In honour of the upcoming season of Daredevil I'm bringing back some of the fan art that I did ages ago. My personal favourites, even though I look at some bits and think that now I would have done them differently, but they still hold a special place in my heart.
soft sex with daredevil?!? maybe he is wounded, just got back from a fight and he is all whiny and aching.
yes yes I love this so much!!
tags: matt murdock, pinv, no protection, cream pie, mentions of blood (at the start), arguments, smut with fluff, porn... with plot?, man without fear era, injury, semi already established relationship.
not sure if I missed any tags let me know if u notice any.
You had known Matt since college—I mean, it was an on-and-off type of situation. You had found out about his secret "hobby" one night when he stumbled into your apartment, the rain hammering against your window. He showed up bleeding and desperate for help.
This had become a routine. Late at night, he'd come crawling through your window or banging on your door when a fight had gone south. Tonight seemed different, though. I mean, sure, he was definitely hurt. His blood dripped from your window sill where he slid through, and there was a pool of rain on your carpet.
Your keys jingled in your hand as you opened your door, the mess becoming apparent the second you entered.
"God, Matt, I just had this cleaned," you whined into the room.
A soft chuckle came from your couch. "I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll make sure it's cleaned for you. Desperate times and all that." He sat up with a grunt, hand to his chest.
You locked your door, moving towards the first aid kit that was kept on standby after one too many times of using your good alcohol to clean out his wounds. You crouched down next to the sofa and started lifting his shirt to get a better look.
"Whoa, whoa, what's the rush, hmm?" he asked, his hand meeting yours, his body arching forward to lean his face close to yours. "No small talk? I love our conversations," he said softly, his hand moving up the side of your face, smearing blood from his hands on your cheek.
"I'm tired, Matt. We do this little song and dance every week. I'm starting to believe you are letting them hit you just so you can slide in here and bleed on my floors," you said with an honest sigh.
He scoffed, moving back down to the sofa, letting you start to clear away the blood. The silence was long and awkward, nothing but the occasional sound of sirens passing.
Suddenly, his breath hitched and a long whine of pain rang across the room—drawn-out cursing as his body stretched, trying to stop the pain.
"Stay still," you warned, wiping away the blood trailing from his ribs, down his abs, to his hips. You carefully slid a needle through the skin, starting to close the wound.
His hand wrapped around the muscle of your arm gently. "Please, sweetheart, talk to me," he begged.
You started mumbling something to him about work stress, some crazy dude showing up in the cafe you work at. The wounds finally closed up, letting you bandage them. He slowly sat up with a grunt, thanking you with a smile.
Your eyes scanned over his chest, looking over the scars and bruising for any other open areas.
"You know I can feel you watching me," he said with a smugness in his voice.
"I'm trying to make sure you don't die," you muttered with an eye roll.
You moved away from the sofa to the sink, wiping away the blood from your hands and face. You unbuttoned your blouse slightly, enough to reveal your chest, trying to cool off. You felt his warm body press against your back, his hands wrapping around your waist, and one hand traveling up to your chest.
"Mmmh, I thought you were mad at me for a second, but one more move and this would slide right off," he said, his fingers traveling into the top of your bra, touching the soft skin.
"It's not for you, asshole. It's hot in here and I want to sleep," you hissed, moving away from him. "You come over, bleed on my floor, my bed, my sofa, my walls, everywhere. We fuck, you leave. Same every time. I'm tired, Matt."
He moved in close, pushing the hair from in front of your face slowly. You knew he could hear your heart pounding in anger; you knew he could feel the sweat pooling on your skin.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I'm just trying to keep this city safe. A good work-life balance has never exactly been my forte," he whispered, moving close to your neck, his lip brushing against the skin. Soft kisses trailed up your neck, his hands meeting your waist again.
Tears pricked your eyes. It hurt because you cared so deeply about him, but every time you felt yourself relaxing around him, he disappeared without a trace.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to feel every inch of your skin. I want you, but..." he trailed off in guilt.
"But the city is more important. I get it," you snapped. You pulled him closer to you, inches away from his lips. "If this is a game to you, leave now and never come back. But if this is what you want, kiss me right n—"
His lips met yours before you could even finish your sentence. Desperate, hungry—like he was searching for that piece of love in you, the bit that lets him stay. His hands moved to your clothes, undoing the rest of the buttons, moving the fabric from your skin.
You both moved towards your bedroom, lips still intertwined. Greedy hands explored each other's skin like it was still the first time. Your fingers traveled across the ripples of scars on his skin, the strained muscles in his back. Your back hit the wall of your bedroom, the damp coldness of it sending ripples of goosebumps across your body.
His lips left yours, letting you catch your breath. His mouth traveled down your neck and onto your chest. He pulled on the straps of your bra, letting them slip off your shoulders, reaching around to undo it. The fabric slumped onto the floor around your feet.
His tongue slid across your breast, hitting the hard nub of your nipple. His mouth latched around it, his tongue swirling around it. The saliva was warm and stringed between you and his mouth as he moved to the other side.
His hands moved to the backs of your thighs and pulled you up into his arms.
"Matt, you're gonna hurt yourself picking me up," you whined.
The fabric of his mask rubbed against your skin while his mouth still sucked on your nipples. He didn't respond, lost in his excitement. You could feel his bulge against your underwear. Your skirt was ridden up against the fat of your thigh, the tight fabric digging into your skin.
Your head hit your pillow. You watched him pull off his shoes and undo his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor. A loud creak echoed through the room as he climbed onto the bed, his hands pushing your skirt up, letting the fabric ripple and crease around your waist. His fingers hooked around your underwear, pulling them to the side, exposing your cunt to the cold wind flowing through the room.
The feeling didn't last long, though. His mouth connected with it before your mind could process. A loud moan escaped your mouth. His tongue slid up and down, making sloppy noises, swirling around and around your clit, building up a tension that made your legs shake.
"Fuck—Matt, honey, that feels amazing," you moaned, your nails digging into the pillows surrounding your head.
"You think you're ready for me, hmm?" he mumbled.
"Y-yes, yes," you yelled, your voice shaking. "You need to be careful—I—fuck, I don't want you to hurt yourself."
He moved himself up, propping himself above you, his muscular arm against the headboard. He pulled down his boxers, his length bouncing down, precum sliding down the tip, dripping from it onto the bedsheets. He leaned down, his face close to yours again, lining himself up.
"Wait—take off the mask. I want to look at you."
He usually left it on in times like this. Maybe it was so he could slip away back into the night; maybe it was his way of keeping his cards close to his chest, keeping his distance, making sure you didn't get too attached to him being around.
He did take it off this time, sliding the black fabric from his face. Bruising covered his upper face—dark purple bruises and swelling circled around his eyes and nose.
"Oh, Matt..." your fingers traced them.
"What, am I really that bad-looking?" he said with a soft laugh.
You scoffed in response. "No, of course not... I just... didn't realize... Who? Who would do this?" your voice was hushed.
He leaned back closer, planting soft kisses on your face. "That doesn't matter, sweetheart. It's unimportant right now. All I care about right now... is you." His voice was so calm, so soft it melted away at your worry.
His tip slid across your entrance, his wetness mixing with yours between your legs. "So soft, so warm... shit—please, sweetheart. Can I? God, please," he begged, soft whines between his words.
You agreed, your fingers sliding through his damp hair. You felt him push into you, filling the aching space. Your face turned flush, lewd noises filling the room.
He moved slow at first, very, very slow, like he was trying to explore every inch of you in a way he hadn't before. He'd normally rush, be rough with you, never whimper, never speak—just grunts. This felt different. His soft whines and whimpers, his voice so desperate like a man who was starving.
His hips started bucking back and forth quickly, his hand sliding into yours, holding you closely, kissing your skin between praises. "Oh, my sweet girl—you're taking me so well. You feel so good."
You were so close to coming, your body feeling like it was vibrating, a veil of euphoria covering your body.
"Matt—please, I'm so close."
You felt your body tip over the edge, your orgasm rippling through your body.
"That's such a good girl. Yes—yes, sweetheart, let it out," he praised, his breath quickening, making him pant.
His orgasm followed close behind, his heat coating your insides, the warmth only extending your climax.
After catching your breath, he tumbled off, lying next to you. His body moved as close as he could, his arms wrapping around your waist, his stubble-covered jaw hiding itself in the crook of your neck.
