Nothing Special
𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘁 𝗠𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
𝑆𝑈𝑀𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑌 : matt murdock is injured and needs your assistance in the bathtub, and he just needs you to touch him. Healer/mutant!reader
𝑇𝑊: blood, injuries, dom!fem kinda??, handjob, male receiving, I’ve never written on tumblr b4 😍, teasing, enemies to lovers??
𝐴／𝑁： I’ve never published anything on tumblr so lmk if I missed anything. Idk if it’s just me but Matt Murdock gives me bottom vibes 😋. Anyway this smut is lowkey inspired by a chapter in a book called Dear Enemy by Kristen Callihan, if u like enemies to lovers def recommend.
ᴥ︎
Partnerships are usually formed between two people who get along well.
It was never meant to be a partnership - it was purely coincidental that the both of you had the same target. Weeks ago you saw him running through the alley, wearing a mask and chasing after someone that you had previously been tracking.
You’ve heard of the Daredevil; but you’d never imagine that you would actually meet him.
Much less come together in an agreement to take down the bad guy together.
Standing on top of a neighboring building, you watched him through night vision binoculars. He sneaked around corners, listening for guarding affiliates.
“Careful. Someone’s carrying a buttload of explosives.” You warned.
A bandolier of small grenades hangs loosely around a guard's waist. Your lips tighten in thought, as you lowered your gun out of range.
“I know. Grenades.”
You knew he knew. He could smell the gunpowder. But you worried. Something wasn’t right. Something was making your skin crawl, a distasteful flavor in your mouth.
You moved along the edge of the building, balancing yourself on the wall to follow him through the windows.
“I don’t like this. I think you should leave.” You told him.
“Want him all to yourself?” He snickered.
The guards conversed, unaware of the dangerous man lurking behind the corner. They carried explosives and machine guns larger than most people. Their gear was solid - all of them were wearing protective face shields.
“Get out.” You said through the earpiece. He pauses, leaning against the wall. “Turn around. They don’t plan on leaving that building standing. As soon as they see you they’re going to blow it up.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t move, either.
You hardly knew him that well. You didn’t even know what he looked like under that stupid mask. Why would he trust what you’re saying?
Your common enemy wasn’t enough to build a trusting bond between the two of you.
“Okay.” He said.
You hadn’t realized that you were holding your breath until you released a sigh of relief.
That might’ve been the last time you even had a proper breath, because as soon as he turned to exit the building - he was met with an explosive blast strong enough to knock him out of view.
A wave of panic washed over your body as you dropped everything. The lens in your binoculars shattered and the metal of your knife scraped against the concrete, igniting a ringing in your ears.
You waited for something to happen. For his voice to ease your concern through the technology in your ear.
Grabbing your knife off the ground, you took a few steps back to gain some distance, giving yourself a running start to leap off the building and grab the edge of the window that had been blown out from its frame. Some of the jagged glass there slices into the palm of your hand, but you don’t notice - your mind is elsewhere.
Through the smoke and flames, you identify the men in their protective gear, beams of lights slowly making their way to point in your direction.
It’s a quick process - slinking through the hall, hidden by smoke, identifying your enemies and driving the point of your knife into their throat. Some of them are larger than others, with enough strength to push you away and land a mighty punch to your abdomen or your chest. One of them even manages to backhand you across the face - you simply duck low to the ground and kick their feet from beneath them, taking away their life with little to no effort or empathy.
Matt Murdock lies on the tiled floor with little pieces of his consciousness left. He hears your voice calling for him - grunts and groans of the dying and the defeatists dwindling down to murmurs in his ears.
Your hands tug at his shoulders, his arms limp in your grasp. You beg him to get up, to make some kind of noise or sign of life.
“Listen to me,” you growled through grinding teeth. “You can’t die here, okay? This would be a stupid way to die. Believe me.”
There’s some blood spatter on his lips, splotches on his neck and in his hair. You let his decreasing energy status radiate off his person, guiding it to the top of his head. You needed him conscious.
“What happened?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the blood in his throat and mouth making it sound raspy and gargled.
Your brow creased with worry, and you couldn’t help the unexpected amount of emotion you were feeling. Had you really been feeling like this the entire time? So enraged, upset, and relieved all at the same time?
Seeing him so hurt and unresponsive drew bile to your throat and a sick feeling in your stomach.
“Explosion.” You managed to pull him upright, letting his body lean on your shoulder.
His head brushed against your cheek, and his left hand grabbed at your shoulder, with the other latching onto the fabric on your waist. He was just trying to keep himself standing, but the contact made heat rise up your neck. This flustered feeling wasn’t familiar - you had carried many injured individuals like this before. This shouldn’t be any different.
“You got a beating, that’s for sure. I have to bring you to the hospital -“
“No.”
“You could have internal bleeding.” You reprimanded. “You could die. You have some really bad injuries-“
“I can’t go to the hospital. Just bring me home.”
“What-? No! I’m not leaving you all alone just so you could die!”
Matt’s head hangs low and his breaths sound thin and short. There is a long pause in between each and every inhale and exhale.
Your jaw clenched, your frustrated gaze guarding him warily from any more of your foes. You wouldn’t let them hurt him. You wouldn’t let him die.
“Don’t… don’t bring me to hospital, please,” he says your name, using it as a plea, begging with it as a whispering offering.
You blinked, your bleary eyes just clearing as you made it out of the building, away from all the smoke and chaos.
The man with no name - the man with calloused, bloody hands and a face hidden beneath a mask, slacked against your side, and you knew he had no more energy to spare.
“Okay.” You allowed.
With a limp in your right leg and his fingers loosely clutching your vest, you walked through the bottom of the alley with a determined expression. You knew what you had to do.
—
“-wake up.”
Matt Murdock jolted awake, throwing his arm up in defense.
You backed away, your hands also raised to block any hits he might throw in your direction. Not that you would blame him - you weren’t really a morning person, either.
It was nearly three AM. The entire city is sleeping peacefully as you had been awake for hours, tending to his wounds and occasionally checking his neck for a pulse.
“It’s me,” you told him.
Matt immediately recognized your fruity scent. It was everywhere. That, with a pinch of blood sprinkled in, raised some unwanted awareness. It was safe to assume that he was in your apartment. You laid him on your couch and put an ice pack on his head, with gauze tightly binding his wounds.
It was a shitty job, you realized. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice.
“What happened?”
“Explosion.” You repeated for the third time since the incident.
He rubbed his head and winced in pain. “Fuck.”
“I know.” You twiddled with your fingers and rocked yourself on your heels. He could hear your thumping heart. For some reason, you were nervous. He didn’t like the sound of that. “I ran you a hot bath.” You tilted your head, studying his expression. “For the chemicals, I mean. To wash off the chemicals.”
Ah, that’s why you’re nervous.
If everything wasn’t hurting, he’d smirk and poke fun at you. Seeing you so flustered and embarrassed was a rare occasion. He was used to you being dismissive and wary of his friendliness. He was only trying to gain your trust to better the temporary partnership, but you always threw him off with a snarky remark and cold attitude.
The vigilante stood, taking a wobbly step forward. You reached out in an attempt to help him if he might need it. But he walked just fine, wiping the dried blood from his nose and inhaling the scene before him.
To show someone where you lived was an ultimate act of trust. You had willingly brought him here.
He followed the noise of running water, and you loosely followed behind, watching his body language for any sign of weakness.
You stood awkwardly by the door frame, holding a towel in your arms as you watched him still, blinking, as if he was processing his thoughts. The bubbles fizz as they form beneath the faucet, filling the small bathroom with an artificial fruity scent. It was your expensive bubble bars and salts in there - some with herbs and some with medicinal additives. You figured this would be a good reason to finally use them.
You turned off the faucet and the silence sunk in, as you slinked away like you were attempting to escape.
“I’ll leave you to it.” You said.
“Wait-“ you stopped at the door, your back turned. “Can you… help me?”
God, I’m stupid.
He was hurting. You help him take off his attire, keeping your chin raised and eyes avoiding anywhere below his neck. You studied his expression - soft and thoughtful, wondering what he was thinking with those pinched brows and curling lip-
“Why are you smiling?” You inquired, just as you took the remaining shirt over his head.
His hand reached up and felt your face, caressing your cheek. “Your heart is beating so fast. You’re nervous.”
Your heart felt like it might’ve temporarily stopped. It took a shaky exhale to remind it to keep beating.
Deadpanning, you drop the clothes to the floor.
“Usually I don’t help my comrades bathe,” once he slid into the tub, you turned around to grab some ointment from the medicine cabinet above the sink. “This is a first for me.”
“I appreciate it. None of my other comrades would go to these extremes to ensure my safety.” He placed a hand on his chest, mockingly.
“Just lean back and let me do the thing,”
“What thing?”
“My thing.”
He looked a little alarmed at that, half jokingly and half worried. It wasn’t like it was some big secret you were keeping from him - it wasn’t something you could casually bring up in conversation.
Kneeling beside the tub, you rest your elbows on the edge and hesitantly place your hands near his chest.
Not looking. Not touching.
Just close enough to feel the energy radiating off his skin. His aura is warm and golden, and it feels like a toasty oven beneath your palms. That’s what good energy reminds you of - freshly baked cookies.
“What is it?” He asked. Matt moved slightly, leaning away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to transfer some of my energy to you,” you explained. “It will help you heal quicker.”
“Transfer?” He stifled a laugh. “What do you mean? You have powers?”
Your eyes flickered up to his, watching his expression change into somewhere between confusion and amusement.
“Yes. I can manipulate and manifest energy.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “How come I’ve never known that about you?”
“You never asked.”
“When you're transferring energy to me… doesn’t that mean you’re losing energy?” His hand wrapped around your wrist, and that glow emitting from your hands flickered.
The power that you had could be powerful in terms of healing others and using it to manipulate a being for a good minute or two. It wasn’t something that you could use that often in a battle - eventually, your energy would run out, and it would take some time building it back up again.
“Only for a moment. I just take a nap and eat something and usually it all comes back.”
“Does it hurt?”
Hurt you, or hurt me?
“No.”
That was it.
Or… it wasn’t. He blinked slowly, almost like he was momentarily engulfed in some type of high. According to some of the other people you’ve used your abilities on, they have said that your energy transfer felt good. Really good.
Too good.
“That feels… amazing.” He says. There’s a ripple throughout the water, below the bubbles from where you couldn’t see. His hand grips the side of the tub tightly, straining from some sort of pain, or feeling, something that you could not identify.
Not that you wanted to identify it. You were far too embarrassed, which was usually unlikely of you. Something about him made your heart beat too fast and your skin flush feverly.
“I’m almost done.” You replied. That familiar wave of nausea washed over you, which only meant you were going to take a real good nap after this.
“You can touch me, you know,” the corner of his lip lifts into a sly smirk. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.” You jutted your lip. “It’s just… we established clear boundaries. This is just one friend helping another. Nothing special.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Liar. “Nothing special.”
His hand slowly moves towards yours, which were placed only a few centimeters from his bare chest. The Daredevil takes them, moving them closely to his flesh so that he could properly feel you. You inhaled sharply, your mind wandering to places you had previously banned it to go. He sighs, a shaky, long sigh that departs from deep within his soul.
Your jaw clenched, and you readjust your knees so that your kneeling comfortably, a little closer than you were before.
“Are you hurting?” You asked, brows creased with worry. He looks like he might be in pain, but his body is telling you otherwise. Perhaps you knew the correct answer to his problem, but you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself. “Tell me what I can do to help you. You want some more fizzy bombs-?”
“No. Fuck no.” He growls in a low voice. “I just… I just need you.”
You tilted your head, wanting him to use his voice. He just needed to say it. He just needed to ask for it, and you’d indulge him.
“Need me to do what?”
“Touch me.” He pleas through gritted teeth. “Touch me. Please.”
It’s practically a whimper, and it runs through your body like a cold chill.
That’s all I needed to hear.
Your hand slowly glides down his chest, past his abdomen. You don’t know why you’re going so painfully slow. He’s gripping the sides of the tub again, so tightly his knuckles are turning white. You’re just teasing him, with your chin resting on the edge of the tub next to his arm so you can watch his facial expression twist as he huffs impatiently.
You grip his shaft with your hand, maintaining the steady beat of your heart because you knew he could hear it.
“You want this?” You purred. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly pumping him as he lurches forward with a stunned groan. “You wanted me to touch your cock that badly?”
“Fuck, yes.” He rasped.
The water sloshes against the side of the bathtub and you’re keeping a steady pace with your pumping, his hard cock in your hand. You wish there weren't so many bubbles so you could marvel at it.
You feel a warmth spread between your legs and you knew that you were wet. Just watching him become undone was enough to make your legs twitch with need. If your attention wasn’t so preoccupied, you’d probably sneak a hand between your legs and touch yourself.
“How does that feel?” You cooed. Your pumps are faster now and you know he’s about to cum. “Feel good?”
His eyes are screwed shut and he groans. “F-Feels amazing.” Your legs rub together and you feel wet slickness spread. “I - fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum for me,” you breathed.
His words are slurred and his brows are painfully burrowed. His lashes flutter and you feel him release into your hand, one last groan leaving his mouth until he leans back, resting against the wall of the tub and letting his head fall back. His lips part and he pants heavily, exhausted from his own orgasm.
You sink back onto your bottom, retracting your wet hands from the water. The wounds and bruises he had acquired earlier are either gone, are fading quickly. He must’ve been able to feel them healing, because there’s a remnant of a glow on his chest, trailing down to his dick where your hands used to be.
Standing quickly on your feet, you regret it immediately, feeling yourself wobble with nausea.
He jerked in your direction, eyes concerned for your safety. “Are you okay?”
“I just need to go - I need to lie down.” You stammered. As if your heart just caught up with the current events, it’s beating fast now, and a flustered blush creeps up your neck. “I’m going. I - I’ll be in the living room.”
He should be fine. His wounds are healed and he’ll be able to walk. He might even have an extra pep in his step.
You’re welcome. You wanted to taunt.
“Y/N,” he stops you before you pass through the bathroom door.
Maybe he had a question, or maybe… he wanted to go for round two. Perhaps he’ll offer to buy you some more bath bombs since the ones in his bath are now considered wasted supply.
He grins, and you glower. “You’re an amazing friend.”
