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farfromstrange · 1 year

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Foreigner's God | m.m

Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter thirty-six: this is me trying

Read part XXXV here ° series masterlist ° main masterlist

Summary: Eliza and Matt are both trying to move on, but recovery is a lengthy process and they're both not quite there yet. Fortunately, they have each other and as he holds her hand, she's more than willing to hold his so they can both get out of the woods together.

Warnings: Slight angst with hurt/comfort, Fluff, domesticity, established relationship, SEMI-SMUT (male receiving oral) 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!Matt, degradation kink, use of pet names, praise kink, slight (?) cum play, Matt Murdock's never-ending masochism, religious imagery and symbolism, talks about child molestation, bullying, antidepressants, drug addiction, and depression — use of mutant powers to make Matthew see (momentarily)

Other Characters: Involuntary Therapist Paul Lantom™️

a/n: Here are the 10,000 words I removed from the last chapter and about 7,000 more. I just switched up the planned chapter titles.

POSTING THIS EARLIER THAN PLANNED BC I REACHED 200 FOLLOWERS!

And because my dear @mrs-areallygoodlawyer said I should add a certain joke into one of the chapters, I did. I’m sorry in advance, it’s cringe but I found it funny. No regrets on this one.

Eliza stirred. The faint sound of birds chirping in the distance and a cold yet gentle breeze on the already frozen tip of her nose paired with a cocoon of warmth wrapped around the rest of her body coaxed her out of the depths of unconsciousness. She wriggled some more to get her shoulder back under the blanket, thankfully succeeding, and she slowly blinked the sleep from her eyes.

She was disoriented when she woke up, though she soon recognized the stone walls of the bedroom and the silky green sheets she was tangled in. The room smelled of Matt’s deodorant and the salt of his skin. His shampoo filled her nose with the scent of happiness hiding behind sandalwood and bath water. Brown strands of hair tickled her face from where his head rested on her shoulder.

The air in the room grew colder with each gush of wind that brushed over their entangled bodies. The blanket barely covered Matt’s large frame - he wasn’t wearing a shirt - yet he didn’t even as much as shiver.

He grunted, tightening his arms around her torso. “Don’t you dare,” he said, voice laced thick with sleep, hoarse and scratching in the back of his throat. His vocal cords weren’t quite awake yet, and neither was his body. His fingers drew lazy circles over the skin underneath his Columbia shirt, pulling her closer against his chest from behind.

She smacked his forehead when his beard and hair started to tickle her skin from the constant movement and he frowned disapprovingly. He buried his face in the pillow underneath his head, repositioning the arm under her head so that her neck rested in the crook of his elbow and he could pin her head underneath his chin.

Finally comfortable, Eliza melted into him. She almost fell asleep again, but her body had slept enough, and the ache that settled into her muscles kept her on edge. Her eyes were burning from the shed tears, dry and redder than sunburn. Her throat ached and her nostrils were raw from all the tissues she wasted.

Matt only sleepily slurred behind her. “How’re you feelin’?” he asked.

“Everything’s in pain,” she grunted.

He stroked along her jaw, then over her cracked lips and her swollen eyelids, ending his journey on the bridge of her nose, smoothing out the wrinkle at the top and then continuing downward. “Anything I can do?”

Her heart fluttered. “Yeah,” Eliza said and shifted, still trapped by his arm but free enough to turn and look at him. “You can kiss me.”

Running a hand through his messy hair, he chuckled. Matt rolled them over so she rested on her back, his body hovering over hers, and the heat radiating off of him distracted her from the open window. She raked her nails over his arms before coming to rest around his neck. His eyes looked even darker after waking up, eyelashes full, and lids hooded. His cheeks were just as red as she suspected her own were.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

He dipped his head lower to brush her lips with his own. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, this is probably the first time in a while.”

He kissed her harder this time, letting her feel all of him, though his caressing touches remained sloppy. “No nightmares?” he asked.

She keened when he scratched just the right spot on her scalp, releasing a sound that resembled a purr. “No nightmares,” she said.

“Good,” he smiled his signature lopsided grin. His hand applied pressure to the back of her neck, loosening the muscles with his expert fingers.

Whatever course he took to get this good with his hands, she thanked God for that.

“You’re still tense.”

“Yeah, I’m in a lot of pain.” She hissed at a particularly tender spot he hit. “My body feels like it’s on fire.”

“I could break my fingers on your shoulder blades. Baby, this feels bad. I know you said you slept better than usual, but your muscles feel like you were fucking tense the whole night.”

“That’s ‘cause I was,” Eliza admitted. “I still am. God, I’m so tired, Matt. Like, I’m so exhausted. Not just physically tired but exhausted, and even though I slept better it felt like I didn’t sleep at all. I don’t think I can move at all today and that scares me,” she said, her breathing growing shallower with each passing word. “It’s not just because I cried the whole day… I can’t move because my mind is tired, and now my body hurts too. So fucking much.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I know what that’s like.”

“What do I do?”

“How about I get you an ice pack to cool your eyes first?” He pressed his lips to her swollen eyelids. “They must be sore,” he said.

“And itchy,” she stated.

“Ice helps, trust me. I’ll get you some.”

“Thanks.”

“And then I’m gonna help you get dressed so you can have some breakfast. Your appointment is at ten, which means we should leave at either nine or nine-thirty. Zero at the end, right?” He slapped the alarm clock.

Seven-thirteen am.

“Hm, there’s enough time. And if it makes you feel better, we’ll get ready at eight, so it’s a full hour and you won’t have to stress.”

If she hadn’t cried all of her tears, she would have teared up again. Instead, she choked up inside, her lungs constricted with the overwhelming consideration he put in. It was remarkable that after all of this, he was still standing strong for her sake, never faltering in his attempts to make her feel better. And it worked, at least enough to make her sit up against the headboard, ignoring the soreness and the protest of her head that she just couldn’t fucking get up.

Matt pecked her lips on his way out. He slid the door open, still half-naked in the cold bedroom and she watched him tap into the living room, hand tangled in his hair as he made his way into the kitchen.

In his still sleepy state, he almost hit his pinky toe on the living room table, missing just by an inch when he felt the couch under his fingers and took a step to the right. From then on, he guided himself on the wall until he finally reached the kitchen counter.

He brewed the coffee first so the ice pack wouldn’t go warm. Eventually, he slipped into a shirt, remaining in his boxers for the time being. Her eyes were still on him, as blurry and hurt as they were. He was beautiful, not just objectively. She loved how he moved, how he smiled, how he thought, and how he held her when the world became too much to bear.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until after someone shook her awake again. Matt’s hand was warm from the cup of coffee he held, the other that was on her thigh rested coldly with the ice pack he picked up for her.

He smiled and she took it, rubbing her sore eyes before pressing the ice to her lids. She sighed. Her temples pulsated with every pinch of the headache that consumed her whole, but the cold made it a little more bearable.

“How about I give you a massage now?” he suggested.

She exhaled, “That’s too much.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, I mean, it’s too much for me. I can’t handle this much attention right now. I’m sorry.”

When she dared to peek at him, her cheeks flushed not from the open window but from embarrassment, she found him grinning back at her. “Finally,” he said.

“What?”

“You just told me what you want.”

“Oh, that. I’m sorry?” she said.

He instantly grabbed her head, eyes stern with the disapproval. “No, not sorry. It’s a good thing. I was waiting for you to learn how to say no, especially to me.”

“Viktor never let me say no.”

Eliza timed the exact moment his fist tightened around the soft flesh of her thigh. His jaw clenched and the anger in his eyes burned bright. He was about ready to grab his suit, return to SHIELD and kill the man himself.

“I mean, Mueller didn’t care, he just took what he wanted, but Viktor punished me every time I dared to say no to him, and whenever I would cry, he’d add to his punishment and make it so much worse. The scars,” she pointed over her shoulder, “They’re proof of that.”

“Sweetheart…” Matt sighed. He wasn’t sure if he could touch her face, so he stopped his hand mid-air and dropped it back in his lap.

“So I stopped crying. I stopped saying no because tears are a weakness, y’know? He told me that weapons don’t weep and that deserved his punishment. I let him touch me, partially because I was afraid of the consequences if I didn’t, and partly because I thought it was normal. I thought men did this to all the kids, that it was just a thing fathers did to their daughters to show their appreciation – the lingering touches, and the sleepovers,” she said.

He nodded. “And that’s why you thought you had to let me have my way with you the other night, so I wouldn’t be mad at you?” he questioned, even though he already knew the answer.

Pressing the ice pack back to her eyes when a sharp pain tore through her optic nerve, she agreed silently, without words. He stroked his palm over her thigh, no longer grabbing it.

“I’m sorry. God! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I’m damaged goods.”

“Stop calling yourself that.”

“But it’s true. The men I’ve been with usually didn’t care about what I had to say, but I still went along with it. I feel so filthy now, and stupid for letting it happen. I feel stupid that I was so self-centered and careless that I screwed everything up, even myself.”

“You’re not. You’re not filthy.” He rubbed his face. “I wish I could take this weight off your shoulders, believe me, but I don’t know how. I doubt I even can.”

“God, no! You don’t want that,” she said. “You asked me plenty if I’m okay with the things you wanted to do, and I was okay with them because, with you, I feel comfortable. I can surrender my body to you and not feel like I’m being used. It’s just hard to articulate what I need sometimes, what I want or do not want, because I’m afraid there might be consequences if I do.”

“Sweetheart, there is no one that has the right to punish you for having an opinion about your own body,” he said, his eyes softening to the point she wondered if he was even real. “You have a voice. You are allowed to use that to speak your mind. You won’t be punished here for saying what you want or don’t want, and if someone dares to even touch you, I will cut their hands off with a dull knife.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Weird flex, but okay.”

“Matthew 18:8,” he told her. “And if your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into the eternal fire.”

“Do you have a bible verse for everything?” she asked, more for shits and giggles than anything else.

“Yeah,” he said. “I memorized the whole thing as a kid because I had already read all of the books they kept on the shelves at the orphanage.”

That took a dark turn. “Oh. Didn’t you have friends?”

He chuckled as if she had just told him the funniest joke the century had to offer. “Me? No,” Matt said. “No one wanted to play with me when I was a little kid. They shoved me and bullied me because I was different. No one wanted to play with the blind kid out of fear they would damage me, and when I turned into a book nerd, they started laughing at me for it.”

She nudged him. “Kids can be cruel, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, you have no idea.”

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” she gently brushed his hair back, “and I’m sorry no one was there for you when you needed help.”

“No, it’s fine, water under the bridge. I dealt with it. Besides, this isn’t about me,” he said. “It’s about you.”

“I was molested as a little girl and that scarred me for life. You were constantly bullied. We’re both a bit fucked up,” she said.

“I guess you’re right, but-“

“Don’t downplay your trauma, Matthew.” Her eyes laid firmly on him. “You suffered through a life-altering accident as a kid, then your father died and you lived in an orphanage for the rest of your adolescence. That is trauma, and I would know. I’m the definition of a walking trauma bundle.” Eliza took a deep breath. “There is a lot more where that comes from, believe me, and also a lot more baggage to hate about me.”

“Eliza, what the hell happened to you to make you think like this?” Matt sighed when she only fluttered her eyelashes at him, “Actually, don’t answer that,” he said. “If I learn one more thing about what that disgusting human being did to you and the other children in the White Room, I’m gonna grab my suit and make sure he suffocates in his cell. SHIELD wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

The coffee spilled over the brim of his mug when he slapped it down on the nightstand. She had to physically pry him away from cleaning up the mess. Eliza called his name softly. “Matt…”

“That man deserves to be treated like a fucking canine. He deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his miserable life, somewhere in the middle of the ocean with a straight jacket on to make sure his hands never touch another innocent child ever again. I should kill him for what he did to you, Eliza. Viktor Volkov deserves to die.”

She kissed him to shut him up. “Stop,” she said against his lips. “Stop torturing yourself.”

“But he hurt you,” he growled. “No one is allowed to hurt you. What he did wasn’t fair. You were helpless.”

“But people will continue hurting me, it’s human nature. If you killed everyone who ever hurt me or is about to hurt me, there would be only half of the population left,” she said, chuckling slightly. She wasn’t sure why she found this so tragically funny. “What I’m saying is, there will always be someone who holds a grudge against me. I chose the life of an Avenger and that got me a lot of enemies in the process, not to mention the things that I did in the past. You can’t always protect me, and that’s okay,” she said. “Because I can protect myself. If you break your moral code… you can’t come back from something like that. I know it because I used to kill people for a living.”

Matt shook his head, determined to prove his point, but there was not a single one she could find. “You didn’t do it on purpose. I want to kill him for the sake of killing him,” he stated. “Maybe that’s the kind of man I am…” he lowered his head enough to hide the sheen of tears that had laced his eyes. “Maybe I was just trying to steer off the inevitable by putting on that suit and the mask and trying to enforce justice with my fists instead of doing the one thing that would draw a line under all of that.”

Eliza’s hands found him again, quivering, desperate to make him listen to anything other than what the little demon inside of his head had to say.

“Maybe this is what God cursed me to be. I mean, I’m going to hell anyway. My grandma used to say, be careful of the Murdock boys,” he said, “they got the devil in ‘em. You know, maybe she was right. I’ve long been thinking about it and my father… he’d be turning in his grave if he saw the choices I’ve made ever since he died. I screwed up everything he left me and then I ran. I always do that. And I don’t know why I blamed you for pushing me away when I would’ve done the same in a heartbeat as a chance to protect you from getting hurt by me.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “We are so alike and I’m so sorry. I should have never doubted you and I shouldn’t have listened to you when you told me to leave. I knew this would happen.”

“Matt, no,” she stopped him before he could make it worse on himself.

“It’s true.”

“No. Stop saying that,” she said, “I know your father would be so proud of you. If he were here right now… if Jack Murdock would be standing here right now, he’d hug you and he’d tell you how much he loves you. And he’d see the man you grew up to be and he’d love you all the more because you’re strong. You didn’t let the demons destroy you. Instead, you tamed them and used them to your advantage. Your father loved you, so he wouldn’t even think twice about being proud of you, he just would be.”

Her words made sense while at the same time, they didn’t. He didn’t want them to be. Matt sneered. “Right, of course, because I’m the kind of son a father would be proud of,” he spat. “Someone who beats up criminals and abandons his friends and faith for a chance to be right.”

“Listen to me! You’re a good man,” she told him. “You might be damaged, but who isn’t? I know what it feels like to hate yourself to the point all you want to do is turn into someone else. My father died before I could tell him I forgive him and you told me he loved me, so he forgives me. Take your own words to heart, Matthew, because they matter something to you too. And your father loves you, even in death. He died for you. That means something,” she said, “and he’d do it again if he were here. You’re his son. You’re his legacy. He wanted the best for you and you got it. You made something out of yourself. Don’t throw that away for a chance to kill a man who doesn’t deserve to live. Sure, he doesn’t, but he also can’t die.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eliza!” Matt ruffled his hair. “Why do you have to be so… so fucking supportive even when you’re the one who's breaking apart?”

“Because I love you!” She desperately clung to his wrists. “You know I do, so you know I’m telling the truth. I love you,” she said, pulling down where their foreheads could meet, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

He heaved, leaning into her touch. “Goddamnit,” he growled.

“I know what it’s like to want someone dead, so believe me when I say that I understand. I tried to kill him. I tried to take Viktor’s life in return for everything he did to me, for everything he destroyed and took away from me. I thought I didn’t have a choice. To get rid of his hands on me, I had to get rid of him, but that’s not true. Even if I had killed him, I’d still feel this way and I still would if you killed him for me.”

“But it’d make the world a better place.”

“While that might be true, do you wanna know why I didn’t kill him?” He nodded. “I heard your voice in the back of my head telling me not to because death is too kind for him,” she said. “You’re not that type of person, Matt. God didn’t curse you to be a killer. If you want to believe he got you into a blinding accident for a reason, it is to help people, not hurt them. You’re saving this city every fucking day; a person with only darkness and hatred in their heart could never do that. You are better than Viktor, you’re better than Hydra or SHIELD and you’re much better than the person I used to be. So don’t. Don’t break your moral code because of me, because you think you have to fix this. Don’t betray your faith because you feel guilty for something that was entirely out of your control. You’re too kind at heart, you wouldn’t survive that.”

He nuzzled his nose against hers. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked. “What if there is even the smallest sliver of a chance that my grandma might be right? That I got the Devil in me and that I can’t exorcise him because it’s genetics. Even though I know my father was a good man,” he said, “I saw what happened to him in the ring. Sometimes, his eyes would just go blank, like he was being controlled by a higher power. And he’d continue to beat the absolute crap out of his opponent.”

“But that doesn’t happen when you fight,” she argued.

“How do you know? I wear a mask.”

“I know you, Matthew.”

“Do you, really? I think only God knows what I’m supposed to become, and I’m starting to believe his intentions aren’t all too kind, that he wants me to fail and become the villain because destroying good things that come my way is just who I am. Your life went downhill from the moment I tried to stop you on that roof three weeks ago. Foggy’s life got turned upside down and now he’s stuck with me in a law office that doesn’t make money, burned by me being Daredevil and Karen… Fisk almost got to them and it’s all my fault. I destroy everything and everyone in my path. If that is not something the devil would do, I don’t know what is.”

The frustration wrapped around her like plastic foil. Eliza grunted. Her palms pressed to his skull tighter, erasing all possibilities to exit, and she opened her heart to him. She opened the door she had kept on her soul, on the burning red gem waiting in the core of her being, sustaining her like the beating organ pumping blood inside of her chest did.

Her eyes glowed red. It felt so good, no longer draining but powerful, and she felt no regrets.

“Matthew, look at me!” she ordered.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t show me my father and make him tell me I’m gonna be okay,” he told her. “I couldn’t handle that.”

Reality had changed around him, he could feel the shift in the air and the tingling under his skin. She reached for him, tugging at all the strings to his soul, to his perception and she lured him into the spell of crimson need.

“It’d be a lie,” he said.

She huffed. “That’s not what I’m doing. Open your eyes and look at me!”

“Fucking hell, what-“ he stopped. The world stopped. His breathing stopped. His heart stopped.

His life stopped.

Matt swore he died. He passed away and went to heaven, regained his eyesight, and ended up in paradise, the garden of Eden, God’s castle. He was dreaming, his mind mixing up the imaginary pictures he kept stored away in case he needed to pretend he was okay, normal, just for a moment. This couldn’t be real. He stopped existing. He died and vanished into dust, disappearing to another terrestrial world existing at the same time as the one she resided in.

She played with the hairs at the nape of his neck, letting her hands wander over his back and pulling him even closer. “Hi,” she whispered.

Tears sprung into his eyes. He touched her face and traced the features that were now a clear picture before him. He ran his finger along her lips, her jawline, the soft hairs of her brows, and then lastly, her actual hair.

She told him once she wouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t help herself. He needed something good, and perhaps this would help him to believe again, just for a moment. It was the first time she actively used her powers again and while it felt good, the power that ran through her veins was almost terrifying. She saw what she could do. What if she hurt him? But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She held him, loved him, and gently held him in her open arms. He was all she needed and all she would ever need.

“You’re real,” he breathed.

“I’m real,” she said.

“Oh… God.”

He couldn’t help but pray. Surely, this was all a dream.

“Am I anything like you imagined me to be?”

“Oh, no. Fuck, no! You’re so much better, sweetheart.” He swallowed the needy sob. “You’re so damn beautiful. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. I can’t believe… Jesus. Hi,” he said and upon feeling her smile, he chuckled. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Eliza caught his tears, wiping them away, her fingers gentle as she did so. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

His eyes roamed her face, not daring to move away until he memorized every last crevice in her skin. If her face was already this beautiful, he could only fathom what she would look like underneath all of that.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You’re making me see,” Matt sniffled, “That’s so… I don’t know what to say. God, fuck! What is happening to me?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him. “Because I’m here. This is real.”

He wanted to speak regardless of his loss for words. “I can’t even… Ugh! You told me you didn’t want me to see your face, so why-”

“You needed it. You needed something to hold onto.”

“You… fuck, can I just… Can I kiss you?”

Eliza nodded. He dipped his head and captured her lips. She sighed contently at the gentle caress, his hand resting on her throat and she held his wrist right there.

She heard him murmur against the skin of her lips, “This feels so much more intense now.”

“In a good or bad way?” she questioned.

In response, he kissed her again. “Good,” he said. “So fucking good. I don’t want this to stop, ever.”

“It has to, eventually.”

“I know, but for now, just… Let us stay like this. Let me look at your face for a while.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “we can do that.”

Time was a construct anyway.

She laid down, resting on her side and he mirrored her exact position. His hand remained in her hair, stroking it. Her heartbeat rang in his ears. He couldn’t get over how her skin felt while he could look at her. The way her eyes fluttered whenever he brushed her sensitive lips or her throat and the desperate sigh that passed them when he cradled her reddened cheeks in his hand. While her features were set in stone from the tension, she relaxed visibly at his touch and it was visible in the fading crease between her eyebrows, the wrinkle of worry disappearing for only just a moment.

He felt her features before, but nothing could have prepared him for this, and he hadn’t been able to open his eyes and see for so long, he forgot how overwhelming the world could be. If he saw the city, he would surely die. She was the only view he needed and when she would let go later, he would keep her face in his mind so every time he touched her, he could imagine what she looked like. It was a huge gift with an even bigger meaning. A gift he wouldn’t have asked for, she just did it for him and he had never felt more loved.

Matt chuckled, a lonely tear sliding down his cheek. He was so goddamn grateful. His struggle with faith didn’t matter when he had the greatest source of hope right next to him, willing to hold on for both of us even when she was hurting. She gave back what he gave her. No one had ever done that before, not for him at least.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much. I don’t just love you, I’m in love with you. I’m so deep in it, I don’t think I could get out even if I tried.”

“Eh, I got a faint idea,” Eliza smiled her brightest smile, the one that could easily outmatch the sun and made every room light up with her presence.

He traced his fingers over her features again. “Will you stay?” he asked.

She kissed the tip of his nose and he scrunched, chuckling softly at the display of affection. His forehead moved to press against hers again. “Always,” she said.

“Cross your heart?”

“Hope to die,” she finished, drawing a cross right over the left side of her chest.

He snorted, pulling at her hair slightly. “Don’t say that,” he said.

“Isn’t that how the phrase goes though?”

“Yeah, but we don’t hope to die.”

“Right… too soon?”

“A bit, yeah.” He scrunched his nose again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Matt answered by pulling her into his side and tangling their lips as he did their limbs. To breathe, moved away only enough so he could inhale and exhale, his minty breath hitting her face. She smiled, a genuine one and the sight of it was even better than he imagined, too. His hands trailed over her sides before coming to rest on her shoulder blades.

Her shirt had bunched up slightly, bare skin touching his. The connection was so strong, he could feel it in every muscle and nerve. They screamed her name repeatedly, chanting it, praying as if she was the mercy God granted him. She was an Angel sent from heaven above, and he was the devil of Hell’s Kitchen who had once been an Angel too, and to her, he still was. He was pure at heart, no matter how much he liked to deny it.

One of his fingers ghosted over her hip. She shoved him away gently. “I see what you’re doing,” she hummed.

“I do too now,” he retorted. The smirk resting on his lips seemed almost content.

“Wouldn’t you like to know what I look like naked?”

“Perhaps,” Matt shrugged, “or perhaps I just want to feel your skin like this.”

“You want me to take my shirt off?” she asked, the question intended as innocent. “To touch my skin, I mean.”

He shook his head, removing his hand to return to her face. “I’m not spoiling the surprise that is feeling you up with my senses only.”

“So we just lie here?”

“Yeah, we just lie here.”

“Okay.”

He loved her so much and he kept telling her that, even long after her eyes returned to their normal color and his vision faded into scolding fire and nothing to make out.

She was gone, but he didn’t care because the picture lingered and he could still feel her. She was a part of him and his fingers knew her body inside and out. He didn’t need to see her to know she was beautiful, and it made him love her no less.

“I don’t know how I deserve you,” he whispered into the cold morning air. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I know I don’t ever want this to stop. I want to be the right man for you, if I can. Maybe if I try hard enough…”

“Hey, you don’t have to sell me on reasons to want you,” Eliza interrupted him, gentle hands touching his skin as always.

Always. She would stay, always.

“You don’t have to be scared you’re not enough, Matthew. What we have is enough. It’s good. You’re good. I mean, what if it’s just you and me and that’s all we needed to be? The world could just fall away and then it’d be only the two of us. Can we try that?”

“While all of that is true,” he said, “I’m not going to stop giving you more reasons to not let me go.”

“What came before won’t count anymore.”

“We can try that.”

Asking for help isn’t the hardest part, it’s the help itself that makes you feel like you’re going through hell with no way out. Your past happens to you all over again and you’re forced to stand by, watch and deal with it. And dealing with the pain is something that scorns an already broken soul.

They made it to Mrs. Darcy’s office with five more minutes to spare. Eliza’s feet remained glued to the asphalt, a summer breeze brushing through her hair and causing the fluffy strands at the top of Matt’s forehead to bounce.

His hand landed on the small of her back, giving her a gentle push. “You want me to go in with you?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. The last thing she wanted was for him to hear how fucked up she truly was. “I mean,” she realized she had answered way too fast, so she tried again, “No, I have to do this alone.”

Matt drummed against her jacket. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” That was a lie, but he didn’t question her about it. “You can go, I got this.”

He huffed, obviously disapproving of her choice. Still, he leaned down to peck her lips. “I love you,” he said.

I’ve been struggling with questions of identity as of late.

I used to like who I was. It’s not every day you’re given a second chance. You gotta honor it, right?

Second chances are meant to help you do better than the first time. For Eliza, this was her third chance to turn her life around and make something out of herself. She graduated from questioning her identity to having a revelation about who she was and who she had once been. She understood everything so much clearer now and yet when she looked into the mirror, she still saw the same stranger she met seven years ago when Nick Fury handed her the new ID and her passport.

There’s this emptiness inside me, Mrs. Darcy. It’s like there’s a hole in my soul and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fill it. Whatever connection to reality I had is just… it’s gone. You know, I like knowledge. I like knowing a lot of things, it keeps me on top of my game, but this- I know nothing about myself and it’s scaring me shitless.

She was more scared of what the truth would make of her than she was of herself, although her mental state was terrifying in itself. Every time she thought about what she had done in the name of trauma, she was left horrified.

Eliza stared at the painting of the curly-haired, faceless woman hung up on the wall behind the leather couch Mrs. Darcy currently resided on, one leg crossed over the other, arm stretched out over the length of the backrest, and her notebook resting in her lap.

“I’m fine,” she stated into the silence.

The therapist shifted, not even bothering to make a secret out of her amusement. “Really?” she asked.

“Except that I’m not,” she added then. “I’m not fine.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t keep pretending that all of this is normal. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m traumatized, but there has to be a way to get out of this, right? There has to be a way to make the pain stop.”

“Well, there are many ways this can go, obviously,” she began to say.

“I’m not going back to rehab,” Eliza interrupted.

“Relax. Not what I was thinking. That’s only option two,” she said. “Option one consists of two conditions.” Mrs. Darcy leaned forward to mirror her patient’s posture. “One, I’ll prescribe you a series of medications.”

“And two?”

“Therapy sessions with me four times a week and once you’re feeling better, I want you to start considering support group meetings. And I want to conduct regular drug testing, just in case.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s for your own good.”

“Why don’t you just admit me to the mental hospital?” she bit back.

“Do you want to get better?” Mrs. Darcy challenged.

“Yes, but-”

“Then you don’t have a choice.”

Eliza groaned. She was afraid this might happen. “But I don’t want to be viewed as weak,” she said. “I don’t want to be the burden everyone has to take care of. I can’t do this again. I’ve been through hell before, but this feels so much worse and it scares me. I can manipulate reality, literally. I can make a blind man see, I can create things out of nowhere and change the way the world works with just the palm of my hand. At least that’s what the story of the infinity stones dictates.”

She scoffed. “I can do all of that, but I can’t fix myself. I can’t do that and it sucks. It makes my powers useless because everything I do just feels wrong. So all of this…” she said, “It makes me feel weak and I hate feeling weak, especially when there is an indescribable power running through my veins, right under my skin, waiting to be used for good. I tried them and it felt good, but only until my mind screamed at me and then everything sucked again. I thought I understood now. Truth is, I don’t. I know nothing and that’s scary as shit. So I can’t be the weak one, not anymore. I need to learn how to be this new version of myself and I can’t be weak during that. I just can’t. That’s why I’m terrified – why I was so afraid of asking for help. I don’t want to be weak,” she stated.

Her voice sounded like a needle on the ground of an empty and silent room with high walls and linoleum floors. Drop, ping, echo.

Her leg bounced in the same rhythm. Nails dug into the fabric of her jeans, pulling at the fabric. Her fingers searched for anything she could touch or hold onto - Mrs. Darcy tilted her head.

“You remind me so much of the scared young woman that came to me less than three weeks ago, questioning her identity.” She caught onto the familiar aspects, the behavior she had more than anticipated, and Eliza huffed once again. “You know who you are now,” she continued, “but to achieve that, you went through hell. And there is still so much left unsaid that you will have to figure out on your own now. That sucks, I agree with you, but there is a way for everything. You came to me, not the other way around because you are ready to take the hand that is offered to you. You’re ready to take the road to recovery so you can, as you said, make sure you learn how to deal with this new version of yourself. That’s not weakness, it’s strength.”

“How do you differentiate?” Eliza questioned. “How do you go about differentiating between strength and weakness? Is there a psychological guide to that or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Mrs. Darcy smiled. “I’ve been doing this job a very long time, Liz. I know a strong person when I see one. The concept of weakness being a bad thing is a common misconception that comes with a lot of guilt, especially for those suffering from mental illness. It’s okay to be weak,” she said, “but as soon as you decide to get help when you’re feeling down, you’re already stronger than those who belittle you for it. And if you decide to let a doctor treat your condition, that is a huge display of strength that should and will be acknowledged. The question is just, will you let me help you without putting hurdles in your way?”

Eliza switched her eyes between the painting of the beautiful woman on the wall, the name of an artist she had never heard before signed at the bottom, and the therapist’s expectant face.

“Okay,” she decided, finally.

As hard as that choice was to make, the woman made a very convincing argument. Matt loved her, she wasn’t alone, and wanting to get better was a display of strength so she could heal from a weakness that was nowhere near self-inflicted. There was nothing to feel guilty for.

Mrs. Darcy nodded. “Good.”

“And I’ll be better after that?” she asked. “With the medication and the therapy and the support group meetings, will I get better?”

“If you take your recovery seriously, sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember how long it took for that to heal?” Mrs. Darcy answered, pointing at her covered stomach and Eliza instantly wrapped her arms around herself, the scar screaming in protest at the reminder. “At first, you didn’t take it seriously and almost got yourself hurt again,” she said. “Then, you let someone help you get better and managed to regain full physical capacity in just a couple of days…”

Eliza frowned. “And it’s the same with my head?”

“It’s the same with your head, yes. Quid pro quo. I give you medication and a very clear treatment plan and in exchange, I get your trust and cooperation to ensure your recovery goes smoothly.”

“Like physical therapy and doctor’s appointments went hand in hand?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not so different,” she whispered to herself. “And you got better.” Convincing herself was harder without the voice in her head coming to the rescue with her snarky remarks.

She missed her.

Eliza sat in silence for a moment, contemplating, thinking, and bouncing her leg like a madwoman on the border of collapse before she told the woman before her, “Okay, let’s do this.”

Mrs. Darcy extended the prescription in her hand. “We start today,” she said.

Today.

I can’t tell you who you are or who you’re supposed to be. I can only show you who you are to everyone else. Your name is Eliza Bennett. You’re the girl who has devoted her life to saving and protecting people to seek penance for what she’s done in the past.

You have to find your inner self by working with yourself.

Who was Eliza Bennett, really? The question still rotated inside her head. She had an answer now though. She knew what to say.

Who was she?

She was Alina Isolde, named after her grandmother, and the daughter of Guinevere Hunt and Anton Sokovin-Petrova. Genetically mutated through the reality stone, born like any human being, delivered to Hydra, and turned into an assassin. Saved by Natasha Romanoff, adopted by SHIELD, trained to be a spy, and then taken under Tony Stark’s wing where she became an Avenger.

Eliza Bennett was a daughter to two dead parents, a found sister, a friend and confidant, a teacher and a student, an addict, a victim, and, most importantly, she was a survivor. And through all of that, she became a lover, finally able to add a girlfriend to the list.

Eliza Bennett was someone made out of flesh and blood. Someone with a beating heart. Thud, thud thud, thud. She was alive, she was breathing, and didn’t have to live her life in miserable loneliness anymore. She was back on her feet, right where she needed to be, and the rest of the puzzle pieces would fall in place soon enough to complete the picture.

Long story short, she survived, and she had to give herself all the credit for that.

“Father,” Matt’s voice echoed off the high walls of Clinton Church. He stood in the middle of the aisle, the red and blue tinted light of the colorful windows falling on his face and reflecting off his maroon glasses.

Father Lantom stood at the front, going through the lit candles at the altar. He relit those that had gone out and removed the ones that were paid little to no attention. At the sound of his voice, he looked up and over his shoulder.

“Matthew,” he replied with a certain element of shock in his voice. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “Are you doing alright?”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” Matt asked him. He had some time to waste and he felt the desperate need to get some things off his chest, things he couldn’t tell Eliza. He wasn’t sure how. She was going through problems of her and adding to that his crisis of faith would only make her feel guiltier. And with the pastor, he knew at least that he understood where he was coming from.

“Do you want me to take confession?” the father asked, “Or do you want to chat over a latte?”

“If you have the time to spare, I’d take you up on that latte, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s not much to do today. Typical Monday morning. I’m sure I have an hour or two before this place starts to get crowded. Is that enough?”

“More than,” he said.

“Okay, then. Let’s get the coffee maker running. The last time you came to me for a latte, you didn’t finish it. Perhaps you could try not to waste that expensive stuff today.”

Matt chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare.”

They sat together in the back room, the brewing hot lattes resting on the wooden table. He scratched at the cracked porcelain, scraping off some of the lacquer that decorated the brim of the mug.

“So,” Father Lantom prompted, “What brings you here today, Matthew?”

“The last time we sat together at this table I asked you if you believed in the existence of the Devil,” he said. “You gave me an answer that might as well have been straight from a theology book.”

“I only told you the truth about what I believe,” he countered.

The oxidized heat from the coffee blew over his face. “That’s not why I’m here, father. I don’t plan on asking you the same question again.”

“Then what is it?”

With a sigh that parted the milk on top of the latte and destroyed the perfectly crafted cocoa topping, Matt slid the glasses off his nose and ran a hand over his eyes. Father Lantom took note of the dark circles adorning his under eyes and the dull brown his usually bright eyes had faded into. He took a sip from his beverage, watching as the man he’s known ever since he was a kid fell apart in front of him.

He stammered, the sounds not quite coming out and his eyes missed the mark as well. “Why,” he began.

When he didn’t continue, he raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. “Why what?” the father asked.

“The Bible keeps stating that God is merciful. He’s portrayed as the savior of humanity,” he said and the confession opened a vent without the possibility of closing it again. The words came flowing out of him like a broken tap, bitter and poisoned, though at the same time desperate and pleading as if he wasn’t talking to the man he’s trusted since he came to the orphanage but to God himself. “He’s someone who only sees the good in people and forgives those who make mistakes for their sins,” Matt stated, “and if you seek penance for your actions, if you confess and make amends, make up for your mistakes and put your faith in him, he’ll guarantee you a spot on heaven if, and only if, you keep trying to be better for him.”

“Technically, yes,” father Lantom replied.

“Technically? Isaiah – Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him. Or Lamentations – The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. They all portray him as mighty enough to forgive you even for the worst of sins, even if it breaks one of the Ten Commandments.”

“You forgot Deuteronomy,” he butted in.

“Therefore know that the Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments,” Matt recited. “No,” he said, and his voice took an even more bitter tone as he chuckled, “I didn’t forget. You know what Exodus says about protecting the innocent?”

Of course, he did. He was the pastor, after all. He ran the church. He helped raise the children at the orphanage and teach them the ways of the Catholic Church, but more in his way than the ancient, prejudiced things that most Catholics still lived by. He memorized the Bible up and down and he was probably the smartest person Matt knew when it came to religion and faith. Father Lantom raised him. He trusted him to tell him the truth, but as his faith started to fade and he started to doubt his purpose in life, the man’s words mattered only a little.

“When Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever. The LORD will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace.’ God protected them. God is supposed to protect good people and punish the bad. He’s supposed to punish the sinners who feel no regret for what they’ve done and make sure that the saints, the ones asking for forgiveness, are safe and sound. He’s supposed to bring peace,” he said. “So why is it, father, that even the best people find themselves amid disaster, alone and exposed, and God’s not even answering their prayers? Why does he let bad things happen to good people?”

The mood in the room had dropped drastically, turning the air thicker and colder than before. “Matthew,” Father Lantom said, “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, to answer a question like that. I mean, if you look at all of the wars happening around us, you can do an entire digression on the topic and it still won’t be enough,” he told him, “because there is no actual answer to that. I don’t know why. No one knows why.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do then?”

“Language!”

“Sorry, father.” Matt tilted his head back, crossed his fingers over his chest, over the golden necklace dangling from his neck still, right under his dress shirt, and apologized to the crucifix he knew was hanging on the wall behind him.

“Right now,” he said, “every last bible verse I remember sounds like they’re pretension, a lie concocted by the prophets, and it’s making me think God isn’t as merciful as they claimed. He isn’t there to have the backs of those asking him for help. And he certainly doesn’t care about stopping the sins he claims to despise from happening and destroying the lives of innocent people.”

The father sighed again. While his voice had changed in volume throughout his speech, he remained calm. “You want the answer of a priest or my personal opinion?” he asked.

“I want an explanation,” Matt retorted, “not just an answer to shut me down.”

“I told you, there is no real answer. I don’t know why God does or doesn’t do certain things. That’s up to him and him alone.”

“Great, so God does what he wants, consequences be damned?”

“He’s not a person, Matthew. He’s a deity. Viewing him as an almighty savior is a common misconception, but I told you that once, back when you were a teenager. I told you that God can’t just interact with us whenever he pleases. He’s there to look over us and offer us a hand every once in a while through signs and prayers, but he can’t magically appear and end wars that the greed of humans has started. He’s not a wizard, he’s God. When bad things happen to good people,” the father told him, “It’s because certain things are meant to happen a certain way, but not because God dictates our destinies. Bad things happen to us because that’s just what life is. Life is unfair, it’s cruel, it’s vile and so we often forget that God is essentially supposed to heal our emotional scars, not our physical ones. He doesn’t intercept because he can’t. We write our own history,” he said. “He can’t change that. He made us this way for a reason, we just have to accept that.”

His fist collided with the table. “Fuck!”

“Matthew.”

“No, I have to…” He rose to his feet, starting to pace, but not even that would stop the boiling anger in his chest. “There are people who twist religion to hurt others. They torture and kill in the name of God,” he said. “And then there are children who are at the receiving end of that torture. Innocent little children who don’t know any better pray to God asking him to help them out, but he doesn’t listen. He never does. He just left her there after she cried for him countless times, and so she gave up.”

Her - Father Lantom raised his eyebrows. The pronoun changed the situation behind his words drastically, and he finally started to realize why he came to him to ask such a complicated question. A question he should know better about.

He exchanged his empty mug for the full one on Matt’s side of the table. “Keep going,” he urged.

Matt sneered. “She gave up on God, on faith, because God failed her when she needed him the most. And now that everything is over, he doesn’t even inflict punishment on the person who’s behind all of this. He could get away with it because there is no real proof for what he did; all of his victims are dead, except for one, but she’s broken now because of him, and facing him is not… it’s not a choice she’d want to make. And since she’s a young woman, no male-dominated court would rule in her favor. And I’m standing here now like a fool because I dedicated my life to enforcing justice, but in this case, I am helpless. The law is helpless, it’s flawed, it won’t do anything other than possibly release a dangerous child molester into the world,” he said. “He holds a grudge now, father because she hurt him and she destroyed everything he built for himself, and if he gets out of that cell alive… I might lose her for good this time. So right now, I’m just torn while she’s still suffering from his hands, and it pains me that I can’t help her. She never did anything wrong before he took her childhood. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Matthew?”

“I need you to tell me how to keep my faith in God when all he does is fail me and the people I care about.” He stood with his hands on his hips again, eyes red and drained, and the faintest sheen of tears framed his face. “There is seemingly nothing I can do to change the fact that this man, this disgrace, ruined her life. Except for this one thing… If his case ever goes to trial, we’re screwed. She’s screwed. I can’t let that happen, so he needs to be erased from the narrative. If God won’t do something about it, I have to. I’d do it for her, I’d do it for every single one of his victims just to make sure no other kid has to go through the same shit again,” he said.

Father Lantom looked him deep into his sightless eyes when he asked, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Matt sighed. “I need you to teach me how to believe again before I break the highest of the Ten Commandments.”

“Ah,” he said. “I figured this day would come.”

“You don’t understand, father. That man deserves to die,” he stated, “and every passing second makes it harder not to think about it. With every passing second, my hatred grows stronger and I want nothing more than to storm his cell and squeeze the life out of that miserable throat.”

“But you don’t want to kill him, do you, Matthew? I think that’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen talking, not you, not Matthew Murdock. You’re not like that. You’re not cruel, not ruthless, you’re just a man trying to protect his city. Murder is not your agenda, ever. You have to understand that.”

“I am Daredevil. I can’t change who I am, but I can be there for her and if I have to break this one rule,” he ground his teeth, “This one tiny rule to make sure she’s gonna be okay... Well, that’s not a hard choice to make. I’d choose her over God any day and that terrified me.”

“Would she want that?” he emphasized in hopes he would give more than he had to offer. “You give up your faith like that? For her?”

“No,” said Matt, “But she’s only saying that to protect me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Whose side are you on, father?”

The man answered without missing a beat, “God’s and the laws.”

“Well, then you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

He grabbed his cane from the table, opened it, and slid the red-tinted glasses back on his face. Matt patted the wooden surface. “Thanks for the latte,” he said.

“Matthew,” father Lantom called after him, “Wait!”

He didn’t wait. He took the familiar road down the corridor, down the aisle, and out of the heavy double doors into the humid New York summer air.

The first few days were hard. Just when Eliza thought it couldn’t get any worse, the claws clinging to her soul dragged her further down. She flapped around desperately, trying to stay afloat, but the current was too strong. The waves slapped her across the face, forcing her under the surface. At first, she managed to swim up for air. She managed to keep her nose over water, at least, so she wouldn’t drown. Though the more water she swallowed, the more of it landed in her lungs. Breathing got harder, draining her of strength, and her arms only flailed aimlessly around the ocean. They were no longer strong enough to keep her up and she was so tired, she eventually gave up. She passed out and sank, heading straight for the bottom.

Antidepressants take a while to take effect. The stronger ones might hit faster, but until the body is fully adjusted, you won’t feel the effects.

She was afraid of what the pills would do to her. The last time she tried them, she lost control of her powers. But Eliza had no choice. She was dying, or she felt like she was, but she honestly believed that if she kept breathing, she would die. The pain tore through her chest, right where she suspected the soul was and paralyzed her entire body.

Every day, Matt supervised the intake of her medication closely - he would have forced them down her throat if she had said no. They were working. She hated to admit it to herself but the pills were working. The first two nights, she slept straight through. No nightmares, no dreams. Following the new substance in her body, her appetite increased and on the third day, she managed to force herself out of bed and into the shower.

Matt stayed. He called in sick for the week, causing a dispute between him and Foggy, but when he told him that Eliza was alive and that she was his reason for not being able to go to work, his friend eased up. Although he wasn’t pleased to hear that the girl he now considered something close resembling family was back and he didn’t even get to see her. Matt wouldn’t elaborate further, he couldn’t, it wasn’t his place, so Foggy simply took the information and tried to store it away before curiosity could kill him.

Eliza insisted many times that he should return to work without her, but he wouldn’t leave. He wanted to wait and take her with him the next time he stepped foot into the office, but the more time she spent cooped up together with him, the less she felt in control of herself.

She had no power over him, not even when she told him to spend a few hours at night outside. She told him to resume his activities as Daredevil until she was out of the woods completely and they could start anew, but even with that, he refused.

The chances of Matt getting hurt were higher as Daredevil than at home in bed with her, but Eliza saw the way he tensed whenever he heard something outside, and that hurt her more than seeing him with a black eye or a few broken ribs.

Sometimes he would sit on the couch long after he put her to bed, fists clenched at his sides as he listened to the sirens signaling another crime that hadn’t been stopped, another hurt civilian, and another criminal set lose on the streets of his beloved Hell’s Kitchen.

He spent more time in the bathroom, holding his head underwater, and when that didn’t work, he started to rearrange the kitchen to distract himself. Soft jazz music often played in the background, or he put on noise-canceling headphones and he wouldn’t talk to her until he was finished with whatever project he put his mind to. All because he didn’t want to leave her while she was at her most vulnerable. The less she suffered, the more he retreated into his shell, but that shell was see-through and offered little to no protection, only prolonged pain.

Eliza had enough of watching him run himself into the ground for the sake of her mental well-being. She had to get back out there, as did Matt. They desperately needed to get a life.

And when she finally got the go-ahead after two very cruel weeks, no one was more excited than her to return to a life of normal. As normal as it could get, anyway. Matt wasn’t pleased, but she refused to let him talk her down.

“Foggy sends his love,” he told her after a particularly draining phone call with his colleague about a case offer they received. “And he said he can’t wait for us to work together. Most importantly, he can’t wait to see you again. But he also said that you should charge your phone,” he pressed a kiss to her head on his way past the couch, “Which is something I keep telling you, but you won’t listen.”

She looked at the dead cell phone on the living room table. It still existed and it had all the necessary numbers to call to make amends, but every time she considered plugging it in, she stopped herself. They would find her if she did – Happy, Pepper, possibly even Tony. She couldn’t face them. Not yet.

Addicts anonymous offers twelve steps to follow on the journey to full sobriety. One of them is admission. Eliza had to admit to herself that she had a problem, but not only to herself. Forgiveness is only the eleventh step, yet truly the most important. Making amends with the past makes it easier to look forward to what lies in the future. Put a lock on the chapter and place the book back on the shelf, perhaps start a new one.

She made amends with everyone involved, except Foggy and Happy. She cared about them too much to look them in the eyes. In the case of Matt’s business partner though, she didn’t have a choice. He automatically became her boss when she took her boyfriend up on his offer, and since he told Foggy to finalize it as soon as she was able to leave the house and no longer pose a danger to herself or others, there was no way out. She wanted this, but facing him and Karen – especially Karen – after such a long time and everything that happened, was stressful and had her shaking just at the thought of it.

But life has never been known to be particularly kind, and her third chance started to look pretty good. Saying no to starting over out of fear of being rejected and hated by the people she loved would’ve been a foolish thing to do, and she no longer wanted to be foolish. She wanted to make the right choice and she had – facing the music was the hard part.

Eliza woke Matt that day with a slight nudge. He grumbled and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillows. The sensory overload made it harder for him to sleep, so even without his vigilante duties, he fell asleep only after three in the morning and often got up before her so he could make coffee.

This time though, she made sure she woke up before him. Perhaps it was the excitement of getting back into the world or she was too anxious to sleep; either way, she woke up way before the set alarm to return the favor Matt had given her many times before.

She went into the kitchen, bare feet hitting the ground with small taps that she hoped he didn’t pick up on. His blue dress shirt hung loosely over her figure. Yawning, she took the orange capsule standing on the counter, opened it, and poured a pill into her hand. Two more followed. They tasted bitter on her tongue before she managed to swallow them with some much-needed coffee.

Why would Matt ever voluntarily get up this early in the morning? She thought back to working out with Steve, and his schedule often started at five. That had been far worse than standing in the soft morning sun breaking through tinted windows in the apartment of the man she loved, but seven was still far too early for her liking. Eliza considered going back to bed, sliding under his protective arm, and sleeping some more, but the coffee was already done and she had other plans.

She had to get back on her feet and learn how to walk without crutches. She had to learn how to help herself, and for that, she had to put a lot more personal effort into the process. She had to want this.

Mrs. Darcy never pressured her to charge her phone and face what was left of her family because they posed a very obvious trigger she wanted to avoid while the effects of the antidepressants were still underway, but her sobriety was a very important aspect too and what she learned from the many meetings she had been to years before, making amends and asking for forgiveness plays a vital part in recovery. It would help her get better, not slow her down, so she inserted the charger into her phone, leaving it out to charge on the dinner table.

She would check again once the device restored itself after such a long time of being empty and unused.

Matt stirred when she lightly shook his shoulder, grumbling something inaudible before he rolled over and went back to sleep. She sighed. Waking Matt was a dangerous game, one most people would lose at. But she wasn’t willing to let him get away with it.

She swung her leg over his hip, straddling his sleeping frame. His eyebrows twitched - he could feel her heat right over his crotch and the sudden pressure applied to his body coaxed him out of unconsciousness.

“Matt,” Eliza whispered into his ear. “Matthew,” she said. “Wake up.”

He didn’t, although his hands came to rest on her hips as if his body had gotten so used to the motion, he didn’t even have to be awake for it.

If this was what he thought would happen, she had to disappoint him. Instead of grinding herself on his clothed cock, she pulled the pillow from under his head roughly. His head hit the mattress with a thud. Slowly, he started to blink back to life, but not in time to stop the fluffy cotton wrapped in silk from coming down on his face.

His reflexes came in motion when she hit him a second time, and by then he was already wide awake.

“What the-” he forced the pillow away from her hand, grabbing her wrists and crossing them on his chest. “What did I ever do to you?” his voice sounded ten times more attractive when it was still laced with sleep, groggy and hoarse, a sound born straight from his chest.

She grinned. Her chest filled with a sudden warmth that, the past couple of days, had been little to non-existent. The numbness subsided, leaving behind a state of relief, still clouded by exhaustion and thoughts she couldn’t shut off, especially not when it came to the man underneath her, but the pain was barely there anymore. Or she couldn’t feel it, anyway.

“You need to get up,” she told him.

“Why?” he challenged.

Eliza attempted to steal the pillow from her side of the bed. “Because…” he caught onto her sheepish plan before she could follow through on it. “We have to go to work.”

She barely even flinched when the pillow bounced off her face. “Rude,” she said.

Matt shrugged. “You started it.”

“I just wanted to wake you.”

“There are a million different ways you could have done that.”

“Oh,” she cocked her head to the side, “Is that so, Murdock?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart,” he said.

“You mean, like, suffocate you with this pillow?”

“That’s not… You know, some days, you terrify me a little.” He pinched his fingers together, not leaving space for air between the two. “Just a little,” he said.

She smirked. “I know,” she told him. Pecking his lips, she placed the pillow aside and brushed his bed hair back. “But you love me all the more for it.”

“Hmph,” Matt grunted in disapproval, but instantly melted into her touch when she kissed him again. His hands stroked up and down her back. “You’re lucky I love you, or else I would take your death threats very seriously.”

“Naw, don’t be afraid,” she cooed. “I would never hurt you, Matty.”

He squeezed the flesh of her hip. “I’m not afraid, especially not of you. I mean, those puppy dog eyes you give when you want something,” he stated, “they’re not very terrifying.”

“You sure?” Eliza squealed when he pinched her again, digging his fingers right into the most ticklish spot, and the sparkle in his eyes told her she screwed up. “Ow. Matt, stop it!”

“Why?”

“Because- HEY!” He dug his fingers into her waist, moving them back and forth and pressing further down until she was wheezing with laughter.

She rolled off and he followed, using his weight to pin her down and continued tickling her into the mattress. Tears ran down her face and the laughter got higher and more breathless with every move of his fingers. She couldn’t even fight back.

She gasped when he suddenly attacked her neck with kisses. Not gentle ones though. He found the spot behind her ear and used his stubble to scratch against the skin there. She squirmed.

“Stop it!” she laughed. “Matt, please. I mean it. Have mercy on me!”

He chuckled, answering plainly, “No.”

“Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean what I sa-ah-id.” Eliza clawed at his arm, giggling uncontrollably to the point her stomach hurt and she couldn’t move anymore. He had complete access now. “Would you stop?” she panted between squeaks, “This is unfa-ah- unfair! Matt, please. Oh, stop it! Time-out, time-out!”

He finally eased up.

“Jesus, I should sue you,” she took a deep breath, “for- for tickling assault.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Tickling assault?” Matt mused. “Seriously?”

“Yes, tickling assault! Look it up. It’s written in the Constitution.”

“Objection, speculation!”

“Overruled,” she said. “The plaintiff has evidence.”

“Oh, really? What does she have on me?”

“Evidence,” Eliza emphasized. “Evidence you won’t get to see without my very good lawyer present.”

“In that case, I take the fifth.”

“HA! I knew it!”

“That was not a confession,” he added. “I’m just choosing not to incriminate myself.��

She scoffed. “Weak! Hiding behind the fifth amendment to conceal the truth that you are, in fact, a serial tickler.”

He smiled even brighter at her playfully articulated words and the frustration of her bottom lip when she realized he was mocking her. “The fifth amendment is every US citizen’s right to take in a court of law. C’mon, sweetheart, if you want to work with me you have to know that,” he said, albeit teasingly.

“Oh, I do know that.”

“Yeah? Did you read the research material I gave you?”

A pause. “I watched Hamilton,” she said.

Matt didn’t protest when she slung her leg around his hip and rolled him onto the mattress, resuming her position in his lap. He chuckled at her previous words, the lyrics of the musical still stuck in his head from the many days before.

She had worn headphones while the soundtrack played on his laptop, keeping the volume down not to disturb him while he was sleeping. Little did she know that he had been awake the entire three hours, listening to her sing along under her breath, somehow memorizing every single word after the first listen. At first, it reminded him of the day the musical premiered and the album dropped on all streaming platforms, and he sat in his office across from Foggy’s and the former theater kid started to rap every last song loudly, including the sound effects, and it had caused Matt quite the headache when he did. But he loved him, so he never told him. He liked to compliment his singing to spare his feelings, but his rendition of the musical, the Foggy Nelson one-man show was not something he wanted to actively listen in on for a second time (and still he did because listening to him put his entire soul into every ballad was oddly refreshing, even to his sensitive ears).

With Eliza though, he knew that her voice already soothing enough to ease his nerves in dire situations. She had a nice voice, one he liked listening to. Every time she hummed Chasing Cars when she was nervous, he got a small glimpse into what her singing voice would sound like and while it was nowhere near trained, she sounded surprisingly good.

So he stayed awake while she sang along under her breath, too caught up in her head to remember that not even a whisper or the dampening of sound-canceling headphones could keep him from hearing part of what she heard.

Needless to say, he would listen to her do it all over again. He would take her to a karaoke bar right now and make her compete with Foggy if that was what it would take for her to sing for him. He knew that his friend would be down right away. Eliza, not so much. She hated public speaking - public singing would only be twice as horrible.

“I suppose Lin Manuel-Miranda’s songwriting is one way to learn about history,” he murmured, “but does it teach you anything about law?”

She hit him. Even playfully, her punches packed a certain force that had him flinch upon impact. “Shut up or I’ll rap the entirety of Guns And Ships in a very bad French accent right into your ear,” she said.

He snorted. “No, thank you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Matt happily sat up against the headboard, stroking the hair from her face - hair which he now knew the color of. He remembered every last highlight, the way the sun fell on the strands, and showed her in an entirely different light. He imagined her lips curling up again, her beautiful smile reaching his heart in streaks of yellow, warm like the sun. Her eyes probably eyed him up and down, her pupils blown from the change of light in the bedroom, and the color around it competing with her smile for a spot in the sun. He could feel the heat under her skin, the blood rushing to her cheeks, and he could see her face before his inner eye, skin colonized by a soft, red flush from the cold of the open window and the heat of him underneath her.

Eliza pecked his forehead, “But I suppose you can be forgiven.”

Matt’s cheeks flushed when she pulled away, the blood rushing to his head only because he realized he had been fantasizing about her in the middle of their conversation and the tune of her heartbeat told him that she knew.

“Oh, so it’s a not guilty verdict then?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Your innocence was proven beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Well, give my thanks to the jury if you happen to see them.”

“You can thank them yourself. They’re right here.”

“Where?”

She pursed her lips. “Right here. You gotta bow down a bit.”

“Like this?” He leaned forward.

“A bit further.”

He lowered his head. “Here?”

“You’re still missing some distance there, counselor.”

“Oh, I see,” Matt pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger, “I think I found them,” he said, and then, finally, he kissed her.

Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck with the most content sigh. His hand came to rest around her neck, the perfect necklace, and he didn’t have to pay for expensive jewelry for her to be happy with it. Their lips moved lazily against each other. There was no fight for dominance, no rush, only the two of them molded together like marble, not quite the same contrasts blending - one was darker than the other; one was the sun, the other the moon, black and white - but they still came in one piece.

He licked over her bottom lip, sucking the flesh into his mouth. She gasped softly, allowing his tongue to enter, though not without testing the waters first, waiting for her to open up far enough so he could swallow every possible breath that came from her throat. With the way their noses brushed together, oxygen became a rarity for their lungs, fighting to be granted at least some air with the other pressing so tightly against them.

The fact that Matt navigated his world through touch was a well-known fact. It was the main source of being able to paint a mental picture of his surroundings. The enhancement of his other senses added to that, of course, but the touch was the sense he relied most upon. He liked to touch what was his, showed his affection through lingering touches, held onto his friends any chance he got to keep them from leaving his side, and reveled in the feel of soft fabrics against his sensitive skin, giving the constant overstimulation a break.

At the same time, he experienced the affection of others much deeper than the ordinary human being. When she touched him, his skin felt on fire, and goosebumps adorned everywhere she touched. Every last spot sparked with electricity, sending signals to his brain, and she tickled just the right centers to cause imminent pleasure. The pleasure wasn’t often sexual. A mere release of endorphins and oxytocin relaxed his muscles and calmed him, soothing the constant hammering that caused his head to spin.

Arousal was the strongest sensation of all he could feel because it wasn’t just his sex that craved attention, it was all of him. Her touch could bring him to the edge of orgasm just by rubbing over his arms, his legs, even his hair, and while it was exhaustion to get so easily riled up, she made it worth it. He didn’t have to hold back. She refused to let him.

Her body moved to the rhythm of his kisses. adjusting ever so slightly to sit more comfortably in his lap. By then he could only count the seconds before she would feel the effect of her wriggling. The drug-like high his lips caused had her mind floating somewhere else. She only realized what was happening when he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and he stilled her hips with a firm grip.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Eliza licked her lip, brows furrowing at his request. “What?” she said.

“Don’t-” Matt swallowed, “Don’t move.” The please he added ran silent.

“What are you talking about- oh.” She shifted, directing her eyes downward, and then she stilled, feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against her panties. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. “Oops?”

He must have gotten turned on pretty early, considering she could feel the wet patch of pre-cum soaking through both of their underwear and coating her folds. Except that she didn’t have any sex drive left in her. Even the sight of him naked didn’t have her clenching like it usually did. Though as she inspected his closed eyes, the blush on his cheeks, and the sight of his cock straining against the waistband of his underwear, she couldn’t help but feel a little proud of herself.

Matt’s fingers dug into her hips. He cleared his throat, daring to open his eyes again. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wasn’t trying- I know you’re not- God, I’m sorry. That usually doesn’t happen. I’m not a fucking teenager anymore.”

She placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk,” she shushed him. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t- I mean, we don’t have to- I know you’re not feeling the same right now. I just need a moment to focus, to get the, uh, blood back into my head, but your wriggling isn’t helping. So please, Liz, stop moving.”

“I have a better idea.”

He did it for her all the time. The least she could do was return the favor - she wanted to put him first because he often came to short in life, always the savior, always the catholic, and always eager to serve and give pleasure rather than take it. He would never ask her to do it. He liked to swallow his needs to treat her own. More often than not they took down the road of his desires anyway but not because he asked but because it just happened. He got off, and he enjoyed it, but even Matt Murdock had needs that needed to be articulated more. He was clear about what he didn’t want, but when it came to asking for an act of service directed at him? He wasn’t going to do that without a little push.

Determined to make him cum first for once, Eliza took his hands and put them on the front of his dress shirt she wore. The buttons felt cold under his fingertips as he traced them, frowning, waiting for her to tell him what her mission was.

She didn’t want to have sex, but she would gladly go down on him. She would do everything it took to make him come undone for her. He could touch her however he wanted, as long as it brought him pleasure. He just didn’t seem to get the gist yet, too caught up in his head and embarrassment to make the connection.

She sighed wearily. Stubborn as ever, she thought. “Undress me,” she told him.

“Sweetheart, you’re not even…” he trailed off to play with the slightly oversize fabric again.

He wondered which one she wore. Was it a blue or a white one? He had a red one too, that much he knew because Foggy made him buy it after they graduated. He doubted she would choose the most expensive though, probably one he wore the past couple of days, one of the more casual shirts.

His cock twitched, painfully hard and rubbed against the silk of his boxers when she rolled her hips against his just enough to make him feel something.

“You’re right,” Eliza said, “I’m not at all horny right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be. I told you, it’s okay. I’d be glad to help you. Now,” she forced his hands away from her abdomen and onto her breasts, “Undress me.” Her voice lowered and she grew more demanding.

Matt gnawed on his bottom lip. Fuck. She was something else when she was determined to get what she wanted, more than willing to take control to let him lose it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. However, he had already opened the first button by the time he finished talking. Her scent hit him stronger, his body wash and her perfume mixed with the freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen that had probably gone cold.

She shushed him. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

The next button plopped open and he reached inside, brushing his hand over her soft nipples. Why that turned him on as if she did the same thing to him, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was voodoo, but he knew better than to complain. The heavy feeling of her breasts in his hand, the soft flesh tender and perfectly squeezable, had him groan.

“You want to kiss them?” she asked. If it hadn’t been for the context, he would have called her adorable, almost, the way she slurred her words to make him feel more comfortable.

Eliza guided his head toward her cleavage when he gave a faint nod, too turned on to answer. Once close enough, he grabbed both boobs tightly and buried his head between them. What it would feel like to squeeze them to make a tighter entrance and thrust his cock between them, feeling them bounce as he brought himself to orgasm all over her beautiful chest, her nipples perky and coated in his cum?

Fuck. He made himself even harder just from the mental image, the faint idea of the feeling settling in. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her tits, but that was something he had reserved for another time.

She let him suck several hickeys into her skin up until the point he was satisfied and she could pry him away from her boobs, eyes wide with curiosity as she stared into his hooded ones. “Tell me what you want,” she told him.

“I- n’ugh!”

She licked a long strip over his neck.

“I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Do you want me to suck you off,” she offered, “Stroke your cock,” her hand slipped lower, over his straining abs and his boxers, avoiding his erection for now and instead brushing his upper thigh, “Or do you want me to grind on you until you cum?” she finished, eyeing him for any signs of distress.

Matt fisted the sheets, nostrils flared, while the other hand remained on her hip. She cradled his face, scratched his scalp, and found his most sensitive spot, before sucking a purple mark into the pale skin of his chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving behind a ghastly white underneath the full blackness of his lashes.

Eliza peeked up at him and the sight was truly victorious. The usually so strong, put-together, and sturdy Matt Murdock looked absolutely wrecked with his hair disheveled, lips swollen and his mouth hung open, the prospect of her suggestions driving him insane.

“Talk to me, my love,” she purred, licking over the hickey she left and adding another right underneath it. “What do you want me to do?”

He whimpered, not wanting to say it, even though he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to do all the things she suggested until he was shaking from the sheer pain of overstimulation, his cock red and swollen and exhausted from the orgasms she would pull from him. It was a dark fantasy, something he couldn’t ask of her. Inflicting pain on him until he came while she sat by and watched - it was a scene meant to be played under different circumstances.

“I suppose I could just keep kissing you. That could make you cum, right?” she said. “I wouldn’t even have to touch you for that to happen. I mean, you’re already so painfully hard, you even wet my underwear like a desperate little boy who can’t even tell me that he wants to have his dick sucked. And here I was, foolishly thinking you were such a strong, big boy when you are actually just as much of a whore as I am, but too much of a proud brat to admit just how submissive to my control your little pet brain is.”

She stopped kissing him, realizing what had just passed her lips, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, God,” she stammered, “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t… I have no idea where that came from.”

This was, for the lack of a better word, outright filthy. And the worst part was that Eliza liked being in this position, finally in control and able to make him feel all the things he made her feel. She wanted to give back, and she wanted him to follow her needs.

The more surprised she was at his reaction. Matt swallowed hard, his muscles flexing and then he moaned loudly. Louder than he ever had before. His head writhed against the pillow. He was embarrassed - embarrassed that this turned him on so much, his cock bumped her cunt with a desperate thrust. She held his hips down, still staring at him.

How did they go from a tickling fight to this?

He barely choked out, “Again.”

And she raised her eyebrows even further. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do that again. Say it. Fuck!” He was completely at her mercy now. “Please, sweetheart. Keep talking to me like that.”

Finally.

“Wow,” she jumped back into the condescending tone as if it were her second nature. “Are you really that desperate to be fucked?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Is that what you want? My mouth around your cock?”

“Yeah, I want it. I need your mouth. Fuck, I just… I need to cum so bad, baby. So, so bad.”

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it? Asking for what you want like a good boy.”

“Oh.”

“Of course, that would get you twitching. Me calling you a good boy. Is that what you want? Does my little whore want to be called a good boy while I go down on him?”

His back arched off the bed and she wasn’t even far enough to touch him yet. “Huh, pet, tell me. Do you want to be my good boy and cum in my mouth?” she asked.

“I already told you,” he whined.

“Tell me again.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Matthew,” Eliza retorted his name like sweet poison on her tongue and acid on his skin.

He hissed when she finally pulled down his underwear enough to free his aching cock. Matt was done for the second the cold air hit the mushroom tip. His body twitched. Her hands felt like thousand tiny needles. She scratched at his thighs, her mouth hovering above his crotch, but she didn’t touch him where he needed her most.

He wanted to curse her, but his voice betrayed him. “Please,” he whimpered.

Fuck. Perhaps that was enough to turn her on, after all. It sure filled her being with a sense of superiority, and that was quite attractive.

“Sweetheart, please,” he tried again, “Let me fuck your mouth.”

She clicked her tongue. “Tsk, that is not how this is gonna go.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything for you. I just need you to touch me. Tell me what I have to do.” His eyes trailed aimlessly over the ceiling. “Suck me off. Take my dick into your mouth. Do something, please. I just want to be inside of you. I want to feel you. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“God, Matthew, I love it when you beg.”

“Please.”

“Yeah, keep those pleas coming until you cum,” she said. “That’s what you can do while I make sure you get the attention only good boys deserve.”

Licking up the base of him, she traced the protruding veins with her tongue. They pulsated with need. The tip of his cock was weeping, leaving traces of his impending release on his stomach. She licked the pre-cum off his sweaty skin, then returned to paying close attention to every outline of his cock. He was a whimpering mess, grabbing the sheets, the pillows, and the headboard, trying to keep his arms up. He wanted nothing more than to fuck into her mouth until he was coming and she was choking, but she had such a hold on him, he felt almost weak, restrained by her words and arms and that mouth of hers that knew just what to do.

“You are so good at that,” he breathed. “Please, just take it in your mouth. Suck me off, baby.”

She suckled at his tip, blinking up at him all innocently.

“Fuck! Move.”

Suddenly, her mouth was gone and he felt her eyes on him, disappointed and exasperated. “I don’t like that tone,” Eliza told him, almost like a teacher condescending to her misbehaving student, but not quite ready to inflict punishment just yet. “You can be nicer than that, can’t you? After all, I’m on my knees for you,” she said. “You can show me at least some gratitude, baby.”

Her hand replaced the touch of her mouth. She moved up and down his shaft, stroking her thumb over his slit, collecting even more pre-cum and using it as lube to move faster.

His hips bucked. She stopped, squeezing a little harder and he moaned, high-pitched and desperate. “Don’t fight against me, or you won’t get to cum at all.”

“I can’t,” Matt grunted, “it’s too much. I need more. I- I need you to move, now.”

“What do you say?”

“Please! Take my cock in your mouth, please.”

“Good boy,” she said. “You know what to say if it gets too much.” Her voice took a slightly softer tinge, though it didn’t last for long - only seconds after, she sank down on him in one go, ignoring her gag reflex as she took his full length into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat, thick, swollen, and salty on her tongue, pulsating with need and desperation, his orgasm only moments away. He was that sensitive.

Her throat kept him warm for several seconds. She didn’t move and the grasp she had on his hips and thighs prevented him from bucking up into her mouth. Eliza warned him with a simple look that if he broke free, she would stop. He felt her gaze burning through him. Matt had no choice but not to comply if he wanted to finish.

He licked his lip. “Please,” he exhaled. “Just like that, sweetie. I’m so close.”

She smiled smugly, having him right where she wanted him.

Fondling his balls, she could already feel him tense under her touch, and when she returned to suck at his tip, paired with the constant motion of her hand jerking him up and down, and the other squeezing his balls, his toes curled and he came with new intensity.

Eliza wasn’t prepared for the extent of his orgasm. She took him in fully, gagging at the size and the flush of liquid down her throat. Matt grabbed her hair, not to push her down but rather to pull her off. His cum spurted over her chest, running down her sternum and onto her breasts. The liquid was hot and sticky; she looked at the white now coating her skin and she sighed. His cum looked so good on her skin, she wished she could show him.

She swallowed the remains of his release in her mouth, then ran her finger through the thick, white cum on her chest and licked her fingers clean too, making sure to make as much obscene noise with her tongue and lips as possible, all just so he could hear what he had done.

Matt winced. His body laid slack against the mattress, chest heaving, and with his eyes closed – he looked so done, so messy. She smiled softly yet proudly at the picture he offered. The thought of taking a picture while he was still blissed out poked her. She pushed it down. He wouldn’t appreciate his nudes being taken, surely, especially since he couldn’t enjoy the same liberty. Although it sounded exciting to take his naked frame with her everywhere she went, ruined, covered in cum, and he was still begging for her, even with his mind rendered useless. He was submissive to her.

Wiping her mouth, she dared to crawl back up. She touched his face. Upon that, he flinched and she pulled back. “No touching?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Is there something you need?”

“Water,” he pleaded.

“Okay. Hold on.” Eliza reached beside herself for the bottle she always kept on the floor of her bedside. She opened the cap and handed it to him.

Matt finished most of the bottle greedily, then offered it to her. He nodded toward her lips and the cum on her chest. She totally forgot how messy she looked herself, and how much of him coated her taste buds. The taste was overwhelming, drying on her gums and lips.

She took the rest of the water and drank it, shooting him a thankful smile. With his dress shirt, she wiped at the cum around her nipples.

Only when his breathing had slowed, did Matt trust his voice again enough to form a logical sentence. “Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she resisted the urge to run a hand through his messy hair, “I told you, I wanted to do this. You deserve to be taken care of too, you know. You don’t have to worry about me all the time. I’m a grown woman,” Eliza said, “And you’d know if I was lying.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “I just feel bad that you didn’t… you know, cum. You probably didn’t even enjoy it.”

She propped her head up on her elbow, smiling at him, and he turned his head in her direction. “I don’t need to finish all the time, Matt. I enjoyed myself, believe me. It felt good to see you like this for a change. Made me forget about everything else.”

“You-” he swallowed, blushing once again. “The things you said…” She expected him to tell her he didn’t like it or that she did a bad job, perhaps, but he took her off guard with his actual answer. “When did you become so dirty?” Matt asked.

She broke into a rather flustered laughing fit. “Oh, my God!” She hid behind her hands. “I don’t know. The words just slipped out.”

“Listen, I’m not complaining, but that took me by surprise.”

“Trust me, I didn’t know I had it in myself either.”

He chuckled. “Let’s do it again,” he said.

Eliza stuttered. “Like, right now?”

“No! Not right now, but someday. Soon, maybe.”

“Okay, I’m down.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are. There are also some thing I want to try with you-“

“Yes!” Her eyes mit up. “God, yes!”

He chuckled. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” he teased.

“If you were gonna tell me that you want to try out some BDSM stuff with me, I know exactly what you wanted to say,” she said.

“Well…” it was what he planned to say.

The excitement in her voice told him all he needed to know, silent confirmation that she was more than down to try.

“My answer is yes.”

“If that’s so, we have an agreement.”

“Hm-hm. We do. Until then…”

Matt recognized the sound of her voice. She left the unsaid hanging in the room, waiting for him to pick up on it and piece together the hints she gave, which were barely there but somehow he knew. He always knew what she was talking about without having to say anything.

He let the thoughts pass through the many systems in his brain, contemplating, weighing pros and cons, and then he listened to her steady heartbeat some more.

“We have to go to work, don’t we?” he said. His voice was soft, a gentle caress in the sex-scented bedroom.

Eliza smiled at him. “Yeah,” she said, “We have to. We can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Okay. You’re right.” He sat up, removing the blanket from his body completely, and wrapping her up instead. Gently, he nuzzled his nose into her hair. “I love you,” he said between two kisses to her scalp.

She hummed in response, eyes fluttering close. “Love you too.”

“I’m just gonna take a shower real quick. Wanna join me?”

“Mh-hm.” She took the hand he offered her, wriggling her legs out of the tangled sheets.

He picked her up before she could make her way to the bathroom. Eliza had gotten used to his antics. He liked to carry her. It was something she wouldn’t complain about.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked her then.

She gave a small nod. “All three of them.” Her heartbeat told the truth.

Matt remained satisfied with the answer, “Good girl.”

“Hey,” upon seeing the worry on his face when he set her down in the comfort of the small shower stall, she told him, “We’re gonna be okay.”

He sighed, eyes closing as she roamed his bare chest for something to hold onto, imprinting the way he felt into her brain. As if she hadn’t done that enough already, there would always be something that she missed and she wanted to make sure she got all of him.

“I know,” he said. “But as long as I’m alive, I’m always going to worry about you.”

They shared a kiss. She smiled into it, thankful and overall, finally happy.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she concluded.

Matt chuckled as he felt the stickiness of her chest slowly subside under the hot water. He used the sponge and some of his body wash to gently brush over her breasts. “C’mon, let’s get all this cum off your chest…”

“Whatever you say, baby girl.”

He stopped. “WHAT?” his voice echoed off the shower walls before he burst out laughing. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Baby girl,” she shrugged. “I mean, you’re baby girl material. I found it fitting.”

“Oh, my God. This is awful,” he wheezed. “Don’t ever call me that again!”

“Sure thing, counselor.”

Matt cocked an eyebrow. He purred at the honorific, “Now that is something I can get down with.”

“But baby girl isn’t?” Eliza challenged.

“Never in a million years.”

“Bummer.”

“Where’d you even get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea. The words were just put in my mouth…”

“Well, try to think before you speak next time.” He pinched her side. “I don’t want to hear you call me that ever again.”

She giggled. “Alright, counselor. Whatever you want, you get.”

Her happy ending was right there. There was seemingly nothing she had to worry about anymore. And if she tried hard enough, which she planned to do, she was going to be okay, and all the pain would have been worth it in the end.

Good things come to those who wait, right?

And Eliza tried hard to make it all worthwhile.

#matt murdock #foreigner's god #matt murdock x female!oc #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #marvel #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #hurt/comfort #matt murdock needs a hug #and he gets one #matt murdock x oc #foggy nelson #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #miza

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