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#daredevil x gn!reader
devils-dares · 1 year
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Steal My Warmth
summary: matt lets you use him as a pillow.
pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader
warnings: none! fluffy fluff here
wordcount: 379
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The way Matt loved you was devastating. He ached when you weren’t near, and when you were he found his fingers were always reaching for you to come a little closer. His hands always found themselves wrapped around your midsection, the extra skin letting him steal an abundance of warmth and softness from you.
When you’d asked him if you could slip under the blanket with him on the couch, he told you you didn’t have to ask as he peeled away the thick fluffy cover.
“C’mere.” You try to slot yourself between him and the couch but he pulls you to lay on him directly, your head sinking into his chest as he tucks you in.
“Cozy?” You nodded, feeling his fingers caress your skin, his touch sliding lower and lower after starting at your waist.
“Watch the hands.” He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He clicks resume on his podcast as you get comfy on his chest and scroll through your phone. Quiet domesticity takes over the apartment, your even breath mirrors his as the two of you soak in each other's presence.
“It should be a crime to be this soft and warm with that much muscle.” You say, poking his abs. He chuckles, pulling your body closer to his.
“Feel free to come steal some warmth more often.” You nuzzle further and he gasps at the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his bare chest. Your eyelids grow heavy and you glance up to Matt, who was listening to his podcast. He looked at peace, his fingers still moving, albeit slowly, across your skin while your head moved up and down gently from his breaths. You smile, your eyes shutting more and more as you finally succumb to sleep with comfort personified who is Matt Murdock.
His attention is drawn to you only when your phone lands face down on his skin, the glass screen chilling his body. He brings his hand up to thread through your hair, dull nails gently scratching at your scalp. With his other hand he pauses his podcast and drops his headphones to the ground quietly. He moves your phone away and pulls the blanket up a bit higher to cover your body.
“Sweet dreams, my love.”
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allllium · 2 months
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Hey, can I make a Matt x Reader request. Reader is a doctor and lives with Matt one evening Matt comes home with Spiderman who needs help. You become surrogate parents for Peter and think about adopting him since he's a son to both of you anyway.
Peter
~ Sorry this took me so long to get to. I had something written at some point but ended up scraping it 😭
~ Fluff, Maybe a little angst bc Peter is hurt at the beginning?
~ WC: 1,536
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~ Matt brings home a kid ~
Being with Matt you've learned always to expect the unexpected. Matt has a heart of gold, always doing everything he can to help those in need. It's a good thing you're the same way. You wouldn't be a doctor if you didn't have the urge to help people but sometimes Matt, in your opinion, helps people that don't help him far too often.
However, one thing you didn't expect was for your wonderful boyfriend to come home with a kid. Okay maybe not kid, he's about sixteen years old, but that's still way younger than you or Matt. And way too young to be doing what he does.
When Matt brings home the kid, the first thing you do is freeze for a second. Who is this kid? How did he get hurt? How does Matt know him? Why is he in your apartment bleeding? 
You're quickly pushed out of your thoughts when Matt helps the kid onto the couch and looks to you for help. You immediately jump in, using your doctor skills to the best of your ability. Both he and your boyfriend stay silent the whole time. Matt stays sitting in an armchair to the side, obviously stressed by whatever happened. 
It takes a while to patch up the kid, whose name you still don't know, but as soon as you're finished, he falls asleep on the couch and allows you time to discuss this strange situation with Matt. 
Why is it that he stays silent the whole time you're busy helping the kid but the second you're ready to talk he runs off to the kitchen, not exactly running off as the kitchen is right there, but still?
“Matt. Explain?” You don't know what to say or ask. A million questions are running through your head as you follow him to the kitchen. 
“His name's Peter.” He hesitates to continue. “He's spiderman, that's how he got hurt.” 
“What? He's a child!” How the hell is a teenager Spiderman? 
“Yeah, I know that's why I've been keeping an eye on him.” He says as if it's the most casual thing ever. As if he didn't just bring me a beaten-up sixteen-year-old to fix up. 
“What do you mean keeping an eye on him? Do you listen to him?” You turn back to the living room and collapse in a chair. 
“No, he lives too far away. I just mean that I call him and check up on him.” His voice is quiet, careful not to wake the sleeping kid. “I met him a few weeks ago.” 
“When you were in Queens? Is that why you left?” A couple of weeks ago, Matt spent a few days in Queens for a new client he met. He never said much about it and you never asked. You never wanted to invade his clients' privacy and you weren't sure he could tell you about it anyway. 
“Yeah actually.” He doesn't say anymore and for some reason, you don't ask. Not sure if you want to know the reasons this kid, Peter you now know, could be in danger. You know Matt can handle himself so most of the time you try not to worry yourself but this is a young kid, that you can almost guarantee doesn't have anywhere near the amount of fighting training Matt had. 
After a few hours of making sure he was okay on the couch, and convincing Matt to stay in for the night, you both decide to head to bed. 
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You wake up the next morning to loud crashing noises from the kitchen. You automatically know it's not Matt because one he is a terrible cook and two he is still lying in bed with an arm over your waist. So Peter must have woken up from his injury-induced slumber and started cooking because he's hungry? 
You reluctantly throw yourself out of bed. Despite getting plenty of sleep you feel anything but well rested. As you head out of the bedroom you see Peter wearing the old clothes Matt put out for him and trying to cook something in the kitchen. From the smell of it, he's probably not the best cook either.
“Good morning.” You greet him, coming into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. He whips around to look at you in surprise, he clearly doesn't have the same super senses as Matt.
“Oh uh, good morning!” He tries his best to sound cheerful but his voice has an underlying tone of shock and awkwardness. “Sorry for waking you up. I know taking of someone you don't know so late at night isn't the best, so I thought I would make you and Matt some breakfast to try and make up for it. I'm Peter by the end.” You stay silent as he falls into an awkward ramble. 
“Hi Peter I'm y/n. And you don't have to worry about making it up to us, we were happy to help. Plus I deal with this stuff all the time.”
“Right, you're a doctor! Matt told me about that.” He puts down all the stuff he was “cooking” and leans along the counter with you. 
“Oh, he talks about me?” 
“Well, it was that or all the people we've fought as masked superheroes.” He shrugs. 
“Superhero? Aren't you a little young to be fighting like you do?” 
“Maybe but if I can help people why wouldn't I?” 
“You could always be selfish and use your powers for yourself.” You tell him out of both curiosity and the fact that if you had any kind of powers you can't guarantee you would use them to help anyone else.
“Yeah, I guess.” And just like you both stop talking. Waiting in silence for Matt to wake up before you order breakfast.
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Peter stayed with you guys for a little over a week while you made sure he was fully healed from his injuries. Before long he was going back home to Queens to whoever he lives with. You know from one brief conversation that his parents are gone, he never said how or who he stays with now but that's not any of your business. 
He comes over almost every week now for dinner, one of the only nights a week you and Matt cook instead of ordering takeout. You have the feeling Matt has imprinted on Peter, kind of like a baby duck. Maybe it's because they’re so similar. They can relate to each other in a way Foggy and Karen can’t. Well, Frank can but he and Matt don’t exactly get along. 
Today is one of the days that he’s gonna be coming over for dinner. You and Matt are in the kitchen making a new pasta dish. 
“So I wanted to ask you a question?” Matt suddenly tells you, while in the middle of stirring the pasta sauce. 
“You know you don't have to ask to ask a question right?” It doesn't matter how many times you say it, Matt will always warn you before asking a question. Most likely because he's worried about bothering you.
He lets out a deep chuckle. “I know, sweetheart, but I'm worried you'll say no.”
“I doubt it. What is it?”
“You know how Peter lives with his aunt right?” He pulls the finished sauce off the stove so he can put his full attention on you.
“I knew he lived some family member, yes. Why?” You’re very curious as to where this is going. 
“Well, she’s getting older and I thought maybe he could come and stay with us for a while.” Not what you expected him to ask.
“Matt, I would say yes to that if I could see how it would work. We don't have the room.” You shrug. You would love to help Peter out but you don’t think he would like living on the couch for at least a year. 
“That’s why I'm asking you. You always know what to do with these things.” If he means the way you freak out thinking of every possible solution and pretend to know what you’re doing then yeah, you are a master at it.
“I don't know, Matty. There is about a year and a half before he goes to college, there is no way he’ll be comfortable here for that long.”
“I know. Believe me, I’ve been thinking of a way this could work. I just don’t want him to be alone.” 
“He won’t be. Even if he can’t live here he’s always welcome.” And just by saying that you come up with the perfect idea. 
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A few weeks later it worked. Somehow everything magically fell into place. At the end of your previous conversation about it, you told Matt how great it would be if Peter could have his own apartment close to yours and magically one became available in the same building. Being sixteen, Peter obviously couldn't pay for the place himself but you were able to help out, having some extra money due to being a good doctor. 
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Matt comes up to you. “You didn’t have to do that.” 
“Eh, you’re rubbing off on me.” You grumble with a fake annoyance.
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courtforshort15 · 1 year
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Fever Dream
Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader
Word Count: 3,100
Summary: You feel like utter death. Good thing you have a boyfriend whose mother-hen tendencies mean he’s the best at taking care of you.
Trigger warnings: None. Just my self-indulgent imagination of Matt taking care of me while I’m sick.
Masterlist
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The sneeze you let out at seven in the morning is almost embarrassingly loud.
It wracks your entire body, the force of it causing you to jerk in your bed, and you barely have time to cover your nose with a tissue. Cringing, you blow your nose before tossing the tissue into the trashcan you’ve moved next to your bed, no longer having the energy to get up and walk each individual one over. 
The feeling of sick came on so unexpectedly and savagely that you didn’t have time to make a grocery trip to grab any medicine, and you were currently stuck using almost-expired Benadryl for the congestion and a nearly empty bottle of ibuprofen for your headache and sore throat. 
Seriously, you were mostly fine last night. Maybe a little stuffy, but nothing close to this. 
With a loud groan, you call your boss on her cell phone to let her know that you won’t be in today, and the raspy tone in your voice paired with the sound of a stuffy nose was enough for her to tell you to take the rest of the week off. 
“No, really, please don’t come in,” she tells you, and you can practically feel the way she’s shuddering on the other side of the line. You’ve worked with her long enough to know she’s a major germaphobe, and she’d rather miss a soft deadline by a day or two than have you anywhere near her. You’re not above using that to your advantage, and have done so in the past, especially in instances when you need an excuse to stay with Matt when he’s recovering from a night that’s rougher than usual. 
“I am willing to bribe you to make sure you stay home. I will send you all the soup you need if you just stay away.”
“You got it boss lady,” you somehow manage to croak out, cringing at both the pain and the way you sound. “I’ll see you Monday.” With a sigh, you hang up with her, grateful for a large balance of PTO, and fully planning on taking her up on the soup once you have an appetite. She’ll splurge on good stuff, too.
Matt is next. Instead of calling him, you send him a quick text, knowing he’s likely already at the courthouse for the morning, and you’re unwilling to interrupt him at work. He’s less likely to check a message than take a phone call, for obvious reasons, so it's easier to escape the laser focus of his concern for just a few extra hours. Typing out the message, you let him know you’re not feeling well and unable to meet him for lunch, as you usually do on Wednesdays. Knowing him, he’ll call you the second he’s on recess, and will likely end up swinging by this evening anyway.
With a loud exhale that causes your throat to burn and offers an abrupt coughing fit, you lay back down against the pillows, and pass out.
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You wake up to the sound of someone pounding on your door, and it startles you enough that you nearly roll out of bed. 
It takes you a few moments to get your bearings, grimacing at the way your body feels worse than when you’d fallen asleep, and you mentally curse the person interrupting your rest. It’s probably your obnoxious landlord who finds random excuses to check-in on you, much to your annoyance and Matt’s suspicion, but the man is harmless, guilty of nothing other than using far too much cologne to cover up the stale smell of body odor and of cigarettes. 
You’d roll your eyes if the idea of the simple motion didn’t sound so painful. 
If you weren’t already certain about having been knocked on your ass by the flu, specifically, there’s no doubt in your mind now. A throbbing headache. A throat that feels like it was being torn apart with glass. Congestion. It was all there, and all you want to do is pass out until you feel better.
The pounding on the door continues, combined with an extremely muffled voice, and deciding your body is too sore and too sick to get up, you roll back over in bed, burying your face under a pillow to drown out the noise. Another coughing fit hits you unexpectedly, and your body spasms with the force of your lungs revolting against you. When you’re done, you vaguely pick up on the silence when the pounding abruptly stops, and you sigh, grateful for the quiet once more.
Neil has given up, it seems, but you’re still bitter that your sleep has been interrupted, and the idea of sending the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to rattle his fire escape at 1am has never felt so appealing.
You’re just about to drift off into sleep again when, not even five minutes later, the sound of your window being opened from the outside shatters the blessed silence once more.
…oh. 
Guess that answers the question of who had been pounding on your door. You mentally apologize to Neil.
“Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet as he steps into your room, and you don’t need eyes to know the way he’s probably wrinkling his nose at the smell of sickness that’s wafting inside the cramped space. His sense of smell is so sensitive, and you definitely don’t envy him for it. You can only imagine how your sweat-damp skin smells, or the mouth that had only experienced half of the recommended amount of teeth brushing this morning, too weak to remain standing for long.
Nose wrinkling, you cringe on his behalf.
You feel him settle on the edge of your bed behind you, hand immediately reaching out to rub your back, and your body can’t help but instinctively arch into his touch, despite the fact that you feel like death. He trails his fingers up to the back of your neck, the touch soothing and offering comfort in a way only he can. His skin on yours is the most natural feeling in the world. 
“Not feeling well, sweetheart?”
You shake your head miserably, a full body shiver shaking you all the way down to your toes, before coughing into your pillow, too sick to bother covering your mouth and trusting the pillowcase to stop the spray.
Gross.
Matt’s hand gently pulls you over with a light hand on your shoulder until you’re laying on your back, and he makes sure to adjust the blankets around you so that no warmth seeps out from underneath the covers. Your eyes remain tightly shut, unwilling to subject yourself to the bright light of your bedroom. Your head is pounding, borderline migraine material, and even the thought of sunshine makes it throb. “Just a cold?”
Shaking your head again, you open your mouth to answer. “I think it’s the flu.” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat too sore to get much else out. He makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. If there’s anyone who understands the feeling of your entire body being sore and in pain, it’s him.
The man, even while he runs himself ragged, hardly ever gets sick. He averages four hours of sleep a night, ends his evenings with grazes and cuts that are likely full of all the various types of bacteria known to man, drinks way less water than he should, and he still remains relatively healthy.
Maybe it’s a good thing, though, you think wryly. He’d either be the worst case of man-flu you’ve ever seen, or he would end up in a ditch somewhere, out patrolling while delirious with a fever. Your man is a hot mess on a good day, and you can’t imagine adding sickness to the foray.
You feel him lay his hand softly on your forehead, and you shudder at how cold it feels in comparison to your warm skin. Your fever must have returned with a vengeance, and you acknowledge it with a barely restrained groan. 
“You feel pretty warm,” he tells you, his voice quiet and one of concern. You appreciate that he’s using a gentle tone that is kind on your ears, not wanting to add anything loud and overwhelming less it makes the headache worse. “Have you taken anything?”
“Ibuprofen when I woke up.” Finally opening your eyes, you blearily watch as he frowns, red lips tilted down at the corners. His hand is still on your forehead, but he moves it to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.
“When did you wake up?”
“Seven, I think.”
He sighs, moving his hand so that it rests on your cheek. “Sweetheart, that was almost six hours ago. Have you been asleep this whole time?”
“I think so,” you whisper, watching as he shrugs his suit jacket off. He tosses it on the chair that’s in the corner of the room, face still tilted towards yours. You always seem to be his sole focus when he’s around you, and it never fails to make your heart stutter. “I fell asleep after I texted you.”
Matt leans over to place his glasses on your bedside table before he returns back to you, his face one of confusion, and his eyes looking more hazel than normal in the sunlight as they roam blindly over your form. “You didn’t text me.”
Your own eyes briefly flutter close again, even as hard as you try to keep them open. You reach up and pull his hand away from your face so that you can lace your fingers with his. His hand squeezes yours gently. “Yeah I did. I told you I wasn’t going to make lunch today.”
“I didn’t get a text from you,” he reiterates with a calm shake of his head. “I’ve been calling you for the past hour when you didn’t show up.”
“But I–” Eyes opening again, you move to sit up, but he pushes you gently back down. Your neck and shoulders immediately relax back into your pillow with a sigh. “Can you hand me my phone?”
Matt grabs your phone from where it had apparently been resting by your knee and places it into your outstretched hand without a word. His hand goes back to your cheek so that can resume rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone, and it takes great effort to not fall back to sleep and close your eyes again. Fingers weak with sickness, you press in your fingerprint to unlock your phone, noticing immediately the several calls, texts and voicemails, most of them from him but a few from Karen, too. You grimace at the obvious display of his concern, knowing the level of anxiety that had likely popped up when you didn't answer any of the calls.
No wonder he had been pounding on your door. 
You open up your chat with him, wincing when you see what had happened. “I never hit send,” you tell him with a whisper, throat still rebelling against the words forcing themselves out of your throat. “I’m sorry, Matt. I really did mean to text you. I was pretty out of it.”
He leans down and presses a kiss into your forehead. His stubble briefly rasps against your skin, and you can’t help but want to lean into it, even while the texture feels scratchy on skin that seems to be more sensitive than usual. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You snort softly, unable to help yourself. “If you call feeling like I’m dying okay, then sure. I’m okay.”
Matt makes another sympathetic sound in the back of his throat, hand still softly rubbing your cheek. You shift in your bed, trying to burrow yourself further into the covers. He pulls the blankets tighter around you, helping them settle up around your neck. “I’m going to grab Tylenol to help bring your fever down.”
You cringe, and Matt’s brow furrows, indicating he’s caught onto the brief twitch of your face. “I don’t have any.”
“You don’t have any Tylenol?”
You cough again, this time covering your mouth to avoid coughing in his face. He doesn’t shift away from you as you do, just continues to keep his face near yours so that you don’t have to strain your voice to speak to him. “No,” you manage to rasp out when you’re done. “I’m out.”
He groans suddenly. “I depleted your stash last week, didn’t I?”
The same memory that had apparently hit him hits you a second later, the image of him holding a bloody rag to his shoulder that had taken a heavy hit flitting through your head briefly. You’d given him the last two tablets in the bottle as his lips twisted into a wry grin, promising to buy you a new bottle. You’d asked him to promise to avoid getting hit so frequently instead, the grin on your face just as dry and fond.  “I– yeah, I think so.”
“I’m sorry, love. I meant to grab more for you.”
You twist your head to cover another cough. “It’s fine, I forgot about grabbing some, too.”
“Do you have Ibuprofen?” he asks as he runs a hand through his hair, still looking somewhat frustrated at himself as he shifts slightly on your bed.
“Not much, but yeah,” you say with a wince. “That bottle’s almost empty, too.”
“How about any cold medicine? Decongestants? Something for your cough?”
“No,” you reply with another grimace. To his credit, he doesn’t twist his face into the disbelief he’s surely feeling, both at himself and at you. His eye twitches, though.
“How are you out of that, too?”
“Judgmental, much?” you ask with a grin that’s far too humorous for the situation and the way everything seems to hurt, including the muscles in your face. “I wasn’t exactly planning to get this sick.”
“You should have–”
“Don’t be such a hypocrite, Matthew.”
He sighs, hand darting up to run a quick hand down his face, attempting to hide a smile that relays a level of exasperation. “What do you have, then?”
“Just Benadryl…that’s almost expired.”
Matt lets loose another loud exhale and slowly lifts his head to face the ceiling as if sarcastically thanking the universe for letting him fall for someone who seems to be so bad at taking care of themselves. You’d laugh if it wouldn’t lead to a loud coughing fit. 
Pot. Kettle.
“Okay, I’m going to call Karen to see if she can bring some stuff by.”
“I don't–”
He's shaking his head before you even finish your objection. “Sweetheart, you’re so congested you can’t breathe out of your nose, and you've got a 101 degree fever. You need to take something," he tells you, and you know there’s no arguing against this man once he’s set his mind to something.
“How would you know my fever is that high?” Matt gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “Okay, stupid question.”
“Just close your eyes,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “I’m going to bring you a glass of water and some Ibuprofen, and call Karen to see if she can bring anything over.”
You nod miserably, energy suddenly draining and turning you back into a whimpering mess. He leaves the room, kicking his shoes off in the process, and you pick up your phone again once he’s out of sight, a wince twitching on your face at the notification of thirty emails that have popped up in your inbox. You open the app, scrolling down through the messages with a sigh.
“You better not be checking your email right now,” Matt’s voice calls out to you from the kitchen suddenly, and you almost drop your phone onto your face in surprise.
He knows you too well.
“I’m not,” you say as loudly as you can, which is still minimal, but you know he can hear you regardless, so you’re not too concerned. You roll over to place your phone back onto your bedside table with a loud sigh, wrist and arm feeling entirely too weak as it reaches out.
“Liar," is all he responds with, before his voice quiets down again. There’s a brief moment of silence before you pick up on the soft murmur of his voice, no doubt on the phone with Karen. The sound of your cabinet being opened and the faucet being turned on hits your ears, and you sigh at the domesticity of it all. Things of yours have been slowly migrating to his apartment in preparation of the move that’s happening in a month’s time, but there’s just something about him knowing your apartment like the back of his hand and feeling comfortable in a space that’s been solely yours for the past two years.
A few minutes later, he’s walking back into your bedroom, a glass of water in one hand, your dwindling bottle of painkillers in the other, mouth turned up in a soft, soothing smile. He helps you sit up, his arm gently snaking around your shoulders to support you, and encourages you to drink the water and toss back the pills as lips ghost across your forehead.
Even swallowing something cold makes your throat burn on the way down, and you groan in pain. 
He helps you lay back down, easing you backwards and holding your weight so that you don’t just flop back onto the pillows. He pulls his arm out from underneath you and reaches out to set the glass onto your night table as he moves to stand up. You close your eyes again against the light of your room, and you hear the subtle sound of a belt being unbuckled and fabric hitting the chair in the corner. 
Matt lifts up the covers and slides in beside you, his bare skin pressing up against yours as he nudges you onto your side so that he can cradle you from behind. Despite the brief chill, he quickly becomes a furnace pressed against you, and you can’t help the quiet moan that sneaks past chapped lips at the heat you hadn’t known you’d been needing.
“You’ll get sick,” you protest weakly as you settle into his chest, almost immediately soothed by the feeling of his arm wrapping around your waist.
“Don’t worry about me,” he whispers into your ear before leaning over you to kiss your cheek, settling back down behind you when he’s done, the warmth of his kiss still lingering. “Just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Despite the sickness ravaging your body, or maybe because of it, you slip back into an easy sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest behind you settling you the way it always does. Your head is pounding, your whole body aches, and you can’t breathe through your nose, but everything feels better when he’s holding you.
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shaylixie · 1 year
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Matt Murdock Headcanons:
Being soft with him.🧸
Running your fingers through his fluffy, brown hair.
Kissing him over and over again all over his face. The sensation of your soft lips against his skin giving the Daredevil himself butterflies.
Rubbing your face against the side of his, feeling the rough stubble and not minding one bit.
Playing with his fingers. Rubbing circles on his hand, making him melt at the rare moment of gentleness in his life. Kissing his bruised and battered knuckles.
Tracing his many, many, many scars as he hesistantly tells you the story behind each one, not wanting you to worry.
Nuzzling your head in his neck as you sit on his lap, his strong arms cradling you. Hearing your heartbeat pick up as he slowly rubs your back. Tilting your head back to give him a kiss on his neck; his own heartbeat fluttering, thankful that you can't hear it.
Cradling his head against your chest, holding him as though you might lose him any second, knowing that you could. Him dozing off to the sound of your heartbeat, relishing the warmth of your tangled limbs and the sensation of your body pressed tenderly against his.
The gentle slip of your tongue against his. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against yours, moving slowly in sync with one another. The warmth of his breath making you shiver; noses brushing.
The feel of you against him and your faint scent filling his senses, intoxicating him and making him dizzy with pleasure.
Bringing gentleness and tenderness into his life. Showing him the power of a soft love; one that he didn't know he needed this much.
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vampkillr · 1 year
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Scars — Matt Murdock
Tw: Self harm, description of relapse
gn! reader — 1.1k words — hurt/comfort — this fic was written true to my personal experience with self harm. i am not romanticizing this topic. do not read this if you are trying to have some deranged fantasy of it. the descriptions in this fic may be triggering to some readers. please do not continue reading if this topic will impact your mental health. your health and safety are of utmost importance to me.
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My scars were different than his. They told the tale of a different battle. A different addiction. I wasn't a hero like him. He couldn't see the war I was fighting. In a way I was grateful for it. The safety his lack of vision provided. I didn't have to hide myself. There weren't words to describe why I did it. A pain so deep in my bones I had to dig for it. To let it bleed out and let the pressure build once more, only to start the process all over again. With Matt I had to be careful. I had to make sure he couldn't hear it. Smell it. Taste it. This, of course was just a matter of making sure he wasn't there. Everything else was secondary so long as my arm was covered.
It became a ritual. Every night after work to come home and fight the urge. To wait and wait— maybe make a few days clean only to ultimately cave in to that voice in my head. To fill the emptiness on my skin. Once again I found myself staring at my wrist. Blade in hand. Guilt beginning to whisper my name, but the voice louder. How they looked too shallow. How they were all starting to heal. Picking apart the empty spaces and shaming me for not having filled them. It was almost artistic, the lines I placed on myself. Picking and choosing exactly where it was I wanted my blood to spill— and as I started to bleed, I remembered why I loved it so much. I felt warmth. Comfort. My skin cried in a way I couldn't. It dripped. Beaded. It gave me an ache that reminded me I had a heartbeat.
A knock at the bathroom door and the frantic shaking of the doorknob brought me to reality. To regret and disappointment. Ripped away from the peace I had created for myself. “Open the door!” Matthew's voice cut through the wood that separated us. Shit. I took my time getting up, pressing my already bloody cloth onto my arm and going to let Matt in. The second the door was unlocked he barreled through, grabbing me and holding me as tight as he could. “I thought—” His cheek against my head, lips brushing against my ear. “I thought you were trying to kill yourself I couldn't—” I could feel the panic in his chest. In the way he couldn't finish his sentence. “All I could smell was your blood.”
I felt gutted. I scared my only sanctuary. I ruined the safety I found in his normalcy. He knew now the very thing I was trying to hide. “Matthew,” I spoke low, gently trying to coax him off of me. “I'm alright.” I dreaded the possible conversation this would spark. I didn't want him to try to make himself my saint. There was nothing he could tell me that I haven't already heard. He backed away only to hold my arm out for him to analyze. He shut the toilet lid and sat me down, washing his hands and taking the time to pick a thick enough rag. For a minute we stayed silent as he put pressure against my arm, the air of disappointment choking us both. I could see how upset he was. I was upset too. "I'm sorry.” I whispered.
“I didn't know how to talk to you about it....” My eyes trailed his form, the way he towered over me like this. “I didn't know if you wanted to talk about it.” He sighed. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I am.” I tried to reassure him. To reassure myself. We both knew I was lying. I had an issue. A problem that has rooted itself so deep in my brain that I didn't see an end to it. It clouded my vision. My judgement. He let go of my arm, placing both bloody rags in my sink and going on a journey to find my bandages. “I'll get them.” He moved away and I reached for everything I needed, rinsing my arm off and drying it first. Three big band-aids later and I was good as new. I walked over to the couch while Matt made his way to the bar— the light from that god-awful sign outside being the only thing illuminating my path. A purple hue seeping through the vaguely clouded panes, painting the entire room and everything in it. I sat down and he placed a glass of water on the coffee table before sitting across from me. Silence consumed us. Nothing could fix what just happened. There was no space for the conversation to change. A stagnation that neither of us knew how to address. “So you knew?” My voice low.
“The whole time.” His confirmation made me want to sink into myself. Going this long without talking about it, it was no wonder he thought I was trying to die. There was no reason to believe otherwise. “I didn't want to upset you.... I thought you'd come to me when you were ready.” Every time he'd touch me. Every time he'd graze my wrists. Pretending to believe my lies about how they were all old scars. With each question of ‘they're still old?’ he gave me the chance to come forward. With each ‘yes’ I let him know I didn't want to.
“I don't know why I do it.” My arm ached. It hurt worse than before because of how tight Matt was gripping the rag to my arm. “I'm hurting..... I just can't explain how.” I sighed and he got up, coming around to sit next to me on the couch. “A suffering I have to show myself just to know it's real. Maybe I do it just to see myself heal in a way that my brain can't. I don't know.” His hand went to my back. The pressure soothing. “I just can't help myself sometimes. I can't stop.” I leaned over, head in my hands. I just wanted today to be over with.
“Let's go to bed.” Matt gently pulled me off the couch and led me to our room. I didn't have the fight in me to try and stay up any longer. He stripped himself of his black outfit and got under the covers. I followed shortly after, relaxing into his arms as he held me. “I love you.” I didn't have to say anything for him to know that I loved him too. He could feel it. The heat on my skin. My heartbeat. The warmth he covered me in was enough to lull me to sleep. I drifted off surrounded by him.
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u definitely do not have to reblog this !! please don't unnecessarily trigger anyone. i wrote this pretty much to comfort myself so i definitely understand if it doesn't get many notes.
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redahlia-writes · 2 years
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when you hold me. | matt murdock x reader
Prompt: when you hold me, I can feel your heart beating. 
Words: 600ca
Content: tooth-rotting fluff, comfort, established relationship, just matt being clingy
A/N: prompt has been used for din djarin as well
also on AO3  - masterlist
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The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen rests his head on your chest.
It’s his safe place - locked between your legs and arms, head tucked underneath your chin and eyes closed. One of your hands threads through his hair, soothing caresses as your attention is held by a book in your hand, a movie playing on the small screen of your computer.
Still, you hold him, welcome him as soon as he comes back home and doesn’t even stop to get changed - loose tie, discarded jacket and shoes, disheveled hair, Matt reaches for the couch in silence and just takes his place on top of you, groaning tiredly.
It’s ritualistic at this point.
“Long day?” you hum as his eyes flutter shut and he exhales, the feeling of your body pacifying him. “I love my job,” he retorts, mock enthusiasm in his almost slurred words. “I really, really do.”
You chuckle, and the rumble of the soft laughter lures him closer - he could melt into you, disappear in the familiarity of your flesh.
“Have you eaten anything since this morning?” you know him, you know he can get so wrapped up in his work he forgets to take care of himself. At his quiet grumble you sigh, hand trailing down to slowly massage between his shoulders. “Come on, let me make you something.”
“No,” he protests your attempt at getting up and away from him, wrapping his arms around you to entangle the two of you furthermore. “Stay.” “Matty, you need to eat,” you chide gently, still rubbing circles over his spine. When he doesn’t bulge, you sigh again. “How about some takeaway?” he nods, cheek squished against you crumpling your shirt. “You know I’ll have to get up to open the door then, right?”
“Fine,” he grumbles, and squeezes his arms around you once more. “Just stay for now.”
You smile and nod, somehow managing to recover your phone from the coffee table to place the order, never once letting your other hand abandon him, lazily kneading his muscles.
There’s something endearing in the way Matt seeks comfort in you, the way he found himself picking you as his safe place, dropping his defenses fully, allowing you to find your way into his life, offering himself to you with no restraints. It makes you swell with joy, a welcomed ache in your ribs soothed only by his presence.
“When you hold me I can feel your heart beating,” it’s a muffled whisper, a confession worthy of his God.
“Can’t you always hear it?” you wonder, head turned to look down on him - only the crown of his head is visible, and the curve of his back clad in a too-tight white shirt, his legs sticking out of the end of the couch.
“Yes,” he admits, and his hands find their way underneath your shirt, an all too familiar path his palms trace across your skin. “But like this I can just feel it - whispering its secrets to me only, right under my ear.”
He can hear the moment your heartbeat quickens, the ache in you vanishing to nothing.
“What does it tell you?” you can’t help the smile blossoming on your face, hand traveling up to cup his jaw, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. “That I’m so incredibly lucky,” he murmurs, shifting to meet your touch. “So lucky that I get to love you.”
“You really are,” you hum, and as he chuckles you guide his head up towards yours, allowing yourself a moment to just look at his already familiar face. His grins remains as you lean in to kiss him softly, a quick peck before letting him rest down once more. “I love you too, Matt.”
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babyboiboyega · 1 year
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Deep End (Matt Murdock x gn!Reader)
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Deep End (Matt Murdock x gn!Reader)
Content: major character death, angst, profanity, mentions of blood
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: Y’all remember that heartbreaking, angsty Matt Murdock oneshot I mentioned like 2-3 days ago?? Here ya go!
I’ve been in bed for the last three days with COVID (after evading it for three years, it finally got to me), and you’d think I would take all of this downtime to write. The exact opposite, actually. BUT I had enough energy to pump this out, so y’all better not let this flop.
I’m just kidding, I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this! I appreciate any constructive criticism and/or comments!
Stay safe, y’all!
*italics: flashbacks
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A storm had rolled over Hell’s Kitchen, and it was intent on staying. One might have thought that the heavy beating the city took from the rain would keep the darkest of humans and criminals from venturing outside, their minds set on causing fear and chaos; if anything, the rain, thunder, and lightning provided only a cover for the indiscriminate ruthlessness that took over the city at night. 
Unfortunately for those who committed any vile acts, The Devil had no problem venturing outside when it rained, as it only provided an extra distraction for those he hunted. 
It didn’t work as well when he, himself, was also distracted; and tonight, he was possibly the most distracted he had ever been, and he had paid for it in a few ways.  
The shallow cut on his side stung as he ran and leapt across darkened rooftops. His back throbbed from where a lowlife had managed to clip him with a metal bat… all because he had gotten distracted at the sound of his phone ringing. 
He had gotten distracted…by his phone ringing.
But it hadn’t just been any instance of his phone ringing; the ringtone that had permeated the sounds of fighting around him was the one he had assigned specifically to you. It hadn’t been the first time you had called him during his “nightly duties”; but it was different this time around.
The second your ringtone had reached his ears, he had fumbled for a split second as the memories of the last time you two had spoken raced through his mind, the word ‘spoken’ being an understatement for the argument you two had had. 
“I did what I had to do. It was either you or him, and I made the call- and I’d do it again.”
One of Matt’s fists clenched while the other hand raised and rubbed at his face roughly in an attempt to…calm himself? His helmet lay on its side from where he had carelessly dropped it onto the table in frustration. 
Your name left his mouth in a sound that closely resembled an exhausted sigh mixed with a growl. Your chest tightened at the idea that your presence, which he had at one point enjoyed, now caused him nothing but exhaustion and frustration. How did you two get here?
“That wasn’t your call to make, damn it! You killed-'' His unseeing eyes closed as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “You went too far tonight, and you don’t even seem to care. You put yourself in danger tonight doing something reckless, and you don’t seem to care.”
The sudden rush of anger that seized your body surprised even you, but as you spoke quickly and without hesitation, you could see Matt’s jaw clench in retaliation.
“You’re a goddamn hypocrite, Matt. That’s all you do; you go out every night, not caring what condition you’re in, risking yourself and being reckless.”
“Yeah, well when I’m reckless, at least I’m helping people.”
He couldn’t stop the heavy sigh that wracked his body as his feet landed on yet another rooftop that brought him closer to his apartment, yet his footsteps stopped as his thoughts caught up to him. In fact, they only grew more resilient as he slowed down. 
His tongue darted out, gathering rain water and the taste of copper off of his lips before pulling out his phone. He took a few steps until he was under a small awning, leaning tiredly against the brick wall as his hand fiddled with the burner phone. 
His words were sharp, slicing through the atmosphere of confrontation and turning it into one of stone-cold silence. 
Your chest rose and fell heavily, and it wasn’t hard to miss that his chest did the same. Taking in the way his body was closed off, you made the decision there that the conversation was over. There was nothing else to say, as there had already been plenty said. But you couldn’t stop your final words from lashing out; a last attempt to make him feel how you felt.
“Fuck you, Murdock. You and your pointless mission. You can’t help everyone, and I won’t be there when you finally realize that.”
Matt could remember just standing there, listening to your pounding heart and heavy steps as you walked out of his apartment. He remembered listening to your heart, it fading the further you walked from his building until he couldn’t hear it anymore. He remembered denying the way his own heart had thudded painfully in his chest when he couldn’t hear yours anymore.
But he also remembered the feeling of anger and frustration that had taken hold of his body that night, causing him to say words that seemed necessary in the moment, but were clearly counteractive. That same frustration had resulted in him not reaching out to you for almost two weeks, something he was surprised he was able to do.
He had had this idea that you would reach out to him when you were ready; after all, he had said those hurtful words that night while you had only spoken the truth, albeit, in a rather brutal way. Every day he had wanted to reach out to you, but he also knew that if had reached out to you only for you to turn him away, he quite literally wouldn’t know what to do with himself. 
But tonight, you had called him…and he hadn’t answered because he was too busy doing the exact thing that played a factor in your argument. And then, not only did he wait to call back, he also held back from listening to the voicemail you had undoubtedly left, signaled by the extra chime that came from his phone. Every bit of his hesitation came from his own self-sabotaging tendencies, as he was convinced that your call had just been an accident of some sort. 
But then there was a small, yet persistent voice in his mind pointing out that maybe - just maybe -  you needed his help, and the thought of not being there was enough to push his own shame and guilt aside. 
So now here he was, pressing the designated number that he knew was assigned to your name. He hadn’t noticed at first, but as the ringtone sounded, he found himself holding his breath and waiting for one of two things: your voicemail or your voice.
His eyes closed in resignation as the automated voicemail rang out. Admittedly, it made his chest constrict in guilt; but whether or not he’d be going home with more guilt would depend on the voicemail you had sent him. It only took the pressing of a button or two, and then your voice was in his ear…and almost immediately, he was pushing off of the brick wall behind him in alarm, his heart speeding up.
“Matt, it’s…it’s me- shit-”
Your words broke off and he could hear you take a deep, shuddering breath. A grunt sounded out, in your voice, but it seemed to be distanced from the phone, almost as if you had pulled the phone away. The next time you spoke, your voice was clear, but to his dismay, still shaky.
“I know you’re pissed at me, but…I need your help. I…” A noise that sounded close to a repressed cry shook him to his core as it came through the speaker. “I fucked up. It was a setup- the whole thing was a trap.”
“Tell me where you are. Come on…” Matt found himself speaking into the phone as if it were a live call, his own voice shaking in anxiety.
“I’m near 49th a-and 11th. I know I made you mad, but please, Matt I…I need help.”
He had already taken off, his legs pumping as hard and as fast as they could in the direction of the location you had given him. The echoes of your voice growing weaker and more breathy towards the end of the voicemail spurred him on as he bounded across buildings, sliding under and jumping over anything that was in his way.
He wouldn’t let himself think of the fact that the voicemail he had just listened to had been sent at least 15 minutes ago; the voicemail he had put off listening to because of his hesitancy. Matt couldn’t let himself entertain the thought that you were now in a threatening position…all because of his hesitancy. 
His lips moved soundlessly as he ran, sending prayer after prayer that he’d find you in time and that you’d be okay. His mind simultaneously worked on keeping the devil at bay as it snarled, thrashing against the very restraints that kept it at bay for a chance to go after the bastards who had hurt you. 
Though the second his feet landed on the corner of 49th and 11th, all of those thoughts quieted. Almost anyone could have surprised him from how focused he was on listening for any sign of you, but as he picked up the sounds of your soft grunts of pain, no one could have stopped him from getting to you.
You were in a wide alley, propped against the grimey, brick wall of one of the buildings that surrounded it. The scent of blood was strong enough for him to smell over the various disgusting, unknown scents that blanketed the alley, and that realization alone was almost enough to bring him to his knees. But it wasn’t what brought him to his knees; it was the sound of your quick and raspy gasps coming from the middle of the alley. 
His feet quickly took him to where your body was before he dropped to his knees, not caring about the tiny bits of rock and trash he kneeled on. Your name escaped his mouth quietly and then he was reaching for you. Despite your efforts being weak and clumsy, you still tried to push his hands away. In your disoriented mind, the hands didn’t belong to the one person you so desperately wanted to see in the moment; they belonged to the people who had put you in this position; they belonged to the people who had spilled your very life onto the dirty ground around you in a random alley. 
“Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s Matt.” 
“Matt?”
It took a few seconds, but as your brain registered Matt’s voice, your weak efforts stilled. Your hands fell limply to your lap as your eyes sought out his face in the darkened alley. 
Your voice was unrecognizable, but you didn’t have the awareness to be worried about it. Matt, however, was perfectly aware, and it threatened to break him right there.
He couldn’t let it show through his voice, but the terror wracking through his body made him shake. His hand that pressed against the steady flow of blood from your torso shook, as well as the hand that rested against the clammy skin of your cheek. If you were more aware, you’d be able to hear the tremor in his voice as he spoke.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m gonna get you some help, okay? Just…just stay awake for me, can you do that?”
At his words, your head lolled into his palm. He couldn’t see it, but despite the haziness in your gaze, your eyes held the guilt you had been feeling since the last time you had spoken to each other. It was a struggle to do so, your breath hitching every time you tried to speak, but you pushed the words out; you needed him to hear you. 
“Matt, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I said, I’m sorry about tonight. I just wanted to help, that’s all I ever wanted to do.”
While you spoke, Matt worked on pulling out his burner phone and dialing 911, quickly uttering your location to the dispatcher. His fingers slipped slightly from the blood- from your blood that coated his hand; it all threatened to make him sick. 
“You don’t have to say sorry, sweetheart; it wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault. Save your strength.”
The corner of your mouth lifted into a combination of a smile and a grimace, not having enough energy to fully make it into the former. Your vision continued to wane, but you could still see the barely concealed panic on his now completely exposed face. You hadn’t even seen him take off his mask.
“I’m not, Matt. I’m…not making it out of this.”
It hurt to say the words, both physically and emotionally; coming to terms with your own death wasn’t easy in the slightest, but Matt’s presence made it bearable. You couldn’t even feel the agonizing pain that had been wracking your body only minutes ago. 
Matt’s head shook quickly, his wet hair shaking violently along with his movements. 
“Hey, don’t say that. You’re going to be okay- you have to be okay. I just need you to take it easy. Focus on me and focus on keeping your eyes open- hey. Hey! No, no, no…”
Your lips parted to respond, but instead of words coming out, a violent cough seized your body. You could taste copper on the back of your tongue, and it almost seemed as if something heavy was pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. 
Your eyes had slipped shut without you even noticing, and they only opened after Matt tilted your head towards his, desperately calling your name. When he spoke, his voice was softer; resigned; full of a sorrow that permeated the numbness of your subconscious and made tears prick at the corner of your eyes. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it- any of what I said. You do help people- you’ve helped so many people. Please, just keep your eyes open. The ambulance is on its way.”
His words reassured you while simultaneously getting rid of the very small shred of hope you had unknowingly been holding onto that you’d make it out of this alley. There wasn’t an ounce of anger in your body directed at Matt, though. If anything, the last emotion you felt as it grew increasingly difficult to draw in your next breath was a mixture of gratefulness and a bittersweet sorrow. 
You knew that this ending was predictable, especially when it came to you two and your professions; but never did you think you’d end up in this position. Call it blissful ignorance or denial, but you never saw either of you in this moment. But now that it was here, you couldn’t find enough energy to be upset about it. 
“I’m sorry I won’t be there, Matt. Promise me… p-promise me. You’ll…keep…the city…”
He couldn’t have stopped his tears if he wanted to. Your words grew increasingly slurred, and there was a sound deep in your chest he could hear; one that would forever plague his nightmares. The sound was a haunting sign of the inevitable, as was the feeling of your body going completely limp in his arms. 
With a choked sob, he pulled your body until you rested against his chest. His mask lay discarded and forgotten behind him, even as the sound of sirens grew closer. He didn’t care.
His tears mixed with rainwater and your blood as they fell on your skin. His head rested against the top of yours as his pleas and apologies fell on ears that couldn’t hear them anymore. 
The city had taken so much away from him throughout his life, and with every loss, he was closer to going off of the deep end. Throughout the hardest moments, you had been there; the barrier that not only stopped him from doing so but also encouraged him to walk away from that deep end. But you weren’t there anymore; that barrier wasn’t there anymore. 
Throwing his head back, Matthew Murdock let out every single ounce of pain and anger he had held back throughout his years of serving this god-forsaken city…and then he stepped off of the deep end. 
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I hope y’all enjoyed this! Let me know if it made you cry, made you mad, made you feel anything! 
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briefcasejuice · 1 year
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a bad soap opera masterlist / AO3
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author's note: matt, canonically, doesn't have a crooked nose — he's scarily perfect, actually — but there's no way he's been daredevil for this long and doesn't logically have one. anyway, one thought led to another and now there's this. enjoy! word count: 1093 pairing: matt murdock x gender neutral!reader summary: post-patrol interactions with matt differed from night to night, largely depending both your moods and how patrol went; tonight was no different, giving you both a quieter ending to your days. content: nostalgia, food eating, (domestic?) fluff.
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You didn’t stir as Matt dropped through the skylight in the living room; your heartbeat gave a bare indication that you detected his presence, it’s sure beating slow and steady — with comfort and the safety of home — only interrupted by a slight jump.
You were eating cereal by the kitchen island, its lukewarm milk indicating that you’d been sitting there for a while as you chewed slowly, distracted by a show on your phone where it was propped on the bowl of fruit in the centre of the slab of marble. Tearing your eyes away from the screen, you took another spoon full of cheerios, the honey and dairy milk mixing to fill the air with a scent that reminded Matt of Saturday mornings when he was younger — waking up to his father watching reruns of football games or boxing matches he’d missed while out that week, migrating to the kitchen when Matt would ask him to pour his cereal for him.
Your feet swayed back and forth under the stool, an absent habit stirring up air currents and hints of your ‘scentless’ body wash, a strange manufactured smell, wafted towards him. You’d showered not too long before you’d grabbed your bowl of cereal and he smiled thinking of what songs you would’ve sang in there, another habit he’d grown to love. He almost chuckled thinking about how annoying he thought it was at first before you’d gotten a song stuck in his head and he’d found himself (read: foggy pointed it out) humming it at work. It was like having a little piece of you there with him and suddenly it wasn’t so annoying anymore.
Coming up behind you, his left hand kneading a sore muscle in his abdomen, you made a noise of acknowledgement, raising the spoonful of cheerios to his face. He went to eat it, his mask rubbing against his cheek strangely as he stuck his head out to take the milk and soggy hoops of cereal into his mouth. He bumped his face against the side of your forehead as you went to take another spoonful, a clumsy attempt at a kiss with a mouthful of food that had you murmuring, “Yuck, you’re sweaty. Go take a shower.”
He swallowed and chuckled, giving you a proper kiss on your forehead and trailing down your face, branding your skin with his lips. Your left eye closed when he made his way past it and you licked at bits of milk in the corner of your mouth before he could kiss there.
“Can’t hang out with you first?” he asked, his voice intentionally dropping an octave, intentionally low and enticing where his lips remained by your ear. Seasoned Matt-sitter, you shook your head, chewing on your cheerios as you erected a hand over your full mouth and spoke anyway.
“Nuh-uh- I showered and I don’t wanna shower again,” your voice was muffled by cereal but a small smile played on your lips. He groaned, the sound full of sarcastic pain and layered over a whispered, “Damn,” before he walked backwards towards the counter where you’d left the box of cereal out. Going back to your show, you tapped the left side of the screen a few times for the bits you missed while dealing with Matt’s tomfoolery. He opened the fridge for some milk, bathing the otherwise dark room in a harsh white light that had you squinting.
“What’re you watching?” he enquired, his back still turned as he poured milk into his cereal.
“I dunno, some random show Jessica ‘n Luke recommended,” you mumbled, not looking up, “Never trusting their taste again. I think being parents has ruined it.”
Matt let out a sudden little ha, “I’ll be sure to let them know.”
“Don’t! Jessica’ll kill me,” you put all the sarcastic fear you could into your voice, earning yourself one of his larger laughs, his head thrown backwards.
Putting the milk back in the fridge he joined you at the only other stool at the kitchen island. You watched as he sat beside you; with the apartment dark — save for the lights that came with living in New York, flooding through the glass walls of this borderline penthouse along with the light from your phone, dimmed by a white light filter — you could understand how people could be afraid of daredevil, his silhouette large and looming. Despite your realisation, your body didn’t skip a beat, affection running so deeply you smiled when you caught a strand of fiery hair peeking out the top of the mask.
Going to poke him in the abdomen as he passed you, he swatted at your finger before you could even unhinge your elbow to reach out to him.
“Not when I’m holding my dinner, thank you very much,” he said a-matter-of-a-factly.
“You need a better diet,” you shot back.
“And risk comfortable nights like this? No chance.” he said, sitting down and scooching over closer to you before wiggling atop the stool, getting comfortable. Once situated, you pinched the edge of his mask and pulled it off, setting it on the counter in front of you — not missing the way his shoulder muscles tensed up slightly at the contact. His hair was a mess, it’d grown long enough to push behind his ears but he didn’t make any attempt to in the moment, the larger amount of it hanging down in his face. He went to take a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, using the back of his palm to toss it over his head and when it laid there so perfectly, almost styling itself, you rolled your eyes.
He was still listening to the show you had on, his eyebrows raising as it got to its climax and it was only when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it, that you noticed you were staring and looked away.
“Had your fill, hm?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you grumbled, setting your chin in your palm, your elbow planted on the counter top, “Your nose is crooked, y’know.”
“And yet you still call me pretty everyday,” he hummed, taking another spoonful into his mouth. You leaned forward and took his chin between your fingers, kissing the side of his nose, right beneath his eye. It was clumsy but he smiled, his cheeks full of cheerios. He’s adorable.
“Those facts can coexist,” you spoke against his skin, “I love your crooked nose.”
He swallowed, humming. “And I love you.”
You raised your eyebrows and nodded before sarcastically adding, “You tell me everyday.”
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all feedback/criticism is appreciated! i do not give permission for this or any of my fanfiction to be reposted or translated without my consent.
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I Have ADHD
Fandom: Daredevil (MCU) Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral) Warnings: none? Bit of swearing and dangerous driving, basically just author indulging in self-indulgent writing Word Count: 1643 words Summary: You're late to an ADHD consultation appointment and you're terrifying the shit out of your boyfriend Matt by driving like a maniac.
A/N: So this is 100% a self-indulgent fanfic. I just got diagnosed with ADHD and it was genuinely one of the happiest moments of my life. So I decided to share this joy with anyone who wants to read it. I couldn’t stop smiling when I wrote this, just like I couldn’t stop smiling (and crying and laughing) when I got my diagnosis.
A/N 2: This has no relation to the show Daredevil at all (besides Matt being there) so you don’t need to have watched it to enjoy this fic. I honestly don’t expect many people to read it because this is pure indulgence, but if any of you do, I hope you enjoy 💖
A/N 3: I’d like to give a huge shoutout to my wonderful friend and beta-reader @221birl1823 for reading this and for being a huge support in this journey for me. Thank you for everything; this one’s for you.
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“I’m late. I’m late. I’m fucking late.” You swerved through the traffic and flapped your hand at the car behind you when they slammed on their brakes and leaned on their horn. “Shit sorry sorry.”
“Killing us isn’t going to get you there any earlier,” Matt remarked dryly.
“Not helping.” But when you turned to glare at him, you noticed the death grip your boyfriend has on the dashboard and the slight green tinge to his cheeks. You eased up on the accelerator a bit and sighed. “Sorry, baby. I’m just stressed. I’ve been waiting for this appointment for six months and I’m late.”
You glanced at the clock again. 11:58. Your appointment was at midday, and you were still ten minutes away.
“I know.” He reached over to grip your hand in his, before ripping away to grip the dash again as you sped through a yellow light. “Just please get us there alive.”
Reluctantly, you did as he asked. Anyone else you probably would have told them to suck it up, but for Matt you’d do anything. Even be later than you already were. Plus, you couldn’t imagine it was fun being blind and being at the mercy of a speeding maniac. There was a reason he rarely let you drive—and it had nothing to do with living in New York.  
When you were finally at a sensible pace again, Matt reached over to slide his fingers between yours. “Hey.”
You glanced over, squeezing his hand to let him know you were paying attention.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
You furrowed your brow. You’d expected some kind and loving words, not him asking you to dredge up all your anxieties. But he had that earnest look on his face you never could say no to.
“Well, they could tell me I’ll have to wait longer which will only make me stress more. Or they’ll cancel my appointment for being late without notice. Or they’ll kick me out for good saying I should have gotten there earlier because they’re a fancy private fucking practice and they could do that!” As you listed all the worst-case scenarios you could, your anxiety started rising once more. You slammed on the brakes to avoid running up someone’s arse and flicked them the finger when they beeped at you.
“Okay. Well, if you have to wait longer, I’ll be with you to calm you down. If they cancel your appointment for being—” he checked the time “—six minutes late, then we’ll book it for the very next time we can, or demand to see someone else.” He tugged on your hand for your attention again. “And if they throw you out permanently, we’ll sue them.”
You snorted, leaning into him as you waited for the lights to turn green. “It’s a good thing I happen to know two great lawyers.”
He kissed your forehead. “Definitely a good thing. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it at all. You’ll be okay. It’ll go perfectly.”
You didn’t let go of him as you slammed on the accelerator and overtook a truck, and he gripped your hand tighter as you did.
You glanced at the clock again. 12:07. Anxiety stirred in your throat at the sight, but you took a deep breath and focused on the circles Matt was drawing on the inside of your wrist.
Everything’s going to be okay, you reassured yourself. It doesn’t matter that I’m late. It’s not the end of the world. If I have to wait longer that’s okay, and if they try to kick me out, I’ll glue my ass to that seat until someone’s free.
You took another breath, calming down before a car suddenly swerved in front of you. You tore your hand from Matt’s with a curse and swerved to the other lane, narrowly missing a motorcycle.
“You fucking asshole!” You glared at the other driver as you passed her. “Where’d you learn to drive? The fucking moon?”
She flipped you off without looking and you snarled as you rounded a corner.
“Are you talking about yourself?” Matt asked faintly.
You snorted, your mood rising instantly, and you pried his hand from the dash and wrapping it in yours. You pressed a kiss to the back of it, only smiling a little. “What are you saying about my driving, Murdock?”
“That you’re a menace.”
You grinned. Turning into the driveway, you slipped into a free park. “We’re here.”
“Next time we’re taking a cab.”
“A cab can’t make up for lost time like I can. If we’d gotten a cab, we’d have been late.”
“Later than we already are?”
You poked him in the chest, outraged. “Too soon.” You locked the car behind you and headed in.
Before you got to the door and your nerves could rise anymore, Matt grabbed your hand. “Hey, you’ll be okay. This is an ADHD clinic. They’re used to dealing with people with poor time management.”
You let out a shaky breath. “So I guess it’s a point in my favour that I’m late to a consultation where one guy decides if I meet the criteria another guy made up?”
His smile was a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Come find me when you’re done.”
With that he headed towards the coffee shop two doors down and you headed inside to face the music.
~~~
“We’ll start you off slowly, half a tablet today, two halves tomorrow, one and a half on day 3 and then two from then on. Try not to take them after midday as they could keep you awake later in the night.” The doctor folded his notebook. “Any questions?”
“Ah yeah, one.” You rubbed your fingers, squeezing the tension out of them. “So when I walk out of that door—” you gestured at the closed door to his office “—I have ADHD? Like I’m officially diagnosed with ADHD?”
He smiled. “Yes. You have ADHD.”
The air left you in a rush. “Okay. Right. Thank you.”
He nodded, turning back to his computer, and started typing up your script. You pressed you hand to you mouth to cover your laugh as you replayed the words in your head. You have ADHD. You have ADHD.
You blinked the tears from your eyes, dabbing at the corners. Holy shit. I have ADHD.
You grabbed a tissue from the box beside you, dabbing the corner of your eyes before you could make a fool of yourself.
The doctor glanced at you. “Are you alright?”
You breathed out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m just so relieved.”
He smiled kindly. “It’s often a relief to finally get a diagnosis.”
“So much.” You squeezed the tissue in your hands and sat back in the chair like your muscles couldn’t hold you up.
“Here’s your script.” He handed it to you. “You can get this filled at any pharmacy, and you can start taking it this afternoon, if you like. Just remember to follow the schedule I gave you.”
You nodded quickly. “Of course. Yes. Thank you so much.”
He stood up and you followed him to the door. “You do look relieved. And lighter than when you walked in.”
“So damn relieved.” You laughed a little. “Thank you so much.”
“Have a good day.”
When asked later, you couldn’t remember much of what followed, of paying, of booking a follow up appointment, of anything but the thoughts: I have ADHD.
It wasn’t until you were outside that it finally hit you emotionally and you couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your cheeks. You stumbled blindly to your car, tears pouring down your cheeks and laughter spilling from you.
“Hey.” Twin familiar arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “How’d it go?”
You spun around to face your boyfriend. “You didn’t hear?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I wasn’t listening. I didn’t want to intrude on that.” Matt reached up to cup your cheeks. “You’re crying…and you’re laughing. What’d he say?”
“I have ADHD!” You threw your hands up in the air, smiling the biggest smile you ever had.
“Yeah?” Matt pulled you close and a grin bloomed on his face to match yours before he spun you in a circle. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations, sweetheart! I’m so happy for you!”
“Me too!” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck when he didn’t put you down. “I have ADHD! Officially! Actually! It’s not in my head! I’m not lazy! I’m not making this up! I have ADHD!”
“I never doubted you for a second.” Matt pressed his forehead to yours, smiling so hard his cheeks must have ached. “I can’t believe you finally got it!”
You laughed, biting your lip. “I finally got it! After all these years and all the assholes saying I didn’t, I finally got it. The confirmation I needed!”
He spun you in another circle and you let out a shrieking laugh before you stopped. “Wait. I have to tell Megan!” You pushed at his shoulders until he let you go. “They’ve been with me every step of the way! I have to tell them the good news! Ahh! They’re going to be so happy for me!”
Matt let you go with a laugh as you ran into the car park, your phone out and your smile so wide your cheeks ached. He blinked when you stopped and spun around to face him again.
“Almost forgot.��� You leapt into his arms, knowing he’d catch you as he always did. Being in his arms always felt like the safest place on earth. And right now, it was the happiest too. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a soft kiss. Pulling away, you rested your head against his, smiling like mad as you said, “Thank you, baby. Thank you for helping me through this and being there for me whenever I needed it.”
His eyes crinkled in the corners, and he leaned into your touch. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
You have ADHD. The words ran through your head, and you felt so giddy you wanted to scream and laugh and leap for joy. “I have ADHD!” you whispered.
“Yeah, you do, baby. You have ADHD.”
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A/N: Like I said, purely self-indulgent. I just want to add, my experience of ADHD and diagnosis isn’t universal. This fic is purely about me expressing my relief and happiness over finally getting a diagnosis that has been slowly wrecking me for far too long. I honestly still can’t believe it. And I can’t stop smiling!
Comments and reblogs are much loved 💖💖💖
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1800-fight-me · 2 years
Note
Congrats on 2k! How about "I really want to kiss you right now." With Matt?
Distraction
Matt Murdock x gn!Reader (No Y/N)
Rating: M- This is 18+ so minors better get off my lawn!!
Warnings: Allusions to sex
Word count: Nearly 500
Author’s note: Thank you and thank you for this ask! I intended to make this sweet but my horny thoughts for Matt immediately took control... I make no apologies.
P.S. Here’s a link to my masterlist if you’d like to check out my other writing! And here's my Matt Murdock masterlist!
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You stared at him while he worked. He’s so goddamn pretty sometimes you forget to breathe. He’d agreed to allow you to come to the office because you promised you would be good and not distract him from all of his very important lawyer work that you didn’t understand. 
You were supposed to be doing work of your own but you couldn’t possibly focus on it as Matt sighed in frustration and yanked his tie off. 
His jaw clenched as he ticked it to the side and you had a memory of another time he took his tie off. 
That time he used it to tie your hands together above your head as he laid you back on his bed and….. You shook your head to try and clear your thoughts. You really needed to get a grip and not let your horny thoughts get the best of you. 
You need to be supportive and not be a distraction to your boyfriend. 
Clearly this new case wasn’t going well so far if his many late night work sessions and annoyed sighs were any indication. 
You bit your lip and held in your sigh of longing. Why does he look so hot when he’s frustrated? 
“Sweetheart,” he said in a warning tone. 
“Yeah?” you squeaked out, entirely too flustered already. 
“I thought you had work to do,” he said in a teasing tone. 
You cleared your throat and looked down at the papers laid out in front of you. 
“I do. I totally do. I am so focused,” you said unconvincingly. 
“Mmmhmm.” He had a smirk adorning his pretty pink lips and you were immediately distracted again. 
He stood and walked over to you. He leaned down and placed his hands on either side of the desk in front of you as he pressed his chest to your back. 
“What are you thinking about?” His cheek grazed yours as he nuzzled you. 
“Um…” 
His nose traced your jaw then down your throat before you heard him take a deep breath. 
“Mmmmm…I think I know what you’re thinking sweetheart, but tell me anyway,” he said, his voice low and deep in that way that made you clench your thighs together. 
“I-I really want to kiss you right now,” you breathed out. 
“Oh? Really, is that all?” he teased as he pressed soft open mouthed kisses to your neck. 
You sighed and laid your head back on his chest in order to give him better access. 
“Maybe I was thinking about a bit more… I just didn’t want to be a distraction,” you said breathlessly. 
He spun you around in your chair and leaned over you to press his full lips to yours. 
“I like when you distract me,” he said with a smirk as he pulled back. 
“Oh thank god,” you said and you kissed him desperately. 
You managed to distract him the rest of the night and well into the next morning, much to your delight.
Everything taglist:
@spideysimpossiblegirl @dinandgone @ohpedromypedro @littlemisspascal @tombraider42017 @kirsteng42 @just-here-for-the-moment @salome-c
Matt Murdock Taglist:
@mindidjarin @hotnmad @samwisethegr8 @catholicdaredevil @sobachka-korol @carters-things @enjoymyloves
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devils-dares · 1 year
Note
when you have the chance, can you write about matt x touch deprived! reader?
hi! thanks for your request. I'm working my way through the requests i got before i closed them.
-----
“Hey there, koala bear.” He says as you wake. Koala bear was an apt nickname for you, as you woke up holding his forearm in your hands and your head resting on his shoulder.
“Good morning.” You say, moving off his arm back onto your pillow. Matt gasps at the pins and needles that flood his arm when you get off, clenching and unclenching his fist to get the blood flowing.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks.
“Like a baby, sorry for taking your arm.” He shakes his head.
“Don’t apologize, it’s cute.”
You watched as he got ready, brushing his hair and buttoning his shirt. You took his tie from him and tied it for him. It took you much longer to do it and it always came out slightly crooked, but he’d wear it proudly with the distinction that you did it for him.
“Are you sure you have to leave?” You ask, climbing out of bed as he puts his suit jacket on.
“Sadly, yes.” He opens his arms as you walk directly into his chest, holding him close and hearing his heartbeat.
“I’m gonna miss you.” He laughs, wrapping his arms around you.
“I’ll miss you too, bug.”
-----
Matt’s favorite time of day was when he came home, whether from the office or patrol. He’d always brace himself for impact when you got up from wherever you were resting.
“Matty!” You yell and he grunts as you hug him.
“Hi honey.” He says, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. You rest your head on his shoulder as he walks the two of you through the apartment and sits you down on the couch in his lap.
“How was your day?” You ask, your finger coming up to trace his face, feeling his days old stubble prickle under your touch.
“It was good, missed you.”
“I missed you too, my love.”
“Alright, let me change and then I’ll cook dinner for us.”
“I can cook dinner, you just came home.”
“And I know you’ve been working all day too, let me cook.”
-----
Cooking with you was also Matt’s favorite time of day. You’d come padding out into the kitchen and cling to him while he stirred the food. He’d sway back and forth while you held on to him, muttering something about how it was a crime how warm he always was. Today was no different.
His head rested on top of your chin, hand on your back as he held you close with the other stirring the food. He puts the spoon down for a minute and holds you, burying his nose in your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist.
“Have I told you I love you?” He asks, smile growing when he hears your laugh.
“You tell me just about every five minutes.”
“Unacceptable, I have to make it two at the most, I love you.”
“I love you too, Matthew.”
-----
The shower shutting off is what woke you in the middle of the night. You blinked awake, rubbing the sleep away as you heard the bathroom door open.
“Matt?” You call out.
“Sorry, bug. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He walks to the dresser to pull on a pair of sweats.
“Was it a busy night?”
“Quiet night, first in a while, only got a few bruises.”
“No blood?”
“No blood.”
“Good, c’mere.” You pull on his arms to have him lay down, his head on your chest over your heart.
“Sleep, Matt.” Your fingers card through his hair, a tried and true method of putting him to sleep quickly and sure enough, his soft snores fill the room.
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allllium · 4 months
Text
I Promise I'll Try
~ This started off as fluff. I'm not exactly sure how it turned to angst but once I started writing it I couldn't stop 😭
~ Angst, WC: 1,417
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~ Reader stays up for Matt ~
Making brownies at three in the morning is rarely a good idea. Not when you have to work early in the morning and especially not when you have a super-hearing, super-smelling, vigilante boyfriend who specifically told you not to wait up for him because you have work in the morning. 
But it’s two years into your relationship, and honestly, he should know you'll never listen by now. So now you are making chocolate chunk brownies at three in the morning because Matt has infected your soul and made you unable to sleep without him. Being a cuddler and having Daredevil as a boyfriend doesn't always work out. 
You’re humming in the kitchen as you take the brownies out of the oven. The smell of chocolate drifts over the apartment, decorated in lights for the holidays. You turn around to set the freshly baked treats on the counter. “Holy fuck! Why do you do this to me?” You put the brownies on the counter before leaning over to place a hand on your heart, trying to calm down from the mini heart attack your boyfriend just gave you.
“I've been here for at least a minute.” Matt shrugs.
“And what? You were just watching me?” You look at the man in his red suit, eyes wide in confusion and slight embarrassment, while your heart continues to beat rapidly.
“It was cute.” He pulls off the helmet of his suit. “You're supposed to be sleeping.”
You begin to clean up your mess in the kitchen. “I was waiting for you.” 
“I told you not to wait for me. You have to work in the morning.”  He steps closer and pulls you out of the kitchen. 
“Hey, I was trying to clean that.” You point back towards the kitchen with your one free hand. 
“I can do that in the morning.” He drags you into the bedroom and pushes you to sit on the bed. When he makes you sit on the bed, you notice the soft grunt he lets out, clearly trying to hide it from you. 
“Matt, what's wrong? Did you get hurt?” The smile immediately leaves your face. Worry floods your body at his expression. 
“No, I’m fine, just tired.” He grabs clean clothes out of the dresser and heads to the bathroom. 
“Mhm. Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong.” Two years, and he still refuses to talk to you about the ‘Daredevil’ side of him. It's getting tiring. 
“There's nothing wrong. I already told you I'm fine.” A thin layer of frustration covers his voice. 
As he changes into his new clothes, you can see him wiping blood off the side of his neck. “Great, so that blood I see just magically appeared?” 
“Can’t you just leave it alone? Let’s just go to bed.”
“I’m not just going to leave it alone until you tell me why you’re bleeding.”
“I can deal with it myself. You’re supposed to be going to bed.” You stand up and go into the bathroom with him. 
“Oh yeah, 'cause God forbid I care about you, right? Sit down.” You point him toward the toilet. He’s still standing when you grab the med kit from the cabinet. “Matthew, sit down.” 
“You know what I do. You know I get hurt. You said you've accepted that.” He sits down, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.
“No, I have accepted what you do. I have accepted that sometimes you’ll get injured, but I will never be okay with you lying to me.” You start doing your best to fix his injuries as you talk.
“If I say I'm fine, then I’m fine.” To say the feeling in the apartment has shifted from earlier in the night would be a massive understatement. It doesn't feel like the warm apartment you were baking in just a few minutes ago. Now, it’s cold and full of unnerving tension.
“No, you’re not. You can tell me you’re fine as much as you want, and I’ll never believe you. I get to spend every night knowing you're probably going to get hurt, and if you do, you are going to go to Claire first, and you're never going to tell me. I get to find out you’re hurt when I see the bruises or the stitches or whatever else shows up. You want to know why I stay up for you every night? I can't sleep until I know you're coming home. I need to see you to know you’re okay instead of hoping you’ll wake me up if you need help. Which we both know you won’t do.” You finish dressing his last wound. “I’m going to bed.” 
You put the medkit back in the cabinet far more aggressively than you meant to, but you're too annoyed to care. Just as you turn to leave the bathroom, Matt grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him. “Stop. Sweetheart, we need to talk about this.” 
“Can't. I have work in the morning.” You know you need to talk to him, but you'd rather not discuss this while you're this angry.
“Baby, c'mon.” He still has a hold on your wrist.
You pull out of his grip and head back for the bedroom. “I already said what I needed to say. We can talk tomorrow.”
You turn off the light and sink into the plush bed. Unable to fall asleep, you lay in bed staring at the wall. Matt’s in the other room, clearly trying to give you space. 
After what feels like hours, your boyfriend slips into bed behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist under the blankets. “I'm sorry.” He whispers.
“I know, but unfortunately, that's not enough to change anything.” You can't help but lean back into his touch, even with your anger.
“I don't mean to hurt you, sweetheart. I just don't want to make you worry.” You know that. Matt tends to downplay his problems because he feels he doesn't deserve the care you want to give him. 
You turn in his arms to face him. Your heartstrings pull when you see the expression on his face. Fear and sadness are deep in his eyes. “You think not telling me is going to worry less? I am always worried that you're hiding some serious injury. I would worry a lot less if I knew exactly how you are hurt and if you let me help you get better.”
“You don't need to look after me all the time. You don't deserve that.” 
“That's not for you to decide, baby. I like taking care of you. And I don't deserve to be lied to.” 
“Lying keeps you safe. The last thing I want is someone coming after you because I can't keep you safe.” With every word spoken, your anger slowly dissolves. You know why he does what he does, but sometimes the frustration builds up, and it seems the logic leaves your mind. 
“If no one knows who you are, they won't know who I am either.” You swipe a strand of loose hair off his face, his lips twitching up into a small smile at your touch.
“If anything happens to you, I don't think I'd be able to live.” His eyes show you nothing but honesty.
“Don't say things like that.” You scold him.
“It’s true. I just want to keep you away from the side of me that could put you in danger.”
“Letting me help you or telling me when you get hurt won't put me in danger.” Matt shifts his position, lying on his back and moving you to set your head on his chest. He lets out a long sigh.
“I know. But it still terrifies me.” You hook your leg over his waist and tilt your head to get a better look at him. His voice is quiet like he's having a hard time admitting it. 
“Well, we need to do something. I love you too much to let this hurt our relationship.” 
“We will. I'll fix it, I promise.” 
“Don’t make promises you can't guarantee. That'll be worse than lying.”
“I promise I'll try to fix it.”
“Thank you.” You fall into a comfortable silence before being cut off by your yawn.
“Go to sleep, baby. We can talk more tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay, I love you.” You give him a soft kiss and lean back against his chest.
“I love you too.” And you hope that'll be enough.
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courtforshort15 · 1 year
Text
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My Own Worst Enemy
Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader
Word Count: 5,400
Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.
Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)
Masterlist
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You were a hypocrite. A dirty rotten hypocrite. To the highest extreme. For all you spoke about Matt needing to talk to someone, to develop healthy coping mechanisms for all the pain and trauma he had endured, you've struggled to do the same.
Struggled, and often failed.
The first time you slipped since you’d started dating him, it was easy enough to pass off as an accident. The man was a human lie detector, sure, but you had learned by now that if you spoke enough of the truth, he couldn't always pick up on the part you kept hidden from him. You hated to admit it, but you sometimes took advantage of it, telling yourself that it would hurt him to know the truth, that he was better off not knowing where your thoughts sometimes strayed into a depression so encompassing that you struggled to breathe.
"What happened here?" he asked as he cradled your wrist gently in his hands. Your wrist wasn't bleeding, per se, but it was rubbed raw to the point where it was red and patches of skin were missing. It was sore and agitated, washed with a bar of soap that had left it stinging even more, the flesh angry in the face of your failure to seek help instead of hurting yourself.
"Oh," you said, eyeing the mark as casually as possible, voice wavering just the tiniest amount, "I just scratched myself. No big deal." He pressed a kiss to the skin next to it tenderly, before sliding his fingers through yours and focusing back on the notes his computer was reading back to him through the ear buds that were squished into his ears.
No further questions on his end, and you sighed in relief, masking it as a yawn and leaning back into the couch, energy zapped out by a seemingly simple question and a feigned simple response.
You'd scratched yourself, yes, so that part wasn't a lie. But he didn't know it had been done on purpose.
He didn't know that the pain had soothed you at the time. Matt was a bit of a masochist himself, ending most of his nights bleeding and bruised, not because he necessarily enjoyed it, but because he believed it was a small price to pay for keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. He may not enjoy the pain, but he enjoyed the release of anger, the letting go of every frustration experienced by the law not being enough to help innocent people, enjoyed the opportunity to use his abilities and not be forced into the lie of being an ordinary blind man.
If Matt knew that you purposefully hurting yourself, for nothing other than taking your mind off the ache in your heart, there might be a part of him that understood, but it would not stop the overwhelming sense of horror.
When he noticed the second time, it was during a night out at Josie's, celebrating the end of a grueling work week with Foggy and Karen, both of whom were sharing a bottle of the worst tasting liquor you had ever had the displeasure of drinking. Sometimes you weren’t sure if it was because they actually enjoyed it, or if they were still trying to drink frugally despite the recent success and profit of Nelson, Murdock & Page. You joined halfway through the night, stumbling up to their table in desperate need of a drink after a meeting that had lasted far too long into the evening hours. 
By the time you got there, they were all halfway on their way to drunk, Matt included, his lips tilted into a relaxed smile that was far too charming. He stood up with a loud exclamation of your name, reaching forward to pull you into him and laying an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth as you laughed. When he stepped back, his hand drifted down your arm to pull you by the wrist in an effort to bring you to the empty chair by his, but you hissed as his fingers inadvertently trailed down the large scratch that had been carved into your forearm.
Matt seemed to have noticed it at the same time you tried to pull away, frowning as he pushed your sleeve up. His head tilted curiously as it always when he found a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.
"What happened here?" His words were slightly slurred, and you were grateful that while his attention was on you, it definitely wasn’t the typical extreme laser-focus you were used to, likely due to the liquor coursing through his veins. 
You gave the same excuse.
"Nothing, just scratched myself." A pause, a nod, and the subject was easily forgotten. Matt, normally so astute and observant, smiled when he was assured that you were ok, and pulled you back in for another kiss. Foggy and Karen took turns greeting you, Josie handed you your normal drink order, and the night passed on without incident. 
It wasn't like you liked doing it, enjoyed hiding things from him, enjoyed hurting yourself. He didn't make it easy to keep things from him, at any rate, usually so perceptive and in tune with your every word and reaction. And it wasn't like it happened all the time; it was spaced out enough that it didn't seem like a pattern. The marks were definitely not bad enough to warrant much attention, unlike the cuts and bruises and fractured ribs he came home with. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you knew. Something you did, something you felt like you’d always done, even while telling Matt that he had his own unhealthy coping mechanisms he needed to watch out for.
This was just something that had followed you for years, decades even. Medication. Therapy. A brief stint in a psychiatric hospital. You'd done it all. And it wasn't like your depression was something you were afraid to talk about. It was just something that never came up, and you didn't know how to work it into a conversation.
How did you bring it up to Foggy, who had literally walked in on his best friend bleeding to death on his apartment floor?
How did you bring it up to Karen, a woman with a past drug addiction that had been partly to blame for the death of her brother; a woman who had been forced to kill a man just so that she could keep herself and her friends safe?
How did you bring it up to Matt, beautiful, adoring Matt, who treated you like you were the most precious thing in his life? How did you bring it up to a man whose father had been shot in an alley not too far from his home, a man who had held his ex-girlfriend in his arms while she died, not once, but twice?
They...they had real things they were dealing with, had already dealt with. And you...you were just someone with a brain whose hormone imbalance was off, which sometimes led to days where you couldn't get out of bed because you were so depressed.
Compared to them, what did you have to be depressed about?
And yet...it was this shadow that was always hanging over you. A monster hiding within it, behind your back, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws into you. You liked to think that you were able to fight it off 90 percent of the time.
But sometimes you failed.
Being with Matt was the easiest thing in the world. It was like breathing, like the puzzle pieces of you were always meant to find the puzzle pieces that made up him. Where he moved, you moved. Where he went, you followed. You were a well-oiled machine together, something that would run to the very end if it was given the right care and attention. 
He made it easy to forget the way the depression sank in occasionally. He was good at unintentionally, unknowingly chasing it away, though he had no idea of the monster he was inadvertently fighting on your behalf. But sometimes even he wasn't enough, just like you weren't always enough to pull him out of his head. It was just the reality of how things were, you supposed. 
He was a busy man, though he never made you feel like anything less of a priority. But sometimes life happened, and his attention was forced elsewhere, or you had deadlines you had to make, and things just got lost in the shuffle. You couldn't be around each other all of the time. And even if you could, these feelings would still find a way to sink in, like they always did.
You could feel an episode coming on. You'd felt it for the past few days. Sometimes the depressive episodes snuck up gradually, as if they were giving you a warning, and other times you ran head first into one. You weren't sure what was worse: being given time to prepare, with the sinking feeling of what was coming, or living life like normal, only to be smacked so hard in the face with it without warning. 
You found yourself instinctively drawing in on yourself. It was relatively easy to do this time. Matt was in the middle of a large case, and you'd made the decision to give him space to focus on the trial. You knew how much you meant to him, even while you could see that he was grateful for the extra quiet time at home to prepare. 
Foggy was in the same situation as Matt, and Karen was off visiting Frank in some undisclosed town in the Midwest. Three of your major support systems were currently wrapped up in other important things that absolutely deserved their undivided attention, and it was just a perfect time for the depression to sneak up, ensnare you in its clutches, and yank you back into its hold, this time without anyone to hold your hand and protect you against something they didn’t even know about.
You could feel it clawing up your throat, the tears and panic, and you knew it was going to be one of those nights. A night where you'd struggle to breathe, struggle to think, struggle to ground yourself in a reality where you knew you mattered and had people who loved you unconditionally.
Sometimes, all the support systems you had thoughtfully and carefully selected and put into place were knocked down by the force of a tornado that ran through your brain. Utterly paralyzed by the panic and sadness that was roaring through you, its force stronger than you'd felt it in a while, you found yourself needing to...scratch. 
So you did, and the pain grounded you, as it always did, pulling off layer and layer of skin with nothing but a fingernail and desperation to carve deeper into flesh. And when you were done, the relief was equally matched by the failure and shame.
"Sweetheart?"
A gasp tore its way out of your throat as you turned sharply around, reaching out to grab the kitchen counter as your balance wobbled. You’d gotten up to wipe the mark down with alcohol wipes, wary of an infection setting in. He was standing in all black, no doubt in the middle of his route through Hell's Kitchen, given the time of night.
"Hey, Matt," you said weakly, moving in front of the alcohol wipes still on the counter, as if placing your body between them and him would actually hide them from his senses. "Are you...did you finish for the night?"
He didn't say anything as he slowly removed his mask. Once it was in his hand and no longer over his face, you winced as his head tilted, his unfocused eyes landing on your hip, just a few inches above the line you had just carved into your thigh, skin bare except for the thin pajama shorts you were wearing. 
"I..uh. I was making my way through the city when I heard you crying," he told you softly, his focus still on the patch of skin that was on display and blood he could no doubt smell. "What is that?"
"Nothing, I just--"
"Don't tell me you just scratched yourself on something," he said, heat slowly seeping into his voice. "That's what you've been telling me, hasn't it?"
"I--"
"I thought maybe I was imagining things." Matt's voice was gradually getting louder and you couldn’t help but wince again, eyes shifting away from the downturn of his mouth. "But I wasn't, was I? You did this to yourself on purpose."
"Matt," you managed to choke out as your fist tightened around the alcohol wipe you’d briefly used to clean the scratch to prevent infection. "Please don't--"
"Please don't what?" he asked incredulously, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the tone, eyes lowering again so that you couldn’t see the look on his face. "Please don't get upset? You hurt yourself. You made yourself bleed, and you want me to...what? Not talk to you about it? Pretend it's not what it is?"
"Please don't yell at me," you whimpered, burrowing your head in your hands, unable to stop the tears from coming in full force, shame lighting up your skin like a failed firework that does nothing but burst into flame. "Please don't be mad at me."
"Mad at you?” he asked with a gasp, the words still somehow sharp. “I'm not mad....I'm horrified." You jerked back so hard your knee almost gave out, hurriedly opening the distance between the two of you blindly, your hip bumping painfully into the counter behind you. "I'm horrified that this has been happening for months and I...I didn't pick up on it."
Matt sounded so broken that you dropped your hands from your face, eyes trailing over his form through your tears. His head was bowed, and his hands were shaking. It only made you cry harder.
"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice every bit as broken. "I'm so sorry."
"No, sweetheart," he whispered as he tilted his head back in your direction. Something in the way you whimpered caused him to finally take a few steps toward you. "Don't be sorry. I just...I just don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything," you told him quietly with a sniffle. "This is my thing to deal with, I'll be ok."
"Bullshit, that's bullshit," he said adamantly in a tone that displayed a tiny amount of frustration. It made your heart speed up for just a moment, the fear of his impending judgment too much for you. "You're not okay. And this isn't just something that you have to deal with, not anymore. It's mine, too. I have to deal with it now, too."
You flinched, the words somehow indicating that he was now burdened with something that should be just your problem and was angry about it. You could see the look of horror that crossed his face as he realized how it had sounded.
"No, that's not what I meant by that. Fuck." His hands were suddenly cupping your face before you could think. You tried to pull away, but he stepped forward when you stepped back, latching on to you, though his hands remained as gentle as they always were when he touched you. "I meant that this isn't something you should have to do alone. This is my thing now, too. Anything that's yours is mine. This is something we will work on together. Ok?"
"You don't even know what it is, Matt," you said weakly. You put your hands over his and tried to pull them off and break contact, but he refused to be moved. 
"I thought…I know enough about depression to recognize it," Matt told you softly, blank eyes landing on your cheek. "I should have...I could feel it. I could feel something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I let things distract me from asking the right questions, and now you've..." he finally moved his hands so that he could gesture vaguely at your thigh. 
"It's not your fault, Matt." You moved to take a step back now that his hands were off, but upon recognizing your intentions, they were back on you, holding your waist this time. 
"I still should have--"
"No," you interrupted him as you shook your head quickly, rejecting his idea that he was somehow to blame. "I should have. This...I should have said something. We've been together for what, a year? Plenty of opportunities for me to say something, and I chose not to. You take responsibility for things out of control all the time, Matt. Don't take this on, too."
He took a shaky breath, one that rattled his entire frame. "Can I ask how long you've been..."
"A while."
"Did it start while we were together?" You shook your head and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, the look on his face suggesting that he was somewhat relieved that the habit hadn’t started since he came into your life, the idea that maybe he was what led you to start hurting yourself for the first time. "Before we met?" He flinched when you nodded, somehow realizing that this was a long-term habit. "How long, sweetheart?"
"Pretty much since high school," you admitted quietly as your eyes trailed a face that was far too pale. He shuddered, as if in pain, and you knew the admission hurt him. You felt incredibly guilty, and it reminded you of the day your mother found out what you’d been doing, her tears and anguish still haunting you years into your adult life. 
"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He let go of you and took a small step back. "Okay. Is it alright if I hold you? I don't...I don't want to touch you anymore if you need the space right now." 
Your eyes welled with tears again. "Please do." You were in his arms before you even finished speaking. He was warm, and despite the heat inside your apartment, you found you needed the warmth of him pushed up against you. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other around your shoulders, where it reached up to cradle the back of your skull. His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, something you knew he loved doing, something you knew he did when he was trying to remind himself you were next to him and safe. 
"Do your parents know?" he asked quietly as he held you to him, the side of your face pressed against his shoulder. Your arms were snug around his waist, your hands gripping the back of his sweat-soaked black shirt. You didn't know how much you'd needed him to hold you until this moment. 
"About what part?" Your voice was equally as soft.
"Any of it."
You sighed and you felt him tighten his arms around you. "They know about pretty much everything besides the...recent scratching. I spoke with my mom earlier today and she knows I've been slipping a bit."
"And what did she say?"
"She told me I could come to visit for a few days if I needed to," you responded. "I told her I couldn't, but she refused to hang up until I promised I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist."
"Did you?"
"Yeah, I have a virtual appointment on Thursday." He nodded and you felt more than heard his sigh of relief. 
"Good. That's good, sweetheart." You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head. By the way his chest expanded to take a deep breath, you knew a big question was about to come out, something that had probably been weighing on his mind since the moment he noticed the mark on your thigh. You had a pretty good idea what it was going to be before even he asked it. "Have you done more than...these scratches in the past?"
You winced, having guessed the question correctly. "I have." 
He tensed. "How much worse?"
You gulped, not wanting to give him the answer. He could feel your reluctance, but pushed on. "Please tell me. I'm not…I'm not going to judge you. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know."
Taking a deep breath, you forced it out, eyes squeezing shut as you revealed something you haven’t shared in years. "I was once...hospitalized. I was placed on suicide watch." 
You felt Matt shake against you, body trembling as he took in your answer, and grimaced when his arms tightened around to the point of pain. He apologized immediately, loosening his grip just a tad, but the shaking didn't stop. "Matt, I'm okay. I promise. I haven't felt that way in a long time."
"How long ago was that?" he asked you, seeming desperate to wrap his mind around it. "Last year? A few years ago? How recent?"
"It was ten years ago," you whispered as you clutched the back of his shirt in hands that weren’t steady, either. "I got a lot of help. I went through a shit ton of therapy. Put on some medication, some of which I'm still on. I'm okay."
"You have to promise me you won't do something like that." He was still shaking and it was making you tear up again. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cradled your head there, hand still buried in your hair. "You have to promise me that if things get that bad again, you'll say something. You'll tell me."
You swallowed loudly, before slowly nodding your head
"I promise, Matt." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, it tore at you to see the tears that were making their way down his face, stark against a bruise that bloomed on his jaw. Gently, you tilted your chin up so that you could kiss his cheeks. First one, then the other, pressing all the love you felt for him into the simple connection of lips to skin. He pulled back to place a kiss of his own on your forehead, and took a deep breath.
"I think you should come stay with me for a bit."
You pressed your face back into his shoulder, your strength seeping out of you slowly, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days, the depression sliding back just enough so that the red flare of the devil could warm your skin. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I need you close. I need you to be with me where I can keep an eye on you."
"You don't--"
"Please," Matt whispered, the tone pleading and desperate. "Please...just don't argue with me. Not on this."
"I'm not arguing with you, Matt," you said gently, lifting a hand from his waist to run it through his hair. He caught the hand and brought it to his mouth instead. "It's just...you have a big case next week and--"
Matt jerked away, looking aghast, a sense of realization seeping into his pores, though you knew it was an incorrect one. But he took the idea and ran with it, once again trying to take the blame for something that was not his to bear "Is that--is that why you didn't say anything? Because of this case? Because you didn't want to distract me?"
You winced. "No, Matt. But it did make things...easier for me not to admit that things were bad. I didn't want to say anything in the first place, and I’m not sure if I would have said anything at all."
"Oh my god," he said, seemingly horrified. "You can't...you can't do that. You can't hide things like that."
"You understand the irony, right?" You mouth quirked up in the corner. His eyes widened drastically at the comment, lips parting in a mixture of alarm and frustration.
"That's not funny!" He exploded, tightening his grasp on you. Your mouth snapped shut. "You have to tell me these things. You can't use my job or my work at night or anything to hide this. Do you understand? Tell me you understand."
"I understand, Matt. I’m sorry."
"Promise me."
"I already--"
"Promise me again," he demanded, and your eyes widened at how frantic he sounded, your eyes sweeping over a face that housed haunted, red-lined eyes and drying tracks of tears. "Promise me a thousand times."
"I promise, Matt. I promise." You found yourself crushed back against his chest.
"You're my priority," he whispered adamantly into your ear. His hand was shaking again as it rested on your lower back. "You're the priority. Everything else...it doesn't matter, none of it matters if you're not here. I need you to understand that."
You hesitated, and he caught on to it. 
“Sweetheart,” he said with a quiet moan that sounded far too grief-stricken, his cheek pressing to yours, the scruff of his beard nothing but a familiar, welcomed feeling. It spoke to you of love and adoration, his beard often rasping against your skin while he kissed you, or even while he slid down your body to put his mouth on the most sensitive part of you. “I don't care if it's the biggest case of the century. I don't care if I'm one second away for finally catching the most important drug ring and tearing down their entire organization. If you need me, I'm there. No questions asked."
"But--"
"No." He pulled back to place his hands on your shoulders while his head tilted towards you, unfocused eyes landing around your mouth. "No buts. You call me. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, everytime."
"Matt," you whimpered with a shake of your head, mouth tilting down in a frown. "You can't just--those things are important to people, I can't let you--"
"You're not letting me do anything. I choose you. Always."
You shuddered at the declaration, wondering what you had ever done to deserve this man, but unwilling to ever let him go. Eyes welling with a new batch of tears, you held on to him with everything you had, energy leaching out of you as you leaned against him. He took your weight easily without a word, no objection to being your sole source of strength and balance. 
Matt cleared his throat as held you, breath fanning out across your cheek. "Can I...will you let me check it?" he asked quietly, the question almost hesitant as if he expected to be rejected. "I can smell the antiseptic, but I just need to be sure."
You were absolutely helpless to deny him anything."Yeah…yeah, you can."
He took a step back and pulled you over to your kitchen table where he gently pushed you into a seat. Once you were settled with your leg outstretched and balanced on another chair, he grabbed another alcohol wipe and a large bandage from the first aid kit. Bending down so that he was kneeling next to you on the hardwood, Matt leaned forward and placed a kiss directly below the mark on your thigh, your skin turning into a field of goosebumps despite the fact that Matt had had his lips to every inch of your skin at this point in your relationship. There was something so gentle, something so reverent about the kiss that you mourned the loss of his lips the second he pulled away.
 You watched as Matt turned his attention to the long scratch on your thigh, frowning when you hissed at the alcohol wipe he ran gently down it. His finger traced the outline gently as his sightless eyes roamed over the room, and you knew he was testing the temperature of your skin as if he’d be able to trace the possibility of an infection. When he was satisfied, he took the large bandage and placed it over the scratch.
He placed the trash on the table with fingers that had steadied as he focused on making sure you were okay, the mission to help you overpowering the horror and concern he’d been feeling since he made his way into your apartment. Grasping your hands in his, he turned his face towards you, tilting up as he licked his lips in a tick you had long since noticed was often an indication of anxiety. He pulled your hands into his, the heat of his palms warm and soothing he held them. Within a gentle kiss placed on the back of each hand, Matt’s form finally seemed to relax as a small smile broke our across his face. 
Unable to help yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his.
"Thank you," you whispered quietly as you slowly sat back up. He chased your lips for just a small second before he settled back on his haunches and let his eyes rest over your shoulder. "For always taking care of me."
He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't have to thank me for this."
"I do," you affirmed gently. "And I'm sorry for...not saying anything."
He was silent for a moment as his thumbs traced over the back of your hands. "I understand what it's like. The depression. I've told you how bad it got, after Midland Circle. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. And part of that is thanks to you."
You opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off. "No, it's true. You make me want to be...better. Do better. And I know that I'd be struggling a lot more than I do if I didn't have you in my life. All the good that I do, all the good I try be, is partly thanks to you."
“Matt–”
He continued on gently even as you shook your head in denial, squeezing your hands tightly in his. "You do this for me every single day without even trying to, and I'll never be able to express how grateful I am for you, for how much you love me. So whatever you need, whatever you need from me, it's yours. Ask me for anything, ask me to do anything, and I'll give it to you."
A stray tear warmed your cheek as it fell. “You know I feel the same way, right? That I’d do the same for you.”
Matt’s smile was faint as he answered. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve told me.”
“And you–you believe me?”
“I do.” The sentence is small, a simple three letters and only two syllables, but it causes you to sigh in relief and sag against the chair as he finally stood up, your fingers entwined with his.
“Okay,” you whisper as you glance up at his face, taking in the tender look in his eyes and the smile that was equally gentle. “As long as you know the feeling is equal.”
Matt was quiet as let go of a hand to push back a few pieces of hair. "I know,” he said softly with a sigh, the flush of his skin finally bringing some color back to his face. “I think you should come stay with me for a bit, where I can look after you and make sure you're okay. We will make things work. No matter how busy I may be, this is the priority. Okay?"
"I….yeah, okay,” you answered with a nod of your head, eyes shifting to look out the window that he had left open, suddenly grateful that he’d been able to hear the tears that had left you feeling hollow for a few short moments. 
Only a single moment passed before he took your face in his hands and tilted it up so he could place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll help you pack your things."
When he pulled you out your front door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tshirt he had left at your place weeks ago, one hand in yours and the other holding the small duffle you’d thrown your things into, you somehow knew the move would be permanent. Your lease was nowhere close to being over, but the idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.
Your bouts of depression would come and go, of this you were sure, but Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.
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shaylixie · 1 year
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Making Love with the Devil
Word Count: 885
Genre: Smut. Fluff.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader
Requested: Yes!
Summary: A sensual night with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
Warnings / Contains: Smut; language; unprotected sex. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: Hi!✌🏽 I've been away for a minute & haven't written in a while, so this might be a bit short and rusty. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it & thank you for any & all support! 🤍
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The door shuts and your shoes fall onto the floor as Matt picks you up, connecting his lips to yours. It's a soft kiss, but you can feel the hunger behind it. Almost desperate, wanting more. He slips his tongue between your lips and groans as you drop your head back in ecstacy, moving to your neck. Just a kiss. And yet...
Matt drops you gently onto the bed and slips his coat off, moving to hover over you. Your lips meet again as you fumble with his tie, trying not to squirm as he guides your own elegant outfit off of your body.
It was a wonderful evening. You and Matt had finally taken some real time off to be together. He had surprised you with dinner and spontaneously danced underneath the very stars with you, his hands on your hips. If you weren't already in love with him, you'd be head over heels now. Being together like this, touching each other so attentively, it felt almost sacred. Who knew the devil was so easy to love?
You run your fingers through his hair and grip the back of his neck, throwing his tie aside with your other hand. You're impatient. Matt knows this. So he takes his own shirt off and lets you unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants off in a few seconds. At a moment's notice, you're both naked and writhing and wanting more. But Matt loves this part. The teasing. The taking advantage of your impatience. The wait. He loves the sound of your heart racing when he glides his fingertips down your stomach. He adores the silence between your heavy breaths, so full and always telling its own story. Seeing you worked up makes him weak, and even the devil can do with a little weakness.
He strokes his tongue along your throat, blowing cool air onto his streak of wetness and making you shiver from more than just the cold. Moving his lips to the tender part of your neck, Matt starts leaving featherlight kisses; barely enough for satisfaction but enough to make your heart skip with the heat of his soft lips against your skin. When he reaches your collarbone, he pulls back and cocks his head, no doubt listening to every little sound coming from you. Your heart speeds up at the intense look on his face, causing him to smirk. Staring into his unfocused eyes, you place your hand on his cheek and rub your thumb in a gentle circle. The sweet gesture causes a shift, and suddenly Matt's tongue is marking your own. He groans into the kiss and you grind against him, desperately wanting more. He gives it to you. Positioning himself at your entrance, he slides into you and you moan his name at the sudden fullness. Dropping his forehead against yours, he begins moving his hips. Your legs automatically find their way around his waist. Matt grabs your hand and holds it tenderly but firmly, pinning it above your head. This small gesture of intimacy makes you melt underneath him, and he chuckles between his own moans.
"Matthew," you breathe out.
"Y/n..."
You start moving your hips in time with his, making sure to clench around him as the entirety of him is inside you.
"Fuuuck," he pants.
He kisses your neck, letting his tongue slip out. You feel giddy at the thought of the mark that'll be left behind, and heat rises in your stomach at his possessiveness over you. Marked by Matt. All his. Him making sure that everyone knows that. It makes you weak.
Dragging your nails down his back, your one hand gripping his hair, you pant at the sudden heat rising up from deep within you.
"Matt, I'm gonna-"
"I know," he interrupts you.
"Stay inside of me."
He lets out a delicious groan at the instruction, anticipation building in his core.
Feeling somewhat lightheaded with the pleasure coursing through your every fibre, you tilt your head back and arch into Matt's hard body as the waves of euphoria wash over you. You shout out your pleas and clench around him, eliciting some words of his own. He holds you tightly against him and thrusts harder and faster than before, coming to his climax too. Dropping his head in your neck, Matt bottoms out as he cums inside you and shakes against you. You're absolutely blissed out, trying to keep your arms around him and not drop them limply against the bed. Matt relaxes against you, trying to catch his breath. When he has some control again, he lifts his head up and starts peppering your face in soft kisses. You can't help the rush of heat to your cheeks, and he bites them in gleeful response. You both giggle, and hold each other for longer than necessary, kissing each other wherever you can.
Eventually, Matt whispers, "How's about a shower?"
You let out a delighted, "Mmmm."
He smiles, his whole face taking up the action. Your heart becomes a puddle. God, you're so in love.
Matt smiles even more, always knowing...
"C'mon, baby." He stands up and turns your over, slapping your ass and leaving a kiss in the same stinging spot before retreating into the bathroom to end off the slow & sensual night.
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funnylittlelad · 2 years
Text
Clinton Coffee Collective (Triple C) - Matt Murdock x gn!reader
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re-edited (Jan. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
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summary: Matt Murdock finds the new café two blocks away from the office by chance when meeting a potential client. He's immediately absorbed by the atmosphere, the coffee, the food, but most of all the owner who effortlessly accommodates him. So, maybe he starts walking an extra two blocks for coffee every morning. It's a victimless crime, until Foggy catches on. (or the funnylittle coffee shop AU)
word count: 15.8k
tags/warnings: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, light ableism, Matt being the self-punishing butthead he is, descriptions of food and eating, descriptions of anaphylaxis, hospitals, Foggy and Karen being lovely caring nosy friends. MINORS DNI.
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It wasn't the nights alone, the passing touches from others that sent his skin ablaze, or even the dull ache the silence of his apartment leaves him with. No, what finally made Matthew Murdock realize he’s starved for the affections of someone who doesn't know all the ugly parts of him was a simple question. 
He’s starved for someone who only sees him. Not the copious amounts of baggage he drags behind him. Someone who can find something worth holding onto in him. Something they could hopefully brace themselves on when the storm that is his life finally crashes down on them. 
“Would you like a braille menu?”
The question took Matt by surprise. Almost as much as the melodic voice that asked it. It’s not a question he receives often at restaurants. It certainly isn't one he’s ever received at the counter of a cafe. 
“Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” he said with a smile.
“We have to-go ones too, if you want one to take home,” the voice offered
“I’d like that,” he found himself saying.
Clinton Coffee Collective only gained his patronage because of a potential client. They had wanted to meet at the cafe. Matt didn't even end up taking the client on, but after that brief interaction Clinton Coffee Collective became his go-to spot. 
Sure, it’s about two blocks further than the cafe he usually goes to with Foggy, but it has something the usual spot doesn't. It has you. You and your attentiveness. You and your effortless accommodations. Being in a public space has never felt so easy, so natural. It quickly became a little safe haven throughout his week. Untouched, untainted by the rest of his life. Until Foggy finally catches on that it's taking him longer to get their coffee and the coffee itself is different. 
“Why have you been going to the hipster place two blocks away?” he finally asks one morning when Matt places the carrier of cups on Karen’s desk. 
“Their coffee is better,” is the only answer he provides. 
“It is better,” Karen reasons with Foggy right before she sips her coffee. 
“What about supporting family-run businesses? That place is probably some corporate shell that's trying to gentrify the neighborhood,” Foggy takes his own coffee as he makes the argument. 
“That's a reach, even for you, Fog,” Matt chuckles. 
“Have you seen the place? It’s too clean.”
“Yeah, I really enjoy the color scheme,” Matt says sarcastically, “Besides, I don't think a coffee shop can be too clean.”
“Clean like sleek, put together. There's no heart, no personality to it. It’s all natural wood and plants,” Foggy continues his complaining, ignoring Matt’s retort.
“I don't know, I think it’s cute,” Karen shrugs. 
“You’re both traitors to small businesses everywhere.”
Karen and Matt laugh at Foggy’s dramatics. Then the conversation moves on to the work they have to do. Matt’s thoughts partially stick on the cafe, on you. He finds himself not caring if the cafe is some evil corporate shell. The coffee is good, he doesn't feel penalized for existing, and you’re always there to make sure he has everything he could possibly need. Maybe it's not a sustainable way to scratch the lonely itch he’s been having, but it's good for the time being. That’s all Matt can ask for.
***
“Hey, Matthew,” you chime as he enters. 
Matt can feel his face light up. There aren't many people here today. He’s able to stroll right up to the counter where you wait for him. That’s what your days have started feeling like. Just waiting for Matthew to come in, sprinkle some charm around, and compliment your coffee. It almost feels like he’s complimenting you when he compliments your coffee. 
“Hey, busy day?” he says as he comes to a halt at the counter.
“What tipped you off? Was it the hour-long line you had to wait in to get up here?” 
Matt chuckles, which makes you smile. He can hear you lean onto your elbows on the counter. It’s small, but you’re putting yourself closer to him. You do that sometimes when there's no one really around so you have time to chat. That’s why he likes coming in on Thursdays. Especially mid-morning, it’s usually relatively empty. 
“I don't know if you saw, I had to beat some people out of my way,” he points behind himself like there are actually people there. You laugh.
“You want the usual or d’you want a menu?” you ask. He loves that he has a usual. That you know and have held onto something about him. 
“The usual sounds good.”
“Are you staying? I can turn the music down,” you offer, voice drifting further away as you set off to make his coffee. 
“Not today. I have to meet a client,” he answers. 
That’s just another way you welcome Matt into this sacred space. He mentioned a headache in passing once, gave a half-truth about sensitive ears, and without thought you accommodated him. Every time you ask if he plans on staying. Every time he does you lower the music to a level that's more comfortable for him. 
You steal a look at him over your shoulder. Matthew stands at the counter, hands clasped on his cane in front of him, and the sun casting a glowing aura around him. Your heart skips a beat at the sight. He has no right to be that handsome. You thought that the first time you saw him and you’ve thought it every time since. Matt can hear your heart, making his own skip alongside it. 
“You like cherries, right?” you ask as you place his coffee on the counter in front of him.
“I do.”
“Perfect, I just got these new tarts from the bakery down the block,” you tell him cheerily. 
He can hear you shuffling around the pastry case. There's the light crinkle of parchment paper, the sound of something hitting the bottom of a paper bag, and the sweet scent of sugared cherries. You place the bag with the tart next to his cup. When you tell him the normal price for his coffee he directs his face at you with knitted brows.
“How much is the tart?” 
“Oh, don't worry about it. On me.”
He can't stop his smile. Nor the light blush that rises to his cheeks. 
“Are you sure? I don't want you getting in trouble on my account,” he double-checks. 
You laugh, expecting him to join you. Only he doesn't. He looks as soft and genuine as ever. 
“You know I own this place, right?” you ask him, holding back more laughs.
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“No, I didn't realize. I guess that explains why you always seem to be working,” he chuckles lightly at his own stupidity.
“Did you think I just took every shift in hopes of seeing you?” you tease.
“Maybe hoped is a better word for it,” he shrugs with a playful smile. 
You feel the heat rise from your cheekbones to the tips of your ears. 
“Well, sorry to burst your bubble. I want to hear your opinion on the tart next time you’re in,” you tell him, deftly moving away from flirting. 
As much as you want to flirt with Matthew, he’s a customer. You want him to keep coming in. You want to keep talking to him.
“I can come by later and let you know what I think,” he says with a smile. 
“You’ll squeeze me into your busy schedule?” 
“In a heartbeat,” he flashes a charming smile. 
Matt listens to the wonderful sound of your heart picking up speed. 
“I look forward to it. Have a good day, Matthew,” you say, a smile in your voice.
“You too.”
***
Matthew walks back in around five. You’ve already started the process of closing. There's no one else in the shop, something Matt is grateful for. 
“I’ll be right out!” you call from the back room when you hear the bell above the door ring. 
Matt waits patiently at the counter. His phone buzzes in his pocket saying Foggy’s name, but he silences it. No doubt Foggy is wondering where Matt ran off to following the initial hearing for a new client they had. 
“Oh, Matthew,” you say pleasantly when you come back out and see him, “I thought you forgot about me.”
His ears twitch as they pick up your racing heart. 
“Forget about you? That’s impossible, you give me free food,” he smiles teasingly. 
“What are you, a pigeon? I scatter some breadcrumbs and now you’re following me around the park,” you chuckle. 
“I guess something like that.”
“So, the tart,” you prompt as you lean on the counter with your elbows. 
“The tart was amazing. I even had my friends try it. They’re making me pick up more tomorrow on my way into work,” he tells you. 
“Let me guess, three? I can have them ready for you in the morning,” you offer, “I can have the coffee ready too, assuming you’ll be getting some.”
Matthew absolutely beams. His smile is so bright you’re tempted to shield your eyes. 
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
“Anything for my favorite customer,” you say easily.
“Favorite, huh? I’m sure you say that to every guy you give free pastries to,” Matt drawls playfully.
“Well, considering you’re the only guy I’ve given anything free to, I suppose you’re right,” you chuckle. 
“I’m honored.”
“And, unfortunately, I’m closing,” you sigh, reminding yourself more than anything.
“Is that you kicking me out?” he asks with a small smile.
You study his face for a moment. The slight lift of his eyebrows, the way his nose curves down to a little point, and how his lips pull into one of the prettiest smiles you’ve ever seen. You just wish you could see his eyes behind those glasses with the dark red tint. How can you tell that face to leave? 
“That's me asking if you could lock the door.”
Matthew’s smile grows, sending your heart fluttering. You watch him cane his way over to the door. His hand drags across the glass pane until it meets the lock. There's a familiar click and then Matthew is on his way back to you.
“Do you live close?” he asks as you start locking cabinets. 
“Yeah, just a few blocks away. I’m not huge on walking home alone in the dark, though. So, I close up a little early when it's just me,” you answer and turn the soft overhead music off. 
“I can walk you,” he says without thinking about it.
“It’s okay, it’s not even dark yet,” you shake your head for no one but yourself. Matthew shrugs.
“I can still walk you.”
You look at him for a second. It only takes that second to decide.
“That’d be nice. I just have to lock up a few things in the back and then we can head out.”
Matt waits for you by the counter. He can hear the hum of the lights cease as you turn them off. Then the steady clicks of locks being turned. Soon enough you're exiting from behind the counter. He holds an arm up for you to take hold of with a smile. You place a light grasp on his bicep and begin leading him. You pause to arm the security system, then once more to lock the door from the outside with your key. 
“So, what made you decide to open a cafe?” Matt asks as the two of you begin the walk to your apartment. He’s surprised to feel you taking him in the same direction as his own. 
“I love coffee,” you shrug. 
“That simple, huh?” 
“No,” you laugh, “but the real answer is embarrassing.”
“Well now I have to know,” he angles his face toward yours, giving you a full view of that fucking smile. 
“What made you want to be a lawyer?” you counter.
He mulls over his answer for a minute.
“I've witnessed a lot of injustices. After a while, you start wanting to do something about it. I wanted to be someone that does some good for the people of the city,” he says evenly.
You blink at him. It was such a raw response. Not one you were expecting, but one that eases you into opening up a little more. One that makes you feel like you can see into the soul of Matthew. There’s nothing but golden light and warmth. You gaze down at the sidewalk ahead of you as you walk.
“Growing up I always saw coffee shops as these places where people's lives can change. Y’know like in dumb romcoms, or in books. They’re always shown as these cozy, safe places where anything can happen. Or even where nothing can happen, which can be just as good sometimes. Coffee shops can be whatever you need them to be at the moment. I liked the idea of building that kind of space. Somewhere everyone can feel welcome. Plus, it would be nice to be the place someone met the love of their life like in the movies,” you glance over at him. 
When you see him smiling at you, it dawns on you that you've been rambling. Embarrassment tears through you. Matt can feel you heating up. He can feel the color rising to your cheeks.
“Like I said, it’s embarrassing. Just some idealistic nonsense,” you shake your head dismissively. 
“I don't think there's anything wrong with a little idealism,” he says softly, “You’re making the city a better place too, just in a different way.”
Your grip on his bicep tightens slightly. Matt can hear the goosebumps form, feel the electricity travel across your skin as the little hairs all over your body raise. His words evoke a physical reaction. They make you feel strangely seen. They make you feel understood.
“Thank you… that’s really nice of you to say,” your voice is genuine, maybe a little thicker with emotion than normal, “Most people would tell me I’m being dramatic, putting so much meaning into selling coffee.”
“You’ve made a public space I don't feel like a burden in. It’s not dramatic, it’s true. What you’re doing… it does mean something,” he tells you. 
You squeeze into him briefly in a sort of half hug. 
“If you weren't my favorite customer before, you definitely are now,” you chuckle, attempting to lighten the conversation. 
“Not many customers have heart-to-hearts with you then?” he smiles playfully, following your cue to change tones. 
“Not as many as you’d think. You’re the first one to walk me home too.”
“Believe it or not, you’re the first person I’ve walked home,” he confesses.
“Really? How is that possible, you seem so chivalrous,” you tease.
“People don't usually flock to the blind person for things like this,” he shrugs. You give a small hmm.
“Their loss. You're very good at it.”
“Thanks,” he chuckles.
The rest of the walk is made in comfortable silence. It’s not too cold, the September air sitting at a comfortable level. There's the hustle and bustle of rush hour that Matt’s brain has to combat, but that's nothing new. You turn down a quieter side street. Matt can sense passing three buildings before you come to a stop.
“This is me,” you say, fighting off disappointment.
“I’m only a few blocks further down,” he informs you with a smile.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you know that old industrial building they converted?”
“The one they put that stupid billboard next to?”
“That's the one,” Matt laughs.
“Is your office by the cafe?” you ask curiously.
You know there are plenty of other cafes closer to his apartment. He’s always in one of his suits when he comes in, talking about what work he has to do that day. The office is the next thing that makes sense.
“Kind of.”
“Kind of? How far is it?”
“It’s closer to Hell’s Kitchen Coffee,” he admits with a sheepish smile.
“So, you've been walking an extra two blocks every day?” you question with a smile. You can't fight it off at the thought.
“Your coffee is better,” he shrugs, “and I was serious when I said you’ve created a public space I don't feel like a burden in.”
Your hand clasps his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Matt wants so much more. He wants your hands everywhere. He wants to feel the warmth of you spread over him. 
“You’re not anywhere near a burden, Matthew,” you tell him quietly, but earnestly. 
All he can do is nod. Afraid if he opens his mouth, nothing but broken sounds will come out. Your heart is steady, never once faltering as you speak. There isn't even a hint of a lie in your words. You truly don't see him as a burden. It’s a fact that makes him feel lighter. It makes the world a little brighter.
“Thank you for walking me home. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” you say after a moment of prolonged silence.
 A moment neither of you wanted to break, but had to.
“I’ll be in for my pastries and coffee,” he confirms with a smile.
“I’ll be there waiting.”
***
Foggy moans into his bite of cherry tart. Karen laughs at him. Matt smiles into his sip of coffee. The office smells like the cafe. Which means the office smells like you. Coffee and pastries. Bold and sweet. It brings warmth to Matt’s chest.
“Okay, for a probable corporate shell these are amazing,” Foggy says.
“You’ll be happy to know it’s actually a small business,” Matt informs him.
“How d'you know?” Foggy questions.
“I spoke to the owner. They get the pastries from a local bakery too.” 
Foggy hums approvingly as he takes another bite. 
“I think you owe the owner an apology, Foggy,” Karen teases. 
“I’ll get right on that after I finish making love to this tart.”
Matt and Karen fall into laughter. The smell and warmth of the cafe mingled with the laughter and comfort of his friends lighten the load of the world. He can almost hear your laughter added in. Suddenly, he longs for it. 
The feeling takes him by surprise. Sure, he looks forward to seeing you. He looks forward to talking to you, but this is different. There's a tugging in his chest that's attempting to draw him closer to you. A taut rope tying him to you that’s threatening to drag him off.
“How much were the tarts?” Karen asks to the sound of her wallet popping open.
“Don't worry about it. They were on the house,” Matt waves her off.
“On the house? You must have really talked to the owner,” Foggy teases. 
The tips of Matt’s ears go red. Foggy doesn't miss the newfound bashfulness in Matt. 
“Oh, you did. Matt, you sly dog, using your charm to score us free pastries,” Foggy crows and nudges Matt. 
“It wasn't like that,” Matt shakes his head, “The owner is just nice.”
Foggy gives an unconvinced grunt but ultimately moves on. They have a deposition in about forty-five minutes and need to shift back into work mode. The office smells like you the rest of the day.
***
A couple of weeks later Matthew strolls in as you start closing. He smiles as he approaches the counter. Your heart races. He looks a little disheveled. His hair is messily tousled in every direction like he got hit with a gust of wind. 
“Matthew, I wasn't expecting to see you again today,” you greet pleasantly. 
“I noticed you were alone today. I thought I’d walk you home,” he says like it's the most normal thing in the world.
“You really want to make sure you stay my favorite customer, huh?” you tease, ignoring the way your face is heating up.
“It has its benefits,” he teases back. 
“I appreciate you going out of your way to walk me home,” you tell him softly.
“It’s not really out of the way. We’re practically neighbors,” he attempts to dismiss the gesture. 
“Yeah, but I have a feeling your work days don't usually end as early as mine,” you say. 
“I can spare a few evenings so you don't have to walk alone,” he shrugs. You ignore the way your face completely flushes. 
“Just let me finish locking up and we can be on our way.”
He gives a nod. Once again, Matt patiently waits. Once again, he listens to the sounds of you closing. It’s peaceful. When you come back out he holds out his arm for you. Then the two of you are on your way. After half a block Matt’s phone begins calling out Foggy’s name. He sighs and digs it out of his pocket. 
“What’s up, Foggy?” he answers, too aware of your eyes curiously watching him.
“Where did you run off to this time? I turned around and you were gone. Did you sprint out of the courthouse?” Foggy questions. Matt did kind of sprint out of the courthouse to make sure he got to you before you left. 
“I had to be somewhere,” he explains vaguely.
You smile at his statement. He definitely didn't have to, you both know that. 
“Where?”
“I’ll talk to you later, Fog,” Matt says evenly, not wanting to have this conversation in front of you.
He likes that you’re just his right now. He likes having something separate from the rest of his life. Bringing Foggy in could jeopardize that. It could bring his life crashing down on yours.
“Is there something going on with your friend?” Foggy asks. Matt knows he means Daredevil. 
“No, it’s just… personal, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Talk later,” Foggy finally concedes.
You let Matt suffer in silence for a minute. He doesn't know how much of Foggy’s side you heard. When you finally do speak it isn't what he’s expecting.
“So, you had to be somewhere, huh?” 
“Yeah, someone was in desperate need of my help,” he smiles.
“And did you get to them on time?”
“I did… after sprinting out of the courthouse and leaving my friends behind.” 
“Matthew,” you chide through a laugh, “You really didn't have to do that. I’m okay to walk home, I’ve done it before.”
“I wanted to.”
You smile down at your feet. Heat creeps throughout your entire body. Does that mean he’s been thinking of you throughout the day? Really paying attention to when there are employees working and when it's just you? Making mental notes throughout the day to come back and walk you home? 
“I’m glad you did,” you admit, “I really like talking to you, Matthew.”
“Matt, you can call me Matt. I really like talking to you too.” 
“Does that mean we’re friends now, Matt?”
He smiles at the sound of his name.
“I’d like it to, if you would.”
“I would.”
***
Got a new apple pie today I think you'll really like.
Matt smiles at his phone, which just read out the message from you. The last time he walked you home you exchanged numbers. Y'know, because you’re friends now. Not because neither of you ever wants to stop your conversations. Ever since the two of you have been texting. 
Sometimes it's just dumb things one of you observed during the day. Others it's updating each other on small things, like the apple pie. His favorite messages are the ones about nothing. The ones where it's clear you just wanted to talk to him. 
Save me a piece for tomorrow? Working late today. He says into his phone’s speech-to-text, thankful for the door separating him from Foggy and Karen’s prying ears. 
How late?
Not sure exactly, why?
I can bring you some when I leave.
Your heart is pounding as you rethink sending the message. Is that too much? Is offering to bring the pie to him too intimate? Too friendly too fast?
“Are you okay?” Isaac, the barista on duty today asks with concern. 
Isaac is a scrawny kid with short bleached hair and a couple of tattoos. He has whatever the opposite of resting bitch face is. That’s part of the reason you love having him as an employee. He’s approachable. 
You’re extremely proud of yourself for cultivating such a positive work environment. Everyone genuinely cares for one another and you do your best as a boss to support them all. In return, they show you genuine kindness and respect. 
“Yeah, I’m good. Just texting Matt,” you wave your phone in the air a bit. 
A knowing smile curls onto Isaac’s lips. 
“That’s happening, then?” he asks with dark raised eyebrows. 
“We’re friends,” you say.
“But you like him, right?”
“Yeah, he’s my friend,” you reiterate.
“You know what I mean,” Isaac rolls his eyes. 
“I like him,” you sigh. 
Isaac takes a customer’s order and you fill it as he takes the payment. It’s fairly busy today. Business has been doing very well, something that swells your heart. Matt’s words ring in your head whenever the cafe is so full. You’re making the city a better place. Watching a young couple giggle in the corner, you think maybe he's right. 
“He definitely likes you.”
“You don't know that,” you argue.
“I’ve worked with you when he’s come in. He likes you,” Isaac states firmly. 
“I’m done talking about it. Go grab me more Colombian roast, please.”
Your phone vibrates in your pocket as Isaac pushes his way into the back. A deep breath. Then you check the message. 
I’d like that.
***
The sun isn't quite gone, but the sky is growing dark. Matt hears you enter the building. He smiles as he emerges from his office. Only Karen is here right now. She’s busy following up on calls giving him the perfect opportunity to slip you by without question. 
He can smell the warm buttery scent of the apple pie as you climb the stairs. It grows stronger as your footsteps grow louder. Your heart is beating fast. Then the door is creaking open. Your presence washes over him like a summer breeze. 
“Welcome to Nelson & Murdock,” he greets with a smile. 
Your eyes bounce around the small office. It’s older, and outdated, but feels safe. You meet the gaze of a beautiful blonde woman at a desk. She offers you a small smile before looking curiously at Matt. If he can feel her eyes, he ignores them.
“It’s nice,” you tell him genuinely, “I like it. Feels comfortable, safe.”
“I’m glad. We can head into my office,” he tilts his head toward an open door to the right. 
“Oh, I actually brought three pieces. I figured it would be rude to only bring you some,” you say, a little embarrassed. 
The gesture sends Matt soaring. You’re so kind it almost makes him nervous. Nervous to fuck things up. Nervous to show the decidedly unkind side of himself.
“Well, it’s just Karen and me tonight, but you’re more than welcome to stay and have the third piece with us,” he offers, silently ignoring his plan that's crashing and burning in the background. 
“Are you sure? I don't want to keep you from work.”
“We’ve worked hard today, we deserve a break.”
“Okay,” you accept with a nod. 
Matt tells Karen to call the phone quits for the night as the two of you walk over. She seems happy to comply. You and Matt sit at the two chairs before her desk. He awkwardly introduces the two of you. Karen chuckles at him. 
“So, you own Clinton Coffee Collective?” she asks as the three of you dig in. 
“The Triple C, that's me,” you say with a smile. 
“Thank you for all the free sweets. We’re starting to feel spoiled,” Karen holds up a chunk of pie on her plastic fork.
“It’s nothing,” you wave her off, “Matt’s my best customer- well, I guess technically all three of you are. I just have the pleasure of seeing Matt’s face every day.”
“I thought I was your favorite customer,” Matt teases. Your face flushes.
“You’re both. No one else comes in as much as you do, y’know. If we go into another recession I think you’ll be single-handedly keeping me open,” you chuckle. 
“I didn't know you drank that much coffee, Matt,” Karen comments with a small smile. 
You answer before Matt can.
“It’s not always coffee. If he’s sitting down to work he usually gets tea,” you say it so easily, so offhandedly. 
Matt’s heart leaps into his throat. There's an overwhelming feeling of being seen. In the purest way, he feels known.
“Didn't know you drink tea either,” Karen smirks amused. 
“Sorry, am I revealing all your deep dark secrets?” you joke.
“Yup, now that you both know I drink tea I’ll have to kill you,” Matt sighs dramatically.
You and Karen laugh. Hanging out with Matt and Karen is nice. It’s nice spending time with people, especially with Matt, somewhere that isn't the cafe. You all finish the pie far too quickly, but you don't want to overstay your welcome. When you begin to say goodbye, Matt disappears into his office briefly. He comes back out pulling on his coat. 
“You ready?” he asks when his coat is secure. 
“Ready for what?” you question. 
“To walk home.”
“Matt, you don't have to-”
“I know. I want to, remember?” he smiles.
“What about work?”
“I can be done for the night,” he shrugs. 
“You sure?”
“D'you want to walk home alone in the dark?” He raises his eyebrows. You sigh.
“No, I really don't.”
“Okay, let’s go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Karen,” Matt throws Karen a wave. 
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she says with a smile, eyes bouncing between the two of you excitedly.
Matt can hear her call Foggy once you step foot out of the building. He’ll have to prepare himself for the barrage he’s sure to get from the pair tomorrow. 
***
The notice shakes in your hands. Anger is threatening to tear open your chest. How can he do this? How can the owner of the building try to sell it out from under you? Right when your business has finally found itself. You rent to own the storefront Clinton Coffee Collective is in. However, it seems your landlord has decided he wants to sell the entire building and be done with it. He wants to pay out the rest of your lease, but you’ve been refusing. Now, he’s taking you to arbitration over it. 
The courthouse looms over you. You’re here alone. You haven't told anyone about the issue. The last thing you want is to worry any of your employees. Not until you know what's going to happen. Honestly, you thought you’d be able to handle it on your own. It’s a simple enough dispute. Then your landlord walks in armed with an entire legal team for what you thought was meant to be a simple arbitration. By the end, you're holding back tears of anger. 
Your footsteps are echoing off the marble floors as you storm out. No resolution could be agreed upon. So it’s either get out or go to court. The crisp outside air stings your hot cheeks. It’s enough to calm you. Enough to remind you to breathe. You’re rubbing your face with your hands, replaying the last awful hour in your head when you hear his voice. Matt says your name, startling you from your thoughts. 
“Oh, Matt, I guess I shouldn't be surprised to run into you here,” you chuckle weakly, trying to distract from the mess in your head. 
“What are you doing here?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. 
Your eyes move to the man standing just behind him. He has shoulder-length dirty blond hair and a kind, but confused face. The bag over his shoulder lets you know he must be Matt’s law partner. You finally have a face for Foggy.
“Uh- it's nothing. I have to get back to the cafe,” you start to excuse yourself.
“Foggy, wait for me inside,” Matt says over his shoulder. 
Without argument, Foggy disappears into the courthouse. Matt’s concerned face redirects fully at you. He can tell you’re upset. If you’re here and upset, that can't mean anything good.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, forehead wrinkling with concern. 
You sigh. How are you meant to lie to him when he’s looking at you like that?
“I've been having an issue with my landlord. It’s not a big deal,” you try to minimize the problem. 
Matt can hear the half-lie. 
“What kind of issue?”
“It’s really nothing, Matt.”
He frowns. Your chest tightens knowing you’re the cause.
“I have to go, but I’ll give you a call later, okay?” He waits expectantly.
“Please, don't worry about me,” you insist.
“Please, let me help.”
You stare at your own reflection in the deep red tint of his sunglasses. It occurs to you that you still haven't seen his eyes. You wonder if they’re as kind as him. 
“Okay, we’ll talk later,” you agree quietly. 
“Okay,” he gives you a small smile.
Then he’s gone.  
***
Walking into Nelson & Murdock makes you much more nervous this time. You aren't walking in as a friend. You’re walking in as a client. There's a cardboard carrier in your hand. Three coffees as a token of appreciation. Karen sees you come in and greets you with a smile.
“Hey, I brought coffee,” you say and hold up the carrier. 
Matt and Foggy emerge from their offices at the sound of your voice. They both take their coffees appreciatively. You follow them into Matt’s office. You sit in a creaky chair opposite his desk. He takes his seat behind his desk and Foggy perches on the edge of the desk. 
“I don't really know how this is supposed to work,” you admit nervously. Your fingers toy with your sleeves anxiously.
“Just tell us what's going on and we’ll tell you how we can help,” Matt says with a reassuring smile.
“If we can help at all,” Foggy adds.
“Foggy,” Matt scolds.
“What? We have to be honest. There’s a chance we won't be able to help, but we’ll try,” Foggy defends himself.
“It’s okay. I appreciate the honesty,” you say, “I appreciate you trying.”
“Of course,” Matt smiles warmly.
“So, what's going on?” Foggy asks.
You dive into the whole tale. The lease agreement you signed gave you a specific time frame to decide to buy the storefront. Your landlord is now trying to circumvent that to sell the building as a whole. If that happens, Clinton Coffee Collective and all the money you put into it are just gone. Your entire life’s savings, the only thing you’ve really wanted to do since childhood, the thing that's estranged you from everyone. That part you don't mention. 
Matt and Foggy detail the next steps that need to be taken. It’s a lot of paperwork. A lot of filing things at the right time. A lot of hurrying up and even more waiting. When Matt says he’ll draw up the paperwork for you to read the next day, you blink in surprise.
“Oh, I can't afford to pay you. I thought you would just tell me what to do and then I would… do it,” you realize how dumb you sound. 
“Don’t worry about paying us,” Matt shakes his head. 
“You can just keep giving us free food and we’ll call it even,” Foggy gives you a smile.
You look between the two of them. What did you do to get sent two absolute angels? 
“Are you kidding? You guys never have to pay for anything again,” you say, still a little in disbelief. 
“We still can't promise anything,” Foggy tells you, raising a hand to tell you not to get too ahead of yourself.
“That's fine. I never would have been able to afford to try to fight this. You have no idea what you’re doing for me,” your voice grows thicker with emotion. 
“You have no idea what you’re doing for Matt,” Foggy says with a sly smile. 
Matt rolls a packet on his desk up into a makeshift baton. He gives Foggy a good whack on the back of the head. Foggy gives a soft hey in protest. Your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. The possible meanings behind Foggy’s words will be occupying your thoughts for a while. 
“Do you want me to walk you home?” Matt offers with a soft smile. 
“Yeah, if you wouldn't mind.”
It's midday, but you're beyond denying a walk home from Matt at this point. There's only the hum of the building’s old electricity and the sounds of your footsteps as you make your way downstairs. You know you should go to the cafe. You should work. Fatigue has settled deep into your bones. 
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks after a block goes by with no words. Just the beeping of traffic and the rush of people trying to get somewhere.
“That I should be going to the cafe, not home,” you sigh. 
“You won't be any good to anyone tired and stressed.”
“I know. That’s why I’m letting you bring me home.”
As you swim through your thoughts Matt wades through his own. The two of you have established you're friends. You text every day. You’ve even spoken on the phone a few times. He walks you home whenever it's just you at the cafe. Sometimes he walks you if he just has the time to do so. The fact that you didn't come to him for the dispute with your landlord nags at him. 
“Why didn't you ask for my help sooner? You know I’ve dealt with cases like this before,” he can't help but ask.
“I thought I could do it by myself. I’ve done everything that has to do with the cafe by myself. It’s stupid, but if I was going to lose it I wanted that to happen by myself too,” you admit. 
“You won't have to lose it at all,” Matt tugs you closer to him. 
“I feel very lucky to have met you, Matt,” you say softly.
“I feel very lucky to have met you too.”
***
Foggy lets himself into Matt’s apartment as usual. He finds Matt sitting on his couch, smiling at his phone. Foggy comes to a pause a few feet away. Matt doesn't acknowledge him, which is really weird. Usually, he would have said something the second the door was opened. 
“Okay, this is scary,” Foggy comments slowly.
“What’s scary?” 
Matt is completely unfazed by Foggy’s sudden arrival. Foggy drops onto the couch cushion beside Matt. 
“You didn't say anything when I came in. Now you’re smiling at your phone like a teenager who just got a sext,” Foggy answers, reaching to snatch Matt’s phone.
Matt, of course, moves his phone out of the way. 
“It’s nothing, I just got a text,” Matt says dismissively. 
He takes the single earbud out of his ear. Matt heard Foggy coming. When his phone chimed your name he grabbed the earbud. He knew Foggy would walk in while his phone read the message. Foggy’s mouth curls into a sly smile.
“A text from a certain cafe owner?” he nudges Matt with his elbow.
Matt doesn't answer. Instead, he locks his phone and sets it down. He can feel Foggy’s eyes burning into him. 
“You have the complaint?” Matt asks.
“I have the complaint if you have an answer for me.”
“An answer to what?”
“When are you going to ask them out?” 
Matt’s mouth becomes a tight line. His shoulders tense. It's not like he hasn't thought about it. He thinks about it every time he talks to you. Bringing you into his life in that capacity goes against everything he wants for you. It’ll put you in the worst of positions. It’ll cause you to fall victim to his double life. 
“I’m not,” Matt sighs.
“You're- what do you mean you're not?”
“I mean exactly that, Fog. I don't want what I do to come back to them.”
Foggy groans and throws his head back. Matt can feel the frustration radiating off of him.
“Don't do this,” Foggy pleads.
“Do what?”
“Don't punish and torture yourself like you always do.”
“I’m not-”
“And don't give me some bullshit about you acting in their best interest.”
Matt keeps his mouth shut. His phone starts chiming your name once again. Foggy lifts his head to watch Matt ignore it. Matt sits forward, elbows on his knees, sunglasses tossed onto the coffee table. His eyes stare at nothing straight ahead. 
“What if I am acting in their best interest?” Matt asks finally, voice low and wobbly.
“Says who? You? Matt, I love you, but you’re an idiot if you think you know what someone needs better than they do.”
Matt rubs his face with his hands, elbows still on his knees. He knows Foggy is right. He hates it, but he knows it. Your name sounds off again from Matt’s phone on the coffee table. 
“If you don't check it, I will,” Foggy threatens.
With a sigh, Matt grabs his phone. He doesn't bother with the earbud this time.
There are some snickerdoodle cookies waiting for you at the Triple C! is the first message that's read out.
You looked really good today, by the way. 
Matt feels the burn of blush on his cheeks. Compliments have been passing between the two of you more frequently. Typically, it's a comment on you liking something specific. This time you just complimented him. 
“You looked better,” he says into his phone with a smirk. 
Amused by his own joke, he manages to briefly forget about Foggy. He’s able to push Foggy’s pestering presence to the back of his mind.
Oh, I could kill you.
His eyebrows knit at your message. Before he can respond his phone is ringing, calling out your name. Panic sets in.
“What do I do?” he asks Foggy.
“Answer it!” 
“No, what if they’re mad at me?”
“Matt, answer the fucking phone.”
Matt takes a deep breath before answering.
“Hey,” he greets.
“You’re not going to believe it,” you laugh.
“What?” He tries not to sound too relieved.
“Your dumb message made me laugh so hard I snorted out orange juice all over a customer! I had to comp their order.”
Matt laughs and relays the story to Foggy. Foggy chuckles and shakes his head. Matt knows it's more at him for being afraid to answer the call. In retrospect, he does feel a little silly for the panic. 
“Sorry, I didn't mean to make you assault a customer,” Matt says.
“Don't be sorry, it’s funny. You're rude, though. I almost thanked you for a second there,” your smile is audible.
“Well, if it makes you feel better I can tell you that you smelled really good today.”
Matt wishes he could hear your heart through the phone. He wants to hear and feel how his words affect you.
“It does, thank you. I’ll let you go now. I just had to tell you.”
“Can I call you later?”
“Yeah, you can call me anytime you want.”
“Alright, talk later.”
“Talk later.”
He clicks off his phone, places it back on the coffee table, and falls back into the couch. His face turns to the ceiling. Maybe if he begs hard enough God will let him skip to the part where he has it figured out. The part where this inner battle of what he wants and what he can have is over.
“So, are you done with the self-torture?” Foggy questions.
“Foggy, it's really not as easy as you make it out to be.”
“Okay, so it’s not easy. Nothing is easy, especially not with you. That doesn't mean you don't try.”
“This just isn't something I can have,” Matt’s voice comes out broken. 
“You know what? Fine. Fine, you can't have a relationship. You can't be happy. I’m not arguing anymore, but the only thing- the only person who is saying you can't is you. You’re the only thing standing between yourself and something I know would make you really fucking happy. Here’s the complaint.” 
Matt hears the papers slap onto the coffee table. He can feel the vibrations in his teeth. Foggy’s frustrated words stick with him. Even after Foggy leaves, still done with Matt’s self-flagellating bullshit, the words are on repeat.
***
You don't recognize Matt when he walks in at first. His suit is replaced by a much softer outfit. He wears dark gray sweatpants, a black zip-up hoodie, and carries a duffel bag on his shoulder. What throws you the most is his face. You can see his eyes. 
Matt doesn't receive his usual greeting. There’s no joyful Hey, Matt! ringing across the cafe. It’s not until he reaches the counter that he understands. A soft gasp escapes your lips just before your heart starts pounding harder than Matt has ever heard it before. A smile finds its way to his lips.
“Matt, I didn't recognize you,” you say breathlessly. 
His smile widens, showing off his teeth and wrinkling his eyes in the most adorable way. Then there are his eyes. Fuck, his eyes. They’re like two cups of dark roast, a little light and extremely sweet. 
“I could tell,” he chuckles.
“The usual?”
“No, I actually came in to see when you get out today.”
“Oh, technically I can leave whenever I want. We have a full staff today. Just move to the left like three feet for me.”
Matt can tell someone is walking up behind him to the register. You direct Isaac to take the order and go out around the counter to meet Matt. There are a decent amount of people seated at the various tables. However, chit-chat is relatively low as most people are typing away on their laptops.
“Would you want to come by my place tonight?” He actually seems kind of nervous. His fingers flex around his cane.
“Yeah, what did you have in mind?”
You ignore the strange new jig your heart is doing. Matt can't. It makes him smile, nerves easing.
“I was thinking we could grab some takeout and have dinner together.”
Your face splits into a wide grin.
“I’d really like that,” you agree, trying not to sound too eager.
“Great, I can stop by when I’m done at the gym and we can walk together,” he offers.
“I’ll see you then.”
As you watch Matt leave, realization takes hold. You’ll be in Matt’s apartment for the first time. Was this a date? Surely if it was he would have said that, right? You catch Isaac’s knowing smile and flip him off. This garners laughs from the couple of other employees that see. With a smile, you go back to work. 
***
“Do you mind if I shower quick?” Matt asks as he enters his apartment.
You trail hesitantly behind him. There's a distinct smell of something that is overwhelmingly Matt. The air is relatively neutral, with no strong fragrances, but there are undertones you can't quite place. 
“Not at all, take your time,” you answer.
He leads you down the hall you entered into. The apartment is much bigger than you’re expecting. Once you exit the hallway it's a large open space. His kitchen is tucked all the way to the back, then he has a round table, followed by his living room. You catch a glimpse of his bedroom through the cracked sliding door. 
“Wow, that billboard is…” you struggle to find a way to say it without sounding like you’re trashing his apartment.
“I’ve been told it's obnoxious.” 
“Obnoxious definitely applies.”
The electric billboard paints the room through the giant factory windows. Flashes of pink, blue, yellow, and white make turning the lights on almost unnecessary. 
“You can pick out a place to eat. Foggy leaves take out menus in the drawer to the left of the oven. Please, make yourself at home,” he says with a warm smile.
As always, his smile makes you practically start to vibrate. 
“Okay.”
He disappears into his room. You hear the click of another door then the sound of the shower. Now that you’re alone you take the time to really examine the space. It’s sparsely furnished and industrial. Not quite what you had expected, but it still fits him somehow. 
You wander into the kitchen. Sure enough, the takeout menus are right where he said. As you sift through the glossy pamphlets, your fingers brush against something different. No gloss and full of texture. You dig it out. The braille menu from the cafe is still in pristine condition. It makes you smile. He’s actually holding onto it like he isn't in every day. Like he doesn't know the entire menu by heart.
When Matt comes back out you’re sitting on the couch with three menus on the coffee table. Matt is in extremely soft-looking loungewear. There's a black t-shirt that’s so snug it lets you see every curve of his torso, a pair of dark joggers, and wooly socks. You’re proud of the restraint you’re displaying. Seeing Matt like that, toweling off his hair, makes you want to throw caution to the wind. You want to just walk up to him and kiss him. So. Fucking. Bad. 
“I picked out a few places so we can decide together,” you tell him.
Matt drapes his towel on the back of one of the armchairs opposite you. Soon his thigh is pressed against yours. Warmth radiates from where your leg is touching his.
“What are the options?” he asks like he isn't sending your head spinning.
“Mexican, Chinese, or a pizza place. The pizza place is probably the safest.”
“The safest?”
“Yeah, unless you know how these places prepare their food, but most people don't think to ask. It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be fine no matter what we pick.”
Matt turns his face to you. His eyebrows are knit in confusion. 
“What exactly does it mean if you're not fine?” 
That's when it hits you. You’ve never hung out with Matt like this. You’ve never had any food with him that wasn't from the cafe. So, it was never relevant.
“Oh, I’m really allergic to peanuts. I usually just try to play it safe. Like I said, though, I’m sure I’ll be fine no matter which place we pick,” you explain, attempting not to burden him with your dietary restriction.
“I can call the places and ask h-”
“No, it's okay! Really, it’s fine.”
“How allergic are you?”
The hesitation tells Matt everything he needs to know, but he lets you say it.
“Extremely. Anaphylactic shock, the whole nine.” 
“So, it’s deadly,” he deadpans.
“It can be, yeah.”
“Do you have an EpiPen?”
“No, they're really expensive and my insurance isn't great,” you respond sheepishly.
Matt nods. He digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you.
“Dial the first number and I’ll ask,” he says.
“What?”
“I’ll ask how they prep their food.”
“Matt, it’s okay. I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is,” you sound apologetic, nervous.
“You’re always going out of your way to make sure I’m comfortable and safe. Let me do the same,” Matt’s voice is impossibly soft. 
Butterflies fill your stomach. Heat rises to your cheeks. Matt smiles at you like he can tell.
“Okay,” you agree.
Matt calls each place. Each tells him they have nut-free prep stations and utensils. It makes him feel a lot better knowing you won't possibly die the moment you bite into your food. The two of you end up getting Chinese and agree to split the food you order. 
Seeing Matt in his natural environment is nice. He’s relaxed, less intimidating, and somehow even more handsome. Watching him laugh at a joke you just said that nagging question comes back. Is this a date? It can't be. He’s in loungewear and you’re in his apartment. Plus, he would have said if it was a date, right?
“I can feel you staring,” Matt says with an amused smirk. 
You quickly look away like it matters. 
“Sorry, I got lost in thought.”
“What thought?”
You swallow the lump that's forming in your throat. Matt can hear your heart, feel the tension in your body, and hear your fingers toying with your sleeve.
“Just… everything with the cafe,” you lie.
It’s the first real lie Matt has ever clocked in you. 
“Anything in particular?” He decides to go along with it instead of finding a way to call out your lie.
Now you really are thinking about everything with the cafe. A tight knot forms in your stomach, your chest feels heavy, and dread fully takes over. Matt can't tell what you’re feeling, but he can tell your mood has shifted. 
“If I lose it, I have nothing,” you whisper.
“You won't.”
“Lose it or have nothing?” 
“Both.”
You shake your head to yourself. There's a moment where you pretend Matt’s right. You pretend that everything will be resolved smoothly. That even if it isn't, you won't be left desolate and alone. It’s a nice moment, but that's all it is. A moment.
“You don't understand,” you sigh. 
“So, help me understand.”
A police siren shrieks in the distance. You see Matt’s fingers twitch, but other than that he doesn't react. His attention remains firmly on you and your conversation. 
“That cafe is the only thing I have. All my savings are in it, years of savings. My friends stopped inviting me out. They stopped talking to me in general because I was always busy. My family is…,” you sigh, “I’ll have nothing, Matt.”
Matt’s hand finds yours. His fingers pull yours away from your sleeve and lace through them. It’s such a simple act, but it somehow makes the entire world shift. Some of the weight in your chest eases. The act of holding Matt’s hand alleviates some of your tension.
“You’ll still have people who care about you,” his voice is soft and warm.
“Like who? My coffee vendor?” you laugh sarcastically.
“Isaac.”
“Isaac is my employee. If the cafe is gone, so is he.”
“Me.”
Everything stops. Your eyes lock onto the far concrete wall. Light from the billboard outside the windows turns the neutral tone into an array of colors. It's like watching your heart dance across the wall. Pulsing, bright, and constantly blooming into a new color.
“What good am I to you without the cafe?” you ask as the question sears across your brain.
You finally look at Matt. His eyebrows are knitted and his mouth is pressed into a tight line. He’s dripping in concern and befuddlement.
“I don't know what you mean,” he says.
“That's why you like me, right? I give you free coffee and food. What good am I to you if I can't do that?”
“Stop saying that,” he shakes his head, full-on frowning now.
“What?”
“‘What good am I to you?’”
“Why, because it's true?”
“No, because it breaks my heart that you would even think that about me,” his voice is sharper, irritation and hurt cutting through it. 
You freeze, expecting Matt to yank his hand away. He squeezes yours instead. 
“I don't go to the cafe for free coffee or food. I didn't even really go in for coffee before you started giving me free stuff. I go in for you. I’ve always gone in for you,” he tells you with a sense of urgency. 
“Matt…”
“The cafe isn't why I like you. It’s just a convenient way to talk to you every day.” 
You spend a moment focusing on breathing evenly. Afraid if you try to speak too soon all that will come out is a sob. Matt’s words wash over you, bringing a sense of relief. You didn't realize just how insecure you are in your friendship with Matt. Despite him doing everything that should tell you otherwise, you fear that his interest is guided by his stomach.
“Why do you like me then?” you ask quietly.
“Why can't you fathom the idea that people might like you for you and not what you can do for them?” he counters, not as quiet but still soft.
“That's just not usually something I can have.” 
To your surprise, Matt laughs. You pull your hand away from his. Your entire body shifts away from him at the sound. He stops immediately.
“I’m sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at myself,” he explains.
“That's not what it felt like.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… I said something similar to Foggy not too long ago. I know how he feels talking to me now.”
You don't fully come back to him, but you shift a little closer again. Matt gently reaches for your hand once more. You allow him to lace his fingers with yours. 
“I really don't want the cafe to be a failure,” you breathe. 
“Do you remember what you said when I asked you what made you want to open a cafe?” he asks. 
“That I love coffee.”
“Yes, but the other thing.”
“Yeah,” you sigh.
“You made the place you talked about. You made a ‘cozy safe place where anything can happen.’ The first thing you ever said to me was ‘would you like a braille menu?’ I can count on one hand how many times that's happened to me. You wanted the cafe to be a place where people’s lives could change? Well, you did that too. You’ve changed my life. I don't know if you know that, but you changed my life. So, no matter what happens, the cafe isn't a failure. Not by a long shot,” Matt’s voice is steady and firm, yet soft and gentle. It cradles you with every kind word. 
His heart drops when your hand leaves his, but then he feels the movement. You throw your arms around Matt. He allows himself to sink into your embrace. You’re solid, warm, and real in his arms. This isn't a dream, or a thought, or a fantasy. This is you and Matt connected.
“Thank you, Matt. I don't think anyone has ever said such nice things to me,” you say into his neck. 
“I mean every word.”
“I know you do.”
To his disappointment, you pull away. Your fingers slot between Matt’s again. Neither of you are willing to give up the contact. Your hands clasped together is the only thing tethering Matt to the Earth. 
“You’ve changed my life too, for the record. Not just because you’re helping me with all the legal stuff. You changed it before that. You changed it the moment I spoke to you,” you tell him softly. 
“Yeah?” He gives a goofy smile.
“Yeah,” you chuckle, “you came in looking irritated as all hell, but after I talked to you… I don't know, it was like that melted away. It felt really nice to have that kind of impact on someone’s day. Then you came in again, and again, and again.”
“Some say I never left,” Matt laughs. 
“Ah, yes, the urban legend of the Cane Man who haunts the Clinton Coffee Collective.”
Just like that, the emotional heaviness of the conversation lessens. The air between you is no longer thick with your insecurities. It no longer feels like Matt could fall off the planet at any given moment. He knows what he wants to do will cross the line. A line he’s tried to draw firmly in the sand, but it's high tide and the undertow is pulling at his feet.
You watch his tongue dart out, wetting his lips. The billboard provides a technicolor exhibition of his face. Different colors cast different shadows, allowing you to see every side of him. Well, every side of him, but one. Sunlight also falls upon his face differently, it softens him. Without sunlight, you have an incomplete image of Matt. A puzzle missing its centerpiece. You want that final piece of the puzzle oh-so bad.
You’re just about to ask him what that expression is about. Contemplative and conflicted. Matt’s hands are suddenly cradling your jaw. They begin to pull you forward, but you finish the work for them. Matt’s lips crash into yours. It sends shockwaves from your lips to the rest of your body. Kissing him is like taking your first breath. It’s a relief. It’s an overwhelming sense of Ah, finally, there you are. 
When you feel him pulling away you grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him back in. Matt’s lips leave yours briefly before they’re crashing into yours again. It’s at this moment you realize what the undertones you’ve been smelling are. Bergamot and eucalyptus. A heady spice-like scent cut with something clean and fresh. It’s Matt’s shampoo and body wash. 
You separate but keep your foreheads pressed together. Wide smiles are present on both your faces.
“There’s no doubt about it now. You’re definitely my favorite customer,” you tease.
“My master plan finally falls into place,” he teases back.
You laugh and move your head to lean on Matt’s shoulder. For so long you have dedicated everything you have and everything you are to creating a space where people can feel safe and welcome. You never stopped to think about what that space would look like for you. Now, you know. It looks like Matt kissing you. It looks like Matt telling you all the sweet things you never thought you’d hear. The place you feel the safest and most welcome is with Matthew Murdock.
***
Nelson & Murdock has become a familiar place to you. You’re no longer hesitant or nervous walking in. Karen smiles brightly as you enter.
“Hey! Matt’s in his office,” she tells you.
“Thanks!”
Matt is already smiling toward the door when you pop in. The sight sends a flurry of butterflies loose in your stomach. You close the door behind you and sit in a chair across from him.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me today,” Matt says, overly formal and shuffling some papers around to pretend to be busy.
“It better be good, Murdock. Time is money,” you play along. Matt fights off his smile to keep his serious facade.
“I believe I have an offer you can't refuse.”
“And what’s that?”
“Hmm, how does the time frame to buy stipulated in your lease, plus an extra three months for our trouble sound?” He finally breaks and smiles wide.
Your eyes widen. Your mouth falls open.
“Are you serious?” you ask.
“Deadly.” 
“How did you manage that?” You can't wrap your head around it. 
“We made some calls and found some interesting business practices by your landlord. He has a habit of screwing people over and out of their leases across the city. Then there's the money laundering he uses some of his properties for. Once we confronted him with that information he was very willing to back off the cafe,” he tells you, a smile playing on his lips the entire time.
You blink away tears. There are so many emotions bubbling up.
“The cafe is safe?” Your voice is small, afraid to fully accept the good news.
“The cafe is safe.”
You’re out of your seat and on Matt’s side of the desk in an instant. He stands to meet you. Your body all but slams into his. Matt’s embrace is strong and safe. 
“I can’t thank you enough,” you say into his shoulder.
“You could let me take you out on a date. That’s a good start.”
You lean back. Still in Matt's arms, but able to look at his face. He has a charming grin. A grin that could kill you on the spot and you would apologize for the inconvenience. There’s a sense of everything clicking into place.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Matt leans in and gives you a quick chaste kiss. It’s not enough, but you aren't brave enough to ask for more yet. 
“How does tomorrow sound? I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We can grab some dinner and admire the sights the city has to offer,” he suggests, words dripping in honey-like warmth.
“We can admire the sights the city has to offer? Do you have a miracle to tell me about?” 
Matt barks out a laugh. You can feel it rumbling in his chest, vibrating his whole body. His adam’s apple bobs as he leans his head back in the process. 
“Okay, you can admire the sights the city has to offer. I’ll just tag along for the ride,” he says once his laughter dies down.
“How about you worry about the dinner part and I’ll worry about our activities after?” 
“You got yourself a deal.”
***
Dinner was Italian at a nice restaurant. Not too nice that you feel out of place, but nice enough to show Matt made a concerted effort. The two of you spend the entire time laughing with each other. By the time Matt pays the check, he insists, your cheeks are sore. For the first time since college, so are Matt’s. 
Matt can hear the Hudson to his right. He can hear the dull hum of street lamps. He feels the tiniest bit of warmth they give off in contrast to the cold November evening. Right when he’s about to ask where exactly you're taking him he notices it. Swift melodic string music permeates the air. It grows louder as the two of you continue to walk but never gets overwhelming. 
“Is that a cello?” he asks.
“Yeah, c’mon there are some benches over here.”
You lead him further to the right. Wooden benches line the fence dividing the two of you from the river. Every ten feet or so there's another bench. You choose the closest one and the two of you sit, huddling close together for warmth. Matt stays silent as he takes in the music. Whoever is playing clearly has skill. He can tell from the heartbeat that it’s a woman, maybe twenty-five to thirty. 
The music mingles with the sounds of the Hudson creating a sort of symphony. The occasional beeps from traffic like cymbals. Even the footsteps of passersby act like a steady tempo. 
“I figured we can't both appreciate the sights of the city, but we can both appreciate the sounds. I love this spot. It feels like the whole city comes together here,” you tell him softly. 
Matt’s heart swells. You've brought him somewhere you knew you could both enjoy. Somewhere you knew he would appreciate. He understands what you mean. Every sound of the city seems to coalesce right here, tied together by the music of the cello. It almost sounds like New York is singing to him for once, instead of shouting in his ears.
“How do you manage to do this?”
“Do what?” You turn your head to look at him as you ask. 
He faces forward, a small smile ever present. 
“How do you always manage to make it feel effortless?”
“I don't think I’m following.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m holding people back, or at least they think I am. I just go with the flow of whoever I’m with. I don't push to be seen as disabled, mostly because I don't always feel disabled. Not until someone else makes me feel that way. You make it seem so easy, though. You just do things that let me know you see and understand my disability. You don't work around it, you embrace it.”
Matt’s hand finds yours without faltering. 
“It is easy. Matt, you’re incredibly easy to be around. I don't have to think twice about anything,” you squeeze his hand as you tell him.
“That's my point. You don't have to think about it. I appreciate that about you. Most things in my life aren't this easy.”
You lean into his side, absorbing his warmth through his jacket. Matt’s head turns right as you're about to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your lips meet his instead, causing you to giggle into the kiss. Matt smiles as you pull back. 
“I guess I just have to stick around and keep reminding you that you’re the easiest part of my life,” you shrug.
“I’d really, really like that.”
***
Matt is tormenting himself. He’s strangling his own happiness. Foggy is unimpressed by this not-even-close-to-new development. Matt paces in the office. Foggy watches from where he’s perched on the corner of Karen’s desk. Karen is equally unimpressed with Matt. 
“What exactly is the problem here?” Foggy questions.
“The problem is that I can't lie- I don’t want to lie, but how am I supposed to tell them what I do?” Matt sighs frustratedly.
“Just give it a few months and if this is something you see lasting, then bring it up,” Karen suggests.
“No, this is it for me. I don't want anything or anyone else. I don't see myself ever wanting anything or anyone else,” Matt says.
“Then tell them,” Foggy states.
“I don't want to lose them.”
“Okay, then don’t. I don't know what you want from us, Matt. All I know is that sooner or later, the truth is going to come out. Don't you think it would be better to just say it rather than let them see you limp in half-dead?” 
Foggy’s words make Matt flinch. He’ll always feel guilty for how Foggy found out. He’ll always feel guilty for not saying something sooner. Matt’s pacing stops.
“I know you're right, but I don't like it,” Matt tells Foggy. 
“As always,” Foggy chirps.
Matt shakes his head, but smiles. He takes his phone out of his pocket and voice commands a text to you. 
Are you busy tonight?
It only takes a moment for your answer to come through.
It sounds like I am now.
He chuckles. Foggy and Karen make puking faces at each other. Matt elects to ignore them. You agree to meet with him later. Then another text comes through.
I’m going to bring some extra muffins to the office in a bit.
Matt would relay the message if his phone hadn't read it out loud. Foggy gives a whispered yes! at the news. 
“I’m so happy you decided to flirt with someone who owns a food place,” Foggy sighs dreamily. 
“I’m glad,” Matt chuckles.
You arrive around twenty minutes later. Sure enough, there's a white box of muffins in your hands. Foggy immediately takes them with a sung thank you. He places them on the table of other things clients have traded them for their services. There isn't much else. Just a mesh bag of fresh apples and a dish with some sort of casserole in it. The casserole already has some missing pieces. Before long the box you brought is missing a few muffins. 
“Oh, you have to try this casserole Mrs. Chen gave us. It’s amazing,” Foggy says.
Before you can say anything, he’s slicing a piece out for you. Not a big one, but enough for you to try it. You smile as you take it. It does look really fucking good. Matt is the only one who hasn't had the casserole yet, but it certainly smells good. It smells like chicken, mushrooms, peppers, cheese, and… peanut sauce. Panic tears through Matt’s chest. 
“Wait, don't-”
You’ve already placed a forkful into your mouth. He can hear you chewing it. Suddenly you stop.
“Call an ambulance,” Matt orders Foggy.
“What-”
“Call 911, now.”
The plate and fork fall from your hands. Your lips are itchy. Spitting out what was in your mouth is of no use. Your throat is already starting to swell. A racing heart, closed-off lungs, and a burning itching sensation all over your skin tell you everything you need to know. You’re going into anaphylaxis. How Matt knew so quickly is beyond you. 
You gasp for air, hands coming up to your throat. Matt rushes over and sits you down on a nearby chair. Vaguely, you can hear Foggy on the phone. The sounds of the world have muted as fear takes over. This hasn't happened in so long that you almost forgot how terrifying it can be.
“Do you have an EpiPen?” Foggy tries to ask. Matt is too busy trying to slow your reaction any way he possibly can, which he can't. 
“Matt, is there a fucking EpiPen?” Foggy shouts in a panic. 
You can only shake your head. Foggy curses and relays the information to the 911 dispatcher. 
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Matt assures you, “We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just try to stay calm.”
Pain is settling in. Your abdomen feels almost like it's seizing. Your chest is on fire from the lack of oxygen. Only the smallest amount is still getting through, but you know from experience that won't last. You grab a fistful of Matt’s pressed button-up shirt for comfort. The world is getting dark around the corners as pressure builds behind your eyes. That grip is keeping you steady. 
“What do we do?” Karen asks urgently, voice thick with worry.
“The ambulance is two minutes away,” Foggy says.
“Hear that? Just two minutes. You’ll be okay. It’s just a couple minutes,” Matt attempts to comfort you, but the fear is still present in his voice.
He’s never felt so fucking powerless. Your grip on him tightens but then loosens. Matt can hear your breathing becoming even more shallow.
“Foggy, we need that fucking ambulance now,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I can't exactly teleport it,” Foggy snaps back. 
“Fighting isn't helping right now. We need to stay calm. I’ll wait downstairs so when they get here I can bring them up,” Karen interjects firmly.
Matt can hear the sirens, but they’re still a few blocks away. His heart feels like it's about to break out of his chest and plop on the floor. As your vitals grow weaker so does he. One hand is holding the back of your head, the other is rubbing comforting circles into your warming cheek. Matt is the only thing you can hold onto. He’s your only link to the outside world at this point.
“In here, in here!” 
You can't tell who is shouting it. Everything is fuzzy. Nothing feels real anymore. Your consciousness is being held onto by a thread. Right when that thread is ready to snap, there's a pain in your leg. A moment of nothing goes by, then a gasping breath rips through you. Breathing has become easier and the pain is lessening. Your eyes are beginning to focus again.
“What’s the reaction to?” you hear an unfamiliar voice ask.
“Peanuts,” Matt answers.
“Okay, is anyone riding with us?”
“Yes, I am.”
You’re transferred from the chair to a gurney. As everything sharpens you watch the lights in the hallways rush by. A blink and you’re in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring. The paramedic places an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose. They start to check your vitals.
You feel a hand slip into yours. When you loll your head to look Matt is there, sitting on the bench. A calm settles in at the sight of him. That calm allows you to close your eyes and focus on taking in the oxygen that's flowing through the mask. 
Matt gets separated from you when you get to the hospital. A couple of nurses have trouble physically holding him back until Claire appears. She manages to calm Matt down and get him to the waiting room by promising to personally care for you. Foggy and Karen meet him in the waiting room. They find him in a chair in an empty corner. He’s hunched over with his face in his hands. The noises of the hospital are grating, but he refuses to leave. 
“This is my fault. I’m so sorry,” Foggy says as he sits next to Matt. He places a hand between Matt’s shoulders.
Matt lifts his head. He looks about ten years older and exhausted. 
“It’s not your fault. I should have been paying more attention to what was in the food we had,” Matt mutters, shaking his head.
“This isn't either of your faults. Foggy, you didn't know and, Matt, it’s not on you to monitor everything they eat,” Karen says to them firmly. 
“She’s right. This is just a really shitty accident,” Foggy sighs.
Matt doesn't bother answering. He won't feel better until he knows you're okay. Desperately, he’s trying to find you amongst all the noise and vibrations. It’s all too much, though. The adrenaline is wearing off leaving him fatigued. Picking apart sounds is only giving him a headache. So, he focuses on what’s in the room with him. 
A television hangs from the ceiling in the opposite corner playing some daytime talk show. There are a few clusters of people here and there. Some of them are waiting patiently, others are crying or panicking silently. The vending machine across the room thrums and the nurses behind the check-in counter are clacking away on their keyboards. Foggy is next to him, breathing a little heavy, but even. Karen is beside Foggy, anxiously picking at the skin around her fingers.
A nurse appears from the double doors that lead into the emergency area around an hour later. Matt hears her ask for your family and stands. Foggy and Karen go with him to meet the nurse where she is.
“Are they okay?” Matt asks with worry coating every word.
“They're okay. We had to give them another dose of epinephrine and we’ll be keeping them overnight just in case, but you can see them now. One at a time,” the nurse explains gently.
“I’d like to go,” Matt says.
No one protests. Matt allows the nurse to hold onto his forearm so as to guide him to where you are. He doesn't really need it and it's more annoying than anything right now, but it's necessary. 
As your room grows closer, Matt’s able to hone in on you. You're in the bed closer to the window, an unconscious man is in the other bed separated by a curtain. Your heartbeat is steady and your breathing is normal. He can hear your fingers tapping on the plastic bed guards that are flanking you. That means you’re awake and you’re bored. If you’re bored then you're okay. Matt finally takes a much-needed deep breath. 
The nurse leaves him at the door. He enters with a light knock. Your heart skips a beat when you see him. 
“Matty,” you smile all dopey at him.
A gentle smile eases into Matt’s face at the nickname. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your knees. You take his hand.
“You really scared the shit out of me,” Matt whispers.
“Scared the shit outta me too. Doctor told me if the call came inna minute later I wouldn't be here. I dunno how you knew, but it saved my life,” your words are soft and just a little drawn out.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that, but it can wait. I just want you better.”
“I’m much better.”
Matt chuckles at the chipper tone you use.
“What exactly do they have you on?”
“Some muscle relaxer, I dunno. They didn't want my body seizing up again or somethin’.”
Matt brings your hand to his lips. He presses gentle kisses to each of your knuckles. You sigh contentedly. 
“I love you,” you mumble as your eyes fall closed. 
Matt freezes. Your breathing slows and soft snores fill the air. It takes a second to steady his own breathing. Was that the drugs, the high emotions from what happened, or was it true? Do you really love him? The uncertainty begins to eat at him. One thing he knows, especially after this ordeal, is he definitely loves you.
“I love you too,” he whispers to your sleeping form. 
***
Soft chattering is the first thing you register as you begin to wake. At first, you think there are people in your room. Your eyes blink open and you realize you’re not in your room. Fuck, you think as the memories of the reaction come flooding back. 
The hospital room is pretty standard. White walls, white tile floors, and a whiteboard on the wall for the nurses to keep track of who was in when. A blue curtain to your right separates you and whoever is in the other bed. The soft chattering you heard was your television. It’s turned on to reruns of some sitcom from the 90s, the volume low. To your right you find Matt.
He’s asleep on an uncomfortable-looking chair. His suit jacket has been repurposed as a blanket. You just watch him for a while. The dark red tinted sunglasses that sometimes feel like just another part of his face sits folded on the windowsill. Looking at his face unobscured and in a peaceful state you get a bright feeling in your gut. It's almost as if pure light has found a home in your abdomen. I love him, you think. 
“I can feel you staring,” Matt says with a smile, eyes still closed. 
Heat rises to your cheeks.
“It’s hard not to.”
His eyes flutter open. It’s the middle of the night. They look darker in the low light. 
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says.
You watch Matt stand, throwing his jacket onto the chair he was just on. He sits on the edge of the bed. His hand is warm on yours. 
“Can't get rid of me that easy,” you chuckle. 
As you study his face, more memories resurface. Matt hears your heart start speeding. He feels you tense. You swallow nothing in an attempt to prepare yourself to speak.
“Are you okay? Should I get some-”
“No, I’m fine. I just… remember what I said before I passed out,” you shake your head embarrassed. 
Matt laughs lightly. You can't help but watch. His whole face lights up like the sun. Even in the unflattering light that illuminates the different ports and buttons on the wall behind the hospital bed he manages to be handsome.
“Yeah, you didn't stay awake long enough to hear me say it back,” he smiles playfully. 
Electricity runs up and down your spine. That pure light in your abdomen has taken on a lovely warm golden tone. 
“You said it back?” You ask breathlessly.
Matt’s expression softens. He’s as soft as a down comforter, ready to wrap you up like a burrito and protect you from the world. Your eyes shut as he presses a kiss to your forehead. He keeps his face close to yours.
“I love you,” he whispers.
You lean forward and press your lips to his. Matt’s free hand cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You pull away not because you want to, but because you have to. You have to say it.
“I love you too.”
The smile Matt wears is indescribable. All you know if you never want to stop seeing it. You never want to stop being the reason behind it. Matt leans forward and rests his head on your chest. Your arms circle him without thought. One hand is running a thumb up and down his upper arm. The other is combing through his hair gently. Matt closes his eyes and lets the sound and vibrations of your heartbeat envelope him. 
“How did you get them to let you stay?” you ask quietly.
“I know people,” he mumbles.
You simply hum in response. You're not going to question it further. You’d much rather revel in the feeling of him against you. The whole almost dying thing was pretty traumatic, you won't lie. Right now, though, you don't want to think about it. You don't want to think about how a single bite of some extremely delicious casserole was almost your end. So, you grasp at anything else you can find in your mind.
“Hey, what did you want to talk to me about?” you question softly.
“Huh?”
“Before I fell asleep. You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Matt buried his face in your chest. You give the back of his head a little tap. His sigh ripples the hospital gown you’re in. You start to worry when he sits back up and faces forward. If you want to see his full face you have to look at his reflection in the window. His troubled expression overlays the lit-up city beyond the confines of this room.
His head tilts for a moment like he’s listening to something. He only speaks when he seems satisfied with the level of privacy you have. 
“You know how I told you about my hearing being sensitive?” 
You blink at him for a moment. That wasn't the response you were expecting.
“Uh-yeah, I do.”
“It’s more than that.”
For the next thirty minutes, Matt tells you everything. He tells you how he went blind, what it did to him, and his father’s murder. Then there’s Stick and his attempt to turn Matt into a child soldier. Someone who would grow up to be a weapon in a war that wasn't his. By this point in the story your heart is breaking for Matt. It's the story about the young girl and her father that causes your brows to furrow. The way Matt tried to help, but the police wouldn't do anything. So, he did and he has been ever since. 
“I’m Daredevil.”
You stare ahead blankly. The information is… a lot. You’re not necessarily mad, but you’re definitely a little overwhelmed. The funny, handsome, charming blind attorney you've gotten to know and grown to love runs around at night beating people up. Getting beat up. You saw how distressed your almost dying made Matt. Will you have to go through something similar time and time again due to his vigilantism? 
“I understand if you’re mad and don't want to talk to me. Just know that I’m sorry for deceiving you in any way,” he says quietly when you don't respond. 
Those words snap you out of your thoughts.
“Deceive me? You didn't deceive me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You're blind, right?”
The question finally gets Matt to face you. If only because he wants you to see his confused expression. 
“Yes,” he gives a curt nod.
“Then you didn't deceive me, Matt. You just… didn't tell me about certain parts of your life. Which, I guess I understand, but I am a little hurt that you didn't feel you could trust me.” 
“I’ve always trusted you. It’s not about that,” he shakes his head and grabs your hand once more.
“Then what was it about?”
“I liked that when you looked at me you just saw me. You didn't see everything else around me. All the ugly things about me.”
You cup his cheek. Matt instantly leans into the soft touch.
“I still see you. I just see all of you now,” you half-whisper.
“You’re really not mad I lied?” 
“You didn’t lie.”
“Yes, I did.”
You sigh.
“Can you tell me one lie you've told me?” 
Matt hesitates.
“It’s not about what I did say, it’s about what I didn't.”
“Do you want me to be mad at you?”
“No… maybe. I-I don't know. You're just the first person that hasn't gotten furious with me,” his voice is so small. 
Everything about him feels so small.
“Furious, huh? So, you thought I was going to kick you out and cut you off after you were able to save my life because of the abilities you have,” you state slowly. 
“Well, when you say it like that,” he sighs. You think there's a hint of a smile there.
Morbid curiosity is taking over. You can't quite fathom what about Matt’s life would infuriate the people he tells. Sure, it doesn't feel great to learn how much he was keeping to himself, how much he was afraid to tell you. You can't imagine getting mad over that, though. You can't imagine getting more than a little hurt like you did.
“Why do people usually get so mad?” you ask.
“I had to lie a lot to keep everyone in the dark, to keep them safe. On top of that, my abilities make me less blind than people think, which no one really appreciates.”
“Less blind?”
“Yeah, because of the spatial awareness. It’s like… I can’t see but all my other senses can help create the shapes in my head. It’s not really an image, but an impressionistic version of the world around me,” he explains gently.
“But you’re still blind. That doesn't become less true just because you have other ways to interpret your environment.”
Matt is silent. The corners of his mouth tug downward. His eyebrows are knit like he’s thinking really hard. 
“I’ve never thought of it like that. The way people react to me… I don't know it just made me feel like I’m lying about being blind,” he leans into your palm even more as he speaks.
“Who else knows?”
“Foggy, Karen, a nurse in this hospital, the guy who made my suit, a crime boss I put in jail, a mass murderer I tried to keep out of jail, and my priest,” he lists. 
“Wow, so this is like the worst-kept secret in Hell’s Kitchen,” you chuckle.
Matt actually cracks a smile.
“Yeah, it kind of is.”
You lean forward. Matt meets you halfway. The kiss is something different. It holds so much more than the previous ones. Understanding, comfort, and acceptance. Your lips move with Matt’s in a reassuring dance, warmth, and adoration trailing behind. Any doubts Matt may have still had, any anxieties have melted away. With this kiss you’re telling him everything. You’re telling him that he’s not alone and he doesn't have to be ever again.
***
Three years can feel like forever. Three years can feel like a second. Somehow, you’re feeling both at the same time. Your fingers toy with the edges of your sleeve. A thread begins  to come loose. Matt’s free hand covers yours to stop it. You sigh.
“What’s bothering you?” he asks.
You're leaning against him on the couch as he reads over a memo with the hand not on yours. Matt’s been busy with a case. You’ve been busy with the cafe and all the tribulations that come from owning the storefront rather than renting it. More often than not, you end up at Matt’s. 
The hours between getting off of work and Matt going out at night are precious to you. Sometimes you're able to stay up until he comes back, but not always. Even sitting with your body pressed against him now, you fucking miss him. You’re tired of missing him. Your lease is up at the end of next week. The solution is simple, but terrifying to propose.
“Nothing is bothering me per say,” you reply quietly.
“Then what are you thinking about?”
“I miss you.”
Matt chuckles and puts the paper in his hand on the coffee table. He pulls you into his arms and presses his lips into the top of your head.
“I’m right here,” he mumbles into your hair.
“I know, but we don't get a lot of us time anymore. Not since I bought the storefront and the office picked up. We only get to see each other for a few hours after work, maybe before if we’re lucky. Some days off we’re both too tired to make the trip to each other. I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of missing you,” you explain, nuzzling into his soft button-up.
“I’m tired of missing you too. You're right, it’s gotten harder to see each other. I think part of it is how often you have to go home to get your things, do laundry, water your plants, and make sure the place is still standing…”
 The way Matt trails off causes you to lift your head to gaze at him. You have a feeling you’re on the same page, as usual. 
“What ever will we do to fix that?” You smile as you pose the question playfully.
“You’re in luck. I seem to have a vacancy on the left side of my bed, and the left side of my dresser… and my closet, the shower, and even the kitchen,” he drawls with a teasing smile. 
“Are you asking me to move in?” 
“I’m begging you to move in.”
“Well, who am I to deny you my presence 24/7?” 
With a chuckle, Matt yanks you back into him. You let out a surprised squeal as he does so. This time you wind up on his lap as he cuddles into you. You cuddle right back into him. The two of you sit there on the couch, two beings but one entity.
“So, you already cleared out space for me?” you ask into his neck.
“I cleared out space for you months ago. It just never felt like the right time to bring it up,” he says into your shoulder. 
You squeeze him tighter. How you got so unbelievably lucky, you’ll never know. You’re not going to question it, though. To Matt’s disappointment, he even lets out a little whine, you pull back from his neck. 
“How does this weekend sound? We can enlist Foggy and Isaac to help. I think Isaac might have a truck,” you suggest with a smile. 
“Not soon enough,” Matt complains.
“Matt, it’s Thursday,” you laugh.
“Okay, fine. I guess I can agree to wait until Saturday.”
“You’re so brave and selfless for that,” you coo teasingly.
Matt pouts adorably.
“I know I am.”
The two of you devolve into a fit of laughter. Both of you are giddy with the thought of actually living together. Sure, you’re at Matt’s frequently enough, but this changes things. You no longer have to go back and forth with your schedules to make sure you see each other outside of the cafe. No more days off alone because Matt is too bruised, sore, and tired to come to you. Because you’re too exhausted from pulling fifteen hours at the cafe to go to him. You will already be in the same place. Neither of you will have to be alone.
“I love you, Matty.”
“I love you too.”
Living together is the start of an entirely new chapter in your life and relationship. It’s a chapter neither of you can wait to dive into. Who knew that the person who would meet the love of their life in the Clinton Coffee Collective would be you?
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freshabogados · 2 years
Text
Dating Matt Murdock: Sensations
Smell
Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader
You can read my previous work in this series, Sensations: Touch, here.
Tags: domestic!Matt, fluff, smut, gn!reader, afab!reader, mentions of menstruation and blood.
Matt's favourite fragrance is you. Your unique scent has itself ingrained in his brain.
He likes the smell of your morning coffee leaving its trace on his lips when you kiss him.
The fresh smell of you just as you wakeup, the smell of your skincare products buried in your skin as you exit the shower, the smell of wet mud on you after you successfully pot a plant, the earthy smell of rain latching onto you as you come home drenched, the smell of his clothes on your skin. These are some of the moments he treasures in his life.
He won't ever tell you but your morning breath as you mumble in sleep has become a part of his morning routine. He knows you'll drive yourself into the wall if he ever told you that he can tell if you're having a bad stomach. The pungent smell of your farts overwhelms his nose but he won't ever complain about it.
You leave a bottle of your shampoo and bodywash in his apartment and he likes to lather himself in it after coming back home from a long day. The familiar scent of your products ground him and envelop him in warmth. It makes him feel like you're always by his side.
He loves the smell of your apartment. You make sure to not use overpowering scents that could kick Matt’s senses off.  Sometimes it smells of your favourite seasonal candle and sometimes you use your diffuser and add in some essential oils and it smells like he wandered into a garden. 
If you come to visit him during lunch he dwells in the lingering scents of your home on you. It acts like a reminder to him that you’re real and not a fragment of his imagination. Your apartment has become his true home because of you.
He enjoys the smell of your sweat. It brings out your subtle aroma, something he can't usually detect on you. 
You break into concentrated nervous sweats when you tend to his wounds. He feels guilty for putting you through this and he understands that you chose to be there but the way your forehead is lined with pearls of sweat, mixed with the smell of your perfume, and your natural scent turns him on.
To be able to smell your cooking has become Matt's new favourite hobby. He helps around the kitchen when you both cook together but his favourite part is to smell your delicious dishes filling his nostrils and lungs.
There’s more than just edible ingredients in your dishes. He knows that you pour in your love when you cook and he swears he can get a whiff of it. 
If you're trying out a new recipe he'll stay by your side and pitch in occasionally if it's lacking salt or spice. And everytime, those dishes come out looking and tasting as if a professional chef had prepared it.
Your tremendous amounts of garlic infused food would knock his olfactory sense out the window and you try to dim it down with some mints but he never complains. He lives for these moments with you. Just two normal humans entangled in eachother's lives.
The smell of your freshly folded clothes or a fresh pair of jeans has become an usual part of his life. There’s something very domestic about it and he likes to nuzzle in the nook of your neck and inhale the flowery fragrance of your laundry detergent. 
Matt can easily tell what you’ve been upto the whole day just by sniffing you. He knows you’ve had a bad day if you had chai instead of your regular evening coffee and he would be gentle and pay more attention to you to make your day a little better. 
He can narrate how your day has been just from getting a whiff of you. It has made communication easier between the two of you. He'd understand and give you space if you needed it.
He's a walking lie detector. He can say something is wrong with you by the smell of faded tear stains printed on your cheeks. He'd drop everything and run to give you the biggest hug and listen to you talk about whatever is bothering you.
You can't begin to comprehend how Matt manages to walk or parkour around New York without gagging on the smell of the piss infused streets. The subway smells horrible to normal human senses and you can only wonder how Matt manages to keep his smile on anytime you take the train.
Some nights, he reeks of blood, sweat, and the parts of the city he's been in. You can smell the dirty water from the docks as you stitch him up. No mater how many times he comes home to you battered and burnt-out, you wouldn't be able to get used to the forbidden smells of the city finding its refuge on him.
You love the smell of Matt on you. His strong coffee infused breath fanning over your lips as he pulls back from kissing you, his cozy sweaters carrying his scent like a sacred secret fill your lungs as you walk around your home with them on.
Matt's raw smell is covered by the smell of cedarwood and birchwood oil, it makes him feel warm. On special nights he'd wear the perfume you picked out for him. You'd catch yourself smiling smelling your gift on him.
The smell of him reminds you of home because that's where your heart lives.
Matt has an added advantage in foreplay. He simply knows whenever you feel aroused. He can smell the tangy particles floating in the air. Even when you try to push your arousal away and carry on with your work he'll coax you and you eventually give in to his whines.
But when you're ovulating he can't hold himself back. The change in your body's natural scent due to the release of luteinizing hormone sends his senses on an overdrive. He finds himself giving into his temptations, begging on his knees to let him taste you, feel you, and fuck you. And you don't hold back either, you're way too horny to deny his advances.
If it's a date night, you apply some jasmine oil to your pulse points to make those pheromones float stronger in the air.
You remember reading on TikTok about applying your "coochie essence" on your pulse points. You decide to take advantage of it on one of your dates and tease him a little. Matt notices the increased aroma of pheromones oozing from your body. He scoots closer to you only to find himself getting harder by the minute. Your bold move leads to the date being cut short.
Matt loves to carry your scent around with him from your previous night shenanigans. Though he showered well he could smell your essence on him. He can smell your sour slick on his lips and stubble from spending enough time buried between your legs. The smell adhering itself onto his skin like a protective layer. A testimonial that you're his.
Matt knows that he has sinned too much to even bribe his way to heaven but he would give up a redemption ticket just to smell your cum mixed with his one more time. 
He would be the gentlest gentleman when you're menstruating. You wonder how he can easily switch from rearranging your insides to becoming a cuddly bear. He keeps track of your cycle and starts preparing for it two days in advance. He'll stock up the bathroom with extra tissue rolls and keep an extra set of tampons or pads in his bathroom cupboard. 
He'd make some hibiscus tea to help you with your cramps and offer to stay with you until you fall asleep. The familiar smell of copper still stays unfamiliar to him when it comes from you. Lines of worry playing on his face because of the pain you experience sometimes.
Matt didn't know your presence would make his life fragrant. You smelled like a garden in the middle of his desert. He is addicted to the smell of you. It's his drug. You're his drug.
Thank you for reading my Matt-thots <3
Tag List: @matt-erialgirl @shedaresthedevil @star-spangled-man @mindidjarin @e-dubbc11 @sobachka-korol @1800-fight-me @alrighty-matty @mattmurdockspainkink @elgrandeavocados @minxsblog @mattmurdocksdumpy @dropsofprecipitation @lovelywebber @phoebe-danvers
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