Had this one sitting in my docs folder for a while, decided to edit it and finally drop it in honor of the hot summer.
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2k
Warnings for this fic: SFW, no use of y/n, lots of descriptions about how hot it is but it's fine cause Matt still thinks you smell nice, Reader is AFAB, Matt is a brat
Fic Summary: Just a short, humourish drabble-ish bit about you and Matt dealing with the heat as I try to get back into writing.
Or: in which Matt is still somehow cuddly in triple-digit weather.
You were going to kill someone.
Matt would claim you were exaggerating, but you knew the truth. These were living conditions meant for lizards, not mammals, and when mammals—one particular flavor of mammal, especially—were forced out of their proper biome, murder wasn’t out of the question. You were pretty sure that was how it worked, anyway, according to Genesis. It was hard to remember when your brain was sizzling inside your skull like a wad of bacon.
One-hundred-and-fucking-six degrees.
You could have dealt with it if it had been a bit drier. Really. But during New York summers, the only thing more reliable than the honking of horns was the humidity, which had sent the index soaring up into the category of absolute hellscape. The rickety old air conditioning unit in the apartment had done alright until the heat index had hit triple digits. Then it had coughed, sputtered, and settled for, ‘Sure, you’re still a sweaty puddle of melting meat juice, but the outside is worse if you think about it, right?’ The A.C. at Nelson and Murdock had waved the white flag even sooner than that, to the point they’d closed the office four days ago and reverted to working from home. Matt hadn’t even bothered to go out as the Devil the past two nights, not when the very act of putting on the suit had become dangerous.
Not that there was anyone out there for Matt to fight right now. Apparently even the criminals had a temperature limit. Turns out the real secret to stopping crime wasn’t a Devil suit, but instead just cranking up the setting on the giant ball of fire in the sky until the very act of crime meant you might wind up with a chance to meet the real Devil first hand.
The fact that you were living in Hell’s Kitchen had never felt more accurate.
Matt, ever the practical masochist, was out in the bad air doing… something. Errands, you vaguely remembered, since it was after dark and thus moderately less like a pot of boiling soup outside. You didn’t much care, though. You were currently in the bedroom sprawled out on the floor where it was just a touch cooler, a few thin sheets and a pillow thrown down for padding. You’d stripped down to your underwear, five different fans whirring away around you in an attempt to stir the stagnant, sticky air in the room. If you were lucky, they’d help you retain the brief snatch of heavenly cold your body had greedily absorbed sitting in the shower for the past hour. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better, and at this point you’d take it. And as much as you loved Matt, it was far more pleasant without him here. That man was a furnace and the heat had only reduced his cuddling needs by about forty percent. On top of that, if he knew you’d cooled your body, he’d want in.
The bedroom door slowly rolled open with an ominous…
…squeak.
You blearily turned your head.
Matt had already stripped out of his shirt, his body so soaked in sweat he almost seemed to shine. On a good day you’d have compared him and his damp, pale skin to a beautiful marble sculpture, to classical paintings of gorgeous Greek Gods emerging from frothing rivers. Now, however, all you could think of was a hot dog pulled straight from the hot, cloudy water at that one food cart you didn’t really trust:
Shiny.
Questionably wet.
And not something you particularly wanted laying on top of you in triple digit weather.
Matt blinked innocently at you as he slowly shucked his shorts—shorts you hadn’t even realized he owned until this heat wave. It left him in nothing but damp boxers still clinging to his thick thighs. His intent was clear.
“Shoo,” you croaked. “My cold body. Go away. Go sit in the shower like I did.”
“Everyone else had the same idea. The water pressure’s too low now.” He took a creeping step, and then another, bit by bit making his way around the bed towards you like an overheated panther. “Share it with me. I want it.”
“Come back when it’s ten degrees cooler.”
“I love you,” he sighed sadly, aiming those big, dark, mournful eyes in your general direction as he rounded the bed. Foggy called it Matt’s ‘abandoned kitten in the rain’ look. It was far more effective on you than you’d ever admit to, and on a colder day, it would have worked. But you were quickly reminded of Matt’s true goal when a droplet of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. He blinked it away with a grunt, nose scrunching like a cat’s as he paused just long enough to wipe it away. Then he was back at it. He sank smoothly to his knees, crawling menacingly towards you across the floor on all fours. “I love you so, so much. Let me hold you, sweetheart. I need you.”
“Fuck off, you goddamn cold thief.” You kicked lethargically at him with one leg the moment he was in range, dodging his grip when he snatched at your ankle. You quickly shifted to your backup plan, which was mostly just rolling like an overcooked rotisserie chicken to the far side of the small cloth nest on the floor. But even after an hour in a cold shower, you still wound up partially stuck to the sheets where sweat had pooled against your lower back, bringing half the fabric with you, making you groan. “Do some Devil meditation to cool down.”
He’d made it fully onto the blankets now, inching towards you, that familiar predatory hunger radiating from every inch of him. He slowly tilted his head, honing in on you, on the exact positioning of his body. Then he flashed you a grin. “This is faster.”
“I’m not your cold pack—”
“You’re about to be,” he purred.
Before you could blink he’d flung himself across the blankets, twining himself around you, trapping you in his sticky grip. You squirmed and rocked weakly in an attempt to escape, a flopping wet fish caught in the clutches of your beloved cuddle octopus, but it was no use, and fighting him off would only heat you up further. You let out a miserable groan, sagging against the floor, and the sound was almost lost beneath his equally loud moan of relief.
The struggle clearly over, he made his final move, throwing one of his fuzzy, muscular legs over your waist and dragging you back in tighter against him, shoving his hips up against your ass without so much as a, ‘you want some dinner first?’ Just like that you were trapped against a mountain of sweaty, burning Devil. His contented, admittedly-mildly-heat-exhausted little purr into your hair was only matched by your grumble of irritation as his body eagerly began to drain you of every last drop of cold you’d managed to suck up in the shower.
“Why?” you moaned, his sticky, wet skin sliding against yours with every breath, the sweat already pooling between you. You felt like you were trapped against a slip-n-slide. “Why, Matthew?”
“You don’t want me to get heat stroke do you?” he mumbled sadly, though he wasn’t sad enough not to rub his great, big, obnoxious, sweaty head against your damp hair. There must have been some cold left up there, too. “Who will keep you warm in the winter? As if you don’t do this to me when you’re cold. Fair’s fair.”
“The pot is uncomfortable being called the fuck out by the kettle,” you muttered, reluctantly lifting one arm so he could more easily wrap himself around you. Which he did, with no small amount of pleasure. “This sucks, and I hate it.”
“There is one upside though.”
“What’s that?”
He dragged his head sleepily down to your neck and faceplanted against your damp skin without any hesitation, taking a few long, drunken inhales. When he spoke again, his voice had grown just a little slurred, glutted and thick. “You smell amazing, sweetheart.”
“No, I smell like I’m a bag of meat that’s marinating,” you said grimly. “Because that’s what I am right now thanks to this heatwave. I am God’s sentient bag of marinating meat.”
“Mm, but the bag smells good at least.” Matt rubbed his cheek fondly against your slick shoulder, no doubt luxuriating in all the pheromones bogged down in the sweat clinging to your skin. “We can marinate together.”
Who said romance was dead?
“As flattering as it is that you’re not turned off by how I smell soaked in my own sweat,” you told him tiredly, though not unkindly, “I regret to inform you that Club Vagina is closed until the air stops trying to kill us.”
“Fair. Just thought you should know how good you smell.” He yawned, adjusting himself against you. You grimaced when your skin and his stuck together awkwardly for a moment before sliding slickly against each other, only to seemingly glue itself back together a moment later when he settled.
Once he was cooled off, you were absolutely leaving him on this side of the floor nest and making an escape for the other side. Hell, you might be able to talk him into giving you a good six inches of space if you could convince him that a single pinky toe touching qualified as cuddling in spirit, if not in form.
That he still wanted to cuddle at all was the bigger mystery.
“What I really want to know is how you aren’t dying right now.” You furrowed your brow. “You’re tolerating this and the heat a lot better than I thought you would.”
“Let me put it this way.” He tapped one finger against you almost playfully. “Ninety degrees in the suit feels roughly equal to triple digits when not wearing it. At least this way the sweat has somewhere to go. Some nights I’m surprised I don’t make sloshing sounds when I move.”
Your brain unhelpfully offered up an idea of what that might sound like: a wet squish caught somewhere between the splashing of water in a bucket and the muffled squeak of a water balloon when you squeezed it in your hand.
You really wished your brain was a little less imaginative. Or specific.
“Oh god.”
“Mhm. Now you know why I sometimes avoid you until I shower after patrol in the summer.”
“That is very much appreciated. Speaking of showers, I could already use another one, but that’s not doable until the water pressure’s back.” You blew out a breath, staring at the wall, the only shield between both of you and the tacky, carnival taffy-thick humidity desperate to find a way in. One of the fans sputtered as if in sympathy, though that likely had more to do with the way it had been running almost non-stop for twelve hours. For all you knew, this was the fan threatening a lawsuit over unpaid overtime. “Until then we just survive. Or evolve into lizards.”
“I choose survival. Might be hard to keep the streets safe if I was a lizard.”
“Unless you were a really big, scary one. A Komodo Devil.” You groaned, flopping your head back against his shoulder. “Then you could chase people off before they take all the ice cream at the store. I don’t suppose you found some?”
“I could only find a box of popsicles.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Except they melted on the way home. So fruit-flavored, room-temperature water in a tube is the best I can offer until they solidify in the freezer again.”
Fuck.
This wasn’t fair. You bet Turk had ice cream. Somehow. Why couldn’t you have some of that
Actually…
“I don’t suppose,” you said innocently, “I could talk you into stealing an air conditioning unit, and maybe some ice cream, from a bad guy?”
Matt was quiet for a long, thoughtful, Catholic moment as he presumably considered the sin of thievery, especially if that thievery involving taking something from a very, very bad person who surely didn’t deserve the cold air and sweet, sweet relief of ice cream as much as you, the love of his life, did.
You pointedly leaned forward, your wet, sweaty body peeling away from him like the hands of a kindergartner who’d coated his palms in Elmer’s glue.
That did it.
“The second I’ve drained all the cold from your body, I’m willing to discuss it.”
Requested: There's a persistent creep harassing/ stalking reader so either Matt goes up to reader and pretends to be close friends with them or reader approaches Matt. Matt makes reader feel safe.
Warnings: harassment (no means no)
Josie's was unusually busy for a weekday, Matt and Foggy stood by the pool table discussing there latest case over the growing noise of rowdy drunks. It hadn't been an easy day at the office, but Matt was still eager to get out onto the streets of hells kitchen and use his time for good. Though maybe he was meant to be at the bar tonight, because over the music and chatter of surrounding strangers, Matt could hear trouble.
Trouble that you were currently caught in the middle of. He could hear your voice across the room, somewhere near the bar. There was an uncomfortable shake to the words you spoke, heartbeat uneven and anxious.
So Matt makes his way over, pushing through the crowds of people with his cane out in front of him, though he doesn't need it. He never does. He finds you easily, your heartbeat getting louder by the second, and Matt can hear the voice of a man, talking to you.
He realizes now exactly what is happening, standing a few meters away to assess the situation, see if he has to intervene. Foggy is long forgotten over at the pool table, conversation lost on Matt as he no longer cares about the figures from today.
"Let me buy you a drink." The man harassing you says over the bass beat of the song playing.
"I appreciate the offer but I'm not interested." you're so polite to the guy, and Matt can't quite believe it, though he supposes that's how you keep yourself safe.
"You got a boyfriend or something?"
"Yes." your heartbeat skips and Matt can tell you're lying, though he knows why.
"Then what's a pretty darling like you doing here all alone?" It's disgusting, the tone of the man's voice, and all of a sudden there's a loud shuffle, the rushed movement of someone uncomfortable by the bar. Matt knows it's you.
"Please don't touch me." You say, loud enough for others around you to hear, though no one intervenes. So Matt does.
"Hey there," he strolls up beside you, as if he's known you all his life and not just a few seconds. "Sorry I'm late." Matt's smile is wide, and he flicks the look in the general direction of the other man across from you. "We got a problem here?"
Matt can feel your breathing slowing, and he's pleased you feel a little safer with him around. You just don't know how safe you really are, that you have the devil of hells kitchen defending you.
"No problem at all, just offering to buy your friend a drink." Everyone involved knows the man wants a lot more than that. "So what'd you say hon', you gonna let me get you a margarita?" The man makes Matt's skin crawl, and he can only imagine how you feel.
"I already told you no." Your voice is more steady now, knowing you have someone to back you up, and Matt can feel your hand come to rest on his arm.
"Hey buddy," Matt takes a step forward, keeping you behind him. "get lost." his false smile is gone, replaced with a far more serious expression.
"Or what?"
Matt doesn't want to make a scene, but he can feel the anger boiling in his gut, telling him to make a fool out of the man in front of him. he thinks over the guys question, wondering how best to answer, and decides on a very simple option. Matt moves fast, swinging his cane out hard, and knocking the man to his knees with so much force that he has to gasp for breath as he kneels beside the bar.
"I think we've come to a mutual understanding," Matt has turned back to you, hoping his words bring comfort if nothing else and when he hears you breathe a sigh of relief he knows he's succeeded. "I'm Matt," Matt goes to extend a hand, before sensing the man behind him start to stand. "One second, sorry." he turns back around and knocks the guy down again, just for good measure.
"I'm Y/N." you say when Matt's focus has returned to you. He loves the sound of your name, soft and sweet.
"Do you wanna come over by the pool table? Just get away from this guy for a while?" Matt asks, gesturing vaugely to the ground behind him. You nod, though Matt can't see it, before giving him a verbal response.
"Yeah, I'd really like that, thanks."
You follow Matt through the crowd back towards Foggy, who gives you a smile as soon as you lock eyes with him. He extends a hand with an introduction just as Matt had done before, and you feel a hell of a lot safer knowing Foggy is just as decent as Matt had been.
"You okay?" Matt asks as the Bar begins to quiet.
"Yeah," he can hear your pulse skip a beat, though you're not scared of him like the stranger from before. In fact, you might even like him. "I'm doing great."
Summary: You're Matt Murdock's neighbor, and one night he hears you pray.
Words: Under 1k
A/N: I just be posting anything now lol wrote this in my notes app hope you like it!!!
The building was quiet most of the time, but unfortunately for Matt Murdock, that wasn't the case, ever. Most people couldn't hear apartments three doors down and the conversations that went on in them. But Matt could. And he could never avoid them.
He distracted himself from the outside noise with menial chores–cleaning whatever dishes were left in the sink, reorganizing glasses in the cabinet, and practicing his fighting. But when dusting and cleaning wasn't enough, when even the music he played couldn't drown out the noise, he tended to listen to a particular apartment: hers.
She lived alone. Right across the hall, diagonal from his own door. Of all the apartments he was forced to listen to day in and day out, hers was the most peaceful. The quietest. She didn't have loud conversations with anyone, she didn't have a dog who would bark in the middle of the night. Instead, she had a teapot on the stove that would whistle when ready; she spent most nights quietly flipping through pages of a book. She got up to that annoying phone alarm and trotted to the bathroom to get ready for work. Matt's not sure what she does, but sometimes he hears her come home late when he's about to get ready to patrol the streets as Daredevil.
Matt realized going over this in his head was a little more than creepy and trod the thin line of being a stalker, but his heightened senses and what they picked up on were unavoidable. The times he couldn't focus on anything else or tune out the other noises in the apartment he focused on hers because it was the most calming to his senses.
He's only run into her a handful of times on the rare occasion they both leave for work in the morning. One time, they both exited their apartments at the same time. She quietly waved good morning until she realized she waved at a blind man and then uttered a more audible "good morning." Most people would ignore the realization and awkwardly go about their day, but not her. She always made sure to say good morning from then on. Matt liked that–no, liked you.
Matt found himself eager to get home after work more often than not, in hopes of coming home at the same time as her. Anything to get a small interaction would be enough for him. Even if it was as small as her holding the door for him or wishing him a good night. He looked forward to these small interactions so much that if they didn't happen, Matt would have a much less than good day.
One night, though, when he was just about to let himself fall asleep after a rather rough night patrolling Hell's Kitchen, he heard her. He heard her in a way he hadn't before. From the hiccups, to the shaky breaths, and the lingering taste of salt in the air, he knew she was crying.
Matt shot up in bed as he began to listen more intently–what happened?
"Please, God," he heard her whispered prayer, "Please make sure I make it home safe and unharmed from work. Please. There's so much violence in this city and I'm scared to walk alone at night."
Matt took a shaky breath, gripping his silk sheets in his hands. She was scared, he confirmed. Well, rest assured, he thought. Tomorrow night, he would make sure she arrived home safely from work himself.
Stolen Glances (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)
Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been on a writing hiatus after feeling uninspired after a long while, and I think it's kind of helped reset my creative juices. I'm entering my busy season at work, so I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the future, but I'm back to feeling more like myself. I figured one of the best ways to return to writing was with some College Matt! Enjoy! :)
Summary: Your best friend convinces you to go out with her to a bar to celebrate the start of spring break, and to your surprise, the night takes an unexpected turn for the better when your friend calls over two people she knows from her law classes—one of whom you just so happen to have a huge crush on.
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, reader nickname (not-name specific) drinking, kissing, getting caught in the rain, smut (oral-f!receiving, Matt's mouth being a menace, praise kink, Matt being a lil' tiny touch possessive, Matt lightly biting at Reader's shoulder, p in v protected sex, aftercare)
Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, OFCs
Word Count: 6,084
“Stop staring,” Amy says as she sips her drink.
“I’m not,” you murmur as you roll your beer bottle absentmindedly on the sticky bar counter of Josie’s. How Amy even got you out tonight is beyond you. You don’t go to bars. You’re not even a big fan of going out in general. But tonight, you caved, and followed her in the rain to a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen for cheep beer, gossip, and people watching. And it’s people watching that lead your eyes to land on one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. Matt Murdock—enter frantically smitten swoon here. He’s a law student with a voice like honey, a smile that could light up a room, and the best ass in the entire world.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to stumble into the one that he was in.
“You are,” Amy counters.
“Not.”
“Are.”
“Fine,” you sigh. “Glancing. Let me have this.”
“He’s single, you know. Broke up with the girl he was dating all last year.”
“Which means he’s not looking for anyone.”
“Or he rebounds fast and wants to get under someone. Er, have someone get under him. Hell, I don’t know what he’s in to.”
“Ames.”
“What? I’m just speculating. Just like you are ogling him.”
“Again, not ogling. Glancing. Besides, he’s way out of my league. And you know what? This, right here, is a perfect situation for me—it’s a crowded bar, he’s blind, no one here knows me or cares about me and won’t think twice of me looking in that direction. This is the only time I can pine after someone and not get flustered and weird if he looks in my direction or watch Cindy from my Brontë’s class try to show off her cleavage to get his attention. And she totally would, event to the one guy that literally can’t see it. Which brings me back exactly to my point—he can’t see us here or the undoubtedly big heart shapes my eyes are in.”
“What if his friend does?”
“He has his back to us, he won’t—.”
“FOGGY!”
“You are a major asshole, you know that?” you hiss as you whip your head around to scowl at her.
“Well, now, you can glance up close, see the finer details. Maybe accidentally touch his big arms?” she says with an innocent smile and delightfully raised eyebrows. “Or something else big.”
“Be nice.”
“I’m always nice. Besides, they’re my friends. You survive Professor Murphy’s class together, you’re blood brothers for life—Hey, Fog! Murdock!”
“I didn’t know you guys came to Josie’s,” Foggy smiles as they get close enough to where the two of you sit. “If I had, I would’ve invited you to some of our post-test outings.”
“Well, Kitty here is a lightweight, so it’s not often I get to bring her to bars. I think I finally convinced her because it’s the Friday before spring break and she doesn’t have to do homework right this moment,” Amy hums. She so knows what she is doing, and you don’t know if you should kick her in the shins or be eternally grateful for how Matt turns his head to you next.
“Kitty?” Matt smiles, and it makes your cheeks burn. He wets his lips lightly as he turns his body toward you, and you can’t help but duck your gaze and shrink in on yourself a bit.
“An unfortunate nickname that has followed me since I was four and can’t seem to shake,” you explain. “Now that I’m not four, (Y/N) just fine.”
“It’s cute, though. Maybe you’ll tell me the story.”
Fuck, why’d he have to say it like that? You’d tell him absolutely anything he’d want if he spoke to you like that again.
“Maybe,” you breathe. “Maybe not.”
The smile he flashes you is soft, dreamy, and alluring. “Someday it is, then.”
“Why don’t you two take a seat with us?” Amy asks as she swallows the last of her drink. “Have a few rounds with us. I mean, you guys know me, but let’s include (Y/N) into the fold. Probably good that you two legal goobers befriend an English major. Help you guys avoid being duped in a contract or something because of semantics or syntax or something.”
“Offense,” Foggy scoffs.
“(Y/N)’s worst is still better than your best, and you know it.”
“Down, Ames,” you chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about being nice?”
“Amy? Nice?” Matt smirks. “I’m afraid we haven’t earned that privilege.”
“So, how long have you known Amy?” Foggy asks as he waves Josie over for another round.
“Too long,” you chuckle, earning you a playful kick under the bar.
“Harsh,” Matt hums.
“For someone who’s basically my sister? Nah. We’ve been friends since we could toddle around,” Amy shrugs. “You two should understand that one—I mean, roommates for two years and essentially an identical course load? You’re as good as brothers.”
“Very true,” Foggy smiles as he opens his next beer. “I mean, sure, Matt got all the good looks, but I have the boyish wit and knack for sarcastic comments.”
“Seems like a pretty perfect pairing to me,” you add.
Foggy claps Matt’s back with a big smile. “See that, pal? Even the people that just meet us can see we’re a perfect match! Murdock and Nelson, taking New York City law by storm! Rolling in the money, the biggest of the bigs wanting us on retainer!”
“A real life Harvey Spector and Mike Ross,” Amy says with a playful roll of her eyes.
“Take it from a blind man, Nelson and Murdock has a better ring to it,” Matt hums as he sips his beer. “And while money is nice, there’s still something really nice about saving the world.“
“Matty the Martyr,” he sighs. “You know, (Y/N), my parents wanted me to be a butcher.”
“Fog, please, not the butcher story!” Matt begs.
“Yeah, please,” Amy seconds. “(Y/N) doesn’t need to hear it.”
“Ugh, tough crowd tonight,” he sighs. “You’ll hear about it, (Y/N) . . . someday.”
“Mildly ominous. Definitely non-threatening,” you grin before everyone starts to laugh. “So, what brings you guys out? Is this a post-test outing?”
“Nah, just a Friday night,” Matt smiles.
“Well,” Amy says, holding up her new drink. “To just a Friday night.”
You all clink the necks of the bottles together before you drink, chatting briefly before Amy playfully insults Foggy’s pool playing skills. The two of them down their drinks before they make their way to the pool table to prove one another wrong.
“I don’t know how those two are friends, sometimes,” Matt chuckles.
“Well, Amy has three brothers,” you hum. “She loves pushing people’s buttons like that.”
“And Foggy doesn’t back down from challenges like that. Although, I agree that Amy could wipe the floor with Fog at pool.”
You laugh, biting your lip from laughing too loud in the bar. “I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Eh,” he squeaks. “I think he knows where I stand on his pool skills. I mean, a blind guy can beat him.”
You feel your face grow hot with the attention he’s giving you, but it’s all very welcome as you both begin to chat about whatever comes to your minds. For how pretty he is and how flustered you get talking into to people you find attractive, conversation comes so easily with Matt. You feel like you could tell him anything. But that’s the dangerous thing—there’s no way this could work, as a friend or for whatever your brain could dream up. He’s too . . . magnetic. You’d misread something, and in the end, you’d be the one getting hurt. Besides, if you’ve learned anything from Amy, part of being an attorney is learning how to charm the pants off of whomever you’re talking to. And unfortunately for you, you’re just the girl at the bar he’s trying to schmooze only to never see again.
“(Y/N)?” he asks, trying to catch your attention.
“Hm?” you hum, snapping out of it.
His face is soft, but definitely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “I was just thinking of something.”
He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you want to talk about it, but a small pang in your chest makes you want to run away and hide in a corner.
“I don’t think pool is supposed to take that long,” you say, changing the subject and craning your neck around the bar to try and spot your friends. “I have absolutely no idea where Amy went. It looks like Foggy’s gone, too.”
Matt lets out a small, breathy laugh with a knowing grin.
“Do you want to share the joke with the class?”
“Fog’s been on my case lately about meeting new people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he conspired with Amy.”
“You know, I’d say that’s impossible, but Amy is always trying to set me up and calling me Hermit Homebody.”
“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like 'Kitty'.”
“It’s more alliterative, though.”
“So,” he hums, turning his body toward yours. “What’s the story behind Kitty?”
“You’re gonna judge.”
He holds out his pinky to you. “No judgement. Promise.”
You lick your lips before you move your hand to lock your pinky with his.
“I really loved Hello Kitty when I was little. I basically wanted to be Hello Kitty. Like, absolutely obsessed—alarm clock, bedsheets, plushies, the whole shebang. I even dressed like Hello Kitty. Yellow shirt, blue overalls or an overall dress, and a red bow in my hair, and I had Hello Kitty socks to wear with my sneakers or little Mary Jane’s. It made getting dressed easy, but it definitely annoyed my mom after a bit.”
“That’s really cute.”
“It’s really not,” you chuckle.
“It is, trust me. And, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of free public domain braille texts were legal documents; after the accident that blinded me, that’s all my dad could really get me between hospital bills, trauma therapy and recovery, and our regular bills. I read a lot of Frederick Douglas while he did boxing practice. Between reading those and my dad’s hope for me to get a good job and use my brain instead of my fists, that’s what drove me to be a lawyer. I’m not sure I would have applied to law school if not for that.”
“Wow. That’s . . . amazing. Honestly.”
His brows furrow slightly as he tilts his head down slightly. “I like to think that I’m making him proud. But I’m afraid that I’ll end up letting him down eventually. He . . . He gave me so much, he gave up so much. For me.”
You place your hand on his that’s resting atop of the bar, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that you know the extent of your dad’s sacrifices and you’re worried about letting him down means that you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.”
Matt nods and you see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard. You could swear that you see a tear roll down his cheek, but you’re distracted when he turns his hand over to hold onto yours better, lacing his fingers in yours.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Hearing that . . . it means a lot.”
“It’s just the truth as I see it.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt hums as he turns his head toward you. “We could grab a bite, just walk around.”
“No ulterior motives?”
“Not unless you want me to have ulterior motives.”
You look at him, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Then no ulterior motives.”
“I’m not opposed to stopping at the soft pretzel cart that’s a few blocks over, though.”
He gives you a small smile.
“Something funny?”
“Beer and pretzels,” he hums.
“Har har.”
“C’mon,” he says with a little jerk of his head. “Lead the way.”
Putting some money on the counter to cover your drinks, you slide off of the barstool, your hand still in Matt’s as he mimics your movement before unfurling his cane. You both walk in comfortable silence, recalling little anecdotes from your childhoods as you stroll along the route.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you laugh.
“I’m not,” he says with a big smile. “I got so much hell from the nuns for it. Father Lantom put on a little show and was a little mad about it, yeah, but the ‘talking to’ that he gave me was about the Yankees game. In fairness, I honestly did worse when I was younger—probably took years off of all of their lives. Probably still do, when they think too hard about it.”
“Gosh,” you say with another laugh. “You’re such a daredevil.”
“Hey, I’ve turned out just fine. For the most part.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem pretty alright.”
“Pretty alright?” he croons. “I’ll take it. Any pointers for how I can increase my ranking, though?”
“Well, if I told you, it’d be too easy,” you smirk as you approach your destination. “Heya, Boyd.”
“Kitty!” he beams. “Long time no see! You’re usual?”
“That’d be great. School’s been busy.”
“You know she’s in Columbia?” he starts to tell Matt. “Smartest girl I know.”
“She is amazing,” Matt says, and you feel your cheeks burn hot.
“Matt’s one of my classmates,” you explain.
“Ah, so you’re a smart one, too. Kitty here is one of a kind—don’t do anything stupid to loose this one.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” he smiles.
“D’you want anything with yours?”
“Mustard, please.”
Boyd hands Matt his pretzel, but puts his hand up when you try to pay.
“Not tonight, Kitty,” he says. “My treat.”
“Don’t be silly, Boyd,” you counter. “You know our rule, only on birthdays.”
“Yeah, but you included me on your date. I feel real special. All warm and fuzzy like.”
Your cheeks burn even hotter when he says “date”— you appreciate that Boyd thinks you’re in the same league.
“Please?” you try.
“Alright. But you’re getting your change back. This one, she always tries to scurry away before I can give her her change back!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,” Matt chuckles, his hand resting on your waist, the gentle touch sending goosebumps up your spine.
“Atta boy. You know, I like this one. He ain’t that bad. Here, Kitty. Have a nice night, you two!”
“Night, Boyd!” you smile.
“Nice to meet you,” Matt adds. Once you’re out of earshot, he asks, “How come he can call you Kitty?”
“Because Boyd has known me since I was six,” I chuckle before I take another bite of my pretzel. “You’ve gotta earn it.”
“Oh, so now you’ll let me earn the chance to call you Kitty?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“You seem like the kind of guy that likes challenges.”
He grins and raises his eyebrows as if conceding to your point before taking a bite of is pretzel, licking up the mustard at the corner of his mouth. The absolutely obscene thoughts that cross your mind when he does that would even make a sinner in church blush—but also appreciate the sentiment. You finish your pretzels quickly, continue to walk aimlessly around and talk about whatever comes to your mind.
“Wow,” you hum as you look at a clock on the other side of the park we’re walking through.
“What?” he hums.
“It’s almost three.”
“Seriously? No.” You feel Matt’s arms shift, and you watch his fingers slide over the face of his watch. “Shit. It’s almost three. I didn’t think we were talking for that long.”
“Me either. Not that I’m complaining about it.”
“Neither am I.”
“Maybe we’re just really slow walkers?”
Matt laughs. “It is a really nice night.”
There’s a comfortable silence before you speak next. “I don’t do this, normally. Go out—go out to a bar, no less—walk with guys aimlessly around the city.”
“Tell people the story of your nickname? Or bring them to meet your pretzel godfather?” he teases gently, and you chuckle softly and nod.
“Definitely not either of those.” You take in a deep breath before you continue. “Something feels different tonight, though, and I like it. And I only started liking it when you and Foggy joined us at our table.”
“Yeah?” he says so softly you almost don’t hear it.
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“If it makes you feel any better, I like it, too.”
Your gaits slow before Matt turns into you, a relaxed, dreamy look on his face. It’s not a face you’ve seen him flash the girls on campus—the cocky, over-confident swagger that’s usually there replaced with something almost dreamy and entirely genuine. Your heart starts to race as he leans in, but you both freeze in place when the sky opens up and you get caught in a sudden downpour. You squeak and he lets out a soft grunt before Matt hand grabs yours, and you rush toward the sidewalk. You raise your hand to wave down an oncoming taxi, and as you both slide in, Matt gives his address to the cabbie.
The ride is short, but it’s definitely better than making the trip in the pouring rain. When the cabbie pulls to the curb, Matt hands him the fare and the tip, opening the door and sliding out first, waiting for you to follow. He uses his large frame to try and shield you from the rain as you run into the lobby of his dorm, tracking in puddles into the elevator.
“Would Foggy mind if I crash here for the night? I mean, what’s left of it,” you ask, your arms hugging yourself as you shiver in front of his door.
“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s staying with his family for the first half of break,” Matt says as he slides the key into the lock, leading you into the very nice dorm apartment. “It’s just us here.”
“Ah,” you hum softly, looking around the space. “I wish my dorm looked like this. I think I chose the wrong major.”
Matt chuckles softly as he moves about the space. “Well, each year we get better housing choices, and the ADA complaint dorms were updated a few years ago. Foggy just reaps the rewards of being my friend.”
“Well, it is very nice. Definitely decorated by boys, though.”
Matt chuckles softly, walking into what you assume is his room before coming back out in pajamas, a folded set of clothes in his extended hand.
“Thanks,” you smile as you take the sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his hands.
“Can’t have you be chilly,” he hums. “Let’s face it—Amy would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”
“You, Foggy, and then me. In that order,” you laugh. “You know, I honestly thought it was done raining for the night.”
“I’m just glad we caught a cab. And that you let me pay.”
“Well, you gave them the address to your dorm. Seemed right that you foot the bill.”
Matt chuckles as you turn to side off your wet clothes and put on his fluffy sweater and sweats. Yes, it feels a little odd to change in front of him, but it’s not like he can see you in your underwear, and you need to get these wet clothes off. And if tonight has taught you anything, Matt is someone you feel comfortable and safe around.
“Let’s hope these dry by the morning,” you say, folding your soaked clothes and putting them over the stool in the kitchen area.
“You can keep them as long as you need. Something tells me I’ll get them back eventually.”
You blush deeply. “In a timely manner. Promise.”
“I’m not gonna force you out when the sun comes up, you know,” Matt continues. “We can go down and throw your clothes into the dryer in the morning. Maybe go grab breakfast after they’re out.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Want to go to the living room?”
“No ulterior motives?” you smirk.
He laughs, and you swear you just made him to blush. “No. Not unless you want there to be,” he responds.
“I don’t think I’d be opposed to some.”
Matt slides off his glasses, placing them on the kitchen table. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight coming through the window, taking a half step forward and placing his hands on your waist. You lean in to help close the space between your bodies, and when his lips finally meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat as electricity shoots through your veins. You slide your hands up his body to cradle is face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss is passionate, tender, and everything that a kiss should be. When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dizzy in all the best ways. His forehead rests on yours, and you desperately wish he’d lean in for another kiss.
“Are those acceptable motives?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.
“Mm,” you hum. “Very.”
He smiles, leaning in for another kiss, the force of the embrace knocking the back of your legs against the sofa. You pull him into you, knocking the pair of you down on the couch, his body crushing yours in the most glorious of ways for a moment until he can position himself better on the furniture. His hands have a firm grip on your body, sending wave after wave of chills up your spine as you chase his lips for more kisses. One of his large hands cradles the back of your head, holding you closer so he can gain better access to the kiss, and you realize his glasses aren’t perched on his face anymore. You don’t even know when he would’ve have a chance to take them off. But do you really care?
No. No you don’t.
As you make out, Matt slides you onto his lap, giving you a bit more leverage as you embrace. You lips mirror one another’s, curving up into smiles. You take in a sharp breath as you feel his hands slide under the sweater and up your back, the simple action sending goosebumps up your spine. You moan into the embrace and lean forward to deepen it, accidentally nipping his lower lip between yours. It elicits a strong response from Matt, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave little bruises as souvenirs before moving up to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers should have their own insurance policy, because wherever they trace on your body feels like a million dollars—the warmth, the strength, the grip—goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Firm, relaxing, and downright sinful.
You pull back from the kiss, Matt’s swollen lips chasing yours as you lean away, turning your head to yawn.
“Am I putting you to sleep, sweetheart?” he smirks, softly kissing your neck before moving so his face points toward yours.
“You’re definitely relaxing me, that’s for sure,” you tell him as you look back at his face. “It’s just been a really long week.”
“We can stop if you want.”
“You stop, and I’m telling Amy and Foggy.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that.”
“No, we can’t.”
With more smiles, you lean back into the kiss. Matt’s grip is firm on your waist before sliding his hands down and over the globes of your ass, moving to your upper thighs before lifting you up. You’re too focused on his lips to try and watch where he’s taking you, even though you have a good idea. You moan into his mouth as you feel Matt lay you down on his mattress.
“At least if you get a little too tired to keep going, you can fall asleep in a bed,” he whispers before he starts to kiss your neck.
“So kind of you.”
“I try.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Can I keep going?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
Matt flashes you a devilish grin before leaning back in, his hands sliding up under the borrowed sweatshirt tracing the curves of your body.
“You can take it off, you know,” you murmur against his lips. “It’s your shirt, after all.”
He hums in delight, doing as you ask and ridding the fabric from your body and pushing it to the side. “You’re chilly now,” he hums kissing all over the exposed skin, pulling soft moans from your throat.
It’s your turn to slither your hands up against his rock-hard body under his clothes, lightly raking your fingernails along his skin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Then show me.”
Matt’s lips slot back over yours, tasting every ounce of your mouth that he can. He pulls back, whipping his shirt off. You’re unable to prevent your jaw from dropping when you see his exposed chest, a little wooden cross hanging from a cord around his neck a strong contrast from his fair skin and rippling muscles. It doesn’t hang too long, the space between the two of you closed just as swiftly as it was created before his hands deftly undoes your bra. Matt’s hands slide the straps down your arms, tossing it to the side before his large hands palm at the fleshy mounds, his hips inadvertently beginning to roll against your legs.
“Mm,” you hum as you start to mark his neck. “I’d say we’re moving fast, but, I like where we’re moving. Seems like you do, too.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Let me lay you down and make you feel good, angel.”
“Mm, ‘angel’,” you smirk as you pull him on top of you. “Sounds better than ‘Kitty’. Better not be calling any other girls that.”
“It’ll be just for you. Swear.”
“Good.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna try and stop earning the right to call you Kitty, though.”
“Consider it earned. Can even call me Kitten. Now, please tell me you have some condoms here.”
“Mm, I do. But, the thing is, that pretzel left me hungry, angel. I need to eat a little more.”
Your brows furrow before Matt holds your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. He trails his kisses down the column of your neck, moving lower with each embrace, down your chest and torso until his lips reach where your skin and his sweatpants meet.
“Is it okay if I pull these down, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing feather-soft kisses on your stomach. “Can I kiss you there? Can I taste you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you breathe a little too quickly, moving your fingers into his soft hair. “Please.”
He smiles, kissing your belly button before curling his fingers round the waistband of the sweats and underwear and sliding them down your legs. His strong hands gently part your legs, exposing yourself to him, his soft, pouty lips kissing back and forth along your inner thighs until his nose brushes the slick folds. A soft moan escapes your throat, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. As soon as it leaves your lips, you swear you hear Matt growl a little before diving in between your legs. This time, you moan louder, your back arching off of the bed and your fingers clutching the sheets.
“Matt!” you squeak. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping his face buried in your core, tasting and savoring you like you’re the sweetest of desserts. Your chest heaves as you squirm against him, but each movement of your body only spurs him on to hold you tighter. He hums into your pussy, the vibrations working all the way up your body.
“M-Matt,” you stutter, feeling yourself get wound tightly as he works diligently between your legs. “Matt, I—oh, fuck!”
Matt just hums, keeping pace and enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You continue to whimper, whine, and squirm, biting your lip harder as you get closer to your release. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel Matt pull away from you, his face in your direction, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick.
“Don’t hold back, angel. I’ve got you,” he pants. “Make those pretty noises for me. It’s just you and me, okay? Don’t worry about if anyone else can hear. It’s just you and me.”
“Okay,” you say breathily with a frantic nod. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
You could cum with those two words, and the quick twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me that he knows it, too. With a lick of his lips, he dives back down without missing a beat, sliding two thick fingers into you, gently pumping them and curling his fingers to squish against the perfect spot that makes your vision go spotty. You let out your loudest cry of the night, the sheer volume hurting your throat a little. It elicits a deep growl from Matt, and with one more lick, you’re quaking and unraveling on his face. Little tremors continue to jolt through your body as Matt works to lick up every last drop of you before pressing a soft kiss on your swollen nub and kissing his way back up your body.
You lean up and crash your lips into his, desperate for him. Matt eagerly kisses you back, letting you taste yourself, exploring how you mix with him.
“Are you up for more?” he pants as he pulls back, trying to smooth down your tousled hair.
“Please,” you say, the faintest hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m ready.”
Matt smiles, pecking your lips quickly before leaning back and taking his sweats off. Your eyes involuntarily widen when you see just how big he is. If tonight with Matt hasn’t ruined other men for you yet, the feeling of him inside you and how it will undoubtedly linger for days will.
“You okay?” he pants as he works to slide on the condom.
“I’m doing great,” you swallow, trying to remain coherent through the bliss.
His laugh is like warm tea with honey.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
With the condom firmly on, he leans forward to kiss you slowly. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Matt kisses you again, adjusting the pillows behind you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He places his hands on you gently, forehead resting on yours, before carefully starting to slide in. You bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, your head suddenly becoming too heavy as you let it roll to the side and rest against his neck.
“Matt,” you breathe.
“Prefect,” he pants as he slowly pushes forward. “Perfect.”
“M-Matt,” you whimper as you stretch around him. “Big.”
“Do you need me to stop?” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”
“N-No. ’s great. So great.”
“Say the word if you need me to stop, okay? If it’s too much?”
“Okay.”
Your faces turn toward one another, and for the briefest of moments, Matt’s eyes lock onto yours. You feel your heart skip a beat and jump up right into your throat. This is ridiculous—tonight is the first time you’ve actually met him rather than stare at him and wish from a distance, and it’s like your entire universe is on its head. Matt tenderly leans forward, his lips on yours, fueled with a softer passion than what has dictated your embraces for the night. The roll of his hips is slow, and you feel everything ten times over. You hold onto Matt as if your life depends on it, and you let him work as he marks up your neck and shoulder with little bites.
“Don’t stop,” you plea. “Don’t stop. Matt, please don’t stop!”
Your pleas and whimpers spur Matt to pick up his pace. As he does so, his own soft moans grow louder in your ear, and it drives you wild. The springs of the mattress move from a quiet creak to an all consuming squeak, perfectly punctuated by the headboard hitting the wall.
“Matt!” you cry out, pulling probably harder than you should at his hair.
“Such a good pussy,” he grunts. “All for me. You’re so good for me, angel. Feel so perfect.”
“Please!”
“Hm?”
“Fuck, Matt! You’re—oooohhhh!”
“Perfect f’me, angel. Such a good girl. My good girl.”
The sound of your slapping skin adds to the erotic symphony in the room, sweat quickly lining your bodies. You whimper as you nuzzle into him, muttering incoherent sentences as his pelvis rubs against your sensitive core, building you up to knock you over with intense pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and pull a deep growl from the back of his throat. He nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear before slotting his lips over yours.
“Matt,” you whimper, really drawing out the vowel in his name. “Matt, ‘m gonna cum.”
“Let it out,” he encourages. “Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. Let me hear you, angel.”
Matt kisses the sweet spot on your neck and pulls a needy whine from you. A stuttered whine pulls from your lips as your eyes pinch shut and you claw your fingers into Matt’s back. You cry out at the top of your lungs as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. With Matt in you, dragging against every right spot, it feels so much better than with his mouth. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out in pleasure even louder. The pace of Matt’s hips move even faster, albeit at a more unsteady rhythm with an increased sense of urgency as he tries to soothe the sting of his teeth. His moans turn into grunts, a delight to your ears.
“Harder,” you beg. “Harder, Matt.”
You feel Matt nod his head against yours, doing as you ask, his lips brushing faint kisses against your cheek. You cry out once more, Matt’s hips pulling one more orgasm from you as he hits his high, spilling into his condom with punctuated thrusts.
Your breathing is heavy as your bodies still, sweat clinging to your skin and soaking the sheets. You chuckle softly as Matt places gentle kisses along your neck, his nose tickling you just so before pulling himself off of you and sliding out. He does it slowly, and you moan softly from the sensitivity and the loss of him. He ties off the condom, shuffling out of bed to throw it away. Matt briefly rounds the corner, coming back with a towel in hand. Without a single word, he carefully spreads your legs, gently cleaning the mess between your thighs. His lips softly kiss your knees and thighs has he works, and you can’t help but smile. He tosses the cloth to the side, it landing perfectly on the edge of his hamper. Matt slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you adjust in his hold, kissing your forehead.
“What?” he whispers so softly you want to melt.
“You have freckles,” you whisper back just as quietly as you look up at him. “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there.”
“Yeah?” he says with a tender smile.
“Mm.” Carefully, you move your fingers against the skin on his cheek, tracing over the faint constellation on his fair skin.
“What?” he whispers again with a little smirk.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“Call it a hunch.”
You smile softly. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I don’t go out. I don’t go to bars. I don’t do this. Any of this.”
“I think you mentioned that earlier,” he hums with a cheeky smile. God, his voice is like a warm blanket that you just want to snuggle up in.
“It just felt right, with you. I’m really glad I came out tonight.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?” You give him a hum in response. He pulls you closer and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips. “I’m really, really glad you came out, too.”
Summary: Foggy drops a very drunk Matt on your doorstep one night, which leads to confessions.
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption
a/n: Got this idea from the writing prompt: “You're drunk." "Yes. And hopelessly in love with you." - from @creativepromptsforwriting and I love a little “i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this” (iykyk). Also I was listening to You Are In Love by Taylor Swift writing this, although it doesn’t have direct correlation, I just love that song LOL. Please enjoy<3
You were sound asleep until you heard a loud ringtone erupt from your bedside table. There’s only one person whose calls surpass your do not disturb.
Matt.
You saw his contact photo and answered groggily, “hello?”
“Hey,” this was not Matt’s voice. “Matt’s, uh, really drunk right now. Someone had the great idea to do shots tonight…” Foggy was trying his best to sound normal over the phone, but he was clearly not sober.
You sat up, scrubbed your hand over your face and glanced over to your clock. 2:17 am. “Foggy, it’s 2 in the morning, I have work tomorrow, you can’t get Matt back to his apartment?” You complained to him. Matt was your closest friend. Grew up going to the same church in Hell’s Kitchen. He was kind of the loner kid, so one day you befriended him and you’ve been close ever since.
“He keeps saying he wants to see you! He kept babbling your name, so we’re about a block away from your apartment now. See you in a few!” Foggy cheerfully said not really giving you a choice.
“Foggy wai—aaand he hung up. Great,” you said to yourself before putting your phone back on your bedside table. You put on the closest sweatpants you found on your floor and one of your sweatshirts. After you found your slippers, you putzed downstairs to retrieve your inebriated friend. When you got outside, you heard the boys laughing from half way down the block. You sat on your stairs leading to your apartment while you waited for your two bumbling idiots.
Matt slurred your name as he approached and almost ate shit half jogging to you. “Jesus christ, Matt be careful it’s dark out here,” you scolded him.
“It’s all dark to me,” Matt laughed at you.
“Alright I walked into that, dick. Hey, thanks for bringing him at least… here. I’ll hydrate him and make sure he’s okay for work tomorrow,” you gave a ‘you owe me’ look over to Foggy as he said goodbye to you. You and Matt made your way up to your apartment.
You closed the door behind you after Matt stumbled in, took his glasses off and put them in his jacket pocket then put his cane on the wall. “Thank you for taking me in tonight, you’re a really good person,” Matt said, pulling you in for a hug.
“God, Murdock, you wreak of tequila,” you pulled away from his strong hug. “I’m gonna bitch Foggy out tomorrow for getting you this drunk on a work night. Why don’t you try to take a shower, I still have an old boyfriend’s sweats in my drawer. They should fit you,” you heard Matt huff as you went to your bedroom to grab the sweats and one of his shirts you stole from him and never gave back.
You knocked on the bathroom door and shouted that you left the shirt and sweats outside the door when he’s done. You went to the kitchen to grab aspirin and make him a Liquid IV mocktail. You really didn’t care if he was going hate the taste of it, it’s nearly 2:30 AM and you want him to go to sleep on your couch quickly. You heard the shower shut off and the door open and close again assuming Matt grabbed the clothing you provided him.
“Your body wash smells girly,” Matt commented as he made his way over to the couch to sit next to you.
“It’s almost like I am a girl… here drink this, take these. You know how I get with people puking and I don’t need any of that tomorrow morning and I know how pissy you get when you have a headache,” you handed Matt the glass and put the pills in his hand.
Matt put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with the electrolyte mixture you gave him only to have him twist his face in disgust. “What is this? This isn’t water!” Matt protested holding the glass out to you signaling he didn’t want anymore.
“It’s liquid IV, it’s electrolytes. Supposed to hydrate you faster, a coworker suggested them for me when I had the stomach bug. Drink it,” You sternly said. You swore taking care of drunk Matt was like taking care of a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat their vegetables. He rolled his eyes and took another gulp out of the glass.
“You know, you should come out with the firm. Instead of being a stick in the mud,” Matt suggested, leaning into you. You huffed out in annoyance.
“Sorry I like my 8 hours of sleep and I’m not my own boss, sue me!” You threw your hands up in protest, “which my sleep is being rudely interrupted by the way.”
Matt leaned in a little closer to you, “your voice goes higher when you get mad at me.” You felt his body get close to you in a way that didn’t feel platonic. “And you breathe faster.”
“Most people breathe faster when they’re inconvenienced, Matt,” you tried to steady your breathing, trying not to sound flustered.
You and Matt knew each other on such a deep level that no one else got you like him and vise versa. Matt trusted you with his secrets and you trust him with yours. You were his first friend in the church. Learning about his dad’s death, being the first one to know he got into his top law school and staying up with him to help him study for the Bar Exam. You’ve been through everything together.
You’d be moronic to think that Matt wasn’t attractive. This man pulls any woman that he wants and you have to be the one to hear about the women he brings home. Whether that be positive or negative. You never thought about your friendship with him other than strictly platonic. Other than that one time you were dared to kiss him when you were 9 on the playground but you both always said that never counted as a real kiss because it was just a peck anyway. But to you, it was your first kiss. You loved telling the other girls at school that you kissed sweet Matt Murdock under the slide at recess.
Seeing Matt date these other girls but never give you the chance seemed like you two were just platonic. Nothing more. Plus you’re not his type, you’ve seen the women he has dated. Supermodel type. Not you. So you buried that feeling deep, deep down and hoped one day it would never be dug up again.
“You know I can hear your heart,” Matt said your name in a husky tone. “And it’s beating awfully loud…” Matt’s face was dangerously close to yours. Mere inches away from one another.
“You know— you know I don’t like when you listen to my heartbeat without my consent, Matthew.”
“And I like it when you call me Matthew. I like the sound of your voice. Have I ever told you that?” Matt’s eyebrows rose up as he drunkingly smirked at you.
“Matt, you’re drunk. I’m going to bed,” you stood up from the couch to make your way to your room.
“I’m in love with you.”
Those words made you stop dead in your tracks. “You—huh?” You whipped around looking at him in disbelief.
“I am. In love with you,” Matt looked up upon you. “Have been for the past few years now. I just never knew how to tell you. And—and I went out with Foggy tonight and ended up drinking way more than I remember. He was the first one to know. He finally pushed me tonight to say something to you. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want to tell you. I never wanted to ruin our friendship. You’re so special to me, I—I didn’t want to fuck this up.” Matt’s voice slowly started to gain sobriety the more he spoke.
“Matty– I…” you trailed off. Matt Murdock is in love with you. You never thought you’d hear the words you buried come from his mouth.
Before you could finish, Matt cut you off, “I understand if you don’t feel the same. But you have to tell me now so I can get over it. Get over you.”
“No I.. I just—I need to process this information. When did you start feeling this way?” You sat down in the arm chair across from your couch.
“Maybe a few years ago. I always thought you were one of the best people I know. But those platonic thoughts… eventually turned… romantic. Specifically when you came to me with nowhere to go when your ex boyfriend kicked you out after he found out that you were still friends with me and Foggy. God, I hated hearing about him. You deserved better. I learned that night, holding you, while you cried, that I loved you more than a friend. But then came more flings, then I realized you probably didn’t feel the same way. So those feelings were shoved down. Until now,” Matt’s head hung low, looking like he regretted everything that was spewed out of his mouth. Word vomit is better than actual vomit. Although, you felt like you were actually going to vomit.
You stared at him, your heart felt like it was going to come up out of your throat. You knew you felt the same way. But god forbid you dated, and broke up, you didn’t want to lose him. You cherished him so much. The dead air hung there waiting to be brought back to life.
“Please say something,” Matt begged you.
“Matt, I’ve felt this way about you for years. But being me, I never wanted to say anything because I feared losing you,” your voice cracked as your continued, “I feared dating you and potentially breaking up and never having you in my life again.”
You knew Matt could hear your heartbeat out your chest. Your mind was going a million miles a minute processing this. The wave of relief hit Matt like a tsunami. He looked up with his eyes glossy with tears. You got up, made your way to the couch and sat down next to him.
“I don’t want to jump into a relationship with you right away though. I want to be really cautious. I want to kiss you in the worst way but—“
“So do it,” Matt interrupted you.
“If you’d let me finish—“
“I will be doing plenty of that,” Matt smirked at you.
“Shut up and listen to me! I want to kiss you, but I want to take this really slow, Matty. My last long term relationship, as you know, tore me apart. And I’m still healing from that. Doesn’t mean I’m not over him, because I am. But I’m so scared of being kicked out of the blue,” you said looking into his eyes. Your heart was steady and loud. Which meant you were being really serious. You didn’t want to dive in head first and say to the world you were boyfriend & girlfriend.
“Okay. We can do that. Whatever it takes to do this right, sweetie. That being said, can I take you on a date? There’s a wine bar that just opened we can go to. I know how much you love your wine,” Matt teased you about your love for wine.
“Yes you can take me on a date, Matty. I’d love to. Saturday?” You smiled at him. Your first date with Matt Murdock. You’ve only dreamed about him taking you out on a date. “I feel like a teenager right now. My first date with you!” You said all giddy.
Matt laughed at you, “Saturday. It’s a date. it’s cute when you get all flustered. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that over the last few years.”
“What the fuck? I thought I was hiding that so well!” You exclaimed.
“You have to remember,” Matt leaned, inches away from your face, “I can hear everything.”
“Fuck, you’re making it so hard not to kiss you. Not until after the first date though,” you tapped his nose with your finger teasingly.
“Already breaking my heart,” Matt pouted and put his hand over his heart dramatically. You laughed at him. Everything started to look like it was in technicolor. It started making sense. All those years ago, Matt touching your arm lingering his fingers. Him always complimenting you in such poetic ways. None of it was accidental. He wanted you in the same ways all along. You were too oblivious to notice his actions. You couldn’t wait until Saturday to have your first date with Matthew Murdock.
Description: Whilst you've handled witness interviews alone before, as part of your work at Nelson and Murdock, you know that Matt's always close by and all-too ready to step in if you ever need him.
A/N: He protect. He attack. He is a snack 😅...
Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, mentions of crime, swearing, Matt being a full-on protective baby XD
Masterlist
Being a lawyer, you were used to visiting clients in rough places. Prisons, holding cells in local stations, and even crime scenes - you’d been to them all.
Even with a vigilante for a boyfriend, and rather unorthodox client base, there wasn’t much that could surprise you. Working at Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law, had pretty much ensured it.
Still, this morning’s meeting had gone pear shaped and you’d barely seen it coming.
You’d only been sat with a possible witness for you latest client’s case for about five minutes, before it had happened. Matt had been running late at the time and Foggy was out of the room, talking to officers in the corridor, leaving you alone with the man opposite you - which was totally fine. After all, you'd handled witness statements alone before and it wasn't like there wasn't a dozen officers in the building with you if anything did go wrong.
Also, you only had a couple questions that needed to be asked before you could go back about your merry way and possibly swipe a quick lunch on your route back to the office. If anything, you were more concerned about your choice of sandwich than the petty thief sat on the other side of the table.
He'd so far been cooperative, corroborating your client’s story that he had been nowhere near the crime scene when the crime had occurred. Picked up by police after a failed pickpocketing, the man opposite had apparently been near the scene of the crime and confirmed your client was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he was pretty quick to tell you who was around when the crime had occurred and just who he thought might have done it.
"Thanks, Mr Jerome," you’d nodded, scribbling the last of your notes on the yellow legal pad in front of you. "You've been incredibly helpful. My client will really appreciate your testimony."
"Anytime, sugar."
Yep. That was it; That was the moment when things took a turn for the worst.
You could see it now, playing back in your mind in slow motion… the way he’d followed the nickname with a rather crass compliment about how you were looking that day.
His eyes then dropped, roaming up and down your body in a way that just made you feel dirty without even being touched.
And when you’d told him to stop? That the meeting was done? He’d lunged.
Of course, he hadn’t got very far - his handcuffs attached to the table made sure of that. Still, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't jumped at the sudden movement.
You flinched, opening your mouth to say something. However, you never got the chance as the door slammed open behind you with an almighty bang. It was then that you saw who was responsible for the sudden interruption as Matt Murdock came racing into the room so fast it made your head spin.
Wait, when had he got here?
You blinked, staring up at your partner with shock as he reached over and pulled your chair back with a harsh screech, cutting you off from protesting. You could see the fury rolling off of him in waves and for a moment you couldn't be sure it wasn't directed at you.
Thankfully, the source of his rage became clear as he positioned himself in front of you, his focus never leaving the man sat on the other side of the table. He had created a literal human-shield between you, a silent challenge against your would-be assailant.
Without a word, his hand reached backwards, hauling you to your feet and frogmarching you from the room. His grip was ironclad.
"Matt."
"Y/N, don't."
"Wait, Matt," you barked, "Let go of me, I had it under control-"
"-Of course you did, Sweetheart. Wait here," he ordered, his tone lethal as he addressed the police officer waiting for you both in the hall. It was clear you weren't going to be allowed anywhere near that room again and that he was holding this poor officer responsible for ensuring that was the case.
A sudden urge to argue roared up from inside of you, but you bit your tongue as Matt released you. You didn't need to ask if he was ok. It was clear he wasn't from the concerned pull of his brow. If you didn't know any better, you'd have said he was actually worried about you.
"I'll be back in a minute. Mr Jerome and I need to have a quick word - stay here with Foggy."
You weren't entirely sure if talking was actually Matt's plan, given the way his hands were clenched at his side. Still, no one made a move to stop him as he marched back into the room you'd just come from, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the two-way glass rattle.
He'd always had a flair for the dramatic.
"Wow."
Wow indeed, you thought, staring across the room at Foggy. The fact the other lawyer looked like he was trying not to laugh made it clear what he thought about the entire exchange.
"Whatever sassy joke you're about to make, Nelson, just don't," you grumbled, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.
“I wasn't going to make a joke,” Foggy scoffed, his shit-eating grin only growing as Matt's furious voice echoed from the other side of the wall.
"-You feel like a tough guy, huh? Picking on other people? You utter piece of sh-"
The both of you winced at the sudden flurry of colourful expletives.
“I mean, I’m sure Matt would have thrown himself just as chivalrously in front of me if some sleazy douchebag made a gross comment about me.”
You eyes were rolling before he even finished the sentence. “Foggy? Shut the hell up.”
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (f!Reader heavily implied)
Summary: You're struggling with your body image and Matt notices
Warnings: Angst, TW: allusions to an ED, self-deprecating talk (Reader has internalized fatphobia toward herself), not proof red (I was too emotional for that)
Word Count: 2.1k
A/n: So, my body is changing and I hate it. As someone who was the Fat Funny Friend growing up, I got inspired by the song. Now I wasn't sure if to tag for a plus-sized reader because when I wrote this, I had myself in mind, and I'm not even sure what "category" I fall into, so this is pretty universal and I think any of you who are struggling with body dysmorphia might appreciate this. Heed the warnings before proceeding and don't forget to eat if you haven't already! (Also, I used my tag list to tag for this, but don't read it if this triggers you, please!)
Our brains are wired to function in a certain way. But not every brain is balanced in chemistry.
For the longest time, she thought there was something seriously wrong with her. She never fit in anywhere, so she tried to make herself fit. Change her attitude, change her behavior, change her hobbies, and change the way she looks. She did it so many times, she lost count.
She relied on humor, telling funny little anecdotes to make whatever friend group she was a part of at the time laugh at her. But that was all she could do. Make them laugh. She lit up the mood, lit up the room, but she seemingly never lit up anyone’s heart the way her friends did.
They talked about their relationships, talked about their families and friends, and she played along. She listened. When she talked about her likes, they pretended to care, but within minutes, they lost interest. She thought it just wasn’t that important. Not as important as how beautiful they all were, anyway. And they were striking, she thought. That’s why everyone always chose them and never approached her. But she swallowed it to at least be a part of something.
She always helped everyone but herself. She was there when no one else was, but even when she was a part of something, she never fully fit in. There was an impossible standard looming over her head, and she couldn’t possibly reach it.
Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too silly. Don’t say no. Don’t talk about your problems, only listen to everyone else’s. Don’t believe that he wants you because he is too good for you, and all he wants is your best friend who is ten times prettier than you. And don’t believe that personality and humor will get you anywhere; you will end up miserably alone the same way people who look like you always will.
The same voice, over and over again. Word turning into knives. It was exhausting to fight against the demons within her because they just sounded so damn convincing.
When she met him, the man who stole her heart, she never thought he would ask her out. When he did, she was dumbfounded. In every possible situation, he found himself assuring her that he wouldn’t drop her for the pretty blonde in the office, or his psychotic ex-girlfriend who just happened to have the most beautiful body known to man. To her, at least. Everyone around him was just so beautiful, and he was even more so–he was the prettiest specimen in the world, and everyone desired him. Of course, she grew insecure. She couldn’t help it. It was a reflex.
She fell in love with a man who finally saw her for who she was and he loved her despite—no, he loved her regardless. For who she was. He took her, accepted her, and began seeing her as the most beautiful person in the world. For the first time, she felt appreciated, loved, and not so miserably alone.
Yet, the fear continued to linger. The fear that one day, he would notice that perhaps, a woman of average looks wouldn’t be enough for him anymore. That she was, indeed, as unconventionally unattractive as everyone said she was from the first day she actually understood what was being said to her. She was just a child then.
The funny friend. The awkward friend. The weird one. The girl without real friends. The girl with the silly clothes, the silly smile, the slightly crooked teeth, the belly pouch… The girl who lost weight, the girl who gained weight, and the girl who shouldn’t be so proud of herself because she had nothing to be proud of.
“Sweetheart?” he asked her, yanking her out of the downward spiral that only continued to get worse over time. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”
He stood in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched around his elbow. It was hot outside, too hot for her liking, and even his clothes were slightly stained with sweat.
She looked up from the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket despite the high temperatures, a book resting on her thighs. He met her eyes with a smile.
“I noticed your leftovers are still in the fridge. Could smell them,” he clarified. “I was just wondering whether that was on purpose or not.”
Worrying fit it better, she thought to herself. He always worried too much.
She closed her book. “I might’ve forgotten,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
His eyebrows furrowed. “You forgot?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it never reached his eyes.
“Yeah. I probably got too caught up reading or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll eat later. Or drink another latte.”
He hummed. “You know, iced coffee is not considered a healthy diet. Your body needs fuel.”
“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she raised her voice, “I’m okay!”
“You don’t look okay,” he stated as a matter of fact.
“And how would you know?”
“I just do.”
He approached, his muscles straining against his shirt. It wasn’t fair, how good he looked. How well he carried himself. And he still had the audacity to look at her and tell her she had much more going for herself than just her humor. That she was beautiful. Pretty enough.
“Hey,” Matt lowered himself on the couch beside her, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”
“I forgot to eat, I told you,” she said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“Not if you did it on purpose.”
The book landed on the coffee table and she got up, pacing the small space of their shared apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He could hear her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage, the pent-up tears, and the tension, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out. But he waited. He gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.
“I forgot,” she repeated. “At first. And then I just happened to pass by a mirror and…and I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself.”
“Oh–” He sighed. “Baby…”
“I’m smaller when my stomach is empty, you know. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to, uh…cut back a little?”
He was about to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean that I’m starving myself. I just…I forgot to eat, and then, when I remembered, I remembered what I saw and I was just…I’m not hungry anymore. I…I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m just…”
She stopped pacing. She met his unfocused hazel eyes that held so much pain when he looked at her. He reached out, not saying a word, and she extended her shaky fingers toward the lifeline he was throwing.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. She realized then why he looked so hurt. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”
The question hung in the room as he pulled her toward himself.
She didn’t protest when he pulled her back onto the couch, his arms engulfing her and pulling her back against his sturdy chest.
“What makes you think that you need to hurt yourself to fit some unrealistic beauty standard?” he asked softly, his voice merely a breath tickling her ear.
She whimpered, not wanting to answer.
“What makes you think that not being healthy is the solution to the way you see yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”
“I just…” She took a deep breath. “I just… I just want to be enough.”
“But you are enough,” he answered in a heartbeat, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face to him. He missed her face with his gaze, but she could still feel him in every fiber of her being as he sat there and felt her pulse, and she matched her breathing to his.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she whispered back. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be only seen as the comedic relief in every relationship you have ever been in while your friends pulled the guys you wanted. Because they never wanted you, and they never saw competition in you either because you were just never the center of anyone’s attention.”
He was silent for a moment. The taste of her tears reached his tongue, and he visibly recoiled at the pain she held inside of her. Matt pulled her closer, holding her a little tighter. She melted.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of leaving her to deal with her thoughts, he placed his lips against her ear again. “You’re the center of my attention,” he said. “Of my world. My universe. And I couldn’t care less about the way you look.”
“That’s because you’re blind,” she shot back, a sob rippling through her body.
He shook his head. “No. Those who reduce you to your looks are blind, and they don’t even deserve you in the first place. What matters most is this–” his large hand found its way onto the left side of her chest, above her heart. “What’s in here is what makes you beautiful, not what covers the outside.”
“But that’s not enough, is it?”
“To me, it is.”
“Not to me, Matthew. Like I said, you don’t get it.”
She struggled against his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Then let me rephrase it,” he tried again, pressing his hand further against her chest. “I care more about who you are inside because I love you. But I don’t need sight to appreciate your physical beauty along with the sound of your heartbeat. Your breathing. Your touch. You know why?”
She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”
“Because I can feel you, sweetheart, and you are the most breathtaking human being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my hands on.”
If words were enough to make a person pass out, this would surely have been her breaking point.
“You mean that?” She turned around, her tears now glistening with a taste of hope.
He brushed them away with his thumb and nodded. “Every last word.”
Her eyes fluttered closed at the ghost of his touch. “I don’t like my body,” the admission came quietly.
In response, Matt nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. That body deserves to be loved. You deserve to be loved.”
“I feel like…like I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to leave me for…for Karen.”
The mention of her name caused him to frown. “Karen?” he asked. She nodded. He sighed, forcing her head to his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat the same way he always did to her. “Don’t even think like that,” he told her. “I would never leave you for someone else. For no one, for nothing. I need you to stop assuming that, sweetheart. It’s not true.”
“It feels true,” she cried.
His lips brushed the crown of her head. “But it isn’t.”
“But–”
“I love you,” he said, a bit more insistent this time. “Only you. I would rather die than never be with you again. And I mean that. Bring me the poison and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on if that’ll make you believe me, but I won’t leave you.”
She clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt. Matt shushed her, his fingers brushing through her hair. The rhythm was soothing.
She sobbed until she had nothing left to give. She cried because she knew he was right. She knew she was overthinking, but she was powerless to fight it. He was the only one who could open her eyes, and even then, she more often than not slipped away. She hated it. She hated the way her brain was wired, the things she was taught, and the things she continuously and wrongly kept teaching herself.
Eventually, though, she slacked in his arms.
“I don’t really like myself right now,” she confessed. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”
Matt chuckled softly, his chest rumbling. He tilted her chin up. “Then let me help you,” he said.
“How?” she asked.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. “Just let me love you.”
Tagging from Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @ravenclaw617 @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten
He enters through the living room window, careful to avoid knocking over the array of knick-knacks perched on the windowsill. He has a key of course but he just prefers this way. He knew from blocks away that you were deep in sleep, a smile hooking up his lip when he could hear your little snorts and snores.
His body is remarkably free of hurt and bereft of bruising for once, it had been a rare quiet night. He slides both his mask and shirt off, sitting on the edge of your couch to unlace his boots. He strips down to his black silk shorts, moving quietly on his bare feet as he pads into your kitchen to the fridge. He opens it, feeling along the containers on the shelves. Sure enough he finds there's a braille label that reads 'Matt' on one. He takes out the container, placing it on the counter and opening the lid a crack to investigate its contents. Tomato, garlic, basil, olives and oregano fill his nose before he puts it into the microwave for a few minutes to heat it up. You'd always leave some dinner for him if you thought he'd be out late and he loved you for it. Your pasta was the best.
He sits at the table eating straight out of the tub, more famished after patrol than he realised. He'll wash everything up in the morning but he walks around your apartment picking up and folding your hoodie over the back of the couch and tidying away some other detritus, putting his own clothes in a neat pile before heading to the bathroom to quickly wash and brush his teeth. You always left everything where he can easily find it, including a pack of Tylenol just in case.
When he slides into your bed he smiles softly as your arms immediately seek him out, wrapping around him as you snuggle your warmth into his cooler skin to equilibrate. You reply with a small hum when he kisses your forehead gratefully.
"Thanks for dinner sweetie." He whispers, and you mumble something half incoherent about lizards and he has to really stop himself from laughing at you.
Your fingers sleepily find his and he gently squeezes your hand, kissing the top of your head again.
"You're like a stray." He hears you murmuring into his arm.
"Hm?"
"... someone should adopt you." you continue, and he does let himself chuckle at that.
You feebly shove at his chest, waking up a bit. "M'not joking. Come 'n live with me."
Matt strokes his other hand down your arm, breathing in your sleepy scent. It's true that he could get used to this but you were just babbling.
"Shh, go back to sleep."
He can feel the brush of your eyelashes on his skin. "Matt, I wanna wake up every morning with you here like this."
His heart swells with the thought that you'd really want to take him in.
"What's there to talk 'bout? You don't wanna?"
"Let's talk about it in the morning sweetheart." is what he says.
He hears the small measure of hurt in your grizzly voice as you blink open your eyes in the dark. He puts his hand to the side of your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. Then he captures your lips, slow and soft.
"Yeah I want to." He assures, and you smile and kiss him back.
"Good. S'settled then." And you nuzzle back close against him. "I love you Matty. I'll keep the sill clear."
The way Matt loved you was devastating. He ached when you weren’t near, and when you were he found his fingers were always reaching for you to come a little closer. His hands always found themselves wrapped around your midsection, the extra skin letting him steal an abundance of warmth and softness from you.
When you’d asked him if you could slip under the blanket with him on the couch, he told you you didn’t have to ask as he peeled away the thick fluffy cover.
“C’mere.” You try to slot yourself between him and the couch but he pulls you to lay on him directly, your head sinking into his chest as he tucks you in.
“Cozy?” You nodded, feeling his fingers caress your skin, his touch sliding lower and lower after starting at your waist.
“Watch the hands.” He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He clicks resume on his podcast as you get comfy on his chest and scroll through your phone. Quiet domesticity takes over the apartment, your even breath mirrors his as the two of you soak in each other's presence.
“It should be a crime to be this soft and warm with that much muscle.” You say, poking his abs. He chuckles, pulling your body closer to his.
“Feel free to come steal some warmth more often.” You nuzzle further and he gasps at the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his bare chest. Your eyelids grow heavy and you glance up to Matt, who was listening to his podcast. He looked at peace, his fingers still moving, albeit slowly, across your skin while your head moved up and down gently from his breaths. You smile, your eyes shutting more and more as you finally succumb to sleep with comfort personified who is Matt Murdock.
His attention is drawn to you only when your phone lands face down on his skin, the glass screen chilling his body. He brings his hand up to thread through your hair, dull nails gently scratching at your scalp. With his other hand he pauses his podcast and drops his headphones to the ground quietly. He moves your phone away and pulls the blanket up a bit higher to cover your body.
I LOVE your work, and I was wonderful if you could write something with hurt/comfort with Matt Murdock?
Like you were coming home late and someone was following you home, and Matt hears you heart beat and comes to find you juste before the creepy person makes a move on you? And the reader is like “I’m fine, I’m okay” even tho she crying very hard and can’t breathe and Matt is like “no you’re not, but it’s okay I’ll take care of you” and then he takes care of reader and it’s fluff and comfort?
Thank youuuuu
Savior (Matt Murdock x Reader)
A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for reading! It's a short ficlet, but I ended up really liking how it turned out! Also, Charlie Cox is so, so PRETTY. A special thank you to my beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great! <3 (Word Count: 1.0k)
MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST
You didn’t fully comprehend the predicament you were in until it changed from sketchy to dangerous. Hell’s Kitchen was especially quiet that night, though the argument could be made that it never fully went to sleep. Bodegas, laundromats, and diners stayed open late into the night, and it was the light spilling from their fogged windows that lit your route home.
You knew Matt wouldn’t be happy with your decision to walk home alone. He’d warned you time and time again to wait for him, or get a taxi if he wasn’t around, but taxis were expensive, and he hadn’t answered your call earlier. Now, you cursed yourself for not waiting.
The man behind you had been following you for thirteen blocks – you'd counted in nervous breaths – and he was gaining on you. You walked at an increasingly rapid pace, heart thundering as you blindly dug through your bag for the pepper spray Foggy had gifted you when you’d moved to the city. It was big and a stark blue, with the words “I Heart NY” stamped around it, but your hands were shaking so badly that even if you could find it in the black hole that was your tote bag, you weren’t sure you’d be able to use it.
You turned the corner, nervously glancing at the stranger out of the corner of your eye, and almost yelped at the proximity he had gained. He was within ten feet of you, and you didn’t give yourself a chance to hesitate before you took off running.
“Hey!” He called.
You ignored him, pushing your legs to move faster. You could see the entrance to your building, a tiny speck in the distance, and you prayed Matt was close enough to hear your racing heart. The man’s feet pounded on the concrete behind you, and you let out a wild shriek that you hoped would alert someone nearby. If it was heard by anyone, they didn’t make it known. You were alone, and the man was so close to you now that you knew you’d be grabbed by him before you could make it to the safety of your building.
Arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you into an alley. You began shrieking at the top of your lungs, if only to make it harder for your attacker to get away with whatever he planned to do.
“Leave me alone! Stop!” You fought with all your might, swinging and kicking wildly in front of you in a last-ditch effort to get away. “Get off me, you fucking creep!”
Hands cradled your face.
“It’s me. It’s me, sweetheart.” Matt’s smooth voice coaxed your eyes open. You hadn’t even realized they were closed. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
You blinked up at him in relief. Your heart thundered in your chest, making it hard to breathe. He wasn’t in his Daredevil suit, but the way he clenched his jaw told you that the Devil was itching to come out and play.
“There was a man,” you started, voice scratchy from the screams you’d let out, “He was following me. I-I know I should’ve waited for you to come get me, but I didn’t want to bother you and then this guy showed up and I was trying to find the pepper spray but-” You were rambling now, gulping in air and waving your arms around as you explained.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked, softly caressing the curve of your cheekbone.
“Yeah.” You nodded. The lie tasted ashy on your tongue.
“You’re crying, sweetheart.”
“I-I’m fine.” You stuttered, attempting to blink the tears away. “I’m fine.” You tried again, but your voice wobbled as the words left your lips. You couldn’t tell if you were trying to convince him or yourself at that point. Matt nodded along with you, kissing your temple.
“Let’s get you home, okay? You’re safe now. No one will ever hurt you again, okay? I’ve got you.” He led you to the apartment you shared with him, only letting go when you sunk into the cushions of the couch. “I’m going to make you some tea, okay?”
“Okay.” Your voice was wispy, barely audible to anyone besides Matt, who had tuned himself to you so thoroughly that you sometimes felt like he could read your thoughts. Like right then, as the thought entered your brain, and he responded before you could even finish the thought. Some Chamomile tea would be grea-
“Is Chamomile alright?” He called, clinking the mug against the counter.
“Yeah, Matty. Thank you.” You breathed through your anxiety and wondered what happened to the man who’d been following you.
-
Later that evening, after he’d drawn you a bath and tucked you into bed, the Devil finally got what he wanted. Matt hadn’t mentioned it to you, but he’d been diligently tracking the stranger’s heartbeat since he’d intervened earlier that evening, and as soon as your heartbeat evened out, suggesting your deep slumber, Matt was jumping across rooftops towards the irregular heartbeat he’d been listening to all evening.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he got his hands on the guy who had followed you earlier. The blood curdling scream you’d let out was indication enough of your fear, and it echoed in Matt’s ears as he got closer to his target.
He wouldn’t kill the man. That wasn’t a line Matt was willing to cross, but the thought certainly crossed his mind. If he’d put his hands on you, touched you with his filthy awfulness, Matt might’ve been angry enough to do it, though, and that terrified him. He’d never been so close to murder before, besides maybe with Fisk, but no one fucked with you and got away with it. He wouldn’t kill the guy, but he’d hurt him. Badly.
Matt took a deep breath and let the Devil creep out. May God have mercy on the stranger’s soul, because the Devil surely wouldn’t.
Summary: Matt attends charity event and he can't help but blurt out the L-word.
Warnings: Suggestive, nothing major.
A/N: English is not first language so there might be mistakes. Enjoy <3
-----
Soft laughs, bubbly chatter and champagne glasses touching lips.
That was what Matt was hearing all around him. Foggy had basically dragged him and Karen out of the office to this charity event, saying that they needed to make an appearance, as every other law firm was there too.
Matt didn't enjoy events like these. Everyone knew he was charming and easy to talk to, but he still didn't enjoy being dragged to talk to different people, having to act like he was interested in what they had to say.
He would rather stay at home, but he had already neglected Foggy so many times that he really needed to make an effort for him. Suffering one night would make Foggy happy, so that was what he was here for.
Besides, the event wasn't half as bad as soon as Foggy had snatched a bottle of champagne from the kitchen, bringing it to their table. Matt enjoyed listening to his friends getting drunk, babbling about what kind of renovations they would do to the office as soon as the money would start to flow.
Matt didn't drink that much. He wanted to be aware of his surroundings at all time, it was a force of habit he didn't seem to get rid of. He wanted to know what was going around him, what kind of people were surrounding him and his friends.
His fingers were playing with the half full champagne glass in front of him as he tried to listen what Foggy and Karen were talking about, but his focus was somewhere else. He was focusing on the soft ticking of the watch on Foggy's wrist, listening how minutes would pass as he grew more impatient, more anxious.
He was waiting for her.
He had invited her as his plus one, and she had happily agreed, but called later today, saying that she'd run a bit late. Matt was growing anxious as he wanted nothing more than her to be here already, his hand wrapped around her as he listened to her softly laughing at Foggy's stupid jokes.
As if the universe had heard Matt's inner thoughts, the atmosphere shifted and Matt's concentration was pulled elsewhere. He knew she was here, he could sense it the second the elevator doors opened and someone stepped out.
Matt could easily navigate her perfume as she walked from the elevators to the main floor. To him, she stood out from every crowd.
''She's here'', Foggy said as he spotted her moving around the crowd, looking around for the three lawyers. Matt tried not to smile too brightly, but he failed as the smile crept on his lips.
''Where is she?'' Matt asked and Foggy looked around. ''Straight ahead, ten meters'', Foggy said, trying to find easy way for Matt to get to her.
Foggy didn't know about Matt's abilities, how he already knew exactly where she was standing and how easily Matt could get to her. Matt hadn't said anything to his friends, he was trying to protect them.
''I'll be right back'', Matt said, slipping from his seat and unfolding his stick. He fixed his suit a little, pushing the stick to the floor and heading towards the direction Foggy had told him to go.
He was listening her heart beat as she was looking around and as her eyes spotted the handsome lawyer heading her way, her heart started beating a lot faster. Matt couldn't help but smile as he approached her, moving the stick around, so he could avoid hitting anyone.
He didn't need the stick to move around, it was all for the show. He didn't need sight to find her, his feet were guiding him to her. Matt was pretty sure that he'd find her even if he'd lost his hearing too. It was like a force was pulling him to her.
''Hey beautiful'', he said simply as he stopped right in front of her, pulling his stick up. She grinned from ear to ear. ''How did you find me? Did you smell me? Hear my inner thoughts?'' she asked, teasing him. She knew about him being Daredevil, his ability to see the world in different way. He had shared his secret with her.
''Foggy told me'', he said and she let out a soft chuckle. ''Right, of course. Did he mention that I looked beautiful too?'' she asked and Matt smiled. ''No. That happens to be a well known fact'', he said and he could sense how the blood rushed to her cheeks as she giggled.
''But you must look really nice tonight'', he said, his voice lowering a little as he leaned closer to her. ''How would you know that?'' she asked, still smiling like a fool in love.
''You are turning a lot of heads, racing a lot of heart beats'', he said, his voice was husky. She let out a soft breath before she grinned. She was looking at his handsome face, how the sunglasses pushed on his nose, how a playful smirk was tugging his lips.
She took a step closer to him, closing the space with their bodies. She lifted her hand up to lay it on the side of his neck. She lifted herself up a little so she could close the gap between their lips, capturing his lips for a sweet kiss.
Matt smiled against her lips, his hand wrapping around her waist so he could hold her against him as he softly kissed her back. He could sense how the heads that had turned to look at her were now turning to look away. He couldn't care less as he enjoyed the softness of her lips against his, her nose brushing his. She let out a satisfied hum as she pulled away from the sweet kiss.
''Your heart beat is the only one that matters to me'', she whispered, her breath hitting his lips. She could feel his steady beat going wild under her fingers. Matt could feel his head spinning. He smirked a little, leaning down to peck her lips again before he straightened himself.
''Come on, Foggy and Karen are this way'', he said, offering his hand for her. She easily held his elbow, letting him lead her.
For the rest of the night, Matt had difficulties concentrating to anything else but her. He found himself getting lost in her laugh, how the soft giggles left her lips. Her hand would brush his leg, touch his arm or hold his hand, sending shivers down his body every time her skin made contact with him.
He could hear her body moving in the dress, figuring how it was hugging her waist just right, listening how she would move in her seat and the fabric would move up on her thigh, revealing more skin. She would brush her hair behind her ear, basically showing him the pulse point on her neck, and he wanted nothing more but to push his lips against it.
Not a single detail of her would go unnoticed by him. Her familiar scent was driving him crazy and when she laughed at something Karen said, her hand squeezed his larger hand, Matt couldn't help himself anymore.
He was ready to leave the event, he wanted nothing more but to go home with her.
Matt ran his thumb over her knuckles, pulling her attention to him. He leaned closer to her. ''Do you want to head out?'' he whispered and she smiled a little. ''Yes'', she said, without hesitation. Matt smiled brightly. ''Takeout and movie?'' she whispered and he grinned.
Chill days with her were heaven for Matt. They would lay on the couch and some movie would run on TV, but he really didn't care. He would focus on her, how she would laugh at the funny bits, how she'd let out soft sighs when something romantic was happening and how she'd jump a bit when something scary happened, making him pull her even closer to his chest. He loved having nights like those with her, but right now, watching a movie wasn't his first priority.
''Not exactly'', he said and she could see the devilish smirk he had on his lips, telling her straight what he really wanted. She rolled her eyes a little, smiling to herself, but her heart beat was failing her, telling Matt that she was as ready to go as he was. Matt held her hand as he turned to say goodbyes to Karen and Foggy.
He easily guided her around the crowd to the elevators and she pushed the button for the elevator doors to open. They stepped to the elevator and she pushed the button on the wall as Matt leaned against the back wall, listening to her rapid heart beat. She was looking at the numbers on the wall.
He was listening to her soft hum as the elevator doors closed. He was smiling to himself, listening to her softly move and look at the numbers on the wall.
''How many levels-'', she started.
''I love you'', Matt blurted out on the same exact second as she opened her mouth, cutting her sentence.
He could hear her breath hitching in her throat as she turned around, her eyes widen as she looked at him with his mouth open.
He had to say it. It was something he had wanted to say for ages, but he didn't have the guts to say before. He did love her, he loved her for everything she was and he had to say it, but her shocked reaction made him freeze again.
''What?'' she let out a sudden breath as she looked at him leaning against the wall.
''You want pizza or Chinese food?'' he asked, trying to let the L-word he had just blurted out seem as if she had heard wrong.
''No... You said-'', she tried to form a sentence as she took a step closer to him.
''I asked about food'', he said, swallowing.
''I'm pretty sure you didn't'', she said, stepping right in front of him. ''Say it again'', she said, looking at his face as he had suddenly pushed the panic button, trying to escape the situation. Matt swallowed, listening to her heart going crazy right in front of him.
''Say it again'', she whispered. Matt could hear the smile in her voice. Her hand moved to cup his cheek and he took a deep breath. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden?
He loved her.
''I love you'', he said softly. It was like a weight was lifted from his chest as she grinned so widely.
''I love you too, Matt Murdock'', she grinned. His face lit up. He was sure his heart was about to burst through his rib cage, as he had never felt anything like this in his life.
She loved him back.
''You silly man'', she chuckled before she pulled his face down with her, capturing his lips for a kiss. Matt let out a breath he was holding, deepening the kiss and pulling her closer by grabbing her waist. He was sure his lips would be bruised on how hard he was pushing against her lips, but he didn't care. He wanted to feel every corner of her lips.
Her hand moved from his cheek to the back of his head, her fingers running through the dark locks as he kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Her whole body tingled as his frame was leaning on hers, his arms wrapped around her. He claimed her mouth with hot, hungry kisses, making her knees go weak.
The sound of the elevator reaching the wanted level made both of them pull away from each other. She looked at his pink lips and how his hair was tossed around. She let out a breathy giggle at his dizzy state. She leaned closer, her nose brushing his as the elevator doors opened.
''I want pizza'', she said, answering his previous question about the food. He let out a low chuckle. She grinned, pecking his lips again and lingering there for a second, enjoying the warmth of his lips. She then pulled away, grabbing his hand.
''Come on, let's go home'', she said, pulling him out of the elevator. Matt was smiling from ear to ear.
He was going home with the woman he was truly and madly in love with.
Summary: You end up in the emergency room. Matt is a total goddamn hypocrite.
Trigger warning: brief discussion of blood
Masterlist
"I hope you know how extremely hypocritical this is."
"Feel free to submit a complaint; someone will get back to you in 5-7 business days." There's a ghost of a smile on his lips as he tilts his head so that his sightless eyes are aimed in your general direction.
"Matt," you groan, throwing your head back against the stiff hospital pillow, the fabric scratching at the back of your neck uncomfortably. Sleeping on silk sheets for as long as you have now means everything else feels nearly intolerable. "We both know you could have done this at home."
"Probably," he admits with a shrug, though you know he's taking this much more seriously than his tone suggests. "But you fell onto a rusty nail, and you can't remember the last time you got a tetanus shot."
"It was probably within the last eight or nine years," you mumble under your breath.
"Probably isn't good enough, not with this. We're not taking the risk." He squeezes your hand gently as a needle with a local anesthic pierces your skin to the left of the long, jagged cut on your leg. You wince. Claire's already made sure to give you the tetanus vaccine, and with stitches on the horizon, you're starting to feel like one of those pin cushions people store their push pins and sewing needles in.
"But still--"
"No," he interrupts, not letting you get a word in to argue your case. The man is good at speaking over people when needed, a characteristic that is no doubt beneficial in court, but you roll your eyes at the fact he's using that skill on you while you're about to be stitched up. "This isn't related to any...nefarious dealings, not like with me. We have insurance for a reason. There's no harm in having you looked at in an actual hospital."
You curse him under your breath, knowing he can hear you. His mouth twitches into a quick grin reserved only for you.
"He's right, you know," Claire pipes up as she places the used needle in the disposal box. She's smirking slightly, even as she rolls her eyes at Matt. "Can never be too careful when it comes to rusty nails."
"I don't see you admonishing Matt like that," you say defensively. "He's the one who needs to take more care when it comes to things like rusty nails."
"I gave up on him a long time ago."
Matt lets out a loud sigh as he shakes his head. "I also know that I am up to date on my tetanus shot, so they don't pose as much of a danger to me."
"Yeah, sure, let's pretend that's the only thing I need to worry about when you go out at night," you tell him. You look away from him when you see Claire shift out of the corner of your eye as she begins to pull out the tools she'll need to stitch up your leg.
Your breath catches, eyeing the needle, and you know he hears it. His head lowers towards yours, a soft sympathetic sound rumbling in his chest.
"Another reason why I didn't want to do this at home, sweetheart," he whispers to you as he tightens his grip on your hand before tenderly bringing it to his mouth for a soft kiss. "I'd much rather be the one holding your hand, not the one sewing you up."
"Hypocrite," you repeat, though you say it fondly. "A bloody limb needing stitches is almost standard for you."
"For me, yeah," he agrees. His blank eyes are soft, and you'll never know how he manages to covey so much emotion through them, despite not being able to see. "It's different when you're involved."
"I still could have done this without the anesthesia," you argue faintly. It's a lie, an absolute fucking lie. Your pain tolerance is nearly non-existent, and you know he knows it, too. "And I don't need you to hold my hand through everything. I would have been okay if you'd patched me up yourself."
"I feel better knowing you're not in pain," he says gently. "It's better this way."
"Better for me? Or better for you?"
He smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head, but doesn't answer. You sigh, using your other hand to pull him down to sit on the gurney with you. He doesn't fight you, just lets you lead him until he's snug up against you, and the warmth of his body is a comfort on its own. Your leg is propped up on a pillow in front of you, and he uses the opportunity to rub his palm gently over your knee cap, just a few inches up from the gash you'd acquired while walking home from work.
Someone had accidentally bumped into you, causing you trip into a pile of wood that was, for some stupid reason, piled on the left side of the sidewalk. A sharp, oxidized nail pierced the skin in your leg as you fell down, and it had proceeded to tear a long, ragged cut into the soft flesh.
Matt had all but torn the front door off its hinges not 45 seconds after you'd gotten home, face pale and full of panic, no doubt having smelled your blood long before you'd made it home.
He wasn't very happy to find you hurt, demanding why you hadn't given him a phone call to let him know where you were so that he could come help you home. He was even less happy when you tried to pass it off as a mere scratch, arguing that it just needed to be cleaned and bandaged.
His head tilted in the way it always did when he was focusing in on something, and his eyebrows rose as he narrowed in on the napkins you still held in your hand, having stolen them from a coffee shop in effort to clean up the blood on your way home. They were almost completely soaked through.
Matt didn't even need to feel the skin around the slice in your leg to know it needed stitches, and he absolutely refused to take care of it at home. He was willing to take beating after beating every night, but he wasn't willing to patch you up if giving you stitches would cause you more pain. Claire had just started working at a hospital that was only a few blocks away, and Matt wouldn't hear any argument against taking you there. A cab was outside your apartment building less than five minutes later.
What an overprotective, uncompromising hypocrite.
"You'll feel a little tugging sensation here and there, but you shouldn't feel any pain," Claire interrupts your thinking as she sits on a chair and rolls it until she's to the left of the gurney you're laying on. She moves your leg until it's at an angle that works for her, and picks up the needle that's she's placed on the small cart next to her.
You glance away again, focusing on the man who has tucked you into his side, arm thrown over your shoulders. You're in a semi-public space, but he's not wearing his glasses. He knows you will always, always prefer seeing his whole face, will always prefer seeing his beautiful eyes instead of the sharp red lenses, and the fact that he removes them while not in a private setting says a lot. He's willing to make himself uncomfortable to help you feel safe and secure while a needle presses in and out of your skin.
You don't deserve him, but he's still there beside you, every step of the way. He whispers into your ear how much he loves you, and how well you're doing, and you make a sound of derision in the back of you throat.
"This is nothing compared to the shit you go through on a weekly basis, Matt," you point out, avoiding the urge to shift away from the needle going in and out of your skin. You don't feel anything, but the sight of it still sends your stomach rolling.
He hushes you with a gentle finger over your mouth. "It's not a competition," he insists, tilting your head up and pressing a quick kiss on your lips.
His hands are soft and light on your skin as he runs them up and down your arm, your thigh, anywhere he can touch. There are plenty of forehead kisses and hand squeezes in between the snarky comments he passes back and forth with Claire.
Though the stitches are uncomfortable, you find yourself grinning in satisfaction as Claire uses some of her time to call Matt out on his hypocrisy, telling him that she'd have a better sleep schedule if he took as good of care of his own body as he does yours.
"Have I told you how much I love you, Claire?" You ask, smirking at her as she continues stitching your skin together. "Because I absolutely live for every opportunity we get to gang up on Matt."
She snorts, and Matt sends you a dry look. "I haven't heard it yet today, but you know the feeling is absolutely mutual."
"I should have never introduced the two of you," he grumbles, though he doesn't look necessarily upset at the teasing. "That was the biggest mistake of my life."
"Hush," you tell him, nudging him with your shoulder. "We both know that's a lie. You love us fawning over you."
Matt immediately objects. "There's a big difference between fawning and whatever shit you think you need to call me out on."
"There's a ton of shit to call you out on, though," you say innocently, and Claire huffs a laugh, the sound indicating she agrees with you. "You just make it so easy."
Matt's face tells you he's amused despite his objections. "Be quiet and let Claire work," is all he tells you in response. You shrug your shoulders, smile widening when he squeezes your hand and rubs a thumb over the back of it.
When she's done, she gives you instructions on how to care for them over the next week or so. Matt hounds her with questions, and the two of you look at each other in exasperation, knowing that half the things Claire is recommending are things he never does for himself.
You make it home uneventfully, and Matt picks you up in his arms once you're safely inside the apartment building, reluctant to let you take one more step if no one is around to question a blind man's ability to carry you to your front door. You protest loudly, but he ignores it, especially because he knows you secretly love being held by him like this.
He lowers you to the couch, handing you the remote so you can put on your favorite TV show, and you make sure it's set up with audio descriptions. Without prompting, your favorite blanket is brought to the couch from the bed you share, and your favorite dinner is eventually placed in your lap as he settles down at your side, ready to pull you into him once you're done eating.
"You're still a hypocrite," you mumble into his chest as he wraps the blanket around you both a little tighter, careful of the injured leg you've propped up on his hip.
"That's a strong possibility," he whispers in your ear. You watch drowsily as the gold of his wedding band catches the light when he moves to push your hair behind your ear. "But you're the one thing I won't compromise on, sweetheart. And that's not going to change."
when you have the chance, can you write about matt x touch deprived! reader?
hi! thanks for your request. I'm working my way through the requests i got before i closed them.
-----
“Hey there, koala bear.” He says as you wake. Koala bear was an apt nickname for you, as you woke up holding his forearm in your hands and your head resting on his shoulder.
“Good morning.” You say, moving off his arm back onto your pillow. Matt gasps at the pins and needles that flood his arm when you get off, clenching and unclenching his fist to get the blood flowing.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks.
“Like a baby, sorry for taking your arm.” He shakes his head.
“Don’t apologize, it’s cute.”
You watched as he got ready, brushing his hair and buttoning his shirt. You took his tie from him and tied it for him. It took you much longer to do it and it always came out slightly crooked, but he’d wear it proudly with the distinction that you did it for him.
“Are you sure you have to leave?” You ask, climbing out of bed as he puts his suit jacket on.
“Sadly, yes.” He opens his arms as you walk directly into his chest, holding him close and hearing his heartbeat.
“I’m gonna miss you.” He laughs, wrapping his arms around you.
“I’ll miss you too, bug.”
-----
Matt’s favorite time of day was when he came home, whether from the office or patrol. He’d always brace himself for impact when you got up from wherever you were resting.
“Matty!” You yell and he grunts as you hug him.
“Hi honey.” He says, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. You rest your head on his shoulder as he walks the two of you through the apartment and sits you down on the couch in his lap.
“How was your day?” You ask, your finger coming up to trace his face, feeling his days old stubble prickle under your touch.
“It was good, missed you.”
“I missed you too, my love.”
“Alright, let me change and then I’ll cook dinner for us.”
“I can cook dinner, you just came home.”
“And I know you’ve been working all day too, let me cook.”
-----
Cooking with you was also Matt’s favorite time of day. You’d come padding out into the kitchen and cling to him while he stirred the food. He’d sway back and forth while you held on to him, muttering something about how it was a crime how warm he always was. Today was no different.
His head rested on top of your chin, hand on your back as he held you close with the other stirring the food. He puts the spoon down for a minute and holds you, burying his nose in your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist.
“Have I told you I love you?” He asks, smile growing when he hears your laugh.
“You tell me just about every five minutes.”
“Unacceptable, I have to make it two at the most, I love you.”
“I love you too, Matthew.”
-----
The shower shutting off is what woke you in the middle of the night. You blinked awake, rubbing the sleep away as you heard the bathroom door open.
“Matt?” You call out.
“Sorry, bug. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He walks to the dresser to pull on a pair of sweats.
“Was it a busy night?”
“Quiet night, first in a while, only got a few bruises.”
“No blood?”
“No blood.”
“Good, c’mere.” You pull on his arms to have him lay down, his head on your chest over your heart.
“Sleep, Matt.” Your fingers card through his hair, a tried and true method of putting him to sleep quickly and sure enough, his soft snores fill the room.
Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.
Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)
a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.
There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff.
There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.
Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people.
But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.
It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.
I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life?
And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag.
My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t.
When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it.
Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show.
“Smells good,” he says.
I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it.
“What you making?”
“Pasta,” I tell him.
He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter.
He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him.
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”
“Linguistics.”
“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”
Perhaps that’s why I’m angry.
“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.
I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself.
I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink.
How is the food already finished?
“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended.
“No, I did.”
“Really, what did I say?”
“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”
He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”
He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause.
“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry.
I want him to hate me the way I hate myself.
That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”
“What?”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”
He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body.
I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that.
“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”
I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.
It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time.
I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t.
And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him.
The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time.
I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.
I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again.
“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”
The clothes smell like him.
“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”
He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano.
The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me.
“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.
His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.
He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again.
I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life.
“Is it school?”
I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing.
“Work?”
I nod.
“Anything happen or just a bad day?”
“Bad day.”
“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”
“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles.
“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”
“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”
His hand on my back manages to soothe me.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better.
“I love you.”
And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts.
“I love you too, Matty.”
As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget.
“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows.
“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.
“Yes?”
“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”
“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”
“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”
He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”
“God.” My face is burning.
“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.”
Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.
“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”
“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”
“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.
He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am.
That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do.
He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.
“Please,” I beg.
“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”
He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him.
My confidence has taken a low blow this past week.
Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans.
Smug bastard.
“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind.
His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.
“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”
I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.
“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it.
Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him.
I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.”
He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it.
I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy.
“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.”
He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good.
He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt.
“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.
The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for.
“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”
He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.
I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet.
Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”
I nod.
“You need anything?”
It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be.
“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me.
He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says.
“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.”
I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away.
A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”
He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.
All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.
He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him.
“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”
I hum.
“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.”
It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him.
“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.
He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. I know you can.”
“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”
“Shhh. We’re almost there.”
His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you.
I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.
I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips.
“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”
What could he possibly want to-
“Cum.”
I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.
His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms.
God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.
“Oh.”
“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”
I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.
He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.
“No, it’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”
“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”
“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”
I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”
“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”
“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost.
“Okay.”
“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”
“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.”
And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.
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