Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader
Summary: Angst from insecurities, hurt and comfort, fluff.
You hadn’t meant to hide it.
It wasn’t some grand secret, just…a shift in your routine. A quiet change.
At first, it was just a few extra Pilates classes. Then a couple strength sessions with a trainer whose voice never cracked above a gentle murmur. Then you started going earlier, before sunrise, when the city hadn’t woken yet and you could breathe without anyone watching you.
It wasn’t that he would mock you. God, no. If anything, he was endlessly tender with you. Worshipful. Reverent. But that didn’t mean the thoughts didn’t creep in.
He was built like a marble statue under all those suits and flannels, lean and muscled and impossibly strong, even when he pretended to be nothing but a mild-mannered lawyer. And then there was Karen. Beautiful Karen, your best friend, who always looked like she could be cast in a perfume ad even with a hangover and mismatched socks.
You adored them both. You were lucky to have either in your life. But sometimes, in the quiet parts of your brain, you wondered how you looked to everyone else.
You liked soft clothes and slow mornings and the way Pilates made your muscles hum afterward, but you didn’t have the sleek edge of Karen or the solid intensity of Matt.
And Matt...well. He might be blind, but he wasn’t unseeing. He noticed everything. Heard the way your jeans tugged at your thighs. Felt the tension in your body when you lay pressed to him. Smelled everything: your shampoo, your sweat, your mood.
So you started slipping out before he woke up. Before the warmth of his bed could talk you into staying.
You didn’t tell him. Not because you were lying, just because you were embarrassed.
What were you supposed to say?
Hey, I started hitting the gym more because sometimes I feel like a blob next to you and Karen, and even though you tell me I’m beautiful, I can’t always believe it, and I really don’t want you smelling my sour post-workout clothes and realizing I’m even grosser than you thought?
So you slipped out. And you came back just in time to shower, change, and catch your breath before the day began.
Except the past week had been harder.
Work bled into your evenings. You started skipping the post-gym shower. Once or twice, you collapsed onto your bed still in your workout leggings, clothes damp, someone else’s cologne clinging faintly to your hoodie from brushing past them, and your trainer's from helping you.
You just didn’t expect Matt to show up unannounced at eight in the morning.
The knock came as you were hunched over your kitchen counter, pouring juice with one sock on and sweat still drying on your skin. Your hoodie stuck slightly to your back.
“Shit,” you muttered, setting the mug down and dragging your other sock across the floor to buy yourself a second.
You opened the door and there he was.
Matt. Hair tousled, glasses on, dressed like the sleep hadn’t worn off him yet.
“Hi,” you said, heart skittering. “What are you...did we make plans?”
“No,” he said, and tilted his head just slightly. “You weren’t answering your phone. I figured I’d stop by.”
Your heart thudded in your chest.
“Oh. Sorry. I was just…” You hesitated. “Just getting ready.”
“I can smell three different people on you,” he said quietly.
“And you’re wearing yesterday’s hoodie.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks felt.
“I was at the gym,” you said. “Early class.”
“You didn’t tell me you were going.”
You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t think I needed to check in.”
He flinched, just barely.
And you immediately regretted it.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, voice low. “I just...”
He paused. His jaw shifted slightly. “It’s been happening a lot. You leave early. You come home late. You’ve been avoiding mornings. You…don’t smell like you used to.”
That cracked something in your chest.
“It’s not...Matt, I’m not...God, I’m not seeing anyone else.”
He didn’t respond at first.
Then he took a step inside and closed the door behind him.
“Then what are you doing?”
His voice was calm. Careful. But his fingers flexed by his sides, and his head stayed tilted like he was listening for lies in the space between your words.
You opened your mouth and promptly closed it again.
You wanted to tell him. You did. But everything in your chest curled tight and defensive. You’d made it this far keeping it quiet. Now here he was, looking like he didn’t know what you were anymore.
“I just wanted to do something for myself,” you said. “That’s all.”
He nodded slowly. But something inside him had gone still.
And you felt it in your gut, the shift.
Matt didn’t move for a long time.
You watched his jaw work, the tension behind his sunglasses tightening like a storm cloud. He wasn’t angry, not yet. But he was confused. Hurt. And if you knew anything about Matt, it was that pain lived close to the surface, quiet and defensive, wearing the mask of control.
“You’ve never lied to me before,” he said finally, voice low.
You swallowed. “I’m not lying.”
“Then why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Because I’m embarrassed.
Because I don’t want you to realize I’m softer than I should be.
Because Karen looks like she stepped out of a magazine and you’re sculpted like a Greek god and I still get winded doing push-ups, and if you knew how much that gets to me, you’d look at me differently.
Because you don’t look at me differently right now, and that means you don’t know.
And I don’t want you to know.
You turned your back to him, pretending to clean up the juice, though your hands shook.
“I just wanted to…feel healthier and better,” you said carefully. “That’s all.”
He was behind you in a few quiet steps. His hand landed gently on your back, and you nearly flinched. Not from him. From yourself.
“You are healthy,” he said, warm and earnest.
“No,” you said too quickly. “Not like you and her.”
You cursed under your breath and pressed your palms to the counter.
“Karen,” you said softly.
Matt didn’t say anything. But you felt him, his head tilting slightly, his breath catching. His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
“You think I…” He let out a soft, disbelieving sound. “Sweetheart.”
You couldn’t look at him. Not like this. Not with sweat clinging to your skin, your thighs pressed into old leggings. He could probably smell the insecurity radiating off you like heat.
“You’re both so…perfect,” you mumbled. “And I’m not jealous. I love you both. But sometimes I feel like people see you two together and then they look at me and just wonder what I’m even doing there.”
Matt took a step closer. You still wouldn’t face him.
“I didn’t want you to know how much it bothered me. Or how much I hated the idea of you catching a whiff of me after the gym and...thinking I was gross. Or...”
His arms came around you from behind, suddenly and all at once, pulling you in tight against his chest.
“I don’t know what you see when you look at yourself,” he said, voice rough now, barely controlled. “But I know what I feel when I touch you. When I hear your voice. When I smell your skin in my bed, when you’re curled up next to me with your legs tangled in mine and you’re breathing so soft I don’t want to move in case I scare it off.”
“I’ve heard your heartbeat change when I kiss you,” he murmured against your temple. “I’ve felt the way your body fits against mine like it was made to. And I’ve never once thought you were anything but breathtaking.”
He turned you gently in his arms until you faced him, eyes still cast down.
His fingers tipped your chin up.
“You think I care how much muscle is on your stomach?” he said, incredulous. “You think I notice how ‘gross’ you smell after the gym?”
You gave a miserable shrug. “You notice everything else.”
“I notice you,” he said firmly. “Not whatever insecurity you think I’m measuring.”
You let out a shaky breath. “I just didn’t want to be the ugly one. Next to you and Karen. Or the one who wasn't trying to look good.”
Matt blinked once, then laughed: genuine, startled, affectionate.
“Jesus, you have no idea how wrong you are.”
He framed your face in his hands, careful but unshakable.
“You’re strong,” he said. “You’re resilient. You’re beautiful. You’re the only person I want to wake up next to in the morning, sweat or no sweat. And if you’re doing this for you, then good. I’ll cheer you on. But if you’re doing it because you think I don’t want you?”
He leaned in, breath warm on your mouth.
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
You let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, burying your face in his shoulder.
You stayed there for a long time, pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. Everything else fell away. You hadn’t meant to cry, but your eyes burned anyway. Not from sadness. Not even from shame. Just…release.
“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you murmured eventually.
“I know,” he said, and kissed the top of your head.
“I just got caught in my own head.”
“You always do,” he said gently. “But I’m here. You don’t have to carry that stuff by yourself.”
You exhaled. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to talk me out of it.”
“Trying harder. Getting stronger. Fixing the stuff I don’t like.”
“You’re allowed to want things for yourself,” he said. “But you don’t need fixing. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
You nodded into his chest. He smelled like his coat, leather, worn cotton. Familiar. Steady. And maybe a little bit like home.
After a while, you pulled back, blinking up at him. “I probably look disgusting.”
He snorted. “You smell like detergent, lavender body spray, and endorphins. Which, for the record, is kind of hot.”
You laughed despite yourself.
He reached for your hand and laced your fingers with his.
“Come sit,” he said, tugging you gently toward the couch.
You let him, curling beside him in your hoodie and leggings. He didn’t flinch at the damp patch on your back. Didn’t recoil from the mess. He just tucked you into his side, one arm draped around your shoulder like he had no intention of letting go.
You felt small there. But not lesser. Just held.
“You know,” you said softly, “you could’ve asked before assuming I was cheating.”
“I didn’t assume,” he said. “I noticed something felt wrong. And I asked.”
“Okay,” you admitted. “Fair.”
“But yeah,” he added dryly, “my brain did try to destroy me before I knocked on your door. So, thanks for not letting it spiral too far.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder. “For the record, I don’t want anyone else.”
“You really didn’t notice I was going to the gym?”
“I noticed you were leaving earlier,” he said. “I just thought you were avoiding morning breath and my disheveled hair.”
You huffed a laugh. “That’s part of your charm.”
"Well, some things are a part of yours. You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Every version of you. And if Karen and I look ‘perfect,’ it’s probably because we’re standing next to you.”
That made your throat ache. “Don’t be cheesy.”
You nestled closer and closed your eyes, breathing him in.
