I love you... Most Ardently

22 - she/her Writer for incredibly pathetic men (It’s mainly Matt Murdock) AO3: Izxz Requests: Tentatively Open Asks: Open 18+

[izxz-is-deranged]

<3 Hello lovelies!! <3

I’m Izzy, (she/her), 21 I write mainly for Matt Murdock (Daredevil). Requests and Inbox are always open!

All my writing is tagged: #izxz writes

All fics are also posted to: Ao3

MATT MURDOCK FICS

Baptism by Fire - BAU!Reader (Daredevil x Criminal Minds x Supernatural) Masterlist

Half Agony, Half Hope - Regency AU x Reader (Limited Series) Masterlist

One Shots

(To be added)

[redschillzone]

I'm Still Here (Ryland Grace x Crewmate!Reader x Convict Simon)

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Ryland Grace x GN!Crewmate!Reader x Convict Simon

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: Grace, Simon and Rocky stumble upon what looks to be an abandoned ship in space and decided to investigate, only to find out the fate of it's crew and you, it's medic.

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of dead bodies, I think one swear word correct me if I'm wrong, Reader goes by the name Red, aka the color of their spacesuit

A/N: Hi! So recently I've watched Project Hail Mary and have even begun to read the book itself and have very much been enjoying both! Recently I was thrown into the BloodyMary ship via a few tiktoks and had to tag along with it. Now, there's a lot of space games out there that reader could've come from and I decided to take the most memeable game there was and make a fic after the idea from my best friend. Yes, I'm talking about Among Us and somehow I whipped up an 8k fic from it. I have other plans for smaller writings with crewmate!reader but until then please enjoy this mess of a writing!

Grace sure seemed to be a magnet for the more weirder things going on in space outside of Earth's solar system. First he discovered Rocky while dealing with the Astrophage and the Petrova Line issue that threatened not only Earth but Erid as well. Next he, alongside Rocky, found the blood moon known as AT-5 and, after the Hail Mary's sensors informed them of life on the moon's bloodied oceans, rescued Simon from a rather harsh fate; It took some time for Simon to come around and trust them, having lashed out and been rather violent the first couple of days aboard the Hail Mary. He eventually came around, apologized for his actions, and from then on became the Hail Mary's pilot. And even now, as he and Simon stared out the window that was attached to the lab, they stared out at the large, dark gray ship that seemed to just be floating about. It didn't look damaged, no signs of a hull breach or anything of the sort, so both men found it awfully strange for it to just be there. It raised a lot more questions within Grace then it did Simon, and Grace decided he might as well at least ask one of the questions that swam in his mind.

"Is that um- I mean, that isn't one of the people lookin for you, is it? Y'know… You bein a convict and all." Grace questioned, his gaze turning away from the window to look at Simon with a worried expression; Simon had informed Grace of his story once he had calmed down and grew used to being around another human (and Rocky, of course. That took longer though, as he found it extremely weird to be talking to a rock). He had explained in detail to Grace on how he ended up on AT-5, of the COI and of Eden, of everything pertaining to him and his rather troubling past. As Simon's gaze scanned the ship over a few times, he gently shook his head in response to Grace's question.

"No, it doesn't look like anything from the COI. And it certainly isn't anything related to Eden…" He'd explain, his head slightly tilted as he watched the ship float effortlessly through space. It didn't look damaged, but at the same time it didn't look used either. Something was off, Simon could feel it, he just couldn't put his mind to it. "Maybe it's just some abandoned ship. I mean, how much shit truly gets left in space?"

"Explore! Statement!" Rocky shouted as he nudged his way between the two men, wanting to look out the window even though everyone knew he very obviously couldn't see very far in their current location. Simon would let out a small grunt as he stepped aside, staring down at the creature below before he shook his head.

"No, no exploring. We should leave it as it is and keep moving-" Simon began, but Grace was quick to cut him off.

"Now wait- Hold on- Maybe we should try to make contact with the ship? Maybe they need help-" Grace shared his opinion, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at Simon. Simon could only huff lightly as he gave the man beside him a look.

"What if it's some kind of trap? What if they want you to stop just so they could kill you then steal your supplies? Hm? I thought we needed to get to Erid as soon as possible, huh?" Simon shot back which caused Grace to make a face at the remark. In their own ways, both men made valid points. To Simon, everything was about survival, even if he knew he wasn't on AT-5 anymore; Ever detour they took was another day that was taken away from their estimated time of arrival on Erid, another day that was taken away from him being able to relax and not have to look over his shoulder every so often to ensure the COI wasn't hot on his tail. To Grace, this was a chance to see what else space had to offer, maybe a new species of alien or perhaps another human lost on some mission that he wasn't aware of. Perhaps someone really was in need of help, perhaps it was a trap set up by space pirates (If those even existed. Did they exist? Grace would have to ask Rocky at some point.). Neither man would be proven correct unless they attempted to contact or board the ship.

"Rocky say go anyway. More of us. Us is strong. Well, Simon strong. So is Rocky. Grace… Not so much." Rocky would butt in, voicing his own opinion on the matter as he began to sway the ball he resided in from side to side, seeming pleased with the idea to explore somewhere new. Simon could only sigh as he moved his hand up to rub at his eyes, defeat clearly in his facial expression as Grace beamed at Simon in triumph, though he was still hurt at Rocky's claim that he wasn't as strong as Simon.

"Well, that technically makes two against one! We'll just check it out- If we get bad vibes after making contact or entering the ship, then we leave." Grace spoke, turning away from the window with the wave of a hand as he began to make his way to the cockpit of the ship. Rocky quickly rolled after Grace, going on about what a 'bad vibe' was and how he would be able to use that phrase from here on out. Simon would let his arm drop to his side after, watching the two leave before he looked back towards the ship once more, a frown etched on his features before he'd tear his eyes away from the floating hunk of metal.

"You can't go anywhere without a pilot!" He'd call out as he turned to follow after them, rounding the corner that lead to the cockpit.

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After being unable to verbally contact the ship, Simon and Grace had agreed to board the ship. Luckily for Simon, the extra space suits from Grace's deceased companions fit him rather well, lack for better terms. Grace had to tie off the left arm of the suit so it wasn't just dangling there; He even attempted to put the left glove on Simon's nub of an arm, getting a small snort of a laugh from Simon in the process before he just decided to drop it all together. Simon couldn't recall the last time he even looked at a space suit like this, let alone had to wear one. He found it annoying, but he understood why; Whatever atmosphere was inside the ship could be deadly to them. He had survived the blood ocean, he wasn't going to let lack of oxygen take him next.

As the airlock hissed, the doors opened to reveal the interior of the Skeld's storage area; What looked to be metal crates stacked high on top of one another rested in the center of the room while a few smaller crates were knocked off with their contents spilled out nearby. There were also various metal drums containing who knew what lining one of the walls nearby, but Simon's curiosity wasn't drawn to them or to the fact that the ship had electricity running through it. No, his gaze was locked on what looked to be dried blood splattered across the floor just before them. Grace may not have seen it right away, but Simon sure did.

"This place is huge…" Grace called out, his voice crackling in Simon's ear as the space suits radio came to life. It made the man jump for a moment, flashbacks to the speaker in the submarine breaching his mind, but he wouldn't linger on the thoughts for too long. They had a task to complete, and if he spiraled out over some simple radio static, well he would rather have died in the blood ocean.

"Yeah, which means we should stick close to one another. We don't know what's lingering around here." Simon remarked, stepping fully into the storage room as he continued to observe his surroundings, his gaze finally being torn away from the splattering on the ground. A small hiss would escape him as he lifted his foot, glaring down as Rocky had all but barged himself past him and Grace, rolling along into the storage room to look around himself. Grace couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as he followed after Rocky who was talking about how weird the ship looked compared to the Hail Mary and Blip-A.

They'd quickly take notice of how the room branched down three various halls, all of which were dimly lit with the occasional flicker from the lights along the wall, the low hum of electricity running through the walls being their only noise within the ship aside from the occasional creaking of the haul adjusting to the pressure of space.

"Let's head down this hall first, see if we can find anyone…" Simon spoke, looking back to ensure Grace heard him and began to make his way down the hall just right of the storage room. Grace was quick to follow after him, not wanting to be left alone in such a large space with Rocky following the rear. As they walked, nothing seemed to greet them in return. It didn't seem like a trap at least, but Simon knew better than to let his guard down.

As they came upon the first set of doors just to the right of them, the lock would hiss and open for them, revealing what looked to be a communication room. Yet again, there seemed to be no signs of life here, but all the equipment seemed to be working just fine.

"They still have power… I wonder why the ship isn't running then?" Grace questioned, stepping into the room cautiously as he looked from side to side. He took notice of the various electronics that were mounted on the walls, of the computers that were stationed on three different desks, and of the chair that was spun to face the doorway. Simon would frown as he stepped in as well, making his way over to the main computer that sat on the wall just across the door. "Maybe they ran out of fuel." Simon voiced his own opinion to try and answer Grace's question.

"What this? What this? Question?" Rocky would speak as he ran a circle around the room, taking in everything that resided in the room; Some things looked familiar to him, as the Hail Mary had a couple of the same things, but some of it was also different to Rocky. While Grace would begin to inform Rocky of just what was in the room and how it worked, Simon was solely interested in the computer that faced the door they had just entered, the one with the chair spun around. Attached to the top of it looked to be a camera of sort and as Simon tilted his head, he'd reach out to investigate the computer. It didn't seem like a log in was required, which surprised him, but made their job even easier. As he began to navigate the computer, Grace would come to stand beside him.

"Find anything that may give us clues to what happened here?" He'd question him, leaning over a bit to look at the glowing screen before him as Simon began to click on various files; Some of them just looked to be random data that the ship provided the crew with, other files were things that Simon couldn't give a care for. The last file folder he clicked on sprang to life, what looked to be video files were stored here. The two men would look at one another before looking back at the screen, Simon moving the cursor over the first video file before he'd click on it.

A new tab would appear, a video player of sorts, and the video began to play with no extra attention needed.

The camera would be adjusted, a red gloved hand moving it into position before you sat back in the seat with a small huff, turning to look at the white suited male beside you. "Do I really have to do this? It's kinda stupid-" You'd begin to say, the male beside you laughing as he patted your shoulder.

"Yes, you do. Mira HQ wants us to record everything we do and see, you know, just in case something were to happen." He'd answer you, his white space suit covered in various patches, stating his obvious role as captain. You'd roll your eyes as he'd make his way to the door. "You don't need to spend all day here, just a few simple sentences and then you'll be done." He'd inform you before he'd leave the room, leaving you to yourself. You turned your attention back to the camera, crossing your arms as you leaned forward on the desk; Similar to the man who just left, you wore a space suit of your own though no helmet was seen and yours was colored red with a simple patch attached to your right sleeve with what looked to be a medical symbol attached.

"Right um… Video log one, Red reporting." You'd begin, making a face at having to record this stupid log and call yourself by that title. "First day officially on board the Skeld. Take off was smooth and breaking through the atmosphere and into space was simple enough. No issues there but that was to be expected, White seems to know what he's doing as Captain and Blue seems to be a reliable pilot. There's eight of us total and I was assigned here to be the crews medic because apparently someone has to keep these idiots alive from whatever we find out there." You'd huff out, glancing around the room a bit as you attempted to come up with something else to talk about so you decided to just give a debrief of the mission. "The mission sounds simple enough; Head to planet Polus, retrieve some data and find out why the outpost has been silent for over two months now." You'd lean back in the seat, letting out a low hum as you attempted to think of what else there was to report before you'd sigh, leaning forward to reach out for the camera. "Alright, I think that's enough. I'll report again when we reach the planet." The video went dark afterwards.

The two men would look at each other; There was, or possibly were, eight people located on this ship. So where did they all go? The ship remained silent, minus the sound coming from the computer, and Rocky had yet to report of any movement nearby, so what exactly happened? The amount of questions the two had began to add up and they hoped that with each log they found on this computer, their questions would be answered.

They'd continue through the logs, picking and choosing which they'd watch; Like you had stated, each of your fellow crew members wore a different colored suit and had their own roles within the ship, their suit adoring their respective patches on their arms. A Captain, two engineers, two scientists, a pilot, a medic, and a weapons officer; Seemed to be a pretty sound crew for the most part and everyone looked like they got along with one another just fine. So why was it that something felt off the more and more they watched? Simon would click on another log and you'd appear on their screen again, though you began to look tired.

"Video log fifteen, Red reporting. Something… Something is wrong." You'd begin, resting your elbows on the desk as you placed your head in your hands to rub at your face. "The crew that was stationed at Polus had seemed to just… Disappear. The only signs of life was the mess that was left within the outpost itself. No bodies, no skeletal remains, nothing." You'd inform the camera, lifting your head to look into it as you leaned back in your seat, your arms falling to your sides. "The data within the station had been extracted, along with any biological samples from the planet that they had been working on. The electronic data has been uploaded into the admin computer and will eventually be redirected back to Mira HQ for evaluation while the samples were placed in O2 lab for Green and Orange to look over but everything is just… Strange. How does a crew of twelve just suddenly disappear? It isn't normal-" You'd question, glancing over your shoulder before looking back at the camera, your voice dropping to a low whisper as if someone was lurking nearby.

"That's not the only strange thing… Recently, Yellow has been acting odd… Ever since we boarded the Skeld to return back to HQ, they've been… Twitchy, antsy. I've offered to help them, prescribe them something to help calm their nerves but they refuse each time. Said they're completely fine and appreciate my concern for them." You'd sigh, shaking your head. "I'm thinking perhaps it's just the nerves from not finding anyone at the outpost, but I guess you never know." You'd get to your feet before you'd cut the log without another word.

"Wait- Did they mention O2? As in oxygen?" Grace would speak, his eyes wide as he looked at Simon who looked at him in return. Simon would stand up, his hand immediately going towards his helmet before Grace would quickly grab his hand in a panic.

"Wait wait wait! Don't go yanking that off yet! We don't even know if everything is up and running! Maybe that's why we haven't found anyone yet, because their O2 diminished and they died from lack of oxygen!" Grace would shout, his eyes narrowing on Simon; Always quick to rush into things and not one to stop and think about the cause and effect. Simon would huff, shaking Grace's hand off his own.

"Then we should go search for wherever this lab is, see if it is running so I can take this stupid helmet off." Simon would bark back. The two stood in silence, glaring each other down before the automated voice of Rocky reached their ears.

"Rocky go find lab. Rocky fix whatever broken." Rocky offered, though it was more-so a statement as he began to roll towards the door without another word spoken. Grace would turn his attention to his companion, about to argue before he'd let out a low groan already seeing the Eridian leave the room and go down the hall to the right.

"Rocky- Would you wait?! How do you even know where you're going?! It could be dangerous!" Grace would call out, leaving Simon's side to chase after him, leaving the convict alone in the room. Simon would turn his attention back to the screen, clicking on a few more logs along the way to try and piece together what had happened here; Was it perhaps an O2 leak like Grace had mentioned? Did some sickness spread through the ship and you, their medic, was unable to catch it in time and cure it? He wasn't sure, but with the more and more videos he watched, the less and less he began to notice certain crew members record their logs. He'd notice how everyone began to look more and more tired, how some would show up more dirtied then others. Until he reached the last log; You'd appear on screen, your red suit stripped down to the waist, the arms tied tightly around your waist so the sleeves would've get caught on whatever you walked passed. The top you wore underneath your suit was dirtied with what Simon could only assume was dried blood, perhaps some grime from the ship itself. Regardless, you looked like you had been through hell and then some. Your hair was matted, your face and arms covered in cuts, bruises, and blood; Your head was just dripping with blood, he noticed. You also had a large cut across your right arm, but you didn't seem to care right now. You looked exhausted for the lack of a better term.

"Video log twenty-four… Red reporting…" Your voice spoke quietly, you sounded utterly defeated. "Despite there once being eight of us aboard this ship… I've now become the sole survivor. The reason Yellow had been acting strange wasn't because of nerves, or because of what happened on Polus. It was because it was the reason those twelve scientists went missing on Polus." You'd explain, looking away from the camera and towards the corner of the room. "This entire time, there was an imposter among us- A creature that wanted nothing more than to tear us limb from limb and consume us just as it did the others." You'd begin to tear up, your voice cracking as you moved a hand over your mouth, trying to keep yourself together long enough to at least get the recording done. "It had killed, maybe even infected Yellow back on Polus and managed to either copy itself perfectly to look exactly like him or managed to take over his body with no issues whatsoever. Regardless of what it did to him, it managed to act like him despite the antsiness I noted after boarding the ship."

"When Pink suddenly fell ill while working in the reactor, I just… I couldn't figure out why she fell ill. Nothing was showing up on my scans, no medicine I had on board was helping and eventually she passed in her sleep. After that, all hell seemed to break loose. One by one that thing took us out; We'd find Green choked to death in electrical with the wiring, Blue was shot in the pilots seat while Orange was found poisoned in O2 after a leak started." The cracking in your voice grew, the sobs becoming evident in your voice as you remembered everything that happened to each and everyone you began to grow close with over such a long period of time.

"I tried to save them all, I tried everything I was taught and then some, yet nothing worked. Those of us that remained began to look at me differently; Began to blame me for the deaths as if I had a hand in it!" You'd begin to break, your hands now moving into your hair to grip it as you leaned over in the seat to stare at the ground. "Eventually Captain connected the dots and it was then that the imposter began to take out the rest of us to ensure we wouldn't eject him. Captain…" You'd start, feeling your throat tighten all over again as more tears began to well in your eyes and fall onto the floor beneath you.

"Captain managed to tackle the imposter into the airlock… Yelled back at me send them both into space. I… I did it. I sent them into space- I watched as White died alongside that thing." You'd sob, breaking down all over again. "Black was the last alive but he… He was gravely injured. I tried to save him too- I stitched the wound, I disinfected it, I wrapped it so tightly in bandages I thought I'd break his ribs. I even gave him the blood transfusion so why… Why did he have to die too and leave me alone?!" You shouted, your hands suddenly slamming onto the desk as you stood violently, your tears visible on the recording as they fell and hit the table now. You cried for what was another minute, just standing before the camera and letting it all wash over you in one big breakdown.

Eventually you'd lift your head back up, your eyes puffy and red, the streaks of tears cutting through the blood and grime that covered your face. "I'm not making it home… This… This ship is my death bed. I'll die here like the others, though I'll die slower. There's enough supplies for another couple weeks but I don't… I don't know how to pilot this ship- I don't know how to ensure the O2 levels stay where they should, how to make sure the reactor and engines run without issues." You'd vent, your hands curling into fists against the desk as you'd let out a small laugh.

"How ironic, right? The medic being the last alive… The person that should keep others alive is the sole survivor." You'd sniffle, moving a hand to rub at your eyes before you'd exhale shakily, reaching out for the camera. "This is Red, signing off for the last time."

The screen froze as you cut the recording and Simon could only stare at your face in the paused frame. In a way, you reminded him of himself; Stuck in a hunk of metal with what looked to be no way out. Sure, the ship probably had an autopilot feature that could get you back to wherever you belonged, but if you weren't trained on how to use it, it was pretty much useless. There were more riskes to pressing random buttons than there was to just sit and wait out your death.

"Simon! Simon you can take your helmet off!" Grace's voice broke him from his train of thought, running back into the room with his helmet now off and held within his hand. "That log was right- There's a whole lab that controls the oxygen on the ship and get this, right? There's live plants in there!" Grace began, his voice laced with excitement but it quickly fell short as he took in the grim look on Simon's face, his expression falling quick. "What happened? What did you find out?"

Simon moved his hand up to his helmet, disconnecting it from the suit and placed it aside on the desk as he exhaled the breath he didn't even realize he was holding but he quickly tensed as he caught the faint scent of blood, long since dried but still the copper smell present just enough for him to catch it.

"There was a monster on this ship. It took out the crew except for one- This… Red person." Simon began to explain as he turned to look at Grace whose eyes widened at his words.

"Then they might still be around here! Simon we gotta find them-" Grace spoke as he moved closer, having Simon step aside as he began to check over the recording dates for the logs, his face scrunching as he attempted to make sense of the timing. It took awhile but he eventually put it together; Lucky for them, their numbers seemed to be in English. A weird coincidence.

"Okay! Here-" Grace pointed at the screen towards the numbers of the last log Simon had watched. "This is about two or three days old- They might still be around here." Grace looked to Simon, his expression hardening. "We need to find them, perhaps they're still alive." He'd state, looking at Rocky who rolled his ball from side to side in excitement.

"Rescue mission? Question?" Rocky asked to which Grace nodded.

"Rescue mission, buddy."

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For once, after having boarded the Skeld to make your way back home, you felt at peace. You felt comfortable, warm, content.

'Something's wrong.' You immediately thought, your body slowly waking itself from the darkness that surrounded you. Slowly your eyes would open, a low hiss escaping you as you were greeted to the vivid whiteness of the room you resided in. You'd move an arm up to try and cover your eyes, but would quickly take notice of the IV tube sticking out of your arm with what looked to be medical tape secured to it to ensure it didn't fall out. Suddenly all your senses were awake as you stared at it with wide eyes; The last thing you recalled before you finally fell unconscious was sitting with your back against the panel in the reactor room, staring across the hall towards the security room as the low hum of the reactor behind you lulled you to a sleep your body so desperately craved. You'd quickly sit up, looking around the room quickly; You weren't on the Skeld, that much was certain. This wasn't it's med bay and it certainly wasn't back in Mira HQ, this was someplace different. You didn't have long to think about where you could possibly be before mechanic armatures dropped from the ceiling to aid you as if sensing your sudden awareness, but you were quick to shove it away from you with eyes narrowed. You needed to be cautious, after all.

"Don't touch me." You'd hiss, your body in a fight or flight mode now. You'd watch as the armatures moved away with your shove before remaining in their places, though they never seemed to look away from you. You'd look down at yourself, a small huff escaping you as you noticed more tubes and wires attached to you in various points. Whoever, or whatever, found you clearly attempted to patch you up, or perhaps it was the very arms that wanted to help you moments ago? Any previous injuries that you were unable to take care of on your own were now patched to some degree. The cuts and bruises that lined your arms from your encounters with the imposter were now hidden being tightly wrapped white bandages that had turned a faint pink color in some spots. You'd raise your hand to your head and just like your arms, you felt the lining of a bandage there as well. At this point, you honestly couldn't recall all the injuries you had sustained over the past couple of days, as it was all just a blur of colors to you.

However many injuries you did have though, they must've been taken care of by these robotic armatures. You did notice though that you still remained in your red space suit, though your once dirty and tattered undershirt had been replaced by a newer, freshly cleaned one. A little baggie, you noted, but still covering you completely. Did the arms do that for you? Or did whatever had taken you on board do it? A frown crossed your features at the thought before you'd huff once more and began to rip the cables and wires off your body, a small wince escaping you as you tore the IV from your arm before you'd swing your legs over the side of the bed. The arms would reach for you once more, a mechanical voice speaking.

"Body motion detected. Please, for your own safety, return to the medical bed." You'd roll your eyes as you stood up, a little shaky at first but you quickly gathered your senses and began to walk towards the entrance you had spotted while observing the room. You yourself were a medic, you knew your own limits better than anyone else. Though you supposed throughout the past couple of days you had been ignoring said limits, but you weren't about to let some robot take care of you when you could do so yourself. As you stepped out into the corridor, your gaze immediately landed on the window that looked out into space just to your left. You quickly moved over to it, pressing a hand against the coolness of the glass to try and peer outside; Was the Skeld nearby? Were you able to pinpoint where you were? Annoyance crossed your features as you didn't take notice of your ship anywhere, but you did notice the stars looked to be in the exact same positions as before when you were aboard your ship and would stand in the cafeteria to stare out at them. So if this ship didn't move from where the Skeld was stationed, where was the ship?

As your mind raced with questions, your attention was turned elsewhere as the echo of voices began to reach your ears. You'd turn your head behind you, eyes narrowed slightly down the corridor before you began to follow the voices cautiously.

"Grace you can't be serious about keeping them here. What if we run out of supplies? Or they try to kill us? What then?" A deep male voice spoke but was quickly cut off by another voice, also male.

"This ship was originally designed to house three people, we'd have more than enough supplies to get us to Erid if they wanted to come with! And I mean- I don't think they'd want to kill us… You watched all the video logs, they don't seem like the type to kill unless they absolutely needed too! They're a medic, after all." The second male would voice his opinion, his tone firm. So you were on a ship with two others, good to know. As you made a left turn to make your way down the next corridor, you quickly caught sight of another window. With caution thrown out the window, you quickly raced over to it to take another look outside. It was there you saw the Skeld, attached to what you could only assume was this ships airlock system. A sigh of relief escaped you before you'd glance back, hearing the voices once more. Behind you was another corridor, much shorter though, and what looked to be a lab was attached at the end of it.

You'd take note of the two males there, one with long darker hair and the other with short blonde hair, glasses hanging off of his face. What really took your interest? The creature in the glass ball that seemed to be looking directly at you.

"Grace, Simon-" The creature began to speak, though similar to the medical room you were in, it sounded automated.

"Not now Rocky." Simon (Or Grace, you didn't know who was who) spoke down to the creature without taking his gaze off the other human before him.

"Urgent! Very urgent! Statement!" The creature spoke again, but both men seemed to just ignore the creature as they continued their argument above him. How rude of them. You'd slowly move away from the window, making your way down the corridor to where they all stood. Rocky, you assumed it's name was given the one male mentioned it, began to roll in the ball, making a quick lap around the two to try and get their attention once more before it began to make it's way over to you.

"Simon! Grace!" Rocky called out again as it stopped just before you to try and properly get a look at you.

"What?!" Both men shouted in unison before turning to look at where Rocky had rolled off to, only for both of them to go silent and wide eyed as you stood there. You'd have crouched down to inspect the ball, your head tilted curiously at it's design. What looked to be glass panels were attached to every side of it, welded together with a thin seal of… Some type of element or metal, you weren't sure. You weren't the scientist of the group, that much was certain.

"Weird…" You'd speak before your gaze turned to the men and your heart all but stopped. You stared with wide eyes at the male with the dark hair; Half of his face, around his cheek area to be exact, were sharp jagged teeth that jutted out from what looked to be a wide scar across his face that branched out just above his nose. He was also missing his left arm, but that wasn't what made you so fearful. It was the teeth, almost looking exactly like those of the imposter that took over Yellow.

As if sensing your sudden fear, Grace quickly moved to stand in front of Simon, his hands held up in defense. "Wait wait wait- Don't freak out, okay? He's not as scary as he looks! I promise!" Grace began, unsure if you were even able to understand his language. Well, you did speak perfect English not even a second ago, so perhaps you did understand. Simon made a face as the fear crossed your features and turned his head away to hide that mutated side of him.

"Simon safe! Everything here safe! Statement!" Rocky spoke as he rolled around you as you stood to your feet, still looking a bit defensive; You had every right to be. You were taken from the comfort (if you even wanted to call it that anymore) of your own ship and were now surrounded by 2 strangers and a rock-like alien. If it wasn't for the lack of knowledge of the ship you were on, you would've bolted and attempted to find your way back to the Skeld. You'd keep your gaze on Simon for a moment longer before shifting your gaze to Grace, finally putting names to faces.

"Where am I? Why did you bring me here?" You'd begin your long list of questions to which Grace would relax a bit; Good, you were gonna trust them for the time being. He'd take that small bit of trust and run with it for as long as you'd let him.

"You're on the Hail Mary, a spaceship from the planet Earth. And I mean… You looked like you were dying on your own ship when we found you. You needed the help so we brought you back to get that help." He'd answer honestly, slowly lowering his hands. "Why don't you come and have a seat in the lab and we can talk…? I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask us and we have a couple we'd like to ask you as well. I'll get you something to eat too, you're probably starving."

You'd fall silent at that as you thought it over; You didn't have much of a choice to be fair and your stomach eventually gave your answer as it growled loudly. Simon would snort lightly upon hearing it and you'd huff quietly, moving your hands over your stomach as you glared down at it in annoyance. You supposed you did owe them your thanks for saving you, so it was only right that you answered whatever questions they had.

"Fine, but only because food is an option."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You'd sit at one of the lab tables, balancing yourself on the stool as you shoveled in whatever food Grace had given you. This was much different then the food on the Skeld and honestly? It tasted so much better and you didn't think you could return to what you originally ate on the ship.

"Okay so- First things first." Grace spoke as he paced the lab on the other side of the table you were currently sat at, Simon leaning against the counter on the opposite side with his hand gripping the edge of it as he also watched Grace pace around. Rocky remained seated nearby in his ball, though within view of everyone.

"We found the video logs on your ship and we know about your mission and… Parts of what happened to your crew. Our condolences, by the way." He'd offer, turning to look at you in which you'd give a small nod as 'thanks' as you continued to eat; By the way you were inhaling it, you obviously hadn't eaten in a couple days. "I guess the main thing we want to know is what attacked your crew? Were you able to figure out what it was? Is it a possible threat to the rest of us?" Grace finished as he stopped just beside Simon. You'd finish your meal, pushing the garbage aside into a small pile before you'd lean your arms on the table, looking between Simon and Grace with a content look now that you had been fed.

"I'm still not sure myself what it was if I'm being honest... It must've came from Polus, perhaps a parasite or maybe just an alien with shape-shifting abilities? Then again that wouldn't explain just how it knew Yellow's memories if it was a shape-shifter so I've started to lean more towards parasitic. Though without Yellow's body I'm not exactly able to confirm any of the theories I have…" You'd shrug lightly. "Unless you intend on going to the planet Polus, I don't see it being a threat to anyone here."

"Is your name actually Red?" Simon would ask next, causing Grace to give him a look like 'Are you serious?!' A small laugh would escape you, shaking your head lightly; Grace had informed you several times over (Rocky as well) that Simon wouldn't hurt you, that he wasn't like the monster that had killed your crew.

"No, my name isn't actually Red. When creating the crew for the mission, they grabbed crewmates from various parts of the planet. Some of us had names the others couldn't even pronounce, so they decided to have us go off the colors of our suits. It made things easier, in a way." You'd inform them, watching as Simon gave a slow nod and Grace raised an eyebrow in response; He supposed in a way it would make sense, I mean, who didn't know their colors?

"Anyway- My turn." You'd sit up a little more, leaning over the table to point directly at Rocky. "What's that?"

"Me?" Rocky would speak, slightly annoyed you'd refer to him as a 'that.' "I am Rocky!" He'd shout, starting to roll towards you until Grace stuck his leg out to stop him, picking up where Rocky had left off. "He's an Eridian, from the planet Erid. Which, actually, is where we were headed until we saw your ship just… Floating around in space." Grace spoke, nudging Rocky back with his foot. A small chuckle would escape Simon at the small altercation, even more so as Rocky would grumble something that the computer was unable to pick up on, rolling back to where he once sat to continue what could only be described as his pouting session.

"Erid?" You'd question, tilting your head before you'd frown. "Where are you even from then? Shouldn't you be going home?" You'd question, looking between Grace and Simon. Simon would make a face at your question, looking away a bit before Grace would clear his throat.

"It's uh- A rather complicated story… One that would take hours to explain." He'd begin, waving his hand as he made his way over to lean himself on the table you sat at. "Short story is he doesn't really have a home anymore." He'd point to Simon. "I don't have enough fuel to get home." He'd point to himself. "And he needs to return home to save his planet and we only have enough fuel to get there." He'd point to Rocky. Slowly you'd nod your head, a frown crossing your features.

"I see… I'm sorry for asking." You'd say as you sat back onto the stool. Grace would give a small shrug as he straightened back up. "Ah, don't worry about it. Not like I had anyone waitin' for me anyway. Though, that does bring me to my next question. What are you going to do now?" He'd question you, crossing his arms.

This question had caught you by surprise; What were you going to do now? You could return to Mira HQ, report your findings and then who knows what would happen from there. They'd probably put you in quarantine for awhile before dumping you into some lab to be watched and tested in case that imposter had, in fact, infected you. Perhaps after all that was said and done, you'd be forced to lead another team back to Polus to investigate those creatures further. In the end, you could only see yourself dying on that planet at the hands of another monster, where it'd take control of your own body to lure that new team to their own demise. You'd make a face at the thought, picking at the bandages that wrapped up your arms as more and more scenarios played out in your mind.

Simon would watch you closely, his head tilted ever so slightly. "You don't want to return to wherever you're from, do you?" He'd question, as if reading your very mind. Your eyes would widen as you looked at Simon, mouth slightly agape as if trying to come up with some reasoning to give him. "It's written all over your face, you know. You're afraid to go back, afraid they'll send you back into the same mess you were just in. I know that feeling, I was stuck in something similar." He'd inform you, a knowing look in his eyes. You didn't need to fully understand his story to just know he understood you. You'd hum lowly in response, looking down at the table.

"I'm… Sorry to hear that. And I'm sorry for judging you so quickly. After everything happened I really thought you were one of those things…" You'd apologize, watching as Simon simply shrugged it off before speaking. "It happens, don't worry about it."

Silence fell between the four of you, everyone had their eyes on you and what your decision would be. After some thinking, some serious thought on your end, you'd open your mouth to speak.

"I'd... I'd like to go with you to Erid. If you'll have me,that is. I have medical knowledge, maybe not as much as that machine in the other room but I can be useful!" You'd offer yourself up, looking between the two men with wide eyes. "Whatever supplies are on the Skeld are yours to take. There's food and water, though it's not as good as what you gave me earlier. Not to mention various medical supplies, lab equipment, there's even plants within the O2 lab we could bring aboard if you so wanted."

Simon and Grace would look at each other then down to Rocky, almost as if they were all silently having the conversation that would decide your very fate. You'd bite your lip, already getting antsy and trying to think of something else to offer up that would get them to accept you on board. You'd already offered the food and water, not to mention all the equipment on the ship, what else could you offer-

"Of course you can come with. Why wouldn't we take you along?" Grace would speak up, looking at you with a warm smile. You'd relax immediately into the seat, letting your head fall back for a moment. Similar to when you laid in that bed earlier, you felt at ease; You'd be away from the disaster that had been the past couple of weeks and start new, start somewhere fresh.

With that decision in mind, you'd work with them to gather the supplies you needed off the Skeld and onto the Hail Mary. You informed them of where certain supplies were, of what could be removed and brought with and what had to stay. Simon had knowledge of how to pilot ships, or at least that's what Grace had informed you of since he sorta became the pilot for the Hail Mary when needed, so you had requested he figure out a way to return the ship to Mira HQ. The least you could do was return it to them, along with the bodies of your deceased crewmates that resided within the medical bay. You refused to let Grace or Simon enter that room for that very reason. Only you would go in to retrieve the supplies and say your final goodbyes to the bodies of your crewmates. You'd apologize for not being able to save them and hoped that the stars that surrounded you took their souls and carried them into another world where they weren't subjected to such a terrible fate.

With everything now secured within the Hail Mary and the autopilot that Simon figured out set for departure within the next ten minutes, you sat within the communication room once more. You needed to record one last log, after all. You could hear Captain White already nagging at you to get it done and over with so you all could go about your day. You'd reach out towards the camera, pressing the button to turn it on. The familiar red light began to flash.

"Video Log twenty-five. Red reporting." You'd begin, just as you had so many times before as you adjusted how you sat within the chair. "This is actually the last log, not the previous one, obviously." You'd joke before delving into your final video log. "Thanks to a group of other survivors aboard another ship, I'm still alive and kicking. With that in mind though, I will not be returning to Mira HQ for a number of reasons that I refuse to list in this recording but if you watch the other logs, I'm sure you can piece it together very quickly." You'd inform the camera as if you were talking to researchers back in HQ.

Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms over your space suit and put your head back a small bit to stare up at the ceiling. "I've gone ahead and logged all the data needed from the mission to Polus and I've even recorded another video to inform you all of a possible parasitic alien residing on the planet that was the reason for everyone being killed. I advise you all not to return there, to abandon the planet all together, but I know how it all works. You'll take my warning and throw it aside until the same situation happens again, and again, and again." You'd sigh, shaking your head as you thought of what poor unfortunate souls would be sent there next.

"Regardless," you'd begin again, lowering your head to look at the flashing red dot upon the camera. "I'll be sending the Skeld back to you, though it's supplies have gone with me. Figured you'd all just toss them anyway once it returned in fear of them being infected so might as well put it to use somewhere else, am I right?" You'd stand from the seat, uncrossing your arms as you leaned forward with your hands on the desk. "Aboard the ship within the medical bay are the bodies of some of the crew, though not all are here. Please, return them to their families or loved ones so proper burial and cremations may be taken care of." With a low hum and some thought if you had missed anything else, you decided to wrap it up, you were running short on time and the Hail Mary and it's crew were waiting for you, after all.

"With all that said and done, I believe it's time for me to take my leave." You'd reach out, your hand hovering over the camera's record button. "Red, officially signing off, and good luck." You'd click it off. You'd move away from the computer after making sure the log saved and the computer turned off, leave the communication room, and make your way through the storage area one last time. You'd stop at the air lock, looking back into the ship once more, taking it all in once more just as you had done the day you boarded it.

"Red coming? Red should come over now. Ship take off soon. Will be stuck alone." Rocky called out from where he was positioned on the other side of the tunnel, gently rocking the ball he resided in as he eagerly awaited their newest companion.

"Y-Yeah you really should come over now-" Grace began, growing nervous as the time ticked down to when the ship would depart. "I'd really rather not get sucked out into space when we're so close to Erid all because we didn't close the airlock in time." Grace called out, a small laugh escaping as you as you'd turn and make your way across and into the Hail Mary where they all stood, Simon just on the other side of where Rocky was.

"Alright, alright. I'm comin." You'd speak, looking back as Grace closed the airlock and ensured it was properly sealed before he'd move away into the main portion of the ship. You'd move towards the nearest window and watched as the Skeld, not even two minutes after you had boarded the Hail Mary, powered itself on and without hesitation, turned itself 180 degrees and blasted off into space in the direction you could only assume the planet where Mira HQ resided in was at. You'd remain beside the window for some time, your eyes glued to the bright light of the ships large thrusters until they disappeared among the stars. With a low hum escaping you, you looked back over to Simon, Grace, and Rocky; These three individuals were now your newest crew, and like hell you'd fail them as you did those on the Skeld. Grace watched you with a warm smile, a hand on his hip while Simon's head was slightly tilted, an eyebrow raised as he expected you to say something or perhaps see what your next move was. Meanwhile, on the floor of the ship, Rocky seemed to be buzzing with excitement within his glass ball.

"So, to Erid then?"

[vigilantekisser]

the very injured caterpillar ⊹ ࣪ ˖🍃𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐛 ⋆ ۪

pairing: matt murdock x kindergarten teacher!reader

summary: “don’t worry, the kids have zero survival instincts. you’ll blend right in.” or: in an attempt to get your injured boyfriend to take it slow, you bring him in as the mystery reader for today's story time. (2.6k words of pure fluff + matt murdock with kids)

a/n: i don't know what got into me okay. am i ignoring kinktober for this? yes i am! (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

The morning light spills lazily across the bedroom, warm against the sheets where a very much not-resting Matt Murdock is trying to get up. One hand’s pressed to the bandage at his ribs; the other braces against the mattress, trembling with effort. 

“Matt,” you remind him. “You promised, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bares a grin. “What? I didn’t promise not to move.”

“I know that look.”

His lips press together. You catch the faint, guilty smirk that means he’s pushing you to your limits before you snap. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, coaxing, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Sit. Down.” 

Who knew the Teacher Voice would be effective even on vigilantes? The command hits him like muscle memory; he freezes and sits back down before his brain catches up. You fold your arms, shooting him a glare. “You’re not fine, Matt. You’re barely upright.”

He tries to shrug and immediately winces. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Try anything funny,” you say dryly, “and I’ll put you in time-out.” You suck in a breath. “Say it with me: ‘I am not going out.’”

“I am not going out.”

“‘I am not going to decide I am well enough for a ‘little walk’ when my girlfriend goes to work and then end up in an alley with a mugger and a new concussion.’”

“...It’s a little early for muggings, isn’t it?”

“Say it.”

Matt smiles impishly into the distance, seemingly not having heard you. You don’t know why he won’t just lie to you—hell, that’s what you’d do in his place—but all the better for it, you suppose. He turns his head toward your voice, those unfocused brown eyes catching the light just right, turning them to gold. “You really think you can keep me down all day?”

Okay. You want to stay angry, but that smile cracks through your irritation like sunlight through fog. You still remember the shaking in your hands when you stitched him up at two a.m., the heartbeat under your palms too shallow, like a spider’s fragile skittering.

“You know what,” you say. “Fine. Get dressed.”

His brow furrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re coming with me.” 

Matt blinks incredulously, like he’s sure he’s misheard. “With you?”

“Yeah,” you say, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. You jangle your keys. “C’mon. Get dressed, Mister, if that’s what you want so badly. You have”—you glance at the clock—“fifteen minutes before I leave without you.”

“You’re seriously taking me to school?”

“You bet.” You flash him your brightest smile. “Don’t worry, the kids have zero survival instincts. You’ll blend right in.”

You should clean up more. You know. Your classroom looks like something exploded in it—a mishmash of alphabet borders, crooked paper-chain rainbows, glitter perpetually embedded in the carpet. You’re both glad and saddened Matt can’t see just how much of a mess it is.

For the first hour, you stash Matt in the breakroom. This is partly to keep him from wandering, and partly to shield him from twenty high-decibel five-to-six-year-olds until caffeine has done its job. But it takes about three minutes for the other teachers to notice the mysterious man in the corner with the bandaged hands and movie-star jawline. They descend like curious pigeons, and within moments, he’s surrounded.

“So, you’re the lawyer?” asks Mrs. Kowalski, whose retirement countdown has been in progress since the Clinton administration.

“I am,” Matt answers smoothly.

“Do you work for one of those fancy firms?” another teacher asks. He’s leaning on the counter towards Matt like he’s in a rom-com coffee shop.

“Something like that,” Matt says, trying not to sound too much like he’s calculating the distance to the door by sound alone.

And then (inevitably) Mrs. Henderson, who once told you she “couldn’t be trusted to be left in a room alone with Ryan Gosling,” leans forward and says, “You’re not married, are you, handsome?”

The pause that follows could power the city grid. Matt’s head tips just slightly in your direction, as if to check whether this is some kind of prank. His mouth opens, closes, and then ever the gentleman, he clears his throat. “Uh… no, ma’am.”

Mrs. Henderson beams like she’s just won the lottery.

You sip your coffee and very generously decide that this is absolutely none of your business.

You come to collect him an hour later, and when you step into your classroom together, twenty pairs of eyes snap toward the door. 

“Friends,” you announce, your voice slipping into that vibrant brightness, “I brought someone new with me today. This is my friend, Mister Matt!”

A hush falls, followed immediately by chaos.

“He’s wearing a suit!”

“Is he famous?”

“Why you got sunglasses? It’s not even sunny!”

“He looks like he’s from the government.”

Matt’s mouth twitches. He raises a hand in a small wave. “Hi, everyone.”

You set a chair beside you, trying not to laugh as he navigates the forest of sneakers and rolling crayons. His cane rolls lightly against the carpet, a rhythmic sound that hushes them faster than your voice ever could.

“So,” you say, sitting on the rug, “today’s circle time is going to be a little special. Mister Matt is blind, which means he can’t see with his eyes”—you tap yours for emphasis—“the way we do. He’s going to tell us a little about what that’s like, and how he does things a little differently.”

Several hands shoot up at once.

“You can’t see anything? Like, nothing nothing?”

“Do you got a robot dog?”

“Do you watch Bluey?”

Matt takes it in stride, amused. “No, no robot dog—yet. And I can’t watch Bluey, but I can listen. I use my ears, my nose, my hands… and sometimes I just remember how things feel. Like how you know where your bed is when the lights are off.”

A collective “ohhh” sweeps through the group.

He lifts his cane lightly. “And this helps me find things in front of me so I don’t trip.”

“Like a hockey stick!”

He smiles. “Something like that.”

“Do you bump into stuff?” another asks.

“Only when the furniture sneaks up on me.”

Giggles ripple across the rug.

“How d’you eat spaghetti?”

“Very very carefully,” he says solemnly, which earns another round of laughter.

Then, a small voice asks, “But how can you read to us?”

You jump in, delighted. “Because, my friends, some books have braille. That’s a special kind of writing you can feel with your fingers.”

A chorus of little oooohs rises. You take the book from your bag—The Very Hungry Caterpillar. You had glued Braille labels on its pages one evening, just to test out Matt’s new label printer. You hold it up for effect. 

“See, you know how we use our eyes to look at letters—A, B, C? Well, braille has letters too! They’re made of tiny bumps you can touch instead of see. So people who can’t see with their eyes can still read stories and signs and labels and everything else.”

Matt tilts his head toward you, smiling fondly. He takes the book. “Ready to see if I can keep up with your reading level?”

“Think you can handle it?” you tease.

He runs his fingers over the thick paper, smirking. “I’ve handled hungrier clients.”

The kids gather close, cross-legged and fidgeting with excitement. Matt clears his throat, and when he starts to read, his voice seems to fill every corner of the room. Low and even, it’s rich with rhythm that makes every syllable and pause sound deliberate. Perfectly timed.

“In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf…”

You’ve heard him speak in his courtroom voice. You’ve heard him speak in the quiet drawl of late-night confessions. This is something else entirely. It almost sounds like poetry, his words slow and warm, like honey. The class falls silent, spellbound. Even the usually restless ones sit still with their eyes wide, breathing in sync with the story.

When he reaches the part where the caterpillar eats through the fruit, the kids finally join in, shouting out the fruits in chorus.

“One apple! Two pears! Three plums!”

Matt laughs softly, his shoulders shaking. It is real laughter, not the weary kind you’ve heard too often. It fills the little room like sunlight.

He reads on steadily, the lilt of his voice weaving through the children’s bright interruptions. (“He sounds like a nice Batman.” “Yeahhhh!”)

And when he closes the book at last, there’s a heartbeat of silence before the room erupts into cheers. Tiny hands clap wildly, mesmerized by the “magic trick” of Matt being able to read without seeing. Someone shouts, “Again!” and Matt chuckles under his breath, the faintest flush creeping up his neck.

Thankfully, snack time arrives before they can demand an encore. You set him up on a miniature plastic chair near the reading rug—ostensibly to “rest,” though you suspect that’s a lost cause. 

The moment you turn your back, the kids descend on him. They surround him like puppies, tugging at his sleeves, pressing crayon drawings into his hands, proudly narrating every squiggle. He listens to each one with his head tilted just so, offering gentle Oh, really?’s and That’s beautiful’s as he traces the surfaces of their paper with his fingers.

They also seem to enjoy dressing Matt up, for the sole reason that he “can’t see” (you suspect this is a premise to the natural conclusion of “therefore he can’t stop us.”) A tiny girl with pigtails climbs onto a chair and pins an apple hairclip on his head, her tongue sticking out in concentration. The room dissolves into giggling.

Matt adjusts it carefully. “Does it suit me?”

“Yeahhhh!” they shout, chortling so hard one nearly falls over.

You manage to herd them toward their snacks, but within seconds, Matt is surrounded again. Besieged by a crowd of tiny, sticky hands and juice boxes.

“Mister Matt, I can’t open mine!”

“Me too!”

“Do mines! Do mines!”

The chair Matt is sitting on seems seconds from collapse under his large body. His long legs are folded awkwardly; his elbows tucked in tight. His bandaged hands work slowly but surely, sliding straws into foil holes found by sound and touch. Each successful “pop!” earns an impressed “whoaaa” from his audience.

You stand by the wall, biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

Matt Murdock is a lawyer by day, vigilante by night, and now juice box technician by popular demand.

When playtime rolls around, you guide him outside to the bench beneath the brittle autumn sun. The air smells of mulch and crayons, and the playground is alive with motion: squeaking swings, sneakers pounding the pavement, shrieks of joy no jury on earth could silence.

Matt sits with his cane across his lap, head tilted up and listening to it all with a faint, meditative smile.

You join him after a round of pushing swings, handing him a coffee. His face softens instantly at the sound of your steps.

“So this is what you do every day.”

“This,” you sigh, gesturing toward the whole ruckus, “and reading the same book forty times a week.”

Matt chuckles. “This is incredible. I mean it.” He tilts his face toward you, the wind lifting a stray curl from his forehead. “It’s… peaceful here,” he says quietly. “I can hear their hearts, you know. All of them. They’re so... Light. Untangled. It’s nice.”

You don’t know how to answer that, so you just let your fingers drift until they find his, his hand curling over yours.

Then a little boy toddles up, wide-eyed, clutching something tight in his fist. His sneakers are squeaking with every step.

“Hi, Mister Matt,” he says shyly, shuffling his shoes.

Matt turns toward the voice, smiling. “Hey there, buddy.”

The boy squints, catching sight of the bandages peeking from Matt’s sleeve. “You hurt?”

“Hmm?”

“You hurt—your fingers?” he repeats, pointing earnestly.

It’s amazing how children can be so thoughtful and so observant, the way concern comes so naturally to them. 

“Oh,” Matt says, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, a little.”

The boy brightens immediately. “My daddy gets ouchies like that too!”

Matt’s brows lift, amused. You turn to him, smiling. “Matt, this is Charlie. Charlie’s dad is a boxer.”

His whole expression shifts: surprise, then delight. “A boxer, huh?”

Charlie nods, all confidence now. “Yup-yup!! He fights bad guys!”

Matt huffs an amused laugh. “That so? You know,” he leans in conspiratorially, “my dad was a boxer, too.”

Charlie’s eyes go huge. “Reallyyyy!! S’he good?”

“Pretty good, you could say that,” Matt says. “Is your daddy good?”

“Uh-huh!! He’s the toughest!” Charlie announces proudly, chin lifted. You murmur his dad’s name under your breath, and Matt nods in recognition. “Oh, I’ve heard of him. Tough guy,” he says with an OK sign—and Charlie practically glows at the praise.

Then, a little shyer again, Charlie opens his small hand. A single gold star sticker glints in his palm, bent at the corner from being clutched so tightly.

“Ummmm, this helps,” he explains. His voice has dropped into a whisper. “I give my daddy stickers when he gets hurt. S’makes him betters faster.”

Your heart squeezes. You crouch beside him and help him peel the backing loose where it’s stuck to itself. 

“All right?” you say gently.

Charlie grins up at you, gap-toothed, then turns back to Matt.  Carefully, with all the focus in the world, he presses the sticker onto Matt’s sleeve. It’s crooked, just above the cuff. “Feel betters, Mister Matt.”

Matt’s fingers lift, tracing the sticker’s bumpy edge, the faint adhesive tacky beneath his skin. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” he says, smiling. “I already do.”

Charlie beams. The job is done, and just like that—with a “‘Kayyyy! Bye!”—he takes off toward the monkey bars, yelling the whole time.

You glance at Matt. His fingers are still ghosting over the star, and the gold gleams against the dark wool of his jacket. 

By dismissal, he looks lighter than you’ve seen him in months. One of the kids has given him a crayon-colored card, all rainbow scribbles and shaky hearts, and he carries it tucked under his arm. It’s too valuable to fold into his coat.

On the train ride home, Matt sits with his head leaned toward the window, lit by the passing gold of evening.

“See?” you say, nudging his knee lightly. “Not so bad, right? They loved you.”

“Mm, they have good taste.”

You snort affectionately. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head. They’ll forget you by snack time on Monday.”

“Still,” he murmurs, his smile deepening. A pause settles between you, then he adds, “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Just had to make sure you didn’t make a break for the rooftops,” you say. “How’s the ribs?”

“Better. A lot better.” 

“Good. If you ever get hurt like that again, I’m dragging you straight back to my classroom.”

Matt chuckles, fingers finding the sticker. “I should get hurt more often, then,” he jokes, and you kick his shin so hard he lets out a yelp.

bonus:

By Monday, the week begins as usual. The shoes squeak, and tiny voices rise in overlapping chatter. You’ve barely settled when Charlie marches up to your desk, flashing you his famous gap-toothed smile, clutching a folded sheet of paper.

“This is for Mister Matt,” he says solemnly. “You gotta give it to him, please, thank you.”

You take it carefully, smoothing out the creases. The handwriting is large, wobbly and nearly illegible, done in thick black marker. They are the kind of letters written with a tongue peeking out in deep concentration, under the guidance of a well-meaning parent.

Dear Mister Matt, I hope your hands feels better. When I grow up I want to fight bad guys but only if they are mean to dogs. —Charlie

You laugh so hard you have to sit down. 

a/n: i love matt murdock (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) matt taglist! @mayal0pez @sixpossumsinaclownsuit

[izxz-is-deranged]

Baptism by Fire | Matt Murdock x BAU!Reader

Summary: You love your position at the BAU, but your life is uprooted when Hotch sends you on a temporary assignment to the FBI field office in New York. Apparently, someone had the bright idea to make a deal with a crime boss named Wilson Fisk, and now it's your job to build a profile to determine if the information he gives can be trusted. As you realize quickly things aren't as they seem, you must find a way to protect yourself- If protecting yourself has something to do with a masked vigilante... That's no fault of yours.

But this man, Matthew Murdock, has the uncanny ability to tell when you're lying. And that's dangerous for you, someone who's life is built on the sands of a buried past… So what happens when your assignment ends? How well can secrets stay secret when murder will always out?

multiple crossovers | slow burn

A/N: Starts about ep3 of S3 of Daredevil! Reader uses a fake name, and can be seen as an original character if desired. Future storylines may involve Reader's past coming back to haunt her (Supernatural) and the trials and tribulations of her day job (Criminal Minds)

< ao3 link > <Masterlist>

9: Not This Lucky

You swear the next time you lay eyes on Matt Murdock, you’re going to knock him clean out. 

There’s little pleasure in imagining the scenario however, as any future retaliatory actions would do little to get you off this roof now. Most agents would already be inside the apartment. There were maybe one or two standing outside the building on the street. You could easily avoid them, but there was no way you could tell or track whoever was waiting in the pitch tinted SUVs. It seems everything you touch these last couple days goes to hell in a hand basket, so you need to take the least risky route possible.

Right now, that is jumping to the next building over.

From there you could descend the stairs and exit out the back without being spotted. However, the closer you get to the gap, the wider it seems. Your hands begin to sweat looking at the 6 story drop. How the fuck do all these superheros just sprint across buildings? You’ve made jumps like this before, back in the academy during tests, but this was completely different. The looming threat of hard concrete catching you if you fail causes your heart to stutter more. In the best case scenario, it’ll be instant death.

During your anxious deliberation, voices rise from inside the apartment. Urgency clings to your back as you hear the door to the roof rattle. You had seconds before they got through.

Now or never. 

You skip backwards to get a running start, cursing under your breath as you clench your fists. The door shakes again as they prepare to barge through. Adrenaline surges in your legs, propelling you forward as you sprint towards the hungry gap. It approaches faster than you anticipate and before you can recognize, your body launches across with as much force as you can muster. All you register is a brief feeling of weightlessness, and then the hard impact of the roof against your legs. 

You roll forward, entire body shaking. The tactical landing aggravates your shoulder and you let out a hiss of pain. On the other rooftop, the door bangs open and agents spill out. In a panic, you scuffle towards an air duct to hide from their view.

The distinct clicks and noises of their gear, guns, and shuffling feet echo from the other roof. You hold your breath until you hear a chorus of “Clear!”. Your head thunks backwards against the metal behind you as your entire body relaxes in tentative relief. That was too goddamn close.

You wait until you’re sure all the agents went back inside, which feels like a small forever, before breaking into the building on this roof. Lock picking may not be proper form at the FBI, but Dean would’ve been proud your skills hadn’t disappeared completely. 

Everything is going smoothly, the door opens, nobody in the building spots or questions your frantic descent down the stairs, and you nonchalantly slip out of the back. Thinking you’re in the clear, you smile to yourself, but then you hear a familiar and frustrated woman’s voice.

“Let go of me. I can walk myself up.”

You glance around the alley corner, and see a flash of blonde. 

Fuck. Karen.

~

Your mind is back to racing, and before you think all the way through, you’re approaching the agents at the front of the building. They begin to protest, but quick flashes of your badge and a stern, “Where is Nadeem?” had them practically rolling out the red carpet. All you could think about was the fact that Fisk tried to have you and Matt killed, and now they had Karen alone. Who knows how many Agents would be ready to cover it up if they tried to kill her now? Maybe risking your life for someone you had met once was stupid, but you couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Walking into Matt’s apartment this time is surreal. The agents made quick work of searching and beginning to catalog the place, making memories of last night felt like a thousand years ago. Stumbling through with a bloody Matt, patching him up on the sofa… Him comforting you after your nightmare. It made your teeth clench in something between embarrassment and regret. 

Karen is speaking to Nadeem in the middle of the room as faceless agents mill about the room, dedicated to their own jobs. He spots you over her shoulder, confusion and surprise flashing across his face.

“Agent Singer–”

“Agent Nadeem,” You acknowledge, then turn quickly to Karen, “Are you okay?”

Her eyes widen, in what looks to you like relief. “What the hell is going on?” She urgently whispers.

This sparks a curious look from Nadeem, who shoves his hands into his pockets and squints. “I, uh, wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

“I came to Karen with some questions the other day. She was instrumental in helping build the profile for Fisk.”

Nadeem smiles at this, almost as a gotcha. “That would make sense, given she was a secretary for Matt Murdock, right Miss Page?”

“He never worked for Fisk,” she protests.

“Didn’t we just disprove that–?” Nadeem flashes some evidence bag. It looks like a sealed check.

You butt in. “Matthew Murdock? The lawyer that put Fisk behind bars?” You laugh at the absurdity. Nadeem’s smarter than this, even for the short amount of time you’d interacted with him you could tell that. “Why on god's green earth would he do that if he was getting a check from him?”

Nadeem huffs, clearly annoyed, and waves you forward. “Agent, a word.”

You glance at Karen, signaling for her to stand back. She appeared grateful to have someone on her side in this, so she doesn’t protest and lets you and Nadeem huddle to talk.

“What are you doing? I’m trying to question a suspect–”

“Suspect?” You huff. “You’ve got this all wrong–”

“–I’ve got it wrong? You disappear yesterday, miss your meeting with internal affairs, make up some story about a robbery, and then disrupt the progress I’m making–”

“In what? Searching for Matt Murdock?”

“Searching for a named fixer by Fisk himself,” Nadeem retorts, frustration only growing. “A possible murderer at that.”

“Maybe instead of looking for a ghost, you should pay attention to what Fisk is actually doing.”

Nadeem rolls his eyes. “You've been talking to Miss Page about her unsubstantiated claims that Fisk bought the hotel, then?”

Anger bubbles in your gut. You grit your teeth at him, lowering your voice to a whisper, trying not to let the other Agents hear. “Listen. It goes deeper than that. You want to know why I made up a story about being robbed? I was at the prison yesterday– The man who shanked Fisk? He’s freed. Fisk staged it, and he tried to kill me for figuring it out. He’s puppeteering it all, right under your nose.”

His eyes flick across your face, in a desperate attempt to tell whether or not you were lying. It didn’t matter what you said right now though, he stayed silent, letting instead his thoughts race behind his gaze.

You straighten, understanding the longer you stay here, the more likely you are to draw the attention of those in Fisk’s pocket. You relax, closing your eyes for one moment, before looking back to Nadeem. You raise your voice again. “I’m going to see Miss Page out– Unless she’s under arrest?”

“...No. Not at this time.”

You turn on your heel, making eye contact with the Thai leftovers spread out on the counter from last night, being photographed as evidence. Reaching out, you take Karen’s arm, and she follows your lead, breathing un-even and jagged. She must be pretty shaken up by this.

As you're walking away, her shaky voice whispers to you: “Want to explain why you’re wearing Matt’s sweater?”

~

Karen and you had to get somewhere secure before you could talk.

There was a tense cab ride to her apartment, the secure location per her own request. She was on the verge of tears the entire ride over, complete and total emotional dysregulation. You wondered if it was just her fear for her friend, and the pressure from the FBI, but something else nagged at you. You wondered if there was some other reason, something not having to do with Matt, because her nervous habits and demeanor reminded you an awful lot of all consuming guilt.

But at what?

As soon as you’re in the apartment and the door closes behind you, Karen paces into the room, spinning round and with shaky hands. She swallows a few times trying to level her breathing.

“What- Why- Just… What happened?” Her voice is desperate. “Is Matt okay?”

“Yes, he’s alive, he’s fine,” You start, glancing around her apartment nervously. It was cozier than Matt’s, with splotches of color. Green cabinets, a red table, blue shelves. A few piles of papers and recent printings of the bulletin on odd surfaces. An array of dirty coffee mugs litter the place, but besides this everything was quite organized. A contrast from the chaos of her office at the bulletin. 

“Singer,” She pulls you back to reality. 

“Sorry, uh… I was with him last night, after we escaped a prison riot–”

“What?”

You immediately break into the story, sparing little detail. Giving the profile, showing up at the prison, running into Matt, the nurse, the riot, the Albanians, the taxi driver, the stay at Matt’s. You have enough sense to leave out the moment last night where Matt comforted you after your nightmare. As soon as you think of it, you feel an odd sensation bloom in your stomach. Warmth, comfort, then you remember how he abandoned you this morning and it’s snuffed out like a match in the snow. 

You and Karen had moved to the kitchen island, and she leaned over it, hanging on each word you said as you sat on a barstool. She’d made you coffee, sliding it across the counter in a funky ceramic mug. It steams into you, the smell alone rejuvenating your sore body. Once you finally get to the end of it all, all she can muster is a mumbled: “Shit.”

“Yeah. I am definitely feeling it today,” you groan, “Shoulders knocked to hell.”

“God this… I don’t know. I can barely believe it.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” she snaps, frustration and powerlessness in her voice, “Fisk organizing his transfer, the FBI being compromised, you just stumbling onto Matt, then surviving a prison riot? And that’s what Matt’s been up to? Can’t call me or Foggy to let us know he’s alive but he can call and order Thai for…”

There’s an awkward moment of eye contact between you both as she trails off. 

You break the connection, opting to stare into your mug to hide your guilt. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you know he was okay. I was aware of how close you were and last night I should’ve–”

“No- No. I’m not mad at you, I barely know you. Matt’s the one who should know better. This… This is all just a lot to process.”

Nodding in agreement, you say, “I know, but if I can get to Jasper Evans this could all be over. If I can bring him to you quietly, let him make his statements to the press, then arrest him, it would force the FBI’s hand to re-incarcerate Fisk. You guys get back to your lives and I get back to mine. ”

“I…,” Karen flashes her watery eyes at you, bloodshot and full of apprehension, “I don’t… I don’t know if I can help.”

A quiet moment passes between you as you try to understand, and she nervously wipes her nose again, looking anywhere but you. Why on god’s green earth would someone who was so hell bent on catching Fisk suddenly back down? There’s definitely something she’s not being open about, you’re positive of it. This only started after pressure from the FBI, and the pieces began to fall into place.

“Karen… What do you not want the FBI to know?” 

She freezes in her tracks, a micro expression of fear drowning her. “What? I’m not…”

“You’ve been nervous since we left Matt’s. At first I thought it may have just been fear for your friend but you seem more angry at Matt than scared for him, so this feeling is coming from somewhere else. Typically, I’d say this guilt would be from working for Fisk but…,” You analyze her face, “That’s not true, is it? If it had been, you would’ve been shaken up when I visited you for the first time. So it’s something you’re afraid they’ll find now, or maybe they’re already close.”

Halfway through your speech Karen turned around to lean over the counter, back exposed to you. Her shoulders shake gently with the weight of her emotions. She does not answer you, but you know that you’re right. You stand up, and gingerly step over towards her. You place a comforting hand on her shoulder, touch light, like you were scared she’d shatter underneath you.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me. I believe people are entitled to their secrets, but whatever it is, you cannot let it interfere with this. If you want the FBI to go away, you have to make Fisk go away first.”

You feel the palpable shift towards relief you wont push her to talk, yet she still turns to you, shaking her head. “They’re only digging because of Matt.”

A deep breath escapes your mouth. Karen was right. Even if the FBI disappeared, the NYPD was still cooperating and searching for Matt as a suspect, which meant that to clear his name, he’d have to surrender along with Jasper Evans. As far as you knew, you were the only one so far to figure out he’s Daredevil. There was absolutely no reason for anyone else at the FBI to suspect that, so he would just be able to exonerate himself in regards to Fisk.

You hum. 

“I might have an idea… but, to be honest, Matt will probably hate it.”

~

Your checklist was simple:

Find Jasper Evans.

Bring him to Karen and the Bulletin

Let him give his statements before you arrest him.

Expose Fisk, the FBI, and somehow return back to your life with your job intact.

That was simple enough right? I mean, what could go wrong?

You hold your tongue.

As far as you were concerned, Matt’s surrender would be handled by Karen and their mutual friend Franklin, or “Foggy”, Nelson, who Karen went to go speak after you left her apartment. She wanted to go with you initially, but you still had duty as a federal agent to keep her out of harm's way. You had absolutely no idea how this could go with apprehending Evans, or how violent it may get.

His last known address was the first place you decided to search. It’s still listed at the primary residence of his son, and while reading his file, something told you he wouldn’t go far from his boy. You could tell from the dilapidated outside and the neighborhood the small duplex was nestled in, this is not the safest area. Luckily, the sun was still up to scare off anyone who works in shadow, but its rays do nothing to help with the seeping chill in your face and hands. Cold weather in New York was just different. 

The entrance was half boarded closed. You would’ve missed the door in the dark, yet this is obviously an intentional design. Once squeezing through, you enter into a darkened walkway. All the windows are covered and only a creeping red light guides you through the twists and turns. Smells akin to mildew, a middle school locker room, and a liquor store assault your senses, so you find yourself quickly breathing through your mouth. Eventually, your eyes adjust, and you see litter caked in grime piled on the corners of the floor. You take care not to get any on your shoes.

Through shelves and beaded curtains, you spot a lounging area, sparse with flattened pillows, dirt, and old musty rugs. A couple people strung out on god knows what lay about, and you realize this must’ve been turned into a crackhouse. While you never expected to be welcomed with open arms being a Fed, you quickly saw this going much farther south than you anticipated.

You think for a second too long and a scrawny young boy with mousy hair, maybe mid-teens, swivels around the corner. He faces you head on. Recognition floods through you.

“Who are you?” He asks with all the intimidation his cracked voice can muster.

“Elton Evans?” You ask, tone soft, “I’m just looking for your father.”

His eyes grow wide with panic, and he tries his best to hide it. “He ain’t here. Even if he was, I still don’t know who you are. You a cop?”

You can tell he’s lying, so you squint studying his face. Just then, an idea springs forth.

“I know he’s here,” You start, placing your hands in your jacket pockets, “I’m on official business for a certain powerful man, and we wouldn’t want to upset him. So I ask again… Where is your dad?”

Elton swallows, looking like a kid about to be reprimanded. “...Through to the front room.”

“Thank you,” you respond sincerely, even as Elton evades your eyes. Before you walk past him, you pull out your wallet, fishing out a 20 and handing it to him. He looks at you, confused, so you add, “Not for drugs, for food. Got it?”

He nods.

Walking through, you take care not to step on anybody. There’s still an ominous red light draped over everything, but there were candles and old lamps providing yellow contrast. You scanned the faces of those passed out or high, looking for familiarity. What you didn’t realize is: You weren’t about to find Evans, he was about to find you.

“You lookin’ for me?”

His voice echoes from behind you. He’s just as scrawny as his son, with deep set, angry and tired eyes, and all that nervous energy pours over you like a threat.

“Mr. Evans, I am–”

“Shut up. I don’t care who you are, what are you doing here?” His voice booms, stopping you in your tracks. Before you can answer, he barks orders at the junkies laying around. “Everyone out! Now!”

You start to speak again, “I’m with the FBI–”

Only to be drowned out: “I said everyone out!”

You knew the little control you had was gone. The people lounging around sobered enough to scatter out of the scene. Only a few men take up what you could only call defensive positions, including Elton. You were just about to go for the concealed gun holstered to your hip, before a man grabs your collar on your sweater from behind and yanks. Choking pain slams your throat and you instinctively throw your head back, catching him in the nose.

He stumbles backwards and you get your bearings. You turn so you can watch him and Evans, and just as you think they’re both about to rush you, a familiar black shadow drops into the scene.

Matt.

He grabs Evans, slinging him to the side like dead weight, and you take your chance to go after the man in front of you. You grab his shirt, two rapid punches solidly connecting with his already bruised nose. He curses through the blood on his teeth, but you don’t let up. Still holding his shirt, you sweep his legs out from beneath him so that he lands back first on the floor.

You can feel the air forcibly leave his lungs.

“Don’t get up,” you hiss through clenched teeth. As soon as you believe he won’t, you stand up, looking back at Matt. He already had Evans down, and kneeled beside him. His masked face is tilted at you in what could only be wariness.

Your eyes trace his almost silhouetted body. The last time you saw him like this, clad in black, you had no idea who was under the mask. He was just The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil, but now you see him, all of him. The lawyer, the orphan, the catholic, and the blind man. You can’t get the image of sewing his forehead closed while gently holding his face out of your mind, or worse, his soft expression illuminated by shifting color while he calmed you down from your nightmare.

All day you’d been reminded of that moment. That brief instance of domesticity and comfort, and you hated it. Hated the fact that someone who was practically a stranger to you could make you feel so calm and safe. Hated that he broke down your walls, then left you stranded.

So you were still pissed at him.

“You alright?” He rasps.

You shift on your feet, ignoring him. Your eyes drop to the unconscious Evans. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. “Did you kill him?”

“Does he look dead?”

“A little.”

Matt’s lips twitch upwards. “Well he’s not. No use to us dead.”

“Us?” Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, there’s an us again?”

He goes quiet, clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could tell Matt wasn’t the type of person to deal well with the confrontation of his mistakes, but you weren’t gonna let him off easy. You inhale, ready to argue, before you’re cut off as Matt stands and leans over to speak.

“It’s a good plan. Turning myself in-- I’ll do it.”

Your face contorts in confusion and surprise. “Did you talk to Karen?”

“Not exactly,” He shrugs, “I was, uh, on her roof listening.”

You go through a flood of emotions. You wonder how long he listened for, what all he heard. Karen had done some pretty vicious cursing of his name, and you practically joined in, but you know it came from a place of concern. However, all you say is, “That seems a bit stalkery.”

Matt shakes his head, begrudging amusement wafting off him. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to see if the FBI got to her too… Thank you, by the way, for taking care of her.”

You realize right then and there this is his way of apologizing. Agreeing to your plan, making amends, thanking you for helping his friend. Matt was an indirect sort of person it seemed, and you notice the regret he was carrying in his expression. The worst part of profiling Matt was the fact that analyzing his responses and emotions felt like looking in a mirror. You can’t guarantee that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have lashed out at the FBI agent standing next to you as the FBI searched your house. 

You shut your eyes, coming to terms with your anger and letting it fall away.

“She’s worried about you,” you breathe out, then gesture to him, “...Does she know about this?”

“Yeah. Her and Foggy.”

“Thought so. What are you gonna do if the rest of the FBI finds out?”

“Are you gonna tell them?” He says, voice low.

You can feel Matt’s attention, his senses, lock in on you, so you respond, quieter and sincere, “No. That’s your secret to tell.”

Matt’s silent for a few more moments, and you’re keenly aware of him listening to your heartbeat. Listening for the lie that will, thankfully, never come. You wonder what it’ll take for him to trust you. Trust you’re here to fight Fisk, that you won’t expose him. He already knows about you. Your name. Your past. (Sans hunting, of course) It’s mutually assured destruction; You hope he understands that.  If you tell his secret, he tells yours.

He accepts your answer.

“Alright,” Matt starts, straight back to business, “We can’t take his statement here. The FBI could say it was coerced.”

Eh. He isn’t wrong.

“I’ll text Karen, she could take him into the bulletin,” you say, immediately grabbing your phone to shoot off the text.

Matt nods, muttering out some “get ups” as he grabs Evans. Evans tries to fight, but is only shoved into a chair. Matt takes a deep breath. “Listen, you have two options. Option 1: My friend from the FBI here takes you straight in and Fisk has you killed before you know what happened. Or, Option 2: We have someone one her way from the Bulletin. You go with her, make a statement, this all goes away and you go back to prison alive.”

“I- I can’t…”

“Okay, cool. Option 1.” Matt reaches forwards, ready to manhandle him again.

Evans jumps back, raising his voice. “Wait, no! If I talk, Fisk kills my son!”

Your hand shoots out, stopping Matt to listen by grabbing his shoulder.

“Look at him,” Evans whimpers out, casting his eyes over to Elton, who was knocked out on the ground. “Look at this place. I grew up here-- We had a good life before the neighborhood went down and I got myself put away. I left my son without a father…And this is what he does with his life. If I go back inside, it won't be long until he's sharin' a cell with me or worse.”

“Mr. Evans,” you step forward, kneeling so that you are less threatening. This man will respond better to empathy than brute force. His care for his son tells you that. “The threats he’s put on your family, you have to know you aren’t the only ones. Fisk stays out, a lot more sons than your own are in danger. I am FBI. If you talk, if I help bring you in, I am on your side, I will get protective custody for you and your family. I swear, but you first have to tell the Bulletin.”

Evans, a broken and scared father at heart, finally nods, and an exhale leaves you. Well, that was step one finished. You glance over your shoulder at Matt, who seems to approve. Karen was on her way. Matt would have to get ready to surrender, and you’d have to pretend like none of this happened to keep your job. This was a careful juggling act, but you were managing. It was going well, very well actually, and you tried to push off the feeling of dread. 

You knew you were not this lucky. 

--

taglist <3: @groovycass @luvr-bunnyy @vioplay19 @rjodie181 @xoxabs88xox

Some people's name on the tag list changed, or it wouldn't let me tag you anymore! If you'd like to be added or updated just let me know :)

[bookshelf-dust]

late night with the devil

matt murdock x fem!reader

gif by @kamillahn

word count: 3,751

warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, i can’t think of anything else? literally fluff and some flirting

synopsis: you can’t quite understand how no one realized matt was daredevil. he can’t understand how you did.

a/n: hello, loves! this is the first matt fic i’ve written in like…3 years?? a fic for him was the very first fic i posted here, believe it or not. i’ve always thought it was so silly that the people closest to matt never recognized his voice or the bottom half of his face when they encounter him as daredevil, so this is my ode to that. i’ve overthought this one for too long so before i hate it completely, i’ll share it with you!!! enjoy your time with matty and let me know what you think <333

————

Foggy is trying to make a call. He can’t look at you because if he does, he’ll laugh, so instead he’s put himself in the corner, nose pressed to drywall. That only makes you and Karen laugh harder. 

He spins around and holds his pointer finger up over his lips, mouthing shush. His shoulders shake as he chuckles to himself. Karen keels over and knocks her head against yours, causing you both to groan in pain and clutch your foreheads, though this quickly morphs into more giggles. 

Foggy hangs up the phone and stumbles your way. “Dumbasses,” he mumbles, and then his foot catches on a wire running to the desktop computer and he falls; he just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees. 

Karen chokes on a laugh and begins to cough. “Shit, Kare!” you cry, patting her back a little too hard. 

“F-Foggy, are you alright?” Karen asks. You blink away tears and try to focus on his form. Your stomach hurts from cackling, and aside from Foggy busting his ass, you can’t even remember what set you off. It’s that kind of laughter. 

The doorbell tinkles and Matt steps into the office. You’re rubbing your teary eyes when you hear him fold his cane up with a snap snap click. He sets a hand on his hip and shifts his weight onto that same side. 

“What’s going on in here?” he questions, tone accusatory. 

Oh yeah, you think, all the drifting pieces in your mind clicking back together in one swift motion. You and Karen had been making fun of Matt and all his silly mannerisms. Foggy was arguing with you about the latest season of Doctor Who and along the way, Matt had come up. 

“There’s an episode of Doctor Who,” you’d explained to Karen, “where Sarah Jane and Rose are laughing about the Doctor’s quirks because he’s always done the same shit with his companions, like hugging the TARDIS or making a face when he concentrates.”

Karen seems to be on the same wavelength as you, shouting, “Look! He’s doing the sassy mom arm!” You snort. Karen practically sobs into your shoulder. 

Matt turns his head towards Foggy, asking the million dollar question with an arch of his brows. Foggy raises his hands in surrender, looking from you to his best friend. 

“Hey!” you cry, “You’re the one that brought it up!”

“You were making fun of me, Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy backs away, giving you a glare that says snitch. “I may have contributed, but they took it to this level! I don’t know what’s wrong with them!” 

Matt places a second hand on his hip and he looks so much like a disappointed mother that you can’t help chuckling one last time. It’s like being busted for having fun with your siblings and your parents think you’re fighting instead. 

Your hand falls to your stomach and you begin to rub at the ache there. Karen rises to her feet beside you. “I need some air,” she says, something in her voice that tells you she might break at even the slightest not-really-all-that-funny thing. She grabs Foggy’s elbow and drags him along with her, mumbling something about getting everyone coffee. 

Now alone, Matt turns his head towards you and raises his brow. 

“You know,” he says your name, “I’m not sure I should still take you out to dinner tonight after you’ve been picking on me with our coworkers.”

One corner of his lips ticks up just barely.

Matt hears the way you cross your arms over your chest, your blouse made of silk, or something akin to it. He hears your hair scratch against your skin when you shake your head at him. 

“We were just talking about how sassy you can be,” you say, matter-of-factly.

He pulls back, shifts his weight onto one foot again and gently places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You exhale a laugh. “You know, just the way you always look like an unhappy stay-at-home mom whose kids are up to no good. You put that hand on your hip and tell us to get back to work.”

“I do not,” he scoffs. 

You stand, straightening your skirt and walking the short distance to the kitchenette to place your empty mug in the sink. You choose to ignore his denialist approach.

“Mrs. Santiago called this morning and asked to move her appointment with you to Friday. Said her baby niece had a recital she just couldn’t miss. And Mr. Ritter called about the complex on third? I took a message and left the note on your desk.”

Matt blinks, whiplashed. “Uh, thank you. But—”

“I’m gonna walk down and mail these,” you tuck a pile of envelopes under your arm, “but I shouldn’t be long.” You make for the door, a grin stretching across your lips. 

Matt raises an arm in your direction, a similar smile on his face and a blush forming on his neck. “This conversation isn’t over!” he shouts. He listens to you giggle until you’ve cleared the hall and started down the stairs. 

————

You’ve known something was up with Matt Murdock for months. You’re one to mind your own business, not wiggle your way into the details of someone else’s life, but you’d have to completely lack basic observational skills to not notice the aura he drags alongside himself. 

When Karen put the “Page” in Nelson, Murdock & Page, they realized they no longer had someone to complete paralegal duties or manage the office. You met Karen shortly after she moved to Hell’s Kitchen, sharing a customer service job with her for a short time. She was venting to you over the phone one day, rambling about not receiving enough applicants—and the ones they did get, well they didn’t meet the credentials (and that’s considering the low bar Matt and Foggy set to begin with). You joked that you could do it, that it would probably be much more fun than your past nine-to-fives, and that was it. 

You were right—even when the workload is a bit overwhelming and you’re moments from cutting the phone line, the three of them make it worth it. You love your little found family. You’re not ashamed to admit that you’ve always found Matt attractive either. Maybe it’s partially why you’ve noticed when he has bruises on his neck and forearms, or maybe it’s just that noticing things like that feels like common sense to you. He might play it off with everyone else, say it’s from boxing or a vigorous one-night stand, but none of it ever adds up quite right. 

You never told Foggy or Karen about the morning he came in and you noticed the way his gait was off, like it was painful for him to walk normally. When your eyes blew wide because there was a thin line of blood seeping through the thick white fabric of his shirt. “Matt? You’re bleeding,” you’d said. You drowned out his excuses, focusing only on stretching butterfly strips across his skin, forcing a tube of Neosporin into his hands. Afterwards, while you were cleaning up, you had tried to think of actual reasons he’d be getting injured so often.

The thought rose to the forefront of your mind like it had been there for ages, eagerly waiting for you to give it attention.

Maybe he’s a vigilante. 

That’s silly, you’d told yourself. That’s just what’s all over the news, so that’s probably where the idea came from. But it didn’t feel like a joke, not the longer you sat with it. It felt like something you'd already known. Your body showed no signs of surprise. 

But it’s really none of your business, is it?

Now, you listen to the soft click your heels make as you walk along the pavement. You’ve always liked that sound. As a young girl, it made you feel so grown up and professional. 

Matt is supposed to meet you at this cute little dessert bar a few blocks from your place. Your veins buzz with excitement as you think about the alcoholic milkshake in your future, but also because you like spending time with him, even if tonight it’s mainly to catch up on some case-related stuff. It’s nice to be alone with him every now and then. 

You’re glad you wore your coat tonight with the way the gentle breeze nips at your exposed calves. You keep a close watch on your surroundings, not only for your safety, but because you enjoy seeing people do human things. Sometimes you need to remember that it still happens. 

There’s a huge line outside a steakhouse, so you cut down a short alleyway, one you’ve gone down hundreds of times, to get to your destination. The businesses on either side of you have hung string lights at the front of the gap, so the further you go into the alley, the darker it gets, right up until you make your way out of it. 

Halfway through, at the darkest part, you trip over something hard. You stumble, scraping your palm against brick when you reach out to catch yourself. The sound the object makes when it rolls across the ground tells you it’s metal. You fumble for your phone, wanting to shine a light on it and figure out what the hell it is. 

There’s a thud and a scratch and when your light flicks on, nothings there. Well, someone is there, but that’s not what you heard. Your gaze locks on a familiar mask. You’ve seen Daredevil on the news before, but you’ve never crossed paths with him. In fact, this is only your second encounter with someone “super.” Spider-man helped you pick up your things one night when some asshole bumped into you and kept on going. This guy, though you know he is no danger to you, feels more intimidating than Spider-man did. 

“Are you okay?” his voice grabs your attention as you shove your phone back in your bag and begin looking at your palm. 

“Yeah,” you manage. “No blood, just some dirt. What the hell was that thing I tripped on?”

He taps his thigh. You squint. “What even is that? A baton? Are you also in the colorguard?”

The man laughs. It’s a warm sound. Almost familiar. 

“The technical name is a billy club. But yeah, baton works too.” 

“How did it end up down here, waiting for me to bust my ass?” There’s that laugh again. 

“Must’ve fallen out of the holster. I didn’t realize it was loose until…”

“Until I almost broke my neck.”

“That seems a little exaggerated.”

You stay silent for a moment and study him. His hands are on his hips, clad in the same red fabric as the rest of him. Though maybe fabric is too gentle of a word. Armor is probably more like it. The lenses on his mask glint in the light from between the storefronts. You feel like you should be questioning why he didn’t just make his escape, why he’s entertaining a conversation with you. You opt for a different approach. 

“How come you’re out here? This is a pretty safe part of the city. Unless there’s something I don’t know about.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just uh, a busy night. Sometimes I sit and keep watch, make sure everything’s as it should be, y’know?”

“Like a gargoyle?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You sit up there,” you pause and point vaguely towards the sky, “and keep watch, like a gargoyle.” 

He laughs a third time. “I suppose you could say that.”

A chill runs through your body. Maybe it’s not a chill. It’s more like recognition. I know that laugh, you think. You decide to drag this on, give yourself a moment to listen even closer. You smile at him, but don’t supply any more words. You glance down at your watch. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, and then you know. It’s Matt. 

You know his voice, god, you feel stupid! You should’ve realized it the moment he spoke. He might be using that silly little deep Batman-like twinge, but without a doubt, that’s Matt Murdock. 

“Hm?” You decide to humor him. “Oh, yeah. Right now actually. I’m getting dinner with a friend. Don’t wanna be late. I’d hate to be that person, you know?”

You leave the alleyway without giving him time to answer. You wonder if he knows that you know. If you’ll be able to keep it together during dinner with him—assuming he gets there soon, heeding your warning. 

But if you’re really honest with yourself, you just want to know if you’re the first one to figure it out. If not, well that’s just not as fun, but you’ll definitely be proud of yourself and still hand his ass to him for as long as you both shall live. 

————

Dinner goes well. It might be a little demented, but you’re in a better mood after crossing paths with Daredevil. It helps you understand Matt more, makes conversation with him easier. Other than a sweaty brow, there’s nothing on his face showing that he understood your discovery, or alluding to the fact that he’d been out moments before he sat down at the table with you.

You fill up a mug with coffee, adding a little cream and then leaning up against the window sill in the office. You’re the first one there today, Karen having called to say she’d overslept, Foggy having stayed the night at Marci’s…which always means he’ll be late the next day. As for Matt, you can only assume he went back out after he left you at your doorstep last night. 

Your heels click against the hardwoods as you walk towards your desk, firing up the monitor and getting your email pulled up. You switch on a couple of the fans, hoping they’ll keep it from getting sweltering in here so early in the day. There might be an A/C unit in the office, but if you look at it wrong you’ll be paying for it. Literally. 

You decide to straighten up a little, picking up here and there, tying up cords so no one trips. You’ve settled down, nursing your second cup of coffee and responding to a few inquiring emails when you hear the familiar tap tap of Matt’s cane coming down the hall. The door rattles a little in its frame when he shuts it behind him. 

“Good morning,” Matt says.

“Morning,” you respond. “Coffee’s on.”

You glance up, eyes dragging over his form. His dress pants hug his thighs almost unfairly, causing your mind to draw up images of thick, corded muscle. You blink. He folds up his cane and sets it on the table beside the door. There’s a small bruise on the bridge of his nose. You only notice it when he fidgets with his glasses, which sit lower as if to hide it. Or because positioning them directly over the bruise hurts.

A comment he made recently about fast hands flickers through your thoughts. It makes you smile.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he says, startling you. Did he hear you grin?

“Hm?” You sign off an email and click send. “I’m hopped up on coffee.”

Matt breathes his laughter into his mug. “Should I be worried?” 

“Guess we’ll find out,” you chuckle. 

You both stay silent for a few minutes, you tapping away at the last of your emails, Matt drinking all of his coffee in one go and immediately filling it back up. You update the firm’s shared calendar with changes to the appointment log and add notes regarding the things clients wish to stress during their visits and who might be the best fit to work with them. 

You’re lazily looking at the weather when you hear a grunt from Matt. He’s bent over the table, one hand on his keyboard, the other on his hip. 

“You okay, Matt?”

He inclines his head toward you but doesn’t fully face you. “Hm? Yeah, just uh…”

You don’t know what compels you to say the words that next leave your mouth, but you don’t regret them once they’re out either. The look on Matt’s face is priceless. 

“Late night with the devil?” 

Matt hears the smile in your voice, the change in your heartbeat, and he knows you know.

At that moment, Foggy comes in the door with a glazed donut in his mouth. He holds it open for Karen, who gracefully balances two boxes of donuts in one hand and her hefty purse in the other. 

Matt is still reeling when you say, “Are those the sharing size, Ms. Page? Or are you gonna house twenty-four, sorry, twenty-three, donuts all by yourself? Not that I’d blame you, or judge you for doing so.”

Karen laughs lightly. “Any other day, I’d keep them to myself. But you’re more than welcome to however many you like.” You compliment her cute skirt and then she parts to fire up her laptop and pull out some of the folding chairs. You’re drawing a finger through the air, vaguely imitating a claw machine as you choose a donut. It nearly falls out of your hand when you’re pulled out into the hall. “Matt!”

He pins you up against the far wall in the hallway outside the office and says your name, a stern lilt to his voice, a weird smile on his face like he’s on the verge of…something?

You lift your arm around where his hand is planted on your waist to take a bite of your donut. You know what you’ve done, and frankly, you find it quite funny. You smile into your treat.

He says your name again like you’re in trouble. “Wh-why—what do you know?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know, Matthew, what do I know?” 

He smiles without the glee and huffs a laugh at you. “I really…could we not play the sarcasm game? Why did you say that to me?”

You take another bite of donut and pat him on the cheek. He is mere inches from your face. 

“Maybe because that voice isn’t as unrecognizable as you think, Mr. Murdock.”

You watch as his mouth falls open just slightly, like he’s fumbling for the right words. His arms have shifted so that they now rest on the wall either side of you. You finish off your donut, waiting for him to do whatever it is he’s going to do. 

“Last night you…you just knew it was me because of my voice?” 

“Mhm. We’re together five, sometimes six, days a week. I hear you talk more than I hear myself think, Matt. It took a minute, but you laughed and I recognized it.”

His brows rise and then fall back down, knitting together. He’s kind of touched that his laugh was the thing to do it for you. But he’s still in shock. “No one’s ever recognized me before.” 

A smile spreads across your face. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually.”

Matt can’t help himself, he laughs. “You’re funny,” he says, before going quiet for a moment. You wait for him to start up again. “Are you sure you’re not just fucking with me? D-did Foggy or Karen tell you? Just my voice—I don’t get it.”

“If it weren’t for your voice, I still would’ve figured it out. I can see the entire bottom half of your face, you do realize that?”

He doesn’t say anything. You’ve stumped him. 

You begin to move away, attempting to flatten yourself and slither between him and the wall. He grabs hold of your wrist. 

“You…I—”

The door opens. “What’s going on out here you two?” Foggy projects his voice, but his tone lacks seriousness. That is, until he sees Matt gripping your wrist. His eyebrows shoot up. You take your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m in trouble,” you say, darting back inside the office. The group of you gathers around the little lobby. 

“Why were you interrogating her?” Foggy asks, crossing his arms. Karen crosses her arms too. 

Matt clears his throat. “Um…it’s nothing, I—”

Your gaze flicks back and forth between Karen and Foggy’s. “I figured out that Matt is Daredevil and he’s being weird about it.”

Foggy guffaws. “You what?” 

“She said it was my laugh,” Matt pipes up. “That she recognized my voice. We ran into each other and she’s claiming that’s all it took.”

“Jesus,” Karen laughs. She says your name, a smile on her face. “He’s probably mad because he and Foggy practically broke up when Foggy found out.”

“Okay, well that’s—” Matt says.

“He was being a dick.” Foggy states. “He deserved it, trust me.” 

“Did you guys kiss and make up?” you ask, giggling to yourself. That comment starts a little spat between the boys, but it quickly shifts so that Karen and Foggy are openly arguing about Matt being a pain in the ass and complaining about how he chose (or failed) to reveal his identity to them. You take the chance and slip away. 

Your hands close around your empty coffee mug and you pad back to the kitchenette. Matt’s on you though, not letting up that easily, apparently. 

He leans against the doorway as you prepare another cup for yourself. “It’s just mind-boggling to me that my laugh gave me away,” he says. “And if I’m honest, that’s kind of an intimate thing to recognize, wouldn’t you say?” He says your name.

You snort into your coffee. “Are you trying to flirt with me right now, Mr. Murdock?”

“Rather I’m just implying that you pay quite a bit of attention to me. You know, since you’ve memorized my laughter and all.”

“Oh, like I have a crush on you or something?”

“You could say that. Is that, in fact, what’s happening here?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Matty.” 

He catches your waist gently on your way out of the small room. “So, if I were to ask you out to dinner, you’d say no?”

“We just had dinner together, Matt. You’d have to clarify. Would this be a romantic dinner, in contrast to our usual work-related dinners?”

He puts one hand on his hip and your eyes light up. “You’re right. That’s an error on my part. Would you like to go out for a romantic dinner?”

“Sure, Matty. But only if you’ll put the suit on for me after.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner by @steph-speaks

[milfsisyphus]

stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

the best fanfic is the one the author had fun writing actually.

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

the second best is the one the author used to work through some issues.

[izxz-is-deranged]

Baptism by Fire | Matt Murdock x BAU!Reader

Summary: You love your position at the BAU, but your life is uprooted when Hotch sends you on a temporary assignment to the FBI field office in New York. Apparently, someone had the bright idea to make a deal with a crime boss named Wilson Fisk, and now it's your job to build a profile to determine if the information he gives can be trusted. As you realize quickly things aren't as they seem, you must find a way to protect yourself- If protecting yourself has something to do with a masked vigilante... That's no fault of yours.

But this man, Matthew Murdock, has the uncanny ability to tell when you're lying. And that's dangerous for you, someone who's life is built on the sands of a buried past… So what happens when your assignment ends? How well can secrets stay secret when murder will always out?

multiple crossovers | slow burn

A/N: Starts about ep3 of S3 of Daredevil! Reader uses a fake name, and can be seen as an original character if desired. Future storylines may involve Reader's past coming back to haunt her (Supernatural) and the trials and tribulations of her day job (Criminal Minds)

< ao3 link > <Masterlist>

8: Doors That Can't Close

You stare at yourself in Matt’s bathroom mirror. Sometimes, you don’t recognize this version of you. This professional, FBI profiler and not the scrappy teenager you never truly grew out of. You see her echoes today, in the split near your brow that was now pinned closed with a butterfly bandage and the aching bruises in your shoulder. You’ve looked worse, to be fair. She has looked worse.

Your shirt had been ruined by the prison riot. Splotches of blood in varying sizes stain it. Shame. It was one of your nicer ones. You toss it in the bin in the bathroom. Your pants had been almost unscathed by the events, (Thankfully, they were a dark color, you couldn’t see any stains on them) but if you pulled them to your nose, the faint, stinging smell of tear gas laced the fabric.

The bareness of yourself looks back at you in the mirror. On the left side of your rib cage, hidden by almost every outfit you wore, was an anti-possession tattoo. You got it when you were freshly 18, because, as Bobby put it, “No Demon’s wearing you, kid. I won’t let it happen.” So you trade out the charm bracelet for the ink. You trail your fingers over it for a second, outlining the five points of the star encased in the simplified ring of fire. Sometimes, you forget it’s there. Its protection silent, like it was constantly waiting to be of use again. To you, it didn’t just ward off demon possession, it was a sign of a past that was covered by the facade of your new life.

Matt had been kind enough to give you some sweater to change into. It’s a rusty maroon and must’ve been some sort of cashmere. As you slip it over your head, the softness of it cradles your exhaustion, as the crash from all the adrenaline earlier finally hits you. You’d been in fight or flight mode since the prison, and that didn’t fully dissipate until you stood alone in the quiet, unfamiliar bathroom allowing you to finally feel the effects of your injuries. Dull pain throbs just under where that paperweight connected in your brow, resulting in a growing headache. Your vision swims as you move. You steady yourself by holding onto the sink.

You take a deep, shuddering breath. You used to be a menace about stealing clothes. Raiding the flannel wardrobes of Sam and Dean when they’d visit, trying desperately to match into that life by mirroring them. But they never quite fit, did they? You slowed as you grew, only snaking a couple old love’s shirts during the brief stints you dated in college. The last time you’d worn someone else’s clothes, it had been Morgan’s sweatshirt. A particularly nasty case resulted in you ruining your jacket with corpse water during the dead of winter. All you remember was how strong Morgan’s cologne was, it was almost unbearable— Like it clung to the very atoms of the garment.

It’s odd to you, how quickly comforting the feel of Matt’s sweater was. It wasn’t overpowering like Morgan’s, or too large and ratty like the pill-balled flannels of the past… It sat somewhere just right. And if you didn’t mind saying, you thought it suited you, looking in the mirror. Perhaps you’d forget to return it.

Your phone rings, startling you out of your thoughts. 

Shit . It’s Nadeem.

You compose yourself, flicking through all manner of lies you were about to spout. You told him you’d be back by now. He couldn’t be in the pocket of Fisk, you imagine if he knew about the prison he’d never bother to call again. You tap the answer button.

“Hello?” You croak, realizing how raspy your voice had become from the yelling earlier. It echoes around the small bathroom.

“Singer- Where the hell are you? You’ve been gone for hours. Internal Affairs is here, they’re ready to interview Fisk.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

“I- Uh… I got… mugged.” You swallow. Not terrible. It’s actually believable, which is a relief. It’s a good excuse for your beat-up face.

“What? Seriously ? In broad daylight?” Suddenly, all manner of frustration disappears from his voice and is replaced with urgent concern. “Are you alright? Are you at a police station? Hospital?”

You look at the surrounding bathroom. “Just about to leave the police station. I’m fine, really. I put up a fight anyway. Idiot ran off when he realized I was a Fed.”

Nadeem accepts it so quickly as truth. He’s so trusting for an Agent. It’s probably why Fisk sought him out in the first place. “What a warm welcome to the city, Christ,” He says, taking a deep breath, “Okay. Just– Take your time. I’ll let the other Agents know you’re delayed. You don’t have to come back today if you don’t want to.”

You appreciate the sentiment, even though it wasn’t in your plans to return to the hotel yet. Part of you, the vindictive side, wants to show back up just to taunt Fisk. Look him in the eyes and give him a telepathic: Haha, you tried motherfucker. It wasn’t smart, though. It would be an unnecessary risk to throw yourself back into his path right now. You didn’t get this far being reckless. 

“Thank you, Nadeem,” You breath out. 

You disconnect the call and exit the bathroom. 

Matt is up, and changed into an old green hoodie and sweats. He’s standing in the kitchen, and was just swallowing a painkiller by the look of it. On his face now sat a cheap looking pair of black sunglasses. It obscures his eyes, blocking off a portion of his face. You tilt your head, realizing he’d been missing glasses all day. You wonder why he decided to put them back on now.

“Nice shades,” you comment.

“You can’t go back to the Presidential Hotel. As soon as you step through the doors Fisk will finish the job,” He says bluntly, leaning forward on the counter and ignoring your comment.

“You heard that?” Shit, his ears are sensitive. You realize you basically have no privacy in his presence. “That’s kinda creepy.”

“Where are you staying?”

You sigh deeply, “...The Presidential Hotel.”

Even from across the apartment, you watch his jaw tighten. He wipes his face, obviously frustrated. “ Of course you are ,” He mutters, before walking out of the kitchen. Matt’s light with his steps, and he’s still trying to hide the pain he’s in. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll find Evans tomorrow.”

“I can still go out today. It’s not too late in the afternoon,” you argue. You’d already shot a message to Garcia and she’d sent you a sizable file on the man. There’s still daylight, and there will be for another couple hours. “Why waste time?”

“Because you’re crashing from earlier and the effects of that concussion are starting to hit. If you want to be up and walking tomorrow, you’d rest now.” Matt speaks so confidently, you’re about to take his words at face value.

“I have a concussion?” You ask, brow furrowing. It made sense, you hadn’t even considered the possibility yet. It explains the dizziness behind your eyes you’ve been intent on ignoring, but you were more curious how he figured it out. 

Taking the hint, he explains, “There’s heat behind the cut in your eyebrow, pain and swelling near the bone. Your heart rate has also dropped, and your footsteps are unsteadier.”

A bewildered and impressed look crosses your face. “You’d make a killing as a doctor, you know that?”

Matt shrugs. “You can have the bed. I recommend getting off your feet sooner rather than later. There’s no food here but there’s a Thai place on the corner that delivers.” He turns away from you, back to the kitchen, leaving you to your own devices.

There was still plenty of time to go check into a new hotel. You don’t have to take him up on staying here. Then the thought crosses your mind… you probably are safer with the blind vigilante, especially with his super senses. If anyone came after either of you, he’d know well before it was too late. 

You have to admit, this is an odd situation to be in. Matthew Murdock yesterday was just a name on a file, and now, if you wanted to stay alive, you were pretty much tethered to him. He also just happened to be the vigilante you fought last night, and it all seemed like some sort of cosmic coincidence. He’d said, not even 30 minutes earlier, that you didn’t have to talk. That you weren’t friends. The less you knew about each other the better. You’d been inclined to agree, except for the itching curiosity at the back of your mind. You want to dig into his head, his motivations, how he became Daredevil. He pretty much brushed it under the rug when you mentioned it, but then again, you’d done the same about your name. 

“You think loudly,” Matt calls out, and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed by it.

“Don’t tell me you can hear that too,” You chide, placing your hands on your hips.

“No, but you tap your fingers when you’re lost in thought.” 

Jesus. You take back what you said about him killing it as a doctor, imagine him working as a profiler .

“At least sit down if you’re gonna let your mind wander,” He says, shaking his head. 

As soon as you start to move towards the couch, your vision blurs again. Fuck. He’s not kidding about the concussion. You drop down and your world slows its spin as soon as you lean back on the cushions, closing your eyes. You’ve had a concussion twice in your life, one you got as a child when you fell out of a tree and once in your teens after following Dean on a hunt. Bobby had banned you from tagging along well before that, but that didn’t stop your rebellious streak. After you came home, blood running down your face, Bobby put you on lore duty for a month.

Suddenly, you hear something set on the coffee table. You crack open your eyes and see Matt setting down a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. 

“Oh… Thank you,” you say with genuine surprise at the gesture.

“Don’t mention it,” He mumbles in response. 

You lean forward, gratefully treating yourself to a tablet and a large swallow of water.

“What’s on your mind?” Matt asks, and you note the false nonchalance. He’s lingering beside the couch, attention trained on you. You squint, and your face breaks out into a crooked, vindicated smile. He is just as curious about you as you are about him. 

“What’s on yours?” You counter, wondering if he’ll take the bait. Matt hesitates, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure how to answer. You take a shot in the dark: “...You’re still thinking about my name, aren’t you?”

 He looks away, trying to stop from opening the conversation, but he can’t help himself. “Can’t blame me, can you? You lie about it, but it’s the name the FBI knows you by.”

“It is my legal name,” You respond, “By that I mean, the name I have on all my documents.”

“But it’s not your real name,” Matt says, pointer finger gesturing. There’s that lawyer side. This version of him you can imagine cross examining witnesses on the stand.

“If by that you mean my birth name… Then no. It’s not,” you admit slowly. You inhale, pushing away the internal feeling of betrayal. The only people who still referred to you by it, your real name , were Bobby, Dean, and Sam. Everyone else on earth called you Wren Singer, and you’re fine with that. 

It’s not like you’re going to tell him your real name. It already feels like exposing a wound just admitting Matt caught you in the lie. It’s too much of a slippery slope- If he knew, if that information left you, it could find its way back to the BAU. You didn’t think Matt would be the type to expose your secret, he did a pretty good job of concealing his. It didn’t matter though, the danger was there anyways. It was nerve wracking, exhausting. The constant vigilance, the censoring your stories, and you all knew it was a facade that could be dismantled as simply as saying your name.

“Why change it?” He asks, leaning forward with his eyebrows knit together. 

You weren’t going to do this. You couldn’t dredge it all up. Your past self was buried under tragedy and loss. Nothing was worth risking what you have now for the catharsis of talking about it.

“It’s a… long story, Mr. Murdock,” you finally say, but you add one more thing, “Maybe someday I’ll tell it, but not tonight.”

Matt nods, cocking his head understandingly. You could tell he’s disappointed, but he brushes it off. It’s like he’s not sure what to do with someone in his space, like a pendulum swinging from dismissive indifference to genuine interest in your presence. 

“Typically I’m on a first name basis with people by the time they sleep in my bed and steal my clothes.”

It’s a loaded comment, both about the mystery surrounding your name and the fact you hadn’t stopped referring to him as ‘Mr. Murdock’. It was just a habit to refer to people with pleasantries, and by all accounts, he was still a stranger. You can’t help but flush at his tone: slightly teasing, slightly coy, and delivered with the self satisfied rumble of his voice. Slowly, you’re coming to realize Matt might be a bit of a flirt . Even if earlier he used his talents earlier to lead you into a false sense of security, you’re quick to chew your lip to fight back a smile. 

It’s not that Matt isn’t handsome— That, unfortunately, is the real problem with this. He’s dangerously handsome, and he knows it too. The dark stubble over his jaw, the way his lips curl up to form his grin, and the sunglasses like deep, black holes absorbing the room around him (Even if they weren’t the usual pair you’d seen in the file photos. The red ones, the principle itself suited him). Not even mentioning his broad shoulders and wide, strong hands… He’s like somebody handcrafted a man to fit into the niche of your type.

Any other time and place, any other way you would’ve met him, you would’ve flirted back. Hell, even initiated it yourself.  But now? Trauma bonding from prison escapes and planning how to evade mob bosses didn’t leave room in your mind to entertain the possibility of romance— Just survival. Not to mention, there was an intensity to Matt which made you hesitate. That’s not something you’re sure you could handle.

“You can call me Matt, you know,” He adds after the long period of silence, before stepping back towards the kitchen. “Figure it’d make it easier. Since we’re… helping each other.”

Well… It was just his first name, right? What was the harm?

“Alright… Matt ,” you chime as you test the way his name rolls off your tongue.

“And you are?”

You let out a snort of laughter. “ Real slick .”

The rest of the day was slow, but you couldn’t help but notice the delicate dance you both created around actual, meaningful subjects. Things you weren’t ready to talk about. Plus, it gave you both ample opportunity to plan a path forward, despite your growing weariness. Eventually, after a hearty Thai meal and dancing around personal pasts and feelings, you crashed on his bed.

Your dreams were filled with memories you’d rather forget.

~

How long had you been sitting at the police station? It all felt unreal. They picked you up at the motel you were staying at, and if your mother hadn’t drilled it into you to not trust them with anything, you would’ve called the cops yourself two days ago when she didn’t come back. It had already reached the news, and all the sounds muddled together with words your pre-teen mind couldn’t wrap your head around… Words you didn’t want to believe. 

Serial Killer. It’s now 12 victims. Her body was recovered by the river. Yeah, that’s her daughter. Such a shame, really.

You called out, as you always do in this memory: “ ... Bobby?"

Through the abundance of people, you finally recognized his familiar face. He was, at that point, just a family friend who your mom would drop you with sometimes, typically when she didn’t want you close to the hunt she was on. He still wore a faded trucker hat and ratty vest, something he never lost, though he had less gray in his beard than the present day. Relief flooded through you, and you barrel towards him to be engulfed in a hug, which you’d never done before that point.

“ Woah , hey kid,” He sighed, gingerly wrapping his arms around you. He stood in silence with you for a few moments before daring to talk. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t shy away from crying. You couldn’t. Thick, hot tears spilled from your eyes. No one looked twice at you in the police station when it happened. After all, you were still a child, and your mom was gone.

“ It wasn’t even a monster, Bobby. It wasn’t even a monster ,” You repeated through sobs. 

The dream shifted, and Bobby slowly disappeared from your grasp. You blinked and a different scene played out before you. You remembered this too; It hadn’t even been much later that day. You sat at a dingy old table in the police station, with a solemn looking man staring back at you. He’d been more put together than Bobby, but around the same age, and he was sliding an unfolded FBI badge towards you. Jason Gideon, it read. You’d miss the chance to work with him professionally, but he was the one who inspired you to pursue the BAU. It’s for the best you don’t meet him again, he’d remember you. You know it.

“See?” He said, pointing at the credentials, voice soft. “I work for something entirely different. I specialize in finding the type of man who hurt your Mother. Now, I need you to close your eyes. Picture, for me, the last time you saw her…”

He’d walked you through what you now know as a cognitive interview. You’ve conducted a dozen of them yourself now, but the dream begins to slip. All that replays is the final time you left that police station. The slow walk out, clung to Bobby’s arm. The blur of the people, all faded memories at this point, except for the twisted face of the man who walks in at the same time, passing you like a car on the opposite side of the highway.

They arrested him for the murders later that day, but here he was just a “concerned citizen”. He’s in slow motion in this dream, a smile spreading like rancid mold across his face. Your breathing becomes rapid. He won’t leave. The moment won’t move. You can’t escape this. He felt your Mom’s life leave her body and you’ll never forget his grin. He enjoyed that. Then he enjoyed seeing your grief. He took your mother from you and you couldn’t stop it. Your Mom’s voice echoes: Powerless. Powerless. Powerless.

You burst from the dream gasping for air, and your eyes fly open to an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar hand touching your shoulder. You shove it off as quick as you can, struggling up in the sheets. It’s near dark, save for the neon of a billboard outside the window, and everything comes rushing back to you, quelling your panic, like turning on the lights in a shadowed basement. Matt. Riot. Fisk.

“ Hey, hey, hey– You’re okay.” Matt’s voice is barely above a whisper. His hand holds out at you, palm forward, like you are a wild animal in need of calming. “ You were having a nightmare.”

“ Matt? ” You’re out of breath and your heartbeat is in your ears. You can only imagine what it sounds like to him. “ Sorry… I’m sorry. ”

You’re not even sure why you’re apologizing, it’s you who's having the nightmare. Maybe it’s for waking him, maybe it’s for nearly punching him as you woke, or maybe it’s for the inconvenience of the horrors you picture when you close your own eyes. You didn’t exactly want to burden anyone else with it. 

“What time is it?” You croak at last, sitting up slightly.

“Past three. I should’ve been waking you up periodically to check on your concussion anyways,” He says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He turns his head to you, tilting it slightly. “But the swelling is down, and you seem fine… From what I can tell.”

Matt says the last part like he knows there's so, so much that’s tangled in your soul. You take a few more deep breaths, opting to stare at the wardrobe in the corner instead of his hunched figure.

“...Do you want to talk about it?” The words are slow, and test the waters. When you don’t answer initially, he continues. “I used to get nightmares too. When I was young, not long after my Dad died. They never truly went away. Not… not really,” His voice trails into something distant and he blinks a few times. “All I’m saying is… We see a lot of the same. Violent crimes, the worst of humanity... It leaves an effect.”

You swallow as a delicately small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “That’s a long winded way of saying you understand.”

He laughs softly, sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark. It’s a strangely domestic scene and you find yourself longing for more of it in your life… but there’s no way. Homey relationships and deep talks don’t mix with ex-hunter FBI agents who are living lies. But… Maybe he was right about understanding. This was someone who also leads a double life, harbors secrets soaked in blood, and while you were pretty sure he knew nothing about the supernatural, he had lost his father at a young age. Not in a completely dissimilar way to how you lost your mother, either. 

Matt is outlined by the glowing colors of the billboard through the cracks in the window. It’s like seeing him in a different light. One that guides you out of the walls you built, just for this moment.

“My Mom was… murdered, when I was a preteen. She was the last in a long string of serial killings in South Dakota by a man named Waylon Hanson. She was number 12. The final victim.” You inhale sharply and pull your knees to your chest. “The dreams are… just reliving bits of it.”

Matt straightens as well, tilting himself back and turning his full attention to you once he realized what was happening. 

“They caught him two days later. Two days. If the local police had been just a bit faster, just a bit better at their job- She’d be alive ,” you practically hiss. Your voice is the only sound besides the odd car outside and the hum of the air conditioning. You go quiet again, tone low and laden with emotion. “ That’s why I changed my name. I knew I wanted to go into the FBI then, to prevent that loss from happening to others. Hunt the men who killed. I just… I don’t want to be defined by it. I couldn’t be that little girl anymore.”

When Matt finally talks his voice is soft, gentler than it had been all day. He whispers, “I’m sorry.” In it, you hear the empathy. The recognition. Two hurt children seeing themselves in the other.

You sniffle. “Not your fault. Nobody’s but the man who killed her.”

Matt’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “Why’d you choose Wren Singer?”

“Well… Singer comes from the man who took me in. He was a close friend of my Mom’s… Pretty much raised me, even though I know it scared the hell out of him.” A bleary eyed fondness begins to replace the grief. You smile wistfully. “And Wren… They were my mom’s favorite bird. Used to say, if she had another daughter, she’d name her Wren ‘cause she liked them so much. So when I reinvented myself, went to college to study criminal psychology, joined the FBI… I thought maybe I’d become it… The daughter that could’ve saved her.”

Matt leans over, nudging your shoulder with his. “I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”

The phrase knocks the wind out of your lungs. You swallow back the tears, opting instead to nod. You then think and sputter out, voice weak, “I nodded. Can you tell that? I’m trying to get a handle of what you know and don’t.”

He smiles wryly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You look back at Matt and add one more thing. “It’s funny… Guess you became that as well, right? The thing that could’ve saved your Dad… I bet he’d be proud of you too.”

Matt nods slowly, but unlike you, you could tell he didn’t believe it.

~

You wake up when the diffused sun pours through the windows, last night clouded like a faded dream. Had you really spilled your heart to Matt? What was wrong with you?

Your head still dully aches, but you pull yourself up anyways. Judging by the amount of light it had to be like seven in the morning. Placing your feet squarely on the floor, you stretch, which helps right the shoulder that tanked your beating in the riot. On the edge of the bed, lay your clothes from yesterday (Minus the stained shirt), clean. Matt must’ve washed them last night, and you smile to yourself at the action.

After you dress, the steps you take out of the room are soft and ginger. As you slide the door open, you’re met with the sight of Matt asleep on the couch. He is curled on himself, like a cat that’s tucked all its paws under their body. You half expect him to wake up, wondering if his senses alert him while he’s asleep, but he stays still, chest rising and falling in a mesmerizing, rhythmic pattern. You watch him for a few moments, not long enough to be creepy of course, just long enough to appreciate how non-threatening he seemed here.

You debate waking him, but instead opt for putting back on your shoes and preparing yourself. Today was going to be about finding Jasper Evans. Matt and you had agreed one of the only courses of action would be to give his and your testimony to the Bulletin, to Karen, since there was no way of knowing who in the FBI was compromised. Public outcry could force their hand to move Fisk back into prison, where he belongs. 

You’d been sitting at the table, slipping on your boots when Matt suddenly shot up on the couch. His head tilts around wildly, and he stands faster than you can speak.

“What–”

“ Shh ,” he hisses.

You comply, watching him like he was a bomb waiting to explode. It’s dead quiet in the apartment for a little less than five seconds.

“We have to go. Agents are coming up the stairs.”

“ What? ”

Matt springs into action, grabbing his glasses off the table and shoes from the floor. “Move. Move, ” he demands, sprinting for the staircase to the roof. 

“Hold on!” You jump from your seat, and quickly think of snagging your bloody shirt from the bin in the bathroom. Last thing you needed was forensic evidence you were here. 

“ Hurry up!” Matt holds the door to the roof open as you fly up the stairs, coat flapping behind you, and you stumble into the cool morning light. Your eyes adjust slowly to the sudden shift and Matt closes the door as gingerly as possible before yanking you off to the side. You crouch next to him on the roof.

It doesn’t take super senses to hear the crash inside the apartment of the door being busted open or the shouts of “FBI!” echoing out of the apartment.

Slowly, they dwindle down. You can’t hear anymore, but it’s obvious Matt can. The glasses were hiding his eyes, yet still you could see the way his brows furrowed together and the slight shifts of his head. Your breathing is ragged and your head screams from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. The biting wind keeps you alert as thoughts race through your mind. Why the hell were they here?

Matt’s face suddenly contorts in confusion. He mouths a few things to himself. Then mutters, “They… They just put a BOLO out on me. NYPD is advised that I’m armed and dangerous.” 

“ You ?” You whisper in bewilderment, keeping your voice down.

“Did you do this?” He demands, breathing hitching. Anger bubbles to the surface at the mere thought.

“No! Of course not! Why would I?”

“Well, they haven’t said a word about you. Just me . And that’s your pal Nadeem in there.” His voice morphs into a harsh whisper. 

“I’m not lying . I thought you could tell that!” You urge, panic slipping through. 

Matt shakes his head, lip curling. He gestures between you two. “This- This was a bad idea. You should’ve packed and ran last night. I can find Evans on my own.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He scoffs bitterly. “Obviously that working with you brings more attention than it’s worth, Agent .”

Matt stands and turns from you, shoulders tight. You remember viscerally comparing him to a mouse trap, and now you’re caught on the bitter end of it. His change of heart claws at you, words cutting deeper than you’d ever expect. Your head’s spinning, being put on the back foot like this. He is too, though. The intrusion downstairs made him feel like a cornered animal, and he’s taking it out on you. You can intellectualize that, but that doesn’t keep your own offense from biting.

“This isn’t my fault , Matt. You can’t blame me for this,” You blurt at him, desperate to defend yourself. “If I wanted to have you arrested I could’ve done it myself yesterday. ”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to be safe with me, and it seems I’m not safe with you either, sweetheart. The only way for you to stay alive now is to leave New York.” 

The sudden callousness wafts off him in droves. Your face burns in embarrassment, but before you can criticize him for casting you aside when you’re no longer convenient, he’s diving for the next rooftop over. He throws the ratty green hood over his head to conceal his identity, and quickly becomes a disappearing blur on the skyline.

You clench your fists and angrily throw the bloody shirt you are clutching to the floor. “... Shit! ”

taglist <3: @echo-dreams-of-recs @juskonutoh @groovycass @luvr-bunnyy @vioplay19 @rjodie181 @xoxabs88xox

[izxz-is-deranged]

Hey if you're waiting for a Baptism by Fire update, just know, I feel absolutely evil about the contents of next chapter. Full pacing around my room while doing the final edits and such. Good luck.

[izxz-is-deranged]

Half Agony, Half Hope

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (Regency AU)

Summary: You do not care for men. Most pursue you for the fortune they will inherit if you marry. But there was one, selfless Devil who saved you, and you could not easily forget his charms. Your Aunt and Uncle Ellison, however, beg for your realism in finding a suitable partner. At a Ball one evening, you cross paths with a Mr. Murdock. Could he be the fix for your situation? Or, perhaps, another devilish trick?

regency specific yearning | limited series

< ao3 link >

A/N: Spring is turning to summer and I have been re-reading Jane Austen Novels. Please enjoy this limited series, 5 installments are planned and written and will be uploaded as they are edited and polished! The name is also a reference to Persuasion, and there are references littered all through from various Austen novels. <3

MASTERLIST 1: The Happenstance of a Ball 2: Fogwell's Fantastical Fair 3: The Devil's Doing 4: Persuasion 5: To Allow Yourself to Hope

<3 If you'd like to join the taglist, drop a comment! <3

[izxz-is-deranged]

Half Agony, Half Hope

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You do not care for men. Most pursue you for the fortune they will inherit if you marry. But there was one, selfless Devil who saved you, and you could not easily forget his charms. Your Aunt and Uncle Ellison, however, beg for your realism in finding a suitable partner. At a Ball one evening, you cross paths with a Mr. Murdock. Could he be the fix for your situation? Or, perhaps, another devilish trick?

regency specific yearning | limited series

< ao3 link > < masterlist >

A/N: Spring is turning to summer and I have been re-reading Jane Austen Novels. Please enjoy this limited series, 5 installments are planned and written and will be uploaded as they are edited and polished!The name is also a reference to Persuasion, and there are references littered all through from various Austen novels. <3

1: The Happenstance of a Ball

To be the talk of the town was never a good thing.

No matter the subject, venomous women shared quick whispers in the shadowed corners of parties, and those would go on to spread to the loud, air-headed men downing their drinks, without such a care for the damage a reputation can give. And though a fortnight had come and gone since your rescue from the robber, people had not let matter come to rest. The tales of the encounter followed you wherever you dare set foot, and to all their respect, you had not yet had the fortune to dispel your own memories of the event.

Or, perhaps, the memories of a certain masked man.

You’ve lain in your bed awake, staring through the window into the deep night, simply replaying the scene. The ruffian who grabbed you, who tried to pull you to the alley. The fear you felt rip through you when you couldn’t escape, but then, like a spitfire of divine justice, a man clad in black tore him off you. You barely had time to register what had happened before your assailant was sprawled unconscious against the cobblestone.

“Can you stand?” The masked man asked, voice low.

He offered a hand wrapped in dark fabric towards you, gently, juxtaposed to how that same hand drew blood from the nose of the wicked. You worried he was some other highwayman, or some gentleman thief who was here to claim the other man’s bounty as his own, but that seemed to not be the case. Your heartbeat drowned out the noise of the town at night, as your eyes took in the broad figure of the masked man above you. By all accounts he was scandalously dressed without the wrapped black of the mask that was pulled taught over the top half of his face. Tall boots, tight pants, and a loose, black shirt with no waistcoat nor jacket to cover it, instead only a sash across his hips securing two wooden batons. 

Despite yourself, and the strangeness of your rescuer, you took his hand. He hoisted you from the floor, swifter than you had fallen. You can’t help but gasp at motion, but it settled as a single, nervous laugh. In the dim light of the alley, you swear you see him smile.

“ Find the constable, tell him what has happened here ,” he commanded, as he began to disappear into the night.

“ Wait, sir! Am I not to know the name or see the face of the man that has saved my life and honor? ” you blurted out, your words folding over themselves before you can think.

He paused, head tilted over his shoulder. “ I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to your fantasies .”

Oh, if only you could tell him how apt that comment turned out to be.

Word spread quick of the story, and the rumor of your hero moreso. Inkings in the paper only tried to capture the likeness of the masked man terrorizing the underbelly of the city. You’d analyzed them carefully, but found that they didn’t quite paint him in the same light you remember, even still, you had taken to tucking them into the drawer of your bed stand. They had begun to refer to him as a “Devil Amongst Men”, on account of his damning punishments of criminals and thieves, yet none had been killed. It puzzled the media, and the men around, as they were both quick to draw on their prey.

“It is strange they refer to him as a Devil. He would not be called but an Angel if I had anything to say about it,” You said, eyes glancing over the latest paper. 

You were sat down for tea in the drawing room with your Aunt Lily. Your parents had passed while you were still a babe and you were sent to be raised by your cousins, The Ellisons. Their own son had been married and gone 3 years since, and while they treated you as their own (You even had their last name at this point), you couldn’t inherit your family’s fortune until you were married. A problem your Aunt Lily made it her mission to solve. By some manner of coincidence, your Uncle, Mitchell Ellison, was the owner of the Bulletin, the daily local paper. After the attack, he’d printed the story the very next morning, but hadn’t taken your heroic perspective into account, just the fact a masked man had you cornered in an alley.

“Perhaps you should recount the tale again to your Uncle. I’m sure he would be swayed this time,” Aunt Lily teased, smiling as she occupied her fingers with the needle point.

“He won’t hear of it,” you muttered as annoyance creeped in. 

“Well, I have an excellent distraction, if you’d allow me to take your mind off it.” Her voice quirked upwards. A glance that could not be more mischievous was sent your way and you found yourself raising an eyebrow.

“What are you scheming?”

“Not me, my dear, the Wesleys. Apparently, they are holding a last minute Ball to announce the marriage of some family friend of theirs. Their estate is quite large and the fanfare might attract more… suitable men, instead of your vigilante.”

“By suitable men you mean rich?” You knowingly smiled at your Aunt and her predictability. “Even should I go, the shadow of him would follow me. Polite society is quite taken with him at the moment and I’d be a spectacle… again. The Damsel saved by the Devil, they call me.”

“But you will go, will you not?” She leaned forward, setting her needle point down just long enough to push the matter as she waited for your answer.

You deeply sigh. “Yes, yes, of course. Perhaps he’ll arrive to whisk me out of the madness.”

But your words are filled with a false annoyance, you loved the happenstance of a Ball. The dresses, the wine and revelry, the music and dancing. Being out in society gave you the opportunity to dance with many men, but none had caught your eye for any special attention. You’d sworn off marriage unless it was a match born out of only the deepest love, but your Aunt and Uncle begged for your realism. A part of you was beginning to believe that you should listen to them, but the thoughts were quelled by your love of the Devil. Though your infatuation wasn’t really love, was it? Gratefulness? Sure. A childlike crush on the dashing hero? Possibly. However, a distraction by the unattainable? Most definitely.

The coming days were spent preparing yourself– Your dress, planning your desired hair style. Your Uncle had gifted you a gorgeous white gown with golden trimmings and matching ribbon to tie around it. You knew it cost a smidge more than he would normally spend, so you were quite aware how much they believed in you to find a suiter at this Ball.

When the day arrived, your friend, Miss Marci Stahl, nearly paraded herself through your house with fever. The earth might have shaken the day she found out you were both attending. Her dress was an almost garish spring green, and not your taste in the slightest, but it did flatter her bold personality. She stood behind you, styling your hair and weaving in baby’s breath flowers as you sat in front of the vanity. Marci had been telling you all about a gentleman she had met who she was expecting to see again tonight.

“Oh, but he was quite clever, and had such boisterous humor! With one of those sweet faces, quite like an excited dog.” Marci laughed at her own words.

“That cannot be a compliment, Marci,” you mused, fiddling with the edge of the vanity.

“But it is– When you meet him, you’ll understand me perfectly.”

“What was his name again?”

“Mr. Franklin Nelson. Though his friend referred to him without break as ‘Foggy’; It seemed to be some nickname of sorts,” she explained. 

“ Foggy…, ” you repeat. “Odd. I wonder how it came about.”

“Who are we to speculate? But if your curiosity is too strong, you can ask him tonight. I tell you to keep in mind that I am the one seeking his favor, so save your charms.”

You laughed wildly, eyes sparkling. “Keep your gentleman! I have no intention of undermining your efforts, Marci. I wouldn’t dare betray your confidence like that.”

Marci stilled your head, positioning you to look at yourself in the mirror. “Oh, but you wouldn’t have to do so much but look at a man the right way and he’d be moon-eyed. The most eligible gentlemen seek you out at every event. It–”

“– It is no secret that they are to receive a good fortune if they marry me. That is why they insist upon the chase,” you interrupted as you met her eyes in the mirror, “I do not trust the heart of any man I meet. I fear that is my folly and why I will end up a penniless spinster.”

Marci scrunched her face in disapproval, but there is no malice behind the action. She leaned down and whispers, “ Yet, you are infatuated by the Devil you don’t know. ”

You lit up in flustered amusement and you waved her back vigorously. “Dear Marci, please! I cannot take teasing over it.”

“How can I not?” Marci questioned. She finished your hair and retrieved her gloves from where they were laid out across a chair. Her own silver blonde hair in delicate ringlets dropped around her face. They bounced as she began to speak again. “I fear you are in love with an idea.”

“I am in love with the fact that he was the only man not to disappoint me. He did nothing short of save my life. I do not know 100 men as brave as he was at that moment, and he did it without witness or reward.” You found yourself explaining as you fixed your drop-pearl earrings. 

A deep sigh escapes her and she places her hands on her hips. “You have not considered the other possibility.”

“Which is?” you ask, turning around to face her.

“That he did it not out of the goodness of his heart– But a want for violence.”

Ever the one for deep insight, Marci’s words echoed your entire journey to the Wesley Estate. You'd been so starry eyed you hadn’t entertained the idea of your hero having any ulterior motive. It felt all too possible, especially with the other encounters documented in the papers. What did it matter though? What was your real possibility of seeing him ever again? Your thoughts swirled, keeping you preoccupied from your family in the carriage. Marci had accompanied you all, and she sat pristine beside you with your Aunt and Uncle across from you, who had taken notice of your mental absence. 

“Is your head with you?” he asked, squinting at you over the half-moon glasses set on his nose. While his tone may be cold to others, you knew him well enough that it was his concern bleeding through. “You seem lost. Are you quite well?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry, Uncle,” you muttered in reply.

“Now, now, Mr. Ellison. I’m sure she’s just dreaming of the splendor we’ll encounter tonight, correct?” Aunt Lily posed. She gently rocked back and forth with the sway of the carriage, her eyes watching you intently, as if she could read and judge your thoughts for her own.

“I was just–”

Marci injected– “My! I’d never seen such a handsome house!”

A large brick and stone building grew in size as you approached in the carriage. Yours was one of many pulling into the property, signified by the gentle displacement of gravel and the woody hooves of horses. A long, green yard with a gorgeous lake sprawls out in front of it, the starlight dancing on the soft ripples created by the night wind. Men and women dressed in their very best poured into the building like pinpricks of color against golden fabric. Voices and music rose through the air, muffled only by the walls of the estate, but the excitement seeped out of the doors and windows and any other cracks it could find.

Your carriage came to a halt, and you and your family exited. Marci strided forward, and your Aunt and Uncle took each other's arms to walk in together. You trailed behind, but only by a few paces, eyes consuming the scene in your wake. As soon as you were through the doors, you were enamored by the people, laughing and delicately speaking to round out the familial mood. Your smile grew wider as you let the music seep to your ears. The ceilings stretched above you, detailed with pastels and gold filigree. You’d already lost Marci amongst the crowd, and you surged forward to catch your Aunt and Uncle before they disappeared as well.

You caught Aunt Lily’s shoulder. “I definitely believe I’ve encountered the splendor! Who heads this estate again?”

“Sir James Wesley, a Baronet. Though, I don’t believe he will make an appearance tonight. Word is that he is the private type and only tolerates the company of a few,” she replied by dropping her voice to a hushed whisper so that the people beside did not hear.

“A spectacularly rich man who does not bother to attend his own engagements? Is he eligible?” You joked.

“I’m afraid you’ll find Mr. Wesley to be a permanent bachelor.” Your Uncle comments and you understand immediately. The constant reward of being in the newspaper industry was that your uncle always had information about everyone. Well, almost everyone. “Where has Miss Stahl run to?”

You glance around. Even in her bright green, she could not be seen in this room and must’ve been deeper into the house. “I’m not sure. Probably seeking out her Mr. Nelson.”

“ There’s a Mr. Nelson? ” A gasp escapes Aunt Lily’s face brightens at the prospect. 

You laughed. “As far as I am aware. I ought to find her before she loses all propriety in her pursuit of him.”

And with that you broke off into the party. You weaved in and out of the figures, not paying at all to the turning of heads when you passed certain men. Your mind was one tracked, and room after room, you did not see your mission. 

Until she found you, grabbing your arm with more force than necessary. 

“There you are!” Marci exclaimed. “He’s here! You have to come meet him– Quick!”

Marci dragged you towards the other side of the ballroom, keeping close to the wall as dancers took up most of the floor space. They braided around one another to the flowing violin, women smiling broadly and men’s eyes twinkling at the ribbons trailing after their movements. 

A gentleman was revealed standing next to one of the columns of the room. Marci pulled you into his direction and you stared ahead as he came into view. You almost understood the dog comment now. It truly wasn’t a critique as even from this distance you saw his round, pleasant face break open into laughter. His hair was golden and fine, twirling back over his ears and sideburns, giving him much the presence of the cocker spaniel your family had when you were young. Once he spotted Marci waltzing back over, he tilted his head up as a wide, inviting smile was thrown your way.

As the people in front of you parted, your eyes found the man accompanying him, and the room slowed to a stop.

He wasn’t much taller than Mr. Nelson, but he had wide shoulders that even his near black tailcoat could not mask. His dark hair was neatly combed to the side and fell over his forehead in a gentle arch. His mouth was quirked up in a subtle amusement, with the whisperings of his dark stubble beginning to shade his smile. None of this compared to the small set of wine-red lenses that hid his eyes and sat perched on the slight curve of his nose. He stood still, poised, with his hand wrapped around a cane. Reality around him seemed to bend as your heart began to stutter.

You blinked a few times, in a deep surprise at yourself. Typically, even the most objectively handsome men you could wave off, but there was something almost familiar about his good looks you couldn’t put your finger on. Perhaps your masked Devil has warped your sense of attraction so innately that any man who hid his eyes was now in danger of being fawned over.

“Ah! Miss Stahl! You have returned to us after all. I feared I had finally scared you away!” Mr. Nelson said through a smile, voice rounded and humorous. “And who is this you have with you?”

Marci says your full name and you courtesy ever so slightly.

“Miss Ellison just curtsied for us!” Mr. Nelson comments to his friend. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard nothing but praise from your dear Miss Stahl.”

“Of course, Mr. Nelson, and I of you.” Your voice is distant and your gaze flitted back to the other man. “And… Who might you be?”

His head tilts at you, eyebrows raising high onto his forehead. “Are you addressing me?”

Your face flickers with confusion. “Well, who else–”

“–My partner here, Mr. Murdock, lacks vision in his eyes. You’ll have to excuse him,” Mr. Nelson interjects.

A bone-seated embarrassment flushed through you. “Oh! Oh . My mistake I assure you, Mr. Murdock. I apologize for my impertinence.” The words fell out of your mouth as quickly as you could form them. 

He just nodded in response.

Marci spoke up to break the tension as the music shifted. “...This is my favorite dance they have begun!”

“Well, then we must away to dance it!” Mr. Nelson cried. “Miss Ellison, will you do the honor of keeping Mr. Murdock company until we return?”

Your heart stopped at the idea, but you watched as Mr. Murdock’s jaw tightened. You’re unsure if he’d enjoy your presence much. Marci nudged you discreetly and you realized you hadn’t yet answered. “...If only that’s agreeable by him,” you replied slowly.

Mr. Murdock swallowed, then spoke, voice even. “It’s fine. Enjoy your dances, Foggy.”

Mr. Nelson and Marci disappeared together, and you’re left with the new Mr. Murdock.

There was a long pause of silence, filled only by the other voices and the music of the ball. You considered abandoning your post, but the mystery of him intrigued you… and it was definitely not your inclined fancy or your want at redemption from your earlier misstep.

“I dare say, you seem rather familiar. Have we met before?” you asked. 

“Not that I am aware of,” Mr. Murdock replies simply.

“Then I must’ve seen you around town at some point,” you guess, though you weren’t half convinced by it.

“Well, I wouldn’t have seen you, so perhaps that is our explanation.”

He flashed a smile and you let out a laugh at the joke, testing the waters. The tension in his shoulders lessened at your laughter, and you realized he wasn’t as intimidating as you thought initially. There was a good chance his good looks just made you nervous. 

“Do you dance, Mr. Murdock?” 

He rocks his head. “Not particularly. I find that partners are less willing when you're…” He gestures up to the glasses with a wave of his hand.

“But you do know the dances, do you not? Certainly you are able to count steps. They are all practiced movements, and require not the ability of sight but the lightness of foot! There must be a way to accommodate you,” you respond, tone bordering on incredulous. It bothered you that he might miss out on such a novel pastime due to something he couldn’t control, and that you may miss out on the pleasure of dancing with him.

A distant hint of warmth crept into his expression, and you caught a glimpse of your own reflection in his glasses. “I appreciate the concern, Miss Ellison, but I’d have more desire to dance if I was in a private setting.”

The conversation stilled there and another quiet moment passed by. You scanned for Mr. Nelson and Marci amongst the dancers and spotted them joyously twirling together. You smiled to yourself at your friend’s happiness. They seemed a good match for each other, you dared to say.

“Marci’s attentions drift so easily… it’s a wonder to see her so devoted to your friend.” You finally said, almost lost in thought.

“I assume your attentions are quite different then, by your severity,” Mr. Murdock turned himself more toward you as he spoke.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. “Well… Mine are not so easy to capture.”

He inhales. “Then how would one–”

“Mr. Murdock!” A deceivingly stern voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. A man you knew as Constable Mahoney began to stride over towards you… and you realized you hadn’t seen him since the night you were attacked. “And Miss Ellison! I had not inquired after your health after the event of weeks prior. You must forgive me, but you seem to have recovered well.” He took a deep bow. 

“Were you hurt?” Mr. Murdock then asked, his brow knitted above his head.

You are about to answer when Constable Mahoney takes the lead. “Miss Ellison survived an encounter with the Devil of our County!” He said, much louder than necessary, which turns heads your way.

“The lady encountered the Devil?” A bright, posh voice perked up from a seating area somewhere behind you. You turned to look and the most elegantly dressed woman you’d ever seen, with graying hair pinned away from her regal features, looked over her shoulder at you. “I would quite like to hear that tale.”

The party she was sat with was, for lack of better phrasing, the richest at the ball. This is how they made their fun, absorbing the county’s gossip. It’s as if this particular type of woman had ears in every corner of the room, for that is where they find their entertainment. They all murmured agreements with each other and watched you, expecting and hungry.

“Well?” She asked, gesturing in front of her, “Come, come! Do not be so shy. You are among friends here.”

Glancing out of the corner of your eye at Mr. Murdock, whose face was nothing but puzzled, you tried to decide what to do. This was exactly what you expected, and while you were not poor, this level of wealth radiating off of this side of the party felt particularly intimidating. 

“ It would be better to comply. This is Lady Diana Wesley– Mother of the head of the estate. Not a woman to cross ,” Constable Mahoney muttered to you subtly. He didn’t wait for your response before he took your arm and gently guided you forward.

“Oh, no, no, no. I promise you have all read the tale in the papers! I will only bore you!” You begged as Mahoney showed you to the center of the seating area, where you now stood in the cradle of the crescent. “I have told this many times–”

“Nonsense! Nonsense! I have not heard of it! As well, I’m sure your gentleman can spare you, isn’t that correct? Or better yet, I am sure he would be interested in listening in!”

She looked back at Mr. Murdock, who had stepped over to stand behind the couch. He tilted his head up in your direction, which surprised you. For someone who could not see, he had an uncanny ability to know where you were. He spoke. “Perhaps… you should tell it once more. And then I will personally make sure not a word is breathed about it again.”

Lady Diana Wesley smiled at this, the action deepening the lines in her face. “How honorable. Certainly you cannot object to that offer, Miss…?”

“Miss Ellison,” Constable Mahoney finished. 

“ Miss Ellison ,” she repeated, voice elated.

Your eyes flicked to Mr. Murdock. Even though he had no realistic way of preventing the story from being told, his conviction convinced you. “Of course… I daresay I cannot.”

With all eyes on you, you told the story once more. Eventually, Marci and Mr. Nelson had returned and sat to listen in, Marci casting devious glances at you all the while. The Lady seemed pleased by your tale and when you finished, the group delivered a polite clap. 

“You are a gifted storyteller, Miss Ellison, I do say! I almost feel as though the Devil was in the room with us now!” Lady Diana Wesley said.

Mr. Nelson laughed loudly and shared a look with Mr. Murdock, who did not seem as pleased.

Marci speaks up, much to your fear. “If he were, I am sure she would have danced thrice over as his partner.”

“ Marci, ” You called, shaking your head almost imperceptibly, but it was too late.

“Harboring a fancy for him, is she? Now that is quite the morsel.” Lady Diana Wesley just laughed once more. Her tone was conspiratorial and her eyes trailed up and down your persons. “But I cannot persecute you over being a woman, for who could resist such a dashing hero? And you are a gem , I must say. A true beauty. Any man could be so lucky.”

You took a politely small bow at the compliment, when you looked up, both Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock had disappeared. Your face fell with disappointment. Marci was gesturing for you to follow her, and you made your excuses to the group and the Lady.

Diving back into the organized chaos of the ball, Marci once more had a hold of you. She pulled you through until you were both hidden in the shadows behind a wall, where no one else could see or hear you.

“Oh, wasn’t he a dream?” Marci fawned, holding both your arms.

“He seems a good match for your boldness, I say,” You commented, peeking around the corner into the crowds, looking for the disappeared gentlemen.

“Who are you searching for?” Marci asked, before a gasp escaped her lips, “I knew it! I thought you were giving him eyes!”

“Who?” Your voice was distracted by your efforts.

“Mr. Murdock!” Marci chirped, her smile wide.

You snapped back towards her. “What? No! No, don’t start your teasing again! You are mistaken!”

“Mhmhm…”

Marci begun to blather on about more about his Mr. Nelson, and you were still distracted by searching for his partner. Men in similar coats made your heart skip then fall, and you were about to give up hope, when you spotted his silhouette. Your excitement was short lived however, as you saw him talking with a gorgeous blonde woman in a soft pink gown. His grin was wide and he looked 10 times more comfortable with her than he did for even a second with you. You would be blind to discount the possibility his heart already belonged to another. 

The rest of the night was a blur of trying to distract yourself from how quickly you built up Mr. Murdock in your mind. You danced with a few good men, sipped your wine, and enjoyed more words with the Lady Diana Wesley. You didn't understand why she took such a liking to you, but you couldn’t complain as she was quite a formidable connection to make. You found out the blonde woman talking with Mr. Murdock was a woman named Karen Page, after your Uncle introduced you to her as she was a writer for the paper. 

You couldn’t help but think she was twice your beauty, with a mind to match. No wonder Mr. Murdock’s attentions had been trained on her. By the time you were back home after the ball, you had nearly dispelled all feelings for the strange Mr. Murdock. Now, you were sitting at your window, watching the streets below you. You swore you watched a figure shift on the rooftop across from you, but you waved it off as a trick of the light. You blew out your candle, going to finally sleep off the day. But, what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t tired eyes playing tricks. The Devil sat perched across the way, listening to your heartbeat as you were lulled to sleep, because despite his one masked meeting with you, and his avoiding you at the ball, he felt just as strongly pulled to you as you were to him, and that scared him half to death.

Taglist: @vioplay19

[izxz-is-deranged]

JUST REMEMBERED MATT CAN PLAY THE PIANO....... OH THIS IS GOING DIRECTLY INTO THE REGENCY FIC......

[mattposting]

MATT MURDOCK BACK SHOTS

[izxz-is-deranged]

Trying to find a reference photo of Charlie Cox and i keep getting lost in his beautiful ass face its just not fair......... Does he even know that my heart sings at the frequency of his gaze!!! I'm going to explode

[izxz-is-deranged]

Can you give a a tiny little teaser about regency era Matt please???🥺

OH BUT OF COURSE! I'll be generous and give a few things, The Opening Blurb for one:

-

To be the talk of the town was never a good thing.

No matter the subject, venomous women shared quick whispers in the shadowed corners of parties, and those would go on to spread to the loud, air-headed men downing their drinks, without such a care for the damage a reputation can give. And though a fortnight had came and went since your rescue from the robber, people had not let matter come to rest. The tales of the encounter followed you wherever you dare set foot, and to all their respect, you had not yet had the fortune to dispel your own memories of the event.

Or, perhaps, the memories of a certain masked man.

-

And also, just some info- This'll be chock full of that good old regency yearning, at least ONE ball scene, and Matt being charming as ever. Also I've been doing a crazy amount of research on men's wear of the time to try to create a DD outfit that's accurate... Which is going to to be a play on the blacksuit since that seems the most achievable. :D!!

[izxz-is-deranged]

Oh the voices got too strong and now I'm brushing up on regency lingo to write a Regency Era Matt Murdock oneshot

[holmesandtheroman]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.