than bells—a symphony both divine and infernal, more intoxicating than heaven and hotter than hell.

END NOTES:

OOOHHHHHH??? OHHHHHHH?!?!?!

The next chapter is gonna be so fun to write JKSDHFAJKHAHA you’re all gonna absolutely hate me and throw bricks at me fr

11k words, I know. I KNOW. I’M SORRY.

I love awkward moments and I also love the sweet ones too. I think we’re reaching a point where things are slowly falling into place heheh

Okay, time to rewatch probably one of the most heartbreaking episodes of Daredevil T^T

TAGLIST: @scoliobean @thychuvaluswife @pantrashtic @ofmusesandsecrets

[deceitfuldevil]

How funny would it be for me, an Ashkenazi Jew, to write a Priest! Matt Murdock X Nun! Reader smut?

I personally think it would be hysterical, amazing, and above all, blasphemous.

[munsonownsmyass]

Priest!Matt Murdock x reader

Author’s note: what was supposedly a innocent picture shared by @mindidjarin in our TFC server caused a few of us to go feral for Father Matthew. And here's my contribution 😅

Oh, and just because I really needed Matt with the glasses, let's pretend he's almost blind 😆

And I have to say religion is not my forte, so if I've made a mistake, I'm sorry. I tried to do some research 🙈

Warnings: Oh Lord, where to begin? Sacrilege, blasphemous behavior, probably incorrect use of prayers/confessions, taking some liberties with the size of a confession booth, biblical references, corruption, Father Matthew is a virgin (because i said so!), SMUT! 18+. Implied masturbation, Oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, choking, cream pie, body worship, Catholic guilt. Let's just say I'm gonna burn in hell for this.

Words: 4K. I'm sorry, I couldn't stop.

”Church? Really?”

You can’t hide your disgust and instantly you see your roommate's smile fade. You don’t mean to offend her, not really, religion has just never been your thing. Never even been to church, you can’t really imagine going now.

“Come on. It’s always so nice to go during the holidays.” Laura tries, taking your hands in hers. “Please. For me? You only have to go once if you don’t like it, promise.”

Laura gives you a pleading smile and you feel yourself give in. She’s the kindest person ever, so how can you even say no to her? And maybe it won’t be so bad.

“But… Am I even allowed to go?” you ask with a shrug of your shoulders, causing Laura to laugh. She just wraps her arms around you, before giving your forehead a kiss.

“Of course, silly. What do you think will happen? You’d burst into flames?” she giggles before walking towards the kitchen to get your dinner started. Little does she know that is exactly what you’re thinking.

You weren’t exactly a complete sinner, but you weren’t a wallflower either. Never been afraid to try things, you’re quite sure you’ve done things Laura haven’t even heard off. She’s probably spray you with holy water if she knew. It’s quite ironic you ended up with a good modest catholic girl as your roommate, when you live in Hell’s Kitchen of all places.

The following Sunday you find yourself in front of Clinton Church with an overly excited Laura at your side. Her family would go to church religiously every Sunday and she never missed one. After moving to Hell’s Kitchen, she had quickly found a new church and according to her, the priest here were amazing and really inspiring, whatever that means.

Laura drags you all the way up to the front. You’re about to protest, hoping you could have hidden in a corner, when you hear people fall silent. Looking up at the alter, you see the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Who’s that?” you whisper, earning an annoyed look from Laura. “That’s the priest. Now shush.”

And you do. Not because she told you too, but because you wouldn’t even be able to form words if you tried. You’re instantly drawn to him. His dimples when he smiles, his smooth voice as he talks passionately throughout the sermon, his beautiful eyes as they look over his congregation.

After the service, Laura drags you up to the priest, wanting to introduce you. “Father Matthew, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” She says softly, causing him to turn around. He’s even more handsome up close and you feel your mouth go dry. Laura gives him your name and when he repeats it, you feel yourself blush.

“Welcome. It’s good to have you with us.” He says with a bright smile, taking your hands in his. “If there’s ever anything, my office is always open.”

Oh, if only he knew what you were thinking right now. You nod politely, thanking him. Another person demands his presence, so he bids you farewell with another killer smile, making your knees weak. Unable to tear your eyes away, you eye him as he talks to the other attendants. Charming, handsome and passionate. You start to see the appeal of going to church.

A few days later you find Laura knee-deep in flour when you come home from work, the kitchen looking like a mess.

“What’s going on?” You ask with a grin, trying to help lessen the damage. With a heavy sigh, she sits down on a stool, pulling some dough out from her hair.

“There’s a bake sale at the church. I want to help.” She huffs out, pouting like a child. You can’t help but laugh softly, helping her with another lump of dough.

“Let me bake it for you.” You pat her shoulder, as you return to the counter and start cleaning up some of the mess she’s made. An idea pops into your head. “Maybe I should come to the bake sale. Help you out.”

At that she stops and look at you, confusion written all over her face. “You? Wanna help? But you don’t even believe in God.”

“No, but I believe in Father Matthew’s ass.” You grin, but stopping as soon as you see the horrified expression on Laura’s face. “What?”

“You really shouldn’t talk about a priest like that.” She counters, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t think a man as devout as him would appreciate it.”

“Oh, come on!” You grin, leaning against the counter as you face her, arms crossed over your chest. “You make it sound like it’s a sin or something. I’m just saying he’s hot.”

Laura avoids your gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the little piece of dough she pulled from her hair. She’s clearly uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. “But… It kinda is forbidden. I mean, he’s a priest. A catholic priest. They have to abstain from such things.”

Putting down the spoon in your hand, you look at her confused, replaying her words in your mind. “So… You’re telling me Father Matthew is a virgin?!”

“Not that it’s any of our business to discuss, but…” she pauses, her cheeks a bright pink, clearly not used to conversations like this. “It’s most likely, yes.”

And with that she walks away, done with the conversation. Shaking your head in disbelief, you save the batter before pouring it into a pan. You couldn’t wrap your head around a guy like him being a virgin. So charismatic and kind, there was no way.

The next day at the bake sale, Father Matthew comes over to thank you for the help. You generously offer to help whenever he needs it, which is how you found yourself helping out at the church several times a week. Whatever it took to get closer to Father Matthew.

He was like this forbidden fruit, a beacon calling you in like a moth to a flame. You always found yourself smiling in his company, craving his attention. And you dont think the affection is one sided. Father Matthew smiles more in your presence, always finding reasons to be near you.

Small fleeting touches would send your heart soaring. You wondered if he knew the effect he had on you, how much you longed for him.

Especially late at night, laying alone in your bed, you found your thoughts invaded by him. How his perfect body would feel against yours. How those lips would feel, trailing kisses over every inch of your skin. His voice whispering sweet praises in your ears.

It really wasn’t fair. A pious and devout man with an ass and lips made for sin, and you couldn’t touch him. You were starting to think that if there really was a God, he certainly was a cruel one.

It’s a quiet day at the church, not really anything to do. But still you stayed, talking to Matthew about… anything really. Today he talked about how his life sometimes had been lonely before he found his calling. The words from Laura still ringing in your head, you find your courage to finally ask the question that’s been burning to come out.

“Have you never been curious?” Your ask, your fingers grazing the rows of benches as you make your way over to Matthew. Looking to you briefly, he just offers a smile as he keeps putting the bibles in place.

“It's my job to be curious, but for the sake of argument. Curious about what?”

“What I mean is…” You step forward, further closing the distance between you and Father Murdock. “Have you ever been tempted?”

He swallows hard and you hear his breathing get heavier. Licking his lips, he puts down the bible and turn to you. “I have.”

You know you shouldn’t, but you walk closer still, your body almost touching his. “And you never wanted to give in to temptation?”

“Tha-that would be a sin.” He breathes out, clearly affected by you. “The, uhm… The devil often sends temptations in the most…” he pauses, breathing strained as his hand comes to rest on the bench in front of him, knuckles almost turning white as he clenches around the wood. “Alluring forms. All to test our faith.”

“And how strong are you in your faith, Father?” you breathe out, using every single ounce of willpower not to kiss him. Never one to believe, you feel yourself praying for strength to resist him.

“Not-” he swallows, turning his head to you, his face a mere inch from yours. “Not as strong as I want to be.”

The air between you is thick. You want to lean in, claim his lips with your own. Your whole body is screaming for him. It’s so forbidden, but you don’t care. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted a man before. Needing him like you're drawing and he is air.

Unable to hold back any longer, you lean forward and gently press your lips to his in a sweet, brief kiss. Petrified, he stands there wide eyed, mouth slightly ajar.

The door to the church opens, causing Father Matthew to break away from you. His face flustered, bottom lip quivering as he tries to compose himself. He looks to the man who entered the church, swallowing hard, as he takes one of the bibles, using it to cover his erection.

“I-I must go.” He stutters, fixing his glasses and smoothes down his hair, trying to look unphased when in fact his insides are in turmoil, his soul on fire from your kiss. He gives you a soft smile, his free hand squeezing your arm, before he walks down the aisle.

You sit down in the confession booth, waiting. It’s not long before the hatch slides away, the unmistakable voice of Matt Murdock greeting you.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first time confessing.”

His breathing changes. He knows it’s you. He shifts in his seat, clearing his throat before he speaks. “What do you have to atone for, my child?”

“I have had unpure thoughts of a man I shouldn’t lust after. A man of the church. I feel myself drawn to him.” You confess, looking to the little window between you and Matthew. “I… I have touched myself thinking about him.”

“Oh God.” He breathes out, barely above a whisper.

“I have thought about all the ways I could please him. How he would feel inside me.”

A soft whimper fills the air. You can hear him squirming beside you, finding it hard to sit still. “I wonder if he thinks of me too. If he has laid there in the darkness, hard at the thought of me.”

“Please… Don’t…” is all he manages to say, hearing the struggle in his voice. “I can’t…”

In that moment you give hell to everything, leaving the booth and find yourself opening the door to his side. Father Matthew looks up, breathing coming out hard, as he tries to control himself. His cock is straining against the zipper, begging to be released. He tries to hide it, ashamed of how little self-control he has around you.

You walk in, not even bothering to close the door behind you before you straddle his lap, your core rubbing against his hard length. He whimpers at the contact, muttering prayers under his breath.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll go.” You say, the pleading clear. You want him with every fiber of your being, already soaked through your panties. A wicked part of you wants to ruin him, wants to know you were the one taking his innocence, right here before the eyes of God.

“You know I can’t.” He looks up, eyes glazed over with lust. He swallows hard, his hand cupping your cheek. He prays that you have the strength to leave, because his is faltering. Leaning in closer, your breath ghost over his lips, causing him to shiver.

“Please don’t. I… I’m not strong enough to resist you.” He stutters, not breaking away. You claim his lips in a soft, almost timid kiss. Moans fill the air as he feels your soft lips against his. Deepening the kiss, you grind against him, feeling how hard he is under you.

Your hands move down his chest, cupping his bulge, eliciting sweet whimpers from Father Matthew. You push away, falling to your knees, the cold stones hard against your skin. You unzip his pants, hand wrapping around his weeping cock, so desperate for attention. Father Matthew puts his hand over yours, causing you to stop.

“No, we can’t… ” He tries to protest, yet his hips jerk up into your hand, whimpering at the friction. At that you just smile softly, taking him into your mouth down to the base, getting a loud moan from him. Father Matthew throws his head back, eyes open, thinking about the lifeless figure hanging over the alter, judging him.

“God forgive me.” He whimpers, his fingers gripping onto the bench beneath him. You bob your head, moaning as his tip hit the back of your throat. The vibrations of your moan sending shivers through Farther Matthew, making him squirm under you, before he stops you by pushing your head away.

He falls to his knees, facing you. His eyes almost find yours, the intensity of the moment making his heart swell with something he wishes were weaker, so he could ignore it. But he can’t. His hands move to the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head, uncovering your smooth soft skin that breaks out in goosebumps under his timid touch.

You know it's the first time he's ever touched another human so intimately, so you let his fingers explore your skin, his trembling hands cupping your breasts.

Your heart is beating fast, the sound almost deafening as your lips come together again. You make quick work of the buttons of his shirt, fingers running hungrily over his chest. You hold him tight as you press kisses down his jaw to his throat.

Father Matthews skin burns under your touch, eyes half lidded, heavy with want as his eyes search for you. With a hand flat on his chest, you turn, pushing him back until he’s laying on the floor, his upper body outside the booth. Anyone could walk in and find you, but none of you care. Straddling him, your soaked panties rub over his exposed cock, making him groan under you. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you grind on him.

Pulling your panties to the side, you take a hold of his cock, slowly lowering yourself onto his hard length. Father Matthew holds his breath as you take him to the base, his mind going blank at how good you feel. “God forgive me.” He chants, over and over, as you fuck yourself on his cock. His whimpers fill the air, the sound echoing throughout the church.

His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts up into you, unable to hold back. It’s so good, so forbidden. It only takes a few more seconds before Father Matthew comes with a loud groan.

“Oh God!” he moans, eyes closed as he pumps into you one last time before coming to a halt. For a moment, all you hear in the empty church, is your heavy breathing filling the air. After catching his breath, he sits up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He pushes you off him gently, averting your gaze as he quickly fixing his clothes. Guilt is painted all over his features, his face red with embarrassment as he runs towards his office, leaving you alone on the floor.

A week later, you find yourself outside his office. You want to say your sorry, to seek his forgiveness for being weak. You wanted it, but it wasn’t until you saw the torment on his face that you realized what you had done.

You had taking his virginity, without even thinking about the consequences. You had to make amends. Taking a deep breath, you knock on his door and wait.

“Come in.”

Peaking in, you see him sitting at his desk, a stack of paper before him. His fingers glide over the pages, reading another line, before looking in your direction.

“What can I do for you?”

“I… I wanted to say sorry.” You barely manage to say, voice close to breaking. Father Matthew stop what he's doing, pushing away from his desk.

“You’re not the only one guilty of what happened that day.” He walks up to you, his index finger gently tracing your jaw. “And I’m sorry for leaving you. I just…”

“Felt guilty?” You offer, getting a small smile in return from Father Matthew. Cupping your cheek, he nods softly, sighing at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingers.

“Yes. I cannot allow myself to be tempted.” He pauses, resting his forehead against yours. “But you make it very hard. Make me falter in my faith.”

He breaks away from you, walking back to his desk, the frustration evident. You walk over to Father Matthew, sitting down beside him on the desk. There’s so much you want to say, but you fear the words wouldn’t help. You settle for placing your hand on his, a gesture so innocent compared to what else you've done, but it still feels like you're playing with fire.

Father Matthew looks to his hand, lips quirking up in a little smile, before he turns his hand around, so he can hold yours. His thumb moves in soft circles on the back of your hand, the motion as soothing for him as it is to you.

Looking down at the table, you see a pair of glasses with dark red glass, so unlike the ones he usually wears. "What are the red glasses for? Can you read hidden codes in the books with them?"

"You have watched too many movies." Father Matthew grins, giving your hand a squeeze. He looks in their direction, scratching the back of his head. "Most blind people wear dark shades. Some to hide their eyes, but most because it's easier on the eyes."

"But... you're...?"

"Almost completely blind. Barely any sight left. So it's not long before I'll have to switch these out." He smiles, tapping the clear glasses on his nose.

After that, the two of you sit in silence for a while, none of you daring to speak. Finally, you break the silence.

"Father Matthew, I-"

“I believe you were put on this earth to be my test from God. My apple of Eden.” He interrupts with a pained smile, turning to you, his free hand coming to rest on your cheek. "And now that I've known desire, I fear one taste will never be enough."

You blush, the sacrilege in his words weighing heavy on you. You know what those words could mean, how they could bring ruin to him, as he would sacrifice everything he's worked for, for you.

His lips find yours in an innocent kiss. A silent 'God forgive me' falls from his lips, before they claim yours again. This time less timid as his tongue begs for entrance. It quickly turns heated, frantic, as he moves closer to you, unable to keep his distance any longer.

Father Matthew moves from the desk, only to stand between your parted legs, his hands shaking as they pause on your thighs. He falls to his knees, looking up at you.

“What wicked games our Lord can play, sending someone like you to cross my path.” He breathes out, fingers trembling as they open your jeans. Slowly he pulls them off along with your underwear, exposing you to him. Hands caressing up the length of your legs, causing Father Matthew to shiver.

“No one but you could make a man fall from grace.” He grins, nipping at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, eliciting a string of whimpers from you. “Hail Mary, full of Grace.” He prays, placing soft kisses on your sensitive skin, muttering prayers under his breath. You shiver as he nears your heated core, already soaked for him. He kisses you mound, his breath on your sensitive cunt making you tremble.

“Pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death. Amen.” He pleads, his eyes blown wide with lust as he dives in, his tongue licking up your wet slit.

"Oh God… Father Matthew." You moan out, fingers entangling in his hair as he devours you like a man starved. His perfect lips encircle your clit as he starts sucking, pulling a sweet moan from you. His name falls from your lips, like the softest prayer, a hymn more beautiful than any he'd ever heard before.

Lowering himself a little more, he licks at your entrance, the sweet taste of you making him moan into your folds. He grabs a hold of your hips, urging you closer as he pushes his tongue inside of you, wanting to drink you in completely.

Flattening his tongue, he licks up your slit, flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud. It's all too much and with a few more flicks of his tongue, you come undone with his name on your lips.

He keeps nipping at your sensitive core as you come down, your breathing rapid as you look down, marveling in the sight before you. He looks good on his knees, like a good catholic boy praying at the alter that is you.

Pulling him up to his feet, you kiss him with unknown passion, the hunger for him threatening to break you if you don't feel him inside you soon. Father Matthew feverishly pull at his belt, impatiently unzipping his pants. He palms his erection, pumping a few times before he lines up at your entrance, his whole body trembling.

He knows it's a sin, he knows he shouldn't. But he wants you, needs you. Not since he found his calling, his path, has anything called to him as you do. His Lilith, his temptress, unbroken and unbowed as you make this cold office feel like your own Garden of Eden.

Pushing in, his legs almost give in at the feeling of you. Your wet heat, so inviting as he pushes in, soft prayers once again spilling over his lips.

"God, give me strength." He mutters, voice close to breaking, his lips claiming yours in a desperate kiss.

Your tight warmth surrounding him, igniting a furious fire deep in his belly. His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He pulls out slowly, reveling in the feeling of you.

“How can anything that’s a sin feel so good?” He breathes out as he pushes in slowly, inch by delicious inch, before he bottoms out. “I’m sure this is what heaven feels like.”

By the time Father Matthew starts thrusting, you almost sob at the sensation of his hard cock inside you. The stretch is delicious and he takes his time, savoring you and your cunt with slow and deep thrusts. You clench around him, already close again.

He grips you harder, his pace quickening as he gets close to his own release. His hand moves up to your throat, squeezing gently, just enough to make you gasp for air.

"Matthew, please…" You whisper as he claims your lips, the kiss almost bruising as he pistons his hips against you. You scream out your release, fingers digging into Father Matthews shoulders. He only thrusts once more, before he spills inside you, filling you to the brim.

"Jesus Christ!" You pant, feeling how he throbs inside of you. Matthew just chuckles, kissing your forehead sweetly.

"Language. You shouldn't take his name in vain." He says seriously, but soon breaks into a laugh. He kiss you again, quick pecks on your lips, cheeks and nose.

"Sorry, Father." You feign innocence, biting your lip. Father Matthew just sighs, nudging your bottom lip free with his thumb before he kiss you softly.

"What should I do with you?" He laughs, placing another series of soft kisses on your lips.

"I think this calls for lots and lots of private confessions. This little lamb has strayed too far from the path." You grin, kissing his neck. He instantly moans, still new to this kind of intimacy.

What you’ve done, is the ultimate sin and could lead to Father Matthew being excommunicated. Forced to leave the church and his calling. But by the way his cock twitches against your core, you think he's ready to sin some more.

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

Tagging a few people. Please just tell me if it's not okay: @lucy-sky @foli-vora @murdockswh0r3 @freshabogados @briefcasejuice @peterman-spideyparker

[wannabemurdock]

priest!shy!VIRGINmatt x experienced young (like she have 18?19?) fem!reader? Like for his occupation Matt HAS NEVER BEEN SEXUALLY TOUCHED, so this beautiful girl has him in her bed and she blow him, hand him, ride him and chock him a little bit.

matt obviously doesn't know if he's in this reality or in heaven with an angel above him riding the shit out of him

by the end he's just dizzy and soooo overstimulated, so they both lie on her bed and talk, and matt just listens to her like a complete, total lovesick idiot.

-✨

Never felt like this, Matt Murdock

masterlist

Pairing: Priest!Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: You ruin the perfect priest

Word count: 2041 words.

Contains: smut. unprotected sex. blasphemy.

Notes: i've been thinking about this ask for so long

Minors do not interact

Requests are closed

not my gif

You’ve been patient. Waiting for the moment where you could get your hands on the innocent priest from your parents church. Only having a month to plan this before you leave your parents to go back to New York. You want to fulfil his deepest, darkest dreams and fantasies. The ones that made him pray for forgiveness after imagining. You want to ruin him. Make him believe there is no god. That the only angel there could possibly be, is you.

All he knows is that you are everything he wants. Everything he needs. He's so desperate for you. He's been oblivious to the fact you are consciously torturing him. Pushing him to his breaking point.

Like only confessing when you know that he's on the other side of the booth's partition.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned." you voice serious, laced with your best imitation of guilt. If only he Matt... I mean Father Murdock, could see you. You smile betrays you. You're just planting the seeds you plan to sow later on. Torture him until he is the one that breaks.

"What do you seek forgiveness for." Nerves making his voice quiet and shaky. He immediately recognised it was you on the other side.

"Sex before marriage.... My mum found out and is making ask for forgiveness." You hear his breathing become shallow at your words. You imagine all the possible scenarios running through his mind. You in compromising positions. The noises you'd make. How you'd taste. How beautiful you would feel underneath him.

You weren't far off. His mind was too busy racing through all those very things, he forgot he was a priest doing gods work in a confessional booth at that very moment.

"Father?" it takes everything in you to not laugh at how easy it is to rile him up. You hear him cough and shuffle in his seat. His cock straining against his pant's just desperate for your touch.

"Um.. yes. You don't seem very remorseful of the... s-situation." He's ready to kick himself. He could've just given the forgiveness, but he's dragging the encounter out just to hear the slightest of details.

"Well, I'm not remorseful? Why would I?" You think hard about your words. What could possibly drive him crazy. "I mean, it can't really hurt to feel good. Ban sex, might as well ban masturbation too. Right? You can't frown upon one but not the other. Anyway, what's the point in denying pleasure."

That's done it.

He rushes through the rest of the confession before excusing himself to the office at the back of the church.

What about the time you game him a little show while he helped you family set up for the neighbourhood barbeque.

Father Murdock had just arrived to your house, in summer clothes compared to the pristine suits, welcomed with open arms and a solid handshake by your mum before being sent out to the backyard to help your dad start up the grill and other snacks. Your mum had busied herself within the kitchen by finishing up the salads and bakes.

He was disappointed that he couldn't hear you. As time went on and you made things much harder for him, he somehow looked forward to seeing you. Not look forward. More desperate. Desperate to hear your groans when you stretched. For your soft sighs and giggles you saved only for him when he said something he knew wasn't that funny. Desperate to feel your soft touch on the back of hands when leading him somewhere. The way you touch his thigh when you'd giggle. He always wished he could hear and feel more of you.

He has to shake himself of his thoughts before someone notices him holding the same bowl of chips for far too long or before he gets himself a position he would not be able to explain. Well, that before he notices you slide up next to him. Side on to him, shoulder pressed against his. The skin of your shoulder pressed against his bare arms. The illusion of you wearing something skimpy and revealing drives him wild. You turn to face him, tits brushing against his arm as he realises you in nothing more than a bikini top. He quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. The feeling of you forever burnt into his body.

In your wise words, "what's the point in denying pleasure?"

All those moments lead up to now. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. He knew he shouldn't have accepted your invitation. But he couldn't say no. He was at his wits end. He's maintained a life of celibacy. Saving himself for marriage in the name of god. But you had made him desperate. No amount of praying could stop the way he feels about you.

Your parents are out of town. You're alone in a big house in a town you've lived your whole life but you couldn't help but "admit" to Father Murdock that you're scared to be alone. Asking him to stay the night in the guest room so you had some piece of mind.

He fell for the puppy dog eyes. The tremble in your voice. How desperate you looked for one, rather than him.

He knew he should've said no.

But if he did, he wouldn't be standing there on your front porch, pizza in hand, waiting for you to answer the door. His cock already pressing against the zipper of his slacks at the thought of you in one of your tiny outfits.

You certainly didn't disappoint. You swing open the door clad in nothing more than a tiny pair of shorts and a see through singlet. You pull him in for a hug, repeating thank you's and how grateful you are that he's here. He can barely hear you over the sound of his blood pulsating in his ears.

Leading him to the kitchen with a little extra pep in your step, anticipation coursing through you. Taking the pizza from his hands and placing it on the bench, you slide past him. Brushing your ass against the hard outline in his pants, you hear a quiet groan escape his throat. Spinning around to look at him with wide eyes.

"Father Murdock!" You feign shock in your voice as a blush spreads across his face and he starts mumbling apologies. Pressing the front of your body against his, you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"Let me make you feel good, baby boy." Pulling away to look at his face for any hesitation, he nods before grabbing your hand. You lead him upstairs to your bedroom. Both hearts racing for reasons so different, they're almost the same.

You pull him into your bedroom before slamming the door and pushing him against it. You pull away his sunglasses, kissing him with a fire you've never felt before as you threw them on the table next to your door. The top of your thigh between his legs, pressing against his confined cock as needy moans leave him. Lips melding together in desperation. Your hands grip the collar of his shirt, crumping the pristine material as you pull him impossibly closer.

"Do you want this?" Struggling to get the words out between kisses.

"Yeah, yeah please. I need you." His words has you dragging him over to your bed before pushing him to lay down. You undo his pants, pulling them and his underwear down enough to let his cock spring free before falling to your knees between his parted legs. The tip, angry and weeping as you admire him. Absolutely stunning as he lays there so ready for you.

How did a man this hung, deny the world of a dick this gorgeous in the name of god.

You spit into your palm before tentatively wrapping your hand around him, ready for him to say stop at any moment. Instead he begs.

"Please. Please touch me. Use me. Do whatever you want. I want you." His words has you dripping in anticipation. You pump him a few time before you take him in your mouth as deep as you can, saliva dripping and pooling around his base. Moans fall freely from his lips as you begin to move. Never knowing anything could feel this good, he's already on the edge.

"Gonna come already, baby boy?" You pull away, still slowly pumping him with your hand. He knows he should be embarrassed from the way you're mocking him but all he can muster is a simple nod as he does his best to not bust immediately.

"You want come like this? Or do you want me to fuck you?" Your words stun him. Never having this opportunity before, he doesn't want to waste it.

"Fuck me. P-please fuck me." The tremble in his voice send a pang of pleasure down your spine before it settle in your lower stomach. Getting up from your place you the ground, you strip quickly before straddling his hips, bare pussy flush against his cock. You grind yourself back and forth slowly. His tip bumping your clit so beautifully, its hard to get yourself to stop.

Matt groans as you lift up, a soft hiss at the loss of contact before you wrap your hand around him and line him up with your entrance. You lower yourself down slowly, his hands flying to your hips. Knees shaking lightly as his tip hits the part of you that makes you see stars. The part no one else has managed to touch.

"Fuck..." You huff, "You feel so fucking good." His hands grip your hips painfully tight, not able to say a word in fear of losing the remaining bit of composure he has left. You lift yourself back onto you knees, and bounce back down, developing a steady rhythm while your nails mark his chest. You're so close, concentrating on your own high you twist and grind your hips, the little tuft of hair at his base creates beautiful friction on you clit. You feel the heat begin to engulf your body when-

"Fuck I'm coming!" His words startle you but then an idea forms.

"I didn't come." Shock covers his face as his softening dick slips out of you. His cum starting to slowly drip out of you.

"I'm- I - We-" You cut him off before he can say much more.

"Lemme ride your face." Your words shock him, leaving him blubbering more than before.

"Let me explain again. I'm going to sit on your face, you're going to use your mouth and tongue and make me come. Otherwise it wouldn't be fair, Father Murdock." he nods his head quickly, not able to form words.

You climb up his body, giving him a solid eye full of your pussy. His eyes practically the shape of hearts before you lower yourself against his mouth. He clumsily licks and sucks at your pussy before figuring out what makes you react best. He brings his fingers up to your entrance, inserting them and moving them slowly as he sucks on your clit.

"Curl your finger- OH fuck right there." He builds a steady rhythm as you rocks and grind against his face. Drunk on the taste of you, he doesn't feel himself harden again. All sense overwhelmed by you, he concentrates the best he can on making you come.

Your moans get louder, your hips lose rhythm. The burning heat swallows you whole this time as you fall headfirst into your orgasm. Thigh shaking against his head as you gush around his fingers. You feel him moan against you as you ride out your high before climbing off of him. You lay down and rest your head on his chest, waiting for your legs to stop shaking.

Shocked at what just happened. Feeling you come against his face sent him into a whole new level of euphoria. A mix of his and your cum, spread across the lower half of his face. His cum covers his stomach. He lies there, fucked out and completely spent. Eyes filled with lust and euphoria as his breathing begins to steady out.

"You didn't think we were stopping there? Did you?"

[farfromstrange]

A little glimpse at a note I wrote to myself for today’s The Vault fic…

Ask yourself: is this filthy enough for the Catholic Church to come after you? If the answer is yes, it’s worth it.

Priest!Matt makes my brain go brrrr

[frankcastlescumslut]

Show Me How You Sin

pairing: Priest!Matt x AFAB!Virgin!Reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! umm haha everything? blasphemy, heavy desecration of religion, virgin reader, oral (f receiving), guided masturbation, soft!dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, reader is in 20’s

synopsis: Father Matthew leads you through your confession and first orgasm

A/N: haha hey! don’t read this is sacrilegious themes offend you!

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/FEEDBACK/LIKES ARE VERY MUCH WELCOMED HEHE

DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION. I’LL SMITE YOU.

he has to know how good he looks, right?

honey, he’s blind.

your mother gives you a quick side eye partnered with a smirk as you mumble to each other from the pew, relishing in the sight in front of you.

black garments cling to Father Murdock’s body in just the right way as he preaches about something you’ve probably heard many times before. your focus is purely on the way his hands rest against the wooden pulpit, veins visible under the dim light, and you can’t help the way your thoughts wander.

his fingers tap into the wood as he emphasizes some point, …your Heavenly Father will also forgive you, practically teasing you to imagine the way they would feel against the inside of your thigh, pressing into the soft flesh as your dress rides up with his touch.

the vasculature of his hands becomes more prominent as he grips onto the pulpit, and you have to swallow away the question of what his hands would look like wrapped around your throat while your lips release sweet moans.

your cheeks flush as you watch the way his tongue darts from the corner of his mouth and wets his lip, the voice catching in your throat as you swear you saw him smirk. you could’ve sworn he caught you; the way you crossed your legs and clenched your thighs together to relieve some of the ache from your core, the way your bottom lip was lodged between your teeth to stifle any moan that threatened to slip, the way your own fingers grabbed onto your sides as you crossed your arms around your body to hold yourself together.

don’t be ridiculous, he’s blind.

a sea of bodies rises from the pews, indicating the end of service. you deflate like a balloon, comfortable disappearing into the crowd and looking forward to relieving your… stress… in the comfort of your own bedroom.

you know it’s wrong, he’s a priest! I have hid thy promise in my heart, that I might not sin against thee. he’s MY priest… but it feels so good to reach that sweet spot when you rub your clothed cunt against the pillow in just the right way, unknowing of what happens after the buildup, wishing it was some part of the man who lead your prayers to help you discover what comes next.

your cheeks burn from embarrassment as you stand, only to find remnants of your arousal and sweat on the pew below.

“Hi.” The voice catches you off guard, causing you to trip over the aisle carpet.

“Careful, there.” His smile is charming as two large hands catch your falling body, the touch lingering on your waist for a second too long.

“S-sorry, Father.” It’s barely a whisper, but he catches your apology, clearly noting the way your heartbeat thunders in your chest.

He can tell you’re blushing by the way your cheeks and ears grow warmer, your skin already slightly damp from the debauchery he had very much noticed before.

His ear turns towards your parents ever so slightly, noticing the quiet laugh your mother is trying to hush- she must be embarrassed or- nervous?

“No need to apologize. I just wanted to see how you all were doing? It’s rare I get a moment to talk to everyone around here!” His smile is radiant as he addresses your family, your breath faltering as he moves his hand to the small of your back.

“Good! We’re all great! Home from college from now,” your mother winks at you, “just enjoying all the ways the Lord has been blessing us!” She’s overly excited as she relishes in the priest’s attention.

“Amen to that.”

Electricity flows from Father Matthew’s fingertips as he lightly grazes the seam of your dress. Your vision seems to blur at the foreign touch, only to be spewed on by the throbbing ache from between your thighs. The conversation is incoherent, your only train of thought telling your body to relax. breathe in, breathe out.

“I’m glad to hear it, it was nice speaking with you!” You take his words as your cue to leave but are halted as your parents take a few steps away.

“Actually,” the way he says your name nearly stops your heart entirely. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in confession?” His lip is upturned in a seasoned smile, one you had recognized before.

“I- um,”

“There’s no pressure, of course. I could just always use the extra practice. Not many people come around anymore, if you can believe that!” You swear you could see the crinkles form around his eye through the red glasses, and you sigh as his hand finally leaves your back.

“Sure. I’m, uh, definitely guilty of that.” As quickly as you relaxed at the absence of his touch, another part of you craved it.

He senses your hesitation, his attuned ears catching the way you crane your neck to scout your parents, only to hide a smile as he can hear your hands flap, shooing away your parents.

“You first,” he motions towards the confessional, vacant gaze trained towards your figure, disappearing into the confines of secrecy.

The wooden bench chills the backside of your thighs as you sit. The silhouette of your priest altered through the grated partition causes your heartbeat to quicken, and you’re suddenly on trial for your sins.

“Bless me, Father Murdock, for I have sinned…” He catches the shakiness in your voice, and the mention of his name causes him to shift his legs in his private section.

“It’s been…” You have to think of how long you had been away at college to remember the last time you’d repeated the phrase. “Four months since my last confession.”

“I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Thank you, Father Murdock-”

“Matthew. You can call me Matthew, if you’d like.” Your cheeks flush at the invitation and he notices, of course he does. Father Matthew… If only he knew how many times that name left your lips in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I, um… I have been struggling lately, Father Matthew.” The weighted confession leaves your mouth causing the crotch of his pants to grow tighter in unholy temptation.

“I have these feelings,” you clear your throat.

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Feelings that sometimes, well,” You’re unsure of how much you’re willing to tell. Granted, the guilt had been eating you alive, but a part of you enjoyed it- enjoyed it the way you enjoyed the feel of him pressing into your back.

“Sometimes they actually turn physical and…” he can tell you’re nervous by the way your cheeks warm and you cross your legs, clenching your thighs together in the process.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed or nervous, God honors your honesty, and so do I.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, and eases you into your repentance.

“When do these feelings typically happen?“ he already knew the answer; it was as if he was baiting you, perhaps he was.

He could sense the way you purposefully rubbed your clothed core against the pews while the congregation stood- the hymns hiding the breathy moans that left your lips when you barely rocked forward. He felt the way your lips threatened to wrap around his finger when he placed the bread on your tongue, his attuned ears catching the shakiness of your prayer. He could smell your arousal through the wooden partition as you contemplated your answer.

“They happen often, Father. And I don’t understand them. I’m ashamed, I think.”

“Shame is a heavy burden, but the burden Christ gives us is-“

“Light.” you speak at the same time.

“Exactly. Good girl” Matt catches the breath that becomes lodged in your throat, your pulse beating rapidly as you brush the hair from your face, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. He wants nothing more than to press his lips to the spot behind your ear, helping you to create pretty sounds.

“Tell me, what makes you ashamed of these feelings?” You’re caught off guard at his sultry tone.

“They happen when I do unholy things” Your confession falls on sensitive ears.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Unholy things like…” You don’t even realize your eyes are closed as your fingers caress your thighs, your lower lip hiding a moan as your fingertips brush the hem of your cotton panties. What are you doing?

“Like what you’re doing right now?” Matt noticed the way your concentration had adjusted, and he could sense the pad of your fingertips rub against the thicker seam- your breath falters and your body tenses as you’re caught. His cock throbs in the confinement of his pants.

“None of us are without sin. But I am interested in something.” His voice is raspy.

“Why don’t you show me how you sin?” you feel faint but gasp audibly at his proposal, your core throbbing at the thought.

“Father… I don’t… I”

“Your heavenly father has already forgiven you. May I?” He leans his head closer to the partition, eager to sense your response. You whimper at the thought of pleasuring yourself, fully confessing and at the mercy of the priest, and your fingers brush against your warm cunt, causing you to whisper a moan as you graze the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, so obedient.” he clears his throat. “Do that again for me.”

The pad of your fingertips press into your clit and your eyes flutter shut.

“Good girl,” He notes the way you moan at the praise. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

“I feel, I feel dirty.” You do. You really, really do. But you also feel really, really good.

“Dirty is an interesting word to use… tell me where your hands are.”

“They’re on my thighs, Father.” He waits for a moment as he listens for the sound of your soft skin being kneaded, but he finds something else entirely.

“Angel, lying defeats the purpose of confession. Where are your hands?” It’s condescending and almost threatening, and you realize where you’re sitting and who you’re talking to.

It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. But neither of you are willing to stop.

“They’re on my… my…”

“Your pussy?” He growls as he finally palms his hard length while imagining your innocent body responding to his games.

“Yes.” You’re fully clothed but feel naked- exposed.

“Good girl. There’s no shame in pleasure. After all, God created it. Are your thighs spread open?” He knew the answer. He could practically taste the way you coated the booth.

“Yes.”

“I want to ask you something, is that alright?“

“Yes.”

“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” Your stomach lurches at the thought.

“No.”

“Such a shame.” You swear you hear him tsk in disapproval. “Would you like to?”

“Y-yes.”

The curtain of your booth is pulled away quickly, equally catching you off guard. You hadn’t even heard him remove himself from his side, and you certainly weren’t expecting to see the flushed face of your priest as your legs were spread wide open for anyone to see. Truthfully, though, you didn’t care if anyone saw. You were unable to form any other thought, fully surrendering to the desires of your flesh, whatever that meant.

It’s silent for a moment as he stands in front of you, his head turning to perceive your already wrecked state. Heavy breaths fill the small space as anticipation grows. Your back sinks against the hardwood, causing your thighs to spread even further, your clothed pussy peeking out from under your dress in silent invitation. Matt accepts gladly, wishing he could watch the way your eyes grew in size as he lowered himself in front of you.

His hands, the ones you had fantasized about so many times before, shakily greet your calves, the fingers gently teasing against the skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He smirks at the way you moan at the minimal touch, only then wondering how much you had been denying yourself.

“Angel,” his lips press into the inside of your knee. “Have you sinned like this before? With another person?”

You shake your head in response, and Matt can tell the answer by the way your arousal seeps from your panties, but you quickly correct yourself.

“N-no Father Matthew.”

“Such a good girl.” He places another kiss on the opposite knee.

“Oh, Christ!” You exhale as his hands travel further towards your core, his fingers dancing against your thighs, kisses littering wherever he touches. He smiles at your reactions.

Teeth lightly nip at the delicate flesh, and he inhales deeply as his nose practically nudges against where you crave him the most. He sighs into you, his warm breath against your sobbing pussy causing you to moan.

“So responsive,” his thumb traces the inside seam of your white cotton underwear, threatening to please you. “May I?” He faces you, desperately trying to find your eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, giving permission to something you’re not even sure he’s asking.

The heel of your foot, the hardness of a pew, the softness of a pillow, the texture of a stuffed animal was nothing compared to the way Matt’s thumb caressed your throbbing clit through your panties. You jolted, nearly hitting your head, at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Oh!” His fingers grabbed onto the plump flesh of your thighs just as they held onto the pew, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your bundle of nerves.

“F-father,” You call for him, failing to catch the amusement plastered on his face.

“Hm? How does this feel, sweetheart? You can’t form words to express how you were feeling.

“Good. S-so good. Thank you.” He moans at your gratitude, his member throbbing consequently. His fingers hook into the elastic, patience leaving his body as he desperately needs to taste you.

“Angel, let me make you feel good.” He pleads with a kiss to your panty-cladded cunt. An open mouth moan against your core causes you to reach for him as he denies himself the pleasure of lapping up your taste. “Please, will you let me make you feel good?”

You aren’t sure how it can feel much better than this, but you oblige with ease.

“Please, Father Matthew. Please make me feel good.”

Your underwear fall to your ankles with haste, the air against your wet pussy causing you to shiver. Matt shivers as your arousal floods the tiny space, taunting him to devour you.

“Sweetheart, you tell me if you’d like me to stop, okay?” His fingers find your hand and wrap around your wrist as you give your silent consent.

His warm breath greets you first as you sharply inhale, this will be fun, and he teases you with the flat of his tongue pressing against the entirety of your pussy.

“H-help.” Had he heard you correctly?

“Help? Is everything okay? Would you like me to stop?” His brows furrowed in concern and he loosened his grip.

“No!” You practically shout, the echo hurting his ear slightly. “No! Please. I just… I’ve never felt this and I…” You’re embarrassed to admit you aren’t sure how to feel.

“Relax, angel. I promise I’m going to take care of you, ” He places a small kiss on your thighs. “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore,” he quotes scripture before placing his lips to your clit. You relax into the feeling, unsure of whether it was the familiarity of the words or the satiation of your flesh.

The tip of his tongue runs through your wet folds, sucking lightly to taste every drop, before flicking and circling against your swollen clit. Your moans cause his cock to throb against his thigh as he relishes in your sweetness.

“Fuck,” The profanities surprise you as they’re murmured from below. “Taste so fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart.” Your cheeks flush at the compliment.

“So fuckin’ sweet, just like an angel. My little angel,” His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and he sucks lightly, the sound of spit audible to anyone who could pass by. He’s surprised by the way you respond and throw your hands against his head before quickly pulling back in regret.

“It’s okay,” he coos from below. “You can touch me.” You burn with temptation at his invitation and sink back into the wooden frame at an awkward angle, your fingers gently caressing the side of his head.

“Oh, Father.” You attempt to stifle your moan by catching part of your dress in your mouth, but he stops you before it passes your lips.

“Don’t be shy, kitten.” An outreached hand reaches to cup your face, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle into his touch. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking pleasure. Do you need me to help you?” you nod your head against his palm and he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer against him

“There you go, such a good girl. Just like that.” Your head falls back as he laps up your arousal from your leaking hole and places kitten licks against your clit, your moans falling freely.

“God,” you whimper, “that feels so good. I-I like that.”

He continues his ministrations, applying a steady pressure to your sensitive clit as your fingers grip into his hair and your hips lightly rut into him. He growls against your movements, and a wet spot grows visible against his trousers.

“That's it princess,” He moans into you. “Show me what you like. Show me how you like it.” you adjust your hips and lightly grind against his tongue. His grip onto you tightens, surely leaving bruises in return, as he encourages you to grow confident in your motions.

“Please please please” unsure of what you’re asking for as your thrusts grow quicker and more erratic. Matt mumbles a prayer and hums against your clit, causing you to force his face to press into you even more.

“Do that again, please.” you beg for more of the new sensations, his hums vibrating against your most sensitive area. He obliges with haste, silently praying and eager for a taste of your release.

An unfamiliar sensation bubbles within as your priest devours your pleasure. If the idea of the holiest man you knew moaning against your virgin cunt wasn’t enough to bring you to an orgasm, the sounds of your slick and his drool mixing and coating your clit was enough to do so.

“Father, what’s happening?” Your eyes attempt to open, but your lashes flutter at the pleasure. Your chest heaves as Matt brings you to the edge of your first orgasm.

“Just as the Father has washed you from iniquity, let this feeling wash over you, angel.” You’re sure you’ve reached Heaven. Your entire body tenses as you cling onto Matt, holding him against your clit as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

“Oh fuck! Oh Christ!” The muscles in your thighs tremble as they involuntarily close around the priest’s head; he moans as the sweetness of your taste and smell floods his senses. Your body shakes with pleasure and your abs contract with each wash of euphoria.

Your arousal drips from you like honey from a honeycomb, and Matt collects it with the tip of his tongue and spreads it over your clit before sucking gently, causing you to jolt from overstimulation.

“Ouch!” You flinch, “It hurts, Father.”

“If we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.” He recites the verse into your sopping cunt with a last lick, savoring your first sin. You’re surprised as he reaches for your face and brings you forward, your lips pressing into one another with a gentle kiss.

You moan into him, embarrassed that you’re enjoying the simple intimacy and the taste of you. He returns the pleasantry, his tongue tracing your swollen bottom lip before breathing into you a final time; his heart mirrors you at the slight ache.

His lips trail kisses from your face to your neck, stopping at your core while his fingers dip between your folds for good measure, before disappearing behind his lips. He continues his trail of kisses down the length of your legs before pulling your panties in their proper position.

Your legs groan as you finally stand at your full height and marvel at the sight below you. The priest's robes had been abandoned long ago, and he looked oddly human as he knelt below you. Your hand reaches towards him, reaching to hold his face, and he leans into your tender touch. He places an intimate kiss on your palm before standing, awkwardly adjusting the erection in his pants.

“I, um, I can-” He smiles at your offer.

“No, you don’t have to. It’s okay, angel. You did enough today.” You blush at his words, wishing you could run from the impending separation.

You’re surprised as he places a kiss to your forehead before running his hands against your figure, straightening the hem of your dress with precision and a kind smile, the sheen of your arousal still evident on his lip. You return the favor by gingerly adjusting the red tinted glasses and brushing a piece of his hair from his forehead. Your thumb rubs against his lips before disappearing into your mouth.

“Will I see you next Sunday?” He breaks the tender moment.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl.”

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Daredevil Masterlist

One Shots

Atomic - Tumblr Black Suit of Sin Smut. E.

Working Lunch - Tumblr Earth 65 Matt Murderdock x female reader, CNC, fingering, cunilingus, unprotected sex, mention of possible future pregnancy. E.

Rain - Tumblr first date, kiss and time request. E.

Part Of Me - Tumblr | Ao3 venom symbiote!Matt X female reader, tentacle porn with fluffy feelings. E.

No Show - Tumblr female reader x Matt Murderdock x Elektra, reader gets stood up but has a blast of a night anyway! E.

More - Tumblr college!Matt x virgin reader request, Matt's gentle at first but gets a bit carried away, smut, E.

Drunk in Love - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt x gn!reader. Alcohol mention, vomiting, fluff, humour. M.

Move Me - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 boxer Matt X dancer f!Reader. Mild angst, fluff. G.

Wish These Snakes Were Your Arms - Matt x succubus reader smutty whump with biting, blood and season 3 style depression. E.

Returns and Reruns - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Fratt, hookup, sort of established kind of thing. Anal sex. E

Turn - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 priest!matt/f!reader, tons of religious tropes, sacrilicious oral (f & m) and sex, corruption, E.

Listen - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 college!Matt/gn reader, masturbation, voice kink. E.

Good Girls Finish First - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt/female reader, praise kink smut, p in v, slight denial. E.

La Belle et le Bad Boy - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/Succubus!Reader, pheromones, smut. E

Assist - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/Reader, ANGST drabble, Matt finds out reader is Elektra's sister. G

Justify - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/F!Reader, shibari rope bondage, religious tropes, maximum smut, oral, multiple orgasms, p in v sex, overstim, E

Keep Them On - Tumblr | Ao3 Matt Murdock/F!Reader, he's wearing sweatpants. E

Forgiven - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/gn!reader, you find out Matt is DD... angsty but feelings! M

Discipline (full, part 1) - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/F!Reader, shibari rope bondage, oral (f and m), unprotected sex, E

Discipline (Drabble) - Tumblr Matt Murdock/reader, Matt's having trouble stopping himself and asks you for help. A shibari drabble which is currently being extended! M(will change to E)

Ease - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / f!Reader. Period Pain, Smut, Fingering, Fluff. E

So Heavy I Fell Through the Earth - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / f!Reader. Sort of somnophilia, Matt is amazing at eating pussy. E

Hold the Avo - Tumblr Matt Murdock/f!Reader. Roleplay, f gentle Dom, first time m anal. E

Sacrament - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / f!Reader. Honeymoon sex in the hotel. E

Part I, The Deep Cut - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / gn!Reader. Angst, Breakup, Whump M

Part II, Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock x gn! Reader, hurt/comfort, whump M

The Green, Green Dress - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / f!Reader. Semi-public sex. E

Assignation - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock / Frank Castle / f!Reader. Threesome E

Drabbles

Werewolf!Matt - what it says on the tin. E.

Shop Talk - Murderdock is very busy with work, but that isn't going to prevent him from keeping you satisfied. Semi public sex, E

One last try - Matt x gender neutral reader. angsty, jealousy bit of smut. M.

Don't Ask - cunnilingus and Matt getting pussy drunk, coming untouched. E.

Not You - Fratt, angst, very whumpy torture, blood, suffering, mention of death. E.

Attached - no warnings, humour, fluff. G.

Matt kiss thots 😘

Sleepy Head - soft slightly smutty Fratt. M.

Xmas - Matt Murdock x gn reader, Matt is dog tired and you take care of him. G

Pancakes - Matt x Frank x gn reader. the boys have been out on patrol and come back a little worse for wear. G

Matt has a nightmare - Matt x Frank, fluff. G.

"I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that" - Matt x f!reader + bit of Frank, oral. E

Those Silent Sirens - Matt/f!reader, sexy/angsty drabble about two vigilantes. M.

Dissent from the Fear - f! Reader, small drabble, G.

Soft Matt thoughts gn!reader, for when you're down, G.

Tasting Notes - gn!reader, taking Matt on a wine tasting date, fluff G.

A Velvet Rope - poetic angst about Matt and love. G

Genesis - Matt Murdock/F!reader, fluffy love drabble with a lil surprise at the end. G

Judge and Jury - short Matt Murdock angst. M

Matt/Frank/Reader Strawberryverse

🍓 When Girls Telephone Boys - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt/Frank/Reader, missing your guys while they're away, you call and get them to play for you... Bukkake, E.

🍓 Bad Taste - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt/f!reader, Matt gets mean after a chase (alluded to in Crosshairs), degradation, p in v, aftercare. E.

🍓 Crosshairs - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank/Matt/Reader, reader shoots Matt in the ass with a paintball gun. Fluff M.

🍓 Please Hold - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/Frank Castle/f!Reader, orgasm denial, Matt being bratty, sub Matt, Dom Frank, teasing, fingering. E

🍓 Warpath - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank/Matt/f!reader part 2 of Please Hold, bratty Matt gets what he deserves when Frank comes home, anal, oral, threesome. E.

🍓 Strawberry Surprise - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Matt Murdock/Frank Castle/f!Reader. Semi-public smut. E

🍓 Perfect for Me - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/F Reader, little bit of cheeky gun euphemism, soft Dom Frank. Only a tiny bit smutty. M

[cellophaine]

You're My Religion (Part II)

Part I

Pairing: Priest!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Word Count: 2884

Warnings: Priest kink, improper acts with a priest, unprotected sex. If you think you will get offended by the content of this fic, please, DO NOT PROCEED.

Author's Note: It's here! The second part of YMR! I don't know why but this part came to me quite easily. I hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

As always, any likes, comments, reblogs, feedbacks and ask submissions are greatly appreciated!

Prompt requested by: my lovely dovey friend @juniebugg <3

------

Fuck him.

Fuck your fucking boss for making you stay so damn late. By the time you got out of the office, it was already 9:30 PM. The sun had long gone, dipping below the city skyline, bringing the temperature down with it. You swung your bag across your body and grumbled as it did little to ward off the cold. The slight drizzle of snow caught on your hair, brushed against your cheeks as you continued your path home.

Leaving work late had been a regular occurrence for you in the past week. Your boss reprimanded you for not putting your best into your assigned project, hence making you handle not only your part of the work but also other little and time-consuming tasks. As much as you hated your boss, you had to admit he was right. A certain priest had always taken up the majority of your thought, and only more so after what happened. It didn't matter how much you determined to forget him, to erase the feel of him on your skin, your lips; he wouldn't leave your mind.

Standing before the crosswalk, you contemplated for a moment before stalking down the quiet street, the one you had been avoiding for the past week.

You walked past many different and exciting places on your way to work, but nowhere could draw a reaction from you like Clinton church - an adrenaline thrill that heated your cheeks, making your heart beat faster. You used to go by the place every day, and sometimes, you would catch the rare, blessed sight of Father Murdock. Then, when there was enough time, you would draw on his attention, and he would always answer your call.

Even though your new route was longer, you took it anyway since you couldn't bear the thought of running into him, much less the mere glimpse of him. And, after the day you had, you didn't want to deal with the holler and whistles from the drunkards that seemed to be at every corner of this city.

Your feet carried you closer to Clinton church as you spoke out loud, assuring yourself.

"What are the chances that you will run into him? None, zero- ah shit."

Fate had a way to toy with your patience and the irony that was your life, as you saw Matt from where you stopped abruptly. He was sitting on the bench, with a soft layer of snow covering him. The white dust had woven into his hair, perching on his shoulders, making his dark silhouette stand out before your eyes. You stopped a reasonable distance away, still close enough to see the redness on his nose and cheeks. A puff of white smoke slithered out between his full lips as they parted slightly. He looked like he was the main subject of a painting - peaceful, with the walking cane resting on his chest, the black tip of it drew the passerby's attention to a face that could only be sculpted by God himself.

As it turned out, God did have favourites.

He must have noticed the subtle change in the surrounding noise, and there was no point in staying in silence anymore. So you spoke.

"You should go inside. It's cold…."

"… as you could probably tell."

You mumbled the last part to yourself, feeling foolish. Matt stood up quickly, and your name burst across his lips in a rush. The snow on him fell to the ground; his cheeks seemed to get reddened even more if that was possible. He cleared his throat, using his cane to feel for the surrounding environment.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you."

"Have you?"

Your casual tone rushed the words out in one go; your gaze fleeted back and forth from his face to the empty street. It was as if you were high on alert, watching out for anyone who might be able to catch on to what happened between the two of you. Your body tensed up at the thought, and your headspace just grew warier.

"Yes. I've been waiting out here for you, every night since that night."

Your heart thumped hard at his confession. It had been snowing every day for the past week. The winter was coming at a rapid pace, and it was hardly ever known for being merciful.

Your voice softened at the edge.

"I meant it when I said I was sorry, for... for committing such an atrocious act with you, for selfishly dragging you into my mess. So I thought it would be best to spare you the guilt and maybe, the memory of what I've done by staying away for good."

"Starting by taking a different route to work."

You chuckled bitterly. Guilt was a basket of rotten fruit, attracting flies and all the dreadfulness that gathered at the centre of your heart, weighing it down. But you couldn't throw it away, for what you had done to Matt wasn't something that you could forgive yourself. For it was not up to you.

"You didn't let me finish my thought when you ran off that night."

You shrugged, more than to yourself than him.

"Was that necessary? I knew what you were about to say."

A moment of quietness followed. Just when you thought Matt agreed with you, his gentle tone indicated otherwise.

"No, you didn't."

He stepped closer to you. Under the flickering streetlight, his face was earnest, open and vulnerable.

"Yes, I did. You would tell me how reckless I was, how I sinned, how I would be damned to Hell..."

"…and how you never wanted to see me again."

That was the worst part.

His gloved hand came up to rest at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his unsighted gaze. And you let him, for his tender touch was irresistible.

"You were wrong. I couldn't stop thinking about you, even before … our kiss."

This week couldn't have been any more confusing. You sucked in a deep breath, couldn't quite believe your ears.

"You feel guilty for dragging me down a sinful path. What if I told you you had nothing to worry about? What if I told you …."

He swallowed hard.

"… that I have been a sinner since the day you walked into my life? And that your kiss only sealed my fate. You didn't ruin me. I was already ruined."

You took a small step back, but his grip on your arm was firm yet, gentle, locking you in place.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Father Murdock."

His head dipped slightly at the formal title spouted from your lips. But his face was absent of shame, only determination and adoration.

"But I do. I've never been more sure. You plague my mind, and I know… I know that it's bad, but I only want more."

"You might be my damnation, but you're also my salvation."

You found yourself speechless, unable to form a sentence since he had already taken your words away. While you might be unable to say anything in return, you knew what would happen next. Matt was aware of that too, and he had absolutely no objection.

---

As soon as the door was locked behind you, you gravitated towards each other like magnets. You devoured his lips with desperate urgency, and he was just as eager to match up with your pace. Matt's cane joined your bag on the floor, and you stepped back, guiding him with you. Matt dipped his head, trying to catch your lips, but you pulled back and whispered into the heady air in between.

"There's no going back if we do this."

He pressed his forehead to yours before angling his head, giving you a soft touch of his lips on yours.

"I don't want to go back."

Your response was swallowed with as Matt slanted his mouth over yours, more firmly this time, taking your breath away. You tugged on each other clothes; the urgent act was pure hunger and desperation.

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground carelessly, revealing him in the dark button-up shirt, with the priest collar in place. You whispered hoarsely at his ear, surprised at your ability to speak a coherent thought at this moment.

"You will be the death of me."

You accentuated the confession with a pull on his earlobe between your lips. Matt groaned loudly, and you swore he had just gone weak at the knees. His reply against your cheek didn't help to tame the burning desire you felt inside.

"I could say the same about you."

You left a scattered trail of clothes as you stumbled your way to the bedroom. It was impossible to keep your hands and lips off him, and it seemed like Matt struggled with the same thing. You stepped back, taking a moment to gaze upon his naked torso. What secret was Matt keeping? Because he was shredded. Your eyes took in the cross necklace dangle from his neck, roaming over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, following down to his cock - hard and heavy. You swallowed hard, feeling the tiniest sliver of nervousness at the pit of your stomach.

Matt pulled you flushed to his body as you stepped out of the final item on your body, making you gasp out loud. His erection prodded at your belly, and you felt a wave of excitement wash over your skin. You tugged his head down, trying to connect your lips, but he defied your wish. Before you could question it, Matt whispered hotly against your nose.

"Let me worship you."

He dipped his head, pressing wet kisses along the arc of your neck. His hands on you were slow, torturous. They teased, tortured, played with your sensitive body. He took his time, learning you, finding your buttons that he could push, over and over again, pulling soft sighs from you. He gradually made his way down, kneeling before you. The sight was indeed something to behold, as it was something you thought you would never see.

But the sight soon vanished behind your eyelids as you closed them at the first contact of his lips on your cunt. He started slow, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Your hand moved to fist in his hair, pulling on the soft strands. You liked this too much, the feeling of him devouring you, and you couldn't do much else other than move your hip to meet his mouth. Whimpers escaped your lips as the sensation intensified to the point it was almost unbearable, making you throw your head back; your legs shook at his relentless force on your cunt. Matt pulled your folds between his teeth, applying the tiniest amount of pressure, and you hissed out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He stopped immediately, gazing up at you with concern in his eyes.

"Too much?"

His lips glistened with your arousal, his eyes glassy with lust. A shaky breath escaped your lips; your voice shook after what he had done to you.

"No, you're perfect."

You pulled him onto his feet, slamming your lips against his fiercely, feeling a great need of him inside you. Inspired by your new mission at hand, you pushed him onto the bed, guiding Matt to lean on the headboard after you set a pillow behind his back. You caged him in between your legs; your core ached and dripping for him. You draped your arms over his shoulders, one hand caressing his neck, the other bracing on the headboard behind him. You lowered yourself onto his cock, inch by inch. The heady moans that spilled out of your mouth were inevitable as he stretched you. You struggled to take him in, finding it hard to form words in your breathless state.

"You're… you're too big."

You groaned out with great effort. His cock pushed against every part of you, hungry for more, encouraging your core to take him in deeper. Matt groaned into your mouth, his voice husky.

"You can take it."

His hands were holding onto you, helping you go down onto his cock. You gasped out loud as you sunk to the base of his cock; the burn made your head fuzzy with bliss. Your breath caught in your throat as you rode him with his help. It was slow at first since Matt wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you. His breathing was labour, matched with yours. At this moment, you and Matt became attuned to each other's language, and you knew it was time to increase your momentum. Matt dug one hand on your hip; the other came up to knead at your breast. Your hand came up to squeeze at the other one, nudging it at the base, using the movement to let the soft tissue brush against his face as an invitation - one he was eager to accept. Matt opened his mouth, catching your breast between his teeth. The sensation drove you wild, as his tongue toyed with your nipple, his mouth worked wonder, sucking and nibbling hard. You hoped that would leave marks on your skin; then, they could serve as a reminder of who you belonged to when he wasn't in your bed.

His hip came up to meet yours, erratic and uncontrollable. You bounced wildly on his cock, and he bit down harder on your flesh, pulling an obscene moan from your lips. His hip stuttered as he came inside you; the fluid coated your inner wall. His cry was deep as if it was ripped from his chest, encasing in the four walls of your bedroom. You could feel the fluid leaking out of your core, dripping along the seam of your entrance. The intense tightness accompanied by the thought of Matt making a mess inside you triggered your release, making you scream his name with abandon.

Matt held you in his arms, lowering you onto the mattress as you slumped on his shoulders. He pulled his cock out, laying down beside you; his gaze never left you. You turned your head to look at him, still deep in bliss. Your hand reached out to caress his face, staring into his unsighted eyes that you adored.

"Do you regret it? Do you feel guilt? Shame?"

You got your answer when he propped himself on his elbows, dipping his head to kiss you. He felt for your hair on your temple, now damp with sweat, and brushed it back. The kiss was tender, filled to the brim of your heart with affection. And assurance.

"No, not one bit..."

"... and I can show you just how much I mean it."

Here you were, lost in euphoria, in pure bliss as you found yourself to be underneath him this time. Matt pounded hard into you; the force was vigorous. Brutal.

Matt spoke above you through caught breaths and moans, his voice husky, full of heat.

"Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul."

You choked out a breathless chuckle, finding it ironic how he had the nerve to recite a Bible verse to you at this moment while he was fucking you senseless.

"If this is how good my soul can feel with you, then I have no regrets."

The corner of his lips lifted as he nudged your leg to wrap securely around his waist. Matt lowered himself, bracing a hand on the space beside your head; his other hand sought out to hold yours tightly as if he never wanted to let you out of his grasp.

This felt different, more intimate, allowing him to penetrate you deeper. His face was angelic; his gaze focused on a point on your face that he presumed were your eyes. The cross at his neck dangled in front of your face, gleaming before your vision. And it inspired you.

You angled your jaw up to catch the pendant between your teeth. Laying your head onto the pillow, you let him feel the pull you made on his neck that he, undoubtedly, noticed. He flashed you a sinister smile, hooking his hands under your knees. He ran his hand along your legs, nudging them to rest on his shoulders. The change in the angle made you scream out even louder, but the noise from your throat was muffled with your mouth and teeth on the silver cross. He kept on his brutal pace, pulling the air from your lungs. The burn in your legs mixed with the punishing force of his thrusts into your ruined cunt pushed you over the edge. You came, pulling him with you after a few more pumps. He pulsed inside you, and you felt that familiar rush of warmth in your core again. You could feel his guttural groan at your proximity, through the slight trembles of your legs.

Matt pressed his forehead against yours as you caught your breaths. You could feel him, still hard and throbbing inside you. So you kissed him, again and again, begin a long night for the both of you. A long weekend perhaps.

[reblog-reblog666]

Reblog Masterlist 4

Matthew Murdock

Life in a tranquil state - Fluff

Cuddles - Fluff

A moment of serenity - Comfort, Fluff

Ginger and lemon - chapter 2

Irritated - Hurt Comfort, Smut

Blind faith - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Epilogue

Matt rescuing a stray dog - Hurt Comfort, Fluff, Blurb

Day 22 - Smut

A man’s sport - Smut

Lights - Fluff blurb

Cat - Fluff

You’ve been gone so long, baby - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Pure - Smut

Snow fight - Fluff

Born to die - Heavy Angst, Hurt Comfort

I promise I’ll try - Fluff, Angst, Hurt Comfort

Priest Reader x Sub Matt - Smut, Blurb

Half wrong - Fluff, Smut

Neighbor - Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Something good - Fluff

Sub Matt short - Smut

Grinning like a devil - Kinda angst, kinda fluff

Candy necklace - Smut

Hum a song - Fluff, Soulmate AU

Black Friday - Fluff, little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Underneath the mistletoe - Fluff

Gentle loving - Smut Blurb

King of my heart - Fluff, Hurt Comfort, Smut

Back from the dead - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Epilogue

It’s always been us - Fluff

FIC IDEA

Tis the damn season - Fluff, Smut Adjacent

Try me - Fluff, Little Angst

Christmas Eve - Fluff

Vigilante Reader x Matt - List

That damn smile - Fluff

The last pair - Fluff Blurb, +Frank Castle

Lemons - Fluff

Oral on freshly shaved reader - Smut hcs

Scratches - Angst, Kinda Hurt/Comfort

Smut hc

Merry crisis - Hurt Comfort, Fluff, Audhd!Reader, +Frank Castle

Your wedding dress - Angst

New Year’s Eve - Fluff hcs

“Your feet are cold” - Fluff Blurb

Lifeline - Angst, Hurt Comfort

False god - Fluff, Smut

My escape - Hurt Comfort

Labels - Fluff

Grinning like a devil - Fluff, Kinda Angst

Peter Parker

Nerdy!Peter HCS - Fluff, Smut

Din Djarin

From now until the end - Hurt Comfort, Fluff, Autistic!Reader

Sebastian Michaelis

Bimbo!Reader hcs - Smut

Moonknight

Cockwarming hcs - Smut

Jealous/mad sex hcs - Smut

Smut Hc

Frank Castle

The last pair - Fluff Blurb, +Matt Murdock

Merry crisis - Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Audhd!Reader, +Matt Murdock

Slade Wilson

Hcs - SFW

Kinks hcs - NSFW

Valentine short- Smut Blurb

Stood up - Smut

Affairs - Smut

For your eyes only - Smut