a/n: i am not proud of this in the way that i will not be claiming it when i am judged by god.
warnings: SMUT like real sex!!! dom!matt, p in v smut, matt has a thing for talking in bed, MATT BEING A TEASE!!! many nicknames, pining, praise with slight degradation, fluff here and there, tipsy reader and matt, i'm sure i'm missing one or two
word count: 3.3k
summary: ten months of yearning wears you and matt down to desperation.
pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader
now playing: dress - taylor swift
"say my name and everything just stops/i dont want you like a best friend/only bought this dress so you could take it off."
Foggy is so mad at him.
You’re a good employee, a great employee even! You’re dedicated to your job, and you bake in your free time, so you bring in all sorts of treats—Homemade bagels, donuts, cookies—His favorite are your cinnamon chai sugar cookies you make.
You’re intelligent, well-spoken, and good at explaining the issues that you run into. And you’re funny, Foggy would argue, you have incredible timing and wit. You always buy a round at Josies. You are an amazing employee and friend, and Foggy adores you.
So why, pray tell, must Matt feel the need to have you?
He won’t say it out loud, not to Karen, not to Maggie, not to Foggy, and certainly not you. But he’s entranced by you. He loves the sound of your voice as you explain things, he loves that your heart always skips a beat whenever you’re about to deliver a one liner that will crack everyone else up, he loves that when you bake, you always make things all naturally out of desire to make the best dessert you possibly can. But most of all?
He loves that your heart rate picks up whenever he enters the room.
You, on the other hand, are pretty much fascinated by Matt Murdock. You love the sound of his laughter, you love his hands, you love his charm, you love that you can see a chain around his neck when the day dwindles and he loosens his tie, and Jesus H Christ, you love that baritone.
So, it’s safe to say you’ve both been smitten since the first day you met each other.
Yet, you spend ten months cruelly dancing around your attraction for each other.
He’s hesitant to want you in any context, he’s your boss, he’s fucking Daredevil!
By then you know—Mostly accidentally on purpose. All his usual people are out of town or busy, so when he gets stabbed, he has nowhere else to go. He winds up climbing into your window, scaring the ever-living shit out of you. It’s not how he wanted to tell you about his alter ego, but he knows he can trust you.
And you hate the site of blood and gore, so you struggle to patch him up that night. And it makes your heart ache, all the ways he hurts from his nighttime hobby. And he decides right then and there that he can’t have you, not now. Not knowing how much you would—and really, will—worry about him.
So, he buries his want in other people that have no real meaning to him. He even goes on a second date with some of them. One of them even comes to visit him in the office to have lunch.
It makes you jealous to the point where you need to take a walk to dwindle your desire to go back into the office and beg on your hands and knees for her to leave so you can have him. What happens instead is that you go get a pumpkin chai latte and take it back to the office, sitting and keeping to yourself, even when the girl comes out of his office giggling as he stands in the doorway as she leaves.
He smells the pumpkin from his office, and it drives him wild. Just from how quietly you dwell in your jealousy, as you mask it with your favorite fall flavors.
He breaks up with the girl the next day.
• • •
And a week later, he gets his official invitation to Marci and Foggy’s wedding—A big to do, full of family, friends and coworkers that make it a real party. Matt will be Foggy’s best man. You and Karen aren’t in the wedding party, as you were good friends with both the bride and groom, but Karen wanted to make sure at least one of them was focused on the firm, and you hated to be the center of attention. So, you shared your love from a few aisles back.
You had gone shopping with Marci for your dress, Karen too. You enjoyed spending time with them—While you had made friends with them easily, prior friends had never really come easy to you.
It was nice to be wanted.
But they had insisted on you trying to find different dresses that made you look amazing. And for the most part, the dresses made you sort of uncomfortable. They revealed too much or revealed too little.
And then you came across this red satin dress. It hugs your curves in all the right way, and it makes you look good. It makes you feel good. You have these perfect black heels to wear with them, and then Karen says it.
“You know, Matt kind of has a thing about textures. He loves silk and satin.” Your face burns. Of course, he does. Why wouldn’t he? He can hear people's heartbeats, tell when they’re lying, why wouldn’t he be keen on nice textures?
“Karen Page, are you insisting I should by this dress to impress a man?” You laugh just to escape your nerves.
“No! But it can’t hurt! It’s not like he’s bringing a date—” She turns to Marci. “He’s not bringing a date, right?” she asks quickly. It makes her laugh.
“No, Murdock RVSP’ed for one.” You look at yourself in the mirror again, thinking it over. And over. And over. Then you turn to your friends again, and nod.
“Alright. Alright, I’ll get it.” You grin, “And y’know.. Karen’s right, It can’t make the situation any worse.”
“You know what you need now? Good lingerie for after—” Your face is red again at your friend’s comment.
“Shut up, Marci!” You whine, heading back to the dressing room to get changed.
• • •
Matt is sitting with Foggy and his brothers, enjoying a glass of scotch before the ceremony when someone knocks on the door.
And somehow, he’s not shocked to hear your nervous heartbeat when the door opens.
“Hey Fog, Karen said you had scissors—Can I borrow ‘em quick? There’s a tag on this dress I forgot to take off and it’s impossible to reach—”
“Yes, Absolutely, and you know who would be great at helping you? Matt. An incredible knack for… Cutting things.” It’s a poor attempt to get the two of you alone, yet Foggy hands you the scissors and pushes you and Matt outside the room.
“My rooms only two doors down.” He explains, taking your hand in his and leading you there.
After finding out about his super senses, it became clear that he was more than capable of finding his way through places he’s stayed, and that he’s privy to a lot more information than people would give him credit for.
So here you are. In Matt Murdock’s hotel room. A tag itching at your back, with you unable to grab it.
“I’m just gonna—” He awkwardly reaches to the top of your dress, and you just move the hair from your neck and try to ease his anxiety.
“Just go for it, Matt. I don’t care, it’s just annoying.” You promise. And he does.
He folds the top of your dress the best he can and its only enough for the scissors to almost grab the tag without him sticking his hand down your dress. He hesitates for a second before exhaling deeply.
Then, he leans down towards your back, and scrunches the material enough so that he can reach the tag and bites the tag off.
You can feel his other hand on your hip. His hot breath on your back. He hears your heart jump as your breath becomes shaky. He wonders how bad it would be for him to skip the wedding and take you right here, in this room.
He plucks the tag from his teeth and smooths out your dress, as you let go of your hair. He feels this raw need for you.
And you feel it too. Yet he pulls away, taking a step back from you.
“We should get to the ceremony.” he said, trying to catch his breath. He yearns for you, in a way that anyone else would laugh at. It’s the type of yearning you read about in Jane Austen novels. That is the level that Matt longs to touch you. It’s desperation.
“Yeah...” You say softly, trying to recover from what just happened. You drop him back off at Foggy’s suite and head back to the hall, hoping to find Karen and put the moment behind you. And that’s just what happens. You watch the ceremony, and it’s gorgeous. You’re thrilled for Marci and Foggy, and it elates you that they put together such a beautiful ceremony.
And yet, you can’t take your eyes off Matt and how good he looks. He stands tall, and he really does look good. It makes it kind of hard to focus. It makes it really hard to focus. And you think about this all the way through their first dance song, through dinner, through cake and through all the cheesy wedding traditions Foggy insisted on.
You have a few drinks but eventually it all becomes too much, and you take a minute outside of the hall and into the cold air. And you’re thinking about Matt.
“You’re gonna catch a cold out here.”
Speak of the devil.
You turn back to him and smile.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” You say, and he hums. It’s the alcohol in both of your systems, it’s why neither of you run when you say it.
“Same goes for you, sweetheart.” He takes off his coat and wraps it around your shoulders. You note the silky texture of the inside of the jacket. It pushes you further.
“Why do we insist on playing this game? Why do we watch each other go after people who we don’t want when all we want is each other?”
He takes a moment to answer. Because in truth, he’s sure he could tell you why, he could discuss all of the horrible things that have happened to him, and you could share the same sort of stories about your own life. You could sit there and dissect past traumas for hours.
But that’s not really what you’re asking.
“I don’t know...” He says softly. His hands find themselves on your hips, and he rubs small circles into the fabric. “Satin?” You hum, melting at his touch. “Words, pretty girl. You know I like hearing your voice.”
“Satin.” You confirm, your breath catching.
“There she is...” He hums, and leans in. You feel his breath against your lip, and you take it upon yourself to close the gap between the two of you.
It’s soft, full of this hesitation because despite all the flirting, you’re still unsure of yourself. He quickly eases these fears as his hands move and you find his arms wrapped around your torso. He deepens the kiss, and you both lean into it. It becomes more desperate after that.
Your hands find their way to his hair, and you fiddle with the ends, unwilling to break the kiss, even if it means air. He breaks the kiss for a second, only to come back to your lips with more passion, biting your bottom lip, before slipping his tongue into your mouth, taking the more aggressive approach.
And you can’t take it anymore. You need him. You pull away from him, pant softly before kissing his jaw gently.
“Take me to your room.” You request. He obliges.
You find yourself taking off your heels as soon as you get in, your feet aching as you walk further into the room. The context is much different than it was this afternoon—And it makes you nervous.
Matt comes up from behind you and places his hands on your arms, rubbing them gently, before kissing your shoulder.
“You don’t have to be nervous. I’ll be gentle with you...” He says softly. You hum before he continues, “Or do you... want me to be rough with you?” he asks teasingly, landing a quick bite onto your shoulder. You make a noise of surprise and turn to him.
“You’re a tease, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Once or twice.” He begins to loosen his tie, eventually forcing it off and then starting to unbutton his shirt. You begin to help him with this task, eventually getting it all the way unbuttoned. Then you gently push him back against the bed and he laughs, falling onto it.
He thinks it’s cute. Until you sit above him, your dress hiking a bit. You lean down to kiss him as his hands find their way to the back of your thighs, and begin to move up and down, just being the tease, he is.
You whine into the kiss, and it just makes him chuckle further, before flipping the pair of you over, then planting a kiss on your neck.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Needy from just a few kisses?” He slips off his shirt as he continues to kiss you. One hand remains on your thigh, travelling up your thigh, eventually finding your panties.
“Mhm...” You hum, your hands wrapping around his neck again to play with his hair.
“Talk to me, sweet girl...” he says softly before he continues his assault on your neck.
“Matt…” You hum. “You know, I only—” Then his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing gentle circles, just teasing you with his fingers. It turns him from tease to cruel. You let out a moan, and he only tuts in disappointment.
“Keep talking or you won’t get anything from me.” He tells you, before continuing to tease you. His fingers begin to work on your folds. You try your best to focus. He takes off your panties and throws them on the ground somewhere.
“Only bought this dress for you... Thought you might like it...” You gasp again as he slips a finger into you, “Fuck—Thought it would make you do something about it.” In fairness, it got the reaction you had only hoped for in your wildest dreams. It makes him chuckle against your skin.
“Only got this pretty little dress for me to touch you like this?” He adds another finger and starts to move. When you don’t answer, too busy getting lost in his fingers, he bites your shoulder again. “Answer me, sweetheart.”
“Yes! God, yes…” You respond. He hums in approval, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you. It only takes a few minutes before you can feel yourself near the edge of an orgasm. “Matt… Baby, please...”
“C’mon, sweet girl... I’ve got you, let go...” And it’s enough to make you, cumming all over his fingers. He lets you ride out your high, out of breath. He kisses your neck again before bringing his fingers up to his lips, tasting your juices. “Sweet girl, still.” He smirks. Your heart skips a beat. He chuckles. Then he continues, “Did so good for me, sweetheart... Wanna keep going?” He asks.
“Yes, please... Wanna feel you inside me...” you confess.
“You want me to fill you up and stretch you out, pretty girl?” You should know better by now, but you just hum in response, gaining another bite to your shoulder. “Try again.”
“Yes... I want you so badly, Matt, please... I’ve been dreaming about it for months now,” You confess, “Need you...” He seems satisfied by this, and moves back, helping you sit up.
“Well then, we’ll need to get this pretty dress off you.” He says, his fingers working to take off his belt. Your fingers run over his chest. It’s all he can do not to rip the dress off, but he knows how much it means to you and how much it could’ve cost. So, instead, he slips the dress off you and feels you shiver against him. Still so nervous. He tosses the dress in the general direction of his suitcase, so it doesn’t sit on the floor. He leans in and starts pressing kisses to your chest, his hands reaching up to your bra and unclasping it. He throws it with much less care than the dress.
He keeps kissing down your torso as he lays you back on the bed, your hands going again to his hair.
“How come it’s fair that I’m fully naked, and you still have pants on?” You ask. It makes him laugh, and he stands straight again.
“Fair enough,” he says, taking them off. And then goes his boxers. Before you can stare at him, he’s on top of you again, kissing you deeply. You can feel his cock resting against your fold and it makes you moan into the kiss. He pulls away for just a second before asking, “Is this, okay? You’ll stop me if it’s too much?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” You respond. He smiles at your words.
“Perfect. Perfect, pretty girl...” He hums as he begins to kiss your shoulders and the top of your chest, before slipping inside of you. You let out a moan, and he groans as well, taking a few minutes to take all of you in. It feels amazing. He begins to move inside of you as he brings you in for another kiss. When he pulls away, he’s talking, “Been thinking about this for... Fuck, so long...” He groans. “Been dreaming of this perfect pussy and how good it would feel around me…” He says, and it elicits a shaky moan from you.
“Faster, please...” You request, and he obliges, picking up the pace. You’ve been thinking about this for a long time too. You never imagined he’d be so controlling about the whole thing. It works you up almost as much as how vocal he is.
He leaves bites and marks down your chest as he pulls you closer to him, knowing he won’t last much longer. He feels you tighten around him and makes another demand, “Tell me how badly you want to cum, and I’ll let you.” He says this before planting a rather contrasting soft kiss to your ear.
“Please... Please, Matt, Fuck... I need to cum all over your cock... Wanna feel so good, baby...” You moan, your fingers pulling on his hair. It excites you when he moans. “And I want you to cum inside me... Fill me up, Baby, please...” You beg. He’s happy with it for now, but he knows he’ll want to hear more another time.
“C’mon, sweet girl. Cum for me…” He pants, and it’s all you need before you let yourself come undone around his cock. He continues thrusting for a few minutes, letting you ride out your high, before cumming himself, and you moan at the feeling. He lays against you for a few minutes, trying to recover, and it’s then that you notice he’s shaking.
“Are you okay?” You ask softly, brushing his hair out of his face. He looks at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. He laughs at your question.
“I’m great... You’re just... amazing...” he says honestly, kissing your shoulder one more time. “Perfect, pretty girl...” He praises. “My perfect girl...” It makes you shudder. He stays like this for a moment more before kissing you softly. Then, he sits up and goes to get a towel to clean the both of you up. And then, he’s back in bed with you. He pulls you close as you both recover from what just happened.
“I wasn’t lying,” You start, “I’ve been thinking about you for months. You’re all I’ve wanted for so long...” You confess. He kisses your head and pulls you closer.
“Me too... I was too much of an idiot to tell you though. Almost let you get away.”
“You got me.” You affirm. He hums and begins to rub all too familiar circles into your hips with his thumbs.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader (could be read as GN, though the first part of this series mentions the desire to carry Matt’s children)
Word Count: 9,000
Summary: You’re not quite sure why Matt has been pulling away from you, but you know that it’s impossible to stay in a relationship when someone is hiding something. You’re devastated that it has come to this, but you figure it’s better to push away than be pushed away.
Warning: Annnnngst, but with a happy ending
This is the third installment of the Coffee Shop Woes Series, though it could probably be read as a standalone.
Premise: soulmate!au, takes place in a world where when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, you see color for the first time.
Inspired by Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You”
Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!Reader
Word Count: 9.2K words
Warnings: a brief description of losing virginity, mentions of drinking, violence, fluff, angst with a happy ending, a tad bit canon non-compliant
Note: It’s taken me a few weeks to fully write this but please let me know what you think! I’ve never written for this fandom even though I’ve loved it for years. I hope y’all enjoy. Special thanks to my sisters, my friends, and the mutuals here on this site that constantly inspire me with their talent every day.
Summary: Matt Murdock is exceptionally good at closing himself off and pushing people away. It's a bit of a breaking point for you, even while you pray it's not the end.
Trigger warning: talking about death and assault, angst with a hopeful ending.
Masterlist
"I told you to drop it."
"Drop it?" you exclaimed, following him into his apartment and down the long hallway, the lights of the bilboard lighting your ways, hues of blues and pinks playing across the suit jacket of the man in front of you. "You want me to drop it?"
"Yes, leave it alone. Nothing's wrong."
You threw your hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief at this point, seconds away from pulling out your hair strand by strand. "That is biggest pile of dog shit I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Matthew."
He spun on his heels so fast that you nearly ran into him, only just managing to shift your weight to your back foot in order to stop your momentum from taking you forward. The frustration on his face and narrowed eyes caused your eyes to widen, taken aback by his anger.
"I'm fine. Stop asking me what's wrong." His voice was low, a damn near growl, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown that was so unlike him it was startling. Your mouth dropped, voice caught in your throat temporarily, as you stared at him. Satisfied at your silence, Matt spun back around, stomping into his bedroom.
You and Matt weren't unused to spats between you from time to time, but this was the first time he had ever had a look on his face that looked like that.
You steeled your spine, letting your anger rise up past your shock, as you followed after him, only just managing to avoid knocking your knee on his coffee table in your haste. Standing at the entrance to his bedroom, arms crossed over your chest, chin tilted up in defiance.
"No," you growled out, "you don't get to talk to me like that and then walk away." Matt ignored you, and you watched as he yanked his tie off before swiftly unbuckling his slacks.
His actions alone told you that he was getting ready to go out for the night, despite the fact that the city wasn't completely dark yet, people still out and about on that chilly October evening. You knew him well enough by now that when his blood was up, like it was now, he needed the city to provide him with criminals he could bloody his fists on.
Sometimes you weren't sure who need Daredevil more; the city, or Matthew Murdock.
"Matt." He continued to tear his clothes off until all that was left was his boxers and scarred skin. "Matthew."
He finally tilted his head in your direction, chest heaving rapdily. "What?"
You raised your eyebrows as you stared at him. "Seriously? You're just gonna go out and not even try to finish this conversation?"
Matt scoffed, blank eyes all but rolling. "We're not having a conversation. You asked me what was wrong, and I said I'm fine. Anything you've said after that is on you." He didn't wait for a reply before he walked around you and exited his the bedroom, heading towards the closet under the stairs where he stored his suit. You turned to watch him, but otherwise remained frozen to the spot, completely taken aback.
"When did you get so mean?"
Matt finally faltered.
He kept his back to you, but you watched him run a hand briefly through his hair, pale hand shaking slightly in the dim lighting of his living room. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, reaching out to open the closet with a loud sigh. Once it was open, he knelt down and hastily swept his suit up.
He still didn't say anything, and a lump caught in your throat, anger replaced with the spark and sudden growing fire of panic.
"You've become so distant, Matt," you started, hating how your voice shook as your hands fell to your sides and clenched into tight fists. "You don't call as much, you haven't touched me in weeks, and I can't even remember the last time we slept in the same bed. What is going on?"
"Everything's fine."
Your heart was racing now. "Don't...Don't give me that. Everything is clearly not fine."
Matt was nearly done putting on the suit, currently finishing up the last fastenings as you stared at him, begging him to tell you what was wrong. But Matt was a man who bottled things up so tightly that raging thoughts and feelings were sometimes too compressed to ever escape. He'd gotten better recently, the layers of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen slowly peeling back for you, but things didn't always work the way you wanted them to.
Tonight was a prime example.
"I don't know what you expect me to say, then," he muttered, the words loud enough to be heard in his quiet apartment.
You refused to let things go. "Maybe just some explanation for why things have changed? Did I do something?"
Matt gave a loud sigh, one you immediately flinched at, huddling in on yourself before the breath even completely left his body. It was a sigh of annoyance, a sigh of disinterest, a sigh of unadulterated irritation.
"I really need to leave," he said as he very easily ignored the question, sitting on the steps to his rooftop access to tie his black shoes. "I'll call you later."
"No."
"No?"
"No," you repeated, fingernails digging into your palm as you struggled to take a breath. "If you decide to walk out that door in the middle of this, don't bother calling me."
He paused, helmet in his hand, his face a twist of incredulity and aggravation as if he couldn't understand what you were saying. You held your ground, your feet planted from right outside his bedroom, doing your best to eye him down as you bit your lip in anxiety.
"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked, voice betraying his disbelief.
"No," you denied immediately, then frowned. "Well...maybe? I don't know, Matt. I don't know what to do here."
"To be clear, you're asking me to choose between you and Hell's Kitchen," he said slowly, taking a small step towards you. "You're asking me to choose, when you've spent so much time promising you'd never do that."
"I'm not asking you to choose!" you exclaimed loudly, your panic manifesting in frantic words. He looked agitated again, and it took all you had to push the tears back from where this conversation had led to. "I'm asking you to stay here and talk to me before going out."
He shook his head, scoffing, while finally slipping his helmet on and turning his back to you, ready to head up the stairs. "I don't have time for this."
"God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore." A stray, pathetic tear finally rolled down your face, and you swore you saw him stiffen, shoulders stilling and hand clenching on the banister. You knew he could taste the salt on the air, knew that he was aware tears were sliding out.
A few weeks ago you would have expected him to immediately apologize for causing you to cry, any argument dead on his lips as he held you to him, apologies and words of comfort whispered into your ears. With the feeling of utter heartbreak, your head lowered when you realized you didn't know what to expect from him anymore.
With a profound sense of sadness, and before he could respond or walk away in his apparent urgency to go out to prowl the city, you left instead, crossing through his living room and walking down the long hallway. You didn't hesitate when you pulled his front door behind you, too drained to stay behind for a second longer.
He didn't follow.
--------
It had been eleven days.
Eleven days and nothing.
No phone calls. No daytime drop bys at your office with a cup of coffee or an offer for lunch. No midnight hellos through windows, black clothing lit up by the moon that hung in the sky.
But you'd given him what he had perceived as an ultimatum, hadn't you? And you hadn't been the winner.
You'd always known Hell's Kitchen came first. It was something you both loved and hated about him. Long nights spent wondering if he was safe, hours spent stitching him up and putting him back together, countless tears shed when thinking about all the pain he put himself through for a city that would never truly appreciate the blood and sweat he gave for it. And all of it was worth it, if it meant his face was the first thing you saw in the morning, the first voice that said your name.
But this fight hadn't even been about Hell's Kitchen, had it? It had been about something else. It had been about him, and whatever was bothering him that he was unwilling to share with you. It had been about him not letting you in, not fully. After a year together, you thought he would have seen through the anger and panic to the real cause of your distress, rather than deflecting and getting meaner and meaner with each word carelessly thrown from his mouth.
Your fearless, reckless vigilante, whom you loved so much, had shut you out so suddenly and thoroughly without a single word as to why.
It killed you to think about it, but some part of you quickly became convinced that it had been done to distance himself from you in preparation of a break up. It was easy to see things that way when you considered his lack of affection, attention, and the way he'd let you slip out of his apartment without a word, tears slipping down cheeks heated with the exertion of begging him to fight for you.
That's what the voice in your head was telling you, at least. And with every day that went by, the voice got a little louder until it was screaming how much of an idiot you were for holding onto him. Perhaps this was the break up, now that you thought about it. Perhaps you walking out and him not following was the only ending necessary, though it seemed so anticlimactic.
His silence was so very telling. Maybe he thought no words were needed at this point.
And so you spent your waking hours doing anything and everything you could to keep your mind off of him, desperate to spend time outside of the heartbreak coursing through your veins like wild fire. You spent your days with your nose buried in your work. Deadlines you had pushed off were suddenly met way ahead of schedule. You spent your evenings catching up on your recorded TV shows, red wine in one hand, take out in the other, tissues on your coffee table in case of any unwanted appearances of tears. Your apartment was rearranged and scrubbed clean from head to toe.
Twice.
On day nine, you had placed his things in a duffle bag on the floor next to the door, ready to hand it off when, or if, he ever came by for it.
You had ignored the tears that swam in your vision as you did it.
The evening of day eleven found you in bed early, too exhausted and emotionally drained to even try to make it through your favorite ABC drama, curled up in a ball in an effort to keep as much of the world away from your, decreasing the amount of vulnerable skin that was available for bruises. Your arms were wrapped around the pillow you held to your chest, ignoring the thought that the pillow had at one point smelled like him.
You were very nearly asleep when a quiet tap sounded at your kitchen window, startling you for a quick second. You didn't have to think about what it could possibly be, the sound one that you've heard hundreds of times, though it had been absent lately.
Your heart rate spiked, as it always did when he was near, but this time it was in anxiety. It was almost embarrassing that your body reacted to him so obviously. He knew you in the most intimate way possible, each flush of your cheeks or flash of arousal lighting up a world only he would ever be able to navigate.
But tonight, you weren't really interested in him having any sort of access to you and what you were feeling.
"Go away, Matt."
Your voice was quiet, even to your own ears, but you knew he would be able to hear it all the same.
The tap sounded again, this time followed by the creak of a window that was trying to be opened from the outside. He was used to letting himself inside your apartment at night, even if only to crawl into bed next to you to drift off to sleep by your side, arms wrapped around you so tightly that you didn’t know where he ended and you began.
You could practically feel his confusion as he realized that for the first time since you had met him, the window was locked.
The tapping came again, this time louder and more insistent, and before you even knew what you were doing, you were heaving yourself out of bed and making your way into the kitchen.
You threw the window open halfway, noting vaguely that he was perched on your fire escape in black clothing, not unlike what he used to wear before the red suit, his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt but face open and pale in the dark.
"Are you bleeding?"
Matt frowned, clearly thrown off by the question. "No."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Why--"
"Then kindly get off of my fire escape." Your hands rose to bring the window back down, and in shock, Matt almost missed sliding his hands under to keep it open.
"Wait!" You stopped pushing the window down, not because you wanted to hear what he had to say, but because you knew your strength was no match for his. "Wait, please. Let me come in."
"No, thanks."
"We should talk, sweetheart."
Though you had spent the last few days preparing yourself for something like this, it didn't stop the cold feeling of dread that poured itself down your spine.
"There's no need, Matt," you said, making every effort to keep your voice as even as possible. "I already know what you came here to say."
"I don't think you do. Please, let me in."
"Look," you started tiredly, tugging on the braid that was resting over your shoulder. "We don't need to do this. Things aren't working out, I get it."
"That's not--"
"You've made it pretty clear that this isn't what you want anymore, and that's fine," you continued, looking away from dark eyes that were all but pleading with you, trying to avoid falling into the man who had seemingly let you walk out of his life. "It would have been nice for you to break it to me gently rather than pushing me away as violently as you did, but it doesn't matter at this point."
"Sweetheart--"
"Don't call me that."
"I didn't come here to--"
"You didn't need to come here at all. I got the point, really."
"Will you just let me talk?" he demanded loudly, yanking the window all the way up, apparently done with being outside while you were inside.
You took an automatic step backwards, leaving more than enough room between the two of you as he let himself in. As always, his presence was larger than life, and in your tiny kitchen, you found it overwhelming in a way it hadn't been before. You found yourself stepping behind the kitchen table, effectively placing it between the two of you.
You didn't miss the way Matt's body lurched in apparent grief at the motion.
An awkward silence settled between the two of you, and it seemed that Matt was struggling with what to say, despite the way he had demanded to let him speak.
"What do you want, Matt?" you asked quietly, eyes finally making their way back to his face. "I haven't been sleeping well and I'm exhausted. I'd like to go to bed."
"I needed to talk to you," he repeated, his blank, beautiful eyes aimed at your chin.
"I already said it wasn't necessary," you shrugged. The impassive tone you took was empty, but that didnt mean it was convincing. "Things got ugly, but it's over now."
"Things aren't over now," he said adamantly, moving around the table, hands lifting to reach for you. "Please, just hear me out."
"I don't...I don't really know if I want to," you said honestly, quietly. Matt flinched, and you knew it was because your heart hadn't skipped on a lie. "This went on for weeks. I gave you so many opportunities to talk to me. I begged you to talk to me. All you did was...ignore how it was hurting me. I don't want to hear whatever lame excuse you're going to come up with."
"I swear it's not an excuse," he pleaded. "I just...I just needed some time. And space."
"Sure," you shrugged again, struggling to maintain the level of calm and rational. "I can understand needing that. I don't know what was bothering you, but you didn't even give me a chance to understand. And now you're...what? Here to officially break up with me? I kind of already figured it was over, seeing as how it's been eleven--"
"Break up?" Matt looked alarmed as his eyes widened. "Is that what you think I'm here to do?"
"Nothing ever good comes from a conversation that starts with "We should talk," Matt."
He took another step around the table, and it took everything in you not to flinch away. Matt had never touched you with anything but gentle hands, and while you weren't on great terms at the moment, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him.
"Sweetheart, that's not--"
"I love you, Matt," you told him bluntly, cutting him off with a hand raised in front of you, telling him to stop his movement in your direction. "But if the past few weeks were anything to go by, you're not willing, or maybe not able, to let me in. And I don't want to be with someone who hides so many pieces of themselves away from me. It's lonely, and I'm done with it."
He looked absolutely crestfallen, and suddenly resigned. You took a deep breath and soildered on, even as you felt your heart breaking in your chest.
"I'm sorry, Matt."
"No," he croacked out, shaking his head abruptly, eyes sightlessly dancing around the room as he licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I never meant to...have things end this way."
"It's ok." It wasn't. "There's a bag of your things over by the door." You tilted your head toward the duffle bag.
"My...things?"
"Yeah," you responded quietly, gesturing to the door with a hand that seemed limp and lifeless. "Tshirts, hoodies, your extra pair of glasses."
Matt paused for a second in surprise before he walked over to the door, a clumsy gait to his steps that you had never seen on him in the year you'd known him. With obviously shaking hands, he bent down to pick up the bag. His breathing had changed, you'd noticed. It was the breathing of someone about to have a panic attack. You grimaced, hating watching him like this.
Before, you would have comforted him. Held him and played with his hair and whispered how much you loved him in his ear.
But now, you were tired, and knowing what the past few weeks had been like, you honestly weren't sure if he'd even like having your hands on him.
He may have pushed you away first, but here you were shoving him away, too, if only to avoid any further pain on your end. Even if he didn't feel the same way about you as you did him, it was still a painful conversation for both parties.
"I'll swing by on Saturday to grab my stuff," you whispered. Matt let out a shaky sigh, accompanied by a hesitant nod of his head. "I'm going back to bed. Please shut the window behind you."
You left him standing in your kitchen, dark head bent sadly, scarred hands gripping the bag in his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
-----
Saturday rolled around too quickly for your liking. You had gathered one of your large duffle bags and a backpack to take over to Matt's apartment, unsure of just how many things you had over there.
You both had been toying with the idea of you moving in, so naturally quite a bit of your things had accumulated at his place. Work clothes. Sweat pants. Shoes. Your favorite bathrobe. Little bits and pieces of you slowly blending in with his, a subconscious way of laying down the building blocks for a life together.
With a sigh, and a mournful look at the run down front door you'd come to love, you let yourself into his apartment, taking in the scent of the man who had become your rock in a life that had always felt a little unsteady. You knew that most Saturday afternoons were spent catching up on cases with Foggy at their favorite diner, so you didn't expect him to be home.
You walked down the familiar hallway to the living, but abruptly froze when you took in the sight before you, eyes widening in shock.
His place was a mess.
One of his kitchen chairs lay broken next to the wall, clearly having been thrown against it. There was a giant fist-sized hole in the wall next to his bedroom that was shaped exactly like his hand, so you didn't need to guess whose it was. The trash hadn't been taken out in days, it looked like, and beer bottles were scattered along the counter.
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.
It took you an hour, but you picked up and took out the trash and recycling, and scrubbed down the kitchen. Dishes were washed and put away. Counters wiped down, floor swept. He was a grown adult, more than capable of picking up after himself, but seeing his place in such disarray made you...sad.
You made your way back to where you'd dropped the duffle bag and headed into the bedroom, a place you'd spent so many nignts with him wrapped around you, beneath you, on top of you.
Hands on your hips, you ignored the way your eyes pricked with tears, and thought about where to start first.
You didn't hear the front door open and close, nor did you notice Matt's presence behind you until he called your name softly. Startled, you took a deep breath before you turned around slowly and braced yourself for the second part of a conversation you didn't want to have.
You were scared he would ask you to stay. You were even more scared that he would outright ask you to go.
"Hey."
"Hey," he echoed.
"I'll just...give me a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair. I'm almost done grabbing my stuff." Matt inhaled sharply, head tilting away from you as you spoke. With a frown of your own, you turned your back to him, walking over to the table on what had been your side of the bed.
You placed the duffle bag on the bed and continued placing items into it, not bothering to be organized or have the items be thoughtfully placed. Your extra phone charger. The book you always told yourself you'd finish reading. Your favorite necklace you always forgot you had on until you were snuggled under the covers, forced to sleepily place it on the table to avoid leaving the warmth of him next to you.
You knew you had his total focus, so you did your best not to tear up while you packed your things. This was hard enough as it was, and as much as he had hurt you, you didn't want to make things more difficult for him than it had to be.
Eyeing the shoes you had left next to his closet, you walked forward to scoop them up. They were your favorite pair of heels, and you had worn them the last time you'd gone out for a nice dinner, his hand laced tightly in yours as he helped you keep your balance on the uneven New York City sidewalks, quiet laughter and declarations of love pressed against your cheek. While you both were always, always busy, you still found a way to make time for each other as often as you could.
The thought caused you to sniffle unintentionally as your lip quivered ever so slightly. You rubbed the heels of your palms to your eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered your body on both inhale and exhale. Matt let out a soft whine behind you, and you knew without turning around that he was wanting to pull you into him. He always made that sound when he could tell you were sad and on the verge of breaking down.
Or, at least he used to want to pull you into him before the last month or so, back when he would still touch you and pour his affection and love into your skin. Now, you weren't so sure what he wanted.
"I'm fine, Matt," you told him, voice shaking. You swept up the rest of your shoes into your arms and walked them back to the duffle bag on the bed. "I'll be done here in a few."
"No."
Your head snapped up to look at him incredulously. "No?"
He shook his head adamantly, blank eyes aimed somewhere around your abdomen. "No, don't go. You can't go."
You stared at him in disbelief. "Where was this attitude when you let me just walk out without a word two weeks ago?"
Matt opened his mouth but didn't say anything, merely licking his lips and tilting his head to the side for a moment.
You sighed in disappointment, shaking your head bitterly. "That's what I thought." Using shaking hands, you zipped up the full bag and moved to leave the room.
Matt quickly blocked you, placing himself in between you and the door way, his body just a few feet from yours as his eyes settled on your chin. "Please, just hear me out."
"Matt--"
"Just give me a few minutes, okay? I need to tell you what happened."
His face was flushed with what looked to be mild panic, and you couldn't tell if it was panic at the thought of you leaving, or panic at having to let out whatever had been bothering him so much that he'd thought the best solution was to violently push you away. Maybe it was both.
You took a few steps back from him, nodding silently, as you tried to put some space in between the two of you. Placing the bag back on the bed, you crossed your arms over your chest, willing to hear him out, but not wanting to stand so close to him. This was bound to be painful, anyway you cut it, and having him within arm's reach would most likely make it worse.
"Go ahead, then. If it's just another lie, I'm walking out and never looking back."
Matt nodded jerkily, licking his lips again like he always did when he was nervous. The corner of his bottom lip was split open, and you cringed when you noticed it. Even in your pain, even in your anger, you hated seeing him hurt.
You watched as he opened his mouth and shut it a few times, as if he was still unsure if he actually wanted to speak. Your frustration grew with each second he didn't say anything, your nerves fraying more and more the longer you stood in front of him.
"If you're not gonna actually--"
"Just...hold on," he said, desperation seeping into his voice. "I'm trying to think of the best way to say what I need to say."
"Why? What could be so bad that you--"
"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago." The words tore their way out of his mouth so suddenly that you weren't sure who was more surprised by them; him, or you. You faltered, all of your irritation and anger and bitterness in your body stumbling to a screeching stop. You looked at him, your jaw dropping in shock, unsure if you had heard him correctly.
"What?"
You'd been face to face with him for the past two minutes, but you felt like you were seeing him for the first time since you'd realized he was in the apartment with you. Your eyes took in his appearance, wincing at his bruised knuckles, a black eye that seemed to be fading, a long jagged scratch on the side of his throat. Matt looked so sad, so lost, as his sightless eyes seemingly focused on the floor next to his feet.
You had been prepared for a bullshit excuse, while still simultaneously hoping for something that would save your relationship with the only man you had ever loved. But you hadn't been expecting...this.
A shiver when down your spine as you stared at him in growing dread.
"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago," he repeated shakily. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously, tugging at the dark strands that were ready to be cut. "I was...I was a few blocks away when I heard a man yank her into an alley, a gun in his hand."
You stared at him, horrified. You knew the sorts of things that went on while he was out. Human trafficking. Drug busts. Muggings. Assaults.
Matt didn't like talking about it most of the time, and you didn't like pressing him on it if it made him uncomfortable. But to hear something like this come ripping itself out if his mouth was extremely jarring and you found yourself terrified of what he was going to say next.
He took another deep breath.
"I heard her scream, heard how he slapped his hand over her mouth to quiet her, heard him cock the gun and dig it into her stomach." Matt was fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie as he spoke, and a part of you longed to take your hand in his, wondering if it might calm his restlessness. You held yourself back, though, not yet trusting your feet to move you forward without stumbling to the ground.
"He demanded that she give him her purse, which she did, of course. But then he ordered her to unbutton her shirt, and she refused."
Your heart hammered in your chest, face growing paler by the second.
"She tried to push him off of her, and he got mad and...pulled the trigger. I was still a few blocks away." Matt walked forward as if he were in a trance, unfocused eyes glazed over, hands feeling around for his bed. It alarmed you that he was so distraught that he was relying on his hands alone to navigate his bedroom, the rest of his senses so wrapped up in a horrifying memory. He took a seat, sinking onto the mattress with a heavy, pained sigh.
"When I got there, I could tell she wasn't going to make it." He briefly shut his eyes in a grimace, an intense full-body shudder wracking through him. "The guy was gone, but I didn't bother going after him because I knew I needed to stay with her. Make sure she wasn't alone." The breath he took was so shaky, and you found yourself finally able to move as your forced yourself forward, kneeling at his feet once you were in front of him. Your hand was grasping his a second later, suddenly unwilling to let him relive this alone as he tore himself apart to finally let you in.
"I held her as she bled out," Matt choked out, as if it was suddenly difficult to breathe. You gripped his thigh, and did your best to rub soothing circles into the muscle that lay under his jeans. "I tried to stop the bleeding, hoping I was wrong, that she could still make it, but the blood was coming out too fast and there was nothing I could do. She was sobbing, begging me to save her, and I couldn't."
You didn't know when you had started crying, but you had to take your hand off his leg briefly to wipe your eyes to clear your vision. His hand shook in yours.
"And she..." Matt paused again, taking another deep, gasping breath. "She reminded me of you."
"What?" you asked, immediately confused, mind scrambling to comprehend what he had just said, suddenly frantic to make sense of what he had just told you. "What do you mean?"
"She reminded me of you," he repeated quietly. "Roughly the same height. Similar accent, the one that only comes out when you're upset. A blouse made of the same material you wear so often. And she...she used the same shampoo."
Matt's hand lifted to wipe at the tears on his face as he struggled to speak. "This woman I didn't know was dying in my arms. And...and even as I tried to comfort her, all I could think about was you. All I could think about was...what if you were in trouble, and I couldn't get to you in time?"
Your mind twisted and turned as realization finally hit you.
This.
This was what had been driving him away from you, this belief that he would never be the kind of man you needed. This was the root of it.
"Matt, love. I'm fine. I'm here."
"I know you are," he let out, hand still trembling in yours, and steadily getting worse. His unfocused gaze landed on your forehead, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes up close. "But even before this happened, this is something I would think about often, something I still think about often. The thought of...of not being good enough or quick enough or strong enough to stop something bad from happening to you."
Taking a deep, unsteady breath of your own, you reached your hand up to cradle his cheek, and he immediately turned his head slightly to kiss your palm, needing the affection only you could provide.
"I trust you with my life, Matt."
He nodded with his eyes closed, swallowing before he spoke. "I know you do. But this...this was so real. It was just literally staring me in the face, this idea of losing you. And while I'm panicking and thinking about you, this woman is dying in my arms. And I can't even give her my full attention to comfort her, because I'm imaging someone else dying in front of me, and I couldn’t handle it."
You made a soft, mournful noise, and unable to stop yourself, you stood up and pushed his shoulders back from where he had hunched in on himself, before settling yourself in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, with one hand reaching up to slide into his hair. With a shudder, his arms came up around you, holding you to him in a grip that you knew would leave bruises.
You'd let him leave marks all over your skin if it meant he would take even one ounce of comfort from you.
The pair of you sat in silence for a while, cheeks pressed together, trying to match your breathing to his, and vice versa. You rubbed your hand soothingly up and down his back, avoiding any areas that seemed tender. You felt a raised ridge of skin near his left hip and knew it meant he'd needed stitches recently.
You grimaced, wishing you'd been there for him, even if he hadn't wanted you to be.
"Why were you pushing me away, Matt? All I want is to be here for you," you told him gently when his breathing seemed to have settled a bit. You pulled back a bit to hold his face in your hands, where you used your thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears.
His grip tightened and he leaned into you, seemingly trying to keep as much contact with you as he could. And even while he tried to get as close to you as physically possible, you half expected him to pull away from you again. Instead, he surprised you by pushing on, at last tearing down that final barrier.
"It was hard being around you," he admitted softly. His hand reached up to massage the back of your neck, a habit he had started when he was trying to assure himself you were next to him. "I was having such awful nightmares and I didn't want you around while I slept. You sliced your finger open three weeks ago, and all I could think about was you bleeding out all over me. If I hugged you, the smell of your shampoo would bring me right back to that alley, so I started avoiding touching you. And the more you got upset, the more angry I got. But not angry at you, angry at myself for making you feel that way."
You listened quietly, ignoring how your eyes were watering, and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest.
"I was hurting. And because I was hurting, I struggled being around you, to the point where it started hurting you, too. It just became this vicious cycle that I didn't know to stop, and all of a sudden it was too late and you were walking away."
You didn't say anything as you took in what he was telling you. You continued to hold him, lips occasionally brushing over his cheek as your hands continued to run gently up and down his back.
"I'm sorry this happened," you whispered, your voice catching. "I'm sorry you went through that, I'm sorry that I got upset."
"No, sweetheart," he brought a finger up to your lips in an effort to shush you. "Don't...don't apologize. This isn't on you."
"But--"
"No," he repeated firmly. "I should have said something. I was wrong for pushing you away like that. I...I wasn't...I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to handle it, and I took it out on you. On our relationship."
Your lip quivered. "You can't do that, Matt."
"I know."
"No, you don't know," you told him. "I'm not even talking about how it made me feel. I'm talking about you. I want you to be safe, and loved, and cared for. You deserve those things. You deserve to have someone there to hold your hand and be there for you. But I can't...I can't be there for you and help you if you don't tell me what's going on."
Matt was nodding while you spoke, eyes shut tight as he listened. You knew there was a voice in the back of his head telling you he didn't deserve those things, would never deserve them, and it broke your heart.
You tilted his head towards you and leaned in to press your lips gently to his. He let out a sigh as he brought a hand up to grasp your cheek.
"I'll always fight for you, Matt." He let out a shaky breath at your vow. "I'll always fight for you. Even if I'm fighting you against you. But I...I need you to fight for me, too. Okay? You can't let me walk out that door again. I need to know you're not going to just push me away like that again. You can yell and cry and ask me for anything, everything you need. But don't let me go."
"I won't, I won't do that again," he promised as he continued to stroke your check with his thumb. "I should never have let that happen. And I should have never waited so long to come after you. I love you."
You kissed him again, a little firmer this time, but no less tender. "I love you, too."
Silence took over again as you continued to sit there. You focused on the way his hand was now running up and down your arm gently, while the other brushed at your hip from where it was wrapped around you. Cradling his face in your hands, you placed a series of kisses on his face; his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks. With each kiss, you felt a sliver of tension bleed away from him, until at last he seemed to sag in relief.
You eyed the duffle bag that was still on his bed, grateful that he had come home when he did so that you could have this talk. You weren't sure how you would have handled living in a world without him by your side. It had only been a year, but you knew this was something you wanted for the rest of your life. Knew that he was someone you wanted for the rest of your life.
You were willing, oh so willingly, to do whatever this man needed, whatever he asked of you.
Glancing at the bathroom door, an idea came to you. An idea that might be a good place to start, no matter how small and insignificant it would seem. Without much thought, you decided to act on it, desperate to help him in whatever way you could.
"Let me go, Matt." You gently pushed against the arms that held you to him.
"What? Why?" You didn't miss the way the panic seeped into his voice.
"Just...let go. Let me get up." Confused, he slowly and reluctantly released you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead, before standing up and walking towards the bathroom. You heard him get up behind you.
"Where are you going?" You knew him well enough to hear the anxiety creeping in, this time more insistent. You turned around, kicking off your shoes as you did so. Your shirt was pulled off and thrown to the floor at his feet, and your pants soon followed.
"I figured we'd start with a shower."
"A...shower?"
"Yes. You're going to help me wash my hair until you can't smell my shampoo any longer, and then you're going to keep talking to me and let me cuddle you the rest of the afternoon. You coming?"
For the first time in weeks, the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on his face, though it was brief and utterly bewildered, as his own shirt hit the floor. Matt stil look bemused, but he went along with your idea. He took a few hesitant steps forward until he was right in front of you.
Rough hands gripped your cheek, pushed your hair back behind your ears, and tilted your head forward so that he could place a gentle kiss to your forehead. With a soft sigh, he reached down to grasp your hand, and you let him pull you into the bathroom.
Summary: Matt Murdock is exceptionally good at closing himself off and pushing people away. It's a bit of a breaking point for you, even while you pray it's not the end.
Trigger warning: talking about death and assault, angst with a hopeful ending.
Masterlist
"I told you to drop it."
"Drop it?" you exclaimed, following him into his apartment and down the long hallway, the lights of the bilboard lighting your ways, hues of blues and pinks playing across the suit jacket of the man in front of you. "You want me to drop it?"
"Yes, leave it alone. Nothing's wrong."
You threw your hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief at this point, seconds away from pulling out your hair strand by strand. "That is biggest pile of dog shit I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Matthew."
He spun on his heels so fast that you nearly ran into him, only just managing to shift your weight to your back foot in order to stop your momentum from taking you forward. The frustration on his face and narrowed eyes caused your eyes to widen, taken aback by his anger.
"I'm fine. Stop asking me what's wrong." His voice was low, a damn near growl, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown that was so unlike him it was startling. Your mouth dropped, voice caught in your throat temporarily, as you stared at him. Satisfied at your silence, Matt spun back around, stomping into his bedroom.
You and Matt weren't unused to spats between you from time to time, but this was the first time he had ever had a look on his face that looked like that.
You steeled your spine, letting your anger rise up past your shock, as you followed after him, only just managing to avoid knocking your knee on his coffee table in your haste. Standing at the entrance to his bedroom, arms crossed over your chest, chin tilted up in defiance.
"No," you growled out, "you don't get to talk to me like that and then walk away." Matt ignored you, and you watched as he yanked his tie off before swiftly unbuckling his slacks.
His actions alone told you that he was getting ready to go out for the night, despite the fact that the city wasn't completely dark yet, people still out and about on that chilly October evening. You knew him well enough by now that when his blood was up, like it was now, he needed the city to provide him with criminals he could bloody his fists on.
Sometimes you weren't sure who need Daredevil more; the city, or Matthew Murdock.
"Matt." He continued to tear his clothes off until all that was left was his boxers and scarred skin. "Matthew."
He finally tilted his head in your direction, chest heaving rapdily. "What?"
You raised your eyebrows as you stared at him. "Seriously? You're just gonna go out and not even try to finish this conversation?"
Matt scoffed, blank eyes all but rolling. "We're not having a conversation. You asked me what was wrong, and I said I'm fine. Anything you've said after that is on you." He didn't wait for a reply before he walked around you and exited his the bedroom, heading towards the closet under the stairs where he stored his suit. You turned to watch him, but otherwise remained frozen to the spot, completely taken aback.
"When did you get so mean?"
Matt finally faltered.
He kept his back to you, but you watched him run a hand briefly through his hair, pale hand shaking slightly in the dim lighting of his living room. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, reaching out to open the closet with a loud sigh. Once it was open, he knelt down and hastily swept his suit up.
He still didn't say anything, and a lump caught in your throat, anger replaced with the spark and sudden growing fire of panic.
"You've become so distant, Matt," you started, hating how your voice shook as your hands fell to your sides and clenched into tight fists. "You don't call as much, you haven't touched me in weeks, and I can't even remember the last time we slept in the same bed. What is going on?"
"Everything's fine."
Your heart was racing now. "Don't...Don't give me that. Everything is clearly not fine."
Matt was nearly done putting on the suit, currently finishing up the last fastenings as you stared at him, begging him to tell you what was wrong. But Matt was a man who bottled things up so tightly that raging thoughts and feelings were sometimes too compressed to ever escape. He'd gotten better recently, the layers of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen slowly peeling back for you, but things didn't always work the way you wanted them to.
Tonight was a prime example.
"I don't know what you expect me to say, then," he muttered, the words loud enough to be heard in his quiet apartment.
You refused to let things go. "Maybe just some explanation for why things have changed? Did I do something?"
Matt gave a loud sigh, one you immediately flinched at, huddling in on yourself before the breath even completely left his body. It was a sigh of annoyance, a sigh of disinterest, a sigh of unadulterated irritation.
"I really need to leave," he said as he very easily ignored the question, sitting on the steps to his rooftop access to tie his black shoes. "I'll call you later."
"No."
"No?"
"No," you repeated, fingernails digging into your palm as you struggled to take a breath. "If you decide to walk out that door in the middle of this, don't bother calling me."
He paused, helmet in his hand, his face a twist of incredulity and aggravation as if he couldn't understand what you were saying. You held your ground, your feet planted from right outside his bedroom, doing your best to eye him down as you bit your lip in anxiety.
"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked, voice betraying his disbelief.
"No," you denied immediately, then frowned. "Well...maybe? I don't know, Matt. I don't know what to do here."
"To be clear, you're asking me to choose between you and Hell's Kitchen," he said slowly, taking a small step towards you. "You're asking me to choose, when you've spent so much time promising you'd never do that."
"I'm not asking you to choose!" you exclaimed loudly, your panic manifesting in frantic words. He looked agitated again, and it took all you had to push the tears back from where this conversation had led to. "I'm asking you to stay here and talk to me before going out."
He shook his head, scoffing, while finally slipping his helmet on and turning his back to you, ready to head up the stairs. "I don't have time for this."
"God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore." A stray, pathetic tear finally rolled down your face, and you swore you saw him stiffen, shoulders stilling and hand clenching on the banister. You knew he could taste the salt on the air, knew that he was aware tears were sliding out.
A few weeks ago you would have expected him to immediately apologize for causing you to cry, any argument dead on his lips as he held you to him, apologies and words of comfort whispered into your ears. With the feeling of utter heartbreak, your head lowered when you realized you didn't know what to expect from him anymore.
With a profound sense of sadness, and before he could respond or walk away in his apparent urgency to go out to prowl the city, you left instead, crossing through his living room and walking down the long hallway. You didn't hesitate when you pulled his front door behind you, too drained to stay behind for a second longer.
He didn't follow.
--------
It had been eleven days.
Eleven days and nothing.
No phone calls. No daytime drop bys at your office with a cup of coffee or an offer for lunch. No midnight hellos through windows, black clothing lit up by the moon that hung in the sky.
But you'd given him what he had perceived as an ultimatum, hadn't you? And you hadn't been the winner.
You'd always known Hell's Kitchen came first. It was something you both loved and hated about him. Long nights spent wondering if he was safe, hours spent stitching him up and putting him back together, countless tears shed when thinking about all the pain he put himself through for a city that would never truly appreciate the blood and sweat he gave for it. And all of it was worth it, if it meant his face was the first thing you saw in the morning, the first voice that said your name.
But this fight hadn't even been about Hell's Kitchen, had it? It had been about something else. It had been about him, and whatever was bothering him that he was unwilling to share with you. It had been about him not letting you in, not fully. After a year together, you thought he would have seen through the anger and panic to the real cause of your distress, rather than deflecting and getting meaner and meaner with each word carelessly thrown from his mouth.
Your fearless, reckless vigilante, whom you loved so much, had shut you out so suddenly and thoroughly without a single word as to why.
It killed you to think about it, but some part of you quickly became convinced that it had been done to distance himself from you in preparation of a break up. It was easy to see things that way when you considered his lack of affection, attention, and the way he'd let you slip out of his apartment without a word, tears slipping down cheeks heated with the exertion of begging him to fight for you.
That's what the voice in your head was telling you, at least. And with every day that went by, the voice got a little louder until it was screaming how much of an idiot you were for holding onto him. Perhaps this was the break up, now that you thought about it. Perhaps you walking out and him not following was the only ending necessary, though it seemed so anticlimactic.
His silence was so very telling. Maybe he thought no words were needed at this point.
And so you spent your waking hours doing anything and everything you could to keep your mind off of him, desperate to spend time outside of the heartbreak coursing through your veins like wild fire. You spent your days with your nose buried in your work. Deadlines you had pushed off were suddenly met way ahead of schedule. You spent your evenings catching up on your recorded TV shows, red wine in one hand, take out in the other, tissues on your coffee table in case of any unwanted appearances of tears. Your apartment was rearranged and scrubbed clean from head to toe.
Twice.
On day nine, you had placed his things in a duffle bag on the floor next to the door, ready to hand it off when, or if, he ever came by for it.
You had ignored the tears that swam in your vision as you did it.
The evening of day eleven found you in bed early, too exhausted and emotionally drained to even try to make it through your favorite ABC drama, curled up in a ball in an effort to keep as much of the world away from your, decreasing the amount of vulnerable skin that was available for bruises. Your arms were wrapped around the pillow you held to your chest, ignoring the thought that the pillow had at one point smelled like him.
You were very nearly asleep when a quiet tap sounded at your kitchen window, startling you for a quick second. You didn't have to think about what it could possibly be, the sound one that you've heard hundreds of times, though it had been absent lately.
Your heart rate spiked, as it always did when he was near, but this time it was in anxiety. It was almost embarrassing that your body reacted to him so obviously. He knew you in the most intimate way possible, each flush of your cheeks or flash of arousal lighting up a world only he would ever be able to navigate.
But tonight, you weren't really interested in him having any sort of access to you and what you were feeling.
"Go away, Matt."
Your voice was quiet, even to your own ears, but you knew he would be able to hear it all the same.
The tap sounded again, this time followed by the creak of a window that was trying to be opened from the outside. He was used to letting himself inside your apartment at night, even if only to crawl into bed next to you to drift off to sleep by your side, arms wrapped around you so tightly that you didn’t know where he ended and you began.
You could practically feel his confusion as he realized that for the first time since you had met him, the window was locked.
The tapping came again, this time louder and more insistent, and before you even knew what you were doing, you were heaving yourself out of bed and making your way into the kitchen.
You threw the window open halfway, noting vaguely that he was perched on your fire escape in black clothing, not unlike what he used to wear before the red suit, his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt but face open and pale in the dark.
"Are you bleeding?"
Matt frowned, clearly thrown off by the question. "No."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Why--"
"Then kindly get off of my fire escape." Your hands rose to bring the window back down, and in shock, Matt almost missed sliding his hands under to keep it open.
"Wait!" You stopped pushing the window down, not because you wanted to hear what he had to say, but because you knew your strength was no match for his. "Wait, please. Let me come in."
"No, thanks."
"We should talk, sweetheart."
Though you had spent the last few days preparing yourself for something like this, it didn't stop the cold feeling of dread that poured itself down your spine.
"There's no need, Matt," you said, making every effort to keep your voice as even as possible. "I already know what you came here to say."
"I don't think you do. Please, let me in."
"Look," you started tiredly, tugging on the braid that was resting over your shoulder. "We don't need to do this. Things aren't working out, I get it."
"That's not--"
"You've made it pretty clear that this isn't what you want anymore, and that's fine," you continued, looking away from dark eyes that were all but pleading with you, trying to avoid falling into the man who had seemingly let you walk out of his life. "It would have been nice for you to break it to me gently rather than pushing me away as violently as you did, but it doesn't matter at this point."
"Sweetheart--"
"Don't call me that."
"I didn't come here to--"
"You didn't need to come here at all. I got the point, really."
"Will you just let me talk?" he demanded loudly, yanking the window all the way up, apparently done with being outside while you were inside.
You took an automatic step backwards, leaving more than enough room between the two of you as he let himself in. As always, his presence was larger than life, and in your tiny kitchen, you found it overwhelming in a way it hadn't been before. You found yourself stepping behind the kitchen table, effectively placing it between the two of you.
You didn't miss the way Matt's body lurched in apparent grief at the motion.
An awkward silence settled between the two of you, and it seemed that Matt was struggling with what to say, despite the way he had demanded to let him speak.
"What do you want, Matt?" you asked quietly, eyes finally making their way back to his face. "I haven't been sleeping well and I'm exhausted. I'd like to go to bed."
"I needed to talk to you," he repeated, his blank, beautiful eyes aimed at your chin.
"I already said it wasn't necessary," you shrugged. The impassive tone you took was empty, but that didnt mean it was convincing. "Things got ugly, but it's over now."
"Things aren't over now," he said adamantly, moving around the table, hands lifting to reach for you. "Please, just hear me out."
"I don't...I don't really know if I want to," you said honestly, quietly. Matt flinched, and you knew it was because your heart hadn't skipped on a lie. "This went on for weeks. I gave you so many opportunities to talk to me. I begged you to talk to me. All you did was...ignore how it was hurting me. I don't want to hear whatever lame excuse you're going to come up with."
"I swear it's not an excuse," he pleaded. "I just...I just needed some time. And space."
"Sure," you shrugged again, struggling to maintain the level of calm and rational. "I can understand needing that. I don't know what was bothering you, but you didn't even give me a chance to understand. And now you're...what? Here to officially break up with me? I kind of already figured it was over, seeing as how it's been eleven--"
"Break up?" Matt looked alarmed as his eyes widened. "Is that what you think I'm here to do?"
"Nothing ever good comes from a conversation that starts with "We should talk," Matt."
He took another step around the table, and it took everything in you not to flinch away. Matt had never touched you with anything but gentle hands, and while you weren't on great terms at the moment, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him.
"Sweetheart, that's not--"
"I love you, Matt," you told him bluntly, cutting him off with a hand raised in front of you, telling him to stop his movement in your direction. "But if the past few weeks were anything to go by, you're not willing, or maybe not able, to let me in. And I don't want to be with someone who hides so many pieces of themselves away from me. It's lonely, and I'm done with it."
He looked absolutely crestfallen, and suddenly resigned. You took a deep breath and soildered on, even as you felt your heart breaking in your chest.
"I'm sorry, Matt."
"No," he croacked out, shaking his head abruptly, eyes sightlessly dancing around the room as he licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I never meant to...have things end this way."
"It's ok." It wasn't. "There's a bag of your things over by the door." You tilted your head toward the duffle bag.
"My...things?"
"Yeah," you responded quietly, gesturing to the door with a hand that seemed limp and lifeless. "Tshirts, hoodies, your extra pair of glasses."
Matt paused for a second in surprise before he walked over to the door, a clumsy gait to his steps that you had never seen on him in the year you'd known him. With obviously shaking hands, he bent down to pick up the bag. His breathing had changed, you'd noticed. It was the breathing of someone about to have a panic attack. You grimaced, hating watching him like this.
Before, you would have comforted him. Held him and played with his hair and whispered how much you loved him in his ear.
But now, you were tired, and knowing what the past few weeks had been like, you honestly weren't sure if he'd even like having your hands on him.
He may have pushed you away first, but here you were shoving him away, too, if only to avoid any further pain on your end. Even if he didn't feel the same way about you as you did him, it was still a painful conversation for both parties.
"I'll swing by on Saturday to grab my stuff," you whispered. Matt let out a shaky sigh, accompanied by a hesitant nod of his head. "I'm going back to bed. Please shut the window behind you."
You left him standing in your kitchen, dark head bent sadly, scarred hands gripping the bag in his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
-----
Saturday rolled around too quickly for your liking. You had gathered one of your large duffle bags and a backpack to take over to Matt's apartment, unsure of just how many things you had over there.
You both had been toying with the idea of you moving in, so naturally quite a bit of your things had accumulated at his place. Work clothes. Sweat pants. Shoes. Your favorite bathrobe. Little bits and pieces of you slowly blending in with his, a subconscious way of laying down the building blocks for a life together.
With a sigh, and a mournful look at the run down front door you'd come to love, you let yourself into his apartment, taking in the scent of the man who had become your rock in a life that had always felt a little unsteady. You knew that most Saturday afternoons were spent catching up on cases with Foggy at their favorite diner, so you didn't expect him to be home.
You walked down the familiar hallway to the living, but abruptly froze when you took in the sight before you, eyes widening in shock.
His place was a mess.
One of his kitchen chairs lay broken next to the wall, clearly having been thrown against it. There was a giant fist-sized hole in the wall next to his bedroom that was shaped exactly like his hand, so you didn't need to guess whose it was. The trash hadn't been taken out in days, it looked like, and beer bottles were scattered along the counter.
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.
It took you an hour, but you picked up and took out the trash and recycling, and scrubbed down the kitchen. Dishes were washed and put away. Counters wiped down, floor swept. He was a grown adult, more than capable of picking up after himself, but seeing his place in such disarray made you...sad.
You made your way back to where you'd dropped the duffle bag and headed into the bedroom, a place you'd spent so many nignts with him wrapped around you, beneath you, on top of you.
Hands on your hips, you ignored the way your eyes pricked with tears, and thought about where to start first.
You didn't hear the front door open and close, nor did you notice Matt's presence behind you until he called your name softly. Startled, you took a deep breath before you turned around slowly and braced yourself for the second part of a conversation you didn't want to have.
You were scared he would ask you to stay. You were even more scared that he would outright ask you to go.
"Hey."
"Hey," he echoed.
"I'll just...give me a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair. I'm almost done grabbing my stuff." Matt inhaled sharply, head tilting away from you as you spoke. With a frown of your own, you turned your back to him, walking over to the table on what had been your side of the bed.
You placed the duffle bag on the bed and continued placing items into it, not bothering to be organized or have the items be thoughtfully placed. Your extra phone charger. The book you always told yourself you'd finish reading. Your favorite necklace you always forgot you had on until you were snuggled under the covers, forced to sleepily place it on the table to avoid leaving the warmth of him next to you.
You knew you had his total focus, so you did your best not to tear up while you packed your things. This was hard enough as it was, and as much as he had hurt you, you didn't want to make things more difficult for him than it had to be.
Eyeing the shoes you had left next to his closet, you walked forward to scoop them up. They were your favorite pair of heels, and you had worn them the last time you'd gone out for a nice dinner, his hand laced tightly in yours as he helped you keep your balance on the uneven New York City sidewalks, quiet laughter and declarations of love pressed against your cheek. While you both were always, always busy, you still found a way to make time for each other as often as you could.
The thought caused you to sniffle unintentionally as your lip quivered ever so slightly. You rubbed the heels of your palms to your eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered your body on both inhale and exhale. Matt let out a soft whine behind you, and you knew without turning around that he was wanting to pull you into him. He always made that sound when he could tell you were sad and on the verge of breaking down.
Or, at least he used to want to pull you into him before the last month or so, back when he would still touch you and pour his affection and love into your skin. Now, you weren't so sure what he wanted.
"I'm fine, Matt," you told him, voice shaking. You swept up the rest of your shoes into your arms and walked them back to the duffle bag on the bed. "I'll be done here in a few."
"No."
Your head snapped up to look at him incredulously. "No?"
He shook his head adamantly, blank eyes aimed somewhere around your abdomen. "No, don't go. You can't go."
You stared at him in disbelief. "Where was this attitude when you let me just walk out without a word two weeks ago?"
Matt opened his mouth but didn't say anything, merely licking his lips and tilting his head to the side for a moment.
You sighed in disappointment, shaking your head bitterly. "That's what I thought." Using shaking hands, you zipped up the full bag and moved to leave the room.
Matt quickly blocked you, placing himself in between you and the door way, his body just a few feet from yours as his eyes settled on your chin. "Please, just hear me out."
"Matt--"
"Just give me a few minutes, okay? I need to tell you what happened."
His face was flushed with what looked to be mild panic, and you couldn't tell if it was panic at the thought of you leaving, or panic at having to let out whatever had been bothering him so much that he'd thought the best solution was to violently push you away. Maybe it was both.
You took a few steps back from him, nodding silently, as you tried to put some space in between the two of you. Placing the bag back on the bed, you crossed your arms over your chest, willing to hear him out, but not wanting to stand so close to him. This was bound to be painful, anyway you cut it, and having him within arm's reach would most likely make it worse.
"Go ahead, then. If it's just another lie, I'm walking out and never looking back."
Matt nodded jerkily, licking his lips again like he always did when he was nervous. The corner of his bottom lip was split open, and you cringed when you noticed it. Even in your pain, even in your anger, you hated seeing him hurt.
You watched as he opened his mouth and shut it a few times, as if he was still unsure if he actually wanted to speak. Your frustration grew with each second he didn't say anything, your nerves fraying more and more the longer you stood in front of him.
"If you're not gonna actually--"
"Just...hold on," he said, desperation seeping into his voice. "I'm trying to think of the best way to say what I need to say."
"Why? What could be so bad that you--"
"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago." The words tore their way out of his mouth so suddenly that you weren't sure who was more surprised by them; him, or you. You faltered, all of your irritation and anger and bitterness in your body stumbling to a screeching stop. You looked at him, your jaw dropping in shock, unsure if you had heard him correctly.
"What?"
You'd been face to face with him for the past two minutes, but you felt like you were seeing him for the first time since you'd realized he was in the apartment with you. Your eyes took in his appearance, wincing at his bruised knuckles, a black eye that seemed to be fading, a long jagged scratch on the side of his throat. Matt looked so sad, so lost, as his sightless eyes seemingly focused on the floor next to his feet.
You had been prepared for a bullshit excuse, while still simultaneously hoping for something that would save your relationship with the only man you had ever loved. But you hadn't been expecting...this.
A shiver when down your spine as you stared at him in growing dread.
"A woman died in my arms a few weeks ago," he repeated shakily. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously, tugging at the dark strands that were ready to be cut. "I was...I was a few blocks away when I heard a man yank her into an alley, a gun in his hand."
You stared at him, horrified. You knew the sorts of things that went on while he was out. Human trafficking. Drug busts. Muggings. Assaults.
Matt didn't like talking about it most of the time, and you didn't like pressing him on it if it made him uncomfortable. But to hear something like this come ripping itself out if his mouth was extremely jarring and you found yourself terrified of what he was going to say next.
He took another deep breath.
"I heard her scream, heard how he slapped his hand over her mouth to quiet her, heard him cock the gun and dig it into her stomach." Matt was fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie as he spoke, and a part of you longed to take your hand in his, wondering if it might calm his restlessness. You held yourself back, though, not yet trusting your feet to move you forward without stumbling to the ground.
"He demanded that she give him her purse, which she did, of course. But then he ordered her to unbutton her shirt, and she refused."
Your heart hammered in your chest, face growing paler by the second.
"She tried to push him off of her, and he got mad and...pulled the trigger. I was still a few blocks away." Matt walked forward as if he were in a trance, unfocused eyes glazed over, hands feeling around for his bed. It alarmed you that he was so distraught that he was relying on his hands alone to navigate his bedroom, the rest of his senses so wrapped up in a horrifying memory. He took a seat, sinking onto the mattress with a heavy, pained sigh.
"When I got there, I could tell she wasn't going to make it." He briefly shut his eyes in a grimace, an intense full-body shudder wracking through him. "The guy was gone, but I didn't bother going after him because I knew I needed to stay with her. Make sure she wasn't alone." The breath he took was so shaky, and you found yourself finally able to move as your forced yourself forward, kneeling at his feet once you were in front of him. Your hand was grasping his a second later, suddenly unwilling to let him relive this alone as he tore himself apart to finally let you in.
"I held her as she bled out," Matt choked out, as if it was suddenly difficult to breathe. You gripped his thigh, and did your best to rub soothing circles into the muscle that lay under his jeans. "I tried to stop the bleeding, hoping I was wrong, that she could still make it, but the blood was coming out too fast and there was nothing I could do. She was sobbing, begging me to save her, and I couldn't."
You didn't know when you had started crying, but you had to take your hand off his leg briefly to wipe your eyes to clear your vision. His hand shook in yours.
"And she..." Matt paused again, taking another deep, gasping breath. "She reminded me of you."
"What?" you asked, immediately confused, mind scrambling to comprehend what he had just said, suddenly frantic to make sense of what he had just told you. "What do you mean?"
"She reminded me of you," he repeated quietly. "Roughly the same height. Similar accent, the one that only comes out when you're upset. A blouse made of the same material you wear so often. And she...she used the same shampoo."
Matt's hand lifted to wipe at the tears on his face as he struggled to speak. "This woman I didn't know was dying in my arms. And...and even as I tried to comfort her, all I could think about was you. All I could think about was...what if you were in trouble, and I couldn't get to you in time?"
Your mind twisted and turned as realization finally hit you.
This.
This was what had been driving him away from you, this belief that he would never be the kind of man you needed. This was the root of it.
"Matt, love. I'm fine. I'm here."
"I know you are," he let out, hand still trembling in yours, and steadily getting worse. His unfocused gaze landed on your forehead, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes up close. "But even before this happened, this is something I would think about often, something I still think about often. The thought of...of not being good enough or quick enough or strong enough to stop something bad from happening to you."
Taking a deep, unsteady breath of your own, you reached your hand up to cradle his cheek, and he immediately turned his head slightly to kiss your palm, needing the affection only you could provide.
"I trust you with my life, Matt."
He nodded with his eyes closed, swallowing before he spoke. "I know you do. But this...this was so real. It was just literally staring me in the face, this idea of losing you. And while I'm panicking and thinking about you, this woman is dying in my arms. And I can't even give her my full attention to comfort her, because I'm imaging someone else dying in front of me, and I couldn’t handle it."
You made a soft, mournful noise, and unable to stop yourself, you stood up and pushed his shoulders back from where he had hunched in on himself, before settling yourself in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, with one hand reaching up to slide into his hair. With a shudder, his arms came up around you, holding you to him in a grip that you knew would leave bruises.
You'd let him leave marks all over your skin if it meant he would take even one ounce of comfort from you.
The pair of you sat in silence for a while, cheeks pressed together, trying to match your breathing to his, and vice versa. You rubbed your hand soothingly up and down his back, avoiding any areas that seemed tender. You felt a raised ridge of skin near his left hip and knew it meant he'd needed stitches recently.
You grimaced, wishing you'd been there for him, even if he hadn't wanted you to be.
"Why were you pushing me away, Matt? All I want is to be here for you," you told him gently when his breathing seemed to have settled a bit. You pulled back a bit to hold his face in your hands, where you used your thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears.
His grip tightened and he leaned into you, seemingly trying to keep as much contact with you as he could. And even while he tried to get as close to you as physically possible, you half expected him to pull away from you again. Instead, he surprised you by pushing on, at last tearing down that final barrier.
"It was hard being around you," he admitted softly. His hand reached up to massage the back of your neck, a habit he had started when he was trying to assure himself you were next to him. "I was having such awful nightmares and I didn't want you around while I slept. You sliced your finger open three weeks ago, and all I could think about was you bleeding out all over me. If I hugged you, the smell of your shampoo would bring me right back to that alley, so I started avoiding touching you. And the more you got upset, the more angry I got. But not angry at you, angry at myself for making you feel that way."
You listened quietly, ignoring how your eyes were watering, and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest.
"I was hurting. And because I was hurting, I struggled being around you, to the point where it started hurting you, too. It just became this vicious cycle that I didn't know to stop, and all of a sudden it was too late and you were walking away."
You didn't say anything as you took in what he was telling you. You continued to hold him, lips occasionally brushing over his cheek as your hands continued to run gently up and down his back.
"I'm sorry this happened," you whispered, your voice catching. "I'm sorry you went through that, I'm sorry that I got upset."
"No, sweetheart," he brought a finger up to your lips in an effort to shush you. "Don't...don't apologize. This isn't on you."
"But--"
"No," he repeated firmly. "I should have said something. I was wrong for pushing you away like that. I...I wasn't...I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to handle it, and I took it out on you. On our relationship."
Your lip quivered. "You can't do that, Matt."
"I know."
"No, you don't know," you told him. "I'm not even talking about how it made me feel. I'm talking about you. I want you to be safe, and loved, and cared for. You deserve those things. You deserve to have someone there to hold your hand and be there for you. But I can't...I can't be there for you and help you if you don't tell me what's going on."
Matt was nodding while you spoke, eyes shut tight as he listened. You knew there was a voice in the back of his head telling you he didn't deserve those things, would never deserve them, and it broke your heart.
You tilted his head towards you and leaned in to press your lips gently to his. He let out a sigh as he brought a hand up to grasp your cheek.
"I'll always fight for you, Matt." He let out a shaky breath at your vow. "I'll always fight for you. Even if I'm fighting you against you. But I...I need you to fight for me, too. Okay? You can't let me walk out that door again. I need to know you're not going to just push me away like that again. You can yell and cry and ask me for anything, everything you need. But don't let me go."
"I won't, I won't do that again," he promised as he continued to stroke your check with his thumb. "I should never have let that happen. And I should have never waited so long to come after you. I love you."
You kissed him again, a little firmer this time, but no less tender. "I love you, too."
Silence took over again as you continued to sit there. You focused on the way his hand was now running up and down your arm gently, while the other brushed at your hip from where it was wrapped around you. Cradling his face in your hands, you placed a series of kisses on his face; his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks. With each kiss, you felt a sliver of tension bleed away from him, until at last he seemed to sag in relief.
You eyed the duffle bag that was still on his bed, grateful that he had come home when he did so that you could have this talk. You weren't sure how you would have handled living in a world without him by your side. It had only been a year, but you knew this was something you wanted for the rest of your life. Knew that he was someone you wanted for the rest of your life.
You were willing, oh so willingly, to do whatever this man needed, whatever he asked of you.
Glancing at the bathroom door, an idea came to you. An idea that might be a good place to start, no matter how small and insignificant it would seem. Without much thought, you decided to act on it, desperate to help him in whatever way you could.
"Let me go, Matt." You gently pushed against the arms that held you to him.
"What? Why?" You didn't miss the way the panic seeped into his voice.
"Just...let go. Let me get up." Confused, he slowly and reluctantly released you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead, before standing up and walking towards the bathroom. You heard him get up behind you.
"Where are you going?" You knew him well enough to hear the anxiety creeping in, this time more insistent. You turned around, kicking off your shoes as you did so. Your shirt was pulled off and thrown to the floor at his feet, and your pants soon followed.
"I figured we'd start with a shower."
"A...shower?"
"Yes. You're going to help me wash my hair until you can't smell my shampoo any longer, and then you're going to keep talking to me and let me cuddle you the rest of the afternoon. You coming?"
For the first time in weeks, the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on his face, though it was brief and utterly bewildered, as his own shirt hit the floor. Matt stil look bemused, but he went along with your idea. He took a few hesitant steps forward until he was right in front of you.
Rough hands gripped your cheek, pushed your hair back behind your ears, and tilted your head forward so that he could place a gentle kiss to your forehead. With a soft sigh, he reached down to grasp your hand, and you let him pull you into the bathroom.
hi bee, congrats again! can i get #13 from rivals to lovers with matty? make it angsty >:)
#13 - "No, stop saying that! I DON'T care about you or anything you do!"
wordcount: 2711 (the way this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble)
-----
You weren’t sure where you stood with Matt as far as friendships and rivalries went. You knew that the two of you were on opposing sides as far as your jobs went, but things seemed to be smoothing themselves over after years of burning each other at the stake. You’d even grabbed a drink with him at a gala the both of you were attending.
Things seemed to be going great, he ran into you at a cafe and you two shared a pastry while talking and laughing about your occupations. It was only when the two of you were on different sides of a case and Karen had leaned over to whisper something in his ear while gazing at you that he grew distant from you all of a sudden. It was like all of the progress the two of you had made was undone with something Karen had said and it was like interacting with a stranger.
Finally, after months of the cold shoulder, you’d managed to corner him at Josie’s alone. It’s almost like he knew you were approaching, because he tried to turn away from you, showing you his back.
“I’ve been trying to find you.” You say as you slide into the barstool next to him, drink in hand.
“I’m elusive when I want to be.”
“And why would you want to be?” He laughs and takes a swig of his beer.
“We’re on opposing sides, be smart here.”
“That case ended months ago, Murdock. You didn’t have a problem being friends through it until Karen said something to you.”
“Friends? You thought we were friends? I was alone, and you were easy company. We weren’t friends, you were convenient.”
“You are a fucking asshole, Matthew.” He shrugs and smiles.
“What did you expect? I don’t think about you in the same way you think about me. You’re just another person in my life, and you let my presence become something way more than what it was.” You fall silent, and Matt takes another nonchalant swig. Your throat burns with humiliation, and you slap a twenty on the bartop before walking away. You hear Josie chastise Matt, evidently overhearing your conversation, but you can only suppress the tears long enough to get out of the humid bar.
-----
It takes another three weeks for your next run-in with him, this time purely incidental. You two were at court for two different cases, and you’d almost successfully hidden from the three of them until Foggy decided to open his mouth.
“Hey!” he shouts, “over here!” You have no choice but to join their group, too close to them to play it off like you didn’t hear.
“Hey, Fog.” The two of you were friends, nothing more and nothing less.
“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.” You glance over at the other two, and Karen shoots you a pleasant smile while Matt remains stoic, jaw tense as if he was in genuine pain while in your presence.
“Just busy with caseloads, you know how it is sometimes.” Matt sighs loudly.
“We really have to get going, we have more work at the office.” He says timidly, and Karen looks unamused by his evasion tactics.
“We just won a tough case, Matt, and by the sounds of it they have too,” she turns her attention to you, “would you like to join us for drinks tonight?”
“Oh I wouldn’t-”
“I’m sure they’d love to, we’ll be at Josie’s at nine.” Foggy cuts your dismissal off.
“Great! See you there.” Karen shoots another grin your way before walking off. Matt lingers for a few seconds.
“They’re inviting you out of pity,” he starts, ”they don’t actually want you there.”
“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t want me. According to people who aren’t you, I’m actually a nice person.” He huffs out a laugh at your words.
“Sure,” he says leaning in, and the depth of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, “let yourself think that.”
-----
You do in fact show up later that night at Josie’s, not only to irk Matt but to also actually enjoy yourself for once. Karen and Foggy are already beckoning you over while Matt sulks more and more in his chair before getting up to most likely talk a woman home tonight.
“What’s his problem?” You gesture at Matt, the group having had a few drinks already.
“He’s deflecting.” Foggy yells over the loud music.
“Deflecting what?”
“How he feels about you!” Karen yells excitedly.”
“What?”
“That day in court when you thought I was giving you the stink eye,” she says, “I was actually telling Matt to make a move! He’s been obsessed with you.” Karen and Foggy giggle drunkenly while you’re trying your best to hold down your lunch from earlier.
“You okay?” Karen places a hand on your shoulder and you know the action is kind but it makes your body flush red.
“I think- I gotta go actually,” you scour your brain for any and every excuse to get you out of here, “feed my cat.”
“You don’t have a cat!” Foggy yells over the music, but you’ve already left.
At home, you throw your keys into the bowl on the table as soon as you enter, and immediately walk to the bathroom to hurl whatever remains of your lunch. Matt hating you for being attracted to you made so much sense that it was stupid, almost childish. It was laughable if it didn’t hurt your feelings so badly. You were sitting next to the toilet sobbing, wondering what could be so wrong with someone like you for someone like Matt to think it’d be easier to push you away than give in.
After fighting with yourself for a while, you decide to take a rinse, now having sobered up a little. The throbbing in your temples leads you to believe you’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow but you don’t take anything for it, too exhausted physically and emotionally to even think. You end up crawling into bed in tears, sobbing to sleep.
-----
The next day flashes by in a blur, you’re practically tasked with front desk duty with the way the phone is ringing off its holder. It’s headache-inducing, from dealing with the police to more and more cases popping up; Hell’s Kitchen was a nightmare for the law.
You were driving yourself insane with what Foggy and Karen said to you last night. You’d been snapped out of daydreams between meetings and phone calls and finally you’d had enough, resigning yourself to confronting Matt at his apartment tonight. You know it’s insane, and logically it’ll just make him hate you even more, but nothing about him shutting you out was thought through, so you have a shot of getting through his brain.
And finally, when you find yourself standing outside of his door bracing to knock, you realize how fucking stupid this looks. Asking a man why he doesn’t pay any attention to you anymore. You sigh and shrug, you’re already here and he already doesn’t talk to you, what would you be losing?
You knock, he answers. He answers quickly, almost like he knew you were standing there and he was standing in wait. He looks soft, freshly washed hair dried into a poof, and sweatpants tucked into warm, fuzzy socks. A ghosting of a bruise lines his jaw, but he keeps that side turned away so you don’t ask.
“Are you gonna stand there or come in?” He asks. He blocks the entryway with his chest, one hand on the door and the other hand on the frame, but when you take a step forward he steps away, allowing you to enter.
You quickly realize that this is the first time you’ve ever stepped foot in Matt’s apartment, but somehow it’s everything you imagined. Bachelor pad layout, not too many decorations around, not that you’d imagined he had any, the ad screen outside his windows let a pool of dancing blues and purples in, but the apartment had a cleanliness to it only rivaled by the normal grime of Hell’s Kitchen.
“Why are you here?” Phrased like a question, said like a statement, he’s uncomfortable.
“We’re talking.”
“About?”
“Us, this. I’m tired of you acting like this wasn’t important to you.”
“It wasn’t, sweetheart,” he edges closer, like predator to prey, “we were barely friends.”
“Bullshit and you know it, Karen and Foggy have a different story.”
“That they told you last night right? While all of you were drunk?”
“I think they had a pretty good grasp on how you feel.”
“Felt. How I felt. Past tense.”
“If you really don’t feel like that anymore, then why continue to ignore me?”
“I don’t like fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before, and the arguably smartest two of your group feel quite differently than you.”
“Why are you trying to make yourself believe that I feel anything for you?”
“I don’t I-” you rub your forehead, “I just-”
“What? Do you miss me? Do you know how pathetic that makes you sound?”
“Matthew, don’t-” You cringe as he cuts you off again.
“You live a sad life if I’m what you’re concerned about. How long was our friendship, if you could even call it that? Two months? Three? You don’t matter to me, get that through your head. If you had, I would’ve reached out.”
“For us to be fighting, Karen’s words must have really gotten through your thick skull, huh?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“Is it really that bad to be attracted to me? Like what about that statement could make you go from attraction to animosity?”
“It wasn’t attraction.”
“Then what was it? I’m dying to know.”
“It’s not necessary to.”
“It affects me directly.”
“Don’t let it and move on.”
“Will you listen to yourself?”
“Will you stop being a bitch?” That sentence causes a few extra beats of silence to fall upon the two of you, and Matt can tell you’re on the edge of exploding at him. As much as he wanted to apologize immediately for what he said, he also wanted to stand his ground. Karen would say it was the testosterone that gave him the audacity, but he needed you out of here.
“You? Calling me a bitch?” Matt immediately cringed, he’d set you off and there was nothing he could do about it.
“I didn’t mean it like that-”
“You stood there and called me a bitch, Matthew. You know what? This whole fucking thing is so childish. You couldn’t handle a goddamn crush like a fucking eight-year-old so you decided to shut me out.”
“I don’t-”
“This is such a stupid fucking talk to be having! All because you couldn’t man up and confess. What was it, fear of rejection? You care about me, and judging by the way you still fucking shut me out, you feel it still.”
“No, stop saying that! I don’t care about you or anything you do!" But he does, god, he does. You’re the one fucking good thing in this life that doesn’t know who he is, what he is. Karen’s been kidnapped and Foggy’s been targeted numerous times, he didn’t need you added to the ever growing list of variables.
You’re floored, however. And you start to worry that you’ve gotten this all wrong. You shrivel up, hands wrapped around your stomach. Matt looks pissed, he wants you out of here and you know you need to escape. The sensation of humiliation burning at the back of your throat, something you’ve grown familiar with feeling around Matt creeps back to you.
“I should go- I’m sorry for ruining your evening.” He says your name as you rush past him, and manages to grab your hand before you can reach the door.
“You haven’t, just-” He runs a hand through his hair, auburn strands getting more noticeable from the brightness of the ad screen, “take a seat. We can talk. Let me get you a glass of wine.”
“I’m humiliating myself here, Murdock,” you shrug, trying to keep the tears at bay, “why are you keeping me here?”
“Don’t cry, just let me explain.” As promised, he got you a glass of red, one whiff and you knew it was top shelf stuff. You didn’t care if you were meant to sip and enjoy, you needed this shame gone. You drank about half of it in one go and then gestured for Matt to speak, feeling dumb immediately afterwards for moving your hands instead of speaking. He continued anyway.
“I had feelings for you. Deep rooted ones, even before we were friends when we used to argue over nothing but each other’s existence.”
“Then why wouldn’t you…”
“Sweet angel,” he kneels in front of your seat on the couch, gathering your hands in his as he places your wine on the coffee table, “this is much more complicated than you think.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snatch your hands away from his, and he drops his head, “either explain yourself or let me leave.”
“I can’t.” He says after a few seconds of contemplation. You stare at him wordlessly before getting up to leave, and hear him cuss under his breath.
“Wait!”
“Matthew, if you keep me here one more time without giving me a viable reason for literally anything I promise you I will never speak to you again.”
“I’m-”
“You’re?”
“I’m Daredevil?” He winces at the end, and you stay silent for a few seconds before laughing.
“You,” your hand presses hard against your stomach, “you, the blind man, are Daredevil?” He nods slowly.
“I think you’ve had too much wine.” You say, turning around and walking back to the door.
“I can show you the suit. It’s under the stairs in a chest.”
“And why would you tell me this?”
“I don’t know. To show you that I do care, and I want you, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
“If you think,” you slink towards him, pressing your hands against his shirt when you reach him, “that some lowlife criminals are going to keep me from you, you are mistaken. I still don’t believe you though.” He smiles at your words and reaches out, silently asking for your hand. You accept, and he pulls you to the closet.
“You’re free to open it.” He offers, and you don’t hesitate, opening the door and kneeling to the chest’s height. Flipping open the chest, you find a boxing robe and some silky red gloves.
“Under that panel.” You grab the panel, pulling it up and away to expose the suit. The devil suit. You glance up at him before grabbing the helmet, dragging your fingers over the horns and the red eyepieces. You eye the billy clubs, tracing your fingers over the rough metal before standing back up.
“I have so many questions.”
“I have answers.”
“Why were you being an asshole?”
“Oh,” he looks startled, like that wasn’t the question he was expecting, “I thought I couldn’t have you, and it’d only keep aching and aching if I was that close to you.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah,” he huffs out a laugh, “it is.”
“Can you see me?” You ask, and he shakes his head.
“I know things about you. You used mouthwash before you got here, and you stopped by at the park, probably to watch the lights.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“I think it’s endearing. Is it okay if I-”
“Can you kiss me already?” He pulls you in quickly from the waist, your head spinning from the wine and the smell of him so close. Your noses brush, and you tilt your head enough to feel his lips ghost over yours until he pecks you lightly. He tries to pull away until you pull him back in, teeth and tongue meeting in a passionate kiss.
He pulls away only after you do, foreheads resting together as you two find your breath together.
“You’re taking me out on dates, making up for your asshole era.” You pant out.
“Fair,” he says as his fingers squeeze against the skin on your waist, “that’s fair.”
Hi! I’m really sorry to keep requesting this but could you write about blackwidow!reader being on a mission to kill Matt/Daredevil and that she ends up getting close to him just because of the mission but it could possibly end with a happy ending?
please never apologize for a request! you have no idea how beyond flattered I am that you come to me with your ideas & trust me to bring them to life. I am having so much fun with all of these matt x black widow reader requests, so thank you! ❤️
warning: some swearing, slight mentions of violence
word count: 2.2k
we can do this together.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never supposed to hesitate. You were never allowed to question a mission. And up until now, you never had. But he made you question everything.
“You don’t have to do this. I know you don’t want to.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know everything about you. You lied about a few things, yeah, but nothing that mattered. Everything else you told me was real. Listen-“
“Don’t move.”
You aimed your gun directly at Matt’s chest, pausing his ascension forward. He quickly brought his hands up in surrender, the sides of his mouth turned downwards in a slight grimace.
“Y/N, you’re not gonna shoot me.”
Even though half of his face was covered, you could see the betrayal written on his features clear as day beneath the glowing moonlight. You could practically envision the hurt permeating his golden honey eyes, and that image in your head punctured your heart like a jagged, rusty blade. The effect of your treachery was evident in his voice, but you had to remind yourself why you were here. You cocked the hammer of your gun as you clenched your jaw, noting the way his lips parted slightly in response to take in a breath.
“No?”
At this point you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more; him or yourself.
Your grip on the handle tightened as you struggled to compose yourself.
He’s just another mission. You’ve done this a thousand times. Just pull the trigger.
Matt swallowed thickly as he took a cautious step forward, shaking his head slowly as he spoke.
“No, you won’t. You won’t hurt me.”
You fired a warning shot by his foot, causing him to freeze immediately. He turned his head away from the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the concrete of the rooftop, wincing as the sound pierced his sensitive ears. Matt’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, letting a frustrated sigh escape his mouth as he focused his head in your direction. The disappointment was practically radiating off of him, and it made you sick to your stomach.
“Stop pretending like you know me. You only know the version of me I wanted you to see. Manipulation and deception are our greatest strengths, Matthew. It’s how we bring down empires.”
Matt scoffed as he let out a humorless laugh, instantly dropping his hands by his sides and clutching them into tight fists as he shook his head defiantly and took another bold step forward.
“No.”
Goddamnit Matthew, stop. Quit being so fucking stubborn.
“It’s not up for debate.”
Deep down you wanted him to run. He was quick and stealthy, you knew that. He could disappear before you even had a chance to track him. That would give you more time. To do what, you weren’t sure. Delay the inevitable? Hope they pulled you off this task and assigned someone else? Runaway yourself?
But Matt wasn’t a runner. He was just as combative outside of the courtroom as he was in it. There was no changing his mind once it had already been made up, he was too tenacious.
“It’s bullshit. I know when you’re lying. I can tell by your heartbeat. You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me.”
Matt’s confession stunned you completely. He was blind, you knew that for a fact. But he was also the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You hadn’t quite figured out how he was able to do the things he did, but it wasn’t important to your assignment, so you weren’t allowed to test your curiosity. Get in, get what you need, eliminate the threat, and get out. Those were the rules.
None of this matters. He’s a mission. Just complete it.
Sensing a falter in your facade, Matt took another cautious step forward, and you reflexively aimed your gun directly towards his face. You never had an issue completing an assignment before. Every target you were assigned to take out was a threat. It never bothered you before, because each of them had things far worse than skeletons in their closets. Some of them had committed sins you didn’t think any God could forgive. The world was better off without them.
Why was this time so hard?
Because it was Matt. Matthew Murdock that let his clients repay him in banana bread for helping them get justice. Matthew Murdock that gave his literal blood, sweat, and tears every night for a city that would never thank him or even know his real name.
Because it was Matt that stopped by your apartment randomly and asked you to accompany him to do mundane tasks like go grocery shopping, or claiming he needed feedback on his closing argument with an elaborate ruse. He always had an excuse, but it was simply because he knew you didn’t have any family either, and sometimes felt just as alone as he did. It was Matt that remembered how much you loved pickles and always offered you his even if he wanted them. It was Matt that walked you home every time you went to Josie’s, even though you lived 2 blocks away, because he wanted to make sure you made it home safe.
Because it was Matt, and he wasn’t really the threat; Daredevil was. Because Daredevil was dangerous. Because he was too good at what he did, and was getting too close. Your other targets were more competition than threats. But him? He was a threat. They had every right to be terrified of him. They should be.
The only advantage you had at the moment was that you hadn’t reported that you figured out Daredevil’s identity. They didn’t know about Matt. But if you were able to figure it out, you knew another widow could too. Matt was only safe the longer you dragged out this assignment, and you were running out of time.
“Sweetheart-“
“Don’t.”
You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to focus. It felt like you were spiraling in a haunting kaleidoscope of guilt and fear, anxious as to where you would land. You were fighting against every single code of your programming. Everything you were trained to do. Everything you were molded to be. Matt had unlocked something in you, and you were struggling to keep it contained.
“Put the gun down.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Just-“
“You don’t understand.”
You didn’t even try to mask the vulnerability in your voice. Part of you knew Matt was right. Your mission was to get close to him, but either consciously or subconsciously, you’d also let him get close to you. You had told him things, real things, that no one else knew. You tried to convince yourself that it was to draw him in closer, to make him trust you so you could take advantage of him. But the more you were around him, the truth became harder to deny. Matt Murdock was like gravity. You were drawn to him, like everyone else around him, and he grounded you into a space that felt secure.
“Then help me understand. Please, sweetheart.”
“I can’t just walk away. One of us isn’t leaving this roof alive.”
“I don’t believe that. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t fight you.”
“Then you’ll die.”
Matt charged forward until the barrel of your gun was pressed directly against his sternum. The action surprised you and caused you to stumble backwards, but Matt gripped onto your wrist and forced you to keep the gun in place. The way his chest was heaving had your hand almost shaking, and you grit your teeth in annoyance at his persistence.
“Then shoot me.”
“Goddamnit, Matthew. I’m not what you think I am.”
“I know you’re not what they made you.”
Your fingers trembled slightly around the handle of the gun. Emotions were something you were trained to let go of. They were never supposed to get in the way or compromise a mission. But a piece of you refused to accept the truth that was gnawing at the pit of your stomach; you couldn’t pull the trigger. You knew that. He knew that.
“I can’t walk away. You don’t…you have no idea what…what they’ll do to me.”
A shudder raced down your spine at the thought. You knew what happened to widows that couldn’t complete a mission. They were tortured if they were compromised, and only granted the mercy of death when their body finally gave out. A low growl ripped through Matt’s chest as he tore the gun out of your hands, throwing it behind him as he grabbed onto the back of your neck with his other and pulled you flush into his chest.
“They are not going to touch you ever again.”
“Matt-“
“You are not what they made you.”
“Stop trying to save me. You don’t know what I’ve done-“
“I don’t care.”
“You should-“
“Whatever you did, it was against your will. They didn’t give you a choice. But you have one now, Y/N.”
You didn’t deserve his forgiveness. You didn’t deserve his understanding. Whatever light he saw in you had to just be a reflection of his own. Why did he have to be so good? Matt had found a loose thread in your being, unraveling everything you thought was real, and had you now completely wrapped around him. Ever the good Catholic boy, here he was still trying to save you, even when you had pointed a gun in his face and threatened his life.
Matt quickly pulled off his helmet, tossing it carelessly to the side as he cupped your jaw delicately in his gloved hands like you might shatter any second. The anguish shadowing his beautiful face made you wish he had kept the fucking thing on. You couldn’t handle the look in his eyes.
“Come with me. Let me help.”
“You can’t-“
“I can. I can help. I have friends that will help. We can take them down together, sweetheart. You don’t have to be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. No one is ever going to hurt you again. We can do this together.”
Matt pressed his forehead to yours, reaching for one of your hands to hold against his chest. He gave your wrist a light squeeze, gently nudging your nose with his own.
“I know you, honey. I’ve heard your heart, and I can feel your soul. Please come with me.”
“Matt…if anything happened to you-“
“Nothing is going to happen to me. Nothing is going to happen to you. We can protect each other. We can do this, sweetheart. I know we can. But I need you to trust me.”
Something about Matthew Murdock made you feel like you knew who you were outside of the Red Room. Who you really wanted to be. You’d felt the spark the first time you met; something pure and light like you’d never felt before. Every second you spent with him, you felt like pieces of you were being healed, so much so that you hadn’t even realized some parts weren’t broken anymore until you noticed they stopped hurting.
There had to be something good still left in you. If Matt believed you could find redemption, it had to be true. He was the first person you felt like you could actually trust, and that was terrifying. But despite everything, the heartbreaking truth he had learned about you, the revelation of lies and deceit, he was still here. He was offering you his forgiveness, and his hand, but more than that, he was offering you something you hadn’t felt in a lifetime; hope.
“I…I don’t know how this works, Matt.”
“We figure it out together, one step at a time.”
“I don’t think I’m worth all this trouble.”
“I do.”
Matt’s face had softened as he pulled back slightly, blank eyes darting back and forth as they burned with recognition. There was a melancholic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth while he nodded his chin in your direction.
“I know that darkness you feel. I know you think there’s something inside of you that can’t be fixed. And…maybe it can’t. But I do know that you and I are a lot more alike than you think. Our broken pieces…they fit, Y/N. I think you feel that too. We fit together, sweetheart. We can do this. We can take them all down, together.”
It was hard to argue with the confidence and conviction in Matt’s voice. You could feel his own heart beating strongly against your palm through his suit. It hadn’t faltered once. You couldn’t tell if it was because he really believed that, or if he refused to believe anything else.
This decision would alter your life forever. There would never be any going back, and it was quite literally life or death. But you had never been more sure of anything in your life.
“Where do we start?”
Matt let out a deep exhale of relief, his entire body visibly relaxing as your words hit his ears. His mouth parted into that dazzling smile that made you dizzy, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in to carefully brush his lips against yours.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader (could be read as GN, though the first part of this series mentions the desire to carry Matt’s children)
Word Count: 9,000
Summary: You’re not quite sure why Matt has been pulling away from you, but you know that it’s impossible to stay in a relationship when someone is hiding something. You’re devastated that it has come to this, but you figure it’s better to push away than be pushed away.
Warning: Annnnngst, but with a happy ending
This is the third installment of the Coffee Shop Woes Series, though it could probably be read as a standalone.
just saw a headline that said "mcu's season 4 of daredevil needs to take lessons from thor ragnarok"
i dont know about you guys, but personally? i dont need matt to throw out a family friendly gag every minute, or for him and frank to argue about doing a "get help" style distraction for easy laughs, sandwiched inbetween 6 callbacks to previous mcu films and a panoramic circle shot showing each of the defenders in an action pose. i dont want that.
for all the main mcu has in its big explosions followed up by clever one liners, they're severely lacking in the things that made the defenders so good - their realness.
i dont want a family friendly squeaky clean daredevil, i want a matt murdock that is so flawed and angry and irrevocably broken by all that he has seen and experienced, a matt murdock that is so deliciously and utterly human that it hurts to see.
it hurts to watch him start fight after fight - many he knows he can't possibly win, he knows the odds are stacked against him, but he fights anyway. he fights because he knows that if he doesn't go out every night and save the little girls lured into alleyways by strange creepy men, and if he doesn't fight against the corrupted system condemning innocent men - then who will?
