*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. (that includes not allowing my manips to be used on TikTok, Instagram, Pinterest, etc.)
I have created an AO3 and am slowly beginning the process of sharing my old fics there as well. Tumblr and AO3 are currently the only places I'm posting my works.
PLEASE ONLY INTERACT WITH FICS MARKED 18+/SMUT IF YOUR AGE IS IN YOUR BIO/PINNED OR I WILL BLOCK YOU. Thanks!*
★ Series
Judex, Judicum, Infantem (Frank x Reader x Matt) [In Progress]
Before they start their search for office space, Matt insists that they stop at Clinton Church—to pray for luck, of course. He doesn't know how Foggy convinced him to pray for a wife, or why he listened, but the next thing Matt knows, the smell of incense and old wood is overtaken by lilies and nectar, and you walk in.
So many things had changed after Matt lost his sight, but the sickeningly sweet scent of incense remained as stifling as ever. After years of being unable to filter through the cacophony of noise surrounding him, settling into the creaky wooden pews of the church with a deep sigh was a welcome reprieve, the incense dulling his senses just enough to stave off the migraines he so constantly found himself the victim of.
Today was no different except for the presence of Foggy at his side.
"So, how exactly do you pray?" he asks after several minutes of comfortable silence. "You ask for love and success in exchange for the sacrifice of a virgin?"
"We quite like virgins, actually," Matt corrects without skipping a beat. "They're a rare commodity these days, so we try not to sacrifice them anymore."
"Oh, I see. You just take them for yourselves," cajoled Foggy, nudging him with his foot. The wood of the pew creaked as he leaned back, turning slightly to leverage his elbow over the back. "You Catholics are greedy bastards, eh?"
"And I'm the only one that'll ever admit to it," Matt lamented with a sigh. He poked Foggy gently with his elbow. "Can I go back to praying now?"
"Right," Foggy said immediately, shuffling further away. "Take your time."
Matt shook his head, chuckling quietly before dipping again, fingers fiddling with the rosary held in his hands. He was almost done, with only one more decade to go. Sure, that may be another ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be, but despite how often he'd doze while praying as a kid, the repetition had become therapeutic over the years. Combined with the incense, it was easy to be lulled into an almost hypnotic state of calm, aided by the smooth surface of the beads and the occasional popping of the candles-
"You should pray for a wife."
Matt let out a startled laugh, catching the attention of Mrs. Akers, an old widow who'd been ancient back when Jack Murdock's mom would drag him to mass every Sunday. She turned in her pew but said nothing before turning back to the front with a shake of her head, the movement almost fond.
"A wife?" Matt asked Foggy, lowering his voice even though he was still chuckling. "I could ask for world peace, an end to poverty and starvation, or even money for our firm, and you're telling me to pray for a wife?"
"In my defense," Foggy said, the slide of cotton against skin betraying the fact that he'd raised his hands in surrender, "hundreds of thousands of people had to have asked for those other things, and all we hear are sob stories about how they were ignored!" He shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know about you, but I don't hear any complaints from the people who've asked for love."
Matt paused for a moment. "No," he said eventually, fiddling with his rosary. "I guess not.”
He shifted in his seat, wincing when his bruised ribs twinged uncomfortably and hiding the expression by bringing his left hand up to adjust his glasses. Foggy wasn't paying attention to him anyway, scraping at a scuff in the floor with the toe of his shoe.
Years of ingrained loyalty to the church had taught him to be grateful for the small blessings and to never ask for anything more. And for years, Matt had obeyed, stomping on any blooming feelings of want or desire for success or affection. Even now, shrouding himself in black and baptizing himself in blood every night, he avoided asking for anything other than guidance for himself or aid for others, muscling through the pain he endured every night, a true soldier of God.
Would it… be wrong of him to ask for something for himself, for once? He'd been taking justice into his own hands for some time now, stopping what the police couldn't out of the goodness of his heart, for the betterment of his community. Did he deserve the comfort a wife would provide, the love she’d shower him with?
Matt's heart is practically beating out of his chest as he shifts his grip on his rosary, running his thumb over the little man on the tiny cross as guilt begins to crawl up his throat like bile. What existence would he damn his wife to? A lonely existence with a husband who only joined her in bed a few hours before they were supposed to wake? A life of struggling to make rent when he devoted himself more to the justice he sought at night than the one found in court? A marriage of resigning herself to always being his second priority?
No. Nobody deserved an existence as miserable as that, even if it would make his own more bearable. No matter what he'd done, no matter what good he always strived for, Matthew Murdock would never deserve such a reprieve.
…But surely, one prayer couldn’t hurt.
“Are you there, Lord? It’s me again,” Matt started, speaking low enough that only Foggy could hear him. “I need someone to be my friend—”
“Wife!” Foggy hissed. “You have to be specific!”
Matt turned his head in Foggy’s direction, amused. “You don’t think I can be friends with my wife?”
“Of course you can,” Foggy acquiesced with a steely note in his voice, “but you’ve already got one best friend, and I’d hate to claim seniority and break up your marriage.”
That last part got a surprised chuckle out of Matt. “Noted,” he said solemnly, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Maybe send me an angel. The nicest angel you have.”
He spent the next fifteen seconds trying his hardest to keep his face emotionless as Foggy’s head turned ever so slowly until the full brunt of his incredulous expression was focused solely on the man beside him.
“You,” he started, drawing out the word in his disbelief, “did not just quote Lilo and Stitch.”
“It’s called praying, Foggy.” Matt shook his head in mock disappointment. “I’d have thought you’d seen me do it enough times to recognize it.”
Foggy heaved a sigh. “I have had enough of your smartassery,” he said, getting to his feet. “We should leave in a bit if you wanna meet the realtor on time. First impressions and all that.”
“Right,” Matt says distractedly, his attention pulled by the sound of footsteps entering from one of the hallways that branched off deeper into the church. If memory served, that hallway led to Father Lantom’s private office, but the footsteps leaving that hallway were far too light, far too quick to belong to the aging priest. No, this was someone else.
Well, hello, you.
Your skirt is long and flowy, made of linen and ideal for the warmer weather they've been getting lately. The hem flutters around your ankles when you walk, but as you pause before the candle-filled altar to light a votive, you raise one foot to scratch at your opposite calf, flashing a bit of soft, bare skin.
Matt's fingers give an involuntary twitch. Tease. You like a little attention. That much is clear from the tight shirt you're wearing—form-fitting and the sleeves low enough to wrap around your biceps while leaving your shoulders bare.
Your shoes are clean but well-worn. They smell of grass and soil, gum and sunflower seeds; you'd walked here, but only after taking a detour to soak up some sun in the park, clearly enjoying the weather. Central was too far to be feasible, so it was more likely you'd gone to DeWitt, where the grass was regularly maintained for the baseball season, hence the seeds and gum.
Still, your childhood must've had some form of worship in it because you're wearing a cardigan concealing the exposed skin of your shoulders. The addition is meant to make the entire ensemble more modest, but the slight tinkling of your jewelry calls attention anyway. No loud bracelets that clashed against each other with every move you made, thank God—only a few sets of hoops and studs scattered throughout the cartilage of your ear to pair with the simple necklace you're wearing.
Despite the understated embellishments, Matt sees right through the illusion—they're meant to bring attention to the long line of your throat, to the delicate bones of your clavicle, to the regal set of your shoulders. You want attention, but only the slightest bit. Your efforts to look effortless are not wasted—Foggy's heartbeat stutters when he finally sees you, admonishing words dying in his throat as he drinks the sight of you in, and for the first time in decades, Matt is envious of someone else's ability to simply observe.
The feeling quickly dies, however, because no matter how hard he (or anyone else tries), Foggy's perception is limited to superficial observation, while Matt's is so much more than that.
Matt can fully enjoy your scent, sweeter than the nectar of freshly bloomed flowers. He can bask in the taste of your skin, still sun-kissed and warm from the outside. He can relish in the sound of your blood pumping through your veins, spurred forward by your persevering heart. That closeness—that intimacy—was reserved for him...
...and him only.
The thought sent a rush of pride, warped and wicked, through him, and Matt couldn't help the sharp smile that split his face. Despite being born of humor and sarcasm, his prayer had been answered.
God had sent him an angel.
He must've looked particularly devious because Foggy dropped his head into his hands with a groan.
"She's hot, in case you were wondering," he whispered, resigned and conspiratorial at the same time. "Absolutely smoking. But I'm assuming you knew that already."
"I don't care about that, Foggy," Matt said distractedly, too busy listening to the brush of your hair against your cardigan—it smelled of lilies. "What's she doing?"
“Having a moment of silence, it looks like,” Foggy told him. “Which makes my staring at her even more creepy than before. Thanks, dude. Can we go now?”
“She smells so good,” Matt confessed in a hushed whisper, parting his lips to draw more of your scent onto his tongue. He was swaying slightly on his feet, and he grasped at the pew in front of him in a white-knuckled grip as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him—when had he stood up, anyway? “Are you sure we can’t stay a bit longer?”
Foggy startled a bit. “You can smell her from here?” he asked incredulously, the muscles in his forehead stretching as he raised a dubious eyebrow. When Matt didn’t respond, Foggy blew out a long-suffering sigh. There was the scratch of polyester on cotton as Foggy flicked his arm out, raising the hem of his sleeve enough to peer at the face of his watch. "Almost nine-thirty," he said. "We have to meet with the realtor at ten, so you have some time to try and get through the first half of your pickup lines."
And for the first time in years, Matt… hesitated.
There was a restlessness inside his chest, pushing him to approach you and introduce himself, to flash a smile and hope the dimple Sister Maggie used to compliment so much ignited your curiosity and drew you in. From there, he could go straight into charming you, learning things about you that his senses couldn’t tell him. As the weeks passed, he could bring you to his favorite restaurants, hold your hand, kiss your cheek, taste the skin of your throat as he guided you to his bed, hear what your voice sounded like as you moaned his name-
Okay… maybe not. Maybe…
Maybe he wouldn’t say hello. Maybe he'd accidentally bump into you, have you make the first step in the connection he was already looking forward to fostering. It would undoubtedly be less conspicuous that way—much easier to explain away bumping into a woman you wanted to talk to if you were blind. An exchange like that could end one of two ways: the short, apologetic interaction which didn’t lead to anything substantial, or the extended, flirtatious conversation that might pique your interest and excite you enough into wanting more.
And even if you chose the former, that didn’t mean he couldn’t introduce himself properly if he, by chance, came across you again, unattended and conveniently available.
And if he was right and the two of you were meant to meet… well, far be it from him to question God's plan.
Mind made up, Matt sent a distracted smile in Foggy’s general direction. “Just… give me a few minutes, okay?”
Foggy heaved a great sigh, standing from the pew. “I’ll be loitering outside when you’re done. You better not make us late, Murdock!”
Heart hammering in his chest, Matt felt around for the end of the pew, practically crawling out of the aisle in his haste. He took a moment to run a hand through his hair and straighten the creases in his jacket before stepping forward, tapping his cane as he walked.
As he approached you, he could tell the exact moment you noticed him. The tapping of his cane announced his presence, and your hair shifted as your head turned to catch a glimpse of him. There was a small intake of breath as your eyes took him in, a slight tilt in your head betraying how you’d looked him up and down. Trying his best not to shrink under your scrutiny, Matt settled into the spot beside you, fingers searching for the candle the nuns kept lit for him at the bottom left.
You watched him curiously, taking a half step to the side to give him more room. It seemed like you were watching him, silently preventing him from burning himself. And though he was tempted, just for a moment, to let his fingers get singed by a flame he’d strayed too close to, he didn’t, simply picking up the lit candle and lighting another. He set the candle back down, taking a deep breath before bowing his head in prayer.
He probably looked nervous. He certainly felt nervous, a certain clamminess to his palms that hadn’t been there before. This close, it felt as though you were a magnet, drawing him in, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he was swaying on his feet again, his body instinctively arching toward you without his express permission. Matt’s fingers twitched, aching to reach out and brush against your skin, but he tightened his grip on his cane, determined to at least give off the impression that he didn’t know you were there.
Your heartbeat was slow and steady in his ears, your breath similar as you, too, ducked your head, your lips moving soundlessly to finish your prayer.
It was like he wasn’t even there.
Again, Matt grew restless. He’d… he’d expected you to say something. An ‘excuse me,’ at least, not just move away silently as though you didn’t want to be perceived. Because Matt knew you. He knew by how you dressed that you liked a bit of attention, each small but elegant accessory bringing attention to you, accentuating your natural beauty. Every part of your outfit was perfectly tailored to draw attention but not keep it. It was as though you were intentionally keeping in the middle of the pack. No, this… this was done deliberately.
Well, two could play at that game.
Letting out a breath, Matt turned abruptly, swinging his cane wide and smacking you in the shin.
part ii: '(don't fear) the reaper' coming soon to a screen near you!
a/n: there it is! honestly, i've been so excited to finally push this out that i accidentally added an entirely new plot point so the next chapter will probably take a bit longer, my bad y'all. in the meantime, feel free to ask any questions about this fic or send any requests!
Jessica/Luke h/c fluff where season two isn’t canon... except for Trish’s horrible stunt with the ashes. Jess throws Trish out, tells her never to call or come near her again, and quietly gives Malcolm the rest of the night off. Luke is there when this goes down, since they’re living together, and he holds her as she silently breaks down.
I had to dig through the MCU Wiki to remind myself of the the ashes because it’s been ages since I watched s2 so I hope this flows well/makes sense!! I didn’t have the original dialogue to work with so. We wingin’ it. Also obvi established Jess/Luke relationship okok.
fic requests are open
“Don’t.”
She says it automatically; without thinking, without feeling. The word falls dull and hollow on the floor. She doesn’t look at him, or at Malcom’s warped shadow retreating down the long hall. Her eyes don’t leave the box. It’s as if the damn thing has a cast spell on her, and Luke isn’t quite sure how to break it. He lingers in the doorway, half-leaning on the frame, arms at his sides. He lets the silence stretch for thirty seconds, and then for sixty, and then he takes a step forward. The floor groans under his weight and Jessica bristles.
“I said don’t.” The sound is different now; the voice not entirely her own. It wavers on the second syllable, and almost cracks at the end. Almost.
“Jessica.”
She starts to say don’t again - the word lingers on the tip of her tongue, but her breath hitches and her voice sticks in her throat. She shakes her head instead. Her shoulders go up, ever on the defense. Cautiously, Luke takes another step. Jessica shakes her head again, and again when he moves even closer, and when his hand falls on her should she chokes out, “Just go.”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Luke says, firm but not quite defiant. When she doesn’t shrug his hand away he squeezes her shoulder. He feels her shudder beneath him and hears the soft whine at the back of her throat- sob, he knows, that she’ll swallow down and down and down until it makes her sick. He stays quiet, and he stays still.
It’s a long while before Jessica says, “I don’t want them.”
Her voice is so soft and strained Luke can barely hear her.
“Jessica?”
“That’s how fucked up I am,” she says, louder this time.
“No,” Luke says.
“I never buried them. I never spread them. I never-” The dam inside her, the one plugged up with whisky and years of carefully crafted sarcasm, breaks. Her hands fly to her face as if she can catch the sorrow spilling out, but the tears come before she can stop them and she doubles over at the ache of them. Luke follows, guiding her to the floor, his arms closing around her to stop her from falling. They become a tangle of limbs on the ground, Jessica finally looking away from the box, instead tucking her face against Luke’s arm.
There are no words to soothe her. There is no right thing to say.
It is sixty seconds more before Jessica turns and curls herself against Luke’s chest. Luke takes hold of her head, his fingers in her hair, and he holds her stronger still. It’s not okay, so he does not tell her that it is.
He simply holds her. And she lets him.
Outside, the sky turns orange and then pink, and fades into purple as the sun vanishes below the pointed skyscraper tops jutting through the clouds.
*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. (that includes not allowing my manips to be used on TikTok, Instagram, Pinterest, etc.)
I have created an AO3 and am slowly beginning the process of sharing my old fics there as well. Tumblr and AO3 are currently the only places I'm posting my works.
PLEASE ONLY INTERACT WITH FICS MARKED 18+/SMUT IF YOUR AGE IS IN YOUR BIO/PINNED OR I WILL BLOCK YOU. Thanks!*
★ Series
Judex, Judicum, Infantem (Frank x Reader x Matt)[In Progress]
Summary: After a mysterious incident, reader finds herself transported from this reality into a world that she's only seen in movies and on tv filled with Avengers, aliens, and vigilantes. When she crosses paths with Frank Castle, things get complicated as they both have to face their tumultuous pasts and a find a way to move on from them together.
Warnings: Female/AFAB Reader. I will try my hardest to keep Y/N out of it. Covid 19 mention, canon-typical violence (guns and things), mild description of injuries, eventual smut (please do not read those chapters unless you are 18+ and have your age on your blog.) I will add additional warnings as I write the story and each chapter will have individual warnings.
Notes: AHHHH I've had this idea for two years and I'm finally committing and writing it down. Inspired by my Frank dating and Avenger post.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Chapter 1 - Do You Think I'd Give Up?
Chapter 2 - It Was Too Soon
*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*
it’s finals week and i’m genuinely dying trying to write all these final projects and essays for my classes but... there’s a smutty one shot idea for our favorite lawyer that’s been rattling around in my brain for ages and i’m not sure if i can ignore it for much longer🫣
it'll be my first relatively plotless one shot that i'd post on this hellsite but there's been such a drought of matty fics recently that i feel compelled to feed and water the masses
i probably won't get around to actually writing it until after this week, and we'll be lucky if i post it by the end of next week, but for now let me set the scene 🫶🏼
content warning: dom/sub dynamics (orgasm control/denial, ruined orgasm, edging), semi-public phone sex? (matt’s in his office with the door closed but it’s implied that karen and foggy are in the next room), masturbation (male and female, but neither of them actually cum), fingering, reader is ✨sexually frustrated✨ so she slips into subspace easily, body worship/fantisization? (reader has a very active imagination and she actively imagines several naughty situations with matt), reader’s wet dream (not super detailed, just mentioned in passing)
it feels like it's been weeks since the two of you have spent any real time together.
the firm has been busy with some high-paying client that they're not in a financial position to turn down, so it's been all hands on deck for the better part of the last month. matt has to leave before you get up, but he nudges you awake to say goodbye, pressing a kiss to your forehead and letting you know if he has a lunch meeting or not so you can call and hear his voice for a blessed 30 minutes.
and because the universe hates you, matt's duties as daredevil haven't eased up either. all you've been able to get out of him is that he's been staking out one of the smaller crime families in hell's kitchen that have been looking for an opportunity to gain more power. he hears whispers of smugglers and arms deals and he barely has time to scarf down some eggs and toast-
(carbs and protein to hold him over until he can turn in for the night and warm up the plate you always left for him)
-before he's sheathed in kevlar and leather, shouting over his shoulder to not wait up for him before fleeing out the roof access door.
and of course you miss him.
you used to make coffee for you both as he got ready for work, chatting idly about that crime docuseries karen had recommended and getting matt to translate the legal jargon. you'd loop his tie around his neck, tightening the knot before pulling him down for a kiss, passing him his briefcase before sending him off to work.
he'd come home after work, smiling as he came through the door because he'd been able to hear your voice from the lobby as you made dinner, singing along to one of his favorite vinyl records. soft jazz and pasta sauce and you would smother his senses as soon as he stepped into the apartment and as soon as he shucked off his shoes and set his briefcase down, he'd round the kitchen island and wrap his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling at your neck and peppering your skin with kisses, reveling in the delighted giggles you let out.
but with his new schedule, the apartment seemed so empty.
you were eating alone and washing one set of dishes, sleeping in a bed too big and too cold for just you. you missed the way his arms would wind around you as you slept, the fearsome vigilante that struck fear into the hearts of criminals throughout the city suddenly becoming a cuddle octopus, greedy to feel your skin on his.
you missed all the small, sweet things about him, the romantic moments that would make your heart melt... but you also missed the steamy, intimate moments where your hands would wander each other's bodies, unwilling to be separated for even a moment.
it had been weeks since you'd had sex, and you missed the way his cock split you open, the low, hoarse growl his voice would become as he crooned poisoned honey into your ear, the delicious mix of praise and degradation turning your brain to mush.
you could feel your own impatience building with each night you went unsatisfied, a dull ache beginning to throb between your legs as your body struggled to adapt. you'd gone from cumming at least once a day to nothing at all in the blink of an eye, and you were having trouble adjusting.
waking up to an empty bed for the third week in a row had nearly sent you into a fit, your panties already soaked through from the remnants of a blissful dream where matt had tied you up, your legs bent and spread wide as he toyed with your puffy folds, his fingers slick with your arousal as he'd slowly slid them inside you...
fed up, your hand had already dipped below the waistband of your sleep shorts, your fingers barely brushing your clit, a soft moan leaving you as your body finally got some relief-
but then your phone rang, matt's handsome face beaming up at you. taunting you.
you answered the phone with a breathy call of "matty" because you knew he'd heard you and two could play at that game, and the low octave with which he says your name makes you moan again, pleasure sparking to life in your core as you sink two fingers into your drooling cunt.
matt calls your name sharply, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
"naughty girl," he admonishes, his voice somehow both sweet and condescending. "so impatient. i'd wondered how long it would take you to break, but i didn't expect it to be so soon."
you whine into the receiver, your anger melting away as you remembered you hadn't been the only one suffering these last few weeks. it must've been nothing short of torture for matt to wake up to the smell of your arousal, his rapidly swelling cock nestled against your ass, aching and eager to satisfy the primal urge to mark you in every way possible. and yet, every morning, he'd forced himself to ignore it, to take a cold shower and hurriedly get dressed, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before shuffling out of the apartment, still half-hard.
the thought only made you more desperate for him. god, did you wish he was here with you, with his much thicker fingers stuffing your pussy, stretching you out and prepping you so you could take his thick cock. you wanted him under you, breathlessly kneading the flesh of your tits as you bounced on his cock, your eyes rolling back as his impressive length dragged against that special spongey spot inside you with each smack of your hips against his, your cunt squeezing him tight and drawing out the pleasure for both of you.
but the apartment was empty and his side of the bed was cold, his scent faint on the silk sheets you both adored. a pang of loneliness hit you then, wanting his skin on yours and his voice filling your head with mindless praise.
frustrated tears stung at your eyes, but you were determined to make the most of this. you had him on the phone, you had a shot at getting what you wanted. all you needed was a few more words from him, maybe a countdown if you were lucky. you were so worked up, you could probably cum just from him reading you the new york penal code.
so you beg.
"please, matty," you whine prettily, another breathy little moan leaving you as you begin to pump your fingers in and out of your dripping pussy, the friction delicious after so long with nothing. "i need-"
"what you need," matt cuts you off swiftly, his voice so dark and commanding even through the phone that your body freezes, "is some manners. i enjoy spoiling you, sweetheart, but that doesn't mean you can cum without permission."
the whine you let out this time is significantly more petulant than before, the sound high and needy, but matt quickly curbs your bad attitude with another click of his tongue, his disapproval clear.
"don't be a brat," he says, patronizing and confident in his control over you. "just because i've been busy doesn't mean i forgot about my sweet girl."
the pet name makes your breath catch in your throat. matt hardly ever called you that. he'd always preferred the softer, more affectionate nicknames. sweetheart. darling. the occasional honey and sweetie.
but sweet girl? that coveted term of endearment had always been wreathed in coarse shadow instead of suave charm, cooed in the low, dangerous tone of the Devil.
your cunt clenches around the fingers you still have buried within yourself, though they had long since stalled their movements, and matt, damn him, somehow knows that he has you hooked, a satisfied purr meeting your ears.
"there we go," you hear him murmur, pleased. "there's my sweet girl. so good for me, i didn't even have to tell you to stop. no punishment for you, then, but you'll still have to earn your reward."
the breath that leaves you is half desire, half relief, already squirming on the bed. surely he just wanted a show, something to hold him over until the work day was done and he could come home and have his way with you. your moans would replay in his head all day, your breathless cry of his name making his cock twitch beneath his desk every time it echoed through his mind, his thoughts muddled and disjointed as he struggled to focus on the case.
"tell me what to do," you plead, your own thoughts already growing fuzzy around the edges, dizzy with anticipation of the climax he was sure to grant you. "miss you so much, matty... i wanna be good…"
matt groans low on the other line, an excited shiver running through you as you hear the barely audible "fuck" accompany the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling.
"need to hear you, sweet girl," he hisses. a shaky exhale leaves him next, and you imagine he's just freed his cock, the vein running along the shaft throbbing. the tip is probably flushed a dark pink and probably already leaking salty precome, his balls heavy and full from almost a full month of not satisfying himself.
christ, was your mouth watering?
"go on, sweet girl," matt tells you, his voice hoarse. "keep touching yourself. make yourself feel good."
far be it from you to disobey a direct order.
your fingers began thrusting once more, your low, breathy moans becoming high and whiney within minutes, not making an effort to silence yourself. matt wanted a show, so you were going to give him one, noise complaints be damned.
it doesn't take long for the knot within your belly to tighten, your body teetering on the edge of a long-awaited orgasm. you were practically half-delirious, so grateful for the pleasure that you'd already begun expressing your gratitude, your thanks garbled and slurred but genuine nonetheless.
you don't hear the mean, condescending bark of laughter, too caught up in your own ecstasy. you were so close, your forearm burning and your cunt beginning to pulse as you neared the edge, your jaw falling slack as you prepared for the monumental release of pleasure-
"stop."
your body obeyed without consciously thinking about it, your fingers slipping out of you. your poor cunt clenches and flutters around nothing, feeling achingly empty as your pleasure stalls and curdles, spoiling like milk in the sun.
you lay there for a moment, your chest heaving as you try to figure out what happened. your pussy was sensitive and tingling, still pulsing weakly with a ruined orgasm that had given you no satisfaction. you wanted more, damn it, but most of all, you wanted him.
"matty," you cry brokenly, vision blurry with frustrated tears. "why did you... why..."
Your rambling was slurred but audible to your tormenter, his delighted chuckles making you shudder.
"sorry, sweet girl," matt said, not an ounce of remorse in his voice, "but i wanna be there with you when you cum. i need to feel that pretty pussy squeeze my cock, need to hear you moan my name as i fuck you."
he lets out a strained groan, and you imagine he has his fist wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, preventing himself from reaching the pinnacle he'd so cruelly snatched you away from.
you hadn't cum, but neither did he.
you whine at the thought, your pussy still fluttering weakly. you sniffle quietly, still mourning your ruined orgasm, and there's a burst of static, like he'd just sighed.
"you did so well for me, sweetie," matt murmurs, his tone no longer mean, but warm and loving. "i know it hurts, but i'll make it up to you tonight. i'll make you feel so good, you'll forget this ever happened."
though your eyes are still glassy with tears, matt's subtle switch in temperament did wonders for your mood, the promise of pleasure soothing your wounded pride. you sniffle again, working up the courage to meekly inquire, "promise?"
matt hums again, and you can imagine the pleased grin on his face as he purrs your name, the sound of his voice making you melt.
"i promise."
a/n: my brain literally couldn’t focus on anything else while i had this mf rattling around in there. this will be an actual oneshot at some point where we actually get some gratification, maybe even a two-parter! depending on how fried my brain is after cranking out multiple 2k word finals, it could be posted in either 5 days or 5 years or anywhere in between.
i do actually like writing guys i swear 😭 but i’m a humanities major so i do a lot of writing for my degree and my free time consists of thinking about the roman empire (for my major) and reading greek philosophy (also for my major).
glad i got this out as proof of life, didn’t mean to be horny on main but there is no other valid response when it comes to mr. murdock. i hope you guys enjoyed and let me know what you think!
Summary: Vampire!Karen just in time for Halloween!!!! If anyone plays Marvel Strike Force, they just introduced an original character named Oath who is a Vampire version of Karen Page. I was thus inspired. Also features Matt and Frank.
Warnings: Brief mentions of criminal men who have assaulted women, typical vampire stuff like drinking blood.
WC: 1875
*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen crouched low, taking in the scene before him in the cold alleyway.
The man in front of him was dead. Everything flooding Matt’s senses indicated he had died in the last few hours, except for one chilling detail. His body laid there cold as stone, as if he had been dead for days. From the smell of him, he had been totally drained of all his blood with minimal bodily injury. Just like five others Matt had found this week alone.
Finding victims in a state such as this would have led Matt to conclude something like The Hand was back in New York. But a few things about these bodies didn’t add up to The Hand.
When Matt came upon victim number 3, the police had already arrived at the scene. He overheard Detective Mahoney telling some officers the guy was a known criminal. In addition to the extensive counts of misdemeanors he’d been charged with in his life; when he was 21, he was taken in for the rape of a teenage girl he coached at a summer camp. At 28, tried for beating his girlfriend badly enough she was left with a concussion. And just last week, arrested again for robbing and assaulting a female cashier at a bodega.
The scent of apple and cinnamon lingered on the skin of all five victims. Not exactly like The Hand to leave a trace so… feminine. It was such a familiar smell though. Matt couldn’t quite place where he’d come across it before.
Maybe there was a new vigilante on the scene - hell bent on revenge against men who harmed women. Maybe just a plain old serial killer. But it all didn’t add up.
“Nother one huh, Red? Shit, that’s the third one I’ve found like that this month.” the gruff voice cut through the silence
Matt cocked his head as he rose to face the source of the voice.
“You know Frank, at first glance I’d have thought this was you. But even you aren’t this… brutal.”
“Ain’t wrong. He is my type. But nah… everytime I try to find one of these scums, they end up like this. Someone’s beatin’ me to the punch and I ain’t exactly thrilled about it.”
“Me either. You find any clues?”
“All of ‘em have been covered in wounds. Tiny ones. Ain’t ever seen a knife that could make marks that small and neat. But other than that, no sign of who mighta…”
The sound of sirens screeching down the block interrupted the conversation and the men nodded to each other.
“See ya round, Red.” The Punisher said, retreating down the alleyway.
“You too, Frank. Call me if you find anything.”
Matt leapt to the nearest fire escape and down the block into the night.
Matt tried to will away the pounding in his head as his fingers traced over the same sentence for the third time. He was wearing himself thin; thinner than usual. Between his usual night time activities, figuring out these bodies he’d been finding, and running the law firm, his sanity was wearing away quickly.
“Long night last night?” Karen’s melodic question cut through Matt’s mental fog as he jerked his head towards where she stood in the doorway
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Want some coffee? I’m meeting Foggy at the courthouse to pull some files but we could grab you some on the way back?”
“Yeah, Karen. I’d appreciate that.” he replied and turned his attention back to his work
“You wanna talk about it, or…”
“No. It’s um… other job stuff.”
Even though Foggy and Karen had known Matt’s secret for years now, he didn’t like to share details unless it involved something they could help with legally. He didn’t want to worry them, plus if he ever got found out, the less they knew the more protected they’d be.
“Right.” Karen said with a nod and turned toward the door. She grabbed her jacket and umbrella and called out through the office
“Be back in about an hour.”
Matt grinned as he took in the scent of her cinnamon perfume as she left, laced with a hint of… apple.
Matt cocked his head as he listed, spooked by how familiar the smell was to that of the mystery victims he’d come across.
He listened to her footsteps down the hall and out the door. As she walked down the street, he realized; he couldn’t hear her heartbeat.
Matt waited for hours, crouched on the roof of the warehouse as the rain soaked through his crimson suit and chilled his flesh.
The files he snuck out of Karen’s bag indicated this is where he might find another criminal - and it added up to where he could find her. The man’s record matched all the others, a long history of violence against innocent people, somehow getting out of any punishment, repeating his offenses recently. It was only a matter of time…
Matt could hear the screech of tires as the worn down van slowed to a stop on the wet pavement. The man Matt was waiting for stepped out, shielding himself from the downpour as he rushed towards the warehouse. Just as he reached out his hand to open the door, a figure appeared from the shadow and as fast as the lightning painting the sky, tackled him to the damp ground.
Matt sprung forward, leaping from the roof and landing with a roll in front of the scene. The figure rose and turned towards him, blood dripping from her mouth and mixing with the raindrops running down her face. The man she held to the ground screamed as he struggled in her grasp, but she easily kept him pinned beneath her.
“Matt? What are you? No, you weren’t supposed to…”
“Karen… what? What is going on? What happened?”
He removed the glove from his trembling hand and reached it towards her, but she shunned away.
“You can’t save me anymore, Matt. Please go.”
“No, I won’t. Why didn’t you tell me? Let me and Foggy help?”
“Because you can’t.”
“This isn’t who you are Karen. You’re not a killer.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
She turned back towards her prey and sunk her teeth into his flesh once more, draining the little blood he had left and he stilled beneath her. Matt shuddered as he listened to the man’s heartbeat fade.
Karen rose once more and wiped the remaining blood from her face, finally taking Matt’s outstretched hand.
Matt’s apartment had always been a place of comfort for Karen. Ever since that first night they met when he brought her back here on a rainy night just like this. The sweater he lent her brushed against her pale skin but it did not warm her. Nothing could now.
“So…” Matt finally spoke, cutting through the silence.
The mug of tea he made for her sat untouched on the coffee table as she stared out the window, watching the billboard paint the apartment in pink and orange.
“It happened… about a month ago.” she began her story, soft voice echoing off the high ceilings of the loft
“I was at Mrs. Perez’s apartment, the woman we helped file against her neighbor for the dog bite. I was getting the paperwork from her doctor about her injuries. I know I shouldn’t have been out so late, I should have called you or got a cab. It was stupid of me.”
She let out a deep sigh and continued.
“Anyway, I left her place just before midnight. I felt… eerie. Like I was being followed. I had my hand on my gun in my purse as I walked but just before I got to my block, he attacked me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. I shot him twice, but the bullets just bounced right off. Next thing I knew, his teeth were in my neck and I could feel myself dying. I knew it.”
Matt raised his eyebrows.
“Dying?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t remember.” she continued “It all faded away, like I was drifting in a black abyss. When I woke up, I was still laying on the street. I didn’t know how I wasn’t dead. The sun was rising but it felt like it was burning my skin. I ran home. I called in sick for a few days and just slept. But I had this hunger… this urge.”
“To do what?”
“Feed. I was just running on instinct. I walked the street all night that night. I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew I needed to clear my head. I stopped outside this bar. Kind of a gross looking place. And there was this man, practically dragging this woman out of there. She was out of it. Like someone had done something to her drink. I don’t know what overcame me but I just… attacked. Drank him until he was dry. Then I felt better. For a few days. Until it came back.”
“You drank his blood?”
“Yeah.”
“Karen… that’s insane. That’s…” Matt reached out his hand to comfort Karen, but all he was met with was ice cold skin.
“I don’t know why he didn’t finish the job, why he changed me… But I know I can’t go back. This is who I am now. Like I said, I don’t have a choice. I’m not human any more, I’m something else.”
Matt sat in stunned silence. He had dealt with weird shit before; all The Hand’s ancient reincarnation rituals, the Avengers fighting aliens down the block, hearing half the city’s heartbeats disappearing then coming back five years later. But this, this was something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around.
“I figured if I need to feed, might as well take out a few people who deserve it along the way.”
“You’re starting to sound like Frank now…”
“Yeah… well.” Karen shrugged “I can’t do the double life thing like you Matt. I’ve been trying, but I can’t I’m too different now.”
Matt nodded, knowing there was no changing her mind. Karen rose from her seat, giving Matt a kiss on his forehead before heading for the foyer.
“Goodbye Matt.” she whispered as she closed the door behind her.
The man’s exhales were labored as he ran, glancing behind him every so often in panic.
He stopped to catch his breath, hands on his knees, when a shadow appeared over him. He lept back in surprise, the white skull staring him directly in the face.
“Look man…” he stuttered in a panic “I don’t want trouble with The Punisher. Please.”
Frank shoved the man into the brick behind him.
“Ain’t me you gotta worry about, asshole.”
The man glanced over Frank’s shoulder at the woman who had appeared, a devilish grin painted on her face as she stared him down.
“Her? What’s she gonna do?”
Karen bared her fangs and leapt forward, Frank stepping out of her way so she could take his place.
“Have at ‘em, sweetheart.” he nodded, watching as Oath sank her teeth into the man's flesh.
a little valentine's day blurb that was originally supposed to be filthy disgusting gross sloppy smut for @bunmurdock in honor of the new snippets of dd:ba that we've seen. the actual sex got lost somewhere along the way and it turned into over 2k words of healthy communication between a loving couple! don't know how that happened but i hope you enjoy anyway :)
content warning: mention of an age gap (nonspecific but i imagined it to be around 8-10 years; both characters are consenting adults, approx. late 20s and mid/late-30s, respectively) & brief mention of sex but no detailed descriptions of anything; other than that, it's mostly fluff with a dash of angst
[word count: 2,262]
Valentine’s Day had never been anything special. Apart from the red and pink decorations and the obnoxious public displays of affection between couples, February 14th was just another day. You still had class. You still had work. You still went home to an empty apartment, with only your store-bought chocolate covered strawberries to keep you company. Sometimes you watched a romcom or hung out with your friends. Or both. But the bottom line was that you had never had a significant other to share the day with, to exchange little gifts and have a romantic dinner with. You’ve always been flying solo.
Until now.
Your relationship with Matt wasn’t new, per se, but being in a relationship was new to you. He was your first boyfriend, and you found yourself floundering a bit during your first few months together. It’s not like the age gap made anything easier. He was quite a bit older than you, which you had been worried would make it difficult to find common ground with him. The two of you had hit it off when you’d first met, but what if the lack of common interests became a burden? How long would it take for Matt to figure out that you were too young for him? Too inexperienced? Too juvenile? Too immature?
But thankfully, Matt seemed to share your love of jazz music and had quickly wooed you with his impressive vinyl collection. He seemed all too content to go with the flow of your moods, whether you preferred to curl up against him to read one of your books, content to bask in each other’s company in silence, or talk endlessly about everything and nothing, never getting tired of hearing each other’s voice. Everything between the two of you just seemed so… seamless. It was almost too good to be true, which is why you had taken it upon yourself to make this Valentine’s Day memorable, to make the most of the fact that you actually had someone to celebrate with this year.
Unfortunately, while you were floundering for ideas, Matt beat you to it.
“I have something for you,” he’d called to you one morning as you’d lounged in bed, sleepy and dazed from the slow morning fuck you’d enjoyed just a half hour earlier.
At his words, you’d perked up, your head rising off the silk-covered pillow like a dog who’s name had just been called. “What?” you’d murmured, your mind instantly jumping to the gourmet Belgian chocolates you’d ordered for him, still traveling through customs and at least another week away from getting delivered, despite the pretty penny you’d paid to get it expedited. “No, it’s too early. Valentine’s is still—”
But Matt shushes you easily, waltzing back into the room with his hands held conspicuously behind his back. “Relax, sweetheart,” he says, flashing you that charming smile that immediately puts you at ease. “It’s nothing big, just a little something to tide you over until then. A token of my affection, if you will.”
“No fair,” you pout, propping yourself up on one elbow as he nears your little cocoon of silk. “Valentine’s isn’t an advent calendar holiday. You’re cheating.”
Matt chuckles at your childish retort, his broad form towering over you until he crouches down to your level, his dress shirt hugging the muscles of his shoulders and biceps deliciously, defining them in a way that his bulky armor normally didn’t allow. You allowed yourself a moment to stare before his voice tore you away from your appreciative ogling.
“What, I’m not allowed to spoil my girl?” he asks, sounding both incredulous and smug as he presents you with a box, velvet and long and rectangular and achingly similar to the kind that usually housed jewelry.
As soon as your eyes land on it, a gasp escaped you, your body instantly straightening up and tossing the sheets off you in your haste to crawl closer. He meets you halfway, the mattress dipping with his weight as he sits on the edge, still holding the box out to you.
You reach out, but your hands are slow and hesitant, your heart hammering in your chest as your mind races. You feel like a child on Christmas morning, seeing the present meant for you and unable to stop yourself from wondering what could be in it, though the plushies and toys and dolls of your childhood couldn’t compare to whatever was in this velvet box.
“It’s not going to bite you,” Matt teased gently, his voice warm as he reached out to take one of your hands in his, brushing his lips against it before bringing it down to the box. The velvet feels impossibly luxurious under your fingertips. “Go on. Open it.”
Spurred by his encouragement, you take the box, handling it as though it was the nuclear football. You hesitate again, and it takes Matt pressing a kiss to your forehead for you to gingerly pry it open, the tight hinges creaking ever so softly as the jewelry within is revealed to its recipient.
Inside is a stunning necklace, simple yet timeless. The chain is thin and dainty, made of shining gold that effortlessly catches the morning sunlight. It supports a single gemstone with so many facets that it glitters no matter the angle, sending tiny little rainbows bouncing around the walls and ceiling as you peer down at it in awe.
“It’s— oh, Matty…” Tears spring into your eyes as you stare in awe at your new necklace, your vision blurring with tears and little refractions of light. “It- it matches you…”
And it does. The gemstone isn’t the dark red of his glasses or of his armor, the color of the blood he spilled in the streets, the blood he shed for his city. It doesn’t remind you of the suit that protected him, or of the bruises that colored his skin when it didn’t. It isn’t dark or violent, because it wasn’t the Devil giving it to you.
The topaz stone is a deep, vibrant bronze, the sunlight shining through it and making it turn the color of whiskey, of the top-shelf, exorbitantly expensive Macallan bottle he keeps in the cabinet. It’s the same color as his hazel eyes, missing the flecks of green and blue but somehow capturing the splashes of gold, the color you can only see in the early mornings when he hadn’t yet hid his eyes behind his red lenses.
The gemstone reminds you of no one but Matt, of the raw, vulnerable parts of him that he didn’t allow anyone but you to see. It was as though he’d severed a piece of his soul and given it to you, trusting you to carry it for him, to keep it safe.
To keep him safe.
“I hope it’s not too much,” Matt says, his words light yet hesitant. The suave confidence from earlier was gone, replaced by something mellow, more genuine. His face is angled down, but you can see his fingers fidgeting with the lace hem of your nightgown, his nerves on display even if his expression wasn’t. “I know we haven’t been together long. I just wanted to- I want you to know that you, you mean a lot to me. Everything that you do, everything that you are… It’s more than what I deserve.”
You’re sniffling and shaking your head before Matt’s even finished, a soft whine of protest escaping you before he shushes you again, his hand coming up to smooth over your hair.
“No, no, just let me finish. I need you to know.”
He’s facing you now, your foreheads pressed together as the hazel eyes you so adore dart around your mouth and chin as he scrambles to get his thoughts organized. His mouth moves soundlessly, the motion familiar from the many times you’d seen him plan and rehearse his opening statements and arguments for court dates. Matt was running through the words he wanted to say, wanting to express himself as clearly and succinctly as possible.
In lieu of speaking, you set aside the necklace box and reach out, drawing his hand away from your nightgown and into your lap instead, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the scarred, split, bruised knuckles, offering him wordless comfort. A moment later, he releases a breath, some of the tension draining from his shoulders as he huffs out a laugh, his face splitting into a bright smile.
“See?” he says disbelievingly, squeezing your fingers and grinning even though you haven’t done anything. “Just like that, you just… you get me. It’s like you’re in my head.” He pauses, then chuckles to himself. “Sometimes I swear you are.”
You giggle, resisting the urge to make a joke about your nonexistent telepathic abilities, not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, you just wipe your tears before they can fall, waiting patiently for Matt to continue.
“You’re… like nothing I’ve ever encountered before. When I started going out at night…” He trails off for a moment, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I- I made a promise to myself. A vow. I swore that I wouldn’t let myself get distracted f-from the mission. This- my city and the people in it were always my priority. Everything I did, every bone I broke, every hit I took… it was all for the Kitchen. And I couldn’t let something as trivial as attachment or love weaken me, because the city needed me more than whoever was unfortunate enough to be the object of my affections.”
Matt huffs out a sardonic laugh that has no humor, his head shaking as though to rid himself of a pesky fly.
“I broke that promise many times, and every fucking time, someone took advantage and- and people got hurt. And that was on me. No amount of praying or confessing could absolve me of the sins I’d committed, of the deaths my weakness had caused. Innocent people, gone in the blink of an eye. All because I’d gotten distracted.”
The last word is spit out as though it was a curse, Matt’s top lip curled in a snarl as his shoulders tense. It’s as though he’s repeating words he’s heard someone else say, the self-deprecation too vitriolic to be innate. No, this hatred had been taught.
A small little spark of anger ignites in your chest, with nowhere to go. You remembered what scant details Matt had shared of his first teacher, the man who’d taught him to harness his out-of-control senses. Matt had never had the strength to name the old man, but you knew that he’d trained Matt in martial arts with the intention of using him as a tool, of setting a blind child on his enemies like a dog.
You also knew he was dead, which was unfortunate because despite your generally easy-going disposition, you wanted to make that man suffer for what he’d done to Matt. The fact that he’d managed to do more damage than the Catholicism was a wicked feat that you desperately wanted retribution for.
But that vile man—whatever his name was—couldn’t bother Matt, couldn’t whisper his poisonous words of weakness and inadequacy into Matt’s ear. He was dead, and Matt was still here—with you.
“But you’re… you’re different,” Matt says in awe, sounding almost puzzled. “With you, I don’t get tunnel vision. I don’t lose sight of what’s important. Don’t get me wrong, you’re always on my mind, never more than a thought away, but instead of dulling my senses, you sharpen them. You…”
Matt sighs, his eyes flicking up a bit and your heart skips as his gaze seemingly meets yours, his hazel eyes filled with so much love and adoration that it almost borders on reverence, the sight of it taking your breath away.
“You make me better,” Matt continues, his voice thick with emotion. “A better Catholic, a better lawyer, a better friend, a better person. You make me want to be better.”
Your vision is starting to get blurry again, your lower lip wobbling as you listen, his words getting heartbreakingly close to the love confession the two of you had been stubbornly dancing around for months.
“Matt…” you sob softly, desperately trying to blink away the tears so you don’t lose sight of his eyes, of the warm hazel dotted with gold that you couldn’t wait to carry over your heart every day from now on. They burn hot tracks on your cheeks anyway, Matt’s thumbs brushing away the wetness a second later.
Contrary to the sniveling mess you’ve dissolved into, Matt’s expression is peaceful and content, his sightless eyes somehow seeing right through you, holding nothing but warm love and soft devotion that you hardly felt worthy of.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, brushing his nose affectionately against yours. “And for the first time, I… I’m not afraid.”
You swear your heart bursts in your chest, your body moving on its own, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely. A strangled, broken sound leaves Matt as soon as your lips meet, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him, not an inch of space between you. The kiss is fervent and desperate, but unhurried. You have all the time in the world with each other, because despite your fears about Matt’s vigilantism and insurmountable sense of duty, you’re at peace. There are many people that Matt would die for, but you?
He would live for you.
tagging people that i think would enjoy reading :)
