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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

hands off | matt murdock

matt murdock x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (mutual masturbation, mxf intercourse, dirty talk) swearing, established relationship

a/n: okay. OKAY! okay. be gentle with this one because it’s my first matt fic!!! also, i saw this video on tik tok about ppl doing this game thing, but idk who posted it first and i don’t have the videos, but that’s where the dies comes from. also this is literally just smut, don’t even look at me ITS BEEN A LONG WEEK. okay bye. literally posting this and running away to sleep bc i am afraid BYE.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sooo? You like it?” You keep to your side of the couch as Matt brings the glass up to his mouth for a second time. He hums, swallowing and licking his lips, and you have to bite down on your own to control yourself.

Asshole.

“It’s…”

“What?”

“Sweet.” His voice rumbles. You think you should have tied yourself down or something, because there’s no way you can win this stupid bet if he was going to keep teasing you like this. He wasn’t even doing anything, really. Everything he did seemed to turn you on in some way or the other, especially now, as the alcohol starts to kick in, warmth spreading through your face, flowing all the way down.

It was your idea; this whole bet. You and Matt had been together for a while now, and the longer you spent with him you realised how much of a fucking tease he was. So, in your muddied brain, you decided two could play at that game, even though you were almost certain you would fail miserably. You were, however, planning on giving him a run for his money. Or your money, considering how you had both put two hundred dollars on the table for the winner.

The rules were simple. You drink an entire bottle of wine- your favourite brand, hence the taste testing Matt was currently being put through, and sit on opposite ends of the couch. The first one to break - to touch the other in any way, loses. You were notoriously… frisky, when you drank wine, and Matt thought the game was going to be innocent enough until you started popping more bottles.

“Good sweet or bad sweet?” You say, and he empties the glass, holding it out for you to pour him another.

“I’d give it a good 7 out of 10. I’ve tasted better.” He hears the exasperated gasp of shock, and smiles in a way that’s so classically Matthew that your heart skips a beat. He probably hears that too.

“This is the best thing I have ever had. What could possibly taste better than this?!” You pour him another glass that he downs half of quickly, eager to get to the good part.

“I can think of a few things.” Your breath hitches in your throat, and he smirks, taking another sip.

“That feels like cheating.” Your entire body ignites at the shift in mood, and you nearly shiver when his hand trails along the edge of the couch, moving dangerously close to your shoulder, then retreating back.

“Hey, you said no touching. Nothing in the rules about telling you how much I love your-“

“Okay! Okay. I get it. Finish your glass, cheater.” He downs the rest obediently, placing the glass gently on the table, right next to the stack of fifty dollar notes you had pooled. He was smirking - clearly thinking he was already ten moves ahead of you, but you had a couple tricks up your sleeve to win this thing. Well, one trick.

“So, how do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?” You finish your glass and get rid of it, the empty wine bottles clanking together somewhere on the floor.

“Well, obviously you are going to lose, so do you want to just give up now, or do we have to play this whole little game first?” Typical. Complete confidence, right from the start.

“Listen, Murdock. One thing you’ll learn about me tonight, is that no matter how incredibly attractive you look right now, I am very competitive. Very. Competitive. Especially when it comes to money, because I am also very broke.” He laughs again, his head hanging back off the couch. “Besides, who says you won’t break first?”

“I’m pretty sure I can take you apart from right here.” His voice has dropped an octave. You recognise that tone in an instant. He only talks to you like that, all commanding and a little mocking; when he’s fucking you. Or about to fuck you. Your whole body reacts to him - you don’t even have a choice in the matter, it’s like a bell rings and you’re switched into that mode. All he needs to do is talk to you like that, and you want to get on your knees and forget all about this stupid bet and-

“Am I right? You think I can make you all sweet and desperate just talking to you?” Yes. He could. He knew it, because he’d done it before, but you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction. Not when the game had barely started.

“Who says we’re just gonna talk?” You settle back, letting your legs stretch just this side of your half of the couch.

“Is that a threat, honey?” The endearment mixed with his slightly rough tone has you tightening every muscle in your body, and if you didn’t get a hold of yourself you might as well just shreds your money now.

“Just got a few ideas, that’s all.” You blink innocently, and he scoffs.

“I promise we’ll do all the things I know your pretty little head is thinking about right now. All you have to do is give in to it.” The way he’s sitting is so cocky; if he wasn’t so fucking sexy you think you’d slap him. Arms stretched out, one dangling over the back, the other strung lazily across his stomach, making a perfect line down to where his legs are spread as wide as possible. You don’t miss how easy it would be for you to slot yourself in to that spot, to be surrounded by him.

“Hmm. Tempting.” He shrugs, almost saying ‘I know.’ “Or, you could come over here.”

“Now why would I do that?” He asks, leaning forward. You start as slow as possible. This was really the only idea you had to get him to break. Maybe if you threatened it, alluded to it enough, he would forget all about the money and the bet and jump on you.

“Maybe I’ve got something to sweeten the deal.” You trail a slow fingertip up your leg, past your knee and creeping it along your thigh. The fabric of your skirt scrunches up as you get higher, and Matt’s head straightens when he hears it.

“What are you doing?” Still, his voice is that low, gravelly sound that sends shivers up your spine, and you bite your lip to stop a smile before answering him.

“You know how wine makes me.” He knew very, very well, being the object of all your wine-induced fantasies. “I’m all hot, and if you aren’t going to help me…”

“Don’t.” He practically growls, and you let out a breathy laugh as you use your other hand to pull up your skirt completely. He may not be able to see you - but he knows exactly what your doing and how your doing it. He can hear the way you’re moving, the skips in your heartbeat as your finger trails higher and higher. The smell of you, how it changes as you get closer to the wetness between your thighs. He knows. And he looks like he hates it.

Jaw set, he grinds his teeth as you ignore his simple demand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you touching yourself - he loved it; encouraged it, even, but he wanted to be there for it. Involved in it. If you ever needed that specific kind of relief, he wanted to be the one to give it to you. Even on the few times he’s been away, he’s sent you videos, called you and made sure he was the only one who pushed you over the edge. His name on your tongue as you came to the thought of him, to his words or his pictures. He always wants to be the one. And he always is.

He also has never not been able to touch you, because if you knew one thing, it’s that Matt Murdock was not a man that shared what was his. Especially not you, even with your own hand.

“Stop.” Matt manages to say, and you hum, relishing in the attention he’s focusing on you. You spread your legs a little wider, making yourself comfortable. “That’s cheating.”

“Nothin’ in the rules about touching myself, Matty.” You breathe, and then gasp as your finger brushes over your most sensitive spot, still covered by your lace underwear. “Unless you want to come over here and make me stop?”

“I know what you’re doing. You’ll have to try a little harder than that, sweetheart.” His face is set so hard, like how you’ve seen him in the court room. Focused, not betraying a single emotion on that sweet face of his. You were going to wipe that stoic look off his face one way or the other.

“I’m gonna take these off.” You narrate, hooking your fingertips under the seam of your underwear, and start to slowly pull them down your legs. As you get about halfway, the fabric bunching over your knees, you sigh sweetly. “Help me out, baby?”

He exhales in a short, sharp laugh. He wasn’t technically touching you, and you both knew it was the closest he could get without forfeiting. Leaning forward, he used one hand to grab the part of your underwear not touching any skin, and starts pulls them down. The soft material slips over your shins and calves, and you know he’s going slow on purpose. You lift your feet up so he can remove them fully, and you watch intently as his thumb brushes over his new prize.

“The purple ones?” He recognises the fabric and you moan out a ‘mhmm’. “My favourite.”

“I know.” You let your legs fall open again, and you could of sworn you heard a small sound come from him at the movement. A crack in the ice. It ignites your confidence, and makes you want to keep going. Keep pushing. “Wore them for you.”

“Such a good girl, all the time. You wouldn’t be this mean. Not to me, right?” The words were sweet as honey. You loved when he spoke to you like that - with praise and a little bit of authority. It made you squirm, but you had to hold it together a bit longer. String him out a little further. You just moan again, your hand finding it’s destination, one finger running up and down in between your legs, brushing over your clit lightly. Just how he teases you. You see his face change. “You’re going to regret this.”

“But it feels so good, Matty.” His grip on the back of the couch tightens.

“Better than me?” You shake your head vehemently, appeasing his ego and moaning a negative incase he can’t figure out your answer from the sound of your movement.

“Nothin’ better than you.”

“I know, baby. Why don’t you let me take care of you? Come just a little closer, and I’ll make it all better.” Your toes curl, and you start to make small, tight circles right over your soft centre, nerves alight and sending shocks up your entire body. His voice is all you’ll need to get there, you just need him to keep talking.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Your jaw falls open, no longer able to hold it together. “Just want you so bad.”

“If you want me so bad, come here.” His tone is a little more demanding. Frustrated. Stubborn. Another crack. You resist the urge to smile.

“Will you- will you tell me? What you’d do if you could touch me?” He sits up, unzipping his pants and shoving them off aggressively. His erection is impossible to ignore, and your mouth waters at the sight of it when he pulls his boxers down and lets himself free.

“That’s what you want? You want me to tell you all the things I’m going to do to you when you break?” You don’t miss the cockiness in his words, but you just moan again, too lost in the feeling of your fingers against your clit. “Fuck. Okay - okay, slow down.”

You listen, obedient even when defiant. He can hear the sounds of your hands against your arousal slow to about half the speed, and the orgasm that was growing in your stomach is now only being stoked, your legs jolting every time you brush against your clit.

“Good fucking girl. I always go slow first, don’t I?”

“Mhmm.” You moan out, and he chuckles. The fucker was laughing at you. Pay back was going to be a bitch. You were really about to give in, then. Not now, though. If he was stubborn, you were going to beat him at that game, too.

“That’s it. Nice and slow for me. Want you all warmed up when you make yourself cum on my cock.” Oh. God - maybe you couldn’t outlast him. It was those kinds of words, sung to you in a voice so low and clear it was impossible to listen to anything else, that was what did it for you. What undid you every time. Fuck being stubborn.

“Oh God, Matt. Please - c-can I go faster?” He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, and you are mesmerised as he pumps his hand just once, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You can go a little faster. Since you asked me so nice. I’d do it for you.” You speed up, the fire in your tummy getting more aggressive as soon as you indulge the feeling. He pumps up and down once more, and his face screws up a little. Not in pleasure entirely, but something a little uncomfortable. At first you think it might be the situation, but then you look down, and recognise his problem. Your submissive side instantly takes over, your brain only knowing to do what you knew he wants. What he needs.

“You want me to help you, baby?” Matt swallows as he feels you get closer, but nods just once, taking his hand off himself. You hover above him, making sure he can feel the heat of your breath kissing the sensitive head of his cock as you angle down closer. God - what you wouldn’t give to wrap your mouth around him right now. You miss the taste of him - the feel of his hand threaded through your hair, how he tangles himself into it to feel the most of you that he possibly can.

Slowly, you let your spit drip down his length, alleviating the uncomfortable feeling of his dry hand. He doesn’t move, just lets you take your time getting him as wet as you are. Matt’s chest rises and falls so fast you think he might pass out, and his head is hung back so far that you can’t see his face from this angle. You bet it’s screwed up, and his mouth is open a little. He always looks so good when he’s strung out.

You start to retreat, careful not to brush against him as you sit back on your half of the couch, satisfied with your work. His hand wraps around his cock as soon as he feels your body heat move away, and the pain once etched on his face is replaced by only pure pleasure. The sight of him has you quickly returning your hand to your pussy, matching the pace he sets.

“Thank you.” He croaks out, and you silently high five yourself for how fucking ruined he sounds.

“Your welcome.” You sound exactly the same.

“God - I want to fuck you so badly right now.” He sighs, moaning your name as he starts pumping his hand harder, hips bucking irregularly. “You know it’d feel so good.”

“It would. You always fuc-“ You cry out as a wave of pleasure suddenly hits your chest, the new rhythm he was setting on himself having you seeing stars. “Always feel so good. Miss having you inside me.”

“Come here. Now.” He says through his teeth, and you just keep moaning out his name. He tries a new approach. “Baby. Baby, please come here. I’ll -I’ll let you cum so many times you won’t remember your fucking name. Just give it up already. I know you want to.” A new crack of determination nuzzles its way through the overwhelming pleasure at his words. Maybe it’s because it’s not actually Matt touching you right now that you are able to form a thought, but his words have you speeding up. Let you come.

Asshole.

“Fuck, Matty. I’m so cl-close - I think I’m gonna-“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He almost shouts, hand pumping furiously at his cock as he cuts you off. It almost looks like it hurts, and maybe it does a little, but the sounds of his hand moving against himself with your spit is making your brain go fuzzy. Trying your best to keep up with him, your back arches off the couch and you turn your head to the couch cushion.

“Can’t stop, feels too good I just-“ The burn in your arm is secondary to the release you were chasing, and it was so close. You knew what you needed. He had gone silent, because he knew, too. If he spoke, that would be it. He had such a hold on you that all it would take would be a few well placed words and you would crumble in front of him, and for the first time, it was the last thing he wanted.

“Slow down. Right now.” Your back was arching off the couch, and it was an effort not to stretch your legs out. Bunched up on your end, your eyes were glued to Matthew, his abs flexing hard and free hand still fisting the couch, white knuckled. “Do not fucking finish without me.”

The tone of his voice was so low and harsh, he wasn’t meaning to but he was only making it worse. Teetering on the edge, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from talking.

“I wish you were touching me right now. Your hands feel so rough sometimes and I always think about it, think about how good it feels on me.” Your eyes were squeezed shut, the words flowing out of you from the darkest parts of your tipsy mind.

“Baby just-“ His hand gets faster, you can hear it, his restraint snapping little by little. “You just gotta come over here. Please.” You try to block out how hot he sounds begging for a glimpse of you, so you keep talking yourself through it, thinking of the things he would say if he was fucking you.

“I want you to fuck me through this couch, make me feel you for days like you always do. Want you to…” A gasping breath cuts you off, and it takes you a moment to regain your focus, the pleasure nearly cutting off your air supply making you hiccup.

“Finish your sentence. What do you want?” He was sitting straight up, leaning so close that if you moved and inch you’d feel him. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him to touch you as badly as you wanted it right now - and that was fucking saying something.

You’d give it one more minute.

You think you can hold out for that long. One single minute of keeping yourself on the edge, one more minute to see if you can break Murdock like he breaks you every time. If you reached a minute and he wasn’t either buried between your legs or inside of you, you think you would implode.

“I- I want you to fuck me like you did when you came home last week. Leave a mark so I could feel it for days and-��

“That’s it. Keep fucking talking.” Your eyes open for a second and he’s kneeling, the hand on the top of the couch right next to your head. You hadn’t even heard him move, but now he was practically hanging over you, almost between your legs. Maybe your words effect him just like his do to you. “You sound so pretty. Keep talking for me, okay?”

“Matty, please just touch me. I need you to mmmmfuck- make me feel good.” He chokes out a desperate sound, and you shut your eyes again, no longer able to bare the sight above you if you couldn’t touch him.

“You need me?” You whine below him, nodding and making sure he knows just how bad he was right. It was a low blow, one you knew would make him even more desperate. Those simple words always got you what you wanted, no matter how long he had been playing with you. “Yeah, you fucking need me. Just need me to touch you so bad. Mark you up. Bet you’d cum as soon as I slid inside you, huh? Already so wet, I can fucking hear it.”

“Need you. Please.” You wheeze, and hear another choked sound leave his mouth. The couch shifts underneath you. Every nerve in your body was begging for him- you were begging for him, a string of pleases mixed with his name. If only either of you was less stubborn this stupid game would have been over long ago.

“You sound good like that. Begging for me. Keep going, tell me how bad you need it.”

“I’ll do whatever you want. Whate- Whatever you want. Just please. Please, please, please…” You sounded like you were having a tantrum, so close on the edge you were almost sobbing his name in ecstasy.

This was it. It probably hadn’t been a minute but you just couldn’t hold out any longer. Fuck the bet, fuck the stupid money. Nothing was worth not feeling him, having him just out of reach, you were so fucking close-

Matt’s hand brushes against your cheek, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, and his thumb wipes away a tear you hadn’t realised had fallen on your cheek. It was soft; gentle.

He kisses you softly, and his hand takes over the work, replacing your own and keeping that hard, tight pace on your clit. The feeling was earth shattering - the difference between your hand and his somehow night and day, and when you kiss him back, you realise he just lost. He lost, not so he could fuck you, but so he could kiss you.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Hm?” He murmurs, the hot air of his breath fanning over your forehead as his hand works at you, and all you could do what sob his name. “Cum for me. I earnt it.”

With that, he slides himself inside of you, and everything turns white.

“Fuck - yes.” You moan out and your cumming as soon as he hits the deepest part of you. He’s suddenly everywhere - an arm under your arched back pulling you against his chest, his mouth on yours muffling your wrecked moans of pleasure, his cock buried inside of you, hitting you hard and fast and desperate; just how you feel.

He isn’t far behind you, giving you exactly what you wanted and finishing inside, so deep you’d feel him for fucking weeks after this. He was making noises you’d never heard from him before - nearly whining with how much he needed you, his whole body tense as you ran your hands over every part you could feel, while your other hand scrunched into his hair.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Is all he was saying into your mouth, fucking you - using you to get through his high while simultaneously working you through yours. His lips moved to your neck, biting and kissing you all over. It was borderline territorial, and you were a whimpering mess underneath him, pinned to the couch taking whatever he wanted to give you and praying for more.

His hips eventually began to stutter in their pace, then slow to a stop- minutes or hours after he came. Time hardly registered, just him finally surrounding you like you’ve been wanting.

“Matt. Matt-“ His mouth was still attached to your neck, and you couldn’t imagine what you looked like, but it filled you with a sort of pride. You almost wanted him to keep going, but you wanted him to kiss you more, so you tugged on the strands of hair threaded in your hands. “Matt. You-“

“I know, baby. Don’t move.” The words echo through you, the command exactly the one you said to him earlier. He slowly slips out of you, never taking his hands off your body, and in one movement curls you up and pulls you completely to his side of the couch.

Finally, you can stretch out, your muscles like jelly as your legs tangle with his. Your head leans back to rest against his chest, which is still rising and falling too fast for normal. Admittedly, so is yours, as well as the occasional twitch in your legs from the pleasure dissipating through your body. Strong arms wrap around your chest and tummy, holding you tight, and he leans his head down to kiss your cheek.

“We are never doing that again.” He mumbles into the crook of your neck, and you laugh breathlessly.

“You didn’t like it?” He groans at your question.

“Baby, I fucking loved it, but I hated not being able to touch you.” He was whining now, and your hand snaked up, scratching lightly through his hair. You think he would of purred if he could. “You’re mine. Don’t like it when you try to come without me.”

“Mmm. You were too far away.” You agreed.

“Was hot, though.” You laugh again and he switches sides to kiss your other cheek, forcing you to look to the other side, where your eyes catch on the significant stack of money.

“I won.” You whisper into his ear, smiling, and he groans again.

“Stupid game.” He grumbles, teeth scraping lightly along the top of your shoulder, making you shiver. “Still made you cum.”

“We can always have a re-match.” He was still mumbling and groaning against you about how dumb the idea was, but you can feel his grin as you laugh.

“I got a different game in mind.” He whispers into your ear, and in the next moment you are in the air, being swept up and carried towards your shared bedroom.

“And what’s that?”

“How about I show you?” He kicks the door closed behind him, and lays you down on the bed slow and sweet before making true of his promise and destroying you from the inside out, just like he always did.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matthew murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock x oc #daredevil #marvel #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock smut #matthew murdock x y/n #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox x you #charlie cox fanfiction

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writingdumpster · 2 years

Text

good boyfriend

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, fem receiving oral, fingering, male receiving oral, cum eating, daddy! kink, p in v, creampie

summary: Matt's worried about being a good boyfriend because he's never had a relationship as serious as yours. To assure him he's a good boyfriend you tell him you love him the first time.

word count: 2,700

“Come back to bed, Matty.”

You were wrapped up in his blankets looking over at Matt who was pulling clothes out of his dresser. He had only gotten you to let him out of your arms when he threatened to pee on you. But now he was defying his orders to immediately return to bed.

“Foggy called,” he said. “We’ve got a problem with the Asimov case.” He picked up a shirt and then went to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Let Foggy handle it,” you said. Matt rested his hand on your hip over the blanket as he smiled down at you.

“We’re partners, sweetheart,” he said.

“No, you’re a control freak,” you said flatly.

“I am not a control freak,” Matt said with a laugh.

“Aren’t you, daddy?” You teased him.

“Don’t start,” Matt warned. You sighed.

“Matty, you told me that we’d have the whole weekend together,” you complained.

“And we will, sweetheart. I’ll only be gone a few hours. It’s just a quick meeting,” he said. Matt started to rise. You reached forward and grabbed the hand that Matt had resting on your hip.

“You promised, Matt.” Matt could feel the way you were staring at him. He could sense the disappointment in your expression and taste the salt in the air as tears welled in your eyes. It was the use of his name that changed his mind. You didn’t call him ‘Matt.’ Ever. You called him ‘Matty,’ or ‘Murdock,’ and even the occasional ‘Matthew,’ but never Matt. Not since your second date. He had to stay.

“I did, didn’t I?” He asked rhetorically.

“Yes. You did,” you said firmly. He nodded.

“I’ll call Foggy and tell him I can’t go,” he said. He heard your face move as you smiled.

“Thank you, Matty,” you said.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Matt said. “I promised you. Wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend if I didn’t keep my promises.”

“You’re a good boyfriend, Matthew,” you said softly. You tugged on his hand, pulling it up to your lips to kiss his knuckles.

“Am I? Really?” His voice was raw and you could hear the fear in his tone.

“Matty,” you murmured. You sat up from the bed and swung your legs over the edge so you could face Matt properly. You took his other hand in yours, your fingers tangling between his. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean…I’ve never been with someone this long. I don’t know how I’m doing. And it’s not like I’m…normal,” he said. You chuckled.

“You think I want someone normal?” You teased him.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart. You got a lot more than you bargained for with me,” Matt said. There was worry on his face. You hated to see him like that, especially on his day off. You looked up at him. You still had his hands in yours but he felt miles away.

“Sit down with me, Matty,” you called to him as you tugged on his arms. Matt smiled softly, the expression on his face lightening. He sat on the edge of the mattress, but you pulled him back further onto the bed so you could seat yourself in his lap, straddling his hips. He chuckled as you shoved him around.

“Was pushing me necessary to the conversation?” Matt asked as his hands settled on your ass. You pushed your hands against his chest gently.

“Sorry, do you want me to get off?” You taunted him. His grip on your body tightened.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. You giggled as you slid your hands over his chest up to his shoulders, one of them reaching behind his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. There was a moment of quiet as you looked over every inch of Matt. He smiled softly as he felt the way you were looking at him, knowing that just as he did with you, you paid attention to every detail of him that you could sense.

“You’re a good boyfriend, Matthew,” you said after a moment.

“You swear?” He asked.

“Matty, the vase in my kitchen hasn’t been empty since we started dating,” you said.

“Anyone could buy you flowers,” he said. He was a true Catholic, never taking credit for any of the good things he did.

“But no one else ever has,” you told him. A frown remained on Matt’s face. You were searching for what to say to him to make him understand just how good he really was. “You are the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, Matty,” you said frankly.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” he said dismissively. He looked so forlorn and it was breaking your heart. You took a deep breath, gearing up to tell him something you had known for a while, but had been too afraid to say.

“I love you,” you said. Matt’s head snapped up to face you.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief. You smiled softly at him.

“Yeah, Matty. I love you. A lot, actually,” you told him. Matt grinned.

“I love you too,” he said. “Also a lot,” he added. You chuckled lightly. You leaned forward and kissed Matt gently, but he pulled you in closer, sliding his tongue into your mouth and moving it against yours. His hands explored the curves of your body beneath the old Columbia shirt of his you were wearing.

“Let me show you, sweetheart. Let me make you feel my love,” Matt murmured against your lips. “Please, baby,” he pleaded when you didn’t respond immediately.

“Show me, Matty,” you drawled. “I want to feel you.” Matt let out a low groan. He pushed you down onto your back sliding down between your legs. His fingers were drawing lines down your sides as he settled on his stomach. He found the waistband of your underwear. His head turned in your direction.

“May I?” Matt asked. You nodded.

“Please,” you whispered. He smirked as he tugged down your underwear. He pushed your legs apart and reached out his hand running his thumb along your opening. You were wet already. You were wet pretty much any time you were around Matt. He knew and he relished in the smell of you any time he was around you. It cut above the perfume you wore and the scented shampoo. It haunted his senses and made him desperate for you anytime you were near.

“Hmm,” he hummed contentedly. “So wet. Is it for me?” His voice sounded innocent somehow. Sweet and unassuming. Like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Of course it’s for you, Matty. Always you. Only you.” Matt moaned.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you t—ahh!” Matt dove his tongue into your pussy, slurping at your hole before moving to lick circles around your clit.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he muttered against you. “Absolutely divine.”

“Feels so good, Matty,” you murmured. Matt alternated between fucking you with his tongue, suckling on your clit, and licking circles around it. He listened closely to your heart and your breathing, focusing on the same spot whenever your heart picked up a bit or your breath caught in your throat. “Matty?”

“Hmm?” He hummed against you. You moaned wildly at the vibrations

“Your fingers,” you panted out. Two of his fingers found your entrance plunging into you at once. You moaned loudly as Matt began thrusting his ring and middle fingers in a solid rhythm against your walls.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against your body. “Give me what I want.” You let out a strangled moan as Matt wrapped his lips around your clit once more and sucked harshly, making your orgasm crash into you like a tidal wave. Matt kept his movements against your body until he felt your hand pulling at his hair tugging his head away from your body. “Feel good?” He teased you. He listened as you caught your breath, relishing in every moment that you were unable to speak. You smiled at Matt when you had recovered. You pulled him up your body and pushed him onto his back.

“Your turn, Murdock,” you sang sweetly. Matt listened as you grabbed his underwear and pulled them down his legs. His hard cock sprang up, finally free of its constraints. You let out a small hum of pleasure at the sight and Matt smirked.

“You like what you see, sweet girl?” He taunted.

“You know I do,” you said as you settled between his legs. You reached forward and wrapped your fingers around the base of Matt’s cock. His breath hitched. You gave him a gentle squeeze. “Mmm. Can’t wait to have you inside me.”

“We can skip to that part,” Matt called down. You chuckled.

“No, Murdock. You’ve gotta feel how much I love you too,” you said. Before he could reply you leaned down and took the tip of his dick in your mouth. Matt moaned roughly. You sucked at the tip, sliding your tongue through the slit at the top of his cock. His breathing was growing more and more ragged, but you were still focusing only on the tip.

“Take the whole thing, baby. Please,” Matt whined. You hummed a ‘no’ around him and he let out a whimper. “Please, baby. Please. Just a little bit more, baby. Just a little deeper.” You kept your focus on his tip and Matt gave a pained whine. He threw his head back against the mattress in frustration. You smiled around him before pushing yourself down his whole cock, letting him hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, baby!” Matt shouted. He jerked his hips against you and moaned loudly. You bobbed your head up and down a few times, moving your hand in unison with your mouth. Matt was gasping and whimpering when you took his balls in your free hand, squeezing them gently.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come,” Matt cried. “Don’t stop, feels so good!” His hand went to your hair, winding into it so he could control your movements slightly. You only made a few more strokes before you felt him spilling into your mouth. Matt was moaning and his hips were shaking against the mattress. You hummed happily at the taste of his cum, swallowing every drop. You leaned back onto your knees and smiled down at him as he came down from his high, gasping and twitching as he settled.

“Can you go again?” You asked when he had calmed. Matt chuckled.

“For you? Always.” He said. He sat up from the mattress and smashed his mouth against yours. He wrapped his arms around you and flipped you over, throwing you onto your back. You giggled. Matt was kissing all down your body, every inch of you covered by him in some way or another.

“Do you need a minute?” You asked. Matt’s lips popped off your nipple, licking over the nub before moving his lips up to your neck.

“Tell me you love me again,” Matt murmured against your neck. You smiled.

“I love you, Matthew Murdock. More than I’ve ever loved anyone,” you sang. Matt moaned deeply.

“I don’t need a minute,” he said. You looked down and saw that he was hard again. You felt your heart throb as you realized that your love was what turned Matt on. You let out a small moan of your own.

“Please, Matty,” you whined. Matt lined his tip up with your soaked entrance. He slowly began pushing into you, both of you moaning in unison as his cock stretched you out. You could feel every inch of him filling the emptiness that you felt when he wasn’t around. He was deep inside you, reaching places in your body that no other man had touched. He started to pull out again once he was all the way inside you, but you grabbed his hips and pulled his body into yours.

“Wait!” You called. “I need to feel you this way,” you said. Matt nodded. He pushed deeper into you, so that there wasn’t any space between the two of you. “God, you’re so deep, Matty.” Your cunt flexed around Matt and he groaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight.”

“It’s your pussy, Matty. Belongs to you,” you moaned. Your hands moved to Matt’s shoulders, holding him firmly. “Fuck me, Matty.” Matt shifted onto his forearms and began slowly moving his hips against you. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his hips. He began to hit you at a deeper angle as he sped up, creating a steady rhythm against your body. You started moaning roughly as Matt began rolling his hips. You dug your nails into his back.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He taunted. You nodded and let out a strangled moan in agreement.

“Love your cock, Matty!” You cried roughly. He grabbed your legs, unhooking them from his body.

“Turn over and get on your knees,” Matt instructed you as he pulled out. You whined when you felt empty again, but quickly followed his instructions. Matt took your hip in one hand and his cock in the other. He lined himself up and pushed his tip into you. He stilled his hips once he’d gotten his head in. You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what the hold up was and saw him grinning at you. You were about to question him when he opened his mouth. “Work for it.”

“Yes, daddy,” you said. You turned back to face forward as you pushed your hips back against Matt. He moaned roughly as he felt you wrapped all the way around him once more. You began pushing your hips back against him in a steady rhythm, pulling moans from yourself as you worked against his cock.

“I need you deeper,” you cried. Matt leaned forward and grabbed your shoulder, pulling you away from the mattress and against his chest. He grabbed your arms, holding them behind your back. He began thrusting into you quickly, slamming his hips against yours.

“Is this deep enough for you, baby?” Matt whispered in your ear. You felt his cock pushing into the wall of your stomach as his relentless movements continued.

“Yes, daddy! Feels so good!” You screamed. Matt reached around your body with his free hand and began rubbing quick circles on your clit. The noise you made was almost inhuman in the amount of pleasure it proved.

“Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up, sweetheart,” Matt growled into your ear.

“Ohh! Fu–u–uck, Matty!” You cried. His words were enough to push you into your orgasm and you let out a high pitched whine as pleasure overtook your body. You shook uncontrollably in Matt’s arms and your eyes rolled back in your head. Your walls were pulsing relentlessly against his cock and he let out a deafening groan as he came into you. He fell forward onto the mattress, trapping your body beneath him as you milked him of everything he had to give you.

You were both catching your breaths, your minds reconnecting with your bodies after the overwhelming pleasure of the orgasms you’d given each other.

“You’re squishing me,” you murmured against the pillow when you had calmed. Matt pushed off you immediately, rolling to your side.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. You shifted onto your side so you could face him and reached out to push some of the sweaty hairs off his forehead.

“It’s okay, Matty. I still love you,” you said with a grin. Matt grinned right back.

“I love hearing that from you,” he said sweetly.

“I love being able to say it,” you said. Matt leaned forward and kissed you chastely. He was smiling in your direction, clearly dazed by how much he was hopelessly in love with you when panic spread over his face.

“Shit!” He shouted and shot up from the bed, hands digging through his bedside table.

“What?” You questioned as you sat up from the mattress.

“I didn’t call Foggy!”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock smut #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox smut

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whoreofdilfs · 1 year

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dear god i need him now please

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #daredevil #jessica jones x reader #daredevil x reader #marvel daredevil #daredevil angst #Charlie Cox #charlie cox smut #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader

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clarks-letterman · 5 months

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a man's sport | Matt Murdock x reader

a/n — wrote this because pool is such a slutty sport idk // title is a joke

warnings — rimming (Matt receiving), not proofread (late night sorry)

summary — Drunken fools make a bet and don't even follow it, too entranced to care.

words — 2.5k

~~~

There comes a time in every man’s life where he gambles with dice he doesn’t know every side of. He makes choices with a devil on his shoulder to guide him, or maybe an unassuming angel, naively nudging his shoulder so that he turns down the wrong path.

You met Matt on a night like tonight a few weeks ago when he came into the bar with a black eye and a story to tell. It was easy to get it from him after offering to buy the first round of drinks. ‘A car accident,’ he said, ‘involving no more than a parked car and an ignorant passenger opening the door.’ You could put two and two together, but you could also tell when someone was lying. He walked through the door that night, claiming to have gotten it on his walk over, but the development of it seemed too fast. Then, for the entirety of that night, you had to remind him every half-an-hour or so to apply something cold to the area for the swelling and the pain likely tingling on the surface. He teased you, calling you his ‘mother’ for being so overbearing, but it was just the way you knew someone would typically treat a shiner like that.

Somehow, it didn’t scare him away. Matt would show up to the bar, alone, often asking the bartender if you had come in. It became a silent agreement that the two of you would meet after your respective jobs to just forget about everything else. The disconnect and difference between your lives meant that you could be yourselves, and learn about things you never knew before. Matt had been schooling you on laws, mostly getting you to open up about the time something memorable happened, then pointing out what you could or couldn’t be prosecuted for. It was all reckless stupidity or something along that line, nothing serious.

Just when you were about to catch him in another lie, he took a sharp turn in the conversation after pounding back the last of his drink. “Whoever loses a round, buys a round,” he suggested. Matt nodded his head towards the pool table in the back of the bar, the sounds of patrons playing earlier must have let him know it was there. Otherwise, you would have thought the very reason you had become so infatuated with this man would immediately reveal itself to be a lie.

Maybe it was some kind of joke, a way for him to finally pay you back for adding on to your endlessly accruing tab at Josie’s. If he did win, you’d just ask for the cheapest whatever, whether it was alcoholic or not. It’s not like you needed it anyway with the amount of it in your system as is. Plus, Matt had told you more than enough about his business to assume that it was more of an emotionally stable job rather than a financial one. The way he talked about it made it sound more like his house, where his heart laid the rules.

The steps taken over to the pool table were sloppy, unsteady. Even Matt careened over, forgoing his walking cane in favoring of letting touch guide him. The tips of his fingers glided atop the bar lightly, adding a bit of confidence to his stride. That was until he ran out of countertop to guide him, and he took each step with caution. He had a bit of faith that you would be following close enough behind to catch him if he stumbled.

Matt felt around the area and picked up the pool stick when his fingers touched the wood. Maple wood—smoothed down and glazed with black tape that was starting to peel at the edges from months, years, of use. He could hear you stomping around the table, setting up the balls in order and with care and placing the cue ball at the end of the table where he stood. Matt already had the stick resting between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers.

“I don’t think you can beat me,” Matt said confidently.

“You bet your ass I will.”

“Is anything up for negotiation?” He asked, spreading out his legs and arching his back to get precisely the right angle. Every sense he had told him it was the perfect shot, the one to sink three balls into three separate pockets and start the game off strong. He raised the back of the cue to run along his knuckle with just the right glide through, running it forward just shy of the white ball placed on its marker to practice the motion.

You held onto your pool stick with two hands like a cane with no curve, watching him move. “Yeah, as long as you’re fine with it.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Matt wore a confident facade, only shifting away from that when you accepted his offer. He moved a little to the left, pretending to correct his stance. With a quick snap, the cue ball flew, hitting the alignment head on and effectively doing nothing to increase his points. Each scattered in different directions, like little balls of fire to him, all in different sizes thanks to their color and how they each absorbed light. Not a single ball went into a pocket, and he smirked at how easy it was to achieve failure.

You watched how Matt’s turn went, and readied yourself and a different side of the table, ready to take your turn. Hopefully, this game would go well for you. “Let’s hope I’m not dealing with the devil.”

“He hides in plain sight.” He said casually, mischief tinting his red-lensed glasses.

Matt tried to make it known, moving around to the side of the table you were on for all of his turns. He made to get as close as possible, insisting that it was the “right angle” to take his shot from. In reality, he used it as a way to be in front of you, leg straddling the table’s wooden rail. His knee grazed the green cushioning that lined the surface of the playing area. The alcohol created a tide that washed away any connecting line in the sand that would make sense of how a blind man could play pool. You didn’t even question how he knew where you stood to take your shot without guiding him to it. To Matt’s surprise, even though he had thrown to game to get his desired outcome—to let you have your way with his ass—your coordination wasn’t strong as a drunk. He could have simply watched the game play out and still won, even if he wasn’t playing.

Thankfully, you got the hint on what would have been his winning turn—solid red, number three his senses told him. He stood at the end of the table that looked out to the bar. You came up behind him, cupping his ass as the backside of his dress shirt and belt and fabric struggled to contain him. The ball wasn’t the center of his attention, no, it was you.

A little devil whispered in his ear, your alluring voice making a bitter crime sound sweet, “Let’s add a crime to be prosecuted for, huh?”

He reached for his tie, clawing at something. His fingers felt the bristle of the scruff on his neck in his quick movements before sliding down to the collar of his shirt. He needed to get the words out that were stuck in his throat, “Like what?”

“You’ll see.” You promised him, backing away from him and kneeling down. Both of your knees hit the hard floor of Josie’s, the layer of scuffs caused by his angular dress shoes and many other’s beneath you. Now, a set of soft, bruising knees like yours had likely never grazed a floor like this. All kinds of bets were made, but this had to be the most unusual.

Your hands made quick work of his belt and pants, pulling his hips back to give room between his buckle and the side of the pool table for your hands to slide into and do what they needed to. He closed that gap when everything was free, pressing his already stiffening cock against the chilled mahogany wood, creating a friction for himself in the front. His hands never left the cue, only tightening on the stick when he felt your presence nearing him.

Keys of coke were snorted and needles percolating with heroine were probably done in the bathroom, but this would be the only line of crack seen in the bar itself. Good people of society, you claimed yourselves as. All of that could have simply been a lie as the addiction to Matt set in. The smell of him radiating in waves like notes of a cologne drew you in. Laundry detergent came in brief hints of a top note that had faded throughout the days wear, replaced quickly by his aromatic cologne. It was cheaply scented with a woody dampness like trees looming in the mist and poppy flowers drooping from weight on their petals—everywhere yet easy to miss as the base notes of everything that made up his smell hit next. The base notes of his smell were the most carnally alluring, that being his musk. Sweat lingered from being trapped in a stuffy office all day, with a brisk walk to the bar adding another layer to it.

But then, you got a taste of him. It was bland, bitter, and had hints of saltiness to it. With taste comes texture, and Matt’s fuzzy peach had something unlike anything else. He had a devilish combination of smells and textures that kept it interesting. Your lips grazed over his hairy cheeks, feeling the dark hair tickle your chin and surrounding features. The palms of your hands felt it, too, once they peeled him apart to undo his natural layers and uncover where he was sensitive.

You were able to go deeper, your hands sinking well into his cushy cheeks with more than enough to hold. It made your face feel like it was sinking into his folds while you wedged yourself between him. Your nose was the first thing to meet his crack—just above his hole so that your lips could meet his tightness. You pursed your lips, your tongue filling the space between them that formed and stuck it out. Then, you did the one thing your tongue could do—lick and lick around in circles, stripes, and as many teases as you could think of from his taint to his hole and back.

Matt was in shambles in moments. He had fully leaned over the table, humping against the table and, indirectly, rocking back against your face in a steady rocking motion. He didn’t treat your face like a stranger, but he was completely new to the feeling. Not only because he never really embraced this side of himself, but because it was such a dangerous thing to be caught for. One, two, three—fuck was that the fourth time you had slid your tongue in his hole already? It felt like a blur of repeated motions.

One, two, three, four, he counted. He tried to make sense of how many heartbeats filled the bar, trying to find risk where he could to make this act more devious. The more people could walk around—or hell, even just turn their head—and see him with his pants at his ankles and a hard-on defiling the pool table and a person making his ask feel so good and he moaned; there you go again, making him a mess. He tried looking natural, as if he was taking the worlds longest pool shot. But all it would take is someone sitting on the side of the bar that would cause the bartender to have to look this way for it to be apparent. What did it even look like to someone else? Because to Matt, it felt like he was lying on a green cloud nine, but had he leaned down far enough to expose what you were doing? Anyone could follow the trail along his back and see the top half of your face peeking over his two hairy mounds, ducking and resurfacing in careful movements. His shirt riding up to show off his lower back, too.

He could feel you smirk against him, a soft chuckle as you realized the he lined up a shot that he never took. Matt was too busy letting out soft noises of satisfaction to finish the game.

“Take the shot, Matt.” You breathe out in one non-stop string of syllables. He could feel your hot breath return back to him after parting from his ass. You felt him shift his legs slightly, giving you a better angle to rim him.

He sprawled his hand out on the slate, his other hand shakily slotting the pool stick between his middle and index finger. He stopped finding relief on the table itself, let himself painfully ache as he did what you asked of him. In an almost twist of fate, this was the most ideal spot for him to sink the final ball into one of the six pockets on the table; the corner on the far-right looked the most appealing. Matt bent down, arching his back up and, by virtue of that, offered himself more to you. Your head nodded vigorously to both lick stripes over his hole and quickly slip in and out of his tight hole. The way it felt on your tongue and the way your tongue stretched him was like a perfect storm to throw off his aim. Matt took the shot and missed, the ball ricocheting of the east side of the table and then the north side, slowly rolling into the center.

While he may not have found victory, Matt rapidly found release moments later. He kept the cue in his hands, using the stick as a way to vent his pleasure with a tight grip on both ends. He applied as much pressure as the pleasure you elicited from him. You took the opportunity to reach up and grab ahold of his cock since he had yet to go back to grinding it. Your hand fondled him and jerked his length back and forth as he fell into a rhythm of grinding against your face and your hand. The movement quickened as he felt a welling inside his stomach. His senses told him that he was about to—and he did, shooting ropes along the side of the pooling table and sending them hurling to the ground just a short ways away from ruining his shoes and bunched up boxers as they landed by his feet.

Matt fought the urge to let out a noise, a hint that anything but an irregular pool game was in session. In his bliss, Matt had snapped the pool stick from the pressure he put on both ends. Jagged and sharp pieces of wood poked out of its innards, some of the wood chips scattering themselves over the table. You didn’t even notice it until you stood up, helping Matt affix his pants and belt.

“Guess we’ll call it a draw?” He asked, pretending as if he wasn’t going to lose the game.

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dilfth1rster · 1 year

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Do you all see what I see? Charlie Cox is packing 🤤

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

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streets-in-paradise · 3 months

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The Real Deal - Matt Murdock x Witch!Reader

Warnings: I haven't wrote for Daredevil in a long while, so forgive me if i have mistaken details of the show.

Summary: You want to help your lawyers in their most challenging case, but the controversial nature of your skills leaves it up to question.

Tags: @chezagnes

Matt and Foggy meet you as one of their early clients and, in their perspective, you were a simple fortune teller unfortunately caught in a legal issue. Your case was so absurd that it represented easy work for them. Even in the strange times they were living in, it still made no sense. A matter of police profiling through the mass hysteria in the post Loki New York making you suspicious for carrying symbols of norse witchcraft. Runic readings weren't the only service you offered and your practices weren't culturally límited to what then started to be considered an asgardian danger. However, society was still adapting to the discovering and the clueless officers couldn't tell the difference between an asgardian sorceress and the neighborhood's witch. Your lawyers realized of that, and the instant fondness of you that at least half of the firm developed closed the deal for you to get out of trouble.

Unlike most of their clientele, you were managing to pay them in cash. Slow, but consistent payments that also worked as a way to stay in touch. Despite they were highly skeptical of your activity, they did appreciate their owned share of its product. Catholic belief wasn't an obstacle for Matt's flirting and his friend would never miss the chance to tease him for that when you were arround. That precise combination of factors made you be always welcome, but with each visit you noticed they were struggling deeper than just financtially.

They got in serious trouble attempting to legally save the neighborhood from gentrification taking down the lead of the dirty business surrounding it. Even their secretary was involved in the investigation, huge deal that made you feel quite concerned for all of them.

You were relatively new in the city, but that didn't mean you weren't inclined to help. The chain reaction would screw everyone over, except for the top rich.

You weren't an asgardian terrorist, but neither the easy to underestimate facade associated with your business. To some of your clients, the ones coming for meaningless issues or unethical things, you would ocassionally sell advice disguised of bullshit.However, you were a real witch performing unmistakeable results for causes that justified it.

Overhearing the plotting of your favorite lawyers, you found one that was worth all your efforts.

" Let me help you out with Fisk." You interrupted them instead of awaiting for Karen to take your payment. " … A full name, birth date and a personal object is all I need, for a start. "

Foggy couldn't believe what you had just proposed, taking it as absolute nonsense.

" Not in the mood for jokes, Princess Opal. We have a serious situation here, but we will call you to join the search if someone goes missing. "

You didn't let the demeaning comment bring you down, it was exactly what you expected of him.

" Believe it or not, I am a worker of justice just like you." You corrected him ríght away. " When your system fails, some people come to me hoping to rush the action of karma. Others want me to give them the hope in justice that their practicers can't provide. Do you have any idea of how many clients i get that are currently in legal battles, but don't trust the courts to give them what they need for the sake of it? How much work with justice i get demmanded? It's insane! Regardless of what you believe about it, you can't deny it says something. "

Matt was very silent, untill the tease got him snarky.

" We are working to make things better, I hope you will not resent us for winning that hope back. "

You smiled, already struggling to resist his charm. Despite he obviously couldn't see it, you could swear he noticed the effect he had in you.

" On the contrary, I admire you. I know of the kind of hard time you get when trying to do the ríght thing." You admitted, not realizing you were already toying with the tips of your hair. " When an obsessive weirdo comes asking me to magically force someone to love them, or to curse a coworker they envy, I sell them teraphy disguised with self satisfying witchy-sounding talk. Placebos, so they will get someting to come back for and not search for an unethical bastard that could either scam them worse or do the damage they want for the proper price. When worried parents bring a sick child, I do the real healing ritual for free and make up my costs doing readings or charging an asshole tax on the crazy ones. That's who I am, my concience makes me loose money, and i believe we are on the same page when it comes to business models. "

The comparison was strange, but it showed perfect understandment of their situation found in the weirdest of places.

" I was not aware there were ethics in witchcraft. "

" For you only, I'm willing to ignore my code. " You snarked back in a flirtatious tone. " Let me hex Fisk, show him something that would make him regret to mess with the neighborhood. "

Foggy was cautious of your slightly sinister expression at the end and started to think you trully believed in the power on your threat.

" Sounds like a mobster message, clearly not our style. "

" How would that work?" Karen interrupted him. " It won't kill anyone, ríght?"

Her friend stared at her in disbelief.

" You can't be serious. "

" Foggy, gods have fallen from the sky ... I say we let her give it a try. "

" Those were aliens, not gods. " Matt corrected. " I don't believe in curses, it comes with being a catholic. "

He did make you chuckle with that one.

" Well, hipocricy also comes with catholicism. "

" She got you … can't beat the allegations! " Foggy teased him ríght away. " Your fault for making us jump in defense of the beautifull savage for you to play missionary with. "

You both were left in evidence on a matter of seconds.

" Thanks, Foggy! It's the first lovely thing about me you have to say today."

He didn't intend to sound harsh, but he couldn't possibly understand you.

" Try to see things from my perspective: i feel like i'm being mocked. "

" If it eases your concience, the methods are mostly a facade. I'm the real deal, it runs in the blood. " You confessed, wondering if you would regret it later. " Mom thinks i got it from my father. I don't know, I never meet him and at this point i don't think I want to. Don't waste time asking me about that."

" Can you cast the honesty curse from ' Liar, Liar'? That would be really helpfull. " Foggy mocked you once more. " We seek to expose Fisk, get him in jail. Even if we could believe you, I don't see how your offer can be any usefull. "

At least you could say you got him Interested. Weirded, maybe, but attentive.

" I can curse his business. Mysterious incidents will keep happening and he will loose money. Of course, I believe the Devil is doing his part on that, but why not giving him some help? Fisk will be easier for you to legally take down if he has too many things to attend at once. A vigilante and the curse of a real witch should be enough to do the dirty work for you. One problem, he may attempt to solve, but who is going to warn him about me? Even if they would … Do you think he would believe it?"

The next objection came from Matt, but that didn't surprise you as it should.

" Well, for a start we don't work with vigilantes."

" Too late, i think he is working with you." You snarked back. " Sounds like a good plan to me. After all, your church believes witches are the devil's consorts, ríght?"

In that simple comment he obtained all the proof he needed to believe in your gifts, realization that stayed between him and you.

#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #charlie cox x reader #netflix daredevil

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softevnstan · 1 year

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pairing. matt murdock x gender neutral! reader

summary. you have a tendency of nightmares due to one reason or another in your life. one night, when spending the evening with matt, you have a nightmare. matt, your loving boyfriend, is straight to the rescue to help ground you.

warnings. pet name here is used as a gender-neutral time - angel. deals with nightmares, but nothing too heavy. standard religious mention given it is matt - not mainly focused and no religious imagery, just briefly mentioned.

a.n. some fluffy matt x reader while i've been having nightmares and while i'm still working on a few requests as asks - i know it's not spicy but i still hope it makes people smile

words. 1.5k (shorter side)

You recognize your childhood home; standing out on the curb and feeling small at the front of a place that now holds an eerie air to it. Something about it feels wrong, but you can’t place it. The sun is peeking out over the top of the roof, casting you into a dark shadow that adds a gloom to a place that once felt so secure and protected.

The rising bubble of anxiety in your stomach wells more and more. Deep in your gut, you can feel it. How everything feels uncomfortably silent - not so much as a passing car or a bird in the air. When your eyes lift to squint at the sky to search for clouds, you see it. The slowly sliding disk that is overtaking the sun. The star sustaining life to your planet slowly dying as it’s devoured by the endless abyss, sending the world into a quickly spreading darkness. It spills over the land and while someone else could argue it’s a solar eclipse, there is a more sinister energy to it. Evil.

You can’t breathe. Your body feels like lead when you turn to race away before you can be swallowed into the dark – despite your best efforts you can’t outrun it. You can see yourself running. Moving as fast as you can, feel your heart hammering in your chest and your lungs aching for air. You’re running for your life, but it’s not enough, it’s gaining on you–

You jump up in a cold sweat; sucking in a shrill gasp with a tremor through your body. Fingers white-knuckling the sheets as you jerk upward – confused and startled, you’re immediately brought back to reality by the familiar voice calling out to you.

“Angel? It’s me, shh... Yeah, it’s me, Angel,” your boyfriend’s voice – Matt’s voice.

“Shh, it was just a bad dream… I’ve got you, sweetheart..” His voice was rough from sleep but he'd sobered himself of his exhaustion enough to sound warm and inviting. Composed and fluid. Making himself into something stable and firm for you to lean on at that moment.

The panic of being nearly engulfed by the ebony black blocking out the sun still feels like a genuine threat. Your heart drumming in your ears and leaving you short of breath like the bumps in the car that take you unexpectedly and your stomach swoops. Matt notices the crossroads you’re at between fight or flight and tries to coax you before your body can react too harshly.

“Breathe with me, angel.” His voice is even, thick like honey as lips coast the shell of your ear. Typically it’d give you chills, but right then it feels comforting to be surrounded by someone else. Matt is sat up with you, tight against your side and arm wrapped around you. The other comes to lay his hand flat on your sternum. You feel the warmth of his palm; the weight of it feels grounding in an odd sense. A comforting pressure.

You practice deep breaths with Matt – in through the nose, out past chapped lips. Your throat feels tight, and a bottle of water is absolutely in your future.

Matt doesn’t ask - he knows you’ll talk about it when you’re ready. And given the way he’d heard your heart pounding in your chest like it was about to burst free of its cage goes to show it was an intense dream. That’s not even counting the light rustling he’d started to feel and what had initially stirred him. Could hear every struggling, quivering breath. The near silent whimpers that pulled from you. Matt is more than relieved that moment has passed; pressing an encouraging kiss to your temple.

“There you go, that’s right.. I’ve got you.” Rubbing his hand sympathetically up and down your arm from where it rests on your shoulder farthest from him. You gravitate to Matt naturally, leaning your weight into him to feel small and protected. Matt would protect you from anything; Maybe even God himself.

Tucking away, you hide against the crook of Matt’s neck. Still deliberately trying to focus on your breathing and quell the deep unease from within. His hand on your arm lifts, letting knuckles softly brush the slope of your jaw. “You’re tight, sweetheart… Can you unclench your jaw for me? Yeah, just like that, perfect…” Going out of his way to assure that you’re not holding anything unnecessarily tight.

So intune with your body, it’s one of those things that always made Matt so considerate and gentle to you. His attentiveness, to the way he goes out of his way to listen for any discomfort or unease.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re jelly in his lap. Soft sniffles from tears you hadn’t even realized you’d almost shed. You were lucky enough they only watered; no need to suffer the embarrassment of crying over a nightmare that wasn’t even all that scary looking back on it. It was just the energy it emitted. How sick it felt; an imminent doom. It was scary. After a moment of calm quiet and deep breaths, Matt speaks up. “Do you want to try laying back down, angel…? Or are we staying up?” We. Matt really was with you for better or for worse, even in little insignificant moments like these.

You swallow hard around the lump, searching for your voice: “I… I don’t want to go back to sleep. Not yet…” You don’t mean to sound so quiet or rough; Matt picks up on it and his lips can’t help but curl into a soft smile. “Sounds like you need a drink anyways… How about we make some tea? I think we still have a box in the cabinet.”

You’re out in the living room with Matt. Both of you on the couch, Matt is more towards the corner seat so he can prop his elbow up on the arm. You, on the other hand, are pressed right against his side. The plaid throw blanket from the back of the couch draped over your lap - your legs are tucked up to keep your body closed up. Leaned right against Matt, where he has an arm stretched around you. In both your hands you nurse mugs of warm tea.

Fidgeting quietly with the tea bag – steeping it to make sure it’s thoroughly flavored.

“I didn’t believe Karen when she said these teas would change our lives,” Matt jests softly with an airy chuckle, lifting to take a languid sip from his mug.

“I still think it was a sweet gift; she knows you have a hard time sleeping,” You reply quietly - the corners of your lips curling into a delighted smile all the same as you watch the liquid in your cup.

“Seems I’m not the only one, though.”

That sours your mood briefly - eyes lifting to look at Matt’s dead eyes that stare at nothing.

The lights from across the road bleed in and dance across his skin, but even in the dark you make out the dusting of freckles. His dark ginger hair is a mess from bed head and having no one else to look presentable for. No reason to comb it out with his fingers.

“Yeah, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Cheek squished against Matt’s shoulder as you peer up at him.

“Don’t worry about that; I don’t ever want you to struggle alone. I’d rather lose a little sleep if it means I get to make you feel better…”

The words melt your heart. You can feel the genuineness dripping from the statement. Matt never makes you feel like a burden for your struggles; supportive and caring the whole while even if he’s not the best at doing it for himself. Who knew the Devil of Hell’s kitchen was such a sweet lover?

“...Thank you for staying up with me, then, in that case.” You amend - you’ve been trying to incorporate more positive connotations anyways, and apologizing all the time isn’t good. Thanking Matt is a better alternative.

“Always. It’s more time I get to spend with you, anyways. I wouldn’t give that up for anything…”

Matt’s fingers brush back through your hair so he can press his lips to your forehead. Tangle fingers into your hair after just to rub and massage at your scalp with his fingers. You slump against his side and the quiet evening doesn’t feel so miserable anymore with your boyfriend there.

Chit chat ensues for about a half hour. Matt tells you about the couple he can hear a few apartments over and the stray kitten they found outside and are excited to take in. You smile as you go back and forth. Both voices hushed; the calm you need to unwind again and not stay the night awake and in fear. Matt makes it easy to not be so afraid of the dark…

You both go to sleep not long after. Sleepytime tea managed to lull you back into a state of relaxation, and when Matt felt you dozing, he carefully took your empty mug from your hands. Sitting it on the coffee table, he’d then move to gingerly pick you up bridal style and carry you back to bed. Matt spoons you, crowded against your back, and arms wrapped around your waist. Nosing into your hair and always there to protect you from the things that bump in the night - even if they’re inside your head.

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hart269 · 2 years

Text

Irked

Pairing : Matt Murdock x gn!Reader

Summary : Matt is annoyed as a guy tries to hit on you.

Warning : Jealous Matt Murdock , poor Foggy Nelson

Masterlist / Charlie Cox Masterlist

After a long day at work, Matt was sitting at the bar as usual. The difference today seemed to be the constant knocking of his empty glass on the table and an annoyed expression on his face.

He knew he could have atleast pretended to listen to what Foggy was saying but his attention was solely focused elsewhere.

Amist the loud chatter of the bar, he could hear you order the drinks but the thing infuriating him was the men next to you trying to chat you up.

At first you ignored him but he knew you were too polite so you indulged in the small talk as you wait for your drinks to arrive. Matt wondered why it was today that the drinks were taking this long to make.

He was stuck on deciding on whether he should let you handle it or bash the empty glass in his face and pretend it was an accident. I mean he could say he didn't look where he was going.

"Earth to Matt, did you listen to even one thing I was saying" Foggy said now noticing Matt was not paying any attention.

Matt snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat while still keeping an ear on you. "You were talking about the Mr.Bernard's case"

"No, I was talking about Mrs.Cole case that we will be closing tomorrow, seriously what even are you thim-" Foggy stopped in his tracks as he noticed you with the man that clearly trying to hit on you. "Oh"

"Yea, I'm gonna be back on a minute" Matt exclaimed standing up.

His cane tapped on the floor as he navigated his way through the crowd, coming to stand right between you and the man as if he didn't knew that he was there.

"Matthew I told you wait while I was bringing the drinks" you chirped but your tone was filled with releif on not having to dodge any other pickup lines.

His arm snaked around your waist, his fingers wandering, the undeniable cocky smirk ever present on his charming face as he leaned down to press a kiss on your lips that lasted way longer than it needed to but you weren't the one to complain.

The man flirting with you left uncomfortably, cursing under his breath. But Matt didn't pull away, he devoured your lips until you were fully out of breath gasping for air, your fingers curled up in his hair while his were wrapped behind your neck.

Suddenly there was a clearing of throat, making you pull away. "You're drinks are ready"

"Oh, yeah thank you" you replied in a breathy tone as Matt took the drink. You turned to look at him, your eyes glinting,

"You know you didn't have to come there to save me right"

"Yeah but it was way easier this way" Matt excused causing you to roll your eyes.

"Well, that was something" you swallowed reminicising the moment.

"Sweetheart, it could have been a lot of things if we hadn't been interrupted" Matt retorted causing a loud groan to erupt from Foggy as you reached the table. "Just give my drink, I've seen enough for one day, I want to forget everything"

#once again poor Foggy #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #charlie cox x reader

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vintageaesthetic20 · 3 months

Text

This man makes me think things that are so not innocent.

#marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x yn #matt murdock #charlie cox daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil #daredevil marvel #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader

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mayajadewrites · 5 months

Text

Stained Red

Chapter One: Routine

Hell's Kitchen. Your home since you were born, the place where you've lived, loved, and will stay for the rest of your days.

New York born and raised is a saying that should be tattooed on your forehead. Your daily routine consists of stopping at your favorite bodega before work, grabbing an iced coffee from your favorite small cafe, going to work, then to the gym. That routine repeats every day without fail - and you like it that way.

"Good morning mija," Pedro, the bodega owner said behind the counter. "Que tu quieres?"

"Hm, I think I'll just get a bagel with veggie cream cheese today. Thanks Pedro." You pulled your beanie down your head and started mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

It's Autumn in New York, your favorite season. While shows like Gossip Girl make the city look picturesque, it's not always what it seems.

You grab your wallet out of your trench coat, handing Pedro a $5.

"Thank you, have a great day at work!" Pedro's smile always brightened your day, he never seemed to have anything else on his face.

Meanwhile, your face was usually a stern RBF (resting bitch face) and people were more likely not to utter a word to you.

Your favorite coffee shop is two blocks down from the bodega. You check your watch for the time - 7:15AM. Right on time, just how you like it.

Routines are very important to you. Without routines, your world would be turned upside down.

Little did you know a man with red glasses was about to turn your world upside down, backwards, and everything in between.

After you grabbed your usual iced coffee, you headed to work. You're a writer, a pretty well established one at that. You're not as big as Colleen Hoover, but you have readers which is all you care about.

You rent out a small office space above a law office, Nelson and Murdock. This is new for you, but you couldn't stand working from home anymore. You've set up your office over the past few days and it's finally the way you wanted it, for now at least.

It's a cozy, bohemian vibe in your office, perfect for you. It's a large room, with plants at every corner and your desk in the middle.

It's around 8AM by the time you get to your office. You look down to take your keys out of your pocket, when you walk right into a stern shoulder that smells like musk and vanilla.

"My bad," You looked up finally, seeing a man with red glasses and a cane. "Fuck, I'm so sorry." You put your palm to your head.

"No need to apologize. Are you the new renter that moved in upstairs?"

"I am. I just finished moving my stuff in over the weekend." You ended with your name, holding out your hand.

"I'm the Murdock half of Nelson and Murdock. Matt." He grabbed your hand and shook it. His hands were soft, yet callused in some areas. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, can I buy you a coffee? I've made a terrible first impression, and I bet you'll love my favorite coffee shop."

"Rain check on that. I'm holding you to it too." Matt raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Have a good day." The way he said your name was like he has known you for 1,000 years.

During the walk up to your office, you thought about Matt's face. His eyes behind the red glasses, his nose, and my god - his lips. You shook your head to get rid of these thoughts because... well, you just met him.

Entering your office felt so... good. You set your tote bag down on your chair and slid your laptop out of your bag.

You decided to put off continuing your novel for a bit and did some Googling of your new neighbors.

Nelson and Murdock weren't terribly well known, but they take on cases that truly mean a lot to the community. They don't take cases for fame or money, they do it to help the people of Hell's Kitchen. Very admirable.

Your latest novel, a romance with a hint of darkness, has been a pretty big hit, online at least. Thank god for BookTok, or else your bills might not get paid.

As you're typing away, you hear footsteps close to the door and you see familiar red glasses through the glass of the door.

Matt knocked softly, making sure he didn't startle you. "I'm cashing in on your coffee. The one Karen brought me today was disgusting."

"I'm sorry, who's Karen?" You asked, almost with a little too much attitude. There's no way you felt jealous over a man you met 2 seconds ago.

"Ah, sorry, she's technically our admin, but she does so much more. She's been working in our office for awhile. Anyways, she went on a coffee run and it tasted like shit."

"Sure, let me grab my bag. Come in." You say, motioning with your hand for him to open the door.

"This is... cute."

"How would you know?" You half laugh. Luckily, Matt laughs with you.

"I can sense the positioning of the furniture and I smell the plants. And I know you've cleaned because I'm not sneezing from the dust." He paused, looking down. "But I can also sense that this isn't the biggest spot, but it feels cozy."

"Exactly what I was going for." You smile, pushing a curl behind your ear. "Let me put my jacket on and we can go." You grab your long tan trench coat, looking in the mirror as you do so. Your outfit consisted of an oversized sweater, leggings, combat boots, a beige beanie and your coat.

For whatever reason, you wanted to make sure you looked okay for this little coffee... outing? Date? It's been awhile since a man shared his time with you. You're last relationship was toxic to say the least, so you've been staying clear of the male species for awhile.

That is, until today.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock imagine #marvel #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox #the defenders #foggy nelson #karen page #mcu #daredevil born again #matt murdock

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amberlynnmurdock · 4 months

Text

Neighbor Pt. 2

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt makes sure she gets home safe after work, then officially introduces himself the next morning.

Words: about 1.6k

A/N: Trying out third person for fics, I kind of like it better than using "you" all the time... let me know what you guys think. Thanks for all the interest in being tagged!! <3 <3 <3

Part 1

Matt couldn’t stop thinking about her prayer the next day at work. He was anxious to get home from the office and immediately change into his Daredevil gear. Matt whispered a prayer holding his cross to his lips, and then stalked up his steps to the roof.

This wasn’t the norm for Matt’s nighttime activities. He usually stood on the corner of his rooftop and listened for any sound of trouble in the city. The sound could be anything: police sirens, a scream, the scratchy sound of a gun tucked in someone’s jacket, the soft friction of a knife in someone’s bag. This time, he knew what was out for.

He sat on his rooftop (their rooftop) and listened as she got ready. Not too closely, but enough to know that she was about to leave for work. She sprayed perfume on—warm vanilla—and closed her drawer. He heard her keys rattle and upon this, he crouched to listen as she walked down the apartment steps and outside.

She didn’t work far, about eight blocks downtown. But it didn’t matter if one worked a block away or ten blocks: Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t safe at night.

When she opened the door to her work, Matt heard bells jingling and an instant waft of coffee filled his senses. It wasn’t a coffee shop she worked at, though. From the smell of paper, leather, creaking wood, and suede couches, Matt surmised she worked at a bookstore.

“Hey!” he heard someone greet her at the counter, another young woman. “Thanks for closing tonight. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Matt could hear the smile in her voice. "Close at nine, right?”

“Right.”

9 PM.

This meant Matt had about four hours to kill elsewhere in the Kitchen before he’d come back to make sure she made it home safely.

———

The hours passed, and Matt was already waiting in the alleyway of the bookstore, listening to her close-up for the night. Closing up meant politely telling customers the store was about to close, and Matt could hear the anxiety in her voice—she was in a rush to get home, in a rush to not be walking home alone. Although she didn’t know it, she didn’t have to worry—Matt would ensure she was safe.

“Have a great night!” She told the last customer before shutting the large door and locking it. He heard her sigh as she began to quickly close up the front counter. And Matt waited. And waited. And waited.

Soon enough, she was walking out the front door and locking it behind her. Before she sauntered off in the direction of their apartment, she took a deep breath and looked both ways on the sidewalk. Matt presumed it was to see if there would be anyone walking behind her. There wasn’t. Using his senses, he quickly scanned the surrounding area and was relieved to find it relatively quiet with no disturbances.

“Please, God,” she prayed once more in a whisper. “Get me home safe.”

She began to walk, and Matt followed in the shadows. Her heart was pounding in her chest the faster she walked, anxious to get home sooner than later. She held her arms tight around her chest as she fought the wind blowing in her direction.

Finally, approaching their apartment building, Matt quickly crawled up the fire escape to the roof and listened as she opened the door with her keys, letting the heavy door shut behind her. She rushed up the steps and quickly unlocked the door to her apartment. Once inside, she locked it again.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, God.”

Matt smiled softly. He quietly let himself in from the roof.

———

Matt was awoken by the sound of pots and pans clattering in an apartment below him. Groaning, he turned in bed, silk sheets sliding all across his chiseled body, and pressed a pillow to his ear. The pillow was even worse, though—he could hear his blood rushing tenfold. In frustration, he threw the pillow off the bed and retreated to the sounds of clattering pans.

His senseless eyes were open and remained on the ceiling. It had to be at least an hour earlier than when he was supposed to be awake. In another apartment, the TV played the news loudly, news he didn’t particularly want to hear this early. The static from the TV sounded like popcorn popping in a microwave.

“Crime is rising again in Hell’s Kitchen, but can Daredevil manage it all—“

Matt refrained from that apartment and moved on to the next one. He was greeted with a loud, vibrating snore.

Sigh.

There were so many sounds, none pleasant to the ear. He wished he could turn off his heightened senses, from time to time…

But then he remembered her.

Was she awake?

Matt tilted his head in bed, focusing on her apartment which was only across from his. Inside, he could smell fresh lavender and honey tea. Soft baroque music was playing and Matt could hear her shift on her couch, turning the page of a book. Not many sounds came from her apartment. The only thing he wanted to listen to, however, was her heart.

And so, he did. The gentle beating paired with the sound of paper being turned lulled him back to sleep.

After an extra hour of sleep, Matt got ready for work. He changed into his usual gray suit and black tie. As he was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he was shocked to hear her getting ready for—something—as well. In a leap of curiosity and anticipation, Matt drank his OJ in one gulp and grabbed his suitcase just in time to “run into” her on his way out.

She sprayed her perfume and headed out the door, at the same time as Matt.

———

She was mildly curious about her neighbor, the one who lived across the hall from her. She only saw him occasionally. When she did see him, she made it a point to say hello, at the very least.

“Good morning,” she said softly. Good morning was all she ever said. Maybe she would say more if she weren’t so shy.

“Morning,” he replied with a smile. When she did run into him, she was always reminded of how handsome he was. Always donned in a well-pressed gray suit and a briefcase. Dark red glasses to hide whatever color his eyes were. Light stubble on a sharp jawline. Chocolate brown hair. She’d read enough books to know he had to be a businessman or lawyer.

“Early start to your day?” He asked while she still faced her door to lock it. She paused holding her keys in her hand.

She was caught off guard by the follow-up question—their interactions never lasted more than a greeting, but still, she was gladly roped into conversation. At least he was the one to initiate it.

“Yeah,” she said, “luckily I have the earlier shift today. Get to leave early and beat the dark.”

“I hear you,” he said softly. “I’m—I’m Matt, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself.” Matt held his hand out for her to shake, which she did. She quickly switched her keys into her other hand and took Matt’s, which felt soft and cold. She slowly pulled her hand back as she introduced herself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. A moment of silence filled the space between them. He stood with one hand in his pocket, one hand holding his cane. He smiled in a friendly way.

“So uh, what do you do?” He asked.

“I work at a bookstore a few blocks down,” she nervously pushed a hair behind her ear and felt her cheeks heat in a blush. “What about you?”

“I’m a defense attorney,” he said sheepishly. “A bookstore?” He changed the subject off from himself. “What kind of books do you carry?”

She smiled at his question, resisting the urge to giggle. “A lot of books. Fiction, non-fiction, fantasy. What do you like?”

Matt huffed his chest, shrugged his shoulders, and spun his cane around as he thought about it. “Anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve read for pleasure. I think the past few years have been dedicated to my law books,” he laughed. She mirrored his reaction and laughed as well. “Do you—carry any books in braille?”

For some reason, his question made her demeanor soften a bit. She bit her lip, thinking if her store carried any. She had a feeling they might have a small section but wasn’t sure. She’d be glad to order something special—just for him, if not.

“I’ll check today. If we do, I’ll drop a book off for you. It’ll be a surprise.”

“I’d love that.”

“Great,” she smiled. “Well, I better get on my way so I’m not late.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Matt offered. She nodded her head, then quickly spoke again, realizing her mistake of nodding.

“Sure, that’d be nice.”

Just as they were about to walk down, Matt suddenly stopped in his steps. “Oh, I think you forgot to lock your door.”

“Oh!” She gasped nervously, not even realizing she walked away without locking it. She quickly slid the key in the lock and locked it, then met Matt again at the stairs.

He began to walk down them with his cane hitting each step in front of him. She watched as he carefully held onto the railing and slowly took each step. Normally, she zipped down the stairs, but today, she took her time to walk with him. She half wanted to offer her arm for him to hold onto but didn’t know if that was appropriate.

Outside was overcast, meaning the bookstore would be busier than usual. After a slightly awkward goodbye from Matt, and her promising him again about the book in braille, she walked in the direction of the bookstore, but not before glancing once more behind her to watch as Matt made his way down to his job.

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @mattsgirlsworld

#neighbor #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil born again #mcu #marvel #the defenders

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theetherealbloom · 11 months

Text

NOTRE DAME - CH. 1

Chapter 1: At Least I’m Looking Down

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

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT,

Word Count: 8K

A/N: Hiya! Yep, I love Matt Murdock too! Lowkey took a small break from writing since I was getting overwhelmed with life ;-; I was inspired to try writing about Matt by these lovely authors @courtforshort15 and @bellaxgiornata <3 Am I writing two fic series at the same time? YEP. It’s going to be a very busy summer for me :>

Song: notre dame by Paris Paloma

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – NIGHT

As you diligently clean the hallowed halls of Clinton Church, your sweeping broom becomes a rhythm that lulls you into introspection. Memories flicker like shadows, teasing your mind, fragments of a past shrouded in mystery.

Amidst the dimly lit corridor, a whisper of a recollection dances on the edge of your consciousness. A stormy night, with rain and gunshots mingling with thunder. But the details remain elusive, like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting only fragments of truth.

With each stroke of the cloth, another piece of memory surfaces. An explosion of blinding light, a surge of energy, and a sensation of weightlessness. You were suspended in time, caught in a transformative moment that forever changed you.

Heart racing, you struggle to grasp the images. A younger version of yourself, eyes wide with wonder and fear amidst the chaos. But who were you before that night? What led you to that pivotal moment?

Memories slip through your fingers like grains of sand, but faint impressions remain. Faces and voices haunt you, leaving you with a longing for answers. Father Lantom, a guiding presence of solace, and Sister Maggie, a beacon of compassion within the church walls.

As you continue your tasks, the fragments fade once more, leaving unanswered questions lingering in your mind. But you find solace in the belief that one day, the scattered memories will converge, revealing the truth you seek.

Amidst the quiet diligence of your cleaning, a gentle tapping sound breaks through the stillness, drawing your attention. Your gaze shifts, and you find yourself captivated by the sight of Matt Murdock gracefully making his way toward the confessional booth. The name alone carries a weight, one that has reached your ears through the whispers of Father Lantom and Sister Maggie. With each step he takes, every subtle reaction and the enigmatic aura surrounding him stirs a sense of intrigue within you, casting a shadow of suspicion upon his every move.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you choose to remain silent, your steps light as you retreat to the elevated vantage point. Hidden amongst the shadows, you observe him in the sanctuary below, your gaze fixed upon his approach to the confessional booth.

The murmurs of conversation, muffled by the confessional's veil, reach your ears as fragmented whispers. Though you cannot discern the words, you recognize the timbre of his voice, the weight of his confessions, as if they bear the burdens of a lifetime. In the quiet solitude of the rafters, you witness the profound moments of vulnerability shared within the confessional. In these moments, you feel a kinship, a shared understanding of the weight he carries upon his shoulders.

As you observe from the rafters, his confession comes to an end, and he exits the confessional booth. There's a subtle shift in the air as he stands still, as if he senses your presence lingering, watching him. A sudden jolt of realization runs through you. Did he just sense your presence? The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and a chill creeps up your spine. A moment of panic washes over you as you question whether your hidden position has been compromised.

You gather your thoughts and focus your mind, honing your ability to manipulate perception. With a quick burst of mental energy, you conjure an illusion that makes you disappear from sight, creating a diversionary tactic, a mirage that distorts the surroundings. The sound of a gust of wind sweeps through the rafters, rustling the shadows and masking any traces of your presence. You now vanish from Matt's limited perception.

Confusion etches itself on Matt's face as he stands there, his heightened senses attuned to the shifting atmosphere. He tries to make sense of what just happened, relying on his remaining senses to decipher the situation. Was it merely a trick of the wind? Or something else entirely?

Matt's head tilts slightly as if trying to catch any lingering sounds or vibrations, but the absence of visual confirmation hampers his ability to comprehend. His brow furrows as he ponders the inexplicable occurrence. Though he cannot see, he can't shake the feeling that someone was there, observing him. The mystery of the vanished presence lingers in his thoughts, leaving him with an air of intrigue and a touch of frustration.

Meanwhile, you retreat further into the shadows, holding your breath as you watch his perplexed demeanor. The silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the faint sounds of the church. As you observe him from your hidden vantage point, your heart races with a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty.

As Matthew turns towards the grand church doors, the rhythmic tapping of his cane reverberates through the hallowed halls, a somber melody that fades into the distance. Curiosity guides your gaze, and you find yourself peering through the nearby glass window, watching his silhouette as he gracefully walks into the embrace of the night.

A familiar voice, Father Lantom's gentle call, interrupts your reverie, and you reappear as your illusory form dissipates like a shimmering mirage. His eyes meet yours, holding a knowing glimmer, and you offer a sheepish smile in response. "Can you please come down from there?" he requests, a tone of warmth and concern lacing his words. "We could use your help in preparing dinner for the children."

Your sheepish smile widens, accompanied by a nod of affirmation. "Of course, Father Lantom. I'll be right down." As you descend from your hidden perch, you find yourself walking beside Father Lantom towards St. Agnes, the orphanage that holds pieces of Matthew's past. The curiosity that has been brewing within you finally finds its voice, and you can't help but inquire about the enigmatic young man who had just left the church.

"Father Lantom," you begin, your tone gentle yet inquisitive, "I couldn't help but notice that Matthew, he... he was one of the orphans here at St. Agnes, wasn't he?" You glance at the revered priest, hoping to glean some insights into Matthew's formative years.

Father Lantom's eyes reflect a mixture of fondness and understanding as he nods. "Yes, my dear. Matthew was indeed a resident of St. Agnes. He came to us with a quiet resilience, a determination to rise above the challenges life had presented him. Despite his circumstances, he displayed remarkable intelligence, compassion, and a sense of justice that would shape his path in profound ways."

You listen intently, absorbing the fragments of Matthew's past that Father Lantom is willing to share. The mention of his resilience and his unwavering commitment to justice only deepens your intrigue, strengthening the connection you feel towards the man who has become a subject of fascination in your life.

As you enter the bustling kitchen of St. Agnes, the aroma of warm food fills the air, and the sound of utensils clinking against pots and pans accompanies your every step. Sister Maggie and the other sisters are busy at work, their movements synchronized and efficient.

You join their silent dance, preparing the ingredients with care and precision. Sister Catherine, a gentle and nurturing presence, works alongside you, her kind eyes filled with compassion for the children in their care. Together, you create a symphony of flavors, each dish infused with love and warmth.

After the satisfying meal is served and the children's laughter echoes through the dining hall, Sister Maggie beckons you to a quiet corner. Her eyes carry a touch of concern as she shares her worries about one particular child who has been plagued by nightmares, struggling to find solace in sleep.

"Dear one," Sister Maggie begins, her voice a soothing balm, "we've noticed that little Sarah, who recently arrived at the orphanage, has been having trouble sleeping. Her nightmares have left her restless and weary. We've tried our best to comfort her, but I believe your presence and your unique abilities might offer her a measure of peace."

You feel a surge of empathy for the young girl, your heart yearning to alleviate her pain. With a gentle nod, you agree to assist Sister Maggie, grateful for the opportunity to extend your kindness and offer a glimmer of hope to someone in need.

Together, you and Sister Maggie make your way to the children's dormitory, where soft sobs and hushed whispers fill the air. The dimly lit room casts elongated shadows across the beds, a tangible manifestation of the children's fears.

Drawing upon your own experiences and the innate power that courses through your veins, you sit beside Sarah's bed, your presence a comforting presence in the darkness. With a gentle touch, you reach out, intertwining your fingers with hers. A soft glow emanates from your touch, casting a warm light that dispels the shadows.

At that moment, you become a conduit of solace and tranquility, soothing Sarah's troubled mind. Through the power of empathy and your own inner strength, you weave a tapestry of soothing images and peaceful dreams, gently guiding Sarah into a restful slumber.

As you withdraw your hand, a sense of fulfillment washes over you. Sister Maggie, who has been silently observing, offers a grateful smile, her appreciation evident in her eyes. It is in these moments of compassion and connection that your powers find their true purpose – to bring comfort and healing to those who need it most.

Once the turmoil has subsided, you and Sister Maggie quietly make your way out, seeking solace in a peaceful evening walk. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead as you and Sister Maggie stroll side by side. The moon casts a soft glow upon the grounds of St. Agnes, creating an ethereal atmosphere. In the quietude of the night, you find a moment to share your thoughts with Sister Maggie, a confidante and wise presence within the church walls.

"You know, Sister Maggie," you begin, your voice carrying a sense of wonder, "ever since I arrived here, I've been listening to the prayers and expressions of gratitude that echo within these sacred walls. Lately, I've noticed a recurring theme—a cascade of thanks directed towards a mysterious figure, someone in a black suit. It's as if this person has been saving lives, responding to desperate pleas for help."

Sister Maggie's eyes glimmer with a knowing twinkle, her response carefully chosen. "The workings of divine providence are often veiled, my dear. The Lord's angels can manifest in unexpected forms, cloaked in darkness yet bearing light. It is not for us to decipher their true nature, but rather to trust in the goodness they bring."

Her words leave you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. The identity of the man in the black suit remains shrouded in mystery, and Sister Maggie's cryptic response does little to quell your wonder. As you part ways and make your way back to the rafters, your mind dances with possibilities, eager to uncover the truth behind the enigmatic savior who has captured the hearts and prayers of those he has touched.

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

With eager anticipation, you gather your belongings, ready to embark on your journey to the community center nestled in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Tuesdays and Thursdays hold a special place in your schedule, as they are dedicated to community outreach and engagement, allowing you to make a positive impact on the lives of those around you. As your footsteps echo through the corridors, a sense of purpose fills the air.

Passing by Father Lantom, who is immersed in the task of lighting candles, you offer him a warm smile and bid your farewell with cheerful words. "Goodbye, Father!" you chirp, the excitement evident in your voice. In response, Father Lantom's caring gaze meets yours, and he gently reminds you, "Be sure to return before darkness falls, my dear." His words carry a hint of concern, a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows of the city you aim to uplift.

The bustling and busy streets of the city fill your ears as you make your way to the community center. People walk hurriedly, their footsteps echoing on the pavement, their urgent movements revealing the importance of their destinations. The city's energy envelopes you, blending with your own sense of purpose.

As you reach your destination, the community center comes into view. Its vibrant exterior stands out amidst the surrounding buildings, offering a haven of support and care. The sound of laughter and chatter emanates from within, a symphony of voices that lifts your spirits.

Stepping inside, you are greeted by Maria, an experienced social worker, and a familiar face. Her warm smile instantly puts you at ease, and you exchange pleasantries.

"Hey there! Good to see you," Maria says, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

You return her smile, grateful for the camaraderie and support that Maria provides. As you settle into the familiar rhythm of your work, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation around you. The topic of discussion revolves around the Russian mobs that have been causing fear in the community.

"It's been the talk of the town lately," Maria says, her tone tinged with concern. "The Russian mobs are causing chaos and everyone in the community is scared out of their minds."

Your heart sinks, knowing all too well the impact such criminal activities can have on the lives of those you serve. "I've been hearing similar stories," you reply, your voice laced with empathy. "It's really tough to see how much it affects the people we work with, you know?"

Maria nods in agreement, her eyes reflecting shared worry. Together, you exchange stories and observations, discussing the challenges faced by the community in the face of these criminal elements. Amidst your conversation, you notice a group of elderly residents gathered in a corner, engaged in their own hushed discussion. Curiosity piques your interest, and you discreetly listen in.

"Did you hear about the masked vigilante?" an elderly man whispers, his voice filled with awe. “He's like a shadow in the night. Creeping up on those Russian thugs and striking fear into their hearts." Other elderly voices join in, sharing their own accounts and opinions of this mysterious figure who prowls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, delivering his own brand of justice.

Intrigued by their tales, you find yourself captivated by the notion of a dark avenger fighting for justice. The stories resonate with the underlying frustration you feel toward the criminals plaguing the community. As you continue your work as a social worker, the whispers of the elderly and the legends of the masked vigilante linger in your thoughts. Deep within, a flicker of admiration ignites, acknowledging the complexity of his methods and the results he achieves.

As you carry out your duties at the community center, a familiar face catches your attention amidst the bustling chaos. It's Claire Temple, a compassionate nurse known for her dedication to healing and her involvement in the community. She offers a warm smile, acknowledging your presence, and you find a moment to exchange greetings.

"Hey there! Long day?" you ask, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Claire nods, her eyes reflecting a hint of exhaustion. "Yeah, you know how it goes. But it's worth it. How about you? How's the community center?"

You smile, leaning in slightly. "Busy as ever. The Russian mobs have been causing a lot of fear in the neighborhood lately. It's disheartening to witness the toll it takes on the people we work with."

Claire's expression turns somber as she glances around. "I've seen some of it at the hospital too. It's a tough situation."

As the conversation comes to a natural pause, you feel the urge to express your concern. "Hey, Claire, everything alright? You seem a bit off. Is there something on your mind?"

She hesitates for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. "Nah, just a rough night. But I'll be okay. Thanks for asking."

You nod, not fully convinced, but respecting her choice to keep things to herself. "Alright, just remember, I'm here if you ever need to talk. Take care, okay?"

As you turn to leave, a thought crosses your mind. "Oh, by the way, Claire, why don't I come over to your place later? We can bring some snacks and wine, and have a little girls' night. It might be nice to unwind after everything that's happened."

Claire's eyes light up, a grateful smile playing on her lips. "That would be great. My place could use some company. Come on over."

Hours pass by as you diligently work at the community center, engrossed in the needs of those you serve. Time slips away from you, and before you realize it, nightfall has arrived. With a sense of urgency, you gather your belongings, eager to honor your commitment to Claire.

As you rush through the dimly lit streets, your phone buzzes with a notification. Glancing at the screen, you see a message from Father Lantom. It's a relief to know that he's aware of your whereabouts and won't be worried. You send a quick reply, assuring him that you're on your way to Claire's apartment and that everything is fine. The gesture brings a small sense of comfort, knowing that you have someone looking out for you.

As you approach the apartment building, your footsteps quicken with a touch of anxiety. You had also texted Claire that you would be running late. You can't help but worry that you may have kept Claire waiting for too long. Your delay was unavoidable, as you had to make a quick stop to pick up a bottle of wine for the evening. With the wine safely tucked in your bag, you take a deep breath and push open the door to the building.

As you reach the landing of the stairs, a shocking sight greets your eyes. A man in a grey suit lies unconscious, blood trickling from a wound on his head. A fire extinguisher rests beside him on the ground, a jarring juxtaposition to the serene surroundings.

Your heart skips a beat, and your mind races to make sense of the scene before you. Panic sets in as you instinctively realize the gravity of the situation. Without conscious thought, your powers surge, causing your form to flicker and vanish from sight. In an instant, you become invisible, your presence hidden from prying eyes. It's an unintentional reaction, triggered by the shock and uncertainty that grips you. It's as if your very being seeks to protect itself from the unknown dangers that surround you.

In the hushed atmosphere, you strain your ears, capturing faint murmurs drifting from above the stairs. Slowly, your gaze lifts to find Claire, her expression filled with disbelief and uncertainty. "What do we do now?" she whispers, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and confusion.

Before you can fully process her words, another voice interjects, the urgency palpable in its tone. "There's someone else... one floor up, watching us. Oh, no. He's young. He's scared." The words hang in the air, and your eyes widen as you spot Santino, a young man you've assisted with tutoring on multiple occasions.

Without hesitation, you witness Claire lean over, her concern evident as she calls out, "Santino?" However, the young man doesn't respond. Instead, he swiftly retreats from view, disappearing back into the safety of his own apartment.

Intrigued and compelled to uncover the truth, you make a silent decision to ascend the stairs cautiously, keeping your footsteps light and your senses sharp. As you ascend, you observe Claire engaged in conversation, her voice carrying a tinge of familiarity. "He's the one who found you in the alley," she reveals, her words drawing your attention.

Step by step, you ascend further, your eyes scanning the surroundings. And then, in the dimly lit corridor, you spot a figure clad in sleek black attire. A mask conceals the upper portion of his face, leaving only his mouth and stubble. It dawns on you that this is the vigilante everyone has been talking about.

"He's seen my face, too?" he questions Claire, a mix of curiosity and concern in his voice. Without missing a beat, she affirms his inquiry, her voice carrying a weight of truth. "Yeah."

The Masked Man lets out a weary sigh, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Claire, go upstairs and find him. We're going to need help carrying Detective Foster to the roof," he instructs, his words laced with urgency. As he pushes himself off the wall, a grimace of pain crosses his face, his hand clutching his side. It's at that moment that you truly take in his appearance—completely battered, bloodied, and bruised.

You remain invisible, carefully observing his movements as he slowly approaches your position. Swiftly, you sidestep to give him room, ensuring not to impede his path. Claire, perplexed by the situation, breaks the silence with a mixture of concern and confusion. "What the hell are we going to the roof for?" she questions, her voice tinged with apprehension.

The vigilante, his steps weakened but resolute, begins his descent down the stairs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Less chance of someone in the building hearing him scream," he replies, his words carrying the weight of the dangerous reality they find themselves in.

You trail behind them, ascending to the rooftop, silently observing their actions. Your gaze fixes upon the Masked Man as he deftly ties the wrists of Detective Foster with a piece of rope, suspending him from the bars of a metal ladder. As he secures the rope, his attention turns to Claire, seeking information. "You find anything?" he inquires, his voice a mix of urgency and determination.

Claire's eyes shift to the cracked phone in her hands, a hint of frustration evident in her expression. "You smashed the hell out of it with that extinguisher," she remarks, the weight of the damaged device lingering between them. In the brief pause that follows, you take the opportunity to discreetly move across the rooftop, perching on the ledge as you listen to their conversation unfold.

"He had a badge," Claire continues, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The Masked Man remains silent, his thoughts concealed behind the mask that shields his face. Claire presses on, her voice filled with doubt, "What if you're wrong?" Without missing a beat, he retorts, his conviction unwavering, "I'm not."

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him hobble toward your position. Invisible, your powers working in tandem to conceal every scent, heartbeat, and sound, you remain undetected. In the midst of their exchange, you hear Claire's voice echo through the night air, laden with a sense of unease. "This is way past what I signed up for."

With a slight shift to the side, you create space for the vigilante as he leans against the ledge beside you. The moonlight casts a dim glow upon his features as he poses a question to Claire, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What exactly do you think that was?"

Claire takes a few measured steps toward him, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and determination. "I found a man who needed help, so I helped him," she asserts, her gaze unwavering. The Masked Man responds with a hint of skepticism, "Oh, yeah? That simple?"

With a pause that carries the weight of unspoken tension, Claire walks closer to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you really want to get into this in front of him?" she questions, a flicker of concern crossing her face. He responds with his firm voice, "He's out." Their attention briefly shifts to the suspended figure, and Claire suggests, "Maybe he's faking."

He then tilts his head for a moment, focusing his hearing on the man’s heartbeat before lifting his head again and shaking his head. "He's not," he concludes, the certainty evident in his tone. Claire points at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Okay, that right there, that's what I'm talking about," she retorts, her finger emphasizing her point.

As the Masked Man slowly removes his gloves, Claire presses on, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and exasperation. "I find a guy in a dumpster, and he turns out to be some kind of blind vigilante who can do all of this... this really weird shit," she gestures emphatically, trying to find the right words to capture the extraordinary abilities she has witnessed. "Like smelling cologne through walls and sensing whether someone's unconscious or faking it. And on top of that, he can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint."

He responds with a charismatic shrug and a knowing smile. "The last part's the Catholicism," he quips, a touch of humor in his tone, revealing a glimpse of his own understanding of the role faith plays in his resilience.

Oh, God. As the words sink in, your heart skips a beat, and you feel a surge of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. It's him. It's Matthew Murdock. The realization hits you like a tidal wave, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you've managed to maintain. For a brief moment, doubt and uncertainty cloud your thoughts, and your powers waver, almost revealing your presence.

In the midst of this inner turmoil, you notice a subtle shift in the Masked Man's demeanor. His heightened senses catch a hint of your scent in the air, an unfamiliar yet strangely familiar aroma. Confusion flickers across his face, and instinctively, he turns his head to the right, as if searching for the source of the elusive presence that has caught his attention.

You hold your breath, frozen in the realization that Matthew, the man you've admired and been drawn to, is standing just inches away from you. The connection between you feels tangible, like an invisible thread linking your fates. But for now, you remain hidden, concealing yourself in the shadows, grappling with the overwhelming revelation that threatens to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart.

Claire, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, breaks the silence with concern etched on her face. "What is it? Did you sense something?"

You see Matthew's brow furrow behind the mask slightly as he tilts his head around, his heightened senses still on alert. "I'm not sure... I thought I detected someone else's presence, but... never mind.”

Claire's frustration is evident as she lets out a sigh, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "So, what? I'm supposed to take it on faith that I'm on the right side of this?" She points to the man unconscious behind her. Matthew lifts his chin, steady and determined. "You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. You knew which side you're on the moment you found me."

Claire takes a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze briefly shifting towards the unconscious man tied to the ladder. Matthew's question lingers in the air, and she turns to face him, her expression filled with a mix of determination and compassion.

"I'm a nurse. I work in the ER at Metro-General," she begins, her voice steady. “A few weeks ago, cops bring in three men. Said they were robbing tourists, beating them up pretty bad. Apparently, a man with a black mask took issue with their activities and decided to step in. I counted nine broken bones between them.”

There's a brief pause before Claire continues, her voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. “A few days after that, EMTs and my friend who’s a social worker brought in a 19-year-old waitress, said… some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her… tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her… and he saved her life.”

Matthew remains silent, his unseeing eyes fixed on Claire as she continues to voice her thoughts. The weight of her words hang in the air, the struggle between belief and doubt palpable in her expression. She gestures towards the unconscious and wounded man, frustration evident in her voice.

“So, yeah, word’s getting around.” Claire says, her voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and hope. "And I want to believe in it. I really do. But this?" She points to the man tied to the ladder, emphasizing the severity of the situation. Matthew, his masked face hiding half of his features, takes a moment, the silence pregnant with unspoken emotions. He licks his lips, a nervous gesture, before finally responding. "I know you're afraid," he says, his voice steady and determined. He takes a step closer, "But you can't let fear control you. If you do... these men, they win."

The tension between them is palpable, an undeniable connection tinged with both attraction and uncertainty. Sensing the weight of the moment, you turn your body away, facing the view of Hell's Kitchen. Swinging your legs gently, you take in the cityscape that never sleeps, the distant sound of sirens piercing the night. It's a moment of anticipation, waiting for Foster to regain consciousness.

APARTMENT ROOFTOP – NIGHT

Half an hour passes in tense silence as Matthew senses Detective Foster beginning to regain consciousness. Claire swiftly covers her face with a piece of white cloth, a makeshift mask to conceal her identity. Matthew turns to her, his voice low and commanding.

"Don't say anything, Claire," he advises, his tone firm yet measured. "Let me handle the interrogation." Claire nods, her eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and determination.

You move away from the ledge, positioning yourself a few feet behind them. The weight of the imminent violence hangs in the air, a familiar presence that you've encountered before. Your powers shimmer, rendering you invisible, your senses heightened and ready for the events about to unfold.

Detective Foster's eyelids flutter as he gradually awakens, disoriented and dazed. His gaze shifts, and as his vision clears, he realizes he is restrained and surrounded. His eyes settle on the imposing figure of the Masked Man and another presence standing just behind him, invisible to his senses.

Matthew takes a calculated step forward, his presence radiating intimidation and menace. The air around him seems to thicken with an invisible weight, amplifying the aura of fear he effortlessly commands. His voice lowers, taking on a deeper, more menacing tone as he addresses Detective Foster.

“Here’s how this is gonna work.” Matthew asserts, his words laced with an unmistakable intensity. “I’m gonna ask you some questions. You’re gonna answer them. If you’re lying to me… trust that I will know…” he warns, a predatory growl resonating beneath his words. “And I will be unhappy.”

The atmosphere on the rooftop becomes electric, charged with an unspoken understanding of the power imbalance at play. Detective Foster remains silent, his eyes darting nervously between Matthew and the concealed figure standing behind him. The weight of the situation hangs heavily in the air, anticipation building as Matthew prepares to extract the information he seeks.

With a calculated intensity, Matthew initiates his interrogation, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Where's the boy?" he demands, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. Foster, attempting to maintain a facade of defiance, nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders and utters a blatant falsehood. "He's dead," he states, his voice laced with false conviction.

But Matthew, honed by years of honing his senses and instincts, instantly detects the deception. Without hesitation, his fist swiftly connects with Foster's head, the force of the blow causing him to cough out blood and reel from the impact. A mix of pain and realization flashes across Foster's face as he comprehends the gravity of the situation.

"This is what unhappy looks like. Where’s the boy?" Matthew asserts, his voice dripping with cold determination. The message is clear: the consequences of deceit will be met with swift and punishing retribution. At that moment, the power dynamic between captor and captive crystallizes, leaving no doubt that Matthew holds the upper hand.

Foster wheezes, his voice strained, as he tries to maintain a defiant front. "Why do you care? If he's not dead yet, he will be," he retorts, a hint of malicious satisfaction in his tone. Matthew refuses to be deterred, pressing forward with his interrogation. "Why did you take him?" he demands, his voice low and intense. Foster responds with an unsettling nonchalance, "Figured you'd come running."

Matthew's jaw tightens as he struggles to contain his anger and frustration. "And after I was dead?" he probes further, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and determination. Foster's expression remains indifferent as he casually replies, "Sell the kid, like all the others."

The weight of Foster's callous admission hangs heavily in the air, a chilling testament to the depths of his depravity. Matthew's control slips, fueled by a surge of righteous anger. With a swift and forceful blow, he strikes Foster once again, unable to tolerate the man's unrepentant guiltlessness.

Foster groans in pain, his facade momentarily crumbling under the weight of the assault. Through gritted teeth, he manages to utter, "I was telling the truth on that one," his words laced with a twisted mix of sincerity and indifference. Matt's frustration grows, his fist clenches as he deepens his voice into a growl, "I know."

Foster, unfazed by the gravity of the situation, chuckles audaciously. "We got you good, didn't we?" he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. Matt refuses to be provoked, his focus unwavering. "Who do you sell the children to?" he demands, his tone hard and unwavering.

Bleeding from his mouth, Foster nonchalantly shrugs, a chilling indifference in his demeanor. "I don't know. Whoever has the money," he replies, his words devoid of remorse. Matt's gaze intensifies as he leans closer, his voice low and dangerous, "Where's the boy?"

With a smirk, Foster taunts, relishing in the power dynamic of their exchange. "So you find him. So what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling," he states with a derisive shake of his head. "Nothing you do tonight will change that."

Frustration boils within Matt, his injured form visible through his labored breathing. Foster cruelly points out his condition, mocking his endurance. "But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first," he challenges, a twisted glimmer of defiance in his eyes.

As the intensity of the interrogation grows and the urgency to obtain crucial information mounts, you recognize the need to take direct action. With determination in your eyes, you swiftly move to Foster's side, reaching out to grasp his wrist which is still tightly bound.

Drawing upon your powers, you tap into the depths of fear and horror, channeling them into a potent projection aimed directly at Foster's fragile psyche. With a surge of energy, you unleash a chilling manifestation of his worst fears, tailored specifically to exploit his vulnerabilities and force him to confront his darkest demons.

Foster's eyes widen in terror as the illusion takes hold, his screams of agony piercing the air. He thrashes against his restraints, desperately trying to escape the relentless torment of his own mind. Matthew and Claire, taken aback by the sudden eruption of fear and chaos, are momentarily frozen in confusion, unsure of what is transpiring before them.

To their amazement, Foster's torment continues unabated, despite their static presence. It becomes evident to them that there is an external force at play, something beyond their understanding. Foster's screams pierce the air, growing more desperate with each passing moment.

Suddenly, Foster's pleas for mercy are stifled as Matt's gloved hand forcefully covers his mouth, silencing his cries. His eyes dart around in confusion, searching for the source of his torment. His nose begins to bleed, a visceral manifestation of the sheer terror gripping his being.

Matt's grip tightens, a mixture of determination and concern etched across his face. He senses a force at work, but the identity and motives of this mysterious presence remain elusive. Uncertainty fills the air, mingling with the intensity of the moment.

And then, as your strength wanes, you can no longer maintain your hold on Foster. He pants heavily, clearly in psychological and physical pain. Sensing an opportunity to intensify the interrogation, Matthew seizes the moment, grabs Foster's collar, and menacingly states, "You're right... what you said before. I kill you, somebody takes your place, but they'll end up back here just like you, and sooner or later, one of you is gonna tell me what I need to know."

Matthew swiftly reaches for one of the ladder rails, pulling out a small knife and cutting the rope that restrains Foster. With a firm grip, he carries Foster to the edge of the rooftop, half of his body hovering over the precipice. His baritone voice deepens as he emphasizes, "This is important." Foster groans, and Matthew shushes him, whispering, "Shh! Listen, I need you to understand why I'm hurting you. It's not just about the boy. I'm doing this because I enjoy it." Matthew then pulls Foster up, fully leaning his body over the edge, and from your vantage point, you observe the unfolding events while trying to catch your breath.

Foster's desperate pleas of "No, no, no!" fill the air as Matthew whispers, "Where is he?" With no response from Foster, Matthew's anger erupts, his voice booming, "Where is he?" After one final menacing shove over the ledge, Foster gives up the location, gasping, "Underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and 44th."

Matthew pulls Foster back up and away from the edge, ensuring his safety. Once Foster is on his feet, he chuckles mockingly, taunting, "They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start on the boy. It would be a shame for you to witness what they do to him." Matthew grabs Foster by the shoulder and forcefully pushes him off the rooftop. Claire shrieks in shock as she watches the man plummet, a loud crash resonating as he lands in a dumpster below.

"It's all right. He landed in the dumpster you pulled me out of," Matthew pants out, his strength waning. Claire's voice trembles with concern as she asks, "Is he dead?" Matthew tilts his head, listening for Foster's heartbeat, and shrugs, "He'll live."

As Claire gazes over the ledge, Matthew hobbles away, urging her, "You need to gather your things and leave. Don't disclose your destination to anyone." Matthew retrieves the remaining rope hanging from the ladder, while Claire turns to find him walking away. "What?" she questions, perplexed. Matthew grunts in response, "If he wakes up, he'll be back... and he won't be alone next time." He cuts the rope in half using the small knife and tosses it to the ground. Claire lifts up her cloth, expressing relief, "But he didn't see my face."

"That was just for effect, to scare him. He knew you were lying when you answered your door," Matthew explains, groaning in pain. Claire moves to assist him, but he raises his hand, signaling her to stop. "Do you have a place you can go?" he asks. Claire sighs, contemplating, "Well, there is one... but I'm not sure if she has enough room. I'm currently cat-sitting for a woman I work with within the hospital. Her brother is sick. She's in Oklahoma."

"What's the address?" Matt asks, his breath strained. Claire looks at him with confusion and asks, "Why?" Matthew replies, his voice wavering, "I'm thinking if I'm thinking if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up," Matthew says with a pained expression. Claire sighs, understanding the gravity of the situation, and replies, "Tenth and 54th. Apartment 412, um, in the building above the liquor store."

Matthew senses her worry and reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Thank you, Claire," he says sincerely, his gratitude evident in his tired form. He takes a few steps away before Claire speaks up once more, her voice filled with doubt, "I don't believe you. What you said. I don't believe you enjoy this."

As you materialize on the floor, panting and visibly exhausted, Claire's concern immediately takes over. She swiftly turns around and rushes to your side, her voice filled with worry as she calls out your name, "I thought you were... How? Were you here all along? What is going on?"

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you manage to respond, your voice slightly strained, "I have powers. Abilities that allow me to... do things others can't." Claire looks at you skeptically, clearly grappling with the strangeness of the situation. You decide to bring up the recent alien invasion attempt as a reference point, hoping to put things into perspective. "You know the giant hole in the sky? The alien invaders that attacked New York? Well, I was sort of involved in that. It's been a wild ride."

Claire's expression shifts from skepticism to a mix of disbelief and awe. "Okay," she says slowly, processing the information. "So, let me get this straight. You have powers, there is a blind vigilante, and now we're here on a rooftop dealing with dangerous criminals. This is officially the weirdest night I've ever had."

You nod in agreement, acknowledging the surreal nature of the situation. "Believe me, Claire, it's just as strange for me. But right now, I need to leave. I need to go and help him rescue the boy."

Claire's curiosity takes hold, and she looks at you intently. "You were the one who made Foster lose it, weren't you? Why he suddenly started screaming at nothing?"

You nod again, confirming her observation. "Yes, it was me. I had to do whatever it took to get the information we needed. Foster was involved in something dangerous, and the boy's life is at stake."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you, as the weight of the situation sinks in. Then, Claire's voice softens, and she asks, "Do you know who Mike is? I mean, really know him?"

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your complicated connection to ‘Mike’ who was actually Matthew. "Kind of. Not really. We have a history, but he doesn't know me, and for now, I think it's best to keep it that way."

Claire absorbs your response, her expression filled with understanding. After a brief pause, she looks at you with a mix of concern and determination. "You're going to go help him, aren't you? Mike. You're risking everything for him."

You meet her gaze and offer a determined nod. "Yes, I am. I have a feeling he's caught up in something bigger than all of us, and I can't ignore that. I have to try to help him."

Claire's worry is evident as she says, "You better come back in one piece. I don’t know how I would explain all of this to Maria."

You give her a faint smile, appreciating her concern and support. "I'll do my best, Claire."

TROIKA RESTAURANT, UNDERGROUND – NIGHT

Your heart pounds in your chest as you step into the dimly lit hallway, ready to aid Matthew Murdock with your unique abilities. The air crackles with anticipation as you tap into the depths of your power, the energy coursing through your veins.

As you move forward, the sounds of scuffling feet and strained grunts fill the air, echoing off the walls. Shadows dance and flicker, creating an eerie ambiance that heightens the tension. Your presence is a secret, known only to yourself.

With a single thought, your surroundings come alive. Illusions spring forth, perfectly replicating the masked vigilante in every detail. The mobsters' attention is captured by these illusory duplicates, drawing their attacks away from Matthew. They strike at empty air, their frustration growing with each missed blow.

Your illusions become more intricate, weaving a web of confusion and fear. Illusory weapons materialize in your hands, gleaming with a phantom menace. The mobsters' eyes widen in terror as they face the illusion of imminent danger, hesitating for a crucial moment.

The hallway transforms into a maze of illusory constructs. Shadows twist and contort, creating false barriers that impede the mobsters' progress. Their footsteps falter, their balance disrupted by the ethereal obstacles you've conjured. The line between reality and illusion blurs in their minds, feeding their growing sense of unease.

Their swings and strikes meet nothing but empty space, frustration mounting with each failed attempt to land a blow. Illusory wounds appear on their bodies, and illusory blood stains their clothes. Cries of pain mingled with shouts of anger, chaos reigning in the narrow corridor.

Amidst the whirlwind of illusions, Matthew moves with grace and purpose, his senses honed to perfection. He leaps and dodges, striking with pinpoint accuracy, his relentless determination evident in every calculated move. The mobsters find themselves increasingly overwhelmed, their confidence eroded by the uncertainty that surrounds them.

And then, in a fleeting moment, Matthew turns, carrying the boy in his arms. His heightened senses catch a hint of your presence—the faintest scent, the echo of a heartbeat—before it dissipates into the night. There's a flicker of realization in his posture, an unspoken acknowledgment of your contribution to the fight.

With a final surge of strength, Matthew pushes forward while carrying the young boy. Your illusions continue to distract and disorient the remaining mobsters, allowing him to navigate through the chaos with unwavering focus. As the hallway fight reaches its climax, the mobsters are left reeling, their resolve shattered. You watch from the shadows, your breath steady but your heart still racing. The moment of triumph is shared, even if only for a brief instant, before you fade back into the anonymity that cloaks your true nature.

Matthew's focus shifts back to the task at hand, carrying the boy to safety. Yet, a sense of intrigue lingers within him. He feels your ghost, supporting him, but your identity remains a mystery. As he carries the boy, he silently vows to uncover the truth behind his mysterious ally once this mission is complete.

With the boy safe in his arms, Matthew continues his swift retreat, leaving behind the hallway and the echoes of your combined efforts. The enigmatic presence of your illusion powers remains a secret, for now, your aid in the fight is a silent testament to your unwavering support.

END NOTES:

I’m… IDK WHAT THIS ISSSSSS :D

YES. This is my take on the whole “guardian angel” role bcs it’s fun!

If you are confused with the reader’s back story dw I already have that sorted out.

HNGGG YES IM WRITING TWO SERIES. IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS WEEK SHUSH. IM FINE =D

Okayyyy I hope you enjoyed T^T <3

- Grace

TAGLIST:

#matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x reader #charlie cox x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #ethereal writes #etherealupdates

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writingdumpster · 3 months

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first impressions

pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: none I think

summary: i wrote this purely bc i know matt murdock is excellent at meeting people’s mothers. after impressing your parents matt gets to thinking about his future.

word count: 1.6k

“I’m nervous.” You sat next to Matt in the restaurant he had chosen for the evening. It was fancy. There was a pianist in one corner of the room and linen tablecloths. It was nicer than the hole-in-the-wall joints that you and Matt usually preferred. He wanted to impress your parents though, so he had made a reservation at a swanky restaurant in midtown Manhattan.

Matt was in his court suit and you had donned the blue silk dress he bought for your anniversary. It was by far your favorite dress. Beyond being a treasured gift, it fit you perfectly and the fabric always felt soft against your skin. Karen had helped Matt pick it out, but she had told you that all she did was describe the dresses and that he had completely ignored her opinions. She had strongly recommended a yellow dress but he had refused her suggestions, insisting you would like the one he picked better. Never having seen the yellow one, you knew he was right. If he picked it, you loved it. You would have him choose between options you put out when you got dressed in the mornings by describing them to him and he always had you match his tie to the rest of his outfit.

“It’s going to be fine,” Matt said and kissed your temple.

“I only ever introduced Caleb to my parents,” you told him, not that you hadn’t said it before. Matt knew that Caleb was not someone you had pleasant memories of. He had heard the stories from you and he was the one who helped you get over many of the fears that Caleb had struck into you. Matt was remembering those stories while he heard in your heartbeat how nervous you were.

“You know I’m not like Caleb,” Matt reminded you.

“I know, Matt. I just…this is a big deal for me,” you said.

“It’s a big deal for me too, sweetheart,” Matt told you. “It’s just an exciting big deal for me.” You inhaled deeply. Matt smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Moms always like me, angel. It’ll be great,” he assured you.

“All women like you,” you said. Matt laughed lightly.

“Then that will include your mom, won’t it?” He asked rhetorically. He gave you a light peck as he tangled his fingers with yours beneath the table. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed. You sighed.

“You’re right. I know they’re going to love you. I just…” You hesitated.

“Caleb was a mistake and you think it’s bad luck,” Matt said, always knowing what you were thinking.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“This isn’t a mistake, sweetheart. I promise. It’s just the next step,” he told you. You nodded and Matt gave your hand a squeeze. You looked up at the doorway to the restaurant.

“They’re here,” you said. You rose from the table and greeted your mom and dad with hugs. Matt was standing by your side with a charming smile across his face.

“Hello, Mrs. y/l/n,” Matt greeted with a smile. Your mom held her arms out to Matt and pulled him into a hug. He returned it kindly.

“Oh, please, call me y/m/n,” your mom said. “Y/N has told us so much about you. I think we can be on a first name basis,” your mom said. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as your mom told Matt how you spoke about him. Matt simply turned to you and smiled. He loved that you told your parents about him. He wished he could tell his dad all about you. Your father held out his hand for Matt to shake. Matt stayed still, not wanting to give up his powers. You took Matt’s hand and pulled it to where your father’s hand was waiting.

“Oh, sorry about that,” your dad said in embarrassment as he shook Matt’s hand. Matt chuckled lightly.

“That’s alright, sir. Took y/n months to stop answering me with nods,” Matt joked.

“It was not months,” you said sharply.

“You still do it sometimes,” Matt teased. You pursed your lips, biting back the comment about how you knew he could tell. The four of you sat down, Matt pulling out your mother’s chair for her before doing the same for you and taking his seat.

Matt was right about mothers loving him. He charmed your mom with his dry sense of humor and enchanting smile. He won your dad’s approval when he mentioned he owned his own law firm. Your father didn’t need to know that Nelson and Murdock was nearly always on the edge of bankruptcy. Your parents told Matt stories about you from your childhood, despite your protests that they were too embarrassing. Matt loved the stories. All he could do was smile at you. The night was perfect. Matt was perfect. Your father refused Matt’s attempt to pay for the meal before the four of you left. You said your goodbyes in front of the restaurant before getting into different cabs and going back home. Matt’s hand was resting innocently on your leg while the two of you sat in the back of the cab.

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Matt teased you. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, you were right, Murdock,” you agreed. Matt chuckled.

“Doesn’t happen that often. I have to brag when it does,” he said. The cab pulled up outside of your apartment and the two of you got out. You made your way up the stairs and walked through the sliding door. The glow of the billboard outside of your window was blue. A new advertiser had taken over a few weeks earlier and the red light that usually filled the room had been replaced with a blue light, making it seem like your apartment was bathed in moonlight. You were looking through the mail that you had collected on your way up.

You realized you didn’t know where Matt went when music started playing. You smiled to yourself as you tossed away the junk mail. Suddenly you felt hands on your hips as Matt pulled you away from the counter. He spun you around and moved one of his hands to the small of your back. The other went to cup your hand in his. You giggled before moving to wrap your free arm around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck as the two of you began swaying back and forth. Matt loosened his hold on your waist and moved to let you spin beneath his arm before pulling you back into his body and dipping you.

When Matt pulled you back upright you leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. Matt smiled against your lips. You stared into his eyes when you leaned away. His eyes were so beautiful. You never cared that his eyes didn’t see you the way yours saw him. He saw you in so many other ways.

“You really impressed them,” you said as you leaned closer to Matt, tucking your head against his neck.

“I told you moms like me,” Matt said.

“My dad liked you too though,” you said.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “We just can’t let him visit my office. He won’t be impressed anymore.” You chuckled.

“I certainly hope he won’t ever need a lawyer,” you said.

“If you hadn’t needed a lawyer we never would have met,” Matt reminded you.

“Yes, and that worked out very well,” you agreed. “But when we tell our kids how we met I think we should make something up.” Matt beamed.

“Our kids?” He asked. Your heart dropped for a moment and your face went blank.

“I mean, umm…” You started stuttering.

“We’ll have to get married first,” Matt interjected before you could start backpedaling. Your panic turned to excitement. You grinned.

“You obviously have my parents' approval now,” you said. Matt smiled.

“And you’ve certainly gotten Foggy’s approval,” Matt replied.

“Foggy likes me better than you,” you said with a laugh.

“Yes, I know,” Matt said flatly. “He’s very clear about that.” You held back your giggles.

“If you came into the office with cookies instead of bruises like me he might like you more,” you joked.

“I do bring in cookies,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but Foggy knows I made them,” you said. Matt sighed.

“He wouldn’t like me at all if I brought in cookies that I made,” he said. You giggled at the memory of Matt trying to make your birthday cake and causing the building to evacuate after setting off the smoke alarm.

“When we have kids I bet he’ll like them better than both of us,” you said. Matt smiled.

“That’s alright. We can use him as a babysitter that way,” he said.

“Maybe if Karen’s there too,” you said. Matt chuckled.

“You don’t trust Foggy with our kids?” He asked.

“Matty, you have told me far too many stories about you dragging Foggy back to your dorm after a frat party for me to trust Foggy with our kids,” you said. “He will most certainly let one of them do something stupid.”

“And you think I won’t?” Matt asked.

“You won’t let them do something stupid, you’ll do it for them,” you said. Matt spun you around in his arms once more as the song came to an end. He kissed your forehead when he pulled you back against him. Matt’s heart was full at the way the two of you were so casually talking about your kids. He hoped it wouldn’t be long till they were real. He knew what he wanted. He didn’t want to wait for it anymore. There wasn’t anything stopping him now.

“You want to go ring shopping tomorrow?”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader fluff #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock imagines #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #charlie cox x reader

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whoreofdilfs · 1 year

Text

I'm gonna eat him whole istg

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #daredevil x reader #marvel daredevil #daredevil angst #charlie cox #charlie cox smut #charlie cox x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #Matthew Murdock

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 1 year

Text

Matt Murdock X Reader: Safe and Sound

Summary: Matt loses his hearing and you come to the rescue.

Warning: None(i think) this is just fluff

Matt Murdock did not easily get despaired. Being a lawyer meant he needed to keep his mind in a state of constant stability in order to do his job the best he could. His night job also required a steady mind because any slip up could cause the loss of a life. Despite all of this Matt couldn't manage to calm himself when his hearing stopped working. He had already lost his sight years ago which meant the only thing he could rely on to survive was the rest of his senses, his hearing being one of the most important ones. So it's safe to say that when he stopped being able to hear the noise of Hellfire's kitchen and the clinking of glass crashing onto the floor he panicked. Out of a sudden Matt's world had gone completely dark. The silence suffocated him and no matter how loud he screamed he couldn't seem to make it stop.

He was all alone.

Alone and vulnerable.

You strolled down the streets a shopping bag in one hand and the keys to Matt's apartment grasped in the other. You walked up the stairs calmly, stopping to give Matt's neighbours a cheery good morning as you went. Completely unaware of what was happening to your favorite brunette. You’d made it to Matt's apartment without any issues, your hands fiddled with the keys as you tried to find the correct one to open the door. Then you heard the most blood curdling scream coming from inside the apartment. Your head snapped up at the sound, the hand holding the grocery bag instinctively releasing the item as you desperately tried to pry the door open. You knew about Matt's double life so you shouldn’t be worried about a scream. What made the hairs on your arms stand up was the fact that Matt was the one screaming.

Desperately screaming.

And one thing you knew Matt Murdock never was was desperate.

You managed to get the door open, your shoes clanged loudly against the wood flooring as you raced into the living room. Your eyes searched the room quickly, trying to find some intruder or any sense of a break in but everything seemed to be in the right place, except for the pieces of glass that littered the floor near the kitchen. You moved towards the broken cup, kneeling down to get a better look at the contents. It is possible Matt had been poisoned? You were just about to reach out to grab a piece off the floor when another scream broke out through the silent room. Your eyes snapped to the place where the noise had come from, your gaze falling on Matt's frame. You rushed over to him, your hands reaching out to touch his body.

“Matt, what's wrong? Why are you-”

The moment your hand touched his arm Matt snapped into action, his hand wrapped around your throat with a strength you often forgot he had. Your own hands made their way to Matt's forearm trying with all your might to stop him from choking you.

“Matt…”

Your voice barely came out, not that it mattered anyway Matt couldnt hear you. You looked around, searching for something to get him to realize that he wasn't in danger. Your eyes fell onto Matt's other hand, the one that had remained at his side. You used your little amount of strength, the lack of air was making you lightheaded, to grab his other arm and drag his hand towards your face. For some reason Matt didn't resist, he let you guide his hand to your cheek. The moment his hand made contact with your features his eyes lit up in recognition. He immediately let go of your throat causing you to gasp for air. Your hands went to the floor, trying to steady yourself as you breathed in some much needed oxygen. Matt's hands went to try and grab onto you but you flinched away, the survival instinct still kicked into your system. And he felt it. Matt felt the way your muscles contracted away from him. He couldn't see or hear you but an image of your face formed inside his brain, your eyes wide with fear as you looked at him. Like he was some sort of rabid animal. In a way he believed he was.

You stared at the floor trying to get your bearings together. Matt called out your name, making you look at him. Your eyes found his brown ones, watching as his eyebrows furrowed with worry. He called out your name again a little louder this time and you realized that he couldn't hear anything at all. You crawled towards him. Matt felt the floorboards creak underneath him as you moved. Your hand went to his face but this time instead of snapping at you Matt closed his eyes, nuzzling into your palm. You felt Matt's tears on your palm as you caressed him.

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded so broken.

You moved your body in between his legs, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into your embrace. Matt nuzzled into your neck, the smell of your perfume invading his nose and making him feel safe. Your body was warm around him, a big contrast to the coolness of the wall behind him. He couldn’t hear but he wasn't scared anymore because he wasn't alone now. Now he had you and you would never let anything happen to him. Ever. Just like he would never let anyone hurt you.

You managed to guide Matt to the couch so that way he could be comfortable as you tried to figure out what to do about his hearing. You would have to take him to a doctor. That was the only thing you could think of. But how the hell were you supposed to guide him through the streets of new york without either of you getting put into risk. You reached into one of the kitchen drawers searching for the kettle you knew would be there. Tea would help you think and maybe it would calm Matt down enough to get him to sleep. Perhaps once he had gotten the rest he needed his hearing would come back to him.

Matts lay on the couch, his hands pulling at the blanket you’d placed on top of him. He wondered what you were doing. He knew you hadn’t left because he could still smell you. He wondered how he hadn't noticed the scent when you had walked in but then again he was in such a panicked state he hadn’t been paying enough attention to things. A new scent filled his nose. It was a slightly citric smell but not strong enough to be some kind of juice. Matt moved his head in the direction of the smell. Tea. You were making him orange tea. If it had been another time he would have laughed but it seemed silly to laugh given the circumstances.

A low melody entered Matt's ears. At first he thought he had imagined it but then he heard a clink of metal and the sound of shoes on the wood floor. You were humming as you walked around the kitchen and Matt could hear you.

He could hear you.

You were about to take the mugs filled with tea over to the couch when two arms grabbed you and turned you around. You looked up at Matt, your heart beating quickly. When had he gotten up from the couch? You hadn't even heard the floor creak behind you but then again that was kind of Matt's thing. Being quiet was a must when you fought bad guys in the night.

“Matt can you-”

“I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

Matt pulled you into his chest, his body molding itself around your fame. You froze for a moment before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“It’s okay Matty. You were scared and you reacted. I know you’d never hurt me intentionally.”

Matt let out a small sob as he held you.

“Everything was dark. I couldn't… i didn't know what-”

“Shhh, It's alright you’re okay. I'm here now.”

Your hands wrapped themselves in Matt's hair as the two of you hugged.

“If you hadn’t done something… if i had…i’d never forgive myself.”

“Matthew, stop it. It was a mistake and I'm okay. You would have noticed. I know you would have.”

It was futile to argue with you. Matt knew you would never believe he could harm you. And that's what worried him because when his hands had been around your throat he wasn't thinking of anything else. He wondered if you were right, perhaps he would have noticed in time and stopped. But a small part of him thought that he only would know when it was too late. Tears welled in his eyes for the second time that day. His body slacked in your arms the emotions he’s held in for so long taking a toll on him. You sunk to the floor due to Matt's weight, one of your hands grabbing onto the counter for support. Once you two were sitting on the floor Matt buried his head into your chest, his strong arms gripping onto you for dear life. You felt Matt's tears soak through your shirt, causing some to well up in your own eyes. You hated seeing him this way but you were glad he trusted you enough to show this side of himself. You stayed like this for a while. Matt clinging onto you as he cried, you caressing him as he did so. Then Matt's head snapped up from its position, his face facing yours. One of his hands found their way to your cheek, his fingers tracing your features slowly. His thumb found your lips and he heard your heartbeat fasten slightly at the action. You had closed your eyes the moment he had placed his hand on your face, the thought of looking at him making you nervous. Matt called out your name. It came out as a whisper. So low that maybe if he hadn't been so close you wouldn’t have heard him.

“Yes?”

There was silence for a moment as Matt contemplated if this was a good moment. Every thought of doubt left his mind when he remembered the feeling that had invaded his chest when he realized you’d come to help him. The immediate peace that had consumed him when you pulled him into your body. Matt placed his hand underneath your chin, guiding you to look up at him. He could hear your heart berating, he could feel you breathe on his lip and he could smell your perfume, a scent he was sure he would never tire of.

“Matt?”

God he loved the way his name sounded on your lips.

“You alright?”

That's when he kissed you. Your hands tensed before reaching up to hold Matt's cheeks. He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you once again. You wondered if this was all just a really realistic dream. It seemed almost impossible that after all these years you were in Matt's kitchen kissing him with everything you had. The years of bottled feelings had come to an end. Your heart felt as light as a feather and even though you didn't know it Matt had never felt happier. Matt placed his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“I am now.”

You let out a laugh making him smirk.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn't want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me Matt.”

“Yeah but my life isn't exactly safe. The people I love end up getting hurt. I didn't want to put a target on your back.”

“Hey, I think I should be the one who decides whether I want to be a target or not. Plus I'm in this. I have been in it since that day I stitched you up. So if anyone put a target on my back it was me. Not you.”

“You’re one tough cookie.”

“Yeah I know. It’s why you love me.”

Your eyes widened at your words realizing what you had said. You worried you had assumed too much, after all Matt had never officially said he loved you.

“You bet it is.”

With that Matt pulled you into another kiss. You melted into his body, feeling like the happiest person alive. The floor was cold and the position was starting to hurt Matt's back so you both got up. You went to look at the tea you had placed on the counter.

“Teas gone cold.”

“Leave it.”

You listened to Matt, letting him guide you to the couch. You watched as he climbed onto the sofa before opening his arms to you. You understood the message climbing onto the couch and laying on his chest. Matt's hands went to your hair, massaging your scalp tenderly. You let out a hum of approval as you snuggled more into his frame.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For sticking around, even though it’s dangerous.”

“Well, we do all kinds of crazy things for people we love.”

Matt smiled at your words. Love had always been something he had wanted. At the same time he always feared for those he loved. However right now he couldn’t care less. You loved him, he loved you and neither of you would let anyone get in the way of that. Matt listened to the sound of your breathing as you began to fall asleep. For the first time in a long time the world around him seemed to go quiet. He drifted into sleep, your warmth luring him into peaceful sleep. For once Matt wasn’t plagued with nightmares instead his dreams were filled with images of you. He was safe. Completely safe because he had you and nothing was going to change that. Not if he had anything to say about it.

#matt murdock #matthew murdock #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #matt #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #daredevil x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock fanfic #marvel fanfiction #charlie cox #mcu daredevil #charlie cox daredevil #charlie cox x reader

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