Peruse the links below at your discretion; they’re all Matt Murdock x Reader.
EMBERS AND ASHES is a full-length story and is mostly posted on Archive of Our Own, but you can access Chapter One below. Quick overview of the genres — FLUFF is mostly little scenarios that should make you feel better if you’re having a bad day; there might be some physical intimacy but it’s not the focus of the fic. HURT/COMFORT usually will have both the physical hurt and the subsequent comfort — I tend to not write fics that lack the comfort (and if I do, I’ll make note of it). ANGST, on the other hand, isn’t physical but emotional hurt, and I try to include comfort in there, too. ROMANCE is basically fluff but with more of a focus on the *spicier* tension between Matt and Y/N. That being said, I don’t write smut, so it won’t ever get very explicit :)
Also - not fics, but here is my photo with Charlie when I got to meet him at Dortmund CC in 2022, and here is the video of the conversation I had with him while getting my autograph!
EMBERS AND ASHES
Chapter One is located here on tumblr, and here on AO3.
FLUFF
Audiometry - You test Matt’s hearing and make a game out of it
Mimicry - You, Matt, Karen, and Foggy play Description Charades
Frivolity - You and Matt go to a playground in the middle of the night
Devil’s (Bad) Luck - You get cursed to be extremely unlucky for a day
Deprivation - You try to go 60 hours without sleep to win a bet
Lie Detector - You have 48 hours to try to lie to Matt without him noticing
Echolocation - A bat gets into the apartment and Matt isn’t much help
Lights Out - The power goes out while you and Matt are in a haunted mansion
HURT/COMFORT
(Un)Stealthy - You get injured and try hiding it from Matt
The Sleeping Bag - Matt accidentally hurts you
Keyholes - You get assaulted and Matt’s not there to save you
Obstinacy - You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you
Strawberry Rhubarb - You get kidnapped by Fisk
Muted Dawn - You get mugged in the middle of the night
Head Over Heels - You sprain your ankle wearing high heels
Solidarity - Matt isn’t happy about you joining him and Frank on a mission
Cayenne Pepper - You get concussed while ice skating
ANGST
Summer Hues - You have to put your pet down
Discordant (part i) - Matt is angry with you when you risk your life for his; Concordant (part ii) - You and Matt must endure a “kidnapping” to make up
ROMANCE
Wavelengths - You go shopping for a dress and Matt decides to come
Big Fish - Matt wants you to go swimming with him
Castle in the Sky - Matt tries to teach you self-defense
Matt x Autistic!Reader
Anchor - You get overstimulated at a party and Matt helps you calm down
Matt seized the knob of a linen closet to the right and shepherded you inside.
“Matt, is this really necessary? We won’t fit, it’s too small in here.”
“There isn’t time to argue.” He hoisted you by the waist—like you were nothing more than a doll—on top of an overturned bucket, so that you were balanced precariously against the back shelf. With his foot he closed the door; all remaining light was closed out entirely.
“Stay still.”
“The bucket is wobbling,” you said, through gritted teeth. “And if I fall, then people will definitely hear us.”
“I’ve got you,” he said, hands still loosely on you. Shadows passed by the base of the door.
“What if someone decides they need a washcloth?”
“Shh. Listen. They’re talking about you."
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 20 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
if yes, what are your thoughts? are you liking it?
hope your life isn't too busy, and if it is, I hope you find some time to relax and enjoy yourself :)
I HAVE IM SO INTO IT OMG.
I enjoyed s1, of course. (It had Matt, I wasn't complaining.) But s2 is just so phenomenal, so true to the original show, so compelling. I think I'm most excited about the side characters, because in s1 I don't think they were very well written and I didn't really care about them at all. But s2 has made me really fall in love with every single one of them!
My only complaint is that we don't see enough of Matt. Even though he's the main character, more often than not he's not on-screen, which is very frustrating of course.
Deborah's acting continues to blow me away. Charlie's dedication is, as always, incredible. And the score—I've been loving the new soundtracks that we have from The Newton Brothers!!
My hope for s3 is that we'll get longer episodes or more episodes, and less of a focus on so many side characters (as much as I love them) because it makes for a bit too many threads / rushed pacing.
Overall, though, I just feel so lucky to be in the DD fandom, because no other Disney Marvel show has actually had sequels and released in a yearly format like the good ole days where new seasons could be expected regularly. How cool is it that we already have s3 confirmation??
It's a good year to be a DD fan!! Thanks so much for the question :)
As long as you didn’t look at his face, it could have even been Matt standing this close to you, his body heat like a furnace. This time, you reached out to take Dex's temples with less apprehension, and closed your own eyes, sinking into the moment and the vulnerability of the head within your grasp, and realizing with a start that you didn’t mind holding him like this, when he had submitted himself entirely.
A sharp throb like a knife stabbed into the side of your head. You ignored it, and continued. The energy choked. The gray light flickered, then resumed, then flickered again. The throbbing in your skull built, like an orchestra reaching its crescendo. And then, like a light bulb bursting with a pop—fracturing, glass spiking outwards into your senses—it shut off entirely.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 19 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
i have to say that i love your ember and ashes series so much! i love how relatable and interesting reader is. i know you’re busy with your studies and i wish you the best of luck!
i wanted to send this ask because i’ve noticed people are curious how the ddba seasons will play out in the series, with foggy being killed and all. but with reader being the one who healed dex & basically made this ripple effect for him to search for his north star, will venessa have a chance to manipulate him (in result, get him to kill foggy)? just a thought.
thank you for sharing your wonderful story with us<33
First of all: thank you so, so much!!!! Reader being relatable is always my biggest goal (and thus unrelatable Reader is my biggest fear), so that really means a lot, and I’m so glad you’re liking the story.
Also, I’m so glad you asked this because I’ve been thinking about it A LOT.
Long story short, and without spoiling things (too much), I do want to make this story ~relatively~ compatible with DDBA. Obviously, since season two has aired, there are quite a few differences that I’ll have to bridge.
BUT that being said: as of now, I’m really not into killing Foggy off. I can’t make any promises, but generally I’m opposed to killing off main characters in my fan fics (unless I don’t like them lol) plus I still have hope that Foggy is miraculously going to come back. Even if he’s a zombified The Hand version of resurrected Foggy, I still have hope!!
So, some things will be a tad different, but mostly aligned with DDBA. I don’t plan on repeating the born again storyline tooooo much though in Embers and Ashes, purely because I’d rather get into new material than hash out too much what we’ve already seen on-screen.
Summary: You get a concussion while ice skating, and Matt is adamant that you have to rest.
Pairing: Matt x Reader
Warnings: Head injury descriptions, panic attack
You can also read this chapter here on AO3.
“Can’t you let me just be better than you at something? Anything?” You tested out the ice gingerly with your right skate as Matt easily began to glide backwards—backwards—while shrugging. “Actually, scratch that. Don’t ever let me win at anything. Because when I win, I want to know I really won.”
“Last I checked, there’s no competition here.” Matt looped back around to you, and took your upper arm with his hand. To anyone watching, you were leading Matt around the rink; in reality, his grip above your elbow was firm for only your own benefit, and it gave you a sense of stability as you picked up speed together.
Rockefeller Center was probably one of the most touristy outings you had ever done with Matt, who preferred to frequent the quieter “hidden gems” of New York—if there was such a thing as a hidden gem in New York—but you’d won two free tickets through work and convinced Matt it wouldn’t be completely horrible. In retrospect it was ridiculous that you had to persuade him in the first place, because he was obviously enjoying himself, getting a feel for the ice and working up to a speed just slightly beyond what you would have done if you were alone.
“And you’ve never done this before?” you asked.
“Never.”
“That is so unfair. I even took a semester of ice skating back in college. What, are the touch receptors on the pads of your feet giving you extra dexterity or something?”
“Well, my dad took me roller blading once.”
“Ah, yes, that must be the source of your prowess: roller blading once when you were a little kid.” You rolled your eyes. “Matt, you realize that you could probably be an Olympian athlete at any sport if you decided to dedicate yourself to it?”
As you spoke, the toe pick on the front of your skate caught on the ice, and you nearly faceplanted; Matt’s steadying yank backwards on your arm was the only reason you stayed upright.
“I thought you said you’ve done this before,” he commented.
“I have. And I did learn some things.” You broke away from his grasp and attempted a rotation, pulling your arms into your chest to pick up a bit more speed. “I can sort of spin. That stuck, apparently.”
Matt was smiling. “Not too shabby. Show me how?”
And so for a brief minute you did get to teach him something, demonstrating how you dug your right toe pick into the ice and then looped your left foot around to pick up speed before spinning a few times. He, of course, picked up on it almost immediately, and then the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was practically twirling on the ice, not one hint of instability in his movement.
“I know why you’re so good at this,” you said, observing him. He joined you again and you resumed your lap around the rink, his hand around your arm.
“Didn’t you already establish that I’ve got great receptors on the pads of my feet?”
“Well, that too. But it’s all those spinning midair kicks you do,” you said, in a much lower voice. “You spend half your nights tornado-ing your way around Hell’s Kitchen; of course you can spin on ice.”
“Should I try a jump?”
“I’m of the opinion that the fun of trying to jump on ice is not worth the potential injury it could entail.”
“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”
“Matt, I’ve cleaned up enough of your injuries that the last thing I want is for you to get one figure skating—”
“Watch out!” Matt pulled you in towards his chest just as another man whizzed by on the ice, weaving in and out of the crowd.
“It’s like we’re playing Frogger,” you said, watching the man cruise down the other side of the rink. “Thank you.”
“He’s giving everyone on the rink a heart attack when he goes by them,” Matt said, head tilted ever so slightly. “Stay closer to the middle; he’s keeping to the edges.” And then, without warning, he skated forward away from you, sprung off the ice, and did a half-rotation so that he landed skating backwards on his other foot. It was ridiculously flawless.
“Matt Murdock, you are a liar! When the hell did you learn to ice skate? This is not your first time!”
“Stick might’ve made me go on skates a few times,” he said, not bothering to turn around and skating backwards still. He was grinning, his hair unkempt from the movement and nose red at the tip from the cold air. You skated forward, closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around him, cautiously keeping your skates away from his to avoid tripping both of you up.
“Stick ice skates?” you said dubiously.
“Not in the way you’d think of ice skating. It was more a training exercise to practice balance. He didn’t exactly teach me to do a waltz jump or anything.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the triple axel coach sort of guy,” you said, trying to envision Stick being graceful on the ice. It was nearly impossible to picture. “I’m sorry. I hope coming out here doesn’t bring back bad memories or anything—”
“No, it was one of the few exercises I liked.” Matt picked up speed, separating himself from you, and waving you on to speed up.
Alright, then. You picked up speed, lifting your feet and pushing off the ice harder. It felt good; the frigid air on your face and blue skies above, the thrum of New York tourists gaily looping around the rink beside you.
“See, you’re a natural,” Matt said, quickly flipping around to face forward again. “Just keep the inner edge of the skate—watch out!”
You also heard the man coming up behind you before you saw him, and you lurched to the side. What happened next was not entirely clear: if you had ever imagined what it would be like to be able to teleport, that was what it felt like, because without any realization or memory of actually falling, you were suddenly on your back, head throbbing on the ice.
Matt was at your side in an instant, as was the blue-jacketed Rockefeller worker who must have seen and come over immediately.
“I’m okay,” you said automatically, but even lifting your head to sit up made the world teeter and wisp around as though it were a ship bobbing on the ocean. Under other circumstances, your utter failure to get up on your own would have been mortifying, but as it was, you hardly even noticed; more pressing was the violent pain on the back of your head. Matt and the attendant helped you up, one on either side, and shakily you went off the ice, the world blinking by you like a stop-motion movie. As soon as you were safely seated on a bench off the rink, Matt’s hands were skimming your head.
“Hey,” he said, a bit urgently. “You fell hard. How are you feeling?”
“Like…” Dazed was how you were feeling. You could see his eyes, concerned and fixed at a spot just around your eyebrows that felt as though you were almost achieving real eye contact. “I’m okay,” you said instead, a bit woozily.
“Here.” A woman wearing a Rockefeller Center jacket in the same shade of blue came over with a bag of ice and a clipboard. “You doing good, honey?”
“I’m okay,” you repeated, feeling like a broken record. Your balance still felt like it was slightly tipped, and the back of your head hurt like a bitch. How the hell does Matt deal with knocks to the head every night?
She asked you for your name, and contact information; she looked into your eyes with a penlight.
“Is it a concussion?” you asked, even though it was hard to imagine that it couldn’t be a concussion, considering how muzzy your thoughts were—scattered, like a wind kept blowing them away, and only half-formed anyway.
“I’m not permitted to make any diagnoses,” she said flatly. “But we can call you an ambulance and get you to the hospital.”
“Oh. No, no,” you said hastily, the horrifying thought of a damn ambulance breaking through the fog in your head. “No, thank you.”
“Then you’ll have to sign here stating that we offered and you declined an ambulance,” she went on, and turned to Matt. “We’ll need you to sign a witness form here—saying that you saw what happened—”
“I’m blind,” he said. “I didn’t see it.”
The woman blinked. “Oh. Well, it’s just a formality. Just sign here.” She handed him a pen and showed him where the line was, and Matt formally signed a statement that he had “seen” you fall on the ice, an entirely ironic situation that would have been comedic if you had been able to entirely think it through.
You kept the ice on the growing lump that felt like a golf ball, staring straight ahead at the other ice skaters, willing the terrible pressure on your head to go away.
“Sweetheart—”
“No, Matt. I’m not taking the ambulance and I’m not going to the hospital, either.”
“You hit the ice hard.” His hand was devastatingly gentle as he brushed the side of your face and then took your hand, rubbing your palm in a circular motion with his thumb. “I heard it.”
“What?” you said, a bit derisively. “The sound of my brain smacking the inside of my skull?”
His silence spoke volumes.
You sighed. “I’m okay, Matt. Really. Look, there’s… there’s ten minutes left on the ice with the ticket, go enjoy yourself, go skate—”
He smiled, but without any humor. “I’m staying with you.”
Your head pulsed. “Is that guy still jetting around the rink?”
“I’d throttle him if I could,” Matt said darkly. “You know, with some good lawyering that could be a tort claim.”
“I’m not suing him. And you’re not finding him to beat him up tonight,” you added, as an afterthought.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, but he still had a scowl on his face. “If not the hospital, then I’m calling Claire to have her come over.”
“Oh, that’s even worse, Matt. She’s so busy. I’d feel awful if she took time out of her evening to come look at me because I had a little bump on the ice—”
“It was more than a bump.”
You sat in silence together, watching the skaters go by, some of them falling too but none with the lack of grace that you apparently had. Why hadn’t you put out your hands? At least your elbows? Why the hell had you used your head as a way to catch yourself on the ice? You grazed your hand against the bump; it throbbed in response. The area in question was so raised that it felt like an egg was slipped under your skin, and it made you feel more nauseous.
And that was the worst of it: your head was hurting, but there was a wrongness to it, a type of nausea that just didn’t sit right and made you feel like everything was awry, inside and out. Matt seemed to catch onto your growing anxiety, because he squeezed your hand.
“Hey. Bumps to the head happen all the time. You’ll be good in no time.”
You nodded, breathing in air that didn’t quite feel like it was enough air. “Why—why don’t you go skate, Matt? Go enjoy the time before it runs out. Really.”
Had it really? You hadn’t even noticed that much time passing, and it was terrifying; the afternoon was passing by without you even registering it.
“I want to go home,” you whispered, suddenly sick of it all: the smell of the rubber floor, the constant chatter of tourists around you, the bright sky gleaming on the ice. Matt obliged you immediately, helping you to stand, and then you let go of him, determined to get back to your shoes on your own. Stepping carefully in the ice skates, you made your way towards the lockers, the world twisting and turning, tilting to the side, tumbling and twitching; you held out your hands for balance, and Matt made to help you but you shook him off, a sudden paralyzing sense of terror gripping you like a deep frost. You’d gotten hurt before, but never like this, and the feeling of your very thoughts being difficult to formulate was worst of all. Injuries were usually physical for you: pain, entirely separate from your mind. The physical realm now bleeding into the mental was horrifying. What if it lasts? What if it doesn’t go away? What if I’ve permanently hurt my brain, all because I couldn’t catch myself while falling?
“Hey.” Matt’s arm was around your waist. “You need to breathe.”
“I’m—” But you couldn’t get any more words out. Fear had seized you like a boa constrictor, relentless and vicelike. You turned to look at Matt and the world seemed to continue spinning as you turned to him, set off with no friction to slow it down. “I’m—”
“In and out. Breathe with me.”
You found yourself against the wall, trying to draw in a breath, but each time you tried it grew harder; it was as though your nose had closed off altogether and no air could get in, and each breath was rejected, because it hit an invisible wall in your throat—tears were streaming down your cheeks, and you didn’t even know why because it was so stupid, just a bump to the head. But you couldn’t stop, and only shook your head at Matt, trying to blink away the tears before he realized you were crying. Which was also stupid, you knew, because Matt surely knew you were crying even before you did.
“Feel my breathing, sweetheart.” Matt took your hand and placed it on his chest. “Breathe in deep with me, slowly.”
You felt the rise of his diaphragm under your hand, and struggled to draw in a breath with him. Your ears were ringing.
“And out. Just let it out.” His chest fell, and you slowly exhaled with him, the pounding ceasing every so slightly.
“Again. In and out.”
And the world stilled. Matt pulled you in, hugging you, his embrace so warm and full and safe that for a moment, all felt well; his hand was braced against your back and he had drawn your face in against his body.
--------------------------------------
The apartment was freezing when you returned. Matt, who was no rookie when it came to concussions, was quick to turn up the heat, get the ice pack out of the freezer, and pull the shades down.
“At least the dim light won’t bother you,” you said, trying to force a smile.
“How does your head feel?”
“Good. I’m really okay.” Which was mostly the truth, compared to the immediate post-fall way that it had been hurting. “Probably not even a concussion. I think I just hit my head hard.”
“It’s a concussion.”
“See, this is why I don’t even need to go to a doctor. You’re just as good at making a diagnosis.”
“It could’ve been so much worse.”
“Like the Punisher putting a bullet in your helmet, then deciding to go out and fight anyway? Yeah, I know, Matt.”
He didn’t smile. “Just rest, alright? Take a nap. I’ll make something for dinner.”
“I can still help,” you objected. “I didn’t get knocked out or anything. You don’t have to make me dinner like you’re my nurse or something.”
“Remember what you said the last time I got concussed? Something along the lines of, ‘Sit here and be still, you idiot.’”
“Well, that was because you got thrown against a brick wall by a three-hundred-pound arsonist. Me, on the other hand—I just bumped my head ice skating. It’s no big deal.” The vulnerability that came with being hurt was something you always struggled with. Maybe it was a deep-rooted sense of perfectionism, or the fear of being at someone else’s mercy, but being perceived as weak, or incapable, or worst of all, helpless—it made your skin crawl in a horrible way. The only remedy to such a vulnerability, of course, was standing up to that perception: defying it, proving you were stronger.
‘ You started to push yourself off the couch, but Matt blocked your path.
“It’s not a request,” he said, unfairly being a completely impregnable barricade; you tried to push by him to no avail. “I get it. It’s not fun. But how many times have I had to lay out on this couch while you took care of me? How about you let me return the favor for once?”
“Matt—”
“Sit.” He gently took you by the arms and lowered you onto the couch. “We’ve got onions. Pasta. Broccoli. Tofu. How about I make a casserole?”
“I can chop the onions.”
“I know. I know you can. But you said it yourself that you’re going to be alright. And being alright happens when you rest, and let your body heal. It’s not a weakness.”
He understood, then. He knew what was bothering you. “Fine,” you said, defeated, slumping over. It made the room start spinning rapidly, and you had to turn your head the other way. “ . . . Ow.”
“Don’t lean that way,” he advised.
“Too late.”
Matt went into the kitchen, leaving you to sit and do, quite literally, nothing. You fiddled with your hands, and then a loose thread on the couch, and then picked at a fingernail. It came off a bit too low, and throbbed in rhythm with your head, a bead of blood bubbling up at the base. Matt undoubtedly could hear it—and smell it—but he must have restrained himself from saying anything, because the only sound was the bubbling of boiling water.
Your book was sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You leaned over and grabbed it, flipping it open to where you had left the bookmark. It was dim lighting, but your eyes had adjusted enough to see it enough. You managed to read three sentences before Matt’s hands grazed your shoulders and plucked the book right from your hands. You jumped; you hadn’t heard him leave the kitchen.
“Wait forty-eight hours,” he told you, then leaned over to kiss you, upside-down from his position behind the couch. “Reading is exactly what you’re not supposed to do with a concussion.”
“Ugh. I’m going to remember this the next time you get hurt and try to go back out within the next forty-eight hours.”
Matt returned to the kitchen, and the sound of chopping resumed.
“Is now a good time to confess something to you?” he said, just as the scent of onions began to waft through the apartment.
“I don’t know,” you said warily, turning your whole body to look at him, in an effort to not swivel your head. “That’s never a good way to start a conversation.”
“I didn’t want to say anything, because you were excited about the Rockefeller tickets.”
“This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good.”
“But I might’ve had a slight sprain last night,” he continued. “My ankle. And I didn’t want you to have to cancel because of me, so—”
“You were skating on a sprained ankle? Matt! How the hell is that supposed to convince me to rest if you go off gallivanting with an injury whenever you want?”
“It was weighing on my conscience, I guess.”
“The fact that you’re a raging hypocrite?” You got to your feet. “I’m chopping the rest of the damn onions, Matt.”
He didn’t protest, at least. “I guess there are worse activities to do while concussed.”
“Don’t antagonize me when I have a knife in my hand,” you warned him, picking one up and wagging it at him. “Who knows? I have a concussion, I might be unstable.”
In a flash, he disarmed you, plucking the knife out of your hand as quickly as he’d taken your book. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”
“I’m helping whether you like it or not.” You reached for the knife, but he quickly swapped it into his other hand.
“I know,” he said, twirling the blade expertly in his left hand. Damn show-off. “Which is why I’m putting you on tofu duty. The onions are almost all chopped, anyway.”
You glanced at where the tofu sat in its press. “Tearing it tonight?”
“Increases the surface area,” he confirmed. “Gets more flavor in.”
Mollified, you moved to the press and took the block of tofu out. “This doesn’t get you out of trouble, Murdock. And if your ankle is sprained, you should probably be sitting, and I should be doing all of the food prep—”
“My sprain was longer ago than your concussion.”
“My concussion was more mild than your sprain.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I know you, and I know you don’t do things halfway. I’ve stitched enough bloody wounds to know that.”
“We make quite the team, don’t we?” Matt drew you in again, and brushed your hair out of your face. “Gimpy and Helmetless?”
“Helmetless?” you said, laughing. “Though . . . now that you mention it. I wouldn’t have minded having a helmet on.”
“Which is why I wear one now, too.” Matt slid the seasoning drawer open. “What do you want? Cumin, chili powder? Ginger? Garlic powder?”
“Do we have cayenne pepper?”
“Right here.” While stirring the pasta, he reached out with his other hand and slipped the cayenne pepper out from the back of the drawer.
“You never cease to amaze me.”
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“Trying to compliment me after bestowing the nickname Helmetless on me?” you said, tossing cayenne pepper over the tofu. “Are we baking or stir-frying this?”
“Stir-frying would be quicker.” Matt ran his fingers over his watch. “That way I can get suited up. I want to be here by the time you go to bed, because of the concussion, but I want to do a quick patrol for an hour or two after dinner—”
“Not on your sprained ankle, you’re not.”
“I think the jump on the ice proved that I’m fine. Fine enough, at least.”
“Lawyer you may be, but that’s a terrible argument. Plus, if you go on patrol, then I’ll stay here to read and watch TV, plus anything else that I’m not supposed to do. And if you listen to my heartbeat, you’ll know I’m not lying.”
For a moment, he was silent. The pasta nearly boiled over the edge of the pot and he turned down the heat; the apartment grew quiet. “Alright. Truce. We’ll stay in, and you rest.”
“Deal,” you agreed. “We will rest.”
A deal with the devil, as it turned out, didn’t always have to be a bad thing.
This had been sitting in my drafts for awhile, and I wasn't very happy with it, but I wanted to post something in honor of it being Weekend Before Daredevil Born Again Season Two is Officially Released.
I'm SO excited for the new season but sadly I have to wait until Wednesday evening to watch because I have a law exam Wednesday morning (and watching DD the night before a big exam probably wouldn't be the smartest thing to do).
I hope that this is fun to read in the days leading up to the new season, even though it's a bit campy. Hopefully the next addition (whenever that may be) is a tad more intricate/interesting/long. Thank you all so much for reading!!
It was a quiet night. No wind, no rain, not many sirens; just still. You lathered shampoo into your hair. It was supposedly peony-scented; you had bought it with the ulterior hope that Matt would like it. So stupid.
As if on cue, there was the squeak of your window opening, and then a small thump on the floor. Speak of the devil. Literally. You shut off the water.
“Coming out in just a second,” you said, knowing he would hear you. “Just have to put my pajamas on.” You squeezed the water out of your hair, put on a clean pair of underwear, and then pulled an oversized tee-shirt over your head.
And, at that moment, the bathroom door creaked open.
“Matt!” you yelped, yanking the shirt down. “I’m not dressed yet—”
But standing in the bathroom doorway was not Matt.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 18 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you work at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever—they've got to eventually go somewhere.
But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong person, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 17 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
You scooted your chair back and made a beeline for the ladies’ room, passing within two feet of Matt, Karen, and Foggy as you went by. You were fairly sure Foggy and Karen hadn’t noticed you, but there was no denying that Matt visibly stiffened as you walked by, as though restraining himself from reacting to your presence.
The bathrooms were down a separate hall in the back of Josie’s, out of sight from the rest of the pub. You entered, and stood at the sink for a full minute, working up the courage to return to Rafael. Then you spent another minute washing your hands, just to pass the time.
When you swung open the door to return to the table, though, you nearly crashed into Matt, who had his cane out and was reaching towards the adjacent door to the men’s room. For the briefest of moments, his hand brushed against your forearm, as though to steady you, and then dropped respectably back to his side.
“I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” he said, in that prim and polite gentlemanly tone. If you didn’t know him better, you would have truly believed he was caught off guard by you.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 16 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
Hey, just want you to know that this really meant a lot to see in my inbox 🩷 I'm serious when I say that it inspired me to go back to my matt fic and edit the last bit I'd written to get it posted. Thank you so, so much, and I hope you're doing well 💞
No, but seriously, are you ok? Was going through your Matt fics (again) and realized that you haven't been active in a while.
You're one of my favourites Matt writers; thank you for all the work you have done for the DD community. Hope you're doing fine ❤️
Hi there!! Thank you so much for reaching out, it really means a lot. I’m actually doing really well - just insanely busy! I have an internship that’s ending July 18th, so hopefully I’ll be more active the second half of this summer. It’s definitely been a long time since I’ve written Matt and I really miss writing him - so fingers crossed I’ll be back into it soon!
Matt stood still, his head tilted. “Let’s save that for when you’re up to a personal story. We need to get back to my apartment. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you need stitches.”
“I said I’m fine. I’m walking and talking perfectly normally.”
“Your pulse is getting quicker. Your breathing has gotten faster.”
“You went to law school, not medical school,” you said, but followed him as he began to lead the way down the street. “I’m just anxious, that’s all.”
But he had a point. With every step you felt colder, and your muscles felt more like lead. You raised a shaky hand to your collarbone and found that it was still sickeningly wet, and had not even begun to scab over.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 15 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
Story summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.
But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 14 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
After showing up at Matt's office, you tell him everything—and form an alliance.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader
Story summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.
But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 13 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
You made to leave, and had your hand on the door when Matt’s voice echoed down from the top of the stairs.
“Change your mind?”
And inexplicably, at his words, you barely managed to keep yourself from crying again. “I’m sorry. I can leave. I don’t know why I came here, I just… I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t know what to do.”
And you started to push open the door, but Matt spoke first. “Stay,” he said. “What happened?”
WARNINGS: Description of torture in this chapter.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader
Story summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.
But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.
Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here and Ch. 11 on AO3 here.
Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added to it!):
Hi everyone! I wanted to post a quick update as I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything.
Seeing all of these behind-the-scenes pics of Born Again is making me absolutely SO EXCITED to write but I've just been so busy. I'm trying to find an apartment, trying to find a summer job before law school starts, juggling my senior year of college, plus trying to write a book at the same time, so I've had a bit of a hard time lately finding the energy to sit and write fan fic at the end of the day. Usually writing is a reward, but I guess lately it's just been tiring me out, so I've had to step back for a bit.
But! This is VERY MUCH temporary. I promise I'll be back and writing more Matt again soon! Not quite sure yet what "soon" will mean but I really, really promise that I haven't abandoned Embers and Ashes.
Long story short I'm so sorry to everyone that's waiting for an update but I swear I will return 💓
