being Dex’s pretty princess, his chosen prize from his turn to the good side.
Ben had noticed you a few weeks prior in a cafe, already fixating on you just because of the smell of your perfume. watching you fiddle with the hair tie on your wrist, a slight indent on your skin from the pressure of it being there so long.
you turn around once you get your drink, a strawberry ry dragonfruit lemonade. hmm, a sweet tooth. his thoughts are already running rampant.
he’s already taking notes of your preferences, subconsciously obsessing over you without even realizing. your eyes meet his for a quick second, his possessive gaze turning nervous in seconds.
Dex’s breath hitches as your eyes gleam, the corner of your lips turning up in a way that makes his heart stutter.
Dex sees you again when he’s following you taking a walk outside of his usual path. His curious eyes follow you inside of a bar, watching how you sit on a bench and rest your head on your hands. He can see the way the weight on your shoulder seems to dissipate with every drink, every exhale forced out with a sigh.
for awhile he contemplates going in, starting a conversation with you, opening up the idea of a real friendship instead of just stalking you.
his thought process is annoyingly, interrupted when someone comes behind you, a bit too close for comfort, resting a hand on the small of your back. his pace picks up as his hands clench into fists, already inside the bar before the guy can even say some fuckass pick up line.
“you’re too close.” the guy balks for a second, not expecting the lady he’d seen drinking alone to have company.
“woah, i didn’t know man” he trails off with a slight tremor in his voice, unease creeping into his skin as Dex analyzes him. Remembering every part of his face so he can take care of him later.
A hand on his arm calms him though, looking down to see your wide eyed playful gaze. “it’s okay, he was just leaving.”
for a second, Dex thinks you’re talking about him. it’s not until your hand tightens around his arm as he moves away that he gets the hint.
finally alone, you smile and fully turn to him. a breathless “hi” leaves your lips, nerves firing up millions as you finally meet the man haunting your bedroom and your every step.
he stays silent for a bit, surprised that he finally gets to meet you, even more surprised that you seem to be showing interest in him. it’s only when you quirk an eyebrow at his silence that he remembers how to speak. “ oh fuck-hi, I’m Ben.”
Description: The reader is hooking up with both Matt and Dex separately until she gets sick for a few days.
Warning: Smut, reader has sex with both of them in their costumes (not at the same time), fingering, doggy style, unprotected sex
Word Count:3,146
She bit her lip as her hands ran up and down his muscles. Ever since he got out of prison, he had gotten bigger.
“You’ve gotten so big, so sexy.” She breathed out against his lips.
He smirked, moving a hand down her body.
“Yeah?” He teased and the hand lifted her shirt.
She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. He kissed her back as his hand moved up to cup her breasts. She whined into the kiss, feeling so needy after not having him for so long.
“Please don’t tease me.” She whispered against his lips.
It wasn’t that he wanted to tease her but felt every inch of her body, take his time with her. She wasn’t the only one that was desperate for touch after all this time. He moved away from her lips and started kissing her neck. Her eyes closed and she sighed; her hands moved to his hair. Everything about him was sexier.
His lips sucked and bit her skin, making her moan out his name. His hands moved away from her tits and down to her pajama bottoms. She felt his hands tug on the waistband causing her to buck her hips.
“Such a good obedient girl. Did you miss me?” He asked and playfully bit her ear.
“Yessso much.” She moaned as his fingers danced around her panty line.
He chuckled and bit her neck some more before ripping off her panties.
“Dex.” She exclaimed and her eyes opened.
“Sorry baby, you said you didn’t want me to tease you right?” Before she could answer she let out a loud moan at the feeling of his fingers on her wet pussy.
“Mmmm so wet.” He mumbled into her neck.
His finger lazily rubbed her clit in small circles. Her hips moved to match his pace, but she wanted more. A silent please left her lips and Dex gathered her wetness and stuck a finger inside of her. Her jaw dropped, his finger felt different than last time, it felt better. He pulled away from her neck to get a good look at her while he pumped his finger ever so slowly.
“You like that?” He asked, knowing she wanted more.
She huffed out a yes, and he chuckled, pumping his finger faster.
“Everything about me is bigger baby, gotta make sure you can take it.” He tells her and she moans at that.
He added another finger and curled them against her g spot. Her back arched and his name fell from her lips over and over again. He watched as her body responded to his touch. His other hand moved her shirt up her body so he could see her tits. He cupped one of them and toyed with the nipple.
“Dex, I want your cock.” She sobs and he smirks.
“But baby you’re so close already.” He teased, feeling her clinch tight on his fingers and her thighs were shaking.
She whined and gripped the sheets below her. She couldn’t think about anything other than the man pleasing her and how good he looked.
“Come on baby, cum for me and I’ll fuck you.” He says to her and she was eager.
Her hips were grinding so fast and messy as she felt the coil in her stomach snap. She felt her orgasm hit her hard and her eyes rolled. Dex watched her carefully as she came, loving every movement her body made. Every shake, every twitch and every sexy and broken noise that fell from her lips.
He let her ride out her high before removing his fingers, seeing her cum drench them.
He cleaned his fingers with his tongue and hummed, “Taste so good.”
She looked at him with needy eyes and he knew exactly what she wanted.
The leather gloves gripped her hips tight as she rode him. The mask was still on him as was the costume that she loved so much. Her arms were around his neck as she stared into the eyes of the mask. His jaw was dropped as she fucked him.
“Matt, you feel so good.” She whined and the grip on her hips got tighter.
Matt has always had a crush on her, ever since they first met in college, but she was never for serious relationships. She was the first person to find out that he was Daredevil after she let it slip one night that she wanted to fuck him. Matt couldn’t refuse and took her in the Daredevil costume. Now it was his favorite way they had sex.
Her riding him on a chair in his apartment with the suit on. One of his hands moved to cup her ass cheek before slapping it, causing her to cry out.
“So beautiful.” He groaned and felt her clench around him at that.
She leaned down and kissed him. The kiss was messy with tongue and nothing but pure lust. She was basically bouncing on his cock at this point just trying to reach her orgasm. Matt twitched inside of her and the grip he had on her ass and hip tightened a lot.
“Fuck Matt.” She cried out and he could feel her pussy spasm.
“I need you to cum for me.” He told her and she nodded.
Each thrust brought her closer and closer until she came hard. Her hips were twitching and shaking as she slowed down. Matt moaned as he came, filling her up.
Karen looked at her with concern as she ran to the bathroom moments after waking up. She set down her coffee that she was about to drink after hearing her best friend puke. She cleared her throat and waited for her to come out of the bathroom. Y/N groaned as she stumbled out of the bathroom and wiped her mouth, making her way over to the fridge for a bottle of water.
“Rough night?” Karen asked her with a smile.
Y/N nodded her head, “You could say that.” She said and opened the water, nearly chugging it.
Though she went out for drinks last night, that wasn’t the case the past four nights and each morning she woke up sick.
“Though this is the fourth morning in a row that I’ve puked.” She said and set down the water.
Karen finally took a sip of her coffee, “You’ve been drinking the past four nights?” She asked, never knowing her best friend to do that.
Y/N shook her head wildly, “No.” She said and ran a hand through her hair.
“Ugh I need a shower.” She said and went back to her room to grab some clothes.
After hearing that she had been puking four nights in a row, Karen decided that while Y/N was showering that she would leave and get some pregnancy tests and bring them back for her. She knew that Y/N had sex with Dex frequently and though she did not agree with that, she knew it was happening.
She felt nervous herself buying the tests. She had hoped that she wouldn’t be pregnant with Bullseye’s child. But when she got back to the apartment all she found was Matt at their kitchen table.
“Hey.” He greeted and Karen greeted him back.
She went to Y/N’s room and she wasn’t there.
“Uh Matt? Where’s Y/N?” She asked him as she went back into the kitchen.
“Said something about going on a jog.” He said and Karen hummed, knowing what that meant.
She set the bag on the table.
“What’s in the bag?” He asked and Karen sighed, knowing she should not tell Matt anything.
“Stuff for Y/N.” She said and hoped that would be the end of the conversation.
Y/N’s hands gripped the counter with such force as she let out a loud moan. Dex, who was in his bullseye costume, had a bruising grip on her hips as he fucked into her from the back. At first it started outside his apartment when he was getting ready to leave but Y/N came running up the flight of stairs and into his arms. She was horny, more horny than usual.
“We usually text about this first.” He mumbled against her lips and she sighed, “Yeah but a surprise is better.” She pulled away and winked.
His hair was messy from the mask and her pulling at it some. The mask was now on the table by her as he rutted his hips, knocking hers against the counter.
“Dex.” Her voice was needy and slutty.
Each thrust of his hips had him grunting, and she could get lost in that noise.
“I should punish you for coming to me unannounced like that.” He groaned and slapped her ass for what seemed to be the fifth time so far.
“Though I think you’d like it too much.” He groaned and she moaned at that.
She would, but that’s why he was obsessed with her. Her eyes rolled as his hands that were gloved, rubbed her sore ass. Though his hips never slowed or stopped, not that she wanted them too. One of his hands moved up along her back. She loved how sexy he looked in his costume, and the gloves were to die for.
He felt her squeeze him so tight and she started to pant.
“Dex.” She breathed out but he could feel it.
“You gonna cum?” He teased and that’s when he slowed his hips.
She whined and he chuckled, “You gotta beg for it.” He told her and kept his hips moving slowly.
“Your punishment for randomly pulling up when I’m about to leave.” He told her and she cried out his name.
“Please Dex.” She tried to move her own hips, but he laughed and grabbed them.
“Nice try.” He said and she whimpered.
“Dex please, I need to cum.” She cried out and he felt himself twitch at her words.
He was also teasing himself.
“Sounds so beautiful when you’re desperate.” He teases and starts pounding into her again.
“I think Y/N is pregnant.” Karen blurted out after 45 straight minutes of Matt pointing out that he can tell something was wrong.
“What?” He asked, and he felt his own heart nearly stopped.
“What makes you say that?” He asked so fast after the first question.
“She’s been having morning sickness for the past four days.” Matt was lucky that he had his glasses on because he was trying to focus on when the last time they had sex was until now.
Though they had sex two nights ago.
“Though that’s not even the worst part.” Karen sighed and prayed that Y/N wouldn’t be mad at her for telling Matt.
“What’s the worst part?” Matt almost seemed defensive, but Karen ignored it.
“She’s having sex with Bullseye. So if she is pregnant, it’s his.” Matt stood up immediately after she said this.
“She’s fucking Ben Poindexter?” He almost sounded mad but Karen wouldn’t have thought he was mad for the reasons that he was.
“Yes and I’m not happy about it either.” Matt sighed at her words.
He sat back down. He couldn’t believe that she was having sex with Dex and him. It was in that moment that Y/N came back into the apartment.
“Hey-”
“Where the hell were you?” Matt asked her.
Y/N looked confused and walked up to the table. She knew that Matt could hear her heartbeat so it was hard to lie.
“Exercising.” She said, in hopes that her heart stayed steady.
Karen cleared her throat and handed her the bag.
Y/N looked inside of the bag and nearly dropped it, “What the fuck?” She asked her best friend who shrugged.
“It’s a possibility.” She said and Y/N looked at Matt and realized what his problem was.
“Not that big of possibility.” She tried to remain cool.
“It is when you’re fucking two people.” Matt raised his voice.
Karen looked very confused at this point.
Y/N looked over at her with a death glare, “You told him?" Before Karen can answer Matt cut in, “Yeah so not only are you fucking me, but you’re also fucking Dex.” Karen’s jaw dropped, “What?” She looked at her best friend.
Y/N sighed and dropped the bag, taking a seat.
“You two are having sex?” Karen asked and Y/N groaned.
“I didn’t wanna tell you because you guys have a past and I thought it would be weird.” She said and Karen laughed.
“Weird? I think the fact that you’re having sex with Bullseye is weirder.” Karen said.
Matt agreed but that didn’t get him very far.
“Hey you kept it from me too.” She said to Matt.
Y/N grabbed the bag and went to the bathroom. Matt and Karen sat in silence as they waited for her to come out with positive or negative tests.
“Do you want it to be positive?” Karen asked him, breaking the silence.
Matt gave her a sarcastic laugh, “It might not even be mine.” Karen sighed, realizing that possibility.
Y/N emerged from the bathroom with the tests, “Well my life just got more interesting.” She said and they both looked at her.
“It’s positive. All of them are.” She said and Matt couldn’t breathe for a second.
Karen cleared her throat and thought for a second.
“Well you need to tell Dex about this.” She said and Y/N nodded, “Yeah that won’t be easy.” She sighed and sat back down.
Matt shook his head, “It’s a 50/50 chance that it’s mine.” He said,more to himself.
“Or it’s Dex’s.” Y/N said and he groaned.
“Like he would be a good father.” Y/N laid her head on the table.
“Matt, I’m sorry, okay? It’s not like I cheated on you; it was sex.” She pointed out and he hated that she was right.
“Yeah but you could’ve told me that there was someone else.” He said and she laughed.
“I don’t owe that to you. You didn’t tell Karen about Elektra.” She pointed out.
“That was different.” He defended and she agreed, “You’re right it was worse.”
“Guys!” Karen yelled and they stopped arguing.
“What’s important is telling Dex.” Karen said.
“Why are we eating at a diner? You love takeout.” Dex pointed out and Y/N agreed with him; she really did.
“Yes especially when it leads to hot sex after.” She pointed out and he smirked.
“Speaking of hot sex, you know that outcome of that right?” Dex looked confused for a moment on why she was even asking.
“Us having orgasms?” He asked, and she nodded, “That and-” She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the pregnancy tests.
She laid it on the table for him to see, “This.” He looked it and his eyes widened.
She watched his expression change so many times but none to fear or anger.
He was happy about it, “I’m gonna be a father.” He said softly and looked up at her.
She gave him a small smile, and he got up and pulled her out of the booth, hugging her.
“Possibly.” She mumbled into his chest.
He pulled away from the hug, “You’re thinking about getting rid of it?” He asked, scared and she shook her head.
“No but there is something you should know.” She said and her nerves rose.
Karen heard the noises from the stairs and she quickly got out her keys and opened the door to her apartment. She gasped loudly and closed the door loud catching their attention. Both men were definitely injured as Karen could see blood on both of them. They were both in their costumes and fighting.
“Are you guys serious?” She yelled and nearly got hit by something Bullseye threw.
“Hey!” She yelled, trying to get them to stop.
Matt kicked him in the chest, causing Dex to grunt.
“Matt, Dex!” She nearly screamed, not caring if the neighbors heard.
They both stopped and looked at her. Dex had hate and rage in his eyes.
“What the hell is going on?” She asked.
“Matt might be the father of my baby.”
“Well if I’m the father then does it really make it your baby?” Matt asked and Bullseye threw something at him that he caught.
“Where’s Y/N at?” Karen asked, ignoring them.
“In her room.” Matt said and Karen stormed into her friend’s room.
Y/N was eating snacks and watching TV.
“Hey.” She said without looking at Karen.
“They are out there fighting to the death over your baby and you’re in here acting like it’s not happening?” Karen asked, pissed.
“They’ll tire out.” She said and Karen scoffed, “Y/N they aren’t dogs.” She said and Y/N sighed and paused the TV, getting up and handing Karen the snack that she was eating.
She walked out to the living room.
“Okay I guess we should talk this out because violence isn’t working.” She patted both seats next to her and they immediately sat down.
“Maybe they are dogs.” Karen mumbled.
“The baby is one of yours and I think that it’s important that we discuss it and come to a conclusion.” She said looking at both men as she talked.
Dex took off his mask, “The baby is mine.” Matt laughed and took his off, “It doesn’t work like that.” Y/N sighed, “Of course you both want to be a dad, that’s convenient.” She sat up and placed her hands on their thighs.
“We all need to get along and try this because I like you both and I don’t want things to end between us.” She said and Matt looked at her confused, “What are you saying?” He asked and Dex cut in, “You want me to share you with him?” She looked at him, “Technically, you already were.”
“Not willingly.” He said and she squeezed his thigh.
“It won’t be so bad.” She turned to look at Matt.
“Come on I mean hot sex with two of the hottest guys I know? Turned relationship? Raising a baby together? I like the sound of that.” She said and Matt sighed.
“It’s also selfish.”
“Mmm it’s selfish of you guys to not want to share me.” She said and smiled.
“What about when the baby is born?” Dex asked and she turned to him.
“Well that won’t change anything, I’ll never get a DNA test unless you guys truly want to know but I want you both to love our child no matter what.” She places her hand on her stomach.
Dex looked at Matt and Matt was thinking about Dex.
“Okay so how would this work?” Matt asked her and she gasped excitedly.
“Only because we both love you.” Dex cut in and she felt her heart melt.
“I love you both as well.” She said and pulled them in.
“You two have to kiss though. Just once.” She said and pulled their faces closer.
Dex x reader fluff headcannons or Matt x reader fluff headcannons? (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
What about both🥰
Dex
• Dex loves that out of habit you call him baby, sweetheart, handsome. He’s so used to hearing about everything he’s done wrong and how violent he is that hearing you use such sweet words towards him always sends his heart into flutters.
• Dex also loves when it’s late at night and the only thing he can hear is you breathing and the ceiling fan. He thinks moments like these are best part of his day
Matt
• Matt loves that ever since you moved in you put little puffy stickers on all his boxes of food in the kitchen so he can tell the difference between what’s yours and his. He thinks it’s funny considering he has told you he’s daredevil and his senses are heightened so you don’t have to worry about do thing stuff like that, but he loves it none less.
•Another thing you do that Matthew Murdock loves is when you sometimes run late for work you’ll end up using his body wash in a rush because of how close the bottles are next to eachother in the shower. By the time you get home at the end of the day he can smell it on you still and it just sends a smirk right to his stupidly beautiful face.
I’m on season 2 episode 10 of daredevil (already watched the punisher) and I’m willing to write for the characters if any requests are sent my way! Once I get to Poindexter I’ll write him too!
Read part one here: https://www.tumblr.com/sleepinginstardustwrites/820083232325419008/even-the-devil-keeps-vigil
Summary: Your marriage didn't end because Matt stopped loving you. It ended because he loved you in the most self-destructive way available to him. He's spent the last three weeks ignoring you after you found out where he's actually been at night. What happens when you stop him after your appointment with the mediator two weeks before your divorce is supposed to be finalized?
WC: 5,692
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this, Matt. I doubt that you're going to call me back, but fuck, I just need to know you're alive. Call me back if you think of it.
Matt listened to your voicemail again in the cab on the way to the mediator’s. It was from the night he'd listened to your name chime from his phone on his nightstand over and over, but his own cowardice let it ring. He had it memorized down to the exact second your voice caught, forty seconds in, right before you took a breath and went back to the clipped voice he’d become used to.
He deserved it, of course – how could he not after everything he’d put you through.
He'd never called back, but he'd kept the voicemails instead, which felt like either the bare minimum of cowardice or the only honest thing he'd done in months. He played it twice more before the cab pulled up outside the mediator's office, both times bracing for the catch in your voice. Part of him thought it might hurt less with practice.
Unfortunately for him, it never did. Every time he listened to your messages, or when he thought about what he heard you say on what would have been your wedding anniversary, the ache in his heart grew deeper.
Matt arrived at Ross, Toro, and Hurley’s twenty minutes early. Punctuality was a reflex he couldn't seem to turn off, even on a day he knew was going to destroy him. Foggy had offered to come, but Matt had said no.
Part of him regretted it almost immediately once he was sitting alone in a waiting room that smelled like burnt coffee and stress-sweat, with nothing to do but listen to his own heartbeat outpace itself and think about exactly how little right he had to ask for anything from the woman about to walk through that door.
The receptionist offered him water twice. He declined twice, mostly because he didn't trust his hands enough to hold a small bottle of water. They also only had Dasani, which Matt couldn’t stomach without it being obvious that he could taste every added chemical, and that the water itself tasted like it came straight out of a community pool. He counted the seconds between the wall clock's ticks out of habit – something he’d developed when he needed his senses doing something productive instead of replaying your voicemails.
He heard your footsteps coming down the hall. When you entered, you gave him a clipped good morning and took a seat across the room from him. He gave one back, equally clipped but slightly warmer, and told himself the ache in his chest at hearing your voice was just background noise.
Someone calling out “Appointment for Murdock” snapped Matt out of his brain fog, and the two of you walked back into the mediator’s office.
The mediator's name was Patricia Hurley. She had the specific, practiced calm of someone who'd spent a career in rooms exactly like this one. It was a calm Matt recognized, because he used a version of it himself in depositions when the alternative was letting people see exactly how much he cared about the outcome.
"Let's start with the apartment," Patricia said, and Matt felt the air in the room change before anyone said anything else.
"The apartment's not in dispute," Matt said, before Patricia even finished. "It's hers, we settled that months ago."
"Correct," Patricia said, glancing at her folder. “The two of you seem to have settled on most of the big stuff before your appointment today, which is both unexpected and much appreciated. There's a note here about some remaining personal items, though."
"His braille books," you said. "And a mug."
"You can keep the mug," Matt said.
"I don't want the mug."
"Then throw it away."
"I'm not going to throw away your law school mug, Matt, that's –"
"You drink out of it more than I do." His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Do whatever’s easiest for you."
Matt could hear Patricia’s pen pause on the page as soon as the words left his mouth. She was choosing not to comment on something she’d clearly noticed.
"Moving on," Patricia said. "The checking account's already split per the prenuptial agreement. Neither of you has visited the storage unit on Fifty-Third in six months, according to the access log."
"We know," you both said, at almost the same time. Neither of you acknowledged it.
"I can go through it this week," you said finally. "I'll set aside anything that's yours."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to. I'm offering."
"Okay." His voice had gone quiet. "Thank you."
You got through insurance, and you got through the joint credit card, closed months ago, and a dozen smaller logistics Patricia efficiently moved through. By the time she reached the section marked Personal Property and Sentimental Items, Matt had stopped being able to tell whether the tightness in his chest was grief, want, or some combination of the two he couldn’t name.
"Do either of you want your wedding photos?"
Neither of them answered right away.
"I'll send it to you," Matt said finally. "You should have them, especially since you can, you know, see them."
"I don't want it if you don't want me to have it."
"What about your records?"
"Whatever you want," he said again. "I mean that for all of it. I'm not going to fight you over photographs, and I know you have a few favorites from my vinyl collection. They’re yours if you want them."
“I can’t take your Beggar’s Banquet record.”
"I want you to have it." His voice had gone quiet in a way he hadn't planned for. "I want you to have whatever you want, actually."
Patricia cleared her throat, which was the universal mediator signal for moving things along before they got any less professional, and the rest of the session passed in a blur.
"That concludes everything on my end," Patricia said, gathering the paperwork. "I'll have the final draft to both your attorneys by next Friday, if the two of you decide to continue with your divorce."
THUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
Matt sat for a moment and shut his eyes, listening to your heart rate tick up when Patricia said if you decide to continue. It wasn’t from anger, or excitement – truth be told, Matt couldn’t figure out why your heart rate went up. For a split second he thought that maybe God was on his side, and his prayers for reconciling were about to be answered.
But you were the one who wanted the divorce, right?
The elevator ride down was four floors of silence he didn't know what to do with. He counted the dings anyway, out of habit, and by the time the doors opened onto the lobby he still hadn't decided whether four floors had been too long or nowhere near long enough before he was on the sidewalk, head tilted toward the street trying to pick out which approaching engine belonged to the car service. He heard your footsteps moving towards him faster than your usual walking pace, but slower than if you were to have been running.
"We need to talk, Matt."
He didn't turn around right away. When he did, he made his expression as carefully blank as he could manage.
"About what?"
"About the big, red elephant in the room!” Matt felt your pulse tick up, up, up with anger. "You've ignored my calls for three weeks. I know, Matt, and instead of owning up to it, you looked me dead in the face and ran. You let me believe, the whole time, that you'd been – " You took a deep breath to collect yourself. "I'm not doing this on a sidewalk. We are talking about this, whether you want to or not, because I am done being the only person in this divorce who doesn't know anything."
He let that sit for a long moment. Then he smiled.
"Karen and Foggy go home around five," he said. "Come by the office after."
He felt your surprise at it before you said anything based on a shift in your breathing. It wasn't the smile he used to give you, before any of this – this one had something underneath it, almost like relief. Matt didn't wait for you to agree. He just turned back toward the curb, and got into his Uber back to Nelson, Murdock and Page.
Foggy clocked something was off the second Matt got back from the mediation – granted they’d worked together for ten years, and had been college roommates for four before that, which game him years of practice reading Matt through every kind of disaster, He spent the better part of an hour finding reasons to walk past Matt's office, each excuse thinner than the last, until he finally just planted himself in the doorway around four-thirty.
"You gonna tell me why you look like you got hit by a truck," Foggy said, "or am I supposed to guess?"
"I'm fine."
"You've been 'fine' for three weeks, buddy, and it's gotten progressively less convincing each time." A pause. "She found out, didn't she."
Matt chose that time to be really interested in a loose thread on his suit jacket.
"Oh, this is great. This is genuinely the best thing that's happened, and I want you to know I feel a little bad about that, but not bad enough to stop because you can finally fucking talk to her."
"Glad my divorce is entertaining for you."
"How'd she find out, exactly? Did you finally trip over your own cape in front of her, or –"
"I don’t have a cape, Foggy."
"Seriously, though. How bad is it?"
"I've spent three weeks not answering her calls."
"Matt, buddy, my avocado at law, and love of my professional life – you do understand that's the single dumbest possible response to that situation, right? Out of every option available to you, you found the one that makes you look the most guilty and the least trustworthy at the same time. That takes a special kind of talent."
"I'm aware."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you panicked and then doubled down on the panic for twenty-one straight days."
"Thank you for the math."
"I do it so you don't have to." Foggy's voice softened, the teasing dropping out from under it for a second. "Matt. You're still in love with her. Karen and I have been watching you not deal with this for months. At some point you've gotta stop being a lawyer about your own divorce and just –" Matt heard Foggy’s shirtsleeve rustle against his jacket as he made some gesture Matt couldn't see, but could absolutely picture as the universal Foggy shorthand for figure your shit out, man. "Actually talk to her, don’t do whatever it is you've been doing instead."
"I saw her today at the mediation."
"And?"
"And I asked her to come by the office after you two leave."
There was a beat of silence long enough that Matt could practically hear Foggy doing the math on it.
"You're telling me," Foggy said slowly, "that you have a date with your soon-to-be-ex-wife in this very office tonight, and you mentioned it to me at four-thirty, on your way to looking like you got hit by that truck I brought up earlier?"
"It's not a date."
"Buddy. It is absolutely a date."
"Foggy."
"I'm just saying, if I had a dollar for every time you called something 'not a date' that ended up with you between –"
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"I do, actually, which is the only reason I'm not staying here interrogating you about this for the next three hours, much as I would enjoy it." Foggy pushed off the doorframe. "Good luck tonight. Try not to lawyer your way out of an actual conversation for once in your life."
Karen hadn't been any subtler on her way out the door. "For what it's worth," she'd said, pausing by his desk, "even Frank knows you're still in love with her. You're not as unreadable as you think you are."
"Foggy already covered that."
"I know, but you should hear it from two sources, in case you were planning to dismiss it as one person's opinion." She'd patted his shoulder on her way past. "Go fix your marriage, Murdock. Or don’t. Just don't be an idiot about it."
He'd sat with that for the better part of an hour after they left, alone in an office that felt considerably bigger empty than it ever did full, running his thumb over a ring he still hadn't taken off and trying to decide what he was supposed to do with the rest of tonight.
Somewhere around the forty-minute mark, he found himself praying, which wasn't unusual – he prayed more than most people, more than he let on even to Foggy, who'd long since stopped being surprised by it – but it was unusual that he didn't have a clear request to make. He wasn't asking for forgiveness yet; that belonged in the confessional, where he'd take it whether tonight went well or not. He wasn't asking for the conversation to go well either, because some old habit of honesty made him suspicious of asking God for outcomes he hadn't done anything to earn.
What he settled on, was a Heavenly Father, quiet the fear in my heart that tempts me to fall into defensiveness or despair. Replace my anxiety with the peace that surpasses understanding . Grant me the grace to engage with understanding, so that both of us may experience Your healing power today. Amen. He said it twice, like repetition might be the thing that finally made him believe it. He still didn't have an answer for what he'd actually say, how he'd start, or whether honesty alone could undo a year of his absence, when he heard you on the stairs.
He stood. Straightened his tie out of a habit that had nothing to do with anyone seeing it, and said one more quiet thing to no one in particular before the door opened.
Please.
You'd rehearsed three different versions of the conversation on the walk to Nelson, Murdock & Page, ranging from icy and brief to something with specifics l and grievances you'd planned to lay out one at a time so he couldn't dodge a single one. You'd planned not to feel anything until you'd said it all.
Unfortunately, that plan lasted exactly as long as it took to open the door.
The office was empty around him – no Foggy, no Karen, no buffer of any kind between the two of you and three weeks of silence. You'd spent three weeks certain whatever you felt walking in here would be pure, uncomplicated anger.
It wasn't uncomplicated; it never had been, not once in the five years you were happily married.
The door opened, and the first thing you saw was Matt standing too straight, like a man bracing for a verdict he'd already decided he deserved.
"I'm sorry," he said with no preamble.
You didn't move from the doorway. "That's it? Three weeks of nothing, and that's what you've got?"
"I have a lot more than that, but I didn't think you'd want to start there." He took a step toward you, slow, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. You didn't take it. "I let you believe I was unfaithful because I thought it would protect you. I signed those papers. I told myself losing you on those terms was safer than losing you on the real ones."
"Protect me?" The words came out flat. "Matt, I didn't know you were a fucking vigilante. I used to lie awake thinking you were being mugged and not telling me, I had no idea I was supposed to be afraid you might not come home one night. You took my right to actually be scared for you, away from me."
"I know."
"Do you?" Your voice cracked, the calm finally gone. "I started checking myself in mirrors for the flaw. I'd see a woman on the street and wonder if she was whoever you may have been cheating on me with. I would wonder if she was younger, prettier, whatever I'd clearly stopped being. I found marks on your back that looked like fingernails. I know now they were blade cuts.”
Your eyes started to burn, but you blinked the tears away. “I spent eighteen months hating myself for a crime that never happened, and you let me. You sat there every time I cried and let me believe I'd driven you away, when the truth was sitting right behind your teeth the whole time."
Matt had braced for your anger. He hadn't braced the specific detail of how you’d been feeling for over a year and a half, delivered thin and exhausted instead of furious.
“I knew I was hurting you," he said finally, his own voice unsteady. "I told myself you'd be devastated and eventually fine, the way people are after a marriage ends. I never let myself imagine you doing that math in front of a mirror because of something I did." He had to stop and find his footing again. "I am so sorry, and I need you to know I'd undo all of it if I could, and I can't, and I have to live with that."
"You don't get to just –"
"I'm not asking you to forgive me." His voice cracked properly this time. "I'm not even asking you to believe me. I just needed you to hear me say it out loud. I know what I did to you. Me. Not some imaginary woman."
You hadn't expected him to come apart like that; Matt, who built a career on staying composed in rooms designed to break people, standing there with his composure gone.
"I'm still angry," you said quietly. "That doesn't go away because you said all of that."
"I know."
"But I believe you didn't know about the mirrors." Your hand found his chest, resting there, feeling his heart going faster than it should have. "I think I needed you to actually feel something, and not just apologize for the sake of."
"I feel it." His hand hovered near your face like he wasn't sure he'd earned the right to finish the motion. "I’ve felt it every day for a year."
You closed the distance yourself, forehead dropping against his chest, his arms coming around you slow and careful, like he was afraid you'd change your mind.
"I missed you," you said into his shirt, the words coming out rougher than you meant them to. "I hate that I missed you the whole time I wanted to scream at you." You pulled back enough to face him. "I'm still so angry I could hit you. Some part of me still wants to."
"Then hit me." He said it like he meant it. "I’ve had worse, and I won't stop you."
You didn't hit him. You grabbed the front of his shirt instead, hard enough that a button strained, and kissed him like the anger hadn't gone anywhere. His hands gripped your waist almost immediately, and the kiss turned into teeth clashing, his name leaving you on something between a curse and a plea, both of you trying to consume an entire year of distance in one furious collision.
He walked you backward through the lobby without breaking the kiss once, one hand finding the wall for balance before correcting course toward his actual office, not the reception area, where anyone walking through the hallway could see exactly what Nelson, Murdock, & Page's most well-known attorney got up to after hours. You barely registered the change in rooms until your back found the edge of his desk.
The desk was right there. The folder full of dissolution paperwork was right there too, and somehow that didn't stop either of you. He lifted you onto the desk, papers crumpling and sliding beneath you, and you couldn't have cared less about anything with a case number on it.
"Matt –"
"I know." His voice had gone low, rough, his forehead dropping to yours for one second like he needed it as much as you did. "I'm not stopping unless you tell me to."
You didn't tell him to.
He undressed you slowly, his mouth following every inch of skin he uncovered like he was relearning a map he'd been forbidden from reading for months. You realized, somewhere in the haze of it, that he wasn't rushing because he didn't need to – there wasn’t a fight waiting three blocks away, or a high-profile case he had to work on.
For the first time in longer than either of you wanted to admit, Matt had nothing but time, and the way his hands moved told you he intended to spend every second of it making up for the time he hadn't had. When he finally pushed the shirt off your shoulders, his hands traced the newly bared skin like he was recommitting it to memory. The swell of your collarbone and the spot where your neck met your shoulder were places he used to know better than his own hands and had spent a year trying to forget.
"Matt, I swear to God, if you don't –"
"I will." His breath caught as his mouth found the curve of your breast through your bra before he unclasped it. "I'm not rushing this, especially after everything I owe you."
Matt’s lips made their way down your sides and between your thighs before he was on his knees in front of the desk, His hands slowly slid up the outsides of your thighs before parting them and ghosting his lips across your clothed center.
“Help me get these off, sweetheart.” He mumbled as he hooked his thumbs into the top of your bottoms. “I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do.”
The first swipe of his tongue up your folds was tentative, even though his body clearly hadn't forgotten a single thing it used to know about yours. He did one more swipe, then another before his lips wrapped themselves around your bud.
"Oh… Matt –"
"Mm." The sound he made against your lips might as well have been told you. He pulled back just far enough to talk, his breath hot against your slick. "Can’t hear you." He mumbled before pressing a kiss to your mound. His hands pinned your hips to the desk every time you tried to chase a faster pace, until the only thing left to do was let him set it himself. He remembered what used to undo you in seconds and didn't deviate until your thighs were shaking against the sides of his head.
"Matt…" Your hand found his hair, not pushing him away, not entirely sure what you wanted except more. "Matt, I can't –"
"One more sweetheart, you can do it." He didn't lift himself away from your center as his tongue circled your entrance. He pulled away, and two of his fingers slid inside you in the same breath, curling slowly and finding the spot he'd never once forgotten despite the lack of sex at the end of your marriage. "I owe you at least a year of these."
As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. The second one took you apart even faster than the first, his fingers and his mouth working in perfect, ruthless tandem, thighs trembling around his shoulders, his name and several things that weren't words at all spilling out of you into the empty office, loud enough that some distant, mortified part of you was grateful for how solid the walls in this building were.
When he finally pulled back, his face was covered in your slick, and he had the single most satisfied expression you'd ever seen on his face.
"You're unbelievable," you managed, voice wrecked.
"I aim to please." He stood and undid his belt with unsteady hands, and you reached for him before he'd even finished. You got his shirt open, hands flat against the heat of his chest, feeling his heart slamming against your palm just as hard as yours was slamming in your chest.
"Tell me something," you breathed, fingers working his belt the rest of the way. "All those law school girls, did any of them get this?"
"No." His voice had dropped, gone rough with want. He caught your jaw, made you look at him. "That's not – slow is just for you. Not for anyone else. Ever." He paused right at your entrance, forehead dropping to yours, breath ragged. "Tell me you want this. I need to hear you say it."
"I want this." The answer came out immediately. "Matt, I want you, please –"
“Please what, sweetheart?”
“Please fuck me, Matt.”
Matt pushed inside of you slowly, holding still for one long second after, like he couldn’t trust the moment to be real yet. You were tight around him, slick, impossibly perfect, and he needed a moment to savor the closeness he never thought he would have the privilege of having again.
"For the record," he murmured against your jaw before nipping the spot under your ear, "our sex life was never boring. And there's no dominatrix."
You barely registered the words, lost somewhere in the stretch and the heat and the simple fact that he was finally, finally inside you again. "What –"
"Nothing." He kissed the question off your mouth before you could chase it any further. "Later."
He kept one hand braced against the desk as he started to move, papers sliding further beneath you with every motion, and the other found your face again, like he couldn't stop checking you were real, that this was actually happening, that you hadn't disappeared the way every good thing in his life eventually found a way to.
He set a pace that built slowly, like a man determined to give you everything he'd withheld for a year, all at once, like there might not be a second chance to do it properly. Every thrust dragged rough, out of his throat, low enough that you felt it more than heard it, his hips finding the angle that had you arching off the desk within minutes.
"Matt, please…" The papers crumpled further beneath you. "Harder, I need –"
"Yeah?" His voice had lost every trace of its earlier control, gone rough and wanting in a way that undid you almost as much as his hips did. "This what you needed? Wanted to know if I'd still remember how you like it?"
"Matt –"
"Tell me. Tell me you still feel this." He put one of his hands under your pelvis, the new angle pulling a sound out of you that didn't sound entirely human, his own breathing gone ragged and uneven against your ear. "Tell me you still – fuck!"
"Yes!" Whatever the question fully was, the answer was yes, had always been yes, no matter how much paperwork either of you signed. "Matt, yes, don't stop, don't you dare stop –"
"Not stopping." His grip on your hip tightened, his thumb coming between you to circle your clip, his voice dropping lower. "Not for anything. Not for the firm, not for that decree, not for anyone who ever came before you. Just you, always just you."
You came around with his name in your mouth and the raised bumps of Matt’s copy of the divorce papers pressed hard into the back of your upper thigh. Matt’s climax tore out of him shortly after, with a sound that was half your name and half of a moan, face buried against your neck. He stayed there afterward, still inside you, both of you breathing hard against each other, his thumb tracing slow absent circles against your hip like he wasn't ready to stop touching you yet.
"I love you," he said, muffled against your skin, like he hadn't fully decided to say it out loud until it was already out. "I never stopped. Not for one single day of any of this."
You didn't say it back. Not yet. Some part of you still needed to hold onto that, even now, even like this. But you threaded your fingers through his hair anyway and let him stay exactly where he was for as long as he needed to.
It took a while to actually move after you finished. You found your shirt first, then his, both of you dressing in silence. He gathered the scattered papers off the desk without being asked, straightening them into something resembling order, and by the time you were both sitting – him in his desk chair, you on the corner of the desk itself, knee almost touching his – the silence had stopped being awkward, and started being the kind that just needed someone to break it first.
You broke it.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were Daredevil, Matt?”
Matt took a deep breath before he spoke. “I was going to tell you before we started working on the Fisk trial, but I decided against it for your own safety. I'm the one who built the legal case that finally put him away, and I’m also the man under the mask who spent years before that taking apart his operation piece by piece, long before the legal case ever had enough to work with." His voice had gone softer. "The day Fisk ever figures out that I’m also Daredevil, the first thing he's going to look for is whoever I'd do anything to protect. Not because of anything you did, or anything you are. Just because you're mine, and that alone would be enough for him.
"There's also an organization called The Hand. You've never heard of them, which is exactly how I wanted it to stay.” He said after a moment. “They don't care about money or territory the way everyone else in this city does. They care about leverage. They’ll find the people who matter to someone and use them however they see fit. They've done it before. I watched it happen once, and I promised myself I'd never let it happen to you, no matter what it cost me to keep that promise.”
"So you decided I was safer hating you?”
"I decided you were safer not existing, as far as The Hand were concerned." His voice had gone rough. "I know how that sounds, and I knew how it sounded the entire year I was doing it, and I did it anyway, because the alternative was you becoming a name on a list of people worth hurting to get to me. That wasn't a risk I was willing to take, even if it was a small one. I told myself it was the responsible thing to do. It took a long time, and a lot of very pointed commentary from Foggy and Karen, to admit some part of it was also just fear of losing you on terms I couldn't control."
"That makes sense," you said. "It doesn't explain the cruelty. You didn't have to let me believe you were unfaithful. You could have found a hundred other lies that didn't make me hate myself."
He didn't argue that.
"No," he said. "I couldn't have. Not because there wasn't a better lie, because there definitely was, but because some part of me wanted it to end on terms where you got to be the one who left. I’d rather be the cheating husband you safely walked away from, instead of the man you might have walked away from anyway, with the full truth, but with a target on your back." His voice had gone thin. “I'd rather you hate me for something I didn't do than know for certain you left because of something I am.”
You let that sit for a long moment.
"I spent a year hating myself because of that cowardice," you said.
"I know, and I'm so fucking sorry. I did that to you. I'm not going to spend the rest of tonight asking you to absolve me of it, because I haven’t earned that yet. I just need you to know I hear you."
You sat up slowly and looked at him in a way you hadn't let yourself in over a year. "I'm not ready to undo the separation, I want to be clear about that. I don't think either of us should pretend tonight fixes a year of this."
"I'm not asking you to pretend that."
"But I don't want to keep moving toward something final right now either." You looked down at his hand where his wedding ring still sat. "I think I want to pause the proceedings for now. And I think we should actually talk to a therapist, or some sort of professional, not just to each other in your office at midnight after sleeping together on top of our own divorce papers."
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk. "Probably not, no."
"I'm not promising you anything beyond that," you said. "This isn't 'we're back together,' this is 'I'm willing to find out if there's still something left worth working on’, and you do not get to take that as a guarantee."
"I'm not taking it as a guarantee." His hand found yours, gentle, like he was asking permission with the gesture itself. "I'm taking it as more than I thought I'd get to have tonight. That's enough for me to work with."
You let him hold your hand for the first time in seven months. You didn't have an answer yet for if this was a turning point in your relationship, or just a very complicated detour on the way to the same ending, but for the first time in over a year, you weren't carrying any of it alone.
Taglist, and by taglist, I mean people who asked about a part 2: @ren-ash, @peterftpercy
Read part 2 here: https://www.tumblr.com/sleepinginstardustwrites/820526804904361984/last-years-wishes-this-years-apologies
SUMMARY: Matt Murdock is still wearing his wedding ring and still watching over the woman who left him from the rooftops, half a block back, for "no particular reason at all."
You think the marriage ended because he cheated, and he let you believe it, because the truth was the one thing he could never let you carry.
Then one ordinary night, one ordinary act of violence, and you finally get close enough to recognize exactly who's been keeping you safe.
I was inspired by @peterftpercy ’s Divorce Papers and @nghtwngs ’s I wasn’t there when you needed me and I’m sorry prompt for this fic!
"Are you cheating on me?"
Nelson, Murdock & Page had kept Matt until eight. The rest of the night had kept him considerably longer than that, and he’d used the walk home to settle into the right kind of tired before he let himself in. His jacket went over the back of a chair, and his keys went into the bowl before he spoke. “Where’s this coming from?”
“You’ve come home at four in the morning three nights in a row this week, and I called Fogwell’s. They told me you haven’t been in for four days, Matt. Four days, and you’ve told me three different times this week that’s where you've been.”
He opened his mouth, but there wasn’t anything he could say to you in this moment that would make this better.
“I called the office, too,” you continued. “Foggy said you left at eight. So I’m begging you: where do you go, every single night, for hours, when it’s not the gym and it’s not the office?”
“Work ran into something I had to handle –”
“That’s not an answer, Matt.”
He felt relief that you were still sharp, and hated himself for finding anything to be grateful for in the middle of it.
“I’m not cheating on you.”
You let out a long, slow exhale. “Then what is it? I’ve spent half of our marriage trying to figure out why you’re not home until almost dawn some nights. The only story that ever adds up is the one where there’s someone else. So either give me something that actually makes sense, or stop making me feel crazy for believing the only explanation that does.”
"You think I'd do that to you." His voice came out sharper, defensiveness rising before he could stop it. "You really think the answer is someone else?"
"I don't know what to think. That's the entire problem, Matt. You won't give me any alternatives."
"Because there's nothing there to give you."
"Then where do you go?" Your voice cracked finally. "Every night for hours, sometimes even on days you have court. If it's not her, if it's not the gym, if it's not the office, then where are you at night, Matt?"
This was it. The door, wide open, exactly the way he'd imagined it a hundred times in the dark. It left him nowhere to go but toward the truth or away from you for good.
Just this once. She’s owed this.
"If I told you I’m –" He caught it by the throat before it could finish forming and rearrange both their lives permanently. “Sweetheart, I promise it’s not what you think –“
“Save it,” you said.
He heard the small clatter of your wedding ring against the counter, and then the swish of papers, set down one after the other. He reached for the counter and found them; the first set was ordinary paper under, and then the second – Matt’s hands went still as they felt over Divorce Decree.
Even when handing him the end of their marriage, you’d thought about how he’d need to read it. That small act of consideration was the thing that almost undid him where nothing else had.
“Matt. I know you’ve been cheating on me. I saw the scratches on your back and chest when you changed your shirt yesterday morning.”
He signed where you put the post-it on the official copy after reading through the divorce documents – the prenuptial agreement would go on as is, and the two of you would figure out the rest later in mediation.
“Need me to sign anywhere else?” Matt asked you, waiting for a no from you before setting the pen down on the counter.
The door didn’t slam when she took the papers and left the room. You weren't that kind of angry, but Matt wished you were, because that would be easier to digest than this.
He stood at the kitchen counter for a long time after, fingers resting on the braille copy. Then he turned his own ring, once, twice, three times around his finger before he took his glasses off and set them on the counter.
Even when he’d been faithful, and even though it absolutely devastated him, he owed you that much.
After all, this was for your own good.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The words came out by muscle memory. "It's been a week since my last Confession."
"It must have been an eventful week."
The priest let him have the silence until Matt was ready to put something into it.
Somewhere behind him an elderly woman quickly worked through a decade of the Luminous Mysteries. The pang in his stomach reminded him hadn't eaten that day, hadn't really eaten the day before either.
"I let my wife believe I was unfaithful," he said finally. "I wasn't. I'm not, I want that on the record, for whatever it's worth, because some part of me wants credit for the one thing I didn't actually do. It’s its own kind of sin, probably, in the middle of everything I did do."
"And what did you do?"
"I let her ask me a direct question, and I gave her a lie shaped like an answer." He turned the ring once on his finger before he kept going. "The truth would put her in danger, Father, but I don't think it's the only reason I didn't say it."
"What's the other reason?"
The rosary kept moving behind him, click against click.
O my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls into heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy. Amen.
"If I told her, I would be putting her in danger. I think some part of me wanted it to end like this," Matt said. "Where I get to be the version of myself that lost her instead of the version that told her everything and watched her decide I wasn't worth staying for.” Matt took a deep breath in and caught the notes of myrrh and frankincense from the incense in the air. “Father, I'd rather be the liar she left than the man she might have left anyway."
Silence.
"That's not protecting her," the priest said.
"No," Matt took a minute to reflect on the last year; he’d watched you build a smaller, quieter version of yourself around a question he wouldn't answer. He thought about the small things you did for him, like narrating the news to him while you made coffee, like he couldn't already hear the television fine on his own. He missed the feeling of you when you were asleep against his arm, on nights when nothing in the city was on fire.
"I'm still wearing my wedding ring," he said. It came out quieter than the rest.
"Why?”
"Because it's the one piece of penance I get to choose myself."
"That's not what I asked." The patience in the priest's voice wore thin for just a second, just enough to let something sharper through. "Did you actually believe pushing your wife away was a selfless act? Or are you justifying being selfish?"
Matt didn't answer that. His penance was to reread and reflect on 1 Peter 3:7 and to take action on being honest with his now ex-wife.
Likewise you husbands, live considerately with your wives, bestowing honor on the woman, since you are joint heirs of the grace of life, in order that your prayers may not be hindered.
Routine became the only architecture Matt had left, after that.
The wannabe mugger on West Forty-Second didn't know he'd already lost when he clocked your pulse spike as the man followed you home from work one night.
Matt was three rooftops over, and he didn't think about it. He dropped down ahead of the man's route and said boo, and watched the man find an excuse toward the bodega instead.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, he’d just rearranged a street before you knew it needed to be.
You walked past four minutes later, headphones in, laughing at your phone. He stayed until he heard your door lock, then left before the yearning could build into something worse than it was.
Most nights went like that, some nights there wasn't even a mugger to redirect – there was only you, walking home from a late shift, too tired for the performance you kept up during the day. He went with you anyway, always half a block back, roof to roof, listening for your pulse to drop from city-alert to almost-home.
One of those nights, a man on Twelfth Avenue had been three blocks behind you for too long.
He was patient. Too patient. Patient in a way Matt's senses flagged faster than conscious thought ever could. You had earbuds in, already composing whatever text you planned to send once you got inside.
You were entirely unaware that twenty feet behind you, a man with very specific intentions had just had his night ended.
Matt didn't make it quick, and you never heard a thing over your music.
You let yourself into your building four minutes later, the same as always, while Matt stood over the man on Twelfth with his knuckles split open inside the gloves, breathing hard. He didn't feel a single thing close to guilty about it.
It wasn't much, any of it. It wasn't a marriage or honesty or anything you’d have wanted if you knew the shape it actually took. But it was the only version of taking care of you Matt still had access to, and he took it every time.
He told himself it could go on like this indefinitely. He told himself that right up until the calendar handed him a date he couldn't talk himself out of.
Your wedding anniversary fell on a Thursday.
Six years ago, your wedding day was on a Saturday, and he'd stood at the front of a small chapel and promised a version of forever he'd started lying inside of before the ink dried.
You had been out with friends that night, somewhere loud enough that it took him a full minute to find her heartbeat in all the others. He told himself he had no reason to be anywhere near that part of the city, but he went anyway.
A decent man would have stayed home. He wasn't being decent tonight – he was just a man, still in love with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the one night of the year he had the least right to be.
He'd spent the better part of four months arguing himself out of it and lost every time, to the same plain fact underneath it all: Matt loved you exactly as much as he had the day he married you. Maybe more, with the specific uselessness of something he'd ruined himself and still couldn't put down.
He swept past the block at eight. Again near ten. Once more closer to eleven, for no particular reason at all – except that the particular reason was the only thing he'd thought about since he heard what the day’s date had been.
He gave himself thirty seconds of just listening for you before whatever was left of his self-respect made him leave e
Matt didn't get far.
Two hours later he picked you back up at the corner and made sure you got safely home from half a block out. You made it inside fine. You always did.
He found a perch across from your kitchen window anyway. He'd stopped manufacturing reasons for that part somewhere around his second loop past the bar.
Your voice on the phone came through before the words did – it was a little loose with drink, still trying to hold steady.
"...no, I'm fine," you said. "It's just a day."
Matt couldn’t make out what the other voice on the phone was saying, but his heart dropped when he heard what you had to say next.
"I don't know. I think I always knew, actually. I just wish he’d have told me our sex life was boring before he went and found himself a dominatrix. Some of those marks looked really nasty." A small, wet sound, not quite a laugh escaped your lips. "Anyways, it's just a day."
He pulled his gloves off and found his wedding ring with his thumb – even months after the kitchen, he still hadn’t taken it off. He pressed into it and held still.
You believed it. The whole wrong shape of it, built out of a lie he'd chosen for you, and there was nothing he could do about that from a rooftop three buildings over except stand there and feel exactly what he'd built.
He put his gloves back on and stayed until your light went out.
The divorce itself wasn't even final yet – New York didn't move fast for anyone, not even people in a hurry to be done with each other, and the paperwork was still grinding through a system that measured itself in quarters, not weeks.
You kept the apartment, and Matt had gone back to his old place where the neon sign glowed at night. The last of your boxes were gone, and the prenup he'd written years ago, back when forever still felt like a reasonable thing to put his name to, had done exactly the job he'd built it to do. Legally, you were two people efficiently becoming strangers. Everything else about it was taking considerably longer.
He'd told himself the watching would taper off eventually. Five months in, it hadn't.
He was three blocks from your building, route memorized down to which manhole cover rattled, when your heartbeat changed.
He heard the particular spike of your pulse. He'd know it inside a crowd of ten thousand, but then he heard the men in the alley. He covered the distance faster than his back would have liked and didn't slow down to negotiate.
He didn't redirect this one – three men had you backed into a corridor that smelled like motor oil and old piss, and whatever had kept him careful for the past few months simply wasn't there anymore.
It cost him.
A fist caught his jaw early, hard enough that the world tipped sideways for a half-second he couldn't spare. A knee found the ribs that hadn’t set right since spring, and his next breath came out more sound than air. He kept moving through it anyway – his body wasn't taking votes, not with you four feet away and nowhere left to retreat into.
Somewhere in the scramble, the glove on his left hand tore loose on a buckle or a blade, gone before he registered the loss. He finished the rest of it bare-knuckled, which cost the closest man considerably more than it cost his own knuckles.
It was over. Matt won, though that was never really in question, but it hadn't come free this time. His jaw throbbed in time with his pulse. His ribs were doing something he didn't have a clean word for. None of it registered as more than background noise. You were four feet away with your back against the wall, breathing hard, and nothing happening south of his own ribs was getting priority over that.
He turned toward you, his instinct outrunning any rational thought, loud enough to override even his own body's very vocal objections. For half a second, Matt froze when your eyes dropped to his hand.
His bare left hand.
Matt noticed your breathing calmed some after he registered his exposed wedding ring.
"Are you hurt?"
His voice came out, nothing like the lower, raspier register he used for anyone else. He reached for your face with both hands, carefully. He used the same care he'd have used checking for a fracture, except his palms knew your face for entirely different reasons. He tilted your chin, checked your jaw, the same path his hands had taken when nothing in the city was on fire and there was nowhere else either of them needed to be.
"Did they hurt you –" he started before noticing a sudden uptick in your pulse.
"...Matt?"
Everything in him wanted to stay exactly where he was. After months of rooftops and half-blocks and a ring he couldn't take off, and here was the door he'd spent every single one of those nights telling himself he'd never get to hold your face again.
Your hands were still loose at your sides, like you hadn't decided yet whether to reach for him or step back.
He could say it. One word, the only word that mattered, and the whole architecture of the lie he'd built years ago would come down in the time it took to nod.
The men on the ground reminded him there were more like them out there who'd be very interested in a name to go with the mask – or any names connected to the mask. And nearly six years of careful, deliberate cowardice reasserted itself just long enough to win one more time, and he was gone before you could get your bearings.
As it turns out, the man without fear was afraid of exactly one thing:
He got back to his apartment and got the cowl off and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, letting his body feel as destroyed as it was – the ribs, the split knuckles, and to top it off, he was exhausted.
None of it touched the one thought sitting underneath everything else, on a loop: you knew.
Matt’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, your name chiming into the dark, and he let himself imagine what answering the phone would actually cost.
He wasn’t afraid of the conversation, or even your anger, which he'd earned a hundred times over and would have welcomed at this point like a kindness. He thought every enemy who'd ever made a project out of finding the man under the mask, every one of them patient and resourceful and utterly without restraint about who they hurt to get there.
He thought about what it would mean for your name to end up on that particular ledger. He'd spent a year keeping you out of it by inches, and he wasn't about to undo all of it over one phone call, no matter how much some reckless, starving part of him wanted to.
It rang out, and Matt sat in the silence with his hands on his knees, his thumb finding the ring on his left hand, still exactly where he'd left it, still meaning exactly what it had always meant.
It buzzed again. Your name chimed out again, but he let that one ring out too. He loved you enough, even with the divorce and distance he caused, that some nights it felt like the only fact left standing. Now, he was using that exact love as the reason to keep doing the one thing guaranteed to make you hate him for the rest of both their lives, if you didn’t already.
He understood, distantly, how insane that sounded. He didn't have a better option.
A third time his phone chimed out your name in the dark.
He thought about the night of what would have been your sixth wedding anniversary, about your voice doing that careful, wet thing while you told your friend you’d always known he found your sex life boring – even though he’d never been bored once – and that you'd spent a year waiting for him to say it himself.
The fourth call came. Your name chimed out in the dark one more time, and this time he reached for the phone, thumb hovering over the power button just long enough to feel the full weight of every reason not to before he hit it.
The screen went dark. The apartment went quiet. Somewhere across the city, a call rang out into nothing at all, and the silence it left behind was the sound of the same choice made twice by a man who loved you exactly as much both times, and was exactly as afraid, for exactly the same reason, still wearing a ring he didn't have the right to keep and couldn't bring himself to take it off.
Thinking about Nelson, Murdock, and Page hiring a secretary and Matt quickly becomes suspicious. She mutters complaints under her breath. Its about the smell two floors up. Its about the sudden buzzing from the lights. Its about the sirens almost three blocks away. Foggy and Karen don't hear her quiet grievances. But Matt does.
So he finally corners her after weeks of the building mutters. He makes her explain. He demands to know if she's enhanced. How it happened. What she can do. He's absolutely accusatory.
Relentless.
And Reader stares at him with doe eyes. He wouldn't like the silence or your elevated heart rate. The thing is, Reader is on the spectrum. Sensory processing disorder to the max. But that's not something you're ready to share.
But, he would stand there expectantly, waiting for you to explain, and you'd get so nervous the words would get stuck. So, you stay quiet and scurry out of the office. No confirmation or refutation.
Now, Matt is fully convinced you're enhanced...and you have to come into work the next day.
