꩜.ᐟ

23. she/her. #1 Kastle shipper. Charlie Cox and Wilson Bethel enthusiast

[peterftpercy]

THE PLACE WE CALL HOME

matt murdock x reader

summary: you love your boyfriend, but there's a problem. matt is your best friend, and every time you're with him doing something silly, it feels like you're cheating on your boyfriend. why does every time you're with matt it feel like you're almost crossing a line? why does being around matt feel like the closest thing to home you've always longed for?

warnings: +18 unprotected sex. cheating. rough sex (in a moment, i suppose?) brief, very brief, orgasm restraint. p to v. CHEATING. couch sex (yeah). swearing. infidelity is present throughout the one-shot and there's no regrets at the end, so read carefully if you don't like that kind of thing in fiction, i guess lmao.

content: reader cheating on her boyfriend with her best friend matt.

word count: +15k (yeah...)

a/n: i know this is really long, but i really couldn't stop writing lmao. apologies in advance for any mistakes; i didn't edit this because it exhausted me. :P

clarification: english is not my native language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes.

You loved your boyfriend.

You really did.

Maybe that was what made everything hurt so much.

He was kind in all the quiet ways that mattered. He remembered your birthday without needing reminders, kissed your forehead every morning before leaving for work and never forgot that you hated pickles in your burgers. He knew exactly how you took your coffee, always texted you when he got home safely and, whenever you complained about having a long day, he would already be looking through takeout menus before you had even asked.

He loved you with the sort of steadiness people spent years searching for.

The kind that stayed.

The kind your mother used to tell you to never let go of.

If someone had stopped you on the street and asked whether you saw a future with him, you would have answered yes without hesitation. Marriage didn’t scare you when you imagined it with him. Growing old didn’t either. You could picture the apartment, the dog he kept insisting on adopting, Sunday mornings spent grocery shopping together and the inevitable argument over which movie to watch every Friday night. It was a beautiful future.

One you wanted.

One you had chosen.

Which was precisely why you couldn’t understand why guilt always settled in your chest every Tuesday afternoon.

It had become routine years ago. Lunch at one o’clock with Matt whenever your schedules allowed it. Sometimes it was Josie’s, sometimes the little Italian place three blocks away from Nelson, Murdock & Page, sometimes nothing more than two paper cups of coffee balanced on the edge of a rooftop while Matt insisted the city sounded prettier from above.

It wasn’t a date.

God, it wasn’t.

It was never supposed to be.

Matt was your best friend.

Your oldest friend.

The first person you called whenever life became too loud, too confusing or simply too much to carry alone. Somewhere along the years he’d quietly become the constant against which you measured every other relationship in your life, though you never meant for that to happen. It wasn’t intentional. It was simply... Matt. He had slipped into your days so naturally that imagining a week without seeing him felt strangely incomplete.

You told each other everything.

Well…

Almost everything.

Because there was one thing you had never admitted to him or to yourself.

Every Tuesday, as you stood in front of your bedroom mirror wondering whether the sweater looked better than the blouse, your reflection asked a question you had grown very good at ignoring.

Why are you trying so hard?

You never thought that much before having lunch with Karen.

Or Foggy.

Or anyone else.

Yet somehow, every time you were about to see Matt, you caught yourself changing earrings at the last second or smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your clothes. You’d even started wearing the perfume he’d once absentmindedly told you suited you because, according to him, it smelled like apple pie, that sweet cinnamon mixed with baked apple that went so well with you because you were sweet—those were his exact words. It was ridiculous, but Matt’s opinion always stayed with you; you knew that he could smell things more strongly than others and you wanted... everything about you to be pleasing to him.

He had said it years ago. He probably didn’t even remember saying it.

But you did. You remembered everything.

You remembered which coffee order meant he’d had a rough night. You remembered that he always tilted his head ever so slightly whenever he was genuinely amused, that he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table while thinking through legal arguments and that, whenever he laughed hard enough, his whole face softened in a way that made him look years younger.

You remembered things a best friend probably shouldn’t notice.

And every time you noticed another one…

The guilt returned.

Not because you wanted to kiss him.

Not because you fantasized about running away together.

It was subtler than that.

Crueler.

Whenever something wonderful happened, your first instinct was to tell Matt.

Whenever something terrible happened, your feet somehow always knew the way to his apartment before your mind had caught up.

Whenever you found yourself laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, more often than not it was because of something he’d said.

Home had never been a place to you.

It had always been a person.

And somewhere along the years, without asking your permission, that person had quietly become Matthew Murdock.

That was the betrayal.

It was the unbearable realization that every time you left lunch with your best friend, you went back to the man you loved carrying the strange, aching certainty that you’d just left home behind.

And you hated yourself for it.

Because your boyfriend deserved someone whose heart didn’t hesitate every Tuesday at one in the afternoon.

The rain had started just minutes before lunch, and by the time you stepped off the subway, it was pouring down with that Hell’s Kitchen-esque persistence, as if the city had decided to empty the entire sky onto its streets.

You’d sent a quick text while running under a narrow awning: “I’m soaked. Going straight to your apartment instead.” The reply came almost immediately. “Door’s unlocked. Don’t drown before lunch.” You smiled involuntarily. You’d done it so many times you didn’t even need to ask if you could show up; Matt’s apartment had become one of those places your body found before your head did.

When you pushed open the door, the smell of coffee and damp wood greeted you before his voice. Matt was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hands, and he barely turned his head toward you the exact moment you walked in. You were always amazed by the precision with which he knew where you were. There was no cane beside him, no gesture to remind you of his blindness; he simply listened to the world with an attention that made the rest of your senses seem clumsy.

Then you remembered that he was your best friend, your defense attorney, but that he was also Daredevil, the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. That made you feel ridiculous because he was so capable, but that was just you. Matt never made you feel ridiculous; he made you feel… safe.

Which was a problem.

“You were supposed to meet me downstairs,” you said as you took off your soaked coat.

“You texted me forty-seven seconds ago,” he answered with complete naturalness. “I figured if I came down, you’d already be halfway up the stairs arguing with the weather.”

You let out a laugh and hung your coat over a chair. Water immediately dripped onto the wooden floor. Matt grimaced almost imperceptibly at the sound.

“That coat weighs as much as a body.”

“It’s called fashion.”

“It’s called pneumonia.”

He approached slowly, guided by the sound of your footsteps and the rustle of the wet fabric, until he stopped in front of you. He extended a hand with a familiar gesture, reaching for the edge of your coat to gently pull it away from your arm before reaching for a towel he had placed on the back of the chair. The movement was so domestic, so habitual, that for a moment you forgot that things shouldn’t feel this way with your best friend.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Dry your hair before you drip all over my kitchen.”

You grabbed the towel and started drying yourself as he returned to the counter. His fingers searched for the mugs with the confidence of someone who knows every inch of his apartment, and the sound of the coffee maker filled the silence between you. It was a comfortable silence, dangerous precisely because of that. You had spent too many years learning each other’s rhythm: you knew when Matt was tired by the way he shifted his weight to one leg, and he knew when you were lying by the speed of your breathing.

“So,” you said, leaning against the kitchen island, “our incredibly sophisticated lunch plans are officially ruined.”

“I had reservations,” he replied with such exaggerated seriousness that it made you smile.

“At Josie’s?”

“Don’t mock my connections.”

“You know Josie.”

“Exactly. Powerful people.”

Matt’s smile appeared slowly, almost involuntarily, and your heart did that silly thing it always did when you managed to make him laugh. He leaned over to pour the coffee, and as he handed you a cup, his fingers brushed yours for just a second longer than necessary. Neither of you pulled away immediately. It was a fleeting moment, so brief that anyone else would have missed it, but you both felt it.

Matt withdrew his hand first and cleared his throat before placing the other cup on the counter. His eyes, open but unfocused, remained fixed on your voice.

“You should’ve called me,” he finally said. “I would’ve come to get you.”

You took a sip of coffee to buy yourself some time. “It was only a few blocks.”

“Still.”

He didn’t insist. He never insisted when it came to things like this. But there was something about the way he uttered that single word—low, restrained, too sincere—that made the warmth of the mug feel insufficient in your hands.

Outside, the rain pounded against the windows with a hypnotic persistence. Inside, the apartment smelled of freshly brewed coffee and the familiarity of too many years shared. Matt leaned one hip against the counter, listening to you dry the remaining water from your hair, and you watched him silently. You thought, with a clarity that almost hurt, that this scene was exactly the kind of memory a person holds onto when they talk about home.

And that was the problem.

Not the brush of hands, nor the easy jokes, nor the tension that appeared and disappeared between you like a distant flash of lightning. The real problem was that you were soaked, standing in Matthew Murdock’s kitchen, laughing at silly things while the rain poured down on Hell’s Kitchen, and a part of you—the part you tried hardest to silence—felt exactly where it had always wanted to be.

The rain continued to pound against the windows with infinite patience, turning the apartment into a kind of refuge suspended from the rest of Hell’s Kitchen. You stood there for a few more seconds, holding the mug in your hands, enjoying the warmth that was finally beginning to return to your fingers. However, your clothes still clung uncomfortably to your skin, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Matt barely raised his head when he heard you holding your breath.

“You’re cold,” he said with certainty and without doubt.

You looked down at the damp fabric of your sweater and smiled resignedly.

“I think my clothes finally realized they’re completely soaked.”

He let out a small laugh through his nose before nodding to himself. “I’ve got something you can change into.”

He got up from the counter and walked straight to the bedroom without even looking along the walls. You heard him open the second drawer of the closet, move a couple of hangers, and return a few seconds later with a folded t-shirt in his hands.

“I think this one’s clean.”

“Think?” you said, squinting with an amused smile.

“I’d bet my life on it,” he said with a fake drama that belonged to the intimacy of the two of you.

“Comforting,” you said.

Matt reached out until he found yours. The fabric passed from his fingers to yours with a barely perceptible touch.

“Bathroom’s free.”

You picked up the t-shirt. “...Are you sure?” you asked.

“Unless you want pneumonia,” Matt said, with a smirk.

“No, I mean…” You let out an embarrassed laugh. “...your clothes.”

Matt tilted his head slightly. “They’re just clothes.”

But you two knew they weren’t.

You thanked him quietly and disappeared down the short hallway that led to the bathroom. You closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it for a moment.

How ridiculous.

It was just a t-shirt.

Your best friend’s.

And yet, as you peeled off your soaking wet sweater and let it fall onto the edge of the bathtub, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were doing something wrong. Your boyfriend had lent you clothes countless times. You’d worn his jackets during the winter, his sweatshirts to sleep in, even an old T-shirt to paint the walls of your apartment when you decided to redecorate your room.

It had never felt like this.

Never.

You tried to ignore that feeling; you had to ignore it. So you focused on your current state: your jeans were still wet, and your socks were probably damp, so you took them off. Goosebumps rose on your skin at being more exposed, and you grabbed a towel that was lying in Matt’s bathroom, not knowing if he’d used it or not. You wanted to dry off, you wanted to distract yourself and focus on something else.

The cotton fabric fell over your shoulders with unexpected softness. It was too big, as you’d imagined, and the sleeves reached almost to your elbows. It smelled faintly of the soap Matt used for laundry, mixed with coffee, leather, and that indescribable scent that always seemed to accompany him.

You closed your eyes for a second, which was a mistake. A huge mistake. Suddenly you realized you weren’t just wearing a borrowed t-shirt. You were enveloped in Matt Murdock. You were enveloped in his scent, in the fabric he specifically chose to keep with the rest of his clothes.

You allowed yourself a few seconds to embrace that feeling even though you knew it was wrong, you knew that warmth in your chest was wrong and shouldn’t belong to the ghost of Matt’s scent.

“Everything okay there?” his voice came muffled from the other side of the door.

You opened your eyes suddenly.

“Yeah,” a pause. “...Your shirt’s comfortable,” you blurted out without thinking.

There was a brief silence on the other side.

“. . . I’m glad,” the answer came too slowly.

Matt leaned against the counter, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, motionless, listening to the faint murmur coming from the bathroom.

He didn’t want to listen, he knew he shouldn’t, and even God knew he didn’t want to. But he’d never had the privilege of choosing what sounds reached him, least of all when it was you.

I have heard your damp clothes rustling against your skin. He could feel the rhythm of your blood and how your skin got goosebumps, suddenly exposed. Your breathing, calm at first, then a little slower, as if you were lingering in there, thinking about… about something he wasn’t allowed to know.

And then the touch of dry cotton replacing the soaked fabric.

Matt closed his eyes tightly. He didn’t imagine your body; he didn’t need to. His mind was infinitely crueler.

He knew the difference between the sound a heavy sweater made when it hit the floor and the sound of a cotton t-shirt being slipped over someone’s shoulders. He knew the perfume you’d worn for years—that sweet perfume that reminded him of a freshly baked apple pie, of the cozy feeling you gave him; your scent always brought the same scene to mind, that time years ago when you were both talking nonsense and you were blushing for some reason.

Matt had felt the warmth in your cheeks, the rhythm of your heart beating beneath your chest, and the melody of your laughter. It filled his chest with a quality that belonged only to you, and without thinking, he mentioned the perfume, because you reminded him of something as mundane and sweet as a baked apple mixed with cinnamon. Sweet, sweet you.

Matt also knew his own scent. He was a man of sensations. Not having his sight allowed him to fully experience his other senses, and his sense of smell was one of the ones he exploited most.

Unfortunately for you, now both scents were beginning to mix. Yours and his.

Matt could smell the aromas even from the kitchen. It was so absurdly intimate that he had to grip the mug tighter.

He shouldn’t care, but sadly, he did. He cared about this combination of your sweetness with his natural scent because it allowed him to imagine, if only for a few moments, that it was your skin mingling with his. It was an intimate deception, one where the line blurred in his mind.

It was dangerous because it led him to a place he only allowed himself to visit on nights when his willpower wasn’t so strong. Nights when the heat that settled within him had nothing to do with the temperature, but rather with the storm of emotions you unknowingly stirred within him.

It was just a t-shirt, he told himself.

You were wet, you needed something to keep you warm and replace your wet clothes.

That was all. That should be all.

Because you had a boyfriend. There was another man in your life. You belonged to another man.

He repeated that phrase like a prayer.

As if saying it enough times could convince her heart to obey where her reason had been doing so for years.

Matt didn’t know how long he’d leaned against the counter before he heard your footsteps returning down the hall. He didn’t need to count them to know you were moving more freely now that you’d left behind the discomfort of your soaked clothes; the fabric of his t-shirt brushed against your thighs differently than your sweater, lighter, and the sound of your bare feet against the wood replaced the annoying squeak of your wet sneakers. It was incredible how much a person could learn about another without ever seeing them. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe he just knew you too well.

He barely raised his head when you stopped in front of the kitchen island. The aroma of coffee still lingered between you, but now there was another scent, one that easily shattered the calm he had managed to rebuild in the last few minutes. Your perfume was still there, faint, mingled with the dampness of the rain; however, beneath it was the soap he used to wash his clothes, the same one Foggy insisted on buying when they went to the supermarket together because it was the only one that irritated Matt’s nose. Both perfumes mingled on your skin in a way Matt wasn’t prepared to endure. Not to mention his own natural scent, which seemed to want to cling to yours.

It was devastating, utterly devastating for a man like Matt.

It’s a t-shirt. He forced herself to repeat it silently. Nothing more.

The problem was, it didn’t feel like anything more.

“What?” you suddenly asked, amused.

Matt frowned slightly. “What what?”

“You haven’t said a word in about thirty seconds. That usually means you’re overthinking things… or Foggy convinced you to defend a client you don’t like again.”

He chuckled softly, grateful that you had broken the silence before his own mind did. “Not everything revolves around my terrible professional judgment,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was terrible. You thought it,” you defended yourself, laughing.

Matt shook his head as he brought the cup to his lips. The coffee wasn’t as hot anymore, but he didn’t care. He’d learned long ago that conversations with you had their own rhythm; one that didn’t need to be constantly filled with words.

“So?” you persisted, resting both elbows on the counter. “What were you thinking about?”

He could have lied to you. He was good at lying, even though it wasn’t something he was proud of. He’d built an entire second life on that skill. But he’d never been able to do it with you, which is why you were the first to discover he was a vigilante. You always knew, which is why you kept pressing him.

He took a slow breath before answering.

“I was thinking you were going to catch a cold anyway,” Matt muttered, not entirely evasive, but enough for someone like you to know he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

He heard you laugh immediately. “You were worried about that?” you said, incredulous, as if he had said something stupid.

“It had been raining for half an hour when you got off the subway. You walked four blocks in the rain, your breathing was heavier when you went up the stairs, and you’re still shivering.” Matt paused almost imperceptibly before adding, with a nearly imperceptible shrug, “Yeah… I’m worried,” he said, and this time he meant it, despite having chosen those words so you wouldn’t notice the maelstrom that lived inside him as you were enveloped in his scent.

The words hung suspended between them.

Matt felt them even before they finished leaving his mouth. They were dangerous precisely because they were simple. They held no hidden meanings, no irony. They were a stark truth.

He cared about you. He always had.

She heard you exhale slowly. It wasn’t an uncomfortable breath; it sounded more like surprise, as if a part of you had forgotten that someone existed who could notice such small things.

“My boyfriend would have been worried too,” you finally said, though your voice lost a little firmness at the end of the sentence, as if you had said those words more to yourself than to him.

Matt felt the blow with the precision of a boxer who already knows by heart where the next punch will land.

He nodded once. “Of course, I know.”

And Matt meant it. He’d never doubted that that man loved you. He saw it—or rather, heard it—every time you spoke, in the way you pronounced his name or how you smiled when you told a story about the two of you. Your boyfriend was a good man. Probably better than him in many ways. There was nothing to criticize.

So why did it hurt so much?

He placed both hands on the edge of the counter to distract himself. Your footsteps drew a little closer, just enough for the warmth of your body to replace the heat of the coffee between you.

“Do you know what the worst thing about you is?” you asked with a gentleness that hinted at a smile.

Matt raised an eyebrow. “I have a list. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

You laughed, and that sound filled the apartment again with disconcerting ease. “You never make a nice comment without disguising it as something else.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Oh, really?”

“No. If Karen comes to work in a new dress, you tell her the fabric must feel nice. If Foggy gets a haircut, you tell him it was about time while laughing. But with me it’s always…” you paused, mimicking him in a ridiculously deep voice: “You’re going to catch a cold. Or your shoelace is untied. Or you skipped breakfast.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile. “Those are helpful observations.”

“No, Matthew. They’re compliments on terrible social skills,” you said, stating the obvious. “Which is weird because you’re usually charming, but hey, it’s good to know you’re human!”

A laugh escaped him before he could stifle it. Matt shook his head as he placed the mug on the counter, and for a moment—a dangerously long one—only the sound of your laughter and his mingled with the rain outside the window.

It was unfair.

Incredibly unfair.

Because that was the version of himself that only appeared with you. The one that wasn’t Daredevil, or the lawyer, or the Catholic who argued with God every night. With you, he didn’t need to wear any masks. A silly conversation about colds and poorly phrased compliments was enough to make the weight of the world seem, if only for a few minutes, a little lighter.

And maybe that’s why it was so hard to remind himself, again and again, that this peace would never be his.

Not while at the end of the day you were still going home with someone else.

The conversation drifted into that strange territory it always seemed to end up in when you spent enough time together. You two had started talking about the rain, an impossible client Foggy insisted on taking, and the restaurant you’d no longer be going to that lunchtime, but, as almost always happened, the words began to unravel, becoming something much more personal. It was an old habit between you: neither of you knew exactly when a joke would turn into a confession.

Matt had settled on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hands. Outside, it was still raining with the same intensity as an hour ago, and the constant murmur of the water seemed to envelop the entire apartment in a tranquility that didn’t belong in Hell’s Kitchen. You remained seated across from him, still wrapped in that oversized T-shirt that belonged to him. Every now and then, you absentmindedly tugged at the hem to cover your legs a little more, a completely unconscious gesture that, unfortunately, Matt registered from the very first moment.

Matt could hear the rustle of the cotton against your skin. The garment he’d lent you, which had been his and now covered your body.

He hated how easily his imagination filled in what his eyes had never seen.

He decided to focus on coffee.

It was a mediocre strategy, but he’d been surviving for years thanks to mediocre strategies.

“Do you remember the first time you came here?” Matt asked suddenly, carefully placing the cup on the table.

You smiled even before answering. “Your apartment was a mess, which is pretty weird now that I think about it.”

“It was functional,” he defended himself.

“There was a pizza box on the coffee table for… two weeks?”

“Three.”

“Matt!”

“I was studying it,” he said, laughing.

You chuckled, that low laugh that always surfaced when he managed to surprise you with an absurd answer. “Studying what? You literally hate that kind of smell, you only did it because... I don’t know, you were dumber and younger?” you said, laughing.

“I was studying how long it would take Foggy to get tired of looking at it and throw it away himself,” Matt said, laughing.

“And it worked?”

“Perfectly.”

You shook your head as you looked down at the cup in your hands. “You always do that.”

“What?” he asked with a smile, but his tone betrayed his curiosity.

“You wait for someone else to solve the problem,” you said gently. “The little things, I mean, obviously in the grand scheme of things, you like to solve everything yourself, but in the private sphere? In what might seem like the silliest things? You allow yourself not to solve things, to let someone else do it.”

Matt barely smiled. “Not always.”

“No… not with me,” the words escaped your lips with a naturalness that both parties regretted as soon as they were uttered.

The silence that followed was no longer comfortable.

Matt barely leaned his head toward you. He heard you shift your weight from one leg to the other, your fingers circling the cup again and again without lifting it. They were small sounds, almost insignificant to anyone else. To him, they were the difference between a calm conversation and one that had just taken a turn.

“What do you mean?” he finally asked.

It took you a few seconds to answer. “That… I never feel like I have to fix anything when I’m with you.”

Matt let out a slow breath.

He didn’t answer.

Because he understood all too well what you’d just said.

And because, if he spoke before he’d sorted out his own thoughts, he risked saying something he’d been trying to keep quiet about for years.

“It’s weird,” you continued with a smile that didn’t sound entirely happy. “My boyfriend always wants to find solutions. If I have a problem, he immediately starts thinking about how to solve it. You never do that.”

Matt frowned slightly. “Of course I do.”

“No, I mean, yes… but you don’t do it the same way. You… you,” you shook your head. “You just… you stay.”

The words seemed to get lost amidst the sound of the rain.

“When my grandmother died, you didn’t try to reassure me that everything was going to be okay. When my brother was suspended from college, you didn’t tell me he’d surely find another chance. Not even when…” You paused briefly, “when I had that anxiety attack last year.” You smiled sadly. “You just sat with me for four hours, saying almost nothing, not trying...”

Matt remembered that night with unbearable clarity. He remembered the trembling of your breathing, the way you had ended up falling asleep on the sofa without realizing it, and how he stayed awake until dawn just to make sure you were resting.

He never told you. He never thought you knew.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted quietly.

“Exactly,” you said, glancing up at him, though you knew his eyes could never meet yours. “You never try to fix me.”

The words landed on you with an unexpected weight.

Matt remained motionless.

He had defended murderers, lied behind a mask, and faced armed men without flinching.

Yet, in that moment, he felt an infinitely greater fear.

Because he understood what was happening. It wasn’t a confession, not yet, but it was heading in the same direction. And the worst part was that a part of him—the part he was most ashamed of—had been waiting years to hear something like this.

He tightened his fingers around the mug until he felt the heat pierce his skin.

“You should go home before the rain gets worse,” he said, almost pleadingly.

Not because Matt wanted you to leave.

But because he was starting to suspect that if you stayed much longer, you’d both end up saying something neither of you could take back.

Matt’s words hung in the air with a calmness that didn’t belong to them.

You should go home before the rain gets worse.

You heard them clearly, but there was something in his tone that made it impossible to obey. It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a desperate attempt to put distance between you before either of you said something you couldn’t take back later. You knew him too well not to recognize when Matthew Michael Murdock was on the run.

You slowly placed the mug on the coffee table. The soft thud of the ceramic against the wood broke a silence that was becoming unbearable. For a moment, you watched the rain lashing against the large window of his apartment; the water trickled down the glass in endless rivulets, distorting the lights of Hell’s Kitchen into golden patches. You thought that if you went out now, you’d arrive soaked again. You thought about your boyfriend, probably convinced you were having lunch with your best friend like any other Tuesday. You thought about the message you’d surely send him later, telling him the rain had ruined your plans.

Everything was perfectly normal.

So why did you feel like the world had just tilted a few degrees? Why... Why didn’t you want to leave? Why did you want to insist despite knowing what could happen?

“No,” your own voice surprised you.

Matt barely raised his head. “No?”

“I’m not leaving.”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers remained resting on the rim of his cup, motionless, though you caught a glimpse of his thumb idly tracing the surface of the ceramic. He always did that when he was trying to organize his thoughts.

“I think you should.”

“No,” this time the word came out more firmly.

You stood up and took a step toward him, just enough to be closer in the small space between you. Matt must have noticed from the sound of your feet on the floor, because he straightened his back slightly. He didn’t move. He remained exactly where he was, as if any movement could upset a balance that was already hanging by a thread.

“Why?” The question was so simple it was almost cruel.

Matt remained silent.

“Why do you want me to leave?” you asked, staring at him, studying every single one of his features.

He exhaled slowly, as if searching for the right answer among too many wrong ones.

“Because…” The word died before it could be finished. He barely shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

You felt a pang of frustration. Matt always did that. He always found a way to hide behind half-answers, carefully chosen silences, a smile that deflected the conversation before it reached the point that truly mattered.

But you’d known him for too many years.

You knew when an evasive answer was really a plea.

“Don’t do that,” you said, a hint of frustration in your voice.

Matt frowned. “Do what?”

“Talk to me like I can’t understand you.”

The rain continued to pound against the windows with its usual relentless force. The apartment still smelled of freshly brewed coffee, clean laundry, and the cotton of the t-shirt that still rested against your skin; the mingled scent of you and him lingered. Everything was the same.

Except for you two.

You took a deep breath before continuing.

“You’ve been doing this for weeks… no, months. Every time we’re alone, every time the conversation starts to feel too much like us, you change the subject. You make a joke. You ask me about work. About my boyfriend. About anything,” you had to pause to gather your courage. “And I want to know why,” you confessed. “Why… why do you have to stop every time it’s just us?”

You knew it was absurd to be demanding an answer. Part of you knew why, but you needed… you needed Matt’s voice to resolve whatever was keeping that something inside you from resting.

Matt remained motionless.

You’d never seen anyone so still.

His eyes were still fixed on your voice, open and calm, yet there was a tension in his jawline that only appeared when he was holding back.

“There is no reason why.”

The lie was so obvious it hurt.

You smiled sadly. “Matthew.”

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d said his full name.

He did. You knew it from the almost imperceptible way he held his breath.

“Don’t lie to me,” you whispered.

Silence settled between you again, this time heavier, more intimate. You felt guilt throbbing beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. You knew you shouldn’t be asking that question. You knew there was a man who trusted you, who had never given you any reason to doubt him, and yet, there you were, searching in another for the answer you already suspected.

Perhaps because a part of you had been living on suspicion for too long.

Matt lowered his head a few inches before speaking, and when he did, his voice sounded weary, as if those words had aged inside him long before finding their way out. “Because some questions don’t make anyone happier once they’re answered.”

You held his gaze, even though he couldn’t return it.

“Maybe not,” your voice was barely a whisper. “But they stop you from wondering for the rest of your life.”

And, for the first time since you’d arrived soaking wet at his apartment, Matt Murdock had no response. Only the sound of the rain filling the space between you and the uneasy certainty that you’d both stopped pretending this conversation was still just between two best friends.

Words hung between you in an unbearable stillness. Outside, the rain continued to fall on Hell’s Kitchen with its usual relentless force, sliding down the windowpane in long lines that distorted the city lights into patches of color. It was a familiar sound, almost comforting, and yet it had never seemed so distant. All that existed in that moment was the silence that Matt had allowed to grow between you.

He didn’t answer.

Not because he hadn’t heard.

Because he had heard too well.

You knew that kind of silence. It was the same silence that fell when a customer said something that made you question things, when Foggy made a joke that masked an uncomfortable truth, or when Father Lantom asked a question Matt still couldn’t answer. It wasn’t a lack of words; it was resistance.

And, for some reason, that resistance hurt you more than a simple refusal would have.

You took a deep breath before speaking again, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You keep asking me to leave.”

Matt barely tilted his head toward the sound of your voice. His hands remained motionless around his mug, though you caught a glimpse of one of his fingers almost imperceptibly tapping the rim, a gesture he only made when he was trying to hold something back.

“I do.”

“Why?”

He took a few seconds to answer. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You couldn't stop a bitter smile from appearing on your face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I did.”

“No, Matthew,” you said slowly, holding his gaze even though you knew he could never return it the way you wanted. “You answered like a lawyer.”

That elicited a breath from him that sounded almost like a tired laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

“Then stop being a lawyer for five minutes,” your comment wasn’t harsh. If anything, it sounded like a plea.

Matt lowered his head a few inches. For a moment he seemed to search for the words somewhere on the floor, as if the answer might be found in the wood grain. “I’m trying.”

“No,” your voice came out lower than you expected. “You’re hiding.”

That statement struck him with a precision he couldn’t have anticipated. You knew it from the way his breathing changed for just a moment, too brief for anyone to notice. You weren’t just anyone. You’d spent years learning Matt Murdock’s secret language: the language of silences, pauses, and half-truths.

Matt set his cup down on the coffee table and decided to stand, straightening before you.

You moved a little closer. It wasn't a conscious decision; it just happened. The space between you narrowed until you could feel the heat radiating from his body, mingling with the warmth of the coffee cup he'd completely forgotten about.

“Look at me…” The words escaped your lips before you remembered they were impossible.

You felt a lump of embarrassment rise in your throat.

Matt smiled slightly, with a touch of humor this time. “I’m trying my best, it’s difficult when I’m blind…”

The response was so typical of him that, against all logic, you ended up chuckling.

“You know what I mean,” you murmured.

“Yeah…” His smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I know.”

You fell silent again. There was something deeply unfair about that man. He always found a way to smooth things over just before they became unbearable. It was a quality you had admired for years, and now it was beginning to drive you to despair.

“Do you know what I think?”

Matt didn’t answer. He waited.

It was another one of his habits. He never interrupted a confession.

“I think you’ve been deciding things for me.” The words came out slowly, one after the other, as if they had been locked away for too long. “You decide when it’s time to change the subject. You decide when a joke is enough to end a conversation. You decide when I should go home.” You paused. The guilt was still there, throbbing in your chest, reminding you that there was a man waiting for you on the other side of that afternoon, a man who trusted you completely. But, for the first time in a long time, the guilt wasn’t enough to silence you. “And now you’re deciding what I need to know.”

“I’m trying to protect you.” The answer came in a whisper.

It didn’t sound heroic.

It sounded exhausted.

You barely frowned.

“From what?”

Then something happened that you’d never heard him do before.

Matt let out a laugh. It wasn’t a cheerful laugh. It was the laugh of a man who had just run out of arguments, which was unusual, because Matt never ran out of arguments with you.

He slowly shook his head and let out a breath before speaking again. “You already know the answer,” he murmured softly.

Those words didn’t have the force of a confession.

That’s precisely why they were so much more dangerous.

Because, as you listened, you realized he wasn’t trying to convince you of anything anymore.

He was trying to convince himself.

Matt didn’t respond immediately.

The rain continued to pound against the windows with the same relentlessness with which it had begun that afternoon, but it no longer sounded like an outside noise. It had become the very pulse of the room, a constant presence that filled the spaces where words failed. You stood before him, not daring to break the silence again. You had pushed too far. You knew it. Every rational part of your mind told you to stop, apologize, take your still-damp coat, and leave before you turned that afternoon into something from which neither of you could return.

You thought of your boyfriend.

You pictured him at work, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place in Matt’s small apartment. The mere image was enough to send a pang of guilt through your chest. He hadn’t done anything. Not a single thing that justified what you were doing. He loved you with quiet honesty, without games or uncertainties, and yet there you were, seeking answers from another man with a desperation you could no longer disguise as curiosity.

You were aware of how unfair this situation was. How absurd it was that someone who had a partner, like you, was asking these questions, seeking answers from their best friend as if he… as if he were something more. It was confusing, a web of emotions tangled in your head, and after a long time, you wanted to escape that web, not ignore the discomfort it caused.

Go.

The idea came to you with almost violent clarity.

Get up. Thank him for the coffee. Tell him you’ll see him next Tuesday. Do the right thing.

Your legs, however, remained still.

Because there was another truth, a much more uncomfortable one, that had been silently growing for far too long.

If you left now, you would keep asking yourself the same question for the rest of your life.

And you were no longer sure you could bear that kind of doubt.

Matt slowly exhaled. The sound was barely perceptible, but it was enough for you to understand that he had stopped fighting with himself. Not because he had found a way out, but because he was beginning to accept that perhaps there wasn’t one.

“Do you know what’s unfair?” he said.

You shook your head slowly.

He offered a tired smile, one of those that never reached his eyes. “You think I’m protecting you,” he paused, searching for the words with a patience that seemed to pain him. “The truth is… I’ve been protecting myself.”

That confession fell upon you with a devastating gentleness.

It wasn’t grandiose. It didn’t have the intensity of declarations that happened in movies. It was worse precisely because it sounded like a truth that had been waiting years to be spoken.

You felt your heart pounding against your ribs.

“Every Tuesday, I tell myself today’s just lunch,” he smiled humorlessly. "Just coffee. Just catching up. Just... my best friend." The last expression seemed to cost him more than all the previous ones. “And every Tuesday I go home wondering why spending two hours with you is enough to make the rest of the week feel... quieter.” His throat moved before he continued. “I keep telling myself that’s all it is. That it’s supposed to feel that way because we’ve known each other forever,” he shook his head very slowly. “I stopped believing that a long time ago.”

The world seemed to run out of air.

You didn’t remember stopping breathing.

You didn’t remember taking your eyes off him.

All you knew was that Matthew Michael Murdock, the man who found a way out of everything, had just run out of options.

“I didn’t tell you because you have a life that doesn’t include me that way,” the phrase was spoken without bitterness, only with immense sadness. “I respect that,” he fell silent again. “So I learned to live with it.”

Guilt settled in your chest with an unbearable weight. You wanted to answer him. To tell him he shouldn’t have carried it alone, that it wasn’t fair, that you would have preferred to know rather than see him smile every Tuesday as if nothing were wrong. But the words refused to come.

Because, deep down, you understood exactly why he had kept quiet.

You would have done the same.

Matt tilted his head slightly, orienting it toward your breath.

“That’s why I wanted you to leave,” Matt’s voice broke again for just a moment. “Because if you stayed... I wasn’t sure I could keep pretending this was only friendship.”

The room fell into absolute silence.

There were no more excuses.

No more jokes.

Just two people who had spent years calling friendship something that had long since ceased to fit within that word.

“What if I can’t leave?”

The question left your lips with a serenity you didn’t feel.

All the way to uttering those words, you had hoped that guilt would find the strength to stop you, that common sense would force you to silence you, or that, at the very least, the image of the life you had built over so many years would appear before you with enough clarity to make you back down. None of those things happened. The guilt remained, settled beneath your ribs like a constant weight, reminding you that there was a man who trusted you completely, a man you loved sincerely and peacefully, someone who had never deserved to become the silent antagonist of a conversation he didn’t even know was happening. That’s precisely why it was so unbearable to discover that, even knowing all this, you were incapable of turning around and walking out the door.

Matt remained motionless. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know that your question had struck a nerve. You sensed it in the ensuing silence, a silence unlike any before, heavier, as if even the rain had lost its force, unable to hear the answer neither of you seemed willing to utter. His hands remained at his sides, his fists clenched. It was a small detail, almost imperceptible, and yet you knew Matt well enough to understand that this stillness was the equivalent of a tremor.

While you waited, your gaze drifted for a moment around the apartment you’d walked through so many times. There was the old globe lamp resting on one of the shelves; you’d given it to him to decorate his space, even though he’d never turn it on. The bookshelf held law books alongside other novels in Braille that you’d bought for him. The coffee cup lay forgotten on the table, still giving off a faint warmth. You’d been there so many times that the place had become as familiar as your own apartment. Perhaps even more so.

That’s when you understood something you’d been denying yourself for years.

You’d always thought of home as a place. An address written on an envelope, keys in your pocket, a window lit at the end of the day. However, as time passed, that definition had begun to crumble without you even noticing. Home had stopped resembling a specific location and had become a feeling much harder to explain: the absurd tranquility you experienced every time you heard Matt’s voice on the other end of the phone, how easily your chest stopped feeling heavy after talking to him for ten minutes, the almost childlike certainty that, no matter how much the rest of the world changed, he would still be there.

And that was precisely the part you were most afraid to admit.

Not because it meant ceasing to love the person you shared your life with.

But because it meant accepting that there was a part of you that had been seeking refuge in someone else for far too long.

You had tried to rationalize it in every way possible. You called it friendship because friendship was safe; because it didn’t require asking uncomfortable questions or rethinking the course of a years-long relationship; because the word had the power to justify intimacy without forcing you to explain why the rest of your friendships never felt that way. It worked for a long time. It worked until that afternoon, until that rain, until Matt stopped hiding behind half-answers and you discovered that you were no longer capable of hiding behind half-truths.

He took a slow breath before speaking, and when his voice broke the silence it sounded so tired that for a moment you wondered how long he had been carrying that weight alone.

“Don’t say that,” Matt asked you.

There was no reproach in those words. Not even concern. They sounded, rather, like the plea of ​​someone who knew all too well where that conversation was headed and still hoped to stop it.

You smiled without joy. “Why?”

Matt let out a slow breath. “Because once you say something like that... neither of us gets to pretend we didn’t hear it.”

That answer finally tore down the last barrier you’d erected over the years. You realized you weren’t the only one who’d been pretending for too long. You’d both survived by calling friendship a bond that had long since begun to overflow that word, and perhaps that’s why it hurt so much to remain there, facing each other, neither of you finding the courage to take a step back. It wasn’t the fear of an answer that kept you immobile. It was the vertigo of discovering that, after so many years, you already knew the answer long before you’d even asked the question.

The rain continued to fall with the same infinite patience with which it had begun that afternoon. The water trickled down the windows in long, silvery streaks that blurred the lights of Hell’s Kitchen, transforming the city into an indistinguishable watercolor. For a moment, you clung to that image, as if the world beyond the glass could offer you a simpler answer than the one you’d just left hanging between you.

There wasn’t one.

All you found was the faint reflection of two people who could no longer hide.

Matt stood before you, his head tilted slightly toward the sound of your breathing. His stillness wasn’t indifference; it was effort. You knew him too well not to notice. Everything about him spoke of an almost painful restraint: the rigidity of his shoulders, the subtle tension in his jaw, the way he kept both hands closed at his sides, as if removing them would mean accepting something he hadn’t yet found the courage for.

You couldn’t find it either.

And yet, neither of you seemed capable of finishing that conversation.

You had often thought that guilt was enough to stop any impulse. You believed that simply remembering the right thing to do was enough to act accordingly. How naive that idea had been. The guilt was still there, alive, piercing your chest with unbearable precision, but it no longer had the power to move your legs toward the door. It remained a silent witness to it all, watching you discover a much more uncomfortable truth: desire wasn’t always born of impulse; sometimes it was born of recognition. Of understanding, too late, that you had found in a person what you had believed impossible for years.

It wasn’t the dizzying thrill of a new infatuation.

It was calm.

The unbearable, sweet, and devastating calm of feeling that you had come home.

Matt was the first to break the silence: “You should hate me for this.”

The sentence barely reached the volume of a whisper.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

He let out a joyless laugh, a weary exhalation that seemed to mock himself more than anything else. “For standing here hoping you don’t leave,” Matt confessed.

The words made the air seem heavier.

For years you had imagined countless ways Matt might confess something like this. None of them were like this. There were no grand speeches or impossible promises. Just a raw honesty, so deeply his own that it was impossible not to believe it.

You smiled sadly. “You know… that’s the problem.”

Matt barely lifted his head. “What is?”

You took a deep breath. You could feel your racing pulse pounding in your throat, but you no longer had the strength to hide behind cautious answers. “I don’t think I could.”

The confession was suspended between you.

“I’ve tried,” your voice barely broke as you continued. “I’ve tried telling myself this was just friendship. That eventually it’d feel like every other friendship I’ve ever had. I kept waiting for that day because... because that would’ve made everything so much easier,” a bitter smile appeared on your lips. “It never came.”

Matt didn’t say a word.

There was no need.

There was something about the silence with which he listened to you that always managed to make you talk a little more than you should.

You lowered your gaze to the wooden floor, unable to bear the weight of your own words.

“Do you know what I hate the most?” You shook your head slowly before he could even answer. “I never came here looking for this,” you whispered.

Tears began to blur your vision with an unbearable slowness.

“I came here because every time something good happened... I wanted to tell you first. Every time something terrible happened... I wanted to see you. I never stopped to ask myself why because I was afraid I’d find the answer.”

When you looked up again, Matt was still exactly where he’d been.

Not a step closer.

Not a step further away.

As if he’d decided that the only freedom he could still give you was not to encroach on the space that was rightfully yours to decide.

It was that gesture—or rather, the absence of any gesture—that finally disarmed you.

Matt kept choosing you even in resignation.

He kept respecting a line you both knew existed, even though doing so seemed to cost him every fiber of his being.

You felt an unbearable lump tighten in your throat.

“Matt…” you whispered.

He swallowed hard. Matt could feel your tears; he knew you needed to close your eyes for even a split second for the salt water to adorn your beautiful face. It devastated him to know you were like this in front of him and to have to hold back, to forbid himself from touching you because otherwise… otherwise he wouldn’t stop. 

Your voice, the way you said his name? He was a strong man, but you were breaking down every barrier as if they were nothing. Matt wanted to comfort you, kiss you, hug you, share comfortable silences, but he was finding it hard to stay on your side, on the side of your best friend.

“Sweetheart…” Matt said, exhaling slowly. “Don’t say my name like that, you’re killing me.”

You’d never heard him breathe like that.

So deeply.

So slowly.

Like a man preparing to lose something before he’d even had it.

“If I touch you…” His voice sounded broken for the first time that afternoon. “...I’m not sure I’ll be able to pretend tomorrow that today didn’t happen.”

No one spoke after that.

There was no need.

The rain continued to pound against the windows. The coffee was now completely cold. A car drove by, splashing water onto the asphalt, and the muffled sound reached the apartment.

The world kept turning.

Only you two remained motionless.

It was Matt who finally closed his eyes.

Not because he needed to in order to find you.

But because he needed to gather the courage to stop fighting something that had been resisting him for far too long.

With an almost reverential slowness, he raised a hand. He didn’t immediately reach for your face. His fingers first found the edge of the sleeve of the t-shirt he’d lent you, as if he wanted to make sure you were really still there. The back of his hand barely grazed your arm before moving up to your cheek, pausing with a gentleness that seemed to ask permission even after everything you’d just confessed.

His thumb barely touched your cheekbone.

Your breaths mingled in the small space between you.

“Tell me to stop…”

It wasn’t a condition.

It was one last chance.

An escape he still insisted on offering you.

But you couldn’t find the words.

You simply closed your eyes, letting the tears fall, and slowly rested your forehead against his, letting the silence answer where language could no longer reach.

Matt let out a trembling breath, almost a surrender. For a moment he remained motionless, as if wanting to memorize that brief touch before allowing himself anything else. Then, with a caution that belied the intensity of everything he had felt for years, he barely tilted his head and brushed his lips against yours in a brief, hesitant, and deeply restrained kiss; a kiss that didn’t seek to consume the moment, but to confirm that what they had both kept silent for so long was, finally, real.

Outside, the rain continued to fall with its usual obstinacy, oblivious to the silent instant in which two lives had just changed forever.

For years, the lines had been blurred, a delicate dance of friendship and unspoken longing that Matt had navigated with the practiced precision of a man walking a tightrope. But the truth, once spilled, could not be gathered back up like spilled wine.

When his lips first met yours, the world narrowed down to the singular, overwhelming sensation of you. To Matt, you were never just a visual; you were a symphony. He could hear the frantic, fluttering rhythm of your heart, a tempo that mirrored his own, and the scent of you filled his heightened senses. The kiss was tentative, a question asked in the dark, a desperate plea for you to pull away before the gravity of this act pulled them both under.

But you didn’t pull away. You leaned in. More. 

As you responded, the tentative spark ignited into a consuming flame. The shy, questioning pressure of your and his lips deepened, turning hungry and certain. Matt’s hands, usually so controlled, found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if trying to bridge the impossible gap between two souls. The guilt of his life, of kissing someone else’s partner, the blood on his knuckles, the secrets of the mask, the complexity of his faith seemed to wash away with the storm outside. In this moment, there was no Daredevil and no lawyer; there was only the heat of your breath and the undeniable truth that you were the home he had been searching for all along.

The air in the apartment grew thick, charged with the electricity of a storm that had been brewing for years. Matt’s hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, his fingers splaying against your skin, feeling the warmth radiating from you. He was a man of discipline, a man who lived by the rigid structures of the law and the unwavering tenets of his faith, but you were the one variable that always threatened to break his composure.

You let out a soft, shaky breath against his lips, a sound that was half sigh and half surrender. You reached up, your fingers tangling in the short, neat hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as if you feared he might vanish back into the shadows of his own secrets.

“Matt,” you whispered, your voice a velvet caress that vibrated through his very chest.

The sound of his name, spoken with such raw vulnerability, was the final tether to his restraint. Matt groaned low in his throat, a primal sound of release. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him. The kiss shifted from a desperate question to an urgent, demanding answer.

You felt the strength in him, the fighter’s build, the solid, unyielding muscle that lay beneath his button up shirt. You pressed yourself harder against him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. As the kiss intensified, Matt’s hands wandered upward, tracing the curve of your spine, his touch both reverent and hungry. He was memorizing you, not with eyes, but with every nerve ending he possessed, drowning in the scent of you and the intoxicating realization that, finally, they were no longer pretending.

The storm outside raged, but the tempest within the apartment was far more volatile. The guilt, the heavy, suffocating knowledge of the man you belonged to was still there, a phantom weight in the back of Matt’s mind. But as his hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, gathering the silk of your skin, the moral compass he had relied on his whole life spun wildly before finally snapping. The need to possess you, to anchor yourself to your reality, was a hunger more primal than any prayer.

You let out a soft, broken moan as his calloused palms grazed your ribs. You felt the heat of him, the sheer, overwhelming masculinity of a man who spent his nights fighting for justice and his days fighting his own demons. You didn’t care about the world outside this room; you didn’t care about the man waiting for you at his home. In Matt’s arms, you felt a terrifying, beautiful completeness.

You arched your back, pressing your chest against the firm plans of his; your hands sliding down to the waistband of his slacks, desperate to strip away the professional veneer of the lawyer and find the man underneath.

“Matt, please,” you whimpered against his neck, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

Matt’s breath hitched. He was navigating you by touch and sound, his senses dialed to a fever pitch. He could feel the frantic pulse in your throat, the way your body trembled under his fingertips, and the intoxicating scent of your arousal rising to meet him. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he backed you toward the couch.

His lips left yours to trail a path of fire down your throat, his tongue swirling over the hollow of your collarbone. Your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut as you melted into him, your entire being focused on the friction of his body against yours.

When his hand moved higher, cupping the fullness of your breast through the fabric of his shirt, you let out a sharp, needy cry; your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, demanding everything he was willing to give.

The friction between your body and his was a language all its own, a frantic dialogue of skin on skin that rendered the rest of the world a distant, fading memory. Matt’s control, the legendary discipline of a man who lived in a world of constant sensory bombardment, was finally fracturing. He wasn’t just touching you; he was experiencing you in a way no sighted man ever could. He felt the microscopic shiver of your skin, the heat of your blood rushing beneath the surface, and the way your very breath seemed to sync with the rhythm of the rain.

He lowered you completely onto the cushions, his body hovering over yours, a heavy, delicious weight. His hands, large and capable, moved with a desperate reverence, sliding the fabric of his and your clothes away until there was nothing left between you but the air and the anticipation.

“You have no idea,” Matt rasped, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “How many times have I sat across from you, trying to listen to your heart and pretend it wasn’t driving me mad? How many times have I smelled you and had to pray just to keep my hands from reaching for you?”

You gasped, your hips rising instinctively to meet his. The sheer intensity of his words, the raw honesty of his desire, made you feel more seen than you ever had in your life. 

“Then stop praying, Matt,” you breathed, your voice thick with longing. You reached down, your fingers tracing the hard, corded muscles of his thighs, guiding him toward you. “Just take me. I’m yours. Right now, there is no one else. Just us.”

That was a statement neither of you two wanted to argue with because, in this moment, as cruel as it may be, it was the truth. There was no one else in the symphony of the meeting between you and Matt. It was him and you, no one else.

Matt let out a low, guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a vow. “God…” he whispered your name, “you feel so beautiful,” he whispered, his hands roaming the curves of your hips, squeezing the soft flesh there. “So perfect. Every inch of you... it’s everything.”

The air in the room was heavy with the scent of rain, musk, and the intoxicating aroma of your arousal. Matt’s senses were operating at a level of intensity that bordered on the divine; he could hear the slick, rhythmic sound of your breathing and the way the moisture between your thighs seemed to hum with its own life. He was no longer just a man; he was a predator of sensation, guided by the heat radiating from your core.

He moved down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire across your stomach, tracing the dip of your navel. Your breath came in short, jagged hitches, hands clenching the sofa cushions as you felt the warmth of his mouth approaching.

“Matt…” you whimpered, your legs falling open in a silent, desperate invitation.

Matt didn’t make you wait because he didn’t want to wait either. He settled between your thighs, his hands sliding up the insides of your legs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When he finally made contact, his fingers found you already slick and swollen with need. As his middle finger slid into the soft, wet folds of your vulva, you let out a high, keening cry, your hips bucking upward.

“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart,” Matt murmured, his voice a dark, honeyed growl against the skin of your thigh. He didn’t pull away; Instead, he began to work his fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, circling your clitoris with the pad of his thumb while his fingers delved deeper into your heat. “I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me.”

You were lost in a sea of ​​sensation. The feeling of his calloused, strong fingers sliding in and out of you, the relentless, rhythmic pressure on your clitoris, was driving you toward the edge of madness.

You felt liquid, melting, your entire world reduced to the point where his skin met yours. “Yes... oh god, Matt, right there,” you gasped, your head tossing back, your eyes rolling as the pleasure began to coil tightly in your gut.

The friction of Matt’s fingers inside you was relentless, a masterful orchestration of pleasure that had you spiraling toward a precipice. Every time his thumb swirled over your clitoris, a fresh wave of heat crashed through you, making your inner muscles clench and pulse around his digits. You were drenched, the slickness of your juices coating his hand, making a soft, wet schlick schlick sound that echoed in the quiet room.

“Matt, please! I can’t... it’s too much,” you cried out, your voice breaking. Your hips were moving of their own volition now, thrusting upward, trying to grind yourself against his hand to find the release that was screaming to be let loose. The tension in your lower belly was a tightening coil, a frantic, heavy pressure that demanded an end. “I’m going to... oh god, Matt!”

Just as you felt the first tremors of an orgasm beginning to ripple through you, Matt shifted. He slowed the pace of his fingers, his touch becoming agonizingly light, teasing the very edge of your peak without allowing her to cross it.

Matt said your name, in a tone you’d never heard before. “Not yet,” he commanded, his voice a dark, authoritative rumble that vibrated through your entire body. He leaned over you, his chest brushing your sensitized tits, his eyes though unseeing fixed on the beautiful, desperate expression on your face. “Don’t you dare come yet. I want to feel you break when I’m inside you. I want to feel your walls clenching around my cock, squeezing me as you lose yourself,” he almost groaned in your ear when he heard you whimpering beneath him. “I want to feel your pussy around me during the first orgasm I’m going to give you.”

“But... fuck... don’t... don’t be like that,” you gasped, your legs trembling violently, your toes curling into the fabric of the couch. The frustration was a delicious torture, a hunger so sharp it was almost painful.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand moving faster now, a sudden, aggressive rhythm that drove you right back to the brink. He used his other hand to reach down, his fingers finding your clitoris again, pinching and rubbing with a precision that made your vision blur. “Stay right there on the edge for me, baby. Stay right there... because when you finally come, you’re going to do it all over me.”

You couldn’t think of anything else. You couldn’t think of the immorality of the act, of the fact that you were letting your best friend touch you in a way he shouldn’t.

Not because you didn’t want to.

Not because Matt didn’t want to.

But because you were with someone else. You had a boyfriend.

Even that fleeting thought, the memory of your partner, was overshadowed by the ocean of sensations Matt was stirring within you at that moment. You truly belonged to him now.

The tension in the room was so thick it felt like a physical weight, a heavy, humid atmosphere of pure, unadulterated lust. You were a wreck of sensation, your body twitching with the desperate need to explode. Your pussy was a swollen, dripping mess, the nectar of your arousal coating Matt’s fingers so thickly that every thrust of his hand made a loud, slapping, wet sound that drove them both closer to madness.

“Matt, please... stop playing with me,” you sobbed, your voice a ragged plea. Your tits were heavy, your nipples hard and dark, straining against the air as you arched your back, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. You were so close, the pressure behind your clitoris feeling like a dam about to burst.

Matt, however, was a man possessed by a singular vision. He could hear the frantic, wet squelching of his fingers deep inside you, the sound of your pussy opening and closing around him. He could feel the heat of you, the way your internal muscles were already pulsing in rhythmic, desperate contractions. He was rock hard, his cock stuck directly against his abdomen showing how the tip was decorated with precum, his balls heavy and tight with the need to sink into you.

“Look at you,” Matt growled, his voice thick with a primal, dirty hunger. He pulled his fingers out of you with a slow, sucking sound, only to immediately replace them with the hard, pulsing length of his cock. He didn’t go in all at once; he teased the tip of his head against your soaking wet slit, dragging it through your juices. “Look how much you’re leaking for me. You’re absolutely dripping, sweetheart. You’re a fucking mess, and you’re all mine.”

His words, in the legality of couples, were erroneous. The act was wrong and sinful, disloyal and deceitful, but Matt had desired you for so long, had loved you silently for years, that this moment, this span of time where it was just you and him, was heavier than any relationship title.

It was a cruel act against your boyfriend, but even so, Matt couldn’t deny it, couldn’t deny you. He could cleanse his guilt later, not at this moment? You were his, and he was yours.

He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and with one powerful, decisive thrust, he buried himself deep inside you. Matt couldn’t take it anymore; he didn’t have to.

You let out a scream that was half sob, half ecstasy. The feeling of him filling you, stretching you wide, was more than you could bear. You felt his thick, hot cock sliding against your most sensitive spots, hitting your G-spot with every deep, punishing lunge. Which was devastating, because you never imagined a man could complete you so completely, both emotionally and sexually.

And so, so unfair to your poor boyfriend, whom you didn’t even remember now that you were filled with Matt.

“Oh god, Matt! Fuck, yes!” you cried, your legs locking around his waist, pulling him even deeper. You could feel his heavy balls against your skin, so full, ready to release inside you.

The sensation of him filling you was a revelation, a violent and beautiful collision of two souls that had been orbiting each other for far too long. Matt was a force of nature, his thrusts deep and punishing, driving his thick, hard dick into the very depths of your soaking pussy. Every time he slammed his hips against yours, the sound of your skin and his meeting was a wet, rhythmic slapping that echoed the frantic drumming of the rain outside.

You were lost to the madness of it. Your head thrashed against the cushions, your tits bouncing with the force of his movements, your nipples chafing deliciously against his chest. You felt stretched, filled, and utterly possessed. “Fuck, Matt…” you moaned, needing more of him, all of him. “Harder, please!” you almost screamed, your voice raw.

You wanted to feel every inch of him, wanted the friction to burn the memory of anyone else out of your mind.

Matt leaned down, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he let out a low, animalistic growth. “You like that, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice a dirty, gravelly command. “You like feeling my dick stretching you wide? You like how much you’re fucking squeezing me?” He pulled back just enough for you to look at him. He could feel your internal muscles clenching around him like a vice, a desperate, rhythmic pulsing that told him you were right on the edge.

You’d never allowed yourself to think about a moment like this, you’d never imagined hearing such words coming from Matt’s lips, but hearing them made your pussy tighten even more around him. It turned you on to hear him talk to you like that, to feel how he wanted to dominate you in a way that made you feel dirty in the best way.

“Yeah,” you answered, breathless and panting.”God yeah…” you said, because you wanted to answer him, you wanted him to know the intensity of the force he had within you.

“You’re about to come, aren’t you, sweetheart? Hm?” Matt said, his hips swaying as he buried his nose in your cheek. “Tell me you want to come, let me be the one to make you come. Me and no one else. Only me,” he commanded, panting.

Your eyes were rolled back in your head, your breath coming in frantic, shallow gasps that hitched every time Matt’s heavy balls thudded against your soaking wet slit. The sheer friction of his thick dick sliding in and out of you was driving you into a frenzy of pure, unadulterated lust. You felt like you were melting, your entire consciousness narrowing down to the point where his pelvis met your clitoris with every deep, punishing lunge.

“Yes! Only you,” you said, not caring about the weight of those words, because you knew that, at this point, they were full of truth. “God!” you screamed, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your nails leaving red crescents in his skin. “I want you to fucking break me... make me yours, Matty, please,” you asked needily in a sinful whisper that made Matt’s hair stand on end.

Matt let out a guttural roar, his control finally snapping like a taut wire. He gripped your ass, his large hands squeezing your cheeks and pulling your hips upward to meet his brutal, rhythmic thrusts. He was fucking you with a primal desperation, his movements becoming faster, harder, and more unhinged. He could hear the wet, slopping sounds of your pussy being absolutely drenched by his dick, the sound of your juices splashing against his skin as he hammered into you.

“That’s it, baby... take it all,” Matt growled, his voice a filthy, commanding rasp. He leaned down, his chest crushing her bouncing tits, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tasted of sweat and despair. “Feel how hard my cock is inside you? Feel how much you’re fucking tight? You’re so wet, sweetheart... you’re fucking swallowing every inch of me.” he groaned. “God, I’ve dreamed about this, baby, you have no idea…” he whispered to you breathlessly.

He shifted his angle, his dick rubbing intensely against your G spot with every stroke, driving you toward the precipice. Your internal muscles were spasming, your pussy clenching around him in frantic, rhythmic waves that signaled your impending explosion.

“Ah—please, god, I’m close,” you almost stammered, your body arching off the couch, your entire being vibrating with the force of your climax.

The tension in your body reached a breaking point, a violent, electric crescendo that made your entire frame shudder. Your pussy was clenching around Matt’s dick in frantic, rhythmic spasms, your internal walls pulsing with a desperate, hungry heat that threatened to pull him under with you.

You were right there, hovering on the razor’s edge of total annihilation.

“Matt,” you gasped. "I... Matt... please" you whimpered, your voice cracking as your hips began to jerk uncontrollably. The sensation was too much the feeling of his thick, hard cock hammering into you, the friction of his balls slapping against your slit, and the sheer, overwhelming weight of his body was pushing you over the cliff.

Matt felt the change in you, the way your pussy suddenly tightened like a vice, the wet, rhythmic contractions of your orgasm beginning to ripple through you. The sensation was intoxicating, the heat of you clenching around him driving him into a frenzy. He didn’t pull back; Instead, he drove himself even deeper, burying his dick to the hilt, his hips slamming against you with a brutal, final force.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled and then moaned your name. “Come for me. Fuck, come for me,” Matt moaned, his voice a primal, filthy command. He could feel your climax exploding, the torrential waves of your orgasm pulsing against his cock, milking him with a desperate, beautiful intensity.

Your world turned to white light. You let out a long, keening wail of pure ecstasy, your tits heaving as your body bucked wildly against him. You felt like you were shattering, your entire being dissolving into the sensation of his dick filling you as you came.

The feeling of your pussy convulsing around him was the final trigger for Matt. He let out a guttural, needy groan, his body tensing as he reached his own peak. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, and felt the hot, thick jets of his cum erupting from his dick, flooding your pussy with his heat. He groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder as he pumped load after load of hot semen deep inside you, his entire body trembling with the force of his release.

The silence came slowly, as if even you two understood that any sound would be an intrusion.

The rain continued to pound against the windows with infinite patience, muffling the distant hum of Hell’s Kitchen traffic until it was a barely perceptible murmur. The apartment smelled of cold coffee, damp cotton, and that unmistakable warmth that lingers in a room after two people stop pretending; that scent of intimacy, of sweaty bodies mingling and becoming one, at least for this moment. Neither of you said a word. It wasn’t necessary. Some conversations ended when voices fell silent, and others were just beginning in the silence.

You lay beneath him, your breath still searching for a rhythm that had long since ceased to obey you. You felt the pleasant weight of weariness spread through every muscle of your body, but it wasn’t exhaustion that kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was certainty.

Everything had changed.

There was no going back.

Part of you expected the regret to hit immediately, as violent as a wave crashing against the shore. You expected to feel nauseous, afraid, the desperate urge to get dressed and leave before reality could fully catch up with you. After all, that’s how it went in the stories people told about bad decisions. First the impulse; then the guilt.

The guilt was there.

Of course it was.

It had stayed with you all afternoon and remained nestled beneath your breast with the same stubbornness. You thought of the man who trusted you completely, of the promises made over the years, of the peaceful life you had patiently built together. None of it had vanished. It still existed, untouched and painfully real.

And yet, regret never came.

You closed your eyes tightly, almost hoping to force it to appear.

It didn’t.

All you found was a peace that felt as unjust as it was incomprehensible.

It was a quiet, profound tranquility, like the feeling of coming home after walking for hours in the rain. A calm that didn’t come from having done the right thing, but from having stopped lying to yourself for the first time in years.

Now you realized that, before, if a stranger had asked you on the street if you would marry your boyfriend, you would have said yes. That was your mindset. But now, in this moment, you realized that if it had been Matt asking, you wouldn’t have given the same answer, not even before this moment. Anyone else might have gotten a confirmation from you, but Matt… You couldn’t have lied to Matt, not even before the confessions you shared today, before you lost yourself in your best friend’s body.

The couch cushions dipped beneath Matt’s weight as he shifted above you. He didn’t pull away immediately. That hesitation was so unmistakably him that it broke your heart all over again. Even now, with nothing left standing between you, he seemed to wonder how close he was allowed to remain.

Matt remained above you, careful not to let his full weight rest against your body, one arm supporting himself against the back of the couch while his breathing slowly settled into a steadier rhythm. His sightless eyes, open and distant as always, were turned toward nothing you could name, and yet they seemed fuller than you had ever seen them. His dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, the sharpness that usually defined his features softened by exhaustion, and there was something in his expression that caught you completely off guard. It wasn’t relief alone, nor happiness, nor even peace. It looked remarkably like a man who had spent years carrying something unbearably heavy and, if only for a moment, had finally allowed himself to set it down. 

As if he’d spent too many years holding a door shut with all his might, and suddenly, he’d stopped pushing.

You felt a lump tighten in your throat.

“Are you... regretting this?” you whispered, which was ironic, because you were the one who had betrayed someone.

The question barely managed to form.

Matt took a long moment to answer. You heard him breathe, gathering his thoughts with the same patience he always displayed when an answer was too important to improvise.

Finally, his face met yours; you could almost swear his eyes lingered on your lips.

“I regret a lot of things,” his voice sounded hoarse, exhausted. “I regret the people I couldn’t save. I regret every lie I’ve told Foggy. Karen.” He managed a tired smile that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “I regret every time I thought I had to carry the world by myself.”

His free hand found yours. He didn’t take it immediately. He barely touched your fingers, as if even that gesture were still a question.

Then, seeing that you didn’t pull away, he intertwined your fingers with his.

“But not this,” he finished.

The simplicity with which he said it finally brought tears to your eyes. Once again, you found yourself vulnerable in his presence, exposed in more ways than one.

They weren’t tears of joy.

Nor were they tears of sorrow.

They were the inevitable result of discovering that two emotions could coexist without canceling each other out. You could feel guilt and, at the same time, immense peace. You could know that you had crossed a line from which neither would emerge unscathed, and yet understand that what you had experienced wasn’t a mistake born of mere whim, but the consequence of years spent suppressing a truth.

Matt slowly raised his free hand until it found your cheek. His thumb traced the path of a tear with infinite gentleness before stopping next to your temple.

“I’m sorry... for how complicated this is,” Matt whispered.

He wasn’t asking for forgiveness for having loved you.

Nor for what had happened.

He was asking for forgiveness for the pain that inevitably accompanied that truth.

You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

“I know,” you whispered.

For a long time, you had confused love with the tranquility of not questioning the course of your life. You believed that loving meant choosing someone and staying with them for the rest of the journey. It was a beautiful idea. It was also incomplete.

Because there were people who didn’t come into a life to alter its course, but to reveal the course that life had been trying to follow from the very beginning.

That was Matt Murdock.

Not an accident.

Not a fleeting temptation.

Not a fantasy born on a rainy afternoon.

He was the answer to a question you’d never had the courage to ask.

And perhaps that was the most terrible part of the whole story.

Not that you’d found each other too late.

But that, in doing so, you both discovered that, for the first time in many years, the feeling of being whole bore the name of the other.

The rain didn’t stop when you and him finally stopped talking. It continued to fall on Hell’s Kitchen with its usual monotonous rhythm, oblivious to the silent revolution that had just taken place within those walls. You two remained motionless for a long time, as if either of you feared that simply standing up would be enough to place the weight of the world back on your shoulders. 

Matt was still inside you, as if he didn’t want to break the connection that now existed between you, however silly it sounded. He was close enough for you to feel the quiet warmth of his body, and you discovered, with a mixture of tenderness and melancholy, that you had never felt him so human. He wasn’t the vigilante who returned battered every night, nor the lawyer who found the right words even for the most difficult tragedies. He was simply Matt, a tired man who had spent too long believing that love always had to hurt to be true.

Without saying a word, you raised a hand and gently brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The gesture was so small it almost went unnoticed, but you felt a barely perceptible smile curve his lips.

“You keep doing that,” he murmured, his voice still deep, soft for the first time all afternoon.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending you don’t take care of me.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve never been very good at pretending,” you said, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Matt let out a low laugh, the kind of laugh that seemed to rise from deep within his chest, in some corner only accessible to those he truly knew. Then he tilted his head slightly, his forehead brushing against yours, a gesture infinitely more intimate than any word spoken that afternoon. Matt and you remained like that for a few seconds, breathing the same air, letting the silence finish saying what language had never been enough to convey.

For the first time in a long time, neither of you felt the need to fill the void with explanations.

Because, sometimes, home wasn’t the place where you found answers.

But rather, it was the only person with whom the silence ceased to feel empty.

notes: yeah, this is extremely long lmao.

i know cheating is a sensitive topic for many people, but… i love it in fiction, idk. i needed to write about this and i got a lot off my chest.

[theautomattic]

Matt Murdock + the blood on his beautiful face increasing 😍

[glorybeat]

my weirdo bf

[clawxmoon]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ boyfriend of the shyest girl you know

while everyone else mistakes your quietness for disinterest, dex catches the tiny things - the way you lower your eyes when someone compliments you, how you linger just outside conversations before slipping away, how your voice gets softer when you’re nervous.

he secretly loves being the only person who gets to hear your real laugh. around other people it’s quiet, always hidden behind your hand, but when you’re alone with him it slips out freely. every single time it happens, he pauses for just a second, watching you with the smallest, barely noticeable smile.

“…there it is,” he murmurs.

your shyness makes you hesitant to ask for affection, which means dex learns to read you instead. he’ll notice you hovering nearby while pretending to look at something else, the tiny glances you keep stealing at him, the way your fingers fidget with your sleeves. without a word, he’ll open one arm. you shuffle over almost immediately, resting against his side. “…better?” he asks. you nod into his shoulder. “mhm.”

he finds your tendency to hide behind him endearing. crowded streets, loud environments, unfamiliar people - you’ll unconsciously drift until you’re standing just behind his shoulder. after a while, he starts shifting slightly to make room without even thinking about it.

because you’re so reserved, every little sign of affection from you means everything to him. if you reach for his hand first, if you lean your head on his shoulder without being prompted, if you quietly mumble, “I missed you,” when he comes home - it stays with him for days. he doesn’t react in the moment, but later that night he’ll pull you just a little closer while the two of you lie in bed, silently replaying those moments in his mind.

your shyness means you’re constantly apologizing for taking up space. dex hates it. every time you murmur, “sorry,” for something insignificant, he gently interrupts. “don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” eventually he starts placing a finger beneath your chin whenever you apologize unnecessarily, making you look at him until you smile instead.

dex has spent most of his life hiding every genuine emotion he has. you wear yours all over your face without realizing it. he knows exactly when you’re excited because your eyes brighten before you even smile. he knows when you’re anxious because you start twisting your rings. he knows when you’re trying not to cry because your lips press together just a little tighter.

“I can hear you thinking.” he says.

“…how do you know?”

“because I know you.”

one of the first things dex notices is that you instinctively make yourself smaller. when a waiter accidentally gets your order wrong, you smile and say it’s fine. when someone interrupts you, you simply stop talking. it bothers him more than he’d ever admit. after watching it happen one too many times, he starts speaking before you can. “she ordered the tea, not coffee.” his voice is calm, almost detached.

you glance up at him, surprised. afterward, you mumble, "dex, you didn’t have to.”

he looks at you for a second. “I wanted to.”

he loves when you hide your face in his chest after he compliments you. at first he thinks you’re embarrassed. then he realizes you’re smiling too much to look at him. from then on, he starts whispering compliments just to feel you curl into him. “you’re beautiful.” you let out the tiniest groan, face disappearing into his jacket. he rests his chin on your head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

there are times when your quiet nature worries him. after everything he’s experienced, silence can make his thoughts spiral. if you spend too long lost in your own head, he’ll glance over more often than he’d like to admit. “you okay?” he’ll ask. every single time you smile softly and answer, “just thinking.” only then does the tension leave his shoulders.

he never tries to change your personality. if anything, he protects it. he knows the world constantly expects louder, bolder people, but he likes that you’re soft. likes that your words are carefully chosen instead of rushed. likes that your kindness isn’t performative. one night, when you apologize for “being too quiet,” he looks at you for a long moment before gently taking your hand. his fingers intertwine with yours. “it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

you’re soft in every way he isn’t. where his voice is blunt, yours is hesitant. where his gaze is intense, yours is quick to drop. when strangers make eye contact, you smile politely. dex studies them until they look away first. the funny part is that you balance each other perfectly. people approach you because you seem approachable. they leave you alone because they eventually notice who’s standing beside you.

[aquaticmercy]

Do you think Dex could bend a truly good love interest’s morals?

Dex Finds Himself a “Good Girl”

TW injury, stalking, moral corruption, suggestive/sexual content, harassment by a Task Force agent, murder, she/her pronouns.

WC 1.4K

You swear you’re a good person.

You help at the food bank when you can. You donate to a wildlife charity every month. You always round up for children’s hospitals at the cashier. You carry reusable bags. You move worms and snails off the pavement after rain because it breaks your heart when pedestrians step on them unknowingly. You say “thank you” to bus drivers, and by now they know you by name. You cry at videos of old dogs getting adopted. You once said “sorry sorry sorry” to a spider before trapping it under a glass and putting it outside.

You swear you’re a good person.

That was all you were trying to be when you found a man bleeding out on your rooftop.

He was slumped against the brick, one hand pressed to his side, blood slipping between his fingers. His suit was a dark blue and black, torn open at the ribs. His face was pale, though his eyes were not.

“No hospitals,” he said.

And because you were a good person, you swallowed hard and said, “Okay.”

You knew first aid, you volunteered in enough community centers not to. 

“Do you have a name?” you asked.

His teeth chattered a little. “Dex.”

You swear you’re a good person when you let him inside your apartment.

You swear you’re a good person when you clean the blood from his body and nurture him back to health.

You swear you’re a good person when you let him sleep on your couch, even after you realize the suit is familiar.

Even after you realize he’s familiar.

Even after you realise he’s Bullseye. Even if he’s the kind of man good girls are supposed to run from.

But you look at him, Dex sits on your couch under  your blanket, bruised and battered, and says, “I’m one of the good guys now” with absolute conviction and a lopsided grin, as if he was imitating you. 

You swear you’re a good person when you believe him.

Or maybe you just want to believe him. Maybe you decide wanting to believe in him counts as mercy.

You swear you’re a good person when he’s eventually well enough to leave.

You swear you’re a good person when you spend two weeks pretending you’re glad he’s gone.

In truth, your apartment feels empty. You keep looking at the place where he bled on your tiles longingly.

Then, like a lost cat, he comes back through the window.

His hair was streaked with blood, he has blood on his knuckles. His eyes are tired and fixed on you.

“Task Force is crawling my streets,” he says. “Can I stay here?”

You swear you’re a good person when you say yes.

You swear you’re a good person when he kisses you that night.

It happens in the kitchen, under the flickering yellow light, with rain tapping against the glass. 

His mouth hits yours hard. You gasp, and he swallows it. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb pressing under the soft flesh of your jaw, holding you still while he kisses you deeper. His body pins yours to the counter, and you know you should be scared.

You swear you’re a good person when you kiss him back.

You swear you’re a good person when you pull him closer by his belt loops.

You swear you’re a good person when he tells you he’s been watching you since he left.

He said he was sure you got home safe. He was making sure nobody followed you. He was sure the man from 4B stopped looking at you like a creep. He was sure you were safe, because he was a good man, right?

You should tell him to leave. Instead, you cup his cheeks and press his forehead to yours.

“Don’t lie to me about it again,” you whisper gently, which is not the same thing as telling him to stop.

You know that. Dex knows that, too.

You swear you’re a good person when you basically forgive him for stalking you. 

You swear you’re a good person when he starts staying over.

Suddenly, he has a toothbrush next to yours. His shirts end up in your closet. 

You swear you’re a good person when his hands go under your shirt, groping and gripping and touching  like he can’t believe you’re letting him. He kisses your neck until you’re whining. He bites your shoulder hard enough to make you arch. He grinds against you, still clothed, like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin and into yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants.

You don’t. Instead, you drag him down.

You swear you’re a good person when he fucks you. When he gets you naked with desperate, clumsy hands and pushes your thighs apart like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he goes any slower. Your thighs are shaking so hard you have to grab his hair and mewl into his shoulders.

He fucks you deep and messy and stupid, hips pounding into yours, one hand gripping your thigh, the other braced beside your head. The bed hits the wall and nails tear down his scarred back. His mouth drags over your nose, your cheek, your lips, all open-mouthed and frantic.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice wrecked.

You just let out a helpless “hmpph!”

He laughs once against your mouth.

You swear you’re a good person when you let him fuck you silly in your own bed, even though you know what he is.

You swear you’re a good person when Task Force comes knocking three days later, when Dex is out.

The agent at your door is handsome, but not your type. 

“Ma’am,” he says. “We’re asking about a Bullseye sighting nearby.”

You blink up at him. “No, sir. I haven’t seen anything.”

You swear you’re a good person when you lie.

He doesn’t leave and steps closer instead, one boot over your threshold.

His gaze drops to your bare legs, and then to the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It was actually Dex’s shirt.

“You live alone?” he asks.

Your stomach turns upside down. “I think you should go.”

He shrugs, “I’m just asking questions.”

His hand catches the door before you can shut it. Then he is inside, too close, fingers brushing your.

You freeze.

He looks at your mouth.

“You sure you don’t know anything?” he murmurs.

You swear you’re a good person when you lie again, this time through gritted teeth. “I said no.”

His hand slides to your waist and you shove him.

He laughs, but he tries to put his hands on you again. 

Eventually, you shut the door and get him out.

You wait for Dex.

You swear you’re a good person when you tell him everything, knowing exactly what Dex would do. 

“Name,” he says.

You tell him what you saw in the badges.

You swear you’re a good person when you don’t ask where he is going.

You swear you’re a good person when he comes back before dawn dragging the agent by the back of his collar. The man is crying.

His badge is gone, face is bruised, pushed to his knees  on your wooden floor.

Dex stands behind him with a gun in his hand.

“Apologise,” Dex says.

The agent sobs through it. He says sorry, says he didn’t mean it. Says he was just messing around.

Dex presses the gun to the side of his head and looks at you. “Can I?”

You swear you’re a good person.

You swear.

You swear.

You swear you think about mercy. You swear you think about laws. You swear you think about the literal human life Dex has put in your hands.

Still, you say, “Yes.”

Dex shoots him in the head. The agent drops, and blood spreads across your wooden floor.

He looks at you as if asking, are you proud of me yet?

You swear you’re a good person when you help him clean up the mess. You swear you’re a good person when you hold the bin bag open. You swear you’re a good person when you help him scrub blood from the floorboards. You swear you’re a good person when you help him bury the body.

What else were you supposed to do? Let him do it alone? After he defended you? After he did what you asked him to do?

You swear you’re a good person when you crawl into bed beside him that night.

You tuck yourself under his chin and whisper, “I love you.”

His arms close around you as he says, “I love you, too.”

You swear you’re still a good person.

Or maybe you’re just in love. Maybe you don’t know the difference anymore.

—

To answer your question anon, yes. If you were so blinded by love, you wouldn’t even notice the goalposts had moved! again, it truly really matters on how in love you are/you perceive to be, but I’m writing it on the extreme end for the sake of the story!

[hornheadswhxre]

Thank you Stephanie Phillips and Lee Garbett for your incredible service to the DD thirst community 🙏🤤❤️

Me af when I turned the page and saw this:

[scarlet48]

OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDD 😭😭🙏

[mangomurdock]

The Price of Obsession…

CW: THIS CONTAINS DUBIOUS CONSENT (DUB-CON). THIS IS INCREDIBLY UNCHARACTERISTIC OF MATT AND I AM AWARE OF IT.

🚨ALWAYS ASK FOR CONSENT. THE ONLY VALID ANSWER IS YES!🚨

MDNI

DEAD DOVE

It’s truly just a black scarf DD fantasy of mine hehehe~!

Contents: dub-con, unprotected pnv (wrap it!!), stalking, pussy eating, mixed POV’s

Summary: Matt has been stalking you since he’s heard your voice pray at his church and one night he couldn’t help himself while he overheard you pleasing yourself.

Sunday:

You went to Sunday mass since you needed some guidance from Father Lantom. It’s been ages since you set foot in a church, let alone prayed, but ever since you moved to Hell’s Kitchen you’ve been met with constant hardships.

Your shitty apartment raised it’s rent, you need to replace your tires which is $500 dollars you don’t have, and you’ve been denied a promotion at your workplace after you’ve been the most productive employee in there. You’re tired. The last place of positivity you could think of was this church.

You’ve met Father Lantom on a park bench where you two spoke about theology and the existence of a God through the basis of your current hardships. After a lengthy conversation, he advised you that if you ever needed to talk to him or the big man upstairs then you to come to his church where you would be welcomed with open arms.

And here you were, listening to Father Lantom wrap up his sermon about keeping faith. He flashed you a smile as he went down the steps and head into his living quarters which left you semi-alone in the pews.

You took a deep breath before putting your hands together to finally pray for the first time in years.

“God… I know it’s been a while but after everything I’ve been going through? You’re the only stable thing I can turn to. Please…Please let me be okay after everything. This will pass, but protect me while it passes? Amen..” You sigh as wipe the tears in your eyes. You make your exit with a little more faith than you had before and head home.

Matthew attended that same Sunday mass when he heard the desperate prayer of a person whose voice was like honey to his ears. He couldn’t describe this fascination but he knew he couldn’t just let it slide. So he did what any normal person would do: he followed you around.

This following lasted for a good 4 months as he learned your routines, your likes, your dislikes, anything he could possibly get from overhearing your angelic voice speak.

He followed you to work where he learned how shitty your coworkers treat you. He’ll take note of that later. Matthew then followed you to the train station where he could overhear the music you like to hear on your way home. Early 2000s stuff is respectable in his opinion. Once you were home, Matthew perched up on your buildings roof to watch over you. He would not let a single person lay a finger on you. You have the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen as your loyal servant.

Oh, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was hearing underneath him. He could hear a buzzing hum, different from the neon lights surrounding the area, but that buzzing hum mixed in with a new sound that made Matthew’s breath falter.

It was you.

You were in bed writhing in bliss using your vibrator after such a long week of pure stress and there’s no better stress reliever than an orgasm or two. Your legs are spread open wide as you work the toy into your lubed up cunt. Right hand pumping while your left hand works on your clit making you pant like a bitch in heat; just chasing for that high.

Matt could hear everything you were doing. Your gasps, your whimpers, your moans, the slick sound of your cunt engulfing the toy you’re using. He could barely stand while his ears studied your noises nor could he properly rationalize since the blood that was once in his brain went straight down to his cock.

You could feel your orgasm start to brew inside your womb. You knew your cervix would hate you in the morning but you don’t care at this point. It feels too damn good. Your eyes flutter shut as your climax begins to rise up within you, but your pleasure was cut short and replaced with terror as you felt a strangers lips on your neck.

Your diaphragm expands to let out a scream but the masked man covers your mouth before you can. “Easy, sweetheart~! Don’t let me interrupt you~!” His voice was husky; sultry as he worked on your pulse points. In your terror, your body betrayed you by giving you goosebumps from how soft his lips were on your skin.

Kissing down your collarbone he reaches the soft mounds of your breasts. He takes his free hand to free them from the confines of your top to knead them; his fingers reaching to roll your nipples in a way that has you shuddering. You cannot believe that your body is acting positively to this stranger’s actions but you just can’t help yourself.

It feels good, you feel good, and that’s all you want to feel right now; no matter the circumstance. He hears your soft whimpers and just smiles at how sweet you gave into him. It gives him the confidence to let his hand off your mouth and replace it with his lips. The masked man kisses you passionately as if he’s starved for you. His lips feel so plush against yours and the contrast of the scruff on his cheeks excites you for more of it.

The masked man separates from your lips and connects them to your sternum, your abdomen, and finally to the plushy upper part of your pussy. You watched as he removed the toy from inside you and replaced it with his tongue.

The moan Matt ripped from you was ten times better than the one he heard above you especially since it was him prying them from you. Matthew has waited for so long to finally have you like this. He’s fantasized it for a couple of months, but to finally take it? It’s a whole different rush.

Matthew laps your juices to savor your sour-sweet taste; drinking until his eyes glaze over in his mask. His focuses his tongue to curl around your clit and sucks on it until he feels your thighs clamping around his head. Matthew’s hands fly up to grasp at your thighs and pulls you onto his mouth further.

The coil in your womb begins to tighten as his tongue works you in a way you’ve never experienced before. Your legs are trembling at the near overstimulation this man is giving you and it feels so fucking good. Every partner you’ve had in the past is buried by this man’s ability tongue fuck you.

The masked stranger seems to feel how close you are to finishing when he plunges two fingers into your core; curving them to hit that yummy spot that has you seeing stars: “That’s it, angel~! Give me what I want~! I’ll clean it right up~” He’s moans against your cunt just eager to drink your climax.

Your mind goes blank as your orgasm hits you at full force while you’re gripping at the sheets below you. Desperation fills your voice as your orgasm hits you in waves; The masked man keeping his promise of drinking every last bit of your release.

Once you came down from your high you look at the stranger in front of you. His half covered face is glistening with your slick and you can’t say that he doesn’t look sexy as fuck with your juices all over his face.

You watch him wipe his bottom lip with his thumb and lick the excess off. A chill goes down your spine when you see him smile devilishly at your spent frame. The straining tent in his pants tells you that he isn’t done with you just yet; not like you want him to be.

Your stomach turns in apprehension as you watch him unbuckle his pants to finally unveil his neglected cock. You stare in awe at his heavy looking cock and you can feel yourself getting turned on again.

The stranger walks slowly over to the edge of the bed, boots thudding on your wooden floors, until he stops by your ankles. In a swift motion he grabs you by them and pulls you toward his exposed sex; his cock lying on top of your puffy cunt. You can see how deep he’s going to fuck you and it makes your stomach fill with butterflies at the mere thought of it. Are you actually going through with this? Are you that desperate to feel good that you’re just welcoming this to happen instead of fighting and screaming?

Your thoughts are cut short by the masked man tapping your entrance with the leaking tip of his cock making your heart rate increase. The man above you breathes in deep as if he’s preparing mentally for what he’s about to do.

Matthew can’t believe he’s about to take you like this. His chest heaves as he fights his conscience on whether or not he should stop. The angel telling him that he’s taken it too far but the devil tells him that he’s has not taken it far enough. His morality and carnal desire battle within his head, but he can’t hold on any longer. He needs more.

His beard smells like you, his tongue is still savors you, he can hear the slick replenishing in your pussy as the position he has you in apparently is turning you on again. His brain phases into a blank state as he lets his carnal desires glaze over completely.

You watch the masked man take one last breath of composure before he presses your knees onto your chest and shoves his throbbing cock into your heat. The stranger hunches over you as he starts plowing you into the mattress and all you can do is take it.

The noises that escape your throat are breathy and hitched as your body and conscious still can’t make up their mind. Arms gripping onto the strangers hoodie to try and ground yourself in the moment he’s giving you. Once you allow yourself to feel good all you feel is the strangers cock slamming down onto your cervix. The release of restraint finally has you moaning in ecstasy as you feel each and every inch of this man’s cock stretching you to its blissful limit.

The stranger’s voice groaned in the most primal way as he bullied your womb. “S’good~ Need it- Need you~!” The carnal need dripping from his mouth like drool as the masked stranger takes your body as his to take.

A new coil of heat begins to rise within you as you take in everything that’s happening to you. His cock feels so fucking good as it abuses your slick walls; cunt clenching as he hits that sweet spot within you that has you arching your back.

Your breathing becomes more and more erratic as he prioritizes all of his efforts into prying that orgasm out of you. In an effort to make connection with the masked stranger your weakly bring your hands to his face; wanting to see more, but he denies you by grabbing your wrists and pinning them beside your head.

“No! No…not yet..” he rasps as he sinks down to your newly exposed neck. He licks, bites, and sucks on the exposed skin. It has the coil in your womb at its limit. Your body stiffening at the sheer amount of pleasure this man has been giving you; making you cum all over him. The stranger groans in your ear as his hips stutter during your peak. He spills within you, hot ropes of cum coat your insides while the masked man fucks it all back into you.

His hips slow to a stop and all that is heard in the room is the cacophony of panting between the two of you. The stranger gives your face a few more kisses before he starts pulling away from your core; whining at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

The masked man stands tall as he puts himself back into his pants which makes you realize how bare you are. Shyly, you grab the comforter on your bed to give yourself some sense of modesty while you watch the man in front of you. You see him readjust his mask as he makes his way to your window.

Before he makes his exit he turns his head over to you; a sly smirk painting his face: “We’ll see each other again. Don’t you worry, sweetheart~” His words leave you stunned and blushing as you watch him exit your window; dissolving in the darkness of night.

[clawxmoon]

── .✦ out of time ˎˊ˗

ᯓ SUMMARY │a late-night encounter with your neighbor leaves you shaken as tony - dex - ends up closer to you than he ever should, and the line between familiarity and something more starts to blur.

ᯓ WARNINGS │slow pace, dryhumping, oral fem receiving, p in v, praise, overstimulation, dirty talk, edging, slight choking, pinning, petnames, no aftercare though :( │word count: 5k

you sat curled beneath a blanket, one leg tucked underneath you, a book resting open in your lap. your apartment felt unusually warm compared to the weather outside. a small lamp glowed beside the couch, casting pools of amber light across the room along with some scented candles you lit.

you'd showered less than half an hour ago. your hair was still slightly damp, the ends leaving faint wet marks against the oversized t-shirt you'd thrown on afterward. the warmth from the shower lingered on your skin, making the apartment feel even cozier than usual.

it should have been the perfect night for reading, except you kept rereading the same page because your mind kept drifting. your neighbor. the man from across the hall. you didn't even know his name. all you had were brief encounters in hallways, shared elevator rides, nods of acknowledgement.

you stared down at the page. reading the same sentence for the fourth time and giving up. with a sigh, you lowered the book onto your chest. outside, headlights passed below your window. your thoughts wandered again.

you wondered if he was home, if he was awake, if he ever noticed you watching him the same way you noticed him watching you. you wondered what his voice sounded like. whether it was as sharp as his stare. whether he even knew how much space he'd started taking up inside your head. the thought made you smile at yourself.

this was getting embarrassing. you were imagining a man you'd never even spoken to.

you were just beginning to convince yourself to return to your book when three firm knocks sounded at your door. the sound startled you enough that you nearly dropped it. you sat up immediately, blinking toward the hallway. at almost midnight, you certainly weren't expecting visitors. another knock followed a few seconds later.

setting the book aside, you stood from the couch and crossed the apartment. the wooden floor felt cool beneath your bare feet as you approached the door. through the peephole you could only make out the dark shape of someone standing in the hallway.

curiosity got the better of you. you unlocked the door and pulled it open.

oh.

standing on the other side was the very man you'd been thinking about for the last twenty minutes. rainwater darkened the shoulders of his black jacket, suggesting he'd only recently come inside. his expression remained unreadable, but his eyes settled on yours almost immediately, familiar and unnervingly intense.

then he lifted one hand - dangling from his fingers was a set of keys. for a second, you simply stared at the keys in his hand, then recognition hit.

"oh my god."

you immediately reached for them, relief washing through you. "i've been looking for these all evening."

his gaze followed the movement of your hand. "figured."

your fingers brushed as you took them from him. it wasn't even enough to properly qualify as touching, but you still felt it. a brief spark of awareness that made you strangely conscious of how close he was standing. you glanced down at the familiar keychain attached to the ring and laughed softly.

"seriously, thank you. I thought I'd somehow lost them outside."

"found them in the lobby," he said. "you dropped them earlier."

you looked back up at him.

"and you remembered they were mine?"

"I've seen you carrying them."

the answer should have felt completely normal. instead, it made your stomach tighten. neither of you seemed eager to break eye contact. the hallway suddenly felt much smaller than usual.

you became acutely aware that you were standing in your doorway looking freshly showered and probably staring at him like an idiot. you cleared your throat.

"well." your fingers tightened around the keys. "I definitely owe you one..."

"tony." he specified. you introduced yourself in exchange.

tony... the name doesn't suit him that much, you thought to yourself.

"tony!"

his eyebrow lifted slightly. his gaze remained on you for a moment before shifting away. only then did you properly notice the state he was in.

his dark jacket was soaked through. rainwater clung to the fabric and dripped occasionally onto the hallway floor. his hair was damp too, slightly darker than usual, with a few strands falling forward.

you frowned. "jesus. it's pouring out there."

he glanced over his shoulder toward the building entrance at the end of the hallway. "yeah."

"you got caught in it?"

"something like that."

the man looked like he'd walked through a hurricane.

"something like that doesn't explain why you look like you swam home."

that earned a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. you felt oddly proud of yourself.

"well, my apartment building has terrible timing too."

"how so?"

he looked back at you.

"no hot water."

you blinked. "what?"

"pipe burst." he said it casually. "and maintenance won't be here until tomorrow."

you stared. "you're kidding."

"wish I was."

you looked at him. then at the rainwater practically dripping off him. then back at him. a few seconds passed. no, don't even think about it.

"you can use my shower."

the words left your mouth before you could think about them. immediately afterward your brain caught up.

right. great. amazing.

you had just invited the attractive stranger you'd been obsessing over for months into your apartment to shower. excellent. very normal.

his eyebrows lifted slightly, looking skeptical. "your shower..."

you cleared your throat.

"I mean-" too late. you were already flustered. there was no recovering now. "I have hot water. you don't. that's the entire thought process."

"that's reassuring."

"don't make it weird."

his expression remained perfectly neutral. "I wasn't."

"you were thinking about it."

for a second you thought he might refuse, you expected him to. he seemed like the kind of person who rarely accepted help from anyone. his eyes drifted past you into the apartment. then his gaze returned to yours.

"you sure?" he asked, his question coming out quieter than you expected.

you nodded. "yeah."

finally he sighed through his nose. almost like he was giving in to something. "okay."

you blinked. "okay?"

"okay."

you hadn't actually planned for him to agree. now you were the one standing there staring. his eyes narrowed slightly. amused.

"you're the one that offered."

"I know, I just-" you stopped. because there was absolutely no way to finish that sentence without embarrassing yourself. he waited. "come in" you pointed toward your apartment.

the smile that appeared this time was small. brief but definitely real. you stepped aside and he finally crossed the threshold into your apartment. the scent of rain followed him inside.

you closed the door behind him and suddenly became painfully aware that your mysterious neighbour was standing in your living room. the same living room where you'd spent the last twenty minutes thinking about him. unfortunately, your brain chose that exact moment to remind you of this fact.

you immediately walked into the side of the couch. the impact echoed through the room. fuckkkk, that hurt. you closed your eyes from the pain and tried to ignore what just happened, pretending you were okay.

"I saw that."

of course he did. you rubbed your knee.

"no you didn't."

"pretty sure I did."

"well, as your host, I'm asking you to respect my privacy."

another laugh. somehow, hearing it while he stood dripping rainwater onto your floor made the entire evening feel a little unreal. you laughed alongside him.

you guided him to the bathroom - brought him towels and whatever men's clothing you had. the ones you usually bought to wear at home.

"If you need anything else let me know, tony!"

he thanked you and locked the door, turning the shower on. dex immediately started inspecting the whole place: what brand toothpaste and soap you use, what does your laundry detergent smell like, what scented shower gels do you have. he didn't forget to open some drawers and noticed a few pads and tampons laying around, as well as some razors and first aid kit.

after checking everything out, dex finally stepped into the shower. he didn't mind your haircare and skincare products - he thought they smelled sweet, just like you. he couldn't stop sheepishly smiling the whole time. like he finally got what he wanted without even trying too much - if we don't include the fact that he stole your lost keys earlier the day, and a few months of eye-fucking you two had.

after around 15 minutes, tony was out of your bathroom, dressed in your home clothes. he looked so unbelievably hot right now, hair still wet and messy, clothes a little too tight for his broad figure, his cheeks were pinkish and you could smell your signature scent across the living room.

"everything alright?" you peeked your head up from the couch.

"yep, I guess you don't owe me anymore" he smiled. "you're good". tony started walking over to you, the couch dipping at his weight. fuck, he looked so sexy manspreading right on your couch, drying his hair with one hand, his biceps flexing. this can't be real, you thought to yourself.

you were staring. it was becoming a genuine problem.

“you keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna start thinking I’ve got shampoo left in my hair.”

your eyes immediately snapped upward, face feeling warm. “you probably do.”

“wow.”

“check.”

tony dropped the towel onto his shoulder and patted around his head dramatically. after a few seconds of searching, he held up absolutely nothing.

“false accusation. I expect an apology.”

“you’ll survive.”

“barely.”

you rolled your eyes and tried focusing on the random movie playing on the tv because your extremely handsome neighbor looked like he had just walked out of a magazine cover to you. meanwhile, he was sitting on your couch wearing sweatpants that were definitely too small for him and a hoodie that looked like it was losing a battle against his shoulders.

it wasn’t fair.

“you know,” he said after a moment, “this is actually kind of weird.”

“you showering at my place?”

“that too. mostly the fact that your entire apartment smells like vanilla.”

“and?”

“and now I smell like vanilla too."

you laughed.

he looked offended. “I'm serious.”

“that’s your problem?” you rolled your eyes.

"pretty much, I've got a reputation to maintain" you stared at him. he stared back. then both of you lost it. the tension dissolved instantly.

“that’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard,” you managed between laughs.

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

the laughter lingered for a second before fading away. the movie continued playing in the background, filling the apartment with distant dialogue and music neither of you were paying attention to anymore. somehow, the silence that settled between you felt different now. heavier.

tony leaned back into the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest. his head tilted slightly as he looked at the television, but you got the feeling he wasn't watching it either. you tried to focus on the screen. but every time you glanced over, he was still there - wearing your clothes, still smelling like vanilla and your shampoo, still taking up way too much space in your apartment and somehow making it feel smaller.

the realization made your stomach twist. because this wasn't normal. neighbors didn't usually end up sitting on each other's couches at midnight wearing borrowed clothes and they definitely didn't make it this hard to breathe. you swallowed and looked away.

"okay, what is it?" tony asked.

"what?" your head snapped toward him.

"you keep looking at me." his voice was quieter now - not teasing, just stating a fact.

heat crawled up your neck. "you're sitting in my apartment."

tony's jaw tightened slightly. just enough for you to notice. then his eyes dropped to the oversized sleeve hanging over your hand, to your bare legs tucked underneath you on the couch. then back up again, slowly. your breath caught. his expression changed for half a second. something unreadable flashing across his face before disappearing just as quickly.

it was the first time since you'd seen him that he looked uncertain.

"you should stop looking at me like that," he said quietly.

your pulse skipped. "like what?"

his eyes held yours for a second.

"you know exactly like what."

the air seemed to leave the room. you couldn't think of a single response, avoiding eye contact. your eyes dropped to the floor, then to the sleeve hanging over your hand, anywhere except him. meanwhile, tony didn't move. his gaze stayed exactly where it was, steady and impossible to ignore even without looking directly at him.

you could feel it lingering, feel the weight of the silence stretching between you. the room hadn't changed, the tv was still playing somewhere in the background, but everything else seemed distant, drowned out by the simple fact that neither of you had laughed your way out of this one.

when you finally risked a glance back up, his eyes were still on you. not challenging, not teasing - just watching. there was something unusually unguarded about him now, as if he'd forgotten to hide whatever was running through his mind. the silence settled heavily between you, charged with all the things neither of you seemed willing to say out loud.

all you knew was that your heart was beating hard enough to make it difficult to think. the space between you suddenly felt much smaller than it had a few minutes ago, despite neither of you changing position. tony's gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

the movement was subtle and impossible to miss. for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely conflicted. like he was arguing with himself, like part of him had already made a decision and the other part was trying to stop it.

"this is a bad idea," he said quietly. the words sounded more like a warning to himself than to you.

you swallowed. "then why aren't you leaving?"

for a moment, he just looked at you. then something in his expression softened.

"I don't want to." the answer barely came out above a whisper. somehow the distance between you disappeared. tony leaned forward slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, every opportunity to break the moment if you wanted to. when you didn't, his eyes flickered between yours one last time.

his hand came to rest against the couch beside you, close enough to make your pulse jump. close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. the air felt impossibly still. then he tilted his head slightly and closed the remaining distance.

It started off as hesitant at first, like he was unsure of it but soon enough tony leaned in closer, deepening the kiss. his hand came up to hold the side of your face - fingers brushing over your jaw. you could feel his desperation with the way he was kissing, it wasn't rough but passionate. his hand went down to hold your throat, softly squeezing it.

you felt yourself getting hotter every second, feeling goosebumps all over your body. you tried to break the kiss to take a breath but tony held it firmly, not letting it go. he pushed his tongue back into you, exploring every part of your mouth.

slowly both of his hands went down to hold your waist, pushing you closer. you used this chance to straddle his lap and he gladly let you. you felt the hardened bulge between your legs immediately, softly groaning at the feeling of him. tony squeezed your waist and pushed you to his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck.

the kiss got intense in matter of seconds, it wasn't innocent anymore. both of you were breathing loudly, holding each other impossibly close. you could feel yourself getting wet, pussy pulsing right on his lap. you decided to grind on him out of desperation.

"fuck" tony grunted loudly and pushed his head back on the couch. he started to push his hips up to feel you deeper. you moaned softly at the new sensation, your clit feeling the friction between layers of clothes. tony's hands moved to grab your ass and push you down on him again. you grabbed the back of his hair out of pleasure and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

tony's voice was low and rough, grunting from time to time. he started leaving kisses on your jaw, going down lower and biting your neck, softly sucking on it. his hands now trailed back up to slide under your shirt. he cupped and squeezed your breasts and twisted one of your nipples.

your moans started to progressively get louder, desperately grinding your clothed pussy on his sweatpants. you felt yourself getting closer, the friction, sensation and heat between your legs getting difficult to handle. you couldn't keep your composure anymore. neither could tony.

"am I making you feel good, pretty girl?" he smiled, whispering in your ear and gently biting it before going back on your throat. "come on, you're almost there, baby".

the praise made your walls flutter around nothing, the emptiness felt frustrating. you felt yourself getting impossibly close to cumming from just rubbing your clit on his bulge.

"fuck, fuck, fuck" the orgasm came crushing down on you. your back arched at the feeling, eyes and head rolling back, exposing your neck to the man under you. he didn't miss the chance to plant lingering kisses all over your throat.

"good girl" tony pushed himself up on you once again to ride out your pleasure and moved your body against him with force. he grabbed your face and kissed you rough and desperately, biting your lower lip.

his fingers tangled in your hair as the kiss turned filthy again - wet and deep and messy. every bite of his teeth sent sparks down your spine. then suddenly he pulled back just enough to yank off his shirt in one rough motion. the dim light caught every hard line of his chest filled with the scars.

without a word, tony lifted you effortlessly into him and pinned you beneath him on the couch cushion. his mouth found yours again but it wasn't gentle anymore.

tony’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up slowly - his lips never leaving yours as he kissed you through every movement. when the fabric was halfway off, he broke the kiss just to pull it completely over your head. the second cool air hit your bare skin, goosebumps erupted but tony warmed you fast with his mouth trailing down your neck.

his teeth grazed one shoulder before his tongue dipped into the hollow of your collarbone. each kiss grew hotter, needier, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

he reached behind to unhook your bra that stood in his way without hesitation - impatient but careful not to hurt you.

"you're perfect, sweetheart" he whispered against your bare skin.

tony kissed down your stomach, slow and deliberate - each press of his lips a promise. when he reached the waistband of your shorts, he paused. his fingers hooked into the fabric and peeled them down over your hips with torturous slowness. you could feel every brush of his knuckles against sensitive skin.

his soft lips pressed a kiss through thin panties that were already damp from everything before this moment ever started happening at all.

with one hand holding onto your thigh to keep you spread for him, he dragged those same panties down slowly - revealing everything inch by inch under dim living room light filtering through curtains.

the moment your panties were gone, he lowered his head and licked long, slow, deliberate - right through the center of your folds. a full-body shiver tore through you at the contact.

"tony!" you moaned out loud as your head fell back out of pleasure.

he did it again. then again. each stroke was different - teasing one side with his tongue while sucking gently on sensitive skin. his mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard.

"sweeter than I imagined," tony groaned im your pussy, completely lost in your pleasure.

you gasped so loud it turned into a moan that echoed off the walls. tony growled against you and doubled down immediately: tongue swirling fast now while two fingers slid deep inside without asking permission. they curled just right inside you as he sucked relentlessly.

his fingers, which had been moving slowly at first, suddenly picked up speed - thrusting deeper and faster inside you while his thumb replaced his mouth for a split second to rub tight circles over your clit then he dove back in with force. it was relentless - curving those two digits just right every time they plunged deep. the heel of his hand pressed lightly against your pelvis, adding subtle pressure that made everything feel even more intense

you could hear him breathing heavy through it all - low groans vibrating against sensitive. each sharp inhale from him told you he was getting off on every sound spilling out of your lips

"please don't stop, please" you chanted his name like a prayer as you came apart instantly, your orgasm hit like a lightning strike fast and overwhelming. the way you came from tony’s mouth was messy.

fingers clenched around tony’s hair as waves of pleasure ripped through you. your back arched off the couch cushions and your hands fisted hard in his hair, pulling slightly without meaning to.

"there you go" tony didn’t stop. not even when he felt you shaking under him. he kept sucking gently now instead of aggressively - drawing out every last pulse until it became almost too much. sensitive and overstimulated.

finally, tony slowly pulled back - lips glistening in the low light, then crawled up over you. without hesitation or warning he crashed his mouth into you, kissing messy and deep with all that pent-up hunger still burning inside him.

his sweatpants thudded softly as it hit the floor. he didn’t hesitate when he finally peeled off his boxer briefs - freeing himself completely. hard, thick and aching for attention. you almost drooled at the sight. he kicked everything aside without looking and climbed back onto the couch with you - skin on skin this time. warmth everywhere.

tony hovered over you for a breath - just looking. your lips were swollen from kissing, your chest rising and falling fast. the room was quiet except for both of your breathing. heavy with want. he lined himself up slowly - tip pressing right where it mattered most and paused again, waiting, checking if you were okay with this. when you nodded and arched into him, he pushed forward slowly.

inch by inch, stretching gently as his body slid inside yours, heat meeting heat in the most intimate way possible.

"fuuuuck, baby, so tight f'me" his jaw clenched hard, eyes squeezing shut briefly from how good it felt.

the slow, careful pace didn’t last long. once tony was fully inside - buried deep where you were warm and tight around him. his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself deeper with a low groan that rumbled through his chest. the rhythm started steady at first, then faster and harder.

"eyes on me, baby" each thrust made the couch creak beneath you both. tony’s breathing turned ragged, mouth falling open as pleasure overwhelmed every nerve. without warning, one hand shot up and wrapped loosely around your throat. just enough pressure to make your pulse jump under his palm. then he pinned both of your wrists above your head with one strong grip.

"fuck, feels so good" you moaned against his lips.

"oh yeah? you like how I fuck you, baby?" tony teased.

the pleasure was building too fast, like a wave about to crash. every snap of tony’s hips sent electric shocks through your core, each movement perfectly calculated to drag the most intense sensations out of you. his voice alone - low and teasing made your stomach flip.

"tony, please" you could feel him everywhere - the heat of his skin against yours where sweat-slicked bodies pressed together; the way muscles in arms flexed as he held himself up over you.

"please what, baby" he repeated slowly, voice dripping with false innocence like he hadn't just wrecked you seconds ago. his hips gave a tiny roll - not enough to give real relief; just a cruel little tease of movement. he saw it in your face immediately: that perfect mix of desperation and neediness. "use your words," he murmured against your neck, lips brushing skin between syllables.

"please, tony, wanna cum on your cock, please" your voice came out breathless, wrecked already. tony’s expression shifted. the playful teasing vanished in an instant, replaced by something far darker and hungrier. his pupils dilated further; his jaw tightened with sudden intensity.

without warning, he slammed back into you - harder this time. no slow buildup now; just raw force as his hips with renewed aggression. the couch creaked violently beneath you both like it might actually break from how rough and fast things got all of a sudden.

a groan ripped from tony’s chest at the feeling - the way you clenched around him so perfectly. "fuck!" your third orgasm hit like a tidal wave, unexpected and overwhelming, eyes rolling back to the back of your skull. one second tony was pounding into you with that perfect rhythm, the next your whole body clenched around him - walls fluttering as pleasure erupted through every nerve ending.

you gasped his name. he felt the way you squeezed him so tight and that was all he needed. his thrusts turned erratic. desperate. losing their control fast as his own release barreled toward him.

a few more rough pumps and he buried himself deep inside you and came hard - body tensing above yours like a coiled spring finally snapping. heat flooded between you both in waves. the second his orgasm peaked, tony collapsed onto you - heavy but careful not to crush you completely.

his lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss. when he pulled back, neither of you got very far. his forehead nearly brushed yours. for a second, he simply stared at you, breathing unevenly.

your breath was still coming in slow, shaky waves - post-orgasm haze thick around your mind as you looked around the room. the tv had been playing some late-night news segment after the movie ended - volume low, background noise. neither of you really paid attention before. but then you glanced at it, eyes half-lided, mind floaty.

Benjamin Poindexter. Also known as, Dex - Bullseye. a headline flashed. there was a live shot of him brutally attacking the police - his figure was tall, broad shoulders, that confident stride you’d recognize anywhere. then they showed a mugshot of his face without the mask: dark eyes, sharp jawline, face filled with scars that were still red.

your stomach dropped. tony saw the second your eyes widened - that specific kind of panic, the sharp inhale that wasn’t pleasure-related and the way your whole body locked up. he turned his head slowly toward the tv. without hesitation dex reached for the remote and hit mute first, then power-off button right after.

the room plunged into silence the second the screen went black - no more news, just suffocating stillness. dex’s movements were precise, calculated; even now, there was something terrifyingly methodical about him.

he turned to face you fully. the dim light from your bedside lamp caught his profile - the same scars you’d seen on tv moments ago now in real life: jagged across his cheekbone, a thin line over his eyebrow. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t calm either.

the silence felt fragile now, stretched so tightly that even the smallest movement seemed capable of breaking it. dex's gaze lingered on yours before drifting toward the dark window across the room. his shoulders had gone rigid.

"I should go," he said eventually.

whatever had been there moments ago was gone. the guarded expression had returned, settling over him like armor. his jaw tightened as he looked toward the door instead of at you.

"tony?"

"dex." he corrected. closing his eyes briefly. that single hesitation told you more than anything else could have.

when he finally stood, the apartment felt strangely empty despite the fact that he was still there. every movement seemed deliberate, controlled, like he was forcing himself to leave before something happened that he couldn't take back.

"thanks for letting me use the shower," he said quietly.

you rose from the couch too. his eyes met yours then. and you saw something dangerously close to the truth. whatever it was, it scared him. the silence stretched. then he gave a small shake of his head.

"goodnight."

his hand remained on the handle. his back to you.

"for what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm really glad you opened the door tonight."

the door clicked shut behind him, and you stood there staring at it long after he was gone. the apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

slowly, you sank back onto the couch, your mind replaying every conversation, every look, every pause that had lasted a second too long. beneath the shock and confusion, you couldn't figure out what had happened. the pieces were all there, yet none of them seemed to fit together, leaving you with more questions than answers.

[sassandscribbles]

Friends with Disadvantages

 Pairing : Matt murdock x Reader

Summary : Your friends with benefits situation is slowly turning your life hell.

Word Count : 315

Warnings : Allusions to smut.

You're sprawled on matt's silk sheets reconsidering every single life decision that led to this moment.

“Do you really have to go?” You ask from beneath the comfort of his blankets peeking up at his godly figure as he slowly puts on his daredevil suit.

The muscles of his back ripple in the low yellow light that matt insists on having in his apartment. The veins on his forearms bulging as he tugs the pants upward buttoning it close.

“You know I have to. Someone's gotta look after the innocent in hell's kitchen” his voice is serious in a way you dont want it to be when he has just fucked you raw.

What you'd rather like is to have him cuddle you to sleep. But that's beyond the terms of your…..whatever your relationship is.

You unconsciously whimper as the sight of his glorious cock is hidden from you by those pants that should be illegal for how good they make his ass look.

You feel yourself go warm, dripping onto his silk sheets all over again as your lonely cunt clenches around nothing.

Fine. Not lonely.

But you still can't resist the lure of his cock. Which is saying something since it has now brought you here. And you can't even be upset from him and leave now that you're neck deep in love with him. But he doesn't need to know about that yet.

“Stay out of trouble for me” you whisper.

He chuckles “No, I can't promise that I won't do that”

You roll your eyes, knowing you'll still wake up to care for his injuries halfway through the night.

He comes forward, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek and before you know it, he's out of the window.

You walk over, shutting it close but leaving the latch open for when he comes back.

You make your way back to bed, smiling “Friends with benefits my ass”

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @star-yawnznn

Comment or send an ask to be added or removed from the tag list.

[thespaceloft]

when his abs cave in when he breathes i kinda melt a little

[dirtylittlediary]

lord forgive me for i have sinned- matt murdock

pairing : matt murdock x f!reader

summary : “Well, well,” a man laughs somewhere to your left. “The Devil brought company.”

warnings : mentions of death- READER DOESN'T DIE I LEARNT MY LESSON I SWEAR- mentions of canon level violence, catholic guilt!matt, protective!matt, lmk if im missing any

word count : 6.6 k

a/n: based on a rq that i got from the very lovely @goawayplease95, thank you for the matt ideas trust i will write the rest later but u said this was ur personal fave.... now this lowk is rushed so it's not amazing- sorry for the emotional distress im going to cause (not proofread!)

Matt starts going to again church every night in November.

At first you don’t think much of it.

Matt’s relationship with Catholicism has always been complicated in a way that somehow still ends with him kneeling in a pew at two in the morning bleeding through a dress shirt. You learned early on not to question it too hard. Faith, guilt, grief — with Matt they all braid together until they become impossible to separate.

Still.

Something feels wrong.

It starts small.

He gets quieter.

Not distant exactly. Almost the opposite.

Softer.

Like every time he touches you he’s trying to memorize it.

He kisses your forehead more. Holds your hand tighter in public. Pauses in doorways just to listen to you moving around the apartment like the sound itself comforts him.

At first it’s sweet. Then it becomes terrifying. Because Matt Murdock has never behaved like a man planning for a future - he's always just let it happen. But he's absolutely behaving like a man preparing to leave one. You notice other things after that. He starts organizing files at the office nobody asked him to organize. Calling people back immediately. Returning books. Giving away clothes.

One night you find him sitting on the edge of the bed holding his father's old boxing rosary wrapped around his fist so tightly the beads left marks in his palm.

“Matt?” He startles hard enough your stomach drops. That almost never happens. He always hears you come up behind him.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, standing too fast. “Didn’t mean t’wake you.” You glance at the clock.

2:13 AM.

“You haven’t come to bed yet.”

“Lost track of time.” His voice sounds strange. You sit up slowly beneath the blankets, watching him carefully in the dark. Matt can feel it. You know he can. Because his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly beneath his t-shirt.

“You okay, Matty?” you ask quietly.

Too quick: “Yeah, honey.” Lie. You’ve learned the shape of them. Matt crosses the room toward you before you can push further, leaning down automatically to kiss your forehead. His hand lingers against your cheek afterward. Too long. Like goodbye. Your chest tightens.

“You smell like incense,” you murmur. His fingers still. Then:

“Church.”

“At two in the morning?” A pause.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Another lie. You don’t call him on it. Mostly because suddenly — horribly — you realize this isn’t the first night. The incense. The late hours. The exhaustion. Your stomach turns cold. Matt presses one last kiss to your hair before sliding into bed beside you, all careful quiet warmth and familiar muscle beneath soft cotton. But he doesn’t sleep. You can feel it. Even after your breathing evens out he stays awake staring at the ceiling. Listening. Thinking.

Mourning something in advance.

The next night he leaves again at 11:47. You pretend to be asleep. Matt stands near the door for a long moment before leaving. Like he’s struggling to make himself go. The apartment feels wrong the second he’s gone. Too quiet. You lie there for maybe thirty seconds before throwing the blankets off entirely. By the time you get outside, rain has started. Cold November drizzle slicking the sidewalks silver beneath streetlights. Matt is already half a block ahead of you moving fast, cane tapping sharply against concrete. You follow anyway. Guilt gnaws at you immediately.

You hate this.

Hate sneaking after him.

Hate the ugly suspicion curling tighter and tighter in your chest. But something is wrong. Something is deeply, terribly wrong. And Matt won’t tell you what it is. So you trail him through Hell’s Kitchen at nearly midnight while rain dampens your jacket and taxis hiss through puddles beside the curb. Matt never looks back. That’s what scares you most. Usually he notices everything. Usually he notices you. Tonight he’s somewhere else entirely. Lost deep enough in his own head that he misses your footsteps completely. The church appears three blocks later.

Saint Agnes.

Small.

Old.

Mostly empty this late. Matt climbs the front steps slowly. Not hesitant. Resolved. Like a man walking willingly toward judgment. You stay across the street at first watching through rain-streaked darkness as he disappears inside. The church doors close behind him with a heavy groan. And still— Something feels horribly wrong.

You wait maybe five minutes before crossing the street too.

Inside smells like candle wax and old wood and incense burned so deeply into the walls it’s become permanent. The sanctuary is empty except for a few scattered prayer candles flickering red in the dark. At first you don’t see him.

Then— Voices.

Low. Muffled. Confessional. Your pulse stutters. You move carefully down the side aisle before stopping dead near one of the wooden booths. Matt’s voice drifts faintly through the screen. Not loud enough for every word. Just enough.

“…don’t think i'm doing this for the right reasons anymore.” Silence from the priest. Then Matt again. Rawer this time. “If a man knows he’s not comin’ back…” Your entire body goes cold. Inside the booth the priest says something too quiet to hear. Matt answers immediately. “No.” A pause. “No, Father, I made peace with it.” Your heartbeat starts hammering violently now. You grip the edge of the pew beside you hard enough your fingers ache. Matt continues softly: “They’ll never stop unless somebody finishes this.” Another pause.

Then the priest finally says something clear enough to hear:

“Matthew… this sounds less like sacrifice and more like surrender.” Silence. Long enough to become unbearable. And then Matt says quietly:

“Maybe I’m too tired t’know the difference anymore.”

You feel sick. Violently and nauseatingly, sick. You barely realise you're moving until you're outside, gasping for air, backing away from the church like it's poison and not something Holy.

You don’t confront him. Not that night. Not the next one either. Because what are you even supposed to say?

"Hey, I followed you to church and overheard you discussing your own death like it was already decided?"

So instead you do what people do when they’re terrified. You pretend. You pretend everything is normal while your boyfriend quietly plans something catastrophic right in front of you.

And Matt— Matt lets you.

Maybe because he thinks he’s protecting you. Maybe because if he says it aloud, you’ll try to stop him. Maybe because some part of him already knows you would follow him into hell if he asked. So life continues.

Sort of.

Mornings at Nelson, Murdock & Page. Takeout cartons on the coffee table. Matt’s hand finding yours automatically when you cross streets. But underneath it all something awful hums constantly now. Like standing in a building with a gas leak. Invisible. Deadly. Waiting. You start noticing impossible things after that. Matt lingering in doorways longer than necessary. Touching the small of your back every time he passes you. Pausing conversations halfway through just to listen to your heartbeat. One night you wake up at three in the morning and find him sitting beside you listening to you sleep.

Not creepy. Heartbroken. Like he’s trying to memorize the sound of your breathing.

When he realizes you’re awake, he smiles immediately. Too quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean t’wake you.” You reach for him instinctively. Matt folds into the touch like he’s starving.

Three nights later he walks into the living room, clearing his throat.

"Foggy just called. Some, uhm, emergency about our case. I gotta go back in to the office."

Your heart drops to your ass. You glance at your phone, the one laying face down beside you on the couch. The one where Karen, just seconds ago, sent you a picture of her and Foggy enjoying a drink at Josie's. Your fingers curl around the edges of your book, trying to school your breathing, your heartbeat- anything Matt could potentially hear.

“Sweetheart.” Matt’s voice gentles immediately. “C’mere.” You almost don’t. That’s the terrible part. Not because you’re afraid of him. Because you’re afraid if he touches you right now you’ll break apart and start screaming at him not to die. But then Matt reaches for you blindly across the small space between you, familiar and warm and achingly human, and your body betrays you immediately. You go. Of course you go. His hands settle at your waist with a tired exhale. For a second he just stands there holding you. Listening to your heartbeat. Then he kisses you.

And something is wrong. Not physically. Emotionally.

There’s desperation in it. A kind of grief. Like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into your mouth before it’s too late. Your back hits the kitchen counter softly. Matt’s fingers tighten against your hips. The kiss deepens. Hard enough your breath catches. And suddenly— You feel it. Beneath his clothes. Armor. Your entire body goes rigid instantly. Matt notices.

Of course he notices.

He pulls back slightly, brows pulling together.

“Hey.” His thumb brushes your hip automatically. “What’s wrong?” Nothing.

Everything.

"I promise i'll be back before you wake up." You can feel the ridged plating beneath his dress shirt now where your hands rest against his ribs. The Daredevil suit. Already underneath his clothes. Ready to go. Your pulse starts thundering so hard you’re convinced he can hear it.

Actually— He probably can. Matt stills.

“…Sweetheart?” You force your hands to relax. Force your face not to crack open.

“Heavy jacket,” you lie weakly. Silence. Matt knows immediately you’re lying. You know the exact second it happens too. His expression changes subtly. Not suspicious. Worse. Sad. Because he realizes you noticed something. And because Matt Murdock has always been smart enough to know exactly how much silence can say. His forehead rests briefly against yours. He sounds exhausted when he speaks.

“You should get some sleep. I'll be back soon.” There it is again. That goodbye tone. You hate it so much you could scream. Instead you nod mechanically because if you open your mouth right now, you’re afraid the truth will come pouring out.

I know. I know you’re planning something. I know you think you’re not coming back.

Matt kisses your forehead softly. Lingering. Then steps away. And you stand frozen in the kitchen , watching him walk out of the apartment.

For a long time you don’t move.

You just stand there in the kitchen staring at the closed apartment door while the silence rushes in around you all at once. Your heartbeat is so loud it makes you nauseous. He lied. Not a little white lie. Not a harmless omission. A goodbye lie. You can still feel the shape of the armor beneath his shirt. The way he kissed you like a starving man. The way he lingered afterward like he was trying to memorize the exact height of you against him.

Your knees almost give out.

“No,” you whisper to the empty apartment. Because suddenly every strange thing from the past month rearranges itself into one horrifying shape. The confessions. The sleepless nights. Matt touching you constantly like he was afraid he’d lose the right. The way he’d been softer lately. Sadder. More careful. You press both hands hard over your mouth. He thinks he’s going to die tonight.

And worse— He made peace with it.

A sharp panic surges through you so violently you nearly run for the door immediately. But then another thought hits just as fast:

What if you’re wrong?

What if you follow him and he hears you? What if this really is just work? What if you sound insane?

Your eyes land on the phone still sitting beside your abandoned book. Karen’s picture glows faintly on the screen. Josie’s. Timestamped seven minutes ago. Your stomach twists. You grab your jacket so fast it nearly falls off the hook. By the time you hit the hallway your hands are shaking too hard to zip it properly.

The city feels wrong tonight. Too loud. Too sharp. You stay half a block behind Matt, heart hammering every time he pauses. He moves quickly through Hell’s Kitchen, cane tapping pavement in that familiar rhythm that would almost fool you if you didn’t know better now. But you do know better. Because halfway down West 44th he slips into an alley. And Daredevil comes out. You stop dead at the mouth of the alley just in time to see him pull the mask down over his face. Red armor beneath dark civilian clothes. Batons at his hips. Your chest caves inward so hard it physically hurts.

Matt pauses for half a second before climbing the fire escape. His head tilts slightly. Listening. You flatten yourself against the brick wall instantly, barely breathing.

Please don’t hear me.

Please don’t make me go home.

For one horrible second you think he did catch you.

Then he turns and launches himself onto the next rooftop. Gone. You wait exactly three seconds before following.

It’s pathetic, honestly.

You are not built for rooftop chases. Within ten minutes your lungs are on fire and your shoes have absolutely no traction whatsoever. You nearly eat shit crossing a narrow gap between buildings and have to grab a rusted pipe to keep from plummeting four stories.

“Oh my God,” you gasp to nobody. “How does he do this every night?”

Somewhere ahead of you, faintly— A scream. Then gunfire. Your blood freezes. You run faster.

The warehouse sits near the docks, half abandoned and enormous. Every window shattered. Lights blazing inside. You crouch behind a stack of shipping crates trying not to throw up while voices echo through broken glass. Men yelling. Too many men. And underneath it— Matt.

You can always tell where he is now. Not by sight. By sound.

The brutal rhythm of fighting. The crashes. The impossible violence of him. But tonight there’s something different in it.

Recklessness.

He’s not fighting like someone trying to survive. He’s fighting like someone who already decided not to. Your entire body goes cold. Inside the warehouse another gunshot cracks through the air. Then another. Then a horrible sound— Matt choking on pain. You’re moving before you even consciously decide to.

“Matt!” The second your voice rings through the warehouse everything stops. Everything. Daredevil’s head snaps toward you beneath the red mask. Even from across the room you feel the absolute horror radiate off him.

“No—Baby, no, stay back-” The word tears out of him too late. Because somebody grabs you from behind immediately. A huge arm locks around your throat. A gun presses against your temple.

“Well, well,” a man laughs somewhere to your left. “The Devil brought company.” Matt goes completely still. And somehow that’s worse than the fighting. Because now you can see it clearly— The blood soaking one side of his suit. The way he’s breathing too hard. The dozens of armed men surrounding him. And the look on his face beneath the mask. Not fear for himself. For you. Pure. Animal. Terror.

“Let her go,” Matt says. Quietly. The entire room stills around the sound. The man holding you laughs harder.

“Or what?” Matt takes one step forward. Everybody raises their guns instantly. Your pulse nearly stops.

“Matthew,” the crime boss says almost conversationally, stepping from the shadows. “You really thought you could do this alone?” Matt doesn’t answer. His head tilts slightly toward you instead.

You realize suddenly— He can hear you crying.

“Oh God,” you whisper shakily. Because now you understand the plan.

He never intended to leave here alive. He was going to take all of them down with him. And Matt knows you know it. Even across the warehouse floor you can feel it happening between you. The awful understanding. The betrayal. The fear. Matt’s chest rises sharply beneath the ruined armor.

“Please,” he says. Not to the men. To you. Your breath catches. In all the time you’ve known him—through bruises and blood and impossible fights—you have never heard Matt Murdock sound afraid like this.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, voice roughening around the word. “Listen to me real careful, okay?” The man holding you jerks you tighter against him when you instinctively try to move toward Matt. “Don’t,” Matt snaps instantly. The room stills again.

Jesus Christ.

Even the criminals look unsettled now. Because Daredevil sounds dangerous. Not in the theatrical way they’re used to. Not cold. Not angry. Protective. The kind that turns lethal.

“You shouldn’ta come here,” Matt says, and it’s almost broken. “Why would you follow me?”

“Because you were going to kill yourself, Matty,” The words rip out of you before you can stop them. Silence detonates through the warehouse. The crime boss slowly smiles.

“Well,” he murmurs. “That’s interesting.” Matt goes perfectly still. Not one movement. Not one breath.

And suddenly you realize something horrifying— He never told them who you were. Not really. But now they know. Because you just handed them the one thing Daredevil would burn the city down to protect.

“Shit,” you whisper. Matt’s head dips once like he heard the realization hit you.

“Don’t panic,” he says quietly. "You're going to be just fine, honey."

Your eyes sting instantly. Because he says it the same way he always does. Crossing busy streets. Holding your hand during thunderstorms. Like this is fixable. Like there’s still a world after tonight. The crime boss sighs theatrically.

“You know,” he says, circling slowly, “I was beginning to think the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen didn’t have any real weaknesses.” Matt turns his head toward the voice.

“You touch her,” he says softly, “and I will kill every person in this room.” The certainty in it sends terror skittering down your spine.

Daredevil doesn't kill. But he would for you.

The man holding you laughs nervously, shifting his grip.

Matt hears it instantly. You see the exact second he clocks the gun repositioning near your ribs. His entire body coils.

“No,” he says sharply. Too late.

Everything explodes at once. Matt moves first. Of course he does. One second he’s thirty feet away. The next he’s airborne. Batons flying. Bodies crashing. Gunshots erupt deafeningly through the warehouse. The man holding you curses and jerks backward hard enough to wrench your shoulder painfully. Instinct takes over. You slam your heel down onto his foot and twist violently out of his grip.

“Fuck!” he shouts. You run. Not away. Toward Matt. Toward the red blur tearing through armed men like something divine and furious.

“Matty!” His head snaps toward your voice instantly.

“No, wait—!” Another gunshot cracks through the air. Then six more. Chaos. Screaming. You see Matt trying to get to you. See it in the frantic violence of him. He throws one man hard enough through a crate that wood explodes outward like shrapnel. Another gets dropped instantly with a baton strike to the throat.

“Baby, get down!” Matt roars. You’re almost to him.

Almost.

Then somebody catches your arm from behind. You scream and wrench free blindly— And the world erupts white-hot. For one strange second you don’t understand what happened. There’s just this hard punch against your stomach. A force. Then warmth. Too much warmth. Your legs stop working.

“Oh,” you breathe. The warehouse tilts sideways. You hear shouting. Gunfire.

Matt screaming your name.

Not yelling.

Screaming.

The sound tears through the entire building like something dying. You hit the concrete hard. Pain detonates through you a second later. Blinding. You curl instinctively around it with a strangled sob. Somewhere nearby men are still shooting. Matt is still moving. You can hear him. Can hear bones breaking now. Can hear the horrifying wet sounds of someone no longer holding back. People are screaming. Not you. Them.

“Move!” Matt bellows. Another crash. Another body hitting the floor. Then suddenly he’s there. Hands everywhere at once. Frantic. Shaking.

“Heyheyheyhey— no, no, no, no—” His gloves come away wet instantly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard panic like this before.

“Matt,” you whisper weakly. He tears his mask off, the hard shell clattering to the floor. You can finally see his face, his blind eyes darting all over the place.

“No.” His voice breaks apart completely. “No, sweetheart, stay with me, stay with me—” He presses both hands hard against your stomach. Agony explodes through you. You cry out. “I know, I know, I know,” he gasps desperately. “Baby, m’sorry, I gotta put pressure on it—”

Blood drips from his mouth. From his nose. From cuts split across his jaw. But he doesn’t seem aware of any of it. All he can hear is your heartbeat. And it’s getting weaker.

“Oh God,” he chokes. You’ve never heard Matt cry before. Not really. You hear it now. Raw and helpless and horrified. “This was supposed t’be me,” he whispers brokenly. Your chest tightens painfully. Because that confirms it. He really had planned to die here. His hands are shaking so hard against your stomach you almost don’t recognize them as Matt’s. Matt’s hands are always steady.

Even bloodied. Even exhausted. Even after fights that should’ve killed him. But not now. Now he’s falling apart right in front of you.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, trying to reach for him. He catches your hand instantly and presses it hard against his chest like he needs proof you’re still moving.

“Don’t,” he chokes out. “Don’t do that voice with me right now.” Your vision blurs around the edges. Everything feels strangely far away already. Gunpowder. Blood. Sirens somewhere in the distance. Matt is still saying your name over and over like a prayer gone wrong.

“You’re okay,” he says frantically. “You’re okay, sweetheart, you hear me? I got you.” You try to laugh because the irony is unbearable. He was supposed to be the one dying tonight.

Not you.

Not because of him.

“You asshole,” you whisper. Matt breaks completely. A horrible sound tears out of him.

“I know,” he gasps immediately. “I know, I know, I know—”

“You lied t’me.” His forehead nearly drops to your chest.

“I’m sorry.” Raw. Destroyed. “God, baby, i'm so sorry.” Another wave of pain crashes through you so violently you cry out. Matt jerks closer instantly. “Heyheyhey— stay with me.” His voice rises sharp with panic. “Stay with me, sweetheart, c’mon, c’mon—” Your fingers fist weakly in the front of his suit.

“You were gonna die.”

“No.” Immediate. Automatic. You stare at him. Even now. Even now he tries to lie.

“Matt.” His face crumples. You’ve never seen him look this young before. Not the Devil. Not the vigilante. Just Matthew.

Just your Matthew.

Terrified.

“I didn’t know how to stop anymore,” he whispers finally. The confession nearly hurts worse than the bullet. Around you the warehouse has gone eerily quiet. The surviving men either fled or are unconscious. Somewhere nearby somebody groans in pain, but Matt doesn’t react to any of it. All his focus is locked onto you. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. The blood soaking through his fingers.

“You were just gonna leave me?” you whisper shakily. Matt makes another wrecked sound.

“No.”

“You said goodbye.”

“I was trying not to.” Tears spill hard down his face now, unchecked. “Christ, sweetheart, every time I looked at you I almost stopped.”

That hurts. God, that hurts.

Because you know he means it.

“I heard you in confession,” you whisper. Matt goes still. Not physically. Soul-deep still.

“You followed me there too?”

“You said maybe you were too tired to know the difference between sacrifice and surrender.” Your voice breaks apart. “How was I supposed t’hear that and not be terrified?” Matt shuts his eyes hard. Tears slip instantly beneath his lashes.

“I never wanted you to carry this,” he whispers.

“Well I do.” His breathing turns ragged. Sirens are louder now. Closer. But Matt doesn’t seem to hear them. “And I’d hate myself for still wanting to stay.” That does it. You start crying all over again. Matt immediately panics. “No, no, baby, please don’t cry—”

“You idiot,” you sob weakly.

“I know.”

“You absolute fucking idiot.”

“I know, sweetheart.” His shoulders are shaking now too. You don’t think either of you have ever been this scared before. Then suddenly Matt jerks violently upright. His head tilts. Listening. You feel it happen instantly. That terrifying shift in him. The Devil returning.

“Ambulance is two blocks out,” he says breathlessly. “Okay? Stay with me that long.” Your stomach twists weakly.

“I’m tired.” Fear detonates across his face so hard it’s almost ugly.

“No.” He grabs your face carefully. “No, you stay awake. Talk to me.” Your eyelids feel heavy. So heavy.

“Matt—”

“Talk to me,” he begs. “Please.” You swallow hard.

“Tell me somethin’ true.” He stares at you for half a second like the request guts him. Then:

“I love you more than God.” Your breath catches. Matt’s forehead drops against yours again. “And that’s the most honest thing I've ever said.” For a second neither of you moves. The warehouse feels suspended outside of time. Blood beneath you. Sirens screaming closer. Matt cradling your face like you’re the most fragile thing God ever made.

And then— A wet sound catches in his throat. Because your heartbeat stutters. You feel it happen too. The strange drifting sensation. The cold creeping slowly into your fingertips. Matt hears all of it. Every weakening beat. Every hitch in your breathing.

“No,” he whispers immediately. Fierce. Terrified. “No, no, stay with me.” You try to smile at him. It comes out crooked.

“Matty.” His entire face collapses at the nickname.

“Oh God.” His voice shakes violently now. “Baby, please.” You’ve never seen him beg before either. Not really. Matt Murdock negotiates. Threatens. Endures.

But begging? Never. Until now.

“I need you to keep talkin’ to me,” he says frantically. “C’mon, sweetheart, yell at me again. Tell me i'm an idiot. Tell me how pissed you are.”

“You are an idiot,” you whisper faintly. A broken laugh-sob escapes him instantly.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “Yeah, that’s my girl.” Your eyes burn. Because he sounds relieved just hearing your voice. Matt presses harder against the wound suddenly and you cry out. “I know, I know, m’sorry.” He’s trembling so hard now his words shake apart. “You gotta stay awake, baby. Stay with me.”

“You sound scared.”

“I am scared.” Immediate. Honest. “I am so fucking scared right now.” That almost undoes you more than the pain. Because Matt never admits fear. Not even when he’s bleeding out. Not even when he’s dying.

But now? Now he’s looking at you like the thought of losing you is the most horrifying thing he’s ever faced.

“You can’t die for me,” he says suddenly. You blink slowly.

“What?” His jaw tightens hard enough to shake.

“You can’t do that.” Tears spill freely down his face. “I can’t survive that.” Your chest aches. Not from the bullet. From him.

“You were gonna make me survive it,” you whisper. Matt flinches like he got hit. Actually flinches.

“I know.” His voice comes apart completely. “Christ, I know.” The sirens are outside now. You can hear tires screeching. Voices shouting. Matt barely reacts. His whole world has narrowed down to the sound your heart is making under his hands.

And it’s getting worse. His panic spikes violently.

“Hey.” He cups your face harder. “Hey, sweetheart, stay with me. Look at me.” You try. God, you try. But your vision keeps blurring.

“You smell like blood,” you mumble weakly. Matt lets out this startled, wrecked laugh through tears.

“Yeah?”

“Gross.”

“Oh, now y’wanna complain?” He brushes shaking fingers through your hair. “Now?”

“You’re still beautiful though.” That absolutely destroys him. Matt bows forward hard enough his forehead knocks against yours. A sob tears straight out of his chest.

“Don’t,” he whispers brokenly. “Please don’t talk like goodbye.” Your throat tightens.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

“You’re not.” Fierce now. Desperate enough to border on angry. “You hear me? You are not leaving me.” The warehouse doors burst open.

Police. Paramedics. Chaos floods in all at once. But Matt barely notices until someone grabs his shoulder.

“Sir, we need space—”

“No!” Matt snarls so violently the paramedic recoils instantly. You’ve never heard that sound from him before either. Pure terror. “She’s bleeding out!”

“We’re trying to help her!” Matt’s breathing turns ragged. His senses are overloaded now. Too many heartbeats. Too many voices. Too much blood.

And yours— Yours is fading underneath all of it.

“She hates hospitals,” he blurts suddenly to the paramedic like it physically hurts him not to be the one fixing this. “She gets cold easy. She—” His voice breaks. “She was just supposed t’be asleep at home.” Your eyes sting instantly. Matt catches the tiny change in your breathing and snaps back to you immediately.

“Hey. Hey, stay with me.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” He kisses your forehead frantically. Your cheeks. Your hairline. Anywhere he can reach. “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart.” Paramedics finally manage to get him back enough to work. Barely. Matt refuses to let go of your hand.

Even when they load you onto the stretcher.

Even when they wheel you away to surgery.

Matt sits in the surgical waiting room still covered in your blood.

Nobody can get him to leave.

Not the nurses gently suggesting he clean up. Not Karen crying quietly beside him. Not Foggy trying to press a cup of coffee into his shaking hands. Matt just sits there bent forward with his elbows on his knees, staring blindly at the floor while dried blood cracks across his knuckles every time his fingers twitch.

Yours. All yours.

And the worst part—the part that keeps hollowing him out from the inside—is that he can still feel his own body perfectly.

No broken ribs. No knife wounds. No gunshots. Nothing. He went into that warehouse ready to die and walked out untouched while you bled out on concrete because you loved him too much to let him do it alone. The shame of it sits like acid under his skin.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Foggy says again softly, for maybe the fifth time. Matt hears the exhaustion in his voice. The fear he’s trying to hide. “Matt, hey. Look at me.” Matt doesn’t move. Because he can still hear your heartbeat in his head. Weak. Stuttering. Fading every time the ambulance hit a pothole. He should’ve died there. That was the plan.

Not a fully formed suicide wish maybe—Matt’s too Catholic to call it that out loud—but close enough. A surrender disguised as martyrdom. One final impossible fight against men too powerful to stop any other way. He’d told himself it was noble. Necessary. Better him than anybody else. Then you got shot taking a bullet meant for him. And suddenly every justification sounds monstrous now. Matt drags both hands over his face hard enough to hurt.

“Oh God,” he whispers. Karen crouches carefully in front of him.

“Matt.”

“She heard me,” he says hoarsely. Karen stills.

“In confession.” His mouth twists violently. “She knew what I was planning and I still left anyway.” The guilt in his voice is unbearable. Foggy sits down hard beside him.

“Matt, you didn’t know she was gonna follow you.”

“I should’ve.” Immediate. Self-loathing soaked clean through the words. “I know her heartbeat better than my own and I still—” His voice breaks abruptly. Because underneath the antiseptic hospital smell and fluorescent lights and distant footsteps— He hears your heart stop for half a second in surgery. Matt folds instantly. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just this horrible sharp inhale like somebody shoved a knife directly through his ribs. Karen grabs his shoulder immediately.

“Matt?”

His face has gone white.

No— Please— Then suddenly— Your heartbeat kicks back in.

Weak. But there. Matt nearly collapses from relief right there in the chair.

“Oh thank God,” he chokes. Foggy looks between them in alarm.

“What? What happened?" Matt can’t answer. He’s crying too hard now. Silent tears sliding down his face while his entire body shakes with delayed terror.

Because for one second— One single second— You were gone.

And he realizes with horrifying clarity that if you die because of him, there won’t be enough confessionals in the world to save what’s left of his soul afterward.

Hours later they finally let him see you.The room is dim and painfully quiet except for the steady beep of monitors. Machines breathe softly beside you. Tubes. Bandages. Brues already blooming beneath your skin.

Matt stops dead in the doorway. He can hear your heartbeat now. Stronger than before. Steady.

Alive. Alive.

His knees almost give out from relief. The nurse says something quietly to him before leaving, but he barely hears it. He moves toward your bed slowly instead, like approaching something holy. You look so small like this. Matt’s throat closes immediately.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers. You don’t wake up. Of course you don’t. Surgery took hours. Pain medication still drags heavy through your system. But Matt reaches for your hand anyway, cradling it carefully between both of his like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he murmurs shakily. And then he laughs once. A horrible broken sound. Because the sentence is absurd. You should be the one saying it to him. Matt bows his head over your hand.

“I was gonna leave you,” he whispers. The confession slips out ugly and trembling. “I convinced myself it was okay because I thought losin’ me would hurt less than watchin’ me become…” He swallows hard. “Whatever the hell I’ve been turnin’ into.” His thumb strokes weakly across your knuckles.

“But then you got hurt and all I could think was—” His voice snaps completely. “I don’t wanna die.” The words wreck him. Because they’re true.

Not noble. Not heroic. Just honest.

Matt presses your hand against his mouth, shaking hard.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” he whispers brokenly. “I don’t care how tired I am anymore.” For a long time he just sits there listening to your heartbeat. Steady. Alive. Every beat feels like mercy. Eventually, sometime near dawn, your fingers twitch weakly in his hand. Matt jerks upright instantly.

“Sweetheart?” Your eyelids flutter slowly. Painfully. Confused from medication and exhaustion. The second you make a tiny sound of discomfort, Matt is already leaning over you.

“Hey, hey.” His hand cups your face carefully. “Easy. Easy, m’here.” Your gaze struggles to focus on him.

“…Matty?” The nickname almost kills him.

“I’m here.” His voice breaks immediately. “I got you.” Your brows pinch weakly.

“You okay?” Matt actually laughs. A disbelieving, devastated laugh. You’re barely conscious after emergency surgery and you’re asking if he’s okay. His forehead drops against your hand.

“No,” he whispers honestly. “No, sweetheart, I don’t think I will be for a while.” Your brows crease.

“Why?” you whisper. Matt looks at you like he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Because you almost died. Because he heard your heart stop. Because he walked into that warehouse ready to throw his own life away and instead watched yours spill across concrete in his hands. Because the universe handed him back alive while you lay here stitched together because you loved him enough to follow. His throat works hard.

“You got shot,” he says finally, voice wrecked. You blink slowly, like the memory has to swim upward through painkillers and exhaustion first. Then suddenly your face changes.

“Oh.” Yeah. Oh. Matt sees the exact second it comes back to you—the warehouse, the gunfire, him screaming your name—and his grip on your hand tightens instantly.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Go somewhere else in your head.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles compulsively. “Stay here with me.” Your eyes flick over his face sluggishly. The bruises. The split lip. The dried blood still staining the collar of his shirt.

“…You’re hurt.” Matt almost sounds offended.

“Baby, you got a bullet hole in you.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” You stare at him for a long moment through heavy eyelids.

“You say that like a liar.” Despite everything, a tiny broken laugh slips out of him.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Probably earned that.” Silence settles softly between you after that. Hospital quiet. Monitor beeps. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Matt can hear every tiny shift in your body. The pain you’re trying not to show him. The exhaustion dragging at your heartbeat. He hates it. He hates all of it. His fingers brush shakily through your hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. Raw. Immediate. Your eyes open a little wider.

“Matt—”

“No.” His voice cracks hard enough to stop you. “No, sweetheart, I need you to hear this.” He bows his head for a second, trying and failing to steady himself. “You were right.” You go still. “I was gonna die in that warehouse.” There it is. No hiding now. No careful wording. Just the truth sitting ugly and exposed between you. Matt laughs once under his breath. Miserable. “God.” He rubs hard at his face with his free hand. “Sounds even worse out loud.” Your eyes burn instantly.

“Why?” you whisper.

And that question— That one nearly destroys him. Because there isn’t one clean answer. Too much violence. Too many nights coming home soaked in blood. Too many people slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he fought. Exhaustion curling around his throat for so long he stopped recognizing it as drowning. Matt stares down at your hand in his.

“I got tired,” he admits quietly. “An’ somewhere along the line I stopped carin’ if I survived anymore.” Pain flashes across your face so sharply he hears your heartbeat stutter.

“You were just gonna leave me,” you whisper again, weaker this time. Matt closes his eyes.

“I thought…” His voice frays apart. “I thought maybe you’d hate me less if I died a hero instead’a slowly turnin’ into somebody miserable.” Your face crumples.

“Oh, Matty.” The tenderness in your voice guts him worse than anger would’ve. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to love me enough to protect me from everyone except yourself.” Matt goes completely still. The monitor beside you speeds up slightly with emotion. He hears it immediately.

“Easy,” he murmurs automatically, thumb stroking your wrist. But his own breathing has gone uneven now too. Because you’re right.

God, you’re right.

You shift weakly against the pillows with a tiny sound of pain. Matt is on his feet instantly.

“Don’t move, baby—”

“I’m okay.”

“You literally got outta surgery six hours ago.”

“And you’re hovering.”

“I’m gonna hover for the rest’a your natural life, so you should probably adjust now.” That startles a tiny laugh out of you. Matt freezes. The sound hits him like sunlight after weeks underground.

“You really scared me,” you admit quietly. Matt’s face folds in on itself.

“I know.”

“No, I mean before.” Your fingers tighten weakly around his. “The last few weeks.” Your voice trembles. “It felt like you were already halfway gone.” Matt can’t breathe for a second after that. Because you noticed. Not just the mission.

Him.

The slow quiet disappearing act he’d been doing right in front of you. He sinks carefully into the chair beside your bed again, bringing your hand to his mouth.

“I’m here now,” he whispers against your skin. Your eyes search his face.

“Are you?” Matt nearly breaks all over again. Because you aren’t asking physically. You’re asking if he’s going to stay. If he’s going to choose it.

Choose you.

Choose himself.

Matt presses his forehead carefully against your hand and answers with terrifying honesty.

“I’m trying to be.”

taglist !

@overdrive1975 , @alialuvsreid, @nanni197, @goawayplease95 , @yesshewrites1, @carolinaxvz , @sofianotvergara , @bearisbored , @jbrownta , @cafieeee, @hardnightmarekitten, @kikibear33, @sweetbabygirlsworld

[icallshtgun]

oh my god he's beautiful

[strangelure]

a shared interest

inspired by this ask that fucking changed my life, hope ya'll enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it! as always comments and reblogs are appreciated xoxo <3

perv roommate! adrian chase x reader & coworker/stalker! benjamin poindexter x reader cw: stalker behavior, voyeurism, adrian and dex are possessive, obsessive and perverted freaks, reader clearly doesn't know how to set up healthy boundaries, mentions of masterbation. content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI.

"hey, you should come up with me!"

dex feels in real time how the blood rushes to his face at your sudden request, sure, he's imagined you saying it countless times inside his head but that doesn't mean it startles him any less to actually hear it coming from your mouth-

an open invitation to step inside your home

"what?" he almost chokes on his own spit when he asks

"its fucking pouring out here dex, theres no way i'm letting you drive under these conditions!"

it really wasn't this abysmal when he had first parked in front of your apartment complex, but of course he stalled for as long as he could, prompting and asking trivial questions to keep you on the passenger seat if only for a few minutes longer before you left him to sulk without your presence

"its not that bad" he answers, masking his nerves with a quirk of his mouth and a dismissive shake of his head, attempting to sound convincing while the downpour is hitting hilariously loud against the windshield of his car

"i can brew you some tea, y'know as a thank you for driving me home!" you crack a shy little smile, softening your features, something you have no idea makes dex's insides go molten

mostly everything you do has that effect on him now, the infatuation nearly consumes him whole on most days, at night he stares at the white of his ceiling counting the torturous minutes until he gets to see you again, sometimes he allows himself to play around with fantasies just to make the time passing more bearable

and its ironic how many of those fantasies began with something just like this, a cheeky invitation, a killer smile, being offered to tag along with you, a chance for him to finally step through the front door of your apartment, to have you beneath him in the same bed he's watched you sleep in (from a distance) countless times by now

but reality is quite different from his fantasies, in reality theres one huge and fucking pestering detail that would constantly foil his imagined scenarios from coming true the way he wants them to anyways...

"you can meet my rommate adrian! remember i told you about him?" you say, eyes lighting up the way they always do whenever you bring him up in conversation

dex fucking loathes to witness it, he seethes at the knowledge that the guy can make you smile like that even when he's not around

"that doesn't sound like a good idea" he near spits, the jealousy seeping from his words

"god, you say that about everything lately sourpuss" you answer, giggling when you see how dex gawks at your tone

you've always loved calling him names and pushing his buttons knowing all he ever does is give into you in the end

theres a beat of silence, a moment of you and dex staring at each other with quirking mouths, waiting in charged silence to see who pounces next

but then your phone buzzes-

"its him!" you say, a little bit concerned "he's asking me if i'm gonna be home anytime soon-"

dex cant fight the satisfied tug upwards of his mouth knowing he's managed to keep you from going back to adrian for this long

"oh no!" you exclaim, something high pitched that makes dex immediately snap his head towards you "i totally forgot today was keanu reeves movie night!" you whine with a little pout, texting adrian back frantically "damn it, i'm late!"

"sounds like a big deal" dex retorts with a mocking quirk of his brow, an unimpressed look on his face as he stares you down while you tap at your phone

"oh shut up dex!" you answer with a laugh that bursts naturally from you, heat evidently rising to your cheeks at his teasing

hes relishing in the way you playfully rolled your eyes at him before he can process you're already shoving your phone away and stepping out of the vehicle and into the downpour outside "just get outta the car already! you can wait out the rain upstairs-"

dex freezes in place for a few seconds, mouth hanging agape, eyes blinking a couple times in astonishment

he cant fucking stand that you left him alone without saying a proper goodbye or goodnight, he cant find it in himself to disobey your direct command either

dex steps out of the car in fear of disappointing you

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

adrian is practically fuming as he stares at his phone screen, he keeps re-reading your texts over and over again

you: sorry! just got here, car broke down so dex drove me here

you: he's coming up by the way, play nice!

"are you fucking kidding me?" he whines out loud, a petulant sound no one is around to hear him make

dex, basically his nemesis, the person you spend almost every waking hour with ever since he got paired with you at work, the person who is supposedly just a coworker but you somehow can't shut up about when you talk about your shift at the end of every day

the person he's tried to convince you countless times is actually a fucking creep because you keep telling him he constantly remembers details about your life the way no one ever has before, that he pops out outta nowhere in places where he most definitely should't be in the first place

it all sounds far too familiar to adrian, who used to pull the same stunts with you back before your friendship ever solidified into the suffocatingly codependent arrangement that it is now

its funny how things worked out so beautifully for him all things considered

so of course it makes him furious, that it only took dex just a couple of months to infiltrate your lives so profusely

now he wants to steal movie nights too, he thinks

adrian's jaw twitches in anger, he breathes in and out slowly, trying to calm himself down before the elevator brings you both to the floor of your shared apartment

he jumps to his feet immediately when he hears your keys jingling and turning at the lock, not unlike a dog does when it hears it's owner come back after a long day

theres not even a few seconds between opening the door and you flinging yourself inside to wrap your arms around adrian's neck, hugging him with a chirpy and syrupy "hey ade!" that immediately makes his insides flutter with satisfaction

adrian hugs you back, wrapping both arms around your waist tightly, lifting you up until you squeal in protest and giggle the way you only do with him

he wants to make a statement, that much is clear, his face lifts from its place at the side of your neck to make eye contact with the tall and broad man standing at threshold of your home

adrian grins smugly at him while dex only cocks a challenging brow in response

"what happened to your car?" adrian asks, still hugging you, still holding suspicious eye contact with dex "why didn't you just call me?" he asks, more like complains, his voice going high at the end

"ugh! dont know! i couldn't get it to start but-" you answer, separating from adrian just enough to look back at dex who instantly meets your eyes with an encouraging raise of his brows and an easy smile "i was so lucky dex was still hanging around late after work, y'know with the rain and all, we can call the mechanic tomorrow-"

oh sure! real lucky, adrian thinks

adrian sees himself in dex immediately, and it really pisses him off

it only takes your dear roommate a few seconds of eye contact to figure out that dex was the one to ruin your car today, that the only reason he stayed behind at work was because he wanted to be the only one you could ask for help

y'know- exactly the kind of thing he would have done not so long ago

dex knows that adrian is growing suspicious, but all he does is stand upright and unmoving, a relaxed look on his face even though inside he's plotting violent acts

you cant sense it but theres a competitive antagonistic edge that emanates from their beings, their jealous and deranged fixation on you so fucking palpable to each other it makes the air feel dense and flammable

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

dex knows something about your dear roomie that you most certainly dont 

he's known it from the very first week of him setting up a place in one of the top floors of the building just across the street from yours, the optimal high spot to spy on you through your window as often as he pleases

the third or fourth time he'd peered from his monocular and into your room to try to catch a glimpse of you getting ready for a friday night, thats when dex saw him

your roommate, tugging at himself with utter abandon on your very bed, face pressed down against your pillow

dex knows that adrian barges into your room sometimes when you're not there to stop him, that he makes himself at home amongst your things, that he grabs at any piece of clothing that you left on the floor and stuffs it right against his face to inhale your smell while his other hand slips inside his boxers, that he jerks himself off and smears his spent all over the piece of fabric, tosses it in your laundry basket and waits for you to come home only for you not to notice a single fucking thing

he also knows adrian's bugged one of your teddy bears with a small camera, that the thing has recorded and streamed up close the same scenes dex has only been able to watch from a distance

scenes of you, writhing in bed, a hand roughly placed over your mouth, stifling down your moans as you use your fingers to please yourself until you're arching up the bed, shaking and panting at the ceiling, blissfuly (and naively) unaware of the spectacle you're giving away to two very invested spectators

two spectators with right hands shoved down their underwear, mouth hanging completely open in awe at the sight of you, one watching from his computer, the other from across the street

and lucky for dex, almost as if it were a prize for him remaining at a distance at night-

he gets to have you all for himself for roughly 8 to 10 hours per day, the recent memories of his stalking still vividly playing inside his head as you and him carry on with your lived in routine of coworkers

and the thing is, recently, the lines between professional and friendly are starting to blur alarmingly fast

he could sense the shift in you when he started showing up on nights out with your friends (unexpected and uninvited) and you never even questioned it once

smiling so big at the sight of him, like it was only natural for him to be joined at your hip after spending so much time together on weekdays

always quick to drunkenly introduce him as "my partner, dex!" proceeding to needlessly correct yourself with "well- my work partner, my- cowork- ugh, y'know what i mean!"

he teased about it every single time "i think i like the sound of partner way better, makes it sound like i'm your boyf-" a giddy grin and an evil glint in his eyes when you could only push at his chest with a nervous laugh and a high pitched "stop it, this is so fucking inappropriate dex!"

he thrives in knowing the so called boundaries you had once set up for him at the beginning of your work relationship are slowly starting to crumble before his very eyes

dex relishes in knowing you've grown weak willed when it comes to denying him your attention and time outside of work too

now he gets to stand in your living room, a placed he never imagined he would be in so quickly, now he gets to square up and compete with the last person that stands in the way of you and him being together 24/7

and thats your damn pervert of a roommate

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

"i know what you're doing by the way" adrian comments, his voice far too casual and conversational for the threatening edge it carries with it

he does it as soon as you're out of earshot, soon after you excused yourself to go take a quick shower and change before starting with the movie night

"what i'm doing?" dex retorts, a sly quirk of his mouth at the irony, eyes closed while shaking the towel you gave him over his dampened hair, smelling you all over it too, feeling his heart race knowing its gonna linger on him for a bit

"uh huh, i'm on to you-" adrian shoots back, his voice going tight and considerably deeper than how it sounded when he was talking to you just moments ago "they might not be able to tell that you're a fucking creep dude, but i can!"

dex scoffs, the nerve of this fucking guy, he thinks as his eyes instinctively scan around the room for possible murder weapons, but he already knows that if he were to throw or stab anything at adrian, that still wouldn't be nearly enough to be rid of him

dex has watched you both long enough to know that adrian is a metahuman, a hard to kill metahuman at that

so no, even if he would very much like to, murdering adrian is not an option (yet)

so they just stand there, fuming at each other, while adrian is a fiery wave of feelings, dex remains a tense but ticking time bomb

dex cracks his neck once before he asks with a deceivingly calm tone of voice and a self assured cock of his head "what about what you're doing buddy?", he smirks at the way adrian's eyes go huge for a single fleeting moment

"huh?! i- im not doing anything! the fuck are you talking about?" adrian retaliates, the nervous quickness of his words painfully giving him away already

"you're kidding right?" dex retorts simply, with a quirk of his mouth and a challenging knowing glint in his eyes "the teddy bear?"

in an instant, adrian realizes that dex is far more stealthy and far more deranged than he ever gave him credit for

now, the consequences are here to bite him in the ass

if dex is going down, he is damn sure gonna take adrian with him

adrian huffs, his jaw goes taut, his fingers flex over where he would regularly have his sheathed knife, but then-

"m'kay! im ready" you say, extra cheery, wringing a towel around your hair, freshly changed into your comfy shorts and a shirt that most definitely belongs to adrian

despite their growing tension, they both turn to you like a pack of wolves waiting to ambush their prey, pupils going wide at the sight of you

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

adrian is clearly feeling insufferably smug when you're sitting on the couch between them both but your head is resting against his shoulder the way it's always done on movie nights with him

he leans his head over yours, a tight lip smile on his face when he hears the way dex sniffs out a frustrated sound

"i think i should head back now" dex's voice is wound tight as he lifts up abruptly from his side of the couch

truth is, he cant really stand another second of having to share you

"wait, no!" you say, grabbing at his hand instantly, something that makes dex's eyes open wide, his face to go red and adrian to seethe "the movies almost over, dont you wanna see how it ends?"

"i've seen it before" he lies, and he can tell you can tell, but that doesn't deter him at all, his nostrils continue to flair in anger, his hand remains clenched tightly around yours, like he's one bad move away from forcefully tugging you upwards with him

when he doesn't relent or doesn't move an inch backwards thats when you groan out "okay, fine! let me walk you out at least"

"i can come with-" adrian blurts out, eagerly and pathetically so-

"oh dont be silly ade, i'll be right back!"

dex practically has to rein himself in from not chuckling at the distraught look on adrian's face in response to your dismissive comment

he's also subtly smug about it, already planning on how he's gonna steal away precious minutes with you downstairs, maybe he'll have you in his car again when you least expect it

but then, your phone buzzes again

"oop one sec!" you get up from your place on the couch, walking towards the kitchen to answer a call that immediately leaves both adrian and dex befuddled and frozen in their spots

they both listen in on your conversation of course, like the fucking creeps they are

"yeah okay, perfect, ill see you then!" you say, right before hanging up

"uh- who was that?" adrian asks, a knot forming in his throat at the flirty tone of voice you were using on the phone

"oh just this guy i met at the bar the other day, gonna meet up with him tomorrow" you smile and shrug innocently, going to grab at your keys without even sparing them a glance

you're far too busy putting on some shoes with the purpose of walking dex out to notice your coworker and roomie staring at each other, a shared panic in their eyes, they were both so worried with themselves they failed to take into consideration something like this could happen

its a shame you can't see how their antagonistic flare silently reaches an understanding, the acknowledgment of a shared interest now being at risk

you, going out with some guy that isn't either of them (the two possessive weirdos who basically own your days an nights)?

stupid of you to think that could ever happen

as truly fucking selfish adrian and dex are, it's clear that they would rather coexist being freaks about you than not have access to you at all, and after your little phone call? they evidently would rather cooperate than have to see you get involved with anyone that isn't them

so, one things for certain now, that guy you met at the bar? you're never seeing him again

[cutelittleslxt]

I'm sorry, hello ANGEL WTFFF

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

THE DEVIL’S SHADOW

a/n: i have been fiddling with this most of spring, all throughout the second season of ddba... i feel so rusty writing, but i think it still turned out really cute. also, because it turned out so monster long, i zoomed through the editing part, so there might still be a few mistakes here and there, idk

summary: “look,” you whipped back at him and lashed out, “I don’t work with anyone else, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with you,” before you ripped yourself free of his grip and switched on your invisibility.

warnings: matt murdock x superhero!reader, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, rivals to lovers, reader has invisibility powers, reader's superhero name is shadow, touch starved!reader, reader is an emo queen and we love her, dark past, violence, injuries, patching up each other's wounds, alcohol consumption, slow burn, forced proximity, idiots in love, kissing, rooftop sex, clothed sex, manhandling, size kink, handjob, oral, fingering, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

word count: 13.370

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The company by the name of Onyx Corp was one of the many groups, protected under the guise of being a pharmaceutical manufacturer, around the globe that had obsessively attempted to recreate the very same serum that had turned Steve Rogers into Captain America. To your knowledge, the scientists had started out with small rodents as their test subjects, but as their greed grew, so did their hunger for more complex guinea pigs, leading them to snatch up kids, mostly from seedy foster homes, just like the one you had spent the beginning of your life in.

If it hadn’t been for the stealthy nature of the power their twisted attempt awoke within you, then escape wouldn’t have been plausible, seeing as none of the other subjects got to keep on breathing once they’d fulfilled their purpose to the organisation.

You’d always been good at hiding.

Some would even argue that you were too good.

Especially after the experiments Onyx Corp ran on you, the ones that changed you on a molecular level and inevitably led you down this path of sneaking into criminals’ homes and stealing evidence from them, planting bugs, or whatever it took to make you feel less powerless in this hellish world.

Did that make you a criminal as well? Technically, you were breaking several laws… but for a good cause, so maybe that could lighten the sentence? Not that the chances of you ever getting caught were truly any of your concern. One of the few perks of your little curse. When one has the ability to turn completely invisible, it’s difficult to be linked as a suspect.

Had you been scared of it? Yes. Of course. Especially in the beginning, when you thought you were crazy for risking your life again when you were already on borrowed time. But as confidence grew and your clumsiness got under control, you became like a shadow in the city of New York. Or at least, that’s what the papers called the mysterious ghost that broke into mob hideouts and delivered evidence at the footsteps of the press.

It was a lonely life you led, although whether it was out of necessity or a preference, wasn’t a question you knew the answer to. The void was all you knew at this point, after years of hiding from the powerful people who only saw you as a liability that should have been eliminated ages ago.

But at least you had found a purpose, a small way to make the community a safer place, whether you were an active part of it or not. Even if you’d never be able to step back into the light, it still helped make the hollowness of your heart an easier burden to bear.

Holding your breath, your eyes flickered up from the lockpicks, jammed inside of the door in front of you, to peek hesitantly at the guard around the dark corner, his heavy footsteps slowly pacing up and down the long hallways outside of the district attorney’s office.

Once the door clicked open and you slipped inside, it didn’t take too long before you found what you were searching for, though as you cracked the procured folder open in your palms and began to skim through it, a thump found your ears and caused you to slam the file shut again.

Your head snapped up in the direction of the ajar doorway, only a beat passing before you heard the security guard from out in the corridor call out over the radio.

Feet rooted to the ground, your only path of escape was swiftly blocked by the blur of a scuffle, now several guards attempting to overpower an intruder dressed in deep, dark crimson.

A gasp escaped your seized-up lungs as you recognised the brutal fists of the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Apparently, you hadn’t been the only vigilante in New York suspicious of the crooked politician, though never in your wildest dreams did you think that Daredevil’s path would ever cross your own.

Half frozen in fear, another part of you couldn’t help but marvel at the precision of his skills, as combat had never been something you’d refined to that degree. Sure, you had tried, just in the rare case that you were ever noticed, but in no way could it compare to the whirlwind before you now.

Once everyone but the devil was unconscious on the ground, you saw as his broad, panting shoulders appeared around the corner, his hulking form slowly stepping over the threshold.

Your heart thumped in your chest as you stayed frozen in the corner, watching as he paused on his way to the desk, tilting his head a moment before it twisted in the direction of you.

“Give me the folder,” the devil demanded straight at your invisible form. Holding your breath, your eyes were the size of saucers as the infamous vigilante continued to speak, “come on, I know that you’re scared,” he tried to soften his tone as he extended a hand, “you don’t have to end up like your buddies if you just hand it over.”

Blinking hard, your neck twisted just to make sure that he was in fact speaking to you and not some person lurking in the background, “you–…you can see me?”

Cocking his head, Daredevil murmured, “w-what?”

“How?” you panted as he closed the distance between you, “I–, hey!” he promptly snatched up the folder your stunned fingers had slackened around.

“You should probably call an ambulance for the others,” he noted before turning on his heel.

Face completely muddled with confusion, you sputtered, “wha–, I don’t work here–, give that back!” you lunged to try and steal back the file.

And though you tried your hardest to keep up with the devil’s quick reflexes, the tussle that rapidly unfolded didn’t last too long before he knocked you on your ass and escaped into the dark of the night.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” you murmured just beneath your breath as soon as you found your way inside of the DA’s penthouse, the very next night, only to discover the unconscious frames of two security guards on the floor.

But before you could even draw another breath, your invisible frame was slammed up against the nearby wall, your powers flickering at the impact, revealing your form.

“Are you following me?” Daredevil grunted as his forearm held you pinned. 

Stiffening up, “me following you? In your dreams,” you gasped before attempting to give him a shove, “get off of me!”

With a faint huff, the vigilante complied, lowering his grip and taking a single step back.

“I–,” you panted as you glared back at him, “how the fuck did you manage to spot me? I mean, even with my invisibility up, I always make sure to be careful, especially after running into someone like you who can apparently see straight through all of that.”

“Invisi–,” he echoed, clearly taken aback, “wait, you’re invisible?”

“Well, yeah…” your eyes shifted as you pointed out the obvious, “or well,” concentrating a moment, you then turned your physique transparent once more, “now I am.”

Tilting his head, the devil listened closely before murmuring, “huh… so that’s what that buzzing was…”

“Buzz?”

“Yeah. It sounds like your body’s vibrating when you do that…” he pointed out the detail which your own hearing wasn’t sharp enough to be aware of, and your heartbeat began to pick up as the reality of his heightened senses dawned on you. When he parted his lips again, he almost sounded starstruck as he put the pieces together, “…you’re Shadow… the vigilante that brought down Vladimir Rozanov…”

“Uhm, yeah… I thought you figured that part out when you saw straight through the whole invisibility thing,” your feet shifted slightly beneath you, “or do I just look like any other person to you when I switch it on?”

“Well, not exactly,” he briefly pursed his lips, “I could hear you,” he then shared, “your breathing… your pulse… and what I now know is what your powers sound like.”

“Seriously?” your nerves only grew at the thought of him being capable of reading you like a book, “and here I thought you could just see me. That is so much more intimate…” heat swiftly rose in your cheeks as you realised how that must have sounded, “I mean–, uhm… so you can’t see me?”

A chuckle swiftly escaped him because of how ironic that question was if you knew the man behind the mask, “no. I can’t.”

“Well… that’s comforting, I guess…” you coughed before an awkward joke slipped out past your lips, “then again, with those kind of senses, you probably know what I had for breakfast this morning–”

“Sourdough toast with butter, a sharp cheddar and half a pickle,” he slowly took a single step closer as he actually answered your jest, “although all I can really focus on right now is the chocolate bar you were gobbling down on your way here.”

“I–…” your eyes flickered across his partially obscured features as you stood completely frozen in front of him.

When he finally began to back away from you, he didn’t stray too far from your orbit, only shifted slightly as he did a half turn and parted his lips again after a beat of silence had consumed the space between you,  “well, I guess an apology might be in order, seeing as I didn’t realise who you were and just took that file from you…”

Swallowing hard, you found the courage to speak to the devil once more, “that and how you swooped in like a fucking hurricane, nearly killing everyone.”

“Wow, wow, I didn’t kill anyone,” he swiftly shot back, his palm drifting up defensively.

“Maybe not, but you did beat them half to death,” you gestured to the unconscious security guards, lying like rugs on the floor.

“What, are you seriously gonna stand here like a pot calling the kettle black?”

“I don’t hurt anyone unless I have to,” you pointed out, “and even then, I don’t black out until they’re basically pulp.”

Letting out a sigh, Daredevil twisted his body further away from you till his silhouette caught the moonlight streaming in through the windows, “alright…” his hands came to rest on his hips, “…well, I was gonna suggest lending you a hand tonight, seeing as we’re obviously after the same thing, but sure, if you instead wanna just stand there and critique me, go right ahead.”

A scoff left your lungs faster than your eyebrows managed to soar up towards the sky, “you help me? Please. I don’t need your help, much less want it,” you crossed your arms heatedly.

Pursing his lips, he simply uttered, “suit yourself, then…” before you watched him saunter over to the plush armchair in the corner and drop down into it, his feet swiftly swinging up upon the coffee table as his fingers interlaced behind his head.

A sharp huff escaped you as you stared back at him, momentarily stunned by his audacity, before muttering, “asshole…” which only made the petty devil smirk, although that wasn’t a reaction you managed to spot before you turned on your heel and began to search the place.

Trying your best to ignore the comments the other vigilante occasionally threw out simply to get on your nerve, your eyes nearly rolled out of your skull by the time that you eventually found the hidden safe in the study.

And when a curse left your lungs as you struggled to unlock it, or even track down some clue as to what the combination was, the devil suddenly appeared over your shoulder, his low voice tickling the shell of your ear as he asked teasingly, “you sure you don’t need my assistance?”

“Unless you can crack a fucking safe, then no,” you begrudgingly admitted defeat, “we might as well just leave.”

To which Daredevil simply smirked and told you to step aside. You stood utterly dumbfounded beside him as he just walked up and began to twist the lock, his other palm flat against the safe as he listened closely as the springs inside virtually bent to his will.

And as the only sound that echoed throughout the office was the dull clicks of the lock beneath the devil’s touch, you let your stare drift down over his silhouette. From the stubbly jaw that poked out of the bottom of his mask, to the way his suit moulded against his broad frame, your eyes didn’t snap away till his voice suddenly found your ears.

“You okay?” he briefly paused as he fought a blooming smirk.

“Of course,” you coughed, forcing your vision upon anything else, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your adrenaline’s high…” he gave you the benefit of the doubt, even though he had picked up on how your heart was still nearly thumping out of your chest, and not because of any nerves.

You couldn’t help but chalk his comment up to just yet another jab at your capability, which promptly sent you crashing down onto earth with a huff, “I’m fine.”

When the safe finally clicked open, and Daredevil picked up the thumb drive resting atop the stack of cash inside, your fingers swiftly snatched it up before you spun around and turned on the computer on the desk behind you.

“What’s on it?” the devil asked as he slowly wandered to the other side of the desk, looming behind the monitor as your eyes briefly strayed from the screen to glance up at him.

“Well, let’s see…” your eyes narrowed as you opened up the contents, “…at least enough evidence that he was in cahoots with a–, uh, William Rawlins,” you carefully read the name out loud, “do you have any idea who that is?”

“Yeah, a bit,” he tilted his head, “he’s CIA, but not the good kind.”

Opening up another document, you skimmed through it and uttered, “…says they’re overseeing some sort of weapon development for an unsanctioned military operation.”

“A weapon? What kind?”

“Doesn’t say, it just says–…” your fingers on the mouse then suddenly froze, a small gasp too slipping from your lips as your eyes landed upon a familiar name that had haunted you for years.

“What? What did you find?” the devil shifted his stance, waiting for you to share what discovery you’d stumbled upon. But as not a single word escaped you and the terror taking over your soul became the only thing thumping in his perceptive ears, the vigilante slowly inched closer, drifting to the corner of the desk as he kneeled down beside your panicking form and softened his tone, “Shadow, what is it?”

Hyperventilating as you fought to tear your wide eyes away from the font glowing on the screen, you eventually managed to utter, “…it’s nothing,” before you rapidly pulled out the thumb drive and turned off the computer, “there’s nothing on here.”

But as you got up and tried to slip past the devil as he straightened up as well, he managed to catch your elbow, “wait–”

“Look,” you whipped back at him and lashed out, “I don’t work with anyone else, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with you,” before you ripped yourself free of his grip and switched on your invisibility.

It was a sudden downpour which had drawn you into the random bar by the name of Josie’s for shelter. And with the dark storm that had already been brewing inside of you, since the moment you had discovered that the mission you were on had actually been bringing you right back home all along, you swiftly found yourself ordering drink after drink to try and numb the pain. Though alcohol wasn’t the wisest choice, you weren’t in a position to be picky about how you got to tend to your wounds.

When your third shot of tequila burned in your throat and the small glass slammed back down against the bar top, the front door to the establishment swung open and in flooded a jovial trio, drenched from the rain.

“Matt, you gotta promise me, man,” you overheard one of the suit-clad men say to the other one that held onto his elbow as a guide inside, the cane in his palm only resting there instead of tapping the ground, “this is the last time you were late for court.”

Slipping off her dripping coat, the blonde woman piped up as well, “I’d like to add in, not just for court, but other engagements in general as well.”

“Hey, hey, we won the case, didn’t we?” the blind man, they called Matt, replied with a playful grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his tinted glasses, “or are we not here for celebratory drinks?”

A shiver trickled down your spine at the familiar sound of that low timbre, making you glance over your shoulder as the group crossed the room to reach the pool table towards the back of the establishment.

“Just because you can charm your way through an improvised closing argument doesn’t mean that’s how our firm’s standards should be,” you heard the floppy-haired man point out.

“Yeah, at least for the sake of our sanity,” the woman tilted her head, “I mean, this is probably the fourth time I thought Foggy was gonna have a heart attack right then and there in the courtroom.”

Shrugging off his jacket, Matt threw up his hands, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Hmm…” the man, presumably by the name of Foggy, narrowed his eyes at his friend as he reached for one of the sticks on the wall, grabbing one for the woman as well, “I’ll believe it when I see it…”

“Well, how about this for a start,” Matthew loosened his tie slightly and began to roll up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt, “I’ll pay for all of the drinks tonight, huh?”

His two pals then exchanged a playful glance and crossed their arms, before each of their eyes returned to the blind lawyer, “…make it top shelf and maybe we’ll consider it.”

The alcohol certainly didn’t help matters as you put the pieces together and promptly began to panic.

You knew who that voice belonged to…

Freezing up, it took everything in your power not to instinctively turn invisible as he wandered up to the other end of the bar and ordered a round of drinks, even trying to hold your breath till he disappeared once again with glasses in his hands.

The man behind the devil mask was a lawyer? Why was he pretending to be blind? And most importantly, why in the world was he here?

You didn’t believe in coincidences, certainly not when it came to people like you and him… the only logical explanation must have been that he had seen you come in and followed after with the intent of stealing back the thumb drive that was still burning a hole in your pocket, purely out of paranoia to leave it in your slummy apartment, so that he could push you out of the way and do the job himself.

Your terror soon melted into rage as you watched the trio from afar, silently seething as they played a game of pool, joking and laughing, the devil even playing up his cover and asking the tall blonde for assistance on finding the right angle to shoot his shot.

So by the time they began to set up for a second game, and you watched Matt excuse himself to go to the lavatory, your feet acted of their own accord as you suddenly found yourself storming across the room, and catching the bathroom door before he managed to slam it shut behind him.

Pushing your way inside, your fingers swiftly twisted the lock before pushing the object of your ire up against the tile wall.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” you snarled, your fists buried in his shirt as your heated pants fanned across his face.

“Fuck–,” a faint chuckle broke up his gasp at the impact, “I thought you’d at least let me take a leak first,” he croaked, your presence clearly not coming as a surprise to him.

“Answer the goddamn question, Daredevil,” you spat, your face inching in close to his own, “or do you prefer to be called something else, counsellor?”

“Christ, I’m not following you!” he swore, before his own hands came up and flipped you around with ease, promptly trading places and pinning you against the wall instead, “I always go to this bar, something you’d probably know if you were stalking me,” the lawyer accused.

“Oh, get over yourself!” you fumed, “I’m trying to stay away from you, not worm my way into your weird little charade of a life, which I must say, the fake blind thing is very extreme just to make people not suspicious of what you do at night.”

A scoff then bubbled in his throat, “I’m not.”

“Yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes, “there’s no way you would be able to do all of that if you were blind,” you then snatched off his tinted glasses, though instead of confirming your accusations, the brown eyes that were revealed beneath didn’t meet your own stare, promptly causing your brows to knit together in confusion.

“Well…” Matt exhaled slowly, “…sight is overrated.”

Blinking back at him a second, it took you a moment to utter, “…so your freaky senses, how you could hear my heartbeat and shit, that’s how you see?” still completely stunned by the revelation.

“That’s certainly one way to put it, yeah,” he tilted his head.

As you then felt his grip on you loosen, though he did let go, his feet didn’t shift an inch, still rooted close enough to you for goosebumps to erupt across your skin.

Letting out a low sigh, you eventually uttered as your gaze stayed locked upon him, “…I’m not giving you the thumb drive.”

“Alright,” he murmured in a calm yet cocky tone, “I’ll manage.”

“No, what I mean is that you need to drop this and let me be the one to handle it, alone,” you pointed out, a heated breath huffing out of your nostrils.

“Why?”

“Just because–… look,” you seethed, momentarily squeezing your eyes shut, “this job, it’s personal for me, okay? I don’t want you fucking it all up,” your eyes flickered open once more to glare back at him, “so please just go back out there to your little girlfriend and stay the hell out of my way.”

“The fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay away!” you hissed in a hushed tone when none other than the devil of Hell’s Kitchen snuck up on you as you lurked outside of Onyx Corp’s old headquarters, scoping out the rundown place from the shadows in hopes of finding a way inside past the guards that wandered the grounds of the abandoned building.  

“I know,” he simply answered, his tone calm as opposed to your own.

His ego truly must have been as big as you assumed, seeing as he couldn’t let himself stay out of your hair and complete the job all on your own.

And with your paranoid thoughts dragging you further down into your own personal hell, you swiftly heard yourself growl, “please, just go.”

But instead of turning on his heel, the devil just settled in against the chain-link fence, his burly arms folding across his chest.

A long sigh slipped from your lungs as you bowed your head in defeat, “I don’t have time for this… if you’re not gonna leave, then please just stay out of my way, okay? And if I can’t stop you from going in there as well, then just don’t act like an idiot around the place. They had to close down this location a few years back after a quote on quote chemical accident, but seeing as there are still a fair bit of guards posted about the perimeter, they probably haven’t found a way to safely clean it yet,” you impatiently told him, “so if you run into a blue and potent substance, do not get into contact with it, okay?”

“Aw…” a smirk then blossomed on his lips, “is that concern I hear in your voice?”

“No!” you shot him a glare, “I just don’t wanna be blamed for killing Daredevil.”

“Matt,” he suddenly corrected you.

“What?”

“My name, and the other person you would hypothetically be killing,” he leaned in slightly to utter, “Matthew Murdock.”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you simply grumbled, “yeah, I know what your name is.”

“Then why don’t I know yours yet?”

Letting out a sigh, “I don’t have time for this…” you then switched on your powers and slipped through the nearby hole in the fence.

Though it took a bit of finesse, you managed to sneak past the various guards and into the old headquarters, the very same place where you were held captive as a child.

A chill ran down your spine as you stepped inside the musty building, and paralysing memories flashed within your mind.

“Hey, you alright?” Matthew’s voice then suddenly echoed from behind you, ripping you enough out of your terror to shift your feet across the floor once more.

Avoiding his question, you instead accused, “did you beat up those guards just to follow me in here?”

“No, they’re fine, I tried to do it your way,” you heard him say, though still couldn’t help but imagine the degrading things he stopped himself from adding, how he thought your method of doing things was surely idiotic compared to his own brutal one, “you didn’t answer my question.”

The silence in the room drew out before you finally answered him with a low sigh, “…it’s Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” before you strayed from his side and disappeared into the office directly to the right, swiftly tearing open the closest file cabinet before you could spot the faint smile on Matthew’s lips.

When he followed you into the room, your search went on for a while without any success before any of you uttered another word.

“So…” the devil eventually broke the silence, “tell me again why you’re looking through whatever’s left in here instead of just sneaking your way into Onyx Corp’s new building?”

“Because, firstly,” you muttered as you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “they’ve built precautions in case someone like me tries to waltz in or out of there. They’ve used those for years, whether it’s as collars to keep subjects under control or if it’s on a larger scale, devices that essentially block off entire areas,” your body tensed at the traumatic memories that still lived on under your skin, “and secondly, even if I did find a way inside, that office wouldn’t be the right one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that after this place shut down, they received too much of the wrong attention, so then, when they rebuilt, they split themselves up into separate locations. The official office, showcasing the polished front of a pharmaceutical powerhouse, and the secret lab, where they develop chemical weapons and test on innocent people, which I’ve been trying for years, but still haven’t been able to track down.”

“And so, you think that maybe the address is somewhere in here?”

“What, do you have a better idea, counsellor?” you swiftly turned to glare at him.

“I mean, I don’t have powers like you–, unless my heightened senses also triggers whatever alarm or trap or what they’ve got rigged in there,” his hand gestured alongside his words.

“It wouldn’t,” you uttered coldly and turned back to the files you were thumbing through, “you got your abilities in a–, different way than me, so you’d be fine.”

His body continued to stay twisted towards you as you soon heard him speak once more, “…how do you know so much about all of this?”

“What do you mean?” your back stayed turned to him, “I do my research for these types of things, don’t you? Or do you just go in there and swing your fists, hoping that you hit the people that deserve it?”

“I just mean that you know a lot,” his jaw clenched at your verbal jab, “your sources must be incredible.”

“They are,” you shot back at him coldly, keeping your guard up.

As the morning grew closer, and you began to run out of stones to turn, the two of you hit a dead end.

Perhaps it was your own stubbornness, straining yourself and keeping up your invisibility long enough for a migraine to begin to throb within your head, simply to somehow prove the speculated assumptions of the other vigilante wrong, but the traumatically nostalgic surroundings you still found yourself in certainly didn’t help matters either.

“Hey…” Matthew then paused and twisted towards your frame, “…you good?”

Cracking your tense neck with a sigh, you muttered, “why wouldn’t I be?”

And with a faint nod of his head, he pointed out, “you’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t till now that you felt the crimson that slowly leaked out of your left nostril, your touch swiftly drifting up to check. It wasn’t the first time that your body had complained about you straining your abilities till you were stretched too thin, but at least this time the consequences wasn’t anything you couldn’t power through, “it’s nothing…” you attempted to downplay it as you wiped the blood away, though the devil on the other side of the room didn’t stop looking concerned, “I’m fine!” you swiftly snapped, “it’s just a nosebleed. The air in here is fucking dry or whatever.”

And with a reply on the tip of his tongue, Matt instead swallowed it and simply uttered, “okay…”

But as he then turned back to continue the search, his head soon twisted before he took a sharp detour into the hallway. Directly on the other side of the threshold, he then kneeled down and picked up a small chain with some rusty dog tags dangling on the end.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he caught the metal and gently brushed his thumb over the raised letters on it.

“Y/n Y/l/n…” he read out loud, the sound of your name causing you to freeze as you turned to spot what it was that he had found. Tilting his head in your direction, the puzzle of your past began to fall into place, “you–… this really is personal for you, isn’t it?”

You’d completely forgotten that you’d lost it back in the chaos of your escape, “…they made us wear those just to be able to tell us kids apart…” you bowed your head.

Slowly rising to his feet once more, he uttered, “so this is how you got your powers? How you became Shadow? You were a test subject?”

“Well, I didn’t wish upon a fucking star…” you exhaled slowly, “…do you get it now? Why I need to be the one to take these fuckers down?”

“And here I thought I’d finally gotten rid of you,” the words left your lips as soon as you saw Matthew show up in your periphery again the very next night, “don’t you have a better way to spend your Friday night?”

A faint smile twitched at the corner of his lip as he came to a stop beside you in the dark alley, “nope.”

“Really? You’d rather be slumming it with me yet again, breaking into some CIA idiot’s home, instead of going on some hot date with your little girlfriend?”

“What?” the devil nearly laughed.

“The leggy blonde you played pool with at the bar.”

“Ah, yeah, no. Karen’s just a friend,” he shook his head as a playful smile finally broke through and bloomed on his lips, “so I’m sorry, you’re out of luck, there’s no girlfriend to spend my Friday nights with, so I guess you’re stuck with me instead.”

You climbed up onto the fire escape in order to break into Rawlins’ apartment, and though Matthew was tall enough to jump up and catch the ladder, your frame had to be boosted up, a detail you prayed he wouldn’t revel in too much.

Since the CIA agent was tangled in the mess you were trying to sort out, your mission had led you here to his home, to hunt down a keycard to gain access to the inner sanctum of the Onyx Corporation, where hopefully the answers would be within reach, even if it came at a grievous price.

The pursuit, however, for the keycard wasn’t as fruitful as you’d hoped, as it wasn’t even hidden away in the personal safe Matt cracked open in his bedroom.

And even though you had been careful and made sure the agent wouldn’t be home this night, the front door still cracked open before the two of you were able to clear out.

“Fuck–,” you scrambled a moment before you made a split decision and shoved the devil into the nearby closet as footsteps began to echo out in the hall, slipping your own body inside as well before quietly yanking the door closed behind you.

Your face stayed twisted towards the door, listening intently to the murmured voices that reverberated throughout the apartment. It wasn’t till you finally shifted your neck and looked back at Matt that you realised just how tight the closet actually was. Your body was plastered against his, standing so near that your noses nearly brushed against one another when he tilted his head to listen closely. You could feel his breath fan across your cheeks, causing them to heat up as your own pants began to pick up. In the low light, you couldn’t help but stare as he concentrated.

Your head was spinning by the time your gaze dropped to his lips. You hadn’t been this close to someone else in a very long time, and seeing as your senses were that starved, your body couldn’t help but react, which soon caught the devil’s attention, distracting you both long enough to get caught when the closet doors suddenly swung open.

It wasn’t just Rawlins that had come home early for a brief pitstop till his night continued, but a few of his military brats were waiting by the door as well, making the fight that promptly broke out a little less fair.

In the beginning of the struggle, Rawlins’ jacket flung off his shoulders as Matt tried to grab him, but as the coat crashed to the ground, his wallet tumbled out of the pocket and slid across the floor. And with the hopes that the keycard was hidden in there the whole time, you swiftly went invisible, hoping you’d be able to avoid the many opponents as you rushed to snatch it up.

But just as you managed to grab it and it flipped open to reveal the very item you needed to steal, one of the foes saw the floating wallet and tackled you to the ground, knocking the air clean out of your lungs, the blow causing you to lose your grip on both the item and your invisibility, the wallet promptly tumbling from your flickering fingers.

And when all hope seemed lost, and Rawlins had called in reinforcements, more folks storming in through the front door by the second, you felt Matthew grab you before you could even think, as there was no other option but to flee from the fight.

Bloodied and panting, it wasn’t easy to escape up onto the rooftop. In the haze of it all, you weren’t even sure how you managed it at all.

But just before you could yell at him for dragging you up onto a dead end, the devil pulled out his billy clubs, twisted one of the handles, and flung across the night sky for the cord in between to extend and the far and to tangled itself around something in the distance like a grappling hook. Wrapping his arm tightly around your waist, he didn’t offer you a warning before you both went soaring, your fretful eyes not daring to peek back open before you felt your boots land on the next rooftop over.

Your lungs burned as you kept on running, swinging from building to building till you couldn’t even spot the one you’d fled from any longer as you glanced over the glinting horizon.

“Damn it–,” you cursed when you finally slowed down to catch your breath on a rooftop, “I almost had it!”

Breathlessly, Matt only grinned at your frustration before he dripped his fingers into a pocket and uttered, “you mean this?” as he held up the keycard.

Eyes widening in disbelief, you panted, “how did you–”

“You’re not the only one who can be sneaky,” he smirked before you snatched it out of his grasp to look at it closely.

“Oh my god…” a soft smile appeared on your lips as you stared down at the small card, “I can’t believe we did it…”

“We?” Matthew’s head cocked slightly as he echoed.

A breath caught in your throat as your eyes flickered up from the keycard to blink back at him, “…maybe–, maybe, we aren’t such a bad team after all…” you admitted, tugging the card into a pocket of your black cargo pants as the man across from you on the rooftop simply smirked as you finally began to soften up, “…look…” you hesitated, your gaze averting, “…I know I said that I wanted to work alone, and I know that you hate me, but–”

“Hold up,” Matt swiftly interrupted, “you think I hate you?”

Glancing up towards the stars above, your arms briefly raised in an exhausted shrug, “well, what other explanation is there?”

But instead of answering you, Matt instead just stood there for a second, before he slowly closed the distance between you both, grabbed your face and leaned in to press his lips against your own.

You were nearly too stunned to react as he stole your breath away. It wasn’t till he pulled back slightly and the whole city froze for a moment around you, his palms still cradling your jaw as you blinked up at him, that you finally found your footing.

And when you raised yourself back up to kiss him once again, your touch drifting up to rest against his bent arms, you felt his lips smile against your own.

The simple kiss, however, swiftly spun out of control.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline that still pumped in your veins from the fight that was to blame for when it exploded, and you found yourself pushing Matt up against the nearby brick wall as you made out.

Perhaps it was your loneliness that was at fault, as you eagerly let him pluck your body up off the ground, and your thighs wrapped around his hips, a faint whimper crawling up your throat and vibrating against Matt’s tongue as your core pressed against him, your throbbing cunt promptly clenching around nothing as his gloved grip dug into your ass and drew you even closer to his growing hardness.

It had been ages since you’d been touched like this, so naturally it would have probably felt this amazing no matter who it was that satisfied that deprived urge… right?

Your hips rocked down against his own as you made out, his hold on you too grinding your core feverishly against his. As he twisted around for your spine to now instead be pressed up against the brick, your fingers grasped his stubbly jaw and hazily strayed up to claw against the sides of his helmet.

Soon you were both so riled up, the sloppy kisses and heavy petting only scratching the itch just enough to drive you mad, your fingers desperately shot down between your bodies to reach the tent in his pants. Straying from your lips, the devil let out a low groan as your palm brushed against his hardness in your frantic mission to free it. Bowing your head, your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to tug at his belt without much success, but luckily, before a pout could find your lips, Matthew got the message and readjusted his grip on you, balancing you with just a single arm, as his free one reached down to undo his pants for you, his swift fingers flicking open the complicated suit effortlessly.

That same wide palm then drifted up to brush against your blushing cheek as you let yourself blink down at the fat cock that sprang out, your mouth agape as your impatient fingers wrapped around the girth, though you only got to gawk a second longer before he tilted your chin and reunited his lips with your own.

“Fuck,” he panted into your mouth as your touch slowly twisted up and down his throbbing length. Dropping his hand back down near his other beneath your ass, he shifted his grip on you, juggling you like a toy in his grasp, to let himself nearly tear your black pants in two as he ripped them down just barely low enough for your soaked panties to be revealed.

Though as he yanked that drenched cotton to the side, before he even got the chance to touch you at all, you tilted his cock in your grasp, angling it for the tip of him to slide against you instead.

But even as you began to rub his head against your clit, his own palm didn’t stray yet, but instead rested over your own as your dripping pussy soaked him, and didn’t wander till your patterns grew more zealous, angling further south to your drooling hole. And as you rubbed him against your entrance, his gloved fingers dragged over your puffy pearl, though only for a moment before soaring up to his lips, his teeth hastily tearing the one glove off and letting it drop to the ground beneath you, for his touch to then reunite with you without any barrier.

“Oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as he drew slow, firm circles over you, “don’t stop–”

Bowing his head to kiss along your neck, a devilish smirk flashed across his face, “yeah? You like that, Shadow?” he let himself revel in your euphoria.

“Shut up,” a whine vibrated in your throat, “just don’t stop,” you mumbled as you then slipped the very tip of him inside of you.

A breathless moan escaped the both of you when your warm walls finally clung around him. Re-adjusting your grasp on his broad shoulders, joining your hand with the one still locked around his neck, his fingers continued the careful pattern over your clit as you slowly, and shallowly, began to lower yourself down upon him. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt his forehead tilt back up to rest against your own, panting into each other’s mouths as you gradually stretched yourself out on his cock.

He didn’t stop touching you till you were whimpering in his arms and trying to bounce on his dick. Your legs trembled on either side of him as he then dug his grasp into the plush of your ass and began to move you, his own hips too bucking up to meet the desperate movements as he fucked you.

It was all just a haze of heated pants, curses and moans melting and mixing with the wet, sloppy noises of his cock splitting you open, with the night noises of the city around you only a mere memory in the background.

Not long passed before you came undone on his fat cock, your powers momentarily flickering as you writhed in his arms, and your cunt fluttered around his girth, pushing him over the edge as well.

His face stayed buried in the crook of your neck, catching his breath, as you both stayed frozen in each other’s arms, your poor pussy nearly choking him to death as his cock remained inside of you, but neither one of you dared to speak or even move an inch.

But when you finally did, it was slow as you began to peel yourselves away from one another. He began by carefully lowering your one leg, though as it shakily reunited with the flat rooftop below, you failed to stifle a groan as his cock slipped out of you.

You could barely look at him as you realised the line you’d just crossed, or more like set on fucking fire, silently panicking as you scrambled to cover back up.

Tugging your panties back over your messy pussy, you promptly clenched around nothing as you felt his hot load begin to leak out of you and ruin your underwear even further.

And when a hesitant squeak finally found its way to your lips, “that–…” your eyes stayed averted, even as your words faded.

Tilting his head, a smirk bloomed on Matt’s face, “yeah?” he uttered as the single word that had bubbled up your throat hadn’t yet made him doubt the rest of your pending sentence.

“…was such a mistake…” you apprehensively finished, eyes still glued to the ground, “we can’t–… we can’t let it happen again.”

Sucking in a sharp breath as his smile faded from his lips, on his exhale, Matt murmured, “…right…you beat me to it…”

“I mean,” you finally glanced up at the man in front of you, “it was just the adrenaline of it all that got to us,” your head nodded slowly as you tried to convince yourself.

“Mhm,” he hesitantly hummed, barely moving at all as he listened.

“So, we should just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His broad chest then shifted slowly beneath his suit as his lungs filled up with oxygen, letting your words settle in his soul before he agreed with a quiet, “…okay.”

“Get up.”

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, your invisibility faded just as you kicked the bedframe.

“What the–,” Matt swiftly shot awake, the slumber still muddled on his face as he initially jerked in alarm till he realised who exactly it was that had snuck into his apartment, “what are you doing here?”

But instead of answering his question, you just huffed impatiently, “we gotta go, come on.”

“Wha–,” he pushed himself up to a sitting position, “what time is it?”

“Four in the morning,” you briefly glanced down at the watch on your wrist, “which means we’re already running late, so let’s go.”

Letting out a low exhale, “okay…” he tore off the covers and begrudgingly swung his legs over the side of the bed, “is it a surprise or are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

Standing a little taller, you informed him in a clear tone, “I got a lead,” and tried your best to ignore his state of undress, how, even in the low light pouring in from the windows, you could make out the scars starched across his bare chest, one even dipping down below the black boxers that clung around his hips.

But his expression didn’t perk up at your news as his dark brows only furrowed faintly, “…you know you could have just called me about this, right?”

“Didn’t have your number,” you shrugged. Tearing your eyes away from him, you ripped open your dark backpack, “put this on,” you ordered after you’d tossed a faded blue uniform at him.

“Uhh… no thanks?” he cocked an eyebrow as he peeled it off of his shoulder where it had landed and held it in his palm, “I’ve got my own clothes, ones that don’t reek of industrial cleaning products.”

Exhaling sharply, your jaw clenched, “look, I know that you just woke up, but some of us haven’t slept at all yet and have instead stayed up just to string this whole plan together,” you fished out a white undershirt as well for him.

“And are you gonna share it with me or what?” he asked before being hit in the face with the tank top.

“I will when you put that fucking uniform on,” your hands landed on your hips as you waited a tense moment before he rolled his eyes pettily, yet finally complied. And as you watched him change right in front of you instead of shifting to somewhere more private, you began to tell him, “every morning at five, the janitorial staff at Onyx Corp shows up for work. One of said staff members is now missing a uniform, and has magically had their schedule tampered with, giving them a day off,” you tilted your head, “so you’re gonna show up instead, slip in with the crowd, use the keycard, sneak into the CEO, Richard Weiss’ office and steal his personal laptop. All the info we’re missing should be on that thing.”

“Okay…” he drew out a breath as he moulded over your plan, “or, I mean, I’m a lawyer, why couldn’t I just walk in there as myself, make up some legal bullshit or something–, ouch!” his offhand suggestion halted as you promptly smacked his shoulder.

“And have you then be added to their radar for sniffing where you shouldn’t, have them hunt you down till you’re dead? Believe it or not, I am trying to protect you, you idiot,” you growled as you plucked the last few items out of your bag, a baseball cap and a pair of plain sunglasses, and shoved them into his lap, “so could you at least not be a fucking dumbass about it and just say thank you?”

The sun was slowly rising as you sat, cloaked by your powers, on the roof of the opposing building to the Onyx Corporation’s official headquarters, and watched from afar as Matthew successfully slipped inside among the small morning crowd of workers.

The large structure in the middle of the city was mostly made up of wide windowpanes, making it easier for you to track the disguised lawyer as he made his way through the fishbowl, although it still didn’t help calm the terror that wrecked your body.

Being this close was frankly one of the most reckless things you’d ever done. If anyone saw you, if you let your invisibility so much as just flicker, you’d be a dead woman.

But when you saw Matthew inside covertly reach his destination, the keycard working as he slipped inside of the CEO’s office, when the laptop was under his arm and he pushed the door open once more to exit, a pair of guards caught him red-handed and a fight promptly broke out.

Your hope, however, faded rapidly as it didn’t take long before more security was alerted and piled on the vigilante. But even then, you still tried to stay optimistic, having witnessed first-hand the dreadful messes Daredevil was capable of getting out of on his own.

But when his form was pinned to the ground by enough people that he stood no chance, and the door on the opposite end of the floor swung open, revealing the bone-chilling visage of the boss himself, slowly marching down to the wreckage on full display through the agape doors of his office, you were then left with no choice on what to do next.

You held onto your invisibility for as long as possible, but after you’d only taken a few steps inside of the building, a sharp and sudden pain began to throb within your head, drawing a groan from your trembling body as you tried not to scream as it nearly felt like something was trying to crush your skull, your powers promptly began to flicker.

Trying to fight against it and somehow attempt to keep your cloaking up, it kept on flickering as you rushed to the stairwell.

You were panting and dizzy by the time you reached the top, though it wasn’t because of the numerous steps. Blood trickling out of your nose, your hand shook violently as you reached for the doorknob, your eyes landing on it as your powers kept on flashing, and you waited till your palm disappeared once more, hopefully timing it just right as you pushed the door open to dip into the hallway and enter the chaos.

Passing the janitorial cart he had pushed around to keep up his cover, your hands swiftly seized the mop that stuck out of it, and as your stomping feet dragged you closer to the fray, you swung the mop like a golf club, striking the guards pinning Matt to the floor.

Though, as you freed him, the long handle of the mop splintering in the process, your powers faltered once more, revealing your form to everyone in the office, including the very man who had once fooled the innocent little orphanage you used to be, condemning you to an adolescence of torture, the one and only, Richard Weiss, head of Onyx Corps.

“Well… if it isn’t our little Shadow, come back home at last…” he nearly chuckled as his stare held you frozen in terror, “should have known you were the troublemaker behind all of this.”

And though Matthew’s fists began to swing again as soon as he was able, it didn’t take long for him to conclude that you were severely outnumbered. It didn’t matter that the laptop wasn’t in the possession of either of you, at this point, your lives mattered more.

But when Matt’s attempts failed, you decided to try something, even though you were barely hanging on any longer, it was almost like an instinct kicked in and you grabbed Matthew’s hand in yours, somehow turning him invisible as well, just long enough for your initial escape to become possible.

But as soon as you got out of dodge, slipping into the elevator, you let go of his wide palm and your powers flickered out once more.

Both of you were panting and hunched over as Matthew stayed busy, reached over to hit the emergency button, stopping the elevator, before his body elongated, briefly jumping up to pop open the latch at the top.

It wasn’t till his fingers laced together and he waited for you to bend your knee and let him boost you up first, that he slowed down enough to notice just how beaten you were.

Though you had previously experienced these waves in the more compact package of the collars Onyx Corp used to control their test subjects with, it was something else entirely to try and be submerged inside an area protected by the same rays, and on top of that, attempting to fight against it, torturing your body that much further.

There wasn’t just blood dripping out of your nose, but your ears, the corner of your mouth, and even your eyes as well.

“Y/n, are you–,” worry twisted Matthew’s low timbre in a way you didn’t think possible.

“I’m fine,” you tried to dismiss through your pained whimper, “I just need to catch my breath,” you clutched the steel wall, “you go up first, I’m right behind you.”

Although he hesitated a moment, he eventually did as you wished, pulling himself up through the narrow latch and groaning lowly as the strain tore at the injuries he himself had sustained. But when his arm shot back down to pull you up as well, your body finally gave out when he’d lifted you up to join him in the elevator shaft, and the world faded to black.

It was full daylight by the time you stirred, though you weren’t on the roof of the elevator any longer, not even inside that horrific building anymore, as it finally felt as if you were able to breathe again. It was instead Matthew’s apartment that met your hazy gaze as soon as your eyes fluttered open.

Squinting a moment at the bright light pouring in through the tall windows, you realised that you were lying in his bed, the very same one he had been resting in when you’d disrupted his slumber earlier that day.

For a moment, you thought you were all alone till your neck twisted to the right and you saw the man further into the depths of the apartment, sitting at the humble dining table. He was shirtless, with only the glint of a cross necklace resting against his pecs as he patched himself up. And as you felt yourself begin to breathe more easy at the discovery that you hadn’t woken up to any imminent danger, you let yourself relax, and for a flash, stare at Matthew before any of your guards could shoot up and hinder you from taking in the vision his half-naked and bloodied form, quietly groaning as he concentrated on his stitches, the whole display making your heart beat louder, though not in your chest, but between your thighs.  

Tilting his head suddenly, the needle in Matt’s fingers paused as he noticed you were finally awake, “hey,” a soft smile appeared on his lips.

“What happened?” you asked weakly in a hoarse tone.  

“You passed out,” he paused his patching up, carefully tearing the thread on the needle before he had finished all of the stitches.

“I did?” your brows furrowed as you tried to recall, hazily attempting to sit up, only realising now that you were still clad in the same black, utilitarian outfit as before, blood-soaked and torn from the fight.

“Whoa, whoa, no,” Matt hastily rushed to your side, “your stubborn ass essentially just tried to power your way through a meatgrinder, so lay back down.”

“God, I’m fine,” you tried to push away his palms as they came to rest against your shoulders.

“No, you’re not,” he uttered firmly.

“Matt–”

“Jesus! Would you just shut up for a second and let me help you?”

Your eyes snapped up to his worried expression as he raised his voice, and you finally gave in, carefully lowering back down upon the pillow.

Blinking up at him a moment as his broad, bare shoulders relaxed once more, his feet staying glued beside the bedframe as he loomed above your horizontal form, you then asked, “how did I get out of there?”

Drawing in a breath, he shared, “well, I carried you,” as if it was the obvious answer.

“You should have just left me,” your head began to shake faintly as you squeezed your eyes shut, “it would have been safer if you were–”

“You risked your life coming in to save me,” he interrupted you, “so this just makes us even.”

Eyes fluttering back open, your chest slowly rose and fell as you simply stared up at him for a moment, completely lost for words as he continued to stand by your side.

And when he finally broke the silence, it was to utter, “it’s mostly bruises you’ve got, but there is a cut on your shoulder,” his chin tilted in the direction of that side, “I tried to just keep it wrapped while you were unconscious, but I should probably stitch it up for you.”

Nodding slowly as your stare stayed on him instead of straying to the bloodied dish towel tied around your side, you murmured, “okay…”

Once he’d helped you sit back up, he only disappeared into the living room for a moment to grab the first aid kit, your own fingers slowly unlacing your boots and dropping them to the floor, before he returned to your side and planted himself on the edge of the mattress.

A sharp hiss escaped you when you tried to peel your long-sleeved top off. But your movement paused when the hem reached your ribs as you felt Matthew’s palms suddenly land atop your own, silently asking you for permission to help. Instead of uttering a word, you simply let your own hands slip out from under his touch, letting him take over and slowly pull the shirt over your head, leaving you in just pants and a sports bra.

Your breathing was ragged as you simply stared at him the whole time he tended to your wound, and by the time that he finished, the silence continued to draw out, growing thick in the air between you both, as neither of you dared to move a muscle.

“…you should try and get some rest,” he eventually uttered, nearly in a whisper.

“Right…” you exhaled and finally tore your gaze away from him to glance down at the remanence of your clothing, not exactly comfortable against your skin, “…do you maybe have a shirt or something that I could borrow?”

“Sure,” he breathed, then got up to open his closet, plucked out a t-shirt and handed it to you, “here.”

“Thanks,” you grasped the soft cotton, bowing your head to glance down at it.

And as you simply stared at it a moment without shifting to put it on, “do you–…” Matt hesitantly offered, “do you need a hand?”

“I–…” you let out a sigh, flirting momentarily with the idea of your usual tough shell, but fortunately, you were so exhausted that you couldn’t resist, “…okay.”

His touch was like fire as it ghosted across your skin, making your pussy throb between your thighs as he carefully helped you first out of the black pants, slowly tugging them down your legs, before he pulled the tight sports bra off, your own breath hitching as your soft tits dropped from the confines. Matt tried to stay strong as he lastly helped you into the borrowed shirt, swallowing hard before he finally let go of you, even though that was the very last thing he yearned to do.

When you layed back down under his covers, you couldn’t fall back asleep even though your body was screaming for the rest, your stare instead staying glued on the lawyer as he returned to the living room and went back to patching himself up.

It was then that it hit you what that feeling that fluttered within you truly was.

You felt safe.

For the first time in forever.

With him by your side, you felt safe.

It was evening by the time that you woke up again, the sun once more setting, dipping down below the towering buildings outside.

“You okay?” you heard Matthew’s voice and twisted gently in the sheets to find him sitting on the couch just on the other side of the open sliding door, leaned over the coffee table and going through some stuff.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you curled onto your side to face him more, your knees bending up towards your chest.

“Well…” he exhaled slowly and let the papers in his hand drop to the rest on the tabletop below him, “since we didn’t get the laptop, I’m trying to find another way to locate that lab.”

Tears then welled up in your eyes and thickened the words in your throat as the level of just how much he cared came as a surprise to you, “any success?”

“Uh, maybe. There is this one scientist who worked there, but he was arrested for something else,” he clicked his tongue, “currently sitting pretty in prison.”

“Wait, are you saying–,” you caught onto what he was hinting at, “do you wanna go in there and pretend to be his lawyer? Do you think that’d work?”

“Well, if reasoning with him doesn’t work, then I can always just let the devil out, see if that’ll loosen his lips.”

Staring at him in pure and unadulterated amazement, the tears in your eyes escaped with a small sob and began to roll down your cheeks.

“Hey,” he promptly darted to your side, sitting down on the bed beside you, “what’s wrong? Is it–, do you not want me to go? I’m sorry, I–”

Shaking your head, you sniffled, “no, it’s not that–”

“Have you changed your mind?” he tilted his head as you then pushed yourself up to a sitting position next to him, “you wanna go back to being a lone wolf? Because not that I don’t believe you’re strong enough to take these people on all on your own, you are, you really are, but I just–… I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” he choked on his words, “so please. Please let me help. Let me–, let us work together. Make these people pay for everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve done to you…”

Sucking in a breath, you stared back at him, unable to find the words, before you felt your spine begin to slant forward as you let your forehead simply rest against his own.

“…Matt–…” your voice was barely a whisper as finally filled out the sparse space between you both, “…you’re the first person that I can’t hide from… and not just because you can sense me even when I’m invisible, but you see me…” another tear escaped the corner of your eye, “…truly see me…” you then felt him grab your cheek, your glossy eyes briefly fluttering closed at the contact, “I’ve never–…” you blinked back at him again, panting as your gaze then dropped to his lips, “…you–…” you felt him slowly begin to drag you closer, but just as the tip of your nose brushed against his own, your eyes squeezed shut as you whispered once more, “we shouldn’t…”

“Why not?” he breathed, his wide palm remaining against your cheek as his fingertip slowly stretched up into your hairline.  

“Matt…” you exhaled, but instinctively leaned into his touch.

“Don’t you want to?” he croaked hazily, “doesn’t it kill you too, this thing between us?” a fresh blubber of tears sprang forth from you as his words struck true, “I know it’s not just me, I know… I can feel the way your breath hitches when you look at me… I can hear the way your pulse picks up when I’m near… like a fucking drum between your legs…” his nose twitched gently as he nearly growled.

“…still doesn’t mean we should give in to it…” you whispered, “…Matthew, I–… these people have been after me for most of my life. I can’t risk putting anyone else in danger simply for caring about them,” your tearful eyes blinked back at him, “I know first-hand what they do to someone, someone like us. I can’t let you go through that as well.”

Letting his grip glide into your hair completely, he let your words sink in before he eventually uttered, “…if it means having you, then that’s a risk I’d be willing to take…”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, slightly doubting whether you’d heard him correctly, before something inside of you finally unravelled and you leaned in to press your lips against his own.

It was slow yet rumbling with passion. His thumb gently wiped away the last few tears that rolled down your cheeks before the kiss faded into small, unhurried pecks. Your palm floated up to caress his burly forearm as he continued to cradle your face, drawing out the kisses for as long as possible.

Soon, your limbs were tangled around one another, hugging each other’s forms as your lips stayed locked, occasionally pausing for a breath to let a gentle smile take over.

But when you felt as if you still weren’t close enough to him, you found yourself carefully crawling into his lap, a shift he couldn’t help but aid as his arms around you tightened and he drew you in flush against him, your thighs on either side of his hips on the edge of the bed.

But it still didn’t scratch the itch enough, leading your breath to grow ragged as your fingers tangled in his shirt and your lips wandered down the side of his neck.

“Are you–…” he breathed heavy as you kissed along his throat, his fingers instinctively denting low on your hips, “what can I–, what do you need?”

A sly smirk then bloomed on your lips as you kept on kissing his skin, “you really gonna sit here and claim that you don’t know what I need right now?” a faint giggle escaped you as even you had already noticed the dull throbbing between your thighs that was nearly making you drool.

“No, I mean–, are you feeling better?” his grip on you tightened as he tried to keep cool and hold onto the fact of all the trauma your body had just sustained.

That made you pull back a bit as a gentle smile lit up your face, “yeah,” you uttered warmly, “I’m not a hundred per cent yet, probably won’t be for a while, but the sleep really helped.”

“And how about your shoulder?” he cocked his head, gesturing faintly towards it.

“It’s fine,” you breathed, “I have a pretty high pain tolerance,” you then saw as Matt mirrored your smile before he dipped back in to steal another kiss. But then, as the brief break had cleared enough of your fog as well, you cut the peck short before your mind could get cloudy again, “wait, but what about you?” you realised, and glanced to his injuries, only some of them not covered by his t-shirt, “you got way more banged up than me.”

“Oh,” he continued to grin, “I’m just fine,” he told you as he then slowly leaned in.

“You sure?” you asked, your lips curling into a smile as he continued to slant closer.

“Well, I mean,” he tilted his head as he smirked, “I could be better…” he then began to plant a trail of slow pecks all along the length of your neck.

“Oh yeah?” a breathy chuckle escaped you.

“Yeah…” his palms caught your cheeks as his lips travelled up your throat till they were pressing against your face once more, “there might be something you could do to help…”

And as you then playfully slipped your arm down between your forms to reach for the hardness that had been nudging you, “…something like this?” you grinned as you palmed the tent in his pants.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his head tilting upwards to share your breath, “yeah, exactly something like that…” he smiled as well before he collided his lips with yours once again.

His broad palms coasted all along the shape of your frame, finally letting himself touch you the way that he had yearned for, all of his thoughtful reservations dropped to the floor, just like his tight t-shirt, as you soon peeled it over his head, your heated kiss only pausing a moment before you both dove right back in.

You gasped against his lips as his wide hands strayed from their kneading of your soft ass, for his fingertips to stretch down over the cotton of your panties, reaching between your legs and teasingly brushing over the soaked fabric. As he pressed down harder, rolling your clit through the material, your hand flexed against his hardness.   

“God, I wanna taste you so fucking bad…” he then panted against your lips as you wiggled down into his touch, “can I? Please?”

Breathlessly pulling back to let your hazy eyes sweep across his face, your head tilted in a faint nod, “o-okay,” before a grin then flashed across Matt’s face and his burly arms tightened around your frame, taking you with him as he flipped you around and layed you down on the mattress.

Still slotted between your thighs, Matthew only loomed above you for a moment before he sank down to kneel on the floor beside the bed. Catching your hips, he yanked you closer to the edge, drawing out a giggly yelp from your lungs.

Peeping down at him, your chest rose and fell rapidly as he slowly peeled your panties down your legs, webs of your want briefly clinging to the cotton as it was torn away from your drooling pussy, before the glinting strings snapped back against your throbbing core.

“Holy–, fuck!” you gasped as he buried his face between your legs, his sweet tongue dragging through your wet folds, tracing your clit before it slipped down to lap up the nectar leaking out of you, groaning against your heat as his nose nudged against your puffy pearl.

His grip dented your waist as his mouth tilted back up to overwhelm your clit, the borrowed t-shirt you still wore bunching up beneath his fingers.

The man was eating you out as if it were his last day on earth, his facial hair rubbing your poor pussy raw as you wiggled beneath him, dizzy against the sheets as one of his hands glided down between your quivering legs.

For a moment, the tips of his fingers traced slow circles over your entrance, before one of them then eased inside, just to the second knuckle, gradually opening you up for him.

By the time your cunt was clenching around two of his digits, sunk deeper inside of you than your own touch could ever reach, your arm fluttered down to tremble against his palm that still remained splayed against your abdomen. You clawed at his skin till he flipped his hand around and clutched your own tight, his broad thumb briefly brushing over your knuckles as you moaned beneath him.

But as you felt yourself near the edge, you lifted your head just an inch above the sheets and cast your hazy gaze down to the man blissful between your legs.

Even though this was more than you could ever dream of, there was something else in this moment that your soul was screaming for.

Letting out a whimper, your other hand shot down to tangle in his dark hair right before you gasped, “wait–, stop–,” and his mouth let go of you with a pop, “come here,” you whispered breathlessly as your fingers let go of his locks, and you caught onto the cross necklace dangling from his neck. Pulling on it as if it was a leash, you dragged him till he was hovering above your splayed-out form, and his lips came crashing into yours.

The entire lower half of his face was soaked in your juices, making you mewl against his tongue as you tasted yourself on him.

“Please fuck me,” you panted when you finally parted from the sloppy kiss, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah?” Matthew smirked above you, his fingers catching the hem of your shirt, “you need me inside of you?” he tilted his chin as he dragged the last shred of clothing over your head and flung it onto the floor.

“Uh-huh,” you nodded as you foggily reached down to fumble with his pants, but before you could manage to undo them, his own fingers nimbly took over.

“You wanna feel me stretch you out again?” he grunted, your eyes fluttering as you watched his heavy cock spring forth and slap him in the abdomen.

Your head was spinning as he then suddenly flipped you around, manhandling and moulding you beneath him till he had you bent over the mattress, your legs now dangling off the side of his bed next to where his own stood rooted, “Matt–”

“You wanna cum on my cock?” he finished pushing his pants off completely and you twisted your neck to catch a glimpse of him behind you.

“Y-yes!” you slurred breathlessly, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt him tap the weight of himself against your soft pussy, your drool nearly dripping down over him like honey before he finally nudged at your opening and the tip of his dick slipped inside, “oh fuck–”

“Oh my god…” he groaned as he gradually split you open on his fat girth, “of course you somehow feel even fucking better than I remembered…” his upper body melted down over you, his glinting necklace tickling your skin before his soft lips pressed against your spine, “so fucking wet and warm… you’re fucking perfect…”

You were grabbing the sheets by the time his thrusts had gained such ferocity that his heavy balls were smacking against your throbbing clit each time he bottomed out within you, making you whimper rhythmically beneath him with each maddening buck.

Slipping his hand beneath your chin, he tilted your face up towards his own, arching your back for him to steal a messy kiss from your lips, though he held you captive there a moment longer afterwards, letting you blink up at him as each time his hips snapped against your ass, it made it harder and harder for you to keep your eyes open.

That first orgasm hit you like a freight train, after you’d initially denied yourself of the ecstasy, it only rocked you that much more fiercely when you finally let it, your powers flickering as you lost control, turning your body transparent a dozen times in your swift descent as you came crashing down against the mattress.

Before you’d caught your breath, Matthew gently flipped you back around and scooted your frame further up upon the bed as he joined you as well.

Your legs clung against his hips as he crawled above you, and you felt his arms curl around and beneath your form, hugging you close as his cock throbbed against your pussy.

And as you briefly reached down to slip his length, glistening and covered in your cream, back inside, he continued to let himself finally hold onto you for dear life as he nearly fucked you straight through the mattress in maddeningly slow and deep strokes.

“O-oh, Matt,” you whimpered, his forehead resting against your own as your mouth stayed agape in a silent gasp, completely lost in him.

Nudging your legs to part further for him, you then heard him command, “play with that pussy for me,” in a similar, dark grunt as when the devil mask was obscuring half of his face. But when his words washed over your dazed form and sent a shiver down your spine, he ghosted his lips against your own as your hands stayed locked around his neck, “earth to Shadow…”

“Huh?” you sluggishly blinked back up at his brown eyes.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

Head spinning, you gasped, “uhm, uh-huh,” and nodded hazily, your nose nudging against his own, though your fingers still didn’t spring to life yet.

“Then go on,” he chuckled breathlessly at the state he had put you in, “make that pretty pussy cum on my cock one more time.”

Your eyes soon rolled in your skull as you then rubbed your puffy pearl raw and cried out beneath him as you tumbled over the edge once again. Your cunt choked his girth so fiercely that he couldn’t help but promptly cum as well, his dick twitching inside of you as you milked him of all of his worth.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before either of you finally moved, but you nearly managed to fall asleep while his cock was still splitting you open and his load was slowly leaking onto the sheets.

But when you eventually settled into Matthew’s side and your weary stare blinked up at his serene features, you found yourself whispering into the night, “…you really think we can do this?”

Twisting his head slightly, he uttered, “what? Take down Onyx Corp,” his arm around you tightening slightly at your lasting gloom, “or be together?”

Drawing in a breath, you averted your gaze as you admitted dimly, “both.”

Lying still a second, you then felt him shift beside you, snaking his grip around your frame before he then dragged you closer till you were splayed out directly on top of his chest. Gliding his touch up to catch your face, he waited for your stare to return to him before he uttered, “…I think that together, we can do anything.”

© 2026 thyme-in-a-bubble

[chvoswxtch]

I think that about sums it up

[simpsonns]

Dex is back… where are all the fics?! And I swear I don’t want anymore smut. Give me yearning give me emotion not just horned up jorking it. Give me my man just got out the asylum and is coming to get me.

[lostfallenangelsblog]

✨HE LOOKS SO MAJESTIC✨I LOVE HIM😻