a/n: i finally watched ready or not 2 tonight and yes I was drunk and it's almost 2am and no I don't know what possessed my fingers and maybe i've never written anything faster in my life but one thing is for sure and two things are for certain, don't ask me the color of NOTHIN. this was literally written in like 20 minutes and it hasn't been edited and tomorrow me may regret posting it at all but as titus says FUCK IT we (le bail) ball. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated.
The sharp crack of your head against the ground feels like a strike of lightning splitting the back of your skull, and you can’t tell if it’s blood or sweat dripping down the back of your neck. The world becomes unfocused, pain diluting the sharpness of your vision to the point where everything is a fuzzy silhouette. It could be a concussion, or it could be blood loss from all the injuries you’ve sustained during this second round of fucked up hide and seek. If you made it out of this alive, it’s a game you’d never fucking play again.
There’s a weight that settles on top of you, almost comforting in your daze. A strong pair of calloused hands caress your neck, but it’s a misconception, a mistake your brain makes in the midst of the blunt force trauma you’d suffered when your head had smacked against the cold hard ground. It’s not a gentle touch, it’s the weaving of fingers around your throat, constricting like a snake coiling around its prey, and your world suddenly snaps back into focus.
Titus is hovering above you, his knees bracketing your hips, and his pupils are blown wide in wild bloodlust, the onyx of them nearly eclipsing the sliver of hazel. The edge of his lips curl in a snarl, or maybe it’s amusement that bares his teeth when your eyes widen in panic and you start to squirm beneath him, clawing at his forearm and his chest despite how weak you should be by now. He likes that you’re a fighter. It makes this more interesting. More fun.
“I told you it would be me that gets you.”
You can’t tell if it's the joints between his knuckles cracking or the vertebrae in your spine when he tightens his grip. Everything starts to get blurry again, the oxygen being denied to your brain combined with your head colliding against the ground causing the edges of your vision to shrink in a vignette like the ending of an old black and white sitcom. Your breathing feels like a futile attempt against the inevitable, a desperate gasping that doesn’t even begin to rival the heavy panting of the man above you, either in exertion or excitement, you’re not sure.
It can’t end like this. After everything you’ve endured, everything you’ve survived, it can’t fucking end like this.
“I can…gurantee…head council…seat.”
Titus doesn’t stop his efforts to strangle you, but he does lessen the pressure of his hands around your throat, just slightly enough to allow you to stay conscious. A dry chuckle escapes from him as he leans closer down towards you, his blood spackled face coming more clearly into view above you. His voice is raspy when it reaches your ears.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, sweetheart, I’m securing it myself.”
“And share…with your…sister?”
That gets his attention. Titus lessens his grip just enough to let you suck in a frantic gasp of air. His head tilts slightly to the side in what could be construed as curiosity, or maybe he’s taking a moment to enjoy this, the kill that single handedly secures his spot in the head seat of the council, taking his father’s recently vacated spot. A spot that should’ve already been his if it weren’t for the stupid fucking archaic rules. The seat he feels belongs to him, and him alone. Seizing the moment, you grip onto his forearm with the strength you have left, leaving crescent indents in his skin with your bloodied nails, your other hand grasping at the front of his sweat soaked shirt. Swallowing down the metallic tang of your own blood, your labored breathing carries your offer.
“That woman said there’s a loophole. A way you get the council seat, and I get to live.”
Titus lifts his chin subtly in defiance, arching one of his brows.
“The woman you killed.”
“I didn’t kill her-”
“You got her killed. Same thing.”
Titus regards you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your battered and bloodied body beneath him. Whether it’s morbid curiosity, or him reveling in giving you a sense of false hope, he indulges your ploy.
“Let me hear it. Give me your best elevator pitch, sweetheart. It’s gonna be your last.”
He’s enjoying this. There’s an unmistakable flicker of exhilaration in his eyes. Titus could’ve killed you at any point during the hunt, easily. He didn’t want to. He likes the chase. The thrill of it all. It’s more exciting to him than the reward of the kill. It’s why he’s entertaining your last ditch offer now.
“Marry me.”
That draws genuine surprise from Titus, his brows lifting considerably up his forehead, creating creases in his blood speckled skin. You don’t waste the moment. You grip tighter onto him, almost subconsciously pulling him in closer, keeping his attention focused on your body beneath him and not the prospect of your death granting him what he wants more than anything.
“If you marry me, you get the seat. You don't have to share.”
Titus seemed to consider this. The one thing that he wanted more than his father’s seat was to not have to share it with his sister. He hated that his father saw Ursula as more capable of carrying on the family legacy. He hated that she treated him like a child. Claiming the seat was more important to his pride than his loyalty to his family.
“And you get to live.”
“It's a win-win.”
It was strange to not believe in any deities even though you'd seen a glimpse of one. Real evidence of something beyond human comprehension. But in that moment, you found yourself begging even Mr. Le Bail to convince Titus to accept your offer. If he refused, you had no other tricks up your bloodied and tattered sleeve.
Titus narrowed his eyes, regarding you in a new light, weighing the payoff of the transaction. He didn't care if you lived or died. All that mattered was that the golden ring was on his finger.
“I don't think we’ll have time to catch a plane to Vegas.”
Titus looked down at you in wicked amusement, his lips stretching in something that was probably meant to be a form of a smile.
How do you come up with your ideas?! I've started to try writing...but it's so hard 😭 Like I never know where to start or what to write about. You always have such good ideas, is there a process you have or a secret?! I won't tell I promise 😉
I don't know if you're old enough to remember that's so raven but if you look up clips when she's having a vision she kinda freezes and sees a glimpse of the future and it's kinda like that but instead it's like what if ✨this character✨ was in ✨this situation✨ and then I basically have a council meeting in my head about if that was just a fun idea or something I actually want to write
writing is hard nonnie! my best advice is to write what you want to write. whatever you feel inspired by, or whatever you'd want to read yourself, go with that. everyone has to start somewhere, and it's okay if your first try isn't perfect. writing is a craft you get better at the more you practice. as for ideas, just run with whatever pops into your head, or bounce ideas off your friends, that's what I do :)
I can't believe you're writing two peak Daredevil series at once you're insane for that and I love you for it. Can I ask what those dots were in the first part? Do they mean anything? Knowing you they do but I don't even know where to begin decoding them 😬
I believe peak is what you youths declare good and if i'm interpreting that right then thank you very much 🥹🖤
the dots are iteotm (in the eyes of the muse) in braille 😌
summary: breaking news about a new serial killer in the city leaves matt struggling to balance both halves of his life.
warnings: swearing, mentions of gore & violence
word count: 4.8k
a/n: everyone say thank you @quakeismyhero for playing dolls with me and listening to my devious plotting and supporting my chaos 🖤 this could potentially end up being one of my favorite things i've ever done. let the murder mystery commence. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
[series masterlist] | [next act coming soon]
Murder Has A New Muse by B.B. Urich
That was the headline that had enraptured the city last month and caused a ripple of universal alarm. An anonymous source claiming to be close to the NYPD had submitted a copy of a confidential memo to the Bulletin, outlining a string of malevolence that had been staining the streets right under everyone’s noses. Whoever had sent the copy of the memo had also attached copies of the gruesome crime scene photos. They’d been so graphic, the Bulletin had to blur them completely instead of just the victims’ faces, which had been brutalized to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. Even in the pixelated prints, the gore was revolting.
The shocking news that there was a serial killer on the loose was enough to cause hysteria on its own, but it was the nature of the killings that had fear caressing the spines of New Yorkers like the first bitter chill of winter. According to the confidential memo, the NYPD believed the murders were done by a copycat trying to emulate one of New York City’s most prolific serial killers; Bastian Cooper. The biggest piece of evidence they had to support this theory was that the victims had been found with their eyes carved out.
Matt had been getting ready to go to a deposition when he’d heard the breaking news report coming from his tv. The mug he’d been holding had slipped right out of his hand, clattering on the floor and shattering into a dozen jagged pieces. He’d barely felt the scalding splatter of hot coffee that had soaked through the dual layers of his slacks and socks.
The disconcertment had come first. A serial killer. Three victims. And Matt had been completely unaware of the murders. While he’d been investigating arm’s dealings down at the docks and prepping for a corporate negligence lawsuit, people were being attacked and mutilated, and it hadn’t even been on his radar. The revelation had caused a needle of guilt to prick at his conscience. How could something so grisly escape his attention?
The newscaster’s voice had played on a loop in his head even after the broadcast ended, like a needle stuck in the final groove at the end of a record, spinning endlessly.
The NYPD believe these murders were the work of a copycat modeling themselves after the notorious serial killer known as Muse.
That part had caused a pit of dread to split open in his stomach, conjuring the recollection of his first encounter with Bastian. Even from the simple act of his mind crafting the evocation, his senses had instantly become overwhelmed from the memory, transporting him right back to that night he’d found Bastian’s lair underground in the subway tunnels. The damp air that had felt heavy on Matt’s heated skin. The acrid assault of lingering mildew intermingled with the harsh chemicals from paint and epoxy that had burned in his nose and throat. The sharp metallic tang of blood that had been so strong he could taste it in every single inhale. The fading rhythm of Angela’s heartbeat.
Standing in his kitchen the day the Bulletin released that article, Matt had felt an uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu. By the time he and the public had been made aware of Muse, Bastian had already claimed upwards of sixty victims, and even with the DNA that had been found in the blood he’d used for his murals, a lot of the victims still had yet to be identified almost a year later. Matt had immediately felt compelled to track down the copycat, not just because there was a serial killer terrorizing his city, but because it was personal for him. He hadn’t been there to prevent the deaths of Bastian’s victims. He’d nearly been too late to save Angela. And letting Bastian get away that first time had given him the chance to go after Heather. He wanted to stop the copycat before they hurt anyone else.
But a month had gone by since that article had come out, Matt still didn’t have a single lead, and another victim had just been found, bringing the body count up to five.
Matt threw his cowl forcefully at the living room wall with a frustrated yell, the loud echo of the collision setting his teeth on edge. He’d been out tonight, chasing yet another dead end, all while a fifth victim had already been found. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them to the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut and reached out to grip onto the back of the couch, letting his head drop between his shoulders with a heavy exhale.
He’d been going out every single night for the past month, and he hadn’t found a goddamn thing. Matt was no closer to catching the copycat killer than he’d been the day the news broke, and now two more people were dead. He’d been following every update about the case, but the NYPD refused to share any details about the murders or the victims. They were still pissed about the chaos that the Bulletin article had stirred up amongst the public.
Matt had to find a lead. He’d become so consumed by this case that everything else was starting to unravel. He’d barely slept more than four hours a night the last few weeks, he was falling behind on his cases, and Foggy had already chewed his ass out for being late to their last two court appearances. Matt had promised Foggy and Karen both that he wouldn’t let being Daredevil interfere with being Matt Murdock. A promise he’d failed to keep several times over. A promise that was starting to fray again. Karen was already giving him the cold shoulder, and her forgiveness was always harder to win back than Foggy’s. It seemed to get harder to earn again every time he let her down.
He knew he was living on borrowed time when it came to being worthy of their loyalty. Sooner or later, that unwavering patience and understanding would run out, and Matt could hardly blame them. He wasn’t always the friend they deserved. But people were being viciously murdered in cold blood, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. Matt had already exhausted two resources and it had gotten him nowhere, but there was one more person who might be able to help him.
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
“Mommy, I can’t find my bunny.”
Matt heard the exhausted intake of breath Jessica subtly took and turned his head to call out over his shoulder before she could respond.
“It’s under the couch, sweetie.”
Danielle knelt down by the couch, stretching her arm out under it, and Matt heard her excited gasp when her fingers brushed against the soft fur of the stuffed toy. She eagerly pulled it out with a grin, hugging it in her arms as she looked over at Matt.
“Thanks Uncle Matty!”
Matt tilted his head to the side slightly and smiled softly in her direction. Jessica’s eyes tracked her daughter as Danielle sat on her knees by the coffee table, propping the stuffed bunny up on top of it to pour it an imaginary cup of tea. The tension in her shoulders deflated with the weight of a wild bunny search now off of them. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and turned her attention back to Matt.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Letting out a deep breath, she brushed a strand of her hair away from her face and lowered her voice.
“Why don’t you just put on the horns and talk to B.B.?”
“I did. It was an anonymous submission, and whoever sent it hasn’t sent anything else. She said there was no way to tell where it came from, and believe me, she tried.”
“What about your cop friend?”
“I already talked to Mahoney too. The NYPD is keeping everything locked down even more after that article. They’re trying to field out false tips and confessions, and they still haven’t figured out who leaked the memo and the crime scene photos to the press either.”
“Isn’t he the Chief of Detectives though? He’s done you favors before.”
“Comissioner Matthews called in the Feds. He’s padding his campaign for Mayor, and catching a copycat of one of the worst serial killers this city has ever seen will help him win by a landslide. Mahoney said the task force was hand selected by the Special Agent running it, and his team is watching everyone like a hawk. He can’t take the risk.”
Matt let out a deep breath and reached up to adjust his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
“And he doesn’t want me to, either. He told me to back off on this one with the F.B.I. and the NYPD both out on the streets.”
“But you’re not going to.”
Letting out a sigh, he angled his body closer towards her. He kept his voice low, but the desperation echoed between them.
“I can’t, Jess.”
“Even though Daredevil’s chances of getting arrested and sent to prison are now doubled until the copycat is caught?”
“I think vigilantes are pretty low on their list of priorities right now.”
Jessica inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly as she turned her head to watch her daughter play in the living room. Matt could practically feel her confliction as if it was a force inside his own chest, like the opposing ends of magnets.
“Look, I get why this is important to you, but I can’t get involved. I have to think about Dani. And I’m still…fucking…flickering.”
He could hear the frustration in her voice. Jessica had told him about how her abilities seemed to drop out and come back randomly since she’d had Danielle.
“Hey, I get it, I do. Okay, and I’m not asking you to get involved. I’m here for private investigator Jessica Jones, not…Jewel.”
Jessica immediately turned her head to glare at him, pursing her lips at the sight of the devilish smirk stretching across his mouth. She hadn’t missed the mockery dripping from his tone. Jessica swiftly reached out to smack his shoulder.
“Oh, fuck you, devil boy.”
Matt’s lips spread into a wide grin, a deep chuckle thundering in his chest as he rubbed at the spot she’d hit before he held his hands up in a display of surrender.
“Ow, alright alright. Low blow. But I mean it, all I need is a lead. That’s it.”
Jessica rolled her eyes with a subtle shake of her head, placing her hand on her hip as she looked over at Danielle again.
“I might still have a contact I can reach out to, but I can’t make any promises, Matt.”
“I know. I appreciate you helping at all. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
Matt was sitting at his kitchen island with documents spread out in front of him, his finger tips running over the raised Braille bumps to read over a witness testimony for an upcoming trial. He had one earbud in, playing a voice note Foggy had sent him about finding a new piece of evidence that could help win their case. It was interrupted when his phone started to buzz on the counter, the voice assistance alerting him of an incoming call.
Jess. Jess. Jess.
Quickly removing the earbud, Matt picked up his phone and tapped his thumb on the screen, bringing it to his ear.
“Hey, did you find something?”
“Hello to you, too.”
“I said hey.”
Even on the other end of the line, he could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
“Well?”
“Something is weird about this case.”
Matt’s forehead creased in confusion, and he sat up a little straighter hearing the suspicion in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“My guy told me all he could get were the autopsy reports.”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because if he doesn’t have access to any of the case files, why the fuck would he have access to the autopsy reports?”
Matt pursed his lips slightly in thought. It was odd, but not an anomaly he could afford to waste time fixating on. There were more important things to investigate.
“Mahoney said the Fed in charge of the task force is watching everyone in the department closely. Maybe he’s allowing people to only have access to specific pieces of the investigation to flush out who leaked the memo.”
“I don’t know, Matt. Something feels off.”
Matt got up from his chair, abandoning the court documents he’d been reading through, walking towards the living room with purpose even though he didn’t have one yet. After a month of nothing but dead ends, the prospect of finally having something to chase filled him with a sense of restlessness that was thrumming throughout his body.
“What did you find out from the autopsy reports?”
“That it seems like a stretch to call this killer a copycat.”
Matt hadn’t even realized he’d been pacing until her words stopped him right in his tracks.
“What do you mean?”
“Muse went after everyone, right? He didn’t discriminate with his victims. And he drained their blood for his fucked up little art project.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Then the only thing similar between Muse and his alleged ‘copycat’ is the missing eyes thing.”
Matt was silent for a moment, feeling thunderstruck by Jessica’s assessment of her findings. He’d spent the past month burning the candle at both ends trying to hunt down a copycat killer that…may not even be one? Perplexity and irritation swirled all at once, causing him to feel rooted to a belief that had just been flipped upside down, leaving him dangling with nothing to grasp onto and right himself with.
“Wait, are you saying you don’t think this is a copycat?”
“I only got the reports of the first four victims, but they were all men, and they weren’t bled to death. They were beaten and strangled and carved up.”
He had a thousand more questions now than he did when the article first broke, and not a single answer. Each one appeared quicker than the last, droplets of inquisitions rapidly turning into a heavy downpour that had a headache beginning to throb dully at the base of his skull. He reached up to rub at his forehead, as if that would quell the mounting discomfort working its way up his brain, and let out a heavy exhale while closing his eyes.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I told you, something is weird.”
Why would the NYPD suspect the killer was a copycat if there wasn’t substantial evidence to support that theory? Removing the eyes from the body was a signature of Muse, but with the evidence Jess had found, that seemed to be the only thing similar between the two killers. Was there something not in the autopsy reports that proved the killer was a copycat? Or had the NYPD jumped the gun with speculation, not expecting a press leak that would cause mass hysteria among the public?
“Was there…anything else? Do you have the victims names? Maybe I can start there, find a connection.”
“Asshole blacked them out before giving me the copies. Certain details are blacked out too.”
“Covering his own ass.”
“I did get one name, though. It looks like all the autopsies were done by the same forensic pathologist. Doctor Y/N Y/L/N.”
Matt perked up instantly, that restless energy returning full force to combat the frustrated tension building in his head.
“Do you have an address?”
“What am I, a fucking amaetur?”
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
Matt had been standing on the rooftop of your building for two hours waiting for you to come home. He’d tried to go by the Medical Examiner’s office Jess said you worked at, but it was under heavy surveillance of both the F.B.I. and the NYPD. It was less of a risk to try and talk to you here, but the issue was he didn’t know your schedule. He didn’t know if you’d even be home tonight. Maybe you worked nights, or maybe a sixth body had been found and it hadn’t hit the news yet. He had no way of knowing. All he could do was wait.
When he finally heard a key slipping into a lock down on the fifth floor where he knew your apartment was, he leapt from the ledge of the rooftop down onto the fire escape platform right outside your living room window. He pressed his back against the brick wall, tilting his head to the side as he listened to you moving around inside. The jingle of your keys being hung up on the hook by the front door, your shoes hitting the hardwood with a soft thump, followed by an exhale of relief, and your bag being carelessly tossed onto your kitchen island.
He reached out to test if the window would budge, both delighted and concerned that it was unlocked. Matt pushed the pane up slowly, and his right foot hit the hardwood first as he swung his leg through the window, slipping inside silently. Just as delicately, he pushed the pane back down to close the window, keeping his ears trained on your movements in the kitchen. The hinges of a cabinet creaked as you opened one, and your nail faintly clinked against a wine glass that you reached for. He took a few soundless steps further inside your apartment, stopping once he was a few feet away.
“Doctor Y/L/N.”
The scream you let out made him wince, and the sharp sound of glass splintering against hard tile was just as painful to his sensitive ears. Your hand flew up to clutch at your chest as you whirled around and backed up against the counter, your heart pounding against your own palm like an erratic drumbeat.
“What the fuck?”
Matt quickly held his gloved hands up in a placating gesture of surrender, taking a half a step backwards.
“Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.”
He could feel your eyes fervently darting over him, assessing the threat of his presence, the fingers on your left hand twitching towards the knife block behind you on the counter. Matt didn’t move. He stood there patiently, keeping his hands where you could see them.
“Do you know who I am?”
Very, very slowly, your heart’s rhythm returned to a semi-normal tempo, but he could still sense the apprehension radiating off you in waves.
“Well there’s a lot of you running around in masks and red underwear these days, it’s not easy to keep track.”
The edge of Matt’s lips twitched in amusement at the dry sarcasm in your tone. He gradually lowered his hands back down to his sides.
“Kinda hard to mix up the devil with a spider.”
“Right. One of you is a friendly neighbor and the other is a fucking menace, I can tell which one you are now. Is this how you start every conversation? Breaking into someone’s place and scaring the shit out of them?”
Matt pursed his lips slightly in a faux expression of thought and then gave a faint shrug of his shoulders.
“Pretty much.”
He caught the subtle clench of your jaw, your heart rate ticking up again, but not out of fear this time.
“I need to talk to you.”
“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?”
“The Muse copycat.”
The slight straightening of your spine and falter in your heartbeat caught his attention. Your hand fell from your chest as you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest instead in a deliberate display of defensiveness.
“And why is that?”
“Because you did the autopsies.”
The joints of your knuckles cracking from the way you clenched your hands into fists sounded like balloons being popped right by his head in rapid succession. In the silence that stretched almost uncomfortably, Matt could feel you analyzing him again, and he assumed it was now in suspicion. Or maybe it was intrigue, based on the way your head tilted a little to the side.
“How do you know that?”
“A friend.”
Another beat of silence passed as you considered him carefully.
“What do you want?”
“Details. The NYPD aren’t releasing any-”
“Yeah, for a reason.”
“I know why they’re doing it, but I can’t help track down the killer without a lead. I’ve spent the past month chasing nothing but dead ends.”
“Why don’t you just let cops and the feds do their job? What can you possibly do that they can’t?”
“A lot.”
Your exasperation was clear as a bell in the way you rolled your eyes and loosely threw your hands up, your palms lightly smacking against the sides of your thighs when they came down.
“What, like break the law? Beat the shit out of people for information? Break into places to find evidence?”
“Sometimes breaking the law saves lives.”
“Spoken like a true vigilante.”
Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose and took a cautious step forward, speaking in a low pleading tone.
“Look, I just need something, okay? Even if it’s small, just somewhere to start.”
“Why? Why do you care about this so much?”
“Because it’s personal.”
This time it was you that took a small step forward, eyeing him curiously.
“What do you mean?”
Matt hesitated for just a moment, weighing the scales of how honest to be. He had a feeling he would get more cooperation out of you if he gave you something in return for what he was asking for.
“I was there when he died. Bastian Cooper.”
A quiet scoff left your lips as you turned to walk towards your pantry, opening the door to reach inside for a broom.
“Yeah, no thanks to you.”
The accusation in your tone made Matt’s brows furrow beneath the cowl, and he cocked his head to the side.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, I read the files from the original case. You were there on two separate occasions when he attacked someone. They both almost died.”
The insinuation was sharp as a steel tipped blade, and it cut exactly where you’d aimed it. A muscle feathered in his jaw, the bones of his teeth grinding together as a defensive flicker of irritation ignited within him.
“I’m not a killer.”
The handle of the broom smacked against the counter you shoved it against before you turned to face him again.
“Well he was. And if he hadn’t been killed, who knows how many more victims he would’ve had.”
Matt stepped closer to you, his voice dropping to a lower octave that was laced with disbelief.
“You think he deserved to die?”
“I think you see the shit I do day in and day out, the kind of things humans are capable of doing to each other, and you get a little jaded.”
He could hear the hint of exhaustion in your voice, but he could hear the anger more clearly. Matt understood where you were coming from. The frustration. The appeal of a path that seemed easier and more effective. But it wasn’t a path he could go down, no matter how tempting it was during the bouts where his faith felt oppressive and hollow.
“He should’ve gone to prison.”
“Prison was never going to reform someone like Bastian Cooper. He wasn’t going to stop.”
“Fine, maybe that’s true, but he would’ve spent the rest of his life in a cage-”
“Like Benjamin Poindexter?”
The jab felt like a punch to the gut and a blade against his throat all at once. His silence had you advancing closer, any lingering trace of your initial trepidation completely absent.
“He was supposed to spend his life in prison, right? And he broke out, what, twice? How many more people have died since then?”
Matt’s hands clenched into fists at his slides, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly in protest under the strain.
“There’s a system-”
“No, there’s a pattern. Everyone you try to take down, Bullseye, The Punisher, Kingpin, Muse, low level criminals, they all get right back up, and they hurt more people. It’s an endless cycle, and it doesn’t make a goddamn difference in the long run, so forgive me if I don’t buy into your hero bullshit.”
The verbal daggers you threw at him landed harshly, piercing through the armor of his suit with their verity. He didn’t have a retort, because he knew you weren’t wrong. His conscience echoed those same thoughts when the weight of his own failure and self loathing weighed on his soul. His defensiveness fizzled out into reluctant resignation that filled his lungs like smoke.
“Sounds like you’re more than a little jaded, Doc. Sounds like a loss of faith.”
A dry laugh that was void of humor escaped your mouth as you gestured loosely at him with your hand.
“You’re gonna preach to me about faith in a devil costume?”
Matt titled his head to the side, offering a dim version of his signature charming smile.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a Catholic?"
Your eyelashes fluttered like hummingbird wings as you blinked a few times in surprise, looking him up and down once again, one of your brows arching in skepticism.
“I would certainly be thoroughly fucking confused.”
“It's a long story.”
“I guess that explains the no kill rule.”
“I have been tempted. More than once.”
That quiet admission hung in the space between you, and he caught the way his confession had the tension in your shoulders uncoiling gradually. It confirmed his theory that you responded to his honesty. Letting out a heavy breath, he decided to lay his soul bare in a last ditch effort to persuade you to help him.
“Look, I get it. Okay, I do. You think it’s not frustrating for me to believe I've done some good just to see all that effort turn to shit? To think I've saved people by getting someone locked up, just for them to get right back out and do even more damage? To feel like…everything I do means nothing, and real justice doesn’t even exist?”
That was the thing that haunted him more than anything else. That none of it mattered. That nothing he did made a difference. That everything he’d sacrificed, his flesh and his blood and his sweat, it was all in vain for something that wasn’t even real.
“You know, I've lost my own faith before, Doc. Several times, actually. I've even considered hanging up the suit for good more than once because of it.”
Turning to lean back against the counter, you stretched your arms out to rest your palms on the surface of the countertop on either side of you, voicing your inquisition with genuine curiosity.
“Why haven’t you?”
Matt mirrored your action, leaning back against the kitchen island across from you, folding his arms over his chest loosely with a sigh and letting his head drop slightly.
“Because I can’t ignore any of it. I can’t lay in bed at night and hear people begging for help, knowing I can do something, and try to block it out instead. I can’t hear a news report about people being brutally murdered and mutilated and just…go on about my day, hoping the police and the feds do their jobs. And maybe you’re right. Maybe if…if I had acted sooner or done something differently with Bastian, those two people wouldn’t have almost died. I don’t know. I can’t go back and change that. But if this really is a Muse copycat, I don’t want them getting anywhere near his body count. I found Bastian the first time before the cops did. I can find this guy too. I just need your help, please.”
The seconds seemed to pass like molasses cascading down bark, and if you said no, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Matt was already running out of steam. He couldn’t keep throwing everything at this and keep his promise to Foggy and Karen at the same time. He needed a Hail Mary. He needed you.
When he heard your subtle sigh of surrender, it instantly loosened the tightness in his chest, his body seeming to vibrate once again with impatient restlessness. Rubbing your hands down your face tiredly, you shook your head even though you’d already made your decision.
“If I get caught working with you, I could lose my job. I could get sued-”
Omggggg I am so excited for this. You are quite literally one of my favorite writers on here, i’ve lost count of the times I’ve read your Billy Russo ghostface story, it is one of my favs ever so I am thrilled to be able to experience another mystery novel from youuu. I have so many thoughts
It seemed to get harder to earn again every time he let her down.
Matt is a piece of work, it’s honestly surprising Karen keeps forgiving him, I know I wouldn’t. There’s a limit, you know?
Why would the NYPD suspect the killer was a copycat if there wasn’t substantial evidence to support that theory?
Huuuuhhhh. As they say in my country, ahí hay gato encerrado, because everyone knows cops aren’t exactly geniuses but like this is a reach even for them, and also… who benefits from a copycat to a serial killer? Omggg is it going to be all a plot for the campaign????? But like hiring a killer? Or maybe just embellishing the facts
OH DO THEY WANT MATT INVOLVED AND THATS WHY THEY GAVE JESSICA’S CONTACT THE FILES????
So many questions omg I love this.
Right. One of you is a friendly neighbor and the other is a fucking menace
I love her, shed so right. And to meake her the doctor?? That’s so smart, I already know shes gonna keep Matt on his toes.
Everyone you try to take down, Bullseye, The Punisher, Kingpin, Muse, low level criminals, they all get right back up, and they hurt more people. It’s an endless cycle, and it doesn’t make a goddamn difference in the long run, so forgive me if I don’t buy into your hero bullshit.
No, because she is so right. Sometimes i wonder if there’s even a point to all of that. There’s no chance for rehabilitation in the current system, that’s why we advocate for anti punitivism guys
Okay I am so excited to see where this goes!!!! Absolutely loved this first chapter.
Idk if you’re doing a taglist for this series, but if you are would you mind tagging me? If not, no problem I AM SO EXCITEDEED
i'm so honored to be one of your favorites 🥹 also that billy ghostface series was SO much fun for me i'm so happy you liked it and that you're enjoying this too 🫶🏻
I WANNA TELL YOU EVERYTHING BUT I WANT YOU TO BE SURPRISED
(left & right images aren’t mine, credits to owners. middle image is mine!)
the world is a scary place, and heather glenn was one of those scary people.
being muse, being feared by others had lulled her into a false sense of security — not for herself, but for you.
the woman she loves more than anything.
it hadn’t been a targeted attack, hadn’t been someone looking to hurt muse personally.
it was random, and it happened to you.
you were fine, all things considered. just a couple scrapes on your arms from where you’d been pushed against a brick wall.
you had gone out to dinner with a friend, and heather had known something was off.
well — she hadn’t known for sure, but she had a gut feeling, and that feeling was right.
she had scoped out the alleys by the restaurant, waiting for the text from you that you were headed home.
when the text came, she followed a good distance behind you as you began the walk back to your apartment.
you were almost home when a man turned the corner, grabbing the strap of your purse and tugging hard. the force of it sent you crashing into the side of a nearby building.
before the man could do anything more, he was being dragged to the ground, a flash of black and white pinning him down.
she found you. you were safe.
your eyes widen at the glint of a silver blade in her hand, then you squeeze them shut at the first slash into his skin.
you press yourself further into the brick wall, hands gripping the bag slung over your shoulder tightly.
you can hear it, every sick squelch of the knife piercing his skin, every grunt of effort from her lips, — muffled by the mask — and his weak, strained cries of pain.
she had gone for the throat first, he wasn’t able to make much noise.
heather looks over her shoulder at you, then back down to the knife covered in blood.
you were shaking, breathing fast.
you were scared.
she steps away from the man, and heads over to you.
“i’m sorry, baby please-” her gloved hands hover by your cheeks, seeing the way you look past her and at the man bleeding out on the pavement. “i didn’t meant to scare you. i would never hurt you. never.”
your ears were still ringing but you managed to make out what she was saying, eyes finding hers — the only visible part of her face through the mask, the one thing separating heather from muse.
“you didn’t scare me. i just wasn’t expecting it, any of it. he’s the one who scared me.” your hands cover hers, lowering them.
you could feel the blood smear against your skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
she had done this for you, without hesitation. and she’d do it a million times over if it meant you were safe.
“baby, i’m okay.” you say quietly, and she lets out a breath. “let’s just go home.”
once you were out of sight of your attacker, she reaches up and pulls off the hat, wig, and mask, tucking them into a pocket on the inside of her coat.
she follows you up the fire escape and into your apartment, relief flooding you as soon as your feet hit the floor.
she heads for the closet, pulling out her duffle bag and discarding her gloves and coat, knowing she’d need to wash the blood from them later.
right now the only thing that mattered was you.
“shit, babe.” you step towards her, noticing a patch of blood soaking through her sleeve. she must’ve gotten cut during the struggle.
she notices the blood staining your hands, brows furrowing.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” she inhales sharply, pulling back from you.
“heather, don’t do this, don’t pull away.” you close the space between you once more, “let’s get you cleaned up.”
“i’m fine.” she insists, grabbing your wrists gently, lifting your arms to inspect the scrapes.
“see? nothing to worry about.” you smile, one hand leaving her grasp to cradle her face.
she leans into your touch and takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.
it could’ve been a lot worse.
eventually you make your way to the bathroom, washing the blood from your hands and stripping out of your clothes.
heather stands behind you, cleaning the gash on her arm with a hiss.
“let me help?” you pout, taking the washcloth from her and gently dabbing at the wound.
as soon as you finished cleaning up, you both hopped in the shower, warm water working to wash away the blood and stress that remained.
heather was still tense, feeling as if she somehow failed you by not getting to him before he managed to lay a single hand on you, her brain running off in a million different directions, thinking up every single worst case scenario.
she kept gently running her hands along your skin, making sure she hadn’t missed a single cut or bruise.
“i’m okay.” you whisper, wiping a wet strand of hair from her cheek, “i’m okay.”
“besides, you got hurt more than me.” you laugh softly, leaning in to kiss her temple, “and you got there in time. me and my purse are very thankful.”
that gets a smile out of her and it makes you grin.
“i love you, heather.” you wrap an arm around her waist.
“i never wanted any of this to touch you.” she closes her eyes, leaning her head against your shoulder.
“i know, but i can handle it. nothing is gonna scare me away, i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”
she knows now that she can’t keep you from being stained by the blood she spills, but she has newfound confidence in her ability to keep you safe when it comes down to it.
she sighs, “i love you. more than you could ever know.”
summary: due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
a/n: I can't say enough how blown away I am that y'all loved the offer so much. it was just meant to be a slutty lil one off for kinktober, a way for me to play around with an idea that had been lingering in the back of my head for awhile, and a chance for me to try my hand at writing for dex. your excitement made me so excited, and i've been having so much fun with this. thank you thank you thank you again. 🖤
if you'd like to be notified for updates, feel free to join the taglist here!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
summary: breaking news about a new serial killer in the city leaves matt struggling to balance both halves of his life.
warnings: swearing, mentions of gore & violence
word count: 4.8k
a/n: everyone say thank you @quakeismyhero for playing dolls with me and listening to my devious plotting and supporting my chaos 🖤 this could potentially end up being one of my favorite things i've ever done. let the murder mystery commence. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
[series masterlist] | [next act coming soon]
Murder Has A New Muse by B.B. Urich
That was the headline that had enraptured the city last month and caused a ripple of universal alarm. An anonymous source claiming to be close to the NYPD had submitted a copy of a confidential memo to the Bulletin, outlining a string of malevolence that had been staining the streets right under everyone’s noses. Whoever had sent the copy of the memo had also attached copies of the gruesome crime scene photos. They’d been so graphic, the Bulletin had to blur them completely instead of just the victims’ faces, which had been brutalized to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. Even in the pixelated prints, the gore was revolting.
The shocking news that there was a serial killer on the loose was enough to cause hysteria on its own, but it was the nature of the killings that had fear caressing the spines of New Yorkers like the first bitter chill of winter. According to the confidential memo, the NYPD believed the murders were done by a copycat trying to emulate one of New York City’s most prolific serial killers; Bastian Cooper. The biggest piece of evidence they had to support this theory was that the victims had been found with their eyes carved out.
Matt had been getting ready to go to a deposition when he’d heard the breaking news report coming from his tv. The mug he’d been holding had slipped right out of his hand, clattering on the floor and shattering into a dozen jagged pieces. He’d barely felt the scalding splatter of hot coffee that had soaked through the dual layers of his slacks and socks.
The disconcertment had come first. A serial killer. Three victims. And Matt had been completely unaware of the murders. While he’d been investigating arm’s dealings down at the docks and prepping for a corporate negligence lawsuit, people were being attacked and mutilated, and it hadn’t even been on his radar. The revelation had caused a needle of guilt to prick at his conscience. How could something so grisly escape his attention?
The newscaster’s voice had played on a loop in his head even after the broadcast ended, like a needle stuck in the final groove at the end of a record, spinning endlessly.
The NYPD believe these murders were the work of a copycat modeling themselves after the notorious serial killer known as Muse.
That part had caused a pit of dread to split open in his stomach, conjuring the recollection of his first encounter with Bastian. Even from the simple act of his mind crafting the evocation, his senses had instantly become overwhelmed from the memory, transporting him right back to that night he’d found Bastian’s lair underground in the subway tunnels. The damp air that had felt heavy on Matt’s heated skin. The acrid assault of lingering mildew intermingled with the harsh chemicals from paint and epoxy that had burned in his nose and throat. The sharp metallic tang of blood that had been so strong he could taste it in every single inhale. The fading rhythm of Angela’s heartbeat.
Standing in his kitchen the day the Bulletin released that article, Matt had felt an uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu. By the time he and the public had been made aware of Muse, Bastian had already claimed upwards of sixty victims, and even with the DNA that had been found in the blood he’d used for his murals, a lot of the victims still had yet to be identified almost a year later. Matt had immediately felt compelled to track down the copycat, not just because there was a serial killer terrorizing his city, but because it was personal for him. He hadn’t been there to prevent the deaths of Bastian’s victims. He’d nearly been too late to save Angela. And letting Bastian get away that first time had given him the chance to go after Heather. He wanted to stop the copycat before they hurt anyone else.
But a month had gone by since that article had come out, Matt still didn’t have a single lead, and another victim had just been found, bringing the body count up to five.
Matt threw his cowl forcefully at the living room wall with a frustrated yell, the loud echo of the collision setting his teeth on edge. He’d been out tonight, chasing yet another dead end, all while a fifth victim had already been found. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them to the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut and reached out to grip onto the back of the couch, letting his head drop between his shoulders with a heavy exhale.
He’d been going out every single night for the past month, and he hadn’t found a goddamn thing. Matt was no closer to catching the copycat killer than he’d been the day the news broke, and now two more people were dead. He’d been following every update about the case, but the NYPD refused to share any details about the murders or the victims. They were still pissed about the chaos that the Bulletin article had stirred up amongst the public.
Matt had to find a lead. He’d become so consumed by this case that everything else was starting to unravel. He’d barely slept more than four hours a night the last few weeks, he was falling behind on his cases, and Foggy had already chewed his ass out for being late to their last two court appearances. Matt had promised Foggy and Karen both that he wouldn’t let being Daredevil interfere with being Matt Murdock. A promise he’d failed to keep several times over. A promise that was starting to fray again. Karen was already giving him the cold shoulder, and her forgiveness was always harder to win back than Foggy’s. It seemed to get harder to earn again every time he let her down.
He knew he was living on borrowed time when it came to being worthy of their loyalty. Sooner or later, that unwavering patience and understanding would run out, and Matt could hardly blame them. He wasn’t always the friend they deserved. But people were being viciously murdered in cold blood, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. Matt had already exhausted two resources and it had gotten him nowhere, but there was one more person who might be able to help him.
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
“Mommy, I can’t find my bunny.”
Matt heard the exhausted intake of breath Jessica subtly took and turned his head to call out over his shoulder before she could respond.
“It’s under the couch, sweetie.”
Danielle knelt down by the couch, stretching her arm out under it, and Matt heard her excited gasp when her fingers brushed against the soft fur of the stuffed toy. She eagerly pulled it out with a grin, hugging it in her arms as she looked over at Matt.
“Thanks Uncle Matty!”
Matt tilted his head to the side slightly and smiled softly in her direction. Jessica’s eyes tracked her daughter as Danielle sat on her knees by the coffee table, propping the stuffed bunny up on top of it to pour it an imaginary cup of tea. The tension in her shoulders deflated with the weight of a wild bunny search now off of them. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and turned her attention back to Matt.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Letting out a deep breath, she brushed a strand of her hair away from her face and lowered her voice.
“Why don’t you just put on the horns and talk to B.B.?”
“I did. It was an anonymous submission, and whoever sent it hasn’t sent anything else. She said there was no way to tell where it came from, and believe me, she tried.”
“What about your cop friend?”
“I already talked to Mahoney too. The NYPD is keeping everything locked down even more after that article. They’re trying to field out false tips and confessions, and they still haven’t figured out who leaked the memo and the crime scene photos to the press either.”
“Isn’t he the Chief of Detectives though? He’s done you favors before.”
“Comissioner Matthews called in the Feds. He’s padding his campaign for Mayor, and catching a copycat of one of the worst serial killers this city has ever seen will help him win by a landslide. Mahoney said the task force was hand selected by the Special Agent running it, and his team is watching everyone like a hawk. He can’t take the risk.”
Matt let out a deep breath and reached up to adjust his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
“And he doesn’t want me to, either. He told me to back off on this one with the F.B.I. and the NYPD both out on the streets.”
“But you’re not going to.”
Letting out a sigh, he angled his body closer towards her. He kept his voice low, but the desperation echoed between them.
“I can’t, Jess.”
“Even though Daredevil’s chances of getting arrested and sent to prison are now doubled until the copycat is caught?”
“I think vigilantes are pretty low on their list of priorities right now.”
Jessica inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly as she turned her head to watch her daughter play in the living room. Matt could practically feel her confliction as if it was a force inside his own chest, like the opposing ends of magnets.
“Look, I get why this is important to you, but I can’t get involved. I have to think about Dani. And I’m still…fucking…flickering.”
He could hear the frustration in her voice. Jessica had told him about how her abilities seemed to drop out and come back randomly since she’d had Danielle.
“Hey, I get it, I do. Okay, and I’m not asking you to get involved. I’m here for private investigator Jessica Jones, not…Jewel.”
Jessica immediately turned her head to glare at him, pursing her lips at the sight of the devilish smirk stretching across his mouth. She hadn’t missed the mockery dripping from his tone. Jessica swiftly reached out to smack his shoulder.
“Oh, fuck you, devil boy.”
Matt’s lips spread into a wide grin, a deep chuckle thundering in his chest as he rubbed at the spot she’d hit before he held his hands up in a display of surrender.
“Ow, alright alright. Low blow. But I mean it, all I need is a lead. That’s it.”
Jessica rolled her eyes with a subtle shake of her head, placing her hand on her hip as she looked over at Danielle again.
“I might still have a contact I can reach out to, but I can’t make any promises, Matt.”
“I know. I appreciate you helping at all. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
Matt was sitting at his kitchen island with documents spread out in front of him, his finger tips running over the raised Braille bumps to read over a witness testimony for an upcoming trial. He had one earbud in, playing a voice note Foggy had sent him about finding a new piece of evidence that could help win their case. It was interrupted when his phone started to buzz on the counter, the voice assistance alerting him of an incoming call.
Jess. Jess. Jess.
Quickly removing the earbud, Matt picked up his phone and tapped his thumb on the screen, bringing it to his ear.
“Hey, did you find something?”
“Hello to you, too.”
“I said hey.”
Even on the other end of the line, he could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
“Well?”
“Something is weird about this case.”
Matt’s forehead creased in confusion, and he sat up a little straighter hearing the suspicion in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“My guy told me all he could get were the autopsy reports.”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because if he doesn’t have access to any of the case files, why the fuck would he have access to the autopsy reports?”
Matt pursed his lips slightly in thought. It was odd, but not an anomaly he could afford to waste time fixating on. There were more important things to investigate.
“Mahoney said the Fed in charge of the task force is watching everyone in the department closely. Maybe he’s allowing people to only have access to specific pieces of the investigation to flush out who leaked the memo.”
“I don’t know, Matt. Something feels off.”
Matt got up from his chair, abandoning the court documents he’d been reading through, walking towards the living room with purpose even though he didn’t have one yet. After a month of nothing but dead ends, the prospect of finally having something to chase filled him with a sense of restlessness that was thrumming throughout his body.
“What did you find out from the autopsy reports?”
“That it seems like a stretch to call this killer a copycat.”
Matt hadn’t even realized he’d been pacing until her words stopped him right in his tracks.
“What do you mean?”
“Muse went after everyone, right? He didn’t discriminate with his victims. And he drained their blood for his fucked up little art project.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Then the only thing similar between Muse and his alleged ‘copycat’ is the missing eyes thing.”
Matt was silent for a moment, feeling thunderstruck by Jessica’s assessment of her findings. He’d spent the past month burning the candle at both ends trying to hunt down a copycat killer that…may not even be one? Perplexity and irritation swirled all at once, causing him to feel rooted to a belief that had just been flipped upside down, leaving him dangling with nothing to grasp onto and right himself with.
“Wait, are you saying you don’t think this is a copycat?”
“I only got the reports of the first four victims, but they were all men, and they weren’t bled to death. They were beaten and strangled and carved up.”
He had a thousand more questions now than he did when the article first broke, and not a single answer. Each one appeared quicker than the last, droplets of inquisitions rapidly turning into a heavy downpour that had a headache beginning to throb dully at the base of his skull. He reached up to rub at his forehead, as if that would quell the mounting discomfort working its way up his brain, and let out a heavy exhale while closing his eyes.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I told you, something is weird.”
Why would the NYPD suspect the killer was a copycat if there wasn’t substantial evidence to support that theory? Removing the eyes from the body was a signature of Muse, but with the evidence Jess had found, that seemed to be the only thing similar between the two killers. Was there something not in the autopsy reports that proved the killer was a copycat? Or had the NYPD jumped the gun with speculation, not expecting a press leak that would cause mass hysteria among the public?
“Was there…anything else? Do you have the victims names? Maybe I can start there, find a connection.”
“Asshole blacked them out before giving me the copies. Certain details are blacked out too.”
“Covering his own ass.”
“I did get one name, though. It looks like all the autopsies were done by the same forensic pathologist. Doctor Y/N Y/L/N.”
Matt perked up instantly, that restless energy returning full force to combat the frustrated tension building in his head.
“Do you have an address?”
“What am I, a fucking amaetur?”
⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉
Matt had been standing on the rooftop of your building for two hours waiting for you to come home. He’d tried to go by the Medical Examiner’s office Jess said you worked at, but it was under heavy surveillance of both the F.B.I. and the NYPD. It was less of a risk to try and talk to you here, but the issue was he didn’t know your schedule. He didn’t know if you’d even be home tonight. Maybe you worked nights, or maybe a sixth body had been found and it hadn’t hit the news yet. He had no way of knowing. All he could do was wait.
When he finally heard a key slipping into a lock down on the fifth floor where he knew your apartment was, he leapt from the ledge of the rooftop down onto the fire escape platform right outside your living room window. He pressed his back against the brick wall, tilting his head to the side as he listened to you moving around inside. The jingle of your keys being hung up on the hook by the front door, your shoes hitting the hardwood with a soft thump, followed by an exhale of relief, and your bag being carelessly tossed onto your kitchen island.
He reached out to test if the window would budge, both delighted and concerned that it was unlocked. Matt pushed the pane up slowly, and his right foot hit the hardwood first as he swung his leg through the window, slipping inside silently. Just as delicately, he pushed the pane back down to close the window, keeping his ears trained on your movements in the kitchen. The hinges of a cabinet creaked as you opened one, and your nail faintly clinked against a wine glass that you reached for. He took a few soundless steps further inside your apartment, stopping once he was a few feet away.
“Doctor Y/L/N.”
The scream you let out made him wince, and the sharp sound of glass splintering against hard tile was just as painful to his sensitive ears. Your hand flew up to clutch at your chest as you whirled around and backed up against the counter, your heart pounding against your own palm like an erratic drumbeat.
“What the fuck?”
Matt quickly held his gloved hands up in a placating gesture of surrender, taking a half a step backwards.
“Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.”
He could feel your eyes fervently darting over him, assessing the threat of his presence, the fingers on your left hand twitching towards the knife block behind you on the counter. Matt didn’t move. He stood there patiently, keeping his hands where you could see them.
“Do you know who I am?”
Very, very slowly, your heart’s rhythm returned to a semi-normal tempo, but he could still sense the apprehension radiating off you in waves.
“Well there’s a lot of you running around in masks and red underwear these days, it’s not easy to keep track.”
The edge of Matt’s lips twitched in amusement at the dry sarcasm in your tone. He gradually lowered his hands back down to his sides.
“Kinda hard to mix up the devil with a spider.”
“Right. One of you is a friendly neighbor and the other is a fucking menace, I can tell which one you are now. Is this how you start every conversation? Breaking into someone’s place and scaring the shit out of them?”
Matt pursed his lips slightly in a faux expression of thought and then gave a faint shrug of his shoulders.
“Pretty much.”
He caught the subtle clench of your jaw, your heart rate ticking up again, but not out of fear this time.
“I need to talk to you.”
“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?”
“The Muse copycat.”
The slight straightening of your spine and falter in your heartbeat caught his attention. Your hand fell from your chest as you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest instead in a deliberate display of defensiveness.
“And why is that?”
“Because you did the autopsies.”
The joints of your knuckles cracking from the way you clenched your hands into fists sounded like balloons being popped right by his head in rapid succession. In the silence that stretched almost uncomfortably, Matt could feel you analyzing him again, and he assumed it was now in suspicion. Or maybe it was intrigue, based on the way your head tilted a little to the side.
“How do you know that?”
“A friend.”
Another beat of silence passed as you considered him carefully.
“What do you want?”
“Details. The NYPD aren’t releasing any-”
“Yeah, for a reason.”
“I know why they’re doing it, but I can’t help track down the killer without a lead. I’ve spent the past month chasing nothing but dead ends.”
“Why don’t you just let cops and the feds do their job? What can you possibly do that they can’t?”
“A lot.”
Your exasperation was clear as a bell in the way you rolled your eyes and loosely threw your hands up, your palms lightly smacking against the sides of your thighs when they came down.
“What, like break the law? Beat the shit out of people for information? Break into places to find evidence?”
“Sometimes breaking the law saves lives.”
“Spoken like a true vigilante.”
Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose and took a cautious step forward, speaking in a low pleading tone.
“Look, I just need something, okay? Even if it’s small, just somewhere to start.”
“Why? Why do you care about this so much?”
“Because it’s personal.”
This time it was you that took a small step forward, eyeing him curiously.
“What do you mean?”
Matt hesitated for just a moment, weighing the scales of how honest to be. He had a feeling he would get more cooperation out of you if he gave you something in return for what he was asking for.
“I was there when he died. Bastian Cooper.”
A quiet scoff left your lips as you turned to walk towards your pantry, opening the door to reach inside for a broom.
“Yeah, no thanks to you.”
The accusation in your tone made Matt’s brows furrow beneath the cowl, and he cocked his head to the side.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, I read the files from the original case. You were there on two separate occasions when he attacked someone. They both almost died.”
The insinuation was sharp as a steel tipped blade, and it cut exactly where you’d aimed it. A muscle feathered in his jaw, the bones of his teeth grinding together as a defensive flicker of irritation ignited within him.
“I’m not a killer.”
The handle of the broom smacked against the counter you shoved it against before you turned to face him again.
“Well he was. And if he hadn’t been killed, who knows how many more victims he would’ve had.”
Matt stepped closer to you, his voice dropping to a lower octave that was laced with disbelief.
“You think he deserved to die?”
“I think you see the shit I do day in and day out, the kind of things humans are capable of doing to each other, and you get a little jaded.”
He could hear the hint of exhaustion in your voice, but he could hear the anger more clearly. Matt understood where you were coming from. The frustration. The appeal of a path that seemed easier and more effective. But it wasn’t a path he could go down, no matter how tempting it was during the bouts where his faith felt oppressive and hollow.
“He should’ve gone to prison.”
“Prison was never going to reform someone like Bastian Cooper. He wasn’t going to stop.”
“Fine, maybe that’s true, but he would’ve spent the rest of his life in a cage-”
“Like Benjamin Poindexter?”
The jab felt like a punch to the gut and a blade against his throat all at once. His silence had you advancing closer, any lingering trace of your initial trepidation completely absent.
“He was supposed to spend his life in prison, right? And he broke out, what, twice? How many more people have died since then?”
Matt’s hands clenched into fists at his slides, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly in protest under the strain.
“There’s a system-”
“No, there’s a pattern. Everyone you try to take down, Bullseye, The Punisher, Kingpin, Muse, low level criminals, they all get right back up, and they hurt more people. It’s an endless cycle, and it doesn’t make a goddamn difference in the long run, so forgive me if I don’t buy into your hero bullshit.”
The verbal daggers you threw at him landed harshly, piercing through the armor of his suit with their verity. He didn’t have a retort, because he knew you weren’t wrong. His conscience echoed those same thoughts when the weight of his own failure and self loathing weighed on his soul. His defensiveness fizzled out into reluctant resignation that filled his lungs like smoke.
“Sounds like you’re more than a little jaded, Doc. Sounds like a loss of faith.”
A dry laugh that was void of humor escaped your mouth as you gestured loosely at him with your hand.
“You’re gonna preach to me about faith in a devil costume?”
Matt titled his head to the side, offering a dim version of his signature charming smile.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a Catholic?"
Your eyelashes fluttered like hummingbird wings as you blinked a few times in surprise, looking him up and down once again, one of your brows arching in skepticism.
“I would certainly be thoroughly fucking confused.”
“It's a long story.”
“I guess that explains the no kill rule.”
“I have been tempted. More than once.”
That quiet admission hung in the space between you, and he caught the way his confession had the tension in your shoulders uncoiling gradually. It confirmed his theory that you responded to his honesty. Letting out a heavy breath, he decided to lay his soul bare in a last ditch effort to persuade you to help him.
“Look, I get it. Okay, I do. You think it’s not frustrating for me to believe I've done some good just to see all that effort turn to shit? To think I've saved people by getting someone locked up, just for them to get right back out and do even more damage? To feel like…everything I do means nothing, and real justice doesn’t even exist?”
That was the thing that haunted him more than anything else. That none of it mattered. That nothing he did made a difference. That everything he’d sacrificed, his flesh and his blood and his sweat, it was all in vain for something that wasn’t even real.
“You know, I've lost my own faith before, Doc. Several times, actually. I've even considered hanging up the suit for good more than once because of it.”
Turning to lean back against the counter, you stretched your arms out to rest your palms on the surface of the countertop on either side of you, voicing your inquisition with genuine curiosity.
“Why haven’t you?”
Matt mirrored your action, leaning back against the kitchen island across from you, folding his arms over his chest loosely with a sigh and letting his head drop slightly.
“Because I can’t ignore any of it. I can’t lay in bed at night and hear people begging for help, knowing I can do something, and try to block it out instead. I can’t hear a news report about people being brutally murdered and mutilated and just…go on about my day, hoping the police and the feds do their jobs. And maybe you’re right. Maybe if…if I had acted sooner or done something differently with Bastian, those two people wouldn’t have almost died. I don’t know. I can’t go back and change that. But if this really is a Muse copycat, I don’t want them getting anywhere near his body count. I found Bastian the first time before the cops did. I can find this guy too. I just need your help, please.”
The seconds seemed to pass like molasses cascading down bark, and if you said no, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Matt was already running out of steam. He couldn’t keep throwing everything at this and keep his promise to Foggy and Karen at the same time. He needed a Hail Mary. He needed you.
When he heard your subtle sigh of surrender, it instantly loosened the tightness in his chest, his body seeming to vibrate once again with impatient restlessness. Rubbing your hands down your face tiredly, you shook your head even though you’d already made your decision.
“If I get caught working with you, I could lose my job. I could get sued-”
tag game. tag 10 people you’d like to get to know better
thanks for the tag @maverist ♡
• last song: home II by bryce dessner
• currently watching: the new season of drag race all stars
• current obsession(s): making the most out of my summer. like, i've made a whole damn bucket list (i've never ever done that before, but it just felt right for this summer!). but other than summery things, ceramics... i haven't talked about it too much this year, but i'd always wanted to learn it and at the very beginning of this year i did and it was even more amazing than i'd dreamt up! so obviously i've kept going and in under a month i'm meeting with the owner of this studio to see if i'd be a good fit to join her little community. maybe one day i'll post a picture of the stuff i've made, idk if folks would be interested in that since i usually just share horny stories.... but then again, i have shared pictures of backed goods in the past, so you never know
• currently reading: nothing right now, although i am gonna try and find some good summer reads this weekend.
• currently working on: well, today i've been doing a bit of historical research on this area in my neighbourhood that i'm taking my dad on a little adventure to tomorrow. he's been there before, back when he was a kid, but it has changed so much since then, like night and day, it was something so completely opposite back then (i wanna say more details, but i also don't wanna dox myself.....) but it's fun! we're both autistic. we're both nerds. we love that shit. so i'm giving him the full tour guide experience! but other than that, more work work stuff, i'm still fiddling with this book series that i've been working on for a long time now, but that's nothing new, i'm always working on that (although, i did just this weekend change up multiple side characters that had a ripple effect on all four books, so that's fun, that's some drama for you)
• currently wearing: grey sweatpants and dark graphic tee with the names of all the danish nobel prize winners, simple, kinda like if their names on the back was the dates of some sick tour, you know, that type of style (it's from bareen)
• last google search: "fifa world cup matches" to find out who won the games while i slept (some of these are at like 3 in the middle of the night where i am....)
• favourite flowers: cornflowers, lilacs and tulips
no pressure tags: @chvoswxtch @oncasette @fightingdragonswithwho @hexedlover @midniteluv @corodedcofin @luna-azzurra @gutsbys @inklore @fettuccin-e & whoever else sees this and wants to jump in :)
I haven't done one of these in a long time and I felt like playing and being nosey 😏
thank you for the tag my darling @thyme-in-a-bubble 🖤
• last song: a place called home by pj harvey
• currently watching: i've been rewatching dexter, and I forgot this show is lowkey a fucking comedy. also if I had a nickel for every time my favorite character was a hot psycho named dex, i'd have 2 nickels
• current obsession(s): i've been getting back into reading comics again, and i'm really loving the new daredevil run by stephanie phillips. i'm still on my sourdough kick, jessica doughnes is going strong, and I finally started getting confident enough to play around with some flavor combinations. i've also gotten back into knitting and i'm making my own rep cardigan (psa i've never done cable knitting before and this shit might break me)
• currently reading: the only good indians by stephen graham jones
• currently working on: bro what am I not working on lmao. I think if y'all could see how many docs I have open, it would give you a heart attack. let's see...i've been plotting for my new matty series and the first part is like 80% done, the next part of my dex series is in progress, i'm cookin up a lil frank fantasy, i've got the outline of the next installment of tdatw in the works, and i've been writing an actual book that may or may not ever see the light of day
• currently wearing: black joggers, my halsey x nin iichliwp shirt, black fuzzy socks with bats on them (its fricken bats), and dog hair
• last google search: "how long will a body bleed post-mortem" i'd like to once again reiterate to the fbi agent in my phone i'm not a serial killer i'm just a writer and a virgo and every detail has to be accurate
• favourite flowers: i've always loved dahlias but I just discovered a flower called celosia that looks like a brain and it's my new favroite thing
no pressure tags: if you see this you have to participate sorry I make the rules
If you rewatch the episode where Matt takes a bullet for Fisk, watch Dex’s reaction to hitting Matt, and then taking out those AVTF guys for him in s2 as an apology
dex just wants matt to like him so bad lmao he was like don't worry i'll kill the guy we both hate that made me kill your friend <3 oh shit you got in the way ): it's okay i'll kill a bunch of other bad guys for you so you can take the night off <3
summary: due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
a/n: I can't say enough how blown away I am that y'all loved the offer so much. it was just meant to be a slutty lil one off for kinktober, a way for me to play around with an idea that had been lingering in the back of my head for awhile, and a chance for me to try my hand at writing for dex. your excitement made me so excited, and i've been having so much fun with this. thank you thank you thank you again. 🖤
if you'd like to be notified for updates, feel free to join the taglist here!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
summary: after a series of terrorist attacks in new york, an article you wrote calling out the cowardice of the organization's leader causes you to become a target, and frank castle is assigned to be your bodyguard. the resurgence of former flames and shocking sinister revelations will test just how far frank is willing to go to protect you. divulgences of his mysterious and convoluted past will make you question just how much you can actually trust him. will frank be your savior? or the reason for your demise?
a/n: a HUGE thank you to my love @thyme-in-a-bubble for that incredibly breathtaking header. this series was inspired by the absolutely lovely @lowkeythor's genius request for a bodyguard!frank x reader fic. it is a slow burn-so get comfy. this is a punisher series friends, so there will be mentions of violence and gore, as well as other mature themes. (there will eventually be spiciness bc i can't resist) if you'd like to be added to the tag list for updates, please let me know!
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
The way you write is so compelling, I'm always eager for more <3 From characters to plot there's so many layers and I'm eating it all up! with CITC, Dex changing his mind really changes the game. I am SO interested to see what happens next and to find out how that is all gonna unfold and what is chris' true vendetta against reader 👀
thank you so much nonnie 🥹
^ this is actual live footage of me writing citc (I mean me writing anything really) but oooohhhhh do I have some surprises in store for y'all 🙂↔️
