in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on them— on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind you— one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"I— er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
i usually avoid posting svt military content, especially photos or videos. mind you, they're still actively serving in the military and carrying out public service. unless they're on leave or vacation or something, i don't think it's appropriate. but these bitches just can't help themselves. they take photos of them while they're actively doing their public service and upload them online. woozi made the right decision by not revealing anything and setting that boundary from the start. he was firm about separating his idol life from his private life while serving.
i hope people understand that not everything needs to be shared or updated online. hoshi's situation is a prime example of why people shouldn't cross the line. he was literally carrying out his public service, and yet people were expecting fan service while he was on military duty? girl, be so for real. just because he's in public doing community service doesn't mean he owes anyone anything.
of course, idols aren't going to show the darker side of military service. most of them don't want to make a big issue out of it, which is honestly sad. and let's not forget that some people have taken advantage of these boys in real life too. but because seventeen are kind-hearted, they probably don't want to escalate things or get anyone into trouble.
also, fuck korea tbh bc i could never fall for that military propaganda 😂😂😂, and let's all stop hyping this shit up and open your eyes wide open cuz these old farts are literally using hoshi as the military tool
Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Explicit Sexual Content: Oral Sex.
Canon-Typical depictions of violence and gun violence, attempted assault, crime, and injury, etc. There's also an age gap. See my AO3 for the full detailed warning list.
Summary: When you move into your new apartment, you don't run into your only direct neighbour straight away.
When you do finally meet him, he's certainly not what you expected, considering you'd heard him climbing up and down the fire escape in the dead of night before.
Word Count: 9,852 • Masterlist
The next morning, your eyes are red and puffy from crying all night.
Matt never came round, so that was the end of it, you suppose.
Leaving for the office purposefully earlier than you normally would in case you ran into him, you fake smile your way through work, adamantly ignoring your phone blowing up with calls and texts from who you can only assume is Matt.
Why does he care so much? He didn’t care enough last night when he was literally a few feet away from you to even explain in person.
When you finally do check your messages, you hate the way a little bit of hope blooms at his words.
9:43am
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: I’m so sorry, I swear it’s not like that. She’s just a friend
(1) Missed Calls from Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥
11:22am
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: I can explain everything, just please call me back
12:31pm
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: Sweetheart?
1:52pm
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: Come over when you finish work later, please? Let me explain?
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: You’re the best thing in my life, and I don’t want to lose you already. Please just talk to me
His words pull at your heartstrings, but what are you supposed to think? You’ve been down this road before. A man like him would have no problem getting any woman he wants, so why would he choose you?
The end of the day comes all too quickly, and suddenly, you’re stood in front of his door.
You’d been rolling it over in your mind all day, whether or not to go and hear him out, or save yourself even more grief and just have a clean break.
If you could even call it that, you remind yourself again that he isn’t yours.
Just as you raise your hand to knock, the door swings open and nothing can prepare you for what you see.
There stands Matt this time, looking rather distraught but that’s not what shocks you.
“Jesus Christ Matt, what the fuck happened to you?” You gasp out as soon as you see the state of him.
The large man who usually walks with his head held high, completely put together, is hunched over wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, one of his big arms defensively curling around his middle like he’s trying to stop an ache.
God his face. There’s deep, purple bruises littering his skin, around his eyes, down his nose.
Christ, he looks like he got beat up.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Karen’s just a friend I swear” he rushes out the second you stop speaking, “she was just here looking after me because I- I got hit by a car…”
Matt steps, or more like shuffles aside so you can walk through his door to stand in his hallway, and your eyes stay locked in on looking at his extensive injuries. You realise the reason he never came round to say sorry in person is because he probably couldn’t actually walk.
“She didn’t know who you were, I swear she would have explained if she did. I talk to her about you all the time. It’s nothing like that, I swear she’s just my friend. I’m so sorry, please, please believe me” Matt continues, stepping a little closer towards you, but the movement is far less graceful than you’re used to him being, and for a second, you think he genuinely might be about to get on his knees and beg.
He tries to hide it, but the pain on his face from standing I s undeniable, so without really thinking, you just take his arm and wrap it around your shoulder to help support him, before slowly leading him to the sofa.
Matt grunts at the movement but still follows you. Just as you sit on his sofa, expecting him to do the same, he really drop to his knees in front of you.
His hands reach out to gently hold yours on your lap, your legs towards the unhurt side of his chest.
“I’m so, so sorry, please, please forgive me?” Matt pleads, looking desperate.
The shake of your head makes his face fall before you talk.
“Oh Matt, I’m the one who should be sorry” you start, guilt steadily rising the longer you look at him, “I- I just jumped to conclusions and you’ve been here hurt this whole time, I’m sorry…” you finish, looking down in embarrassment at your overreaction.
“No, you didn’t do anything, I’m the one who should be sorry” he tells you, “I just- I should have told you, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“I thought… I thought I wasn’t enough for you.” You admit quietly, voice barely a whisper.
The older man immediately pulls you towards him, into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a shakey breath, but your own arms hover, not wrapping around him fully, unsure of where he’s hurt.
“You’re more than enough for me” he says quietly but firmly into your skin, “you’re perfect, I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like that.”
Leaning back a little, your fingers trace one of the bruises on his face lightly.
“How bad is it?” You ask tentatively.
“It’s okay, the worst is just a couple of broken ribs” Matt answers, eyes fluttering slightly at the sensation of the light contact on his face.
Just broken ribs?
“You don’t look okay” you mumble.
“It probably looks worse than it feels” he tries to reassure, but you don’t really believe him.
The stinging in your eyes gets stronger with every passing second you look at him. He’s been over here like this, agonising over you not replying while he’s been in so much pain.
“I’m so sorry” you sob, leaning forward to hide your face in his shoulder.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart, please don’t cry, I’m okay. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, I promise. It’s me who should be sorry” Matt says gently, cradling the back of your head while his other hand rubs your back comfortingly.
“It’s my fault” he continues softly after your cries quieten a little, “I- I was the one who avoided texting you back in the first place, you weren’t wrong to trust your instincts, I was acting weird. I just- you shouldn’t have to deal with this, with me like this. I didn’t want to upset you but I just made it worse by avoiding you, I didn’t mean to hurt you sweetie, I’m so sorry, I should have just told you, please forgive me. I- I’m not really.. very good at this, letting people in… the whole relationship thing…”
The fact he’s even apologising to you right now just makes you cry harder, when he’s the one who got hit by a fucking car.
He could have died.
That thought does absolutely nothing to calm you down.
“Matt…” you choke out, clinging to him harder as a sob wracks your body.
“Shit” Matt mutters, “come here baby” he says gently before sitting next to you, and pulling you up across his lap, holding you tightly against him, broken ribs be damned.
Immidiately curling into him, you wrap your arms around his neck as he rocks you slightly, pressing soft kisses to your hairline, then your temple.
Every time he talks about being sorry you just seem to cry harder, so instead, he keeps repeating “it’s okay, you’re okay sweetheart” till you slowly calm down a little.
Matt truly feels awful, he really didn’t mean to upset you like this. His first instinct is always to push away people who care about him and he always hurts people. You shouldn’t have to deal with anything like this, with him. Not when he’s nearly twice your age, which he already feels bad about, but it means he should at the very least be stable for you, and Matt just thinks he’s… too much.
He’s the one who planted that seed of anxiety in you by not answering for two days after he’d taken you on a date. He the one who listened to his stupid thoughts that were telling him you deserved better. Someone who wasn’t so busy all the time, someone who wouldn’t get beat up like this every month, someone who’s your own age.
Matt regretted not answering your texts the second he heard you crying through the wall when he woke up.
Karen told him some younger girl stopped by to check on him when she rang Matt later to see how he was doing, after she’d left to go home finally after looking after him for two days while he was still asleep. Figuring it could only have been you, he quickly put the pieces together on what you must have thought when she answered the door.
Only last night, he had still been bed ridden, and he couldn’t go to you. He tried but his body wouldn’t let him. He probably shouldn’t even be out of bed now to be honest, but he’s never been so thankful for his quick healing because at least he could get up and let you in.
Matt’s not even sure what he would have done after not telling you straight away anyway though, just avoid you for weeks? Like that would end well.
Because despite his self-sabotaging, unless you leave him, he’s way too selfish to do it himself. For someone so smart, he can be really dumb sometimes.
“My ex cheated on me” you mumble into his neck once you’d managed to get a hold of yourself, sniffing softly and figuring you owe him some kind of explanation for your extreme reaction, “and I found out… like that, the girl answered his door…”
Those strong arms tighten around you, as his nose nuzzles into your hair.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry” he whispers a little distraught, hot breath on your scalp “I’m so sorry I made you feel like that, and I swear I’d never do that to you.”
The small whimper you make against his throat breaks his heart, and he tries to shift you even closer to him but he lets out a pained sound at the strain on his side from his ribs.
The noise suddenly snaps you out of your melancholy, reminding you that he’s really seriously hurt, and you’re somehow just sat on him.
Matt’s arms tense around you the second you try to move off of him.
“You’re hurt!” You start to complain, sitting up from where you were curled into him despite his resistance, “I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You’re not, please stay, just let me…” he starts before he shifts carefully underneath you, hips flexing, legs widening as he moves you to his other side slightly, trying to find a comfortable position which takes a minute, before settling again.
“Come here” he says gently before coaxing you back down into his chest, and you relax against him slowly.
“Is this okay?” You ask quietly.
“It’s perfect” he replies, kissing your forehead.
The two of you just sit like this for a while, until you take a deep, shaky but calmer breath, finally feeling your anxiety subside as though the feeling of his strong arms around you simply chased it away, the steady movement of his chest making you felt so safe against his larger body.
“Please forgive me?” Matt whispers against your hair.
“There’s nothing to forgive Matty” you reply, just as quietly.
“There is” he disagrees, “I was an avoidant asshole and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay” you say softly, nuzzling into him.
Another comfortable silence settles between you both, and Matt decides he’s got a lot of making up to you, regardless of the fact you forgive him. He thought he was better than that now.
“I’m so proud of you for your article by the way, congratulations sweetheart” he suddenly breaks the silence, “I’m sorry I didn’t say sooner. Will you read it to me sometime?”
The poor organ in your chest skips a beat at his words. He’s proud of you?
“Sure Matty, whenever you’d like” you answer quietly, a small smile on your face now, voice a little sleepy with how warm and fuzzy you were feeling from being cozied up to Matt, with your face buried in the crook of his neck.
“Are you tired?” Matt prompts, his voice still soft, nudging your forehead with his nose gently.
Humming in affirmative, you snuggle further into him and his big, warm body that surrounds you so well, hoping to stay just a little longer.
“Do you want to sleep here? With me?” Matt asks, a little uncharacteristically shy.
The way your heart stutters has him quickly adding “just to sleep, I swear. I don’t think I could do anything like that anyway.”
Lifting your head from his neck, you look up at his face which is still close to yours, moving your hand to lightly trace along his cheek, watching his unfocused, bruised eyes slip shut as you softly rub his skin with your thumb.
“That would be nice Matty” you say, and your smile makes him smile too.
“Yeah?” He asks, opening his eyes again, his gaze landing around your mouth, half expecting you to change your mind.
“Yeah” you all but whisper, and Matt’s placing a soft kiss to your lips, unable to hide his brightening smile as you feel it curve against your mouth.
“I’m really sorry I’m such an idiot” Matt mutters as he pulls back.
“Smartest idiot I’ve ever met” you huff, and your little joke makes Matt feel a bit better.
With a groan of pain that was accidentally louder than he could hold back, he stands and you’re in the air, his strong arms holding you bridal style. He knew it was going to hurt but fuck, it hurt a little more than he expected.
“Matt! Oh my god! Put me down, you need to be careful!” you yelp loudly, partly from surprise and your arms come up to grip around his neck as a reflex, but he just ignores you and carries you to his bedroom.
He wasn’t kidding about the renovations, able to take the time to look at your surroundings properly as he carried you through the space.
You’d never guess you were still in your building, your own slightly rundown apartment on the other side of the wall.
His home is very open plan, which makes sense you guessed, since there’s less things to bump into. There’s exposed brick, steel and metal accents, the furniture was rustic and warm, and it had a very almost industrial loft vibe that was somehow still cosy.
A few long seconds later, Matt walking a little slower than usual because he’s an idiot and decided to carry you with two broken ribs, you’re gently deposited on a soft bed, with silk sheets which surprises you a little.
While he straightens up again, his hand comes to cradle his side, letting out a rough breath.
“Matt” you say gently, standing up again and resting your hand on his shoulder, “sit down, please?”
“I’m fine angel, just- give me a second” he says, eyes shut with a furrowed brow, only to gasp out when he goes to move again.
“You’re clearly not fine Matt, let me help you” you plead, reaching up to hold both sides of his face.
Finally, after a long second, he sighs, defeated, and reluctantly goes to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“If you want something else to sleep in, there’s t-shirts in the second drawer from the top, joggers in the bottom or you can wear some of my boxers as shorts if you’d prefer in the top one, take whatever you want” he starts to explain, running his hand through his hair, “there’s an extra toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink in the guest bathroom” he says with a tilt of his head towards the door in the hallway outside the bedroom, “unless you want to just go back to yours and get stuff?” Matt trails off, feeling a little helpless, but you’re already moving to rummage through his drawers.
Pulling out an old worn shirt that said Columbia University Law Undergrad Class, you nearly settle on that one, until another one buried deeper catches your eye.
This one said Harvard Law School.
“You went to Harvard?” You ask, a little shocked.
“Don’t sound so surprised” he says a little sarcastically, his lips twitching into a small grin.
“No! No I’m not, you’re just… impressive” you immediately defend, before you unceremoniously take your work shirt off, slipping the soft cotton over your skin. It’s not like he can see you.
Behind you, Matt’s breath catches at your sudden revealed skin, swallowing harshly as he tightens his fingers in the bedsheets, willing his body to stay neutral despite the twitch he felt in his sweats, which he can absolutely not get hard in because they would do nothing to hide it.
“You really are the smartest idiot” you joke, and Matt huffs behind you.
Next, you find some Daredevil boxers in his underwear drawer which makes you giggle, choosing those before taking your trousers off, and pulling the red fabric over your hips. His clothes feel so big on you.
“What?” Matt asks, wanting to know what had amused you, though his voice is a little strained because you just keep undressing in front of him and he knows he can’t react.
“Didn’t know you were such a big fan of Daredevil” you laugh, walking towards him and standing between his legs where he quickly makes space for you, lifting the Harvard shirt up a little before taking his hand, so you can run his fingers over the pronounced ‘DD’ on the waistband of his underwear that sat across your stomach.
Matt’s brain short circuits. Like actually stops working for a second.
This is the most intimately he’s touched you, and you did it so casually which doesn’t help his downstairs situation, but nothing prepares him for the sudden possessive feeling in his chest at the thought of you wearing his logo.
Audibly swallowing again, all he stutters out is “I- yeah” a little dumbly.
Chuckling lightly at the mildly flustered older man, you take a step even closer and Matt’s large calloused hands move to rest on your hips, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of you wearing his clothes.
“You can keep them, and the shirt if you want, they don’t fit me any-” he starts, but the feeling of you running your hands through his hair makes his last word of “more” come out as a little moan.
Matt freezes at the same time you do, a light blush pressing across his cheeks at the sound he just made, only relaxing again as you let out another soft giggle and resume your movements in his hair.
Matt lets out pleased hum, and drops his forehead to rest against your sternum as your hands move to the back of his head.
“‘S nice” he mumbles out, practically purring.
“Good” you whisper, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head, “do you need anything from the bathroom or kitchen while I’m going?”
“Just some painkillers please sweetheart, they’re on the kitchen counter” Matt says lowly, feeling the pain in his side getting worse every second, before easing his grip on your hips and reluctantly letting you walk away, “thank you.”
Slowly, Matt manages to shuffle further up the bed so he’s sat against the headboard. He usually sleeps naked, if he’s honest, or at least in just his boxers, but he doesn’t want you to see the probably horrific, dark bruising on his side, nor the large amount of scars littered around on his skin that are hard to explain.
Karen Karen Karen
Matt’s phone abruptly breaks the silence, and he fumbles to answer it, pulling it if his pocket.
In the bathroom down the hall, you can only just hear his half of the conversation.
“Hey… yeah I’m okay… yeah she came round… we talked, I think everything’s okay now… no she’s still here… yes I know, I know I should have just told her… yeah I know, I’m an emotionally constipated idiot who self sabotages every time I have a good thing and needs to learn to accept help at my big age, you tell me at least once a week… yeah I’ll be fine… are you sure? What about Fogs?… okay, okay, thank you Kar… goodnight.” Is what he says before he eventually hangs up.
Coming back into the bedroom after you brushed your teeth and did your night time stuff, you handed Matt the painkillers and a glass of water you brought him which he gratefully accepts.
When you both finally climb under the covers, you’re a little stiff and unsure still, until Matt immediately pulls you against him, facing you while he’s laid on his good side, wrapping his big strong arms around you and letting you use his bicep as a pillow.
Relaxing almost instantly, you snuggle into his chest, basking in the heat of him, and his arms wrap tighter around you at the feeling.
“I’m sorry…” Matt whispers into the darkness a couple of minutes later “for being an asshole, and that you’re having to see me like this.”
Lifting your head to look at him, your hand finds the side of his face.
“Don’t apologise Matty” you say softly, the nickname just keeps rolling off your tongue, “I’d much rather be here with you than let you suffer by yourself, please don’t hide from me again.”
“I won’t, I swear” Matt promises, guilt churning in his stomach at the knowledge he’s not sure he even can keep that promise.
Mirroring you, his hand finds your face, before his fingertips are slowly tracing over your features with an attention and softness that makes your heart clench painfully.
“You’re so beautiful” he whispered, his voice full of affection as his fingertips move down to your mouth now, pulling your bottom lip away from your teeth ever so slightly, and you realise he’s trying to piece together what you look like through touch.
“Matty” you breathe, warm air on his thumb where he’s touching your mouth, and like he’s under a spell the second you uttered his name, he slowly leans into to kiss you.
The kiss is gentle, unhurried, like he’s savouring you, and unbeknownst to you, he really is.
He came so close to losing you before he even got the change to have you, all because of his stupid avoidance tendencies. He never wanted to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him, and the guilt of not telling you everything you deserved to know was starting to eat at him.
Pulling you tighter against him with one hand around your waist, while the other that belongs to the arm under your head buries itself in your hair and the older man continues to kiss you. He kisses you till you have no choice to part, breathing heavily.
“Be mine?” He whispered against your mouth, unable to stop the words from coming out. This was decidedly not how he pictured officially asking you to be his girlfriend.
A breathless laugh escapes you, a little surprised by his sudden question before you’re leaning back into him.
“I already am” you reply, before kissing him again, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his mouth stretching into a wide smile before he kisses you back even more passionately.
The hand on your waist was starting to travel, moving up slightly before it landed on your hip, his fingers flexing against the feeling of his clothes on you, and he lets out a rough little groan into your mouth.
Bravely, he continues down, till his warm hands touch the soft skin of your bare thigh, before going even further, finding the crook of your knee and pulling your leg over his own hip, eager to get as close as he physically can to you, to surround himself in you.
His joggers are getting increasingly tighter, and there’s nowhere to hide that fact while he’s pressed flush against you. You gasp into his mouth when you feel his obvious arousal hard and heavy against your bare thigh.
Matt lets out another deep sound as he smells your own arousal in the air, causing his cock to harden even more and his hand glides back up your thigh, then curling around to cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh.
The action makes you let out a moan of your own, breathing heavier as the air around you both grows thick with tension.
“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me” Matt groans, his voice rough with need.
As though the universe was sending him a reminder, he’s suddenly reminded of his injured state the second he tries to lean up on his elbow.
The gasp that leaves him is different this time and you can immediately tell it’s from pain.
“Matt we need to stop, you’re too badly hurt” you breathe out, willing yourself to calm down.
“I know, I know” he reassures, though his hands are still exploring, fingertips sneaking under the hem of the t shirt to feel your silky skin.
“I can’t-“ he clears his throat, “I can’t do much tonight but please let me touch you, let me take care of you, please, I need to touch you” Matt nearly begs, his deep voice full of want.
Your heart skips a beat at his devoted words, you’d never felt so wanted before, so adored, and you’re weak to do anything other than accept his plea.
The second you’re nodding your head, Matt’s on you.
His lips meet your own again, with reignited passion as his tongue meets yours, his rough hand sliding fully under the shirt, his long fingers spread wide over your skin and the size difference makes your clit throb in your underwear.
Humming a pleased sound into your mouth as though he can sense what he’s doing to you, his hands glide further up, until he’s ever so softly cupping your breast, squeezing lighting before his thumb brushes over your already peaking nipple. The action makes your breath hitch, and you arch your back into him slightly.
Managing to successfully prop himself up on his elbow this time, the angle shift causes you to roll onto your back, with Matt half on top of you still devouring your lips.
The scarred hands explore your skin, moving to your other breast, smoothing down your sternum, up to your collarbones before returning to your tits, and he nibbles your lip which makes you let out a quiet moan, feeling your skin heat up impossibly fast at his careful yet reverent touches.
Further and further down, his fingers wander until they’re skating over the edge of the Daredevil boxers, and your heartbeat thuds in anticipation as you thread your fingers through his hair, not letting up in his kiss for even a second, even when your breathing continues to pick up. There’s an embarrassing amount of arousal already gathering in your underwear from his simple touches.
Just as he’s about to push his hand further into your underwear, making sure to go slowly in case you want him to stop, Matt tries to sit up more, wanting to kiss down your neck but his body fails him.
After his injury, it didn’t heal right. It causes him more grief than he’d like to admit, usually a deep ache that always settles after he’s been out fighting caused by the recoil of his punches, and tonight, it makes itself known when he twists it wrong ever so slightly.
“Fuck” he exclaims, trying to keep his voice quiet as the sharp pain radiates down through his arm and up his neck, the nerves frayed and damaged, causing him to drop back down on his back, which in turn hurts his ribs and he lets out a rumbling frustrated growl.
Sitting up in concern at his sudden departure, you lay your hand on the middle of his broad chest.
“Are you okay? What happened? I told you you’re too hurt…” you ask gently, trying not to chastise him too much.
“It’s my fucking shoulder” he grunts out, rolling his arm around the joint as he tries to ease the ache, “I hurt it a few years ago and it’s just… never been the same.”
“Oh Matty, we don’t have to do anything really, you don’t owe me something, you’re really hurt, please just rest” you try to appease, but he lefts out a huff, slowly pulling you towards him this time so he can kiss you again, enjoying the weight of where you’re resting against his chest.
“I wasn’t touching you because I think I owe you something sweetheart” he starts, pulling away and holding the side of your face, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb, but his other arm that’s under you starts to crawl down the expanse of your back, further until he’s grabbing a handful of your ass again, “I’m touching you for the purely selfish reason that is I want to.”
His words make your cheeks heat up, and the hand on your face travels down your neck, cupping your throat with a very light touch, not squeezing, just feeling your pulse, causing your breath to catch for a second as even more heat floods through you.
“Well I want you to not be in pain” you manage to mumble out, and Matt can feel the vibrations of your words on his palm.
Matt let’s put another frustrated huff, dropping his hand from your throat to your waist again, feeling his cock still throbbing in his underwear from touching you, and the idea that into floods his mind makes it twitch even more obscenely under the sheets.
“Sit on my face?” He breathes out suddenly. He’s unable to get the thought out of his head now he’s had it, not an ounce of shame in his voice, only pure want.
“What?” You squeak out, a little astounded at his request, eyebrows high on your face. Contradictory to your words though, heat is flooding to your face and everywhere else in your body at the idea.
“You can say no, of course, but if you want to? I just wanna touch you sweetheart, make you feel good, please?” Matt says softly, making sure you know you can refuse him, but he can hear the way your body reacted to his words.
You can’t say you’re not interested in the idea, but a wave of anxiety and embarrassment crashes over you as well at the thought of something so intimate.
What if you’re too heavy? What if you hurt him? What if you did it wrong?
You’d never even done anything that before, let alone with an extremely sexy older man who probably, literally has decades of experience on you. You’d had sex before, of course, but your past lovers weren’t exactly the most… generous.
The hesitation is enough to make Matt open his mouth again, quick to try and fix his potential mistake.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to sweetheart, it was just a suggestion, please don’t feel pressured. We can just cuddle or go to sleep” he apologises, moving his hand to hold the side of your face, and he can feel the heat radiating from your cheek.
“No I- don’t be sorry I’ve just… I’ve never done that before” you admit quietly, glancing away from his face regardless of the fact he’s not making eye contact anyway, suddenly fascinated in playing with the collar of his shirt.
“You’ve never sat on someone’s face?” Matt asks carefully, confused as to how someone could even resist doing that to you.
The small “no” makes his brows furrow further.
“No one’s ever eaten you out before?” He says, a little surprised as he raises his eyebrows, and he can’t hide the annoyance in his tone, though it’s definitely not directed at you.
Nodding your head to answer, only to quickly remember that he can’t see you before you let out a quiet “yeah” like it’s something for you to be embarrassed about.
“Wait, fuck, you’ve had sex before though?” Matt asks a little panicked now with how quickly he was moving, suddenly painfully aware of the age gap.
The stress in his question makes you laugh.
“Yes Matty I’ve had sex before” you reassure him, your tone light.
He lets out a little breath of relief. Not that he would have a problem with that, but he’s been very forward, and he’d hate to have made you feel uncomfortable.
Matt pulls your face down as he sits up a little, so your noses brush, and he’s cradling your face in both hands like you’re something so precious to him.
“That ex of yours is a fucking idiot” he whispers harshly, “anyone who’s had you and didn’t taste you is.”
“No one’s ever even made me come” you admit quietly.
“Jesus fucking Christ” Matt actually groans, dropping back down and tilting his head towards the ceiling, feeling truly frustrated and pissed off at his own gender.
“You can’t tell me that right now sweetheart, fuck, not when I’m like this” he admits, covering his eyes with the back of his forearm, over his bruised nose, his voice rough and laced with actual pain from this whole conversation.
Before you can blink, Matt is suddenly leaning up again, propping himself up on his elbow and pulling you into a deep kiss, his other hand tangling in your hair at the back of your head.
“Let me make you feel good baby, please, I promise I will” he whispers against your lips, and the certainty in his voice makes you turned on all over again.
Ever so slowly, you nod against his lips and Matt actually moans at the idea of getting his mouth on you, or rather you on his mouth.
Those big, calloused hands travel to the waistband of those stupid Daredevil boxers again that shouldn’t make him feel the way they do, toying with the elastic.
“Are you sure?” He asks again, leaning back with his head tilted slightly as he analyses your body for any signs you’re uncomfortable.
The way he’s been acting has you soaked, your breathing is already picking up again and your heart is thudding in your chest with a mix of anxiety and sheer want.
“Please” you whisper, tugging on his hair lightly and a deep groan leaves his mouth, before he’s kissing you again, his long fingers slipping into the waistband of the boxers and your own underwear, before slowly pulling them down and off your body, leaving you in just Matt’s shirt.
Gently his fingers run back up your thigh, softly squeezing the skin, before his hand moves further inwards.
A gasp leaves your lips as he runs his middle finger through your already soaking folds, making sure to keep his touch light. Finding the source of your arousal, the digit coats itself in you before dragging back up to circle your clit softly.
The tenderness in his movement is undoing you nearly as much as the touch itself, and you fall onto your back, arching into him as he leans over you on his side.
Instinctually your thighs part, making more room for him and Matt hums in approval, dipping to press soft kisses against your pulse point.
“You’re so wet baby” he whispers against you, though it comes out as more of a moan. His words would make you flush again but it already feels like your whole body is heating up and a needy little whine leaves your lips as he presses a little harder on your sensitive bud.
“I’ve thought about touching you like this for weeks” he admits deeply, pressing his lips to you in between words, before his finger moves down again, circling your entrance.
You moan out his name when he finally pushes it inside you, gripping his hair in your fists as he sinks his finger in to the last knuckle.
The older man groans at the way your walls clench and flutter around him, at how soaked you are from just his teasing touches. His cock throbs in his underwear, painfully hard now.
A cry flies from your mouth as your fingers accidentally pull his hair even harder when Matt crooks his finger just right, and you arch your back in surprised pleasure when he immediately locates your g-spot, massaging it gently.
His mouth sucks a love bite into your skin, while his digit retreats, only to renter with his ring finger along with it, the stretch causing you to clench around them as you let out another moan, head tipping back into the pillow.
Now deep inside you, his fingertips stroke that same spot over and over, and it has you whining his name, one of your hands moving to his shoulder to clutch at the fabric of his shirt tightly.
Above you, Matt is breathing heavily too. He can taste you in the air already just from how wet you are, his cock twitching every time you tighten around his hand.
Before you can complain, Matt withdraws his fingers after a couple of minutes, making you whine again at sudden the loss. Opening your eyes to look at him, you’re met with the sight of him sucking your arousal from his fingers, letting out a deep moan as he finally gets a real taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut.
Staring at him, mouth agape at the filthy display he’s putting on, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together as you clench around nothing.
“Matt” you whine, too needy to care anymore. You just need him to touch you.
Withdrawing his own fingers from his mouth, he falls onto his back.
“Come here” he says gently, pulling you to sit up. His voice is deep and thick with want for you.
With Matt guiding you, you tentatively find yourself gripping the headboard as you spread your thighs over his waiting face, his tongue coming out to wet his lips like he’s starving.
His arms wind round your thighs, hands stopping on your ass and squeezing, before moving them to your lower back to keep you right where he wants you.
The way he presses kisses to your inner thighs has you breathless, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there, and when he started sucking hickeys too, you can’t help the way your hips twitch above him.
“You smell so good baby, so good for me” he groans, taking a filthy breath of you that makes you squeak a little in embarrassment, but it’s quickly dissipated when he pulls you down so your soaked cunt finally meets his face.
Simultaneous moans fill the room, a moaning gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes slip shut, and a deep groan rumbling from Matt’s chest as he runs his tongue through the centre of your folds, finally tasting you properly.
One of your hands flies down to his hair, gripping harshly while the other holds tightly onto the bed frame to steady yourself, and you let out another shaky moan when his tongue dips into your core. He goes as deep as he can as to get his fill of your arousal, surrounding himself in you and the way you flutter around the wet muscle.
Moving up to your clit after fucking you on his tongue in a way that had your legs weak, he flicks and traces circles around the engorged bud, before finally sucking it gently into his mouth.
Above him, you’re moaning and whining, trying to keep still as he alternates between those two actions, switching every time your sounds change in pitch, your walls start clenching erratically around his tongue, or your heart beat starts to thud even louder in his years.
With his tongue back in your cunt, his nose rubs against your sensitive clit and you can’t help the way your hips start to move ever so slightly against him, even though you try not too.
To your surprise though, Matt moans lowly at the movement, nodding his head eagerly while the hands on you actually encourage you to move on his face.
“Take what you need, ride my face, please, fuck you taste so fucking good” he groans deeply into your pussy, the vibrations making your toes curl.
Slowly, you start to move your hips, grinding down on his mouth in a way that has you getting closer more quickly then you ever thought possible.
Matt sounds like he’s drunk on you. When you finally get the courage to peek down at him, he’s got his eyes shut, there’s a unfairly pretty blush spreading across his face, his brow is pinched in a mixture of pleasure and concentration, and you even notice the little rocking motions he’s making, humping the air behind you. He’s very clearly enjoying this a lot, he looks so blissed out.
Matt keeps your pace steady, moving you in the rhythm you set, fucking you deep on his tongue, and moving his head up and down so his nose is stimulating your throbbing clit.
His own hips still rocking, unable to stop regardless of the lack of friction he’s finding. The only the relief being the barely there movements of his cock rubbing against his clothes, but there’s still a wet patch starting to appear on his grey joggers, leaking through his underwear from how turned on he is.
The coil in your stomach is getting tighter, as you feel your finish starting to blossom deep in your gut, and you subconsciously pick the pace up of your hips a little, chasing your end. Part of you is shocked at how quickly you feel it, how he seems to know exactly what feels good for you and keeps doing it.
“Fuck, that’s it, come on my face pretty girl” Matt grunts out, before he’s suddenly lavishing attention to your clit, sucking it into his mouth then flicking it with his tongue in a way that has you keening.
“Oh my god- Matt- don’t stop- I’m gonna- fuck!” you stutter out, overwhelmed by the sudden pleasure taking over you.
A second later, your orgasm crashes into you, wave after wave rushing through you like electricity, locking all your muscles as your head tips back and you let out a load moan that echos the walls.
Matt diligently works you though it, moving back down to tongue fuck your hole, wanting to taste you, feel you come around his tongue and your fluttering walls don’t disappoint.
His nose is rubbing against your twitching clit, sending jolts of pleasure that ever seem to end, and the deep, loud groan he makes at the sensation only prolongs the intense pleasure.
It’s the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had.
Keeping his movement up till you start to whine in over sensitivity, he runs his tongue up and down your cunt a few more times, licking up everything he can like he can’t get enough. Now he’s had a taste of you, he’s not sure he ever will.
When Matt finally stops tormenting you, you sag against the headboard, all the muscles in your body relaxing all at once and Matt coaxes you down gently, before he has you curling into his unhurt side, your head buried in his neck as you try to catch your breath, eyes staying closed.
“Good?” He whispers, like he didn’t just blow your mind.
“Wow” is all you can mumble out weakly, and Matt’s chest shakes underneath you as he chuckles at your reaction.
Once your breathing is steady, you sit up again to look at him after a few minutes.
He is still flushed, his tongue occasionally dipping out to lick his lips like he wants to keep tasting you, the lower half of his face still covered in your arousal. His own eyes are shut like he’s basking in the after glow with you, and he looks very pleased with himself.
“Do you need- do you want me to, you know? Do you?” You ask, a little awkwardly as you try to get the words out, feeling shy about offering to suck him off despite the fact he just had his face buried in your cunt.
Matt clears his throat as his eyes open again, landing in your general direction.
“Uh- no I’m, I’m good sweetheart” he mumbles, his cheeks reddening further, and it’s only then, when you glance down to what you thought would be an obvious tent from what you felt earlier, only to find a large wet spot there instead. One that means he just came in his pants, from eating you out.
The wet fabric clings lewdly to his slowly softening cock, making the outline unmistakeable and your eyes linger on the sizeable shape of him.
You can’t stop the little giggle that escapes you at the realisation.
“Too much for you, old man?” You tease, and you feel him huff underneath you.
“Don’t” he groans out, a little embarrassed, as he covers his face with his arm again, but there’s no heat in the word.
He hasn’t come in his fucking pants like that in fucking years. Like he’s some fucking inexperienced teenager.
The two of you lay together in a comfortable silence for a while, until he can’t stand the horrid feeling of his come drying in his underwear anymore, and slowly manages to get up.
You let out a displeased mumble, nearly asleep as he moves away, half at losing his mind warmth, and half because he really needs to stop just ignoring the fact he’s hurt.
“I’m fine angel, just gonna go get something to clean you up with” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your head, before straightening up and making his way to the on suite.
“Shit” he grunts out when he’s there, expressing the pain he’s quickly becoming more aware of now he’s not completely distracted by you, and there’s a deep, horrible ache coming from his side. He might have pushed it a bit, but it’s worth it, he thinks.
It’s not your fault he did like ten sets of pelvic tilts while he was eating out, chasing his own pleasure just as much as yours as he humped the air.
Lifting his shirt up, his fingers graze over his ribs gently, wincing at the contact. He can feel the heat radiating from the injury, and hear the amount of blood that’s pooled under his skin, only imagining how dark it actually is to look at.
Distracted by honing his senses in on his own body as he tries to check his injury, he doesn’t hear you coming to stand in the doorway.
The thing that alerts him to your presence is your gasp.
“Oh my god” you whisper as your hand covers your mouth, and Matt drops his shirt like it’s burned him, but it’s too late. You saw.
You can actually see some of his ribs through the bruise where it goes pale from what must have been multiple impacts, and you realise that his broken ribs can’t even next to eachother. His whole side is black and purple.
“I’m fine, it probably looks worse than it is, I swear” he tries to reassure you, but how can you believe him?
“Matt it- it looks bad” you mutter, coming to lift the edge of his shirt again so you can see, and he reluctantly lets you, lifting his arm to give you a better view.
Your fingers hover, never touching the bruise for fear you’d hurt him, but Matt can feel it anyway, and it makes his muscles tense ever so slightly.
More bruising catches your eye, further onto his chest and you gesture for him to take his shirt off completely. He complies, unable to deny you anything.
“Matty…” you gasp as you take in the rest of the dark bruises littered around his body, ones you didn’t know about. Only, you notice they were at various stages of healing as well, some which were obviously newer were still purple, while others had fades into yellows and greens.
The older man just stands there, letting you observe him and waiting for your inevitable reaction of disgust to the scars you must have noticed by now, but it never came.
Ever so lightly, your fingers trace over some of the lighter bruises on his chest, then over the twisted scar over his shoulder that seems to cause him so much grief, the one that’s undeniably a bullet wound.
Your digits continue to wander over his torso, exploring his lived in skin, tracing gently over the marks you find.
Only then is it that you notice a silver chain sitting round his neck, a small cross sitting between his bruised pectoral muscles.
“Are you religious?” You ask gently, picking the pendant up to look at it.
“Occasionally” he huffs out, half laughing.
“I was raised catholic” he offers, unprompted, “when my dad died, I grew up in Saint Agnes Orphanage, you know, nuns and stuff. I’ve had… my ups and downs with my faith.”
He’d told you about his dad, the boxer, Battlin’ Jack Murdock of Hell’s Kitchen, and his mum leaving when he was really young, but clearly his childhood was a bit of a touchy subject.
Letting the pendant lay back down on his warm skin, you continue on your quest mapping out the details on his body.
He didn’t expect an answer, he was just.. giving you another piece of him. One he could give.
His abdomen tenses under your touch as your hands wander further down, tracing over the long scar on his stomach, and that distracts you a little.
Before you’re even thinking about it, you press your whole hand against the abs you can feel distinctly now, no longer hidden by that layer of softness as the muscles flex.
You really were right when you said you’d pay to see him flex because fuck. He’s so… strong. You knew he was big, but he’s truly a powerhouse.
Matt’s breathing deepens as your hand moves up toward his chest, feeling the crevasses in his muscles until you’re brushing over another scar on his pec, and his breath catches. He nearly fucking whimpers when you lean forward to press a light kiss there.
In anticipation, he waits for the inevitable question of ‘what happened?’ but you don’t ask. You just continue trace and touch his body, pressing kisses to the bruises, scars and marks you find.
Promoting him to turn round, you do the same to his back. Fingers run over his broad shoulders, down the more defined muscles in his back that have you drooling a little bit. More kisses are pressed to the scars he has there too, all different shapes and sizes.
The thing is, you don’t ask what happened, because you think you might already know.
All the little things you noticed start to piece together.
That weird sense of familiarity you felt when you ran into Daredevil the second time, the way he moved his aching shoulder in the exact same way you’d seen Matt do it which had nagged at your brain for some reason. The way him is voice even when deepened was still recognisable to you, in the back of your mind. The way he seemed to care so much about your wellbeing, even putting that USB together for you, which is not something you’d do for someone that you only met properly twice. The times you heard hi m running up and down the fire escape occasionally when you first moved in, the loud sounds and that time he wouldn’t even open the door when you checked on him.
Then there’s random bruises Matt would get, which he always gave you flimsy excuses for, and the way you constantly forget that he’s blind because he moves around so easily, or the way he pulled you out of the way of that cyclist on your date with insane speed. The sheer strength of him that goes way beyond just working out as a hobby.
They’re so similar now you really think about it, their build, their words, their posture, even their age, and you can’t believe you didn’t notice the bottom half of Daredevil’s face, even in the low light. Those lips which had kissed you.
Christ, they’re even both left handed. You’re sure Matt is, he always holds his cane in his left hand, and from footage you’d seen of Daredevil, he is too. He definetly favoured it when you’d met him.
Everything suddenly clicks into place.
He hadn’t been in hit by a car, he had been in a fight.
Somehow, Matt is Daredevil.
Your boyfriend is Daredevil.
The same Daredevil that has saved you not once, not twice, but three times.
Except, he’s blind, so how can he be?
But it’s undeniable now, he has to be.
Continuing your exploration of his skin like you hadn’t just had a mind blowing revelation, Matt just assumes the sudden thudding of your heart is because of the close contact, and he turns to face you again.
“Go back to bed sweetheart, it’s late, I need to uh-clean myself up” he says, huffing out a small laugh before pulling you into a sweet kiss.
Kissing him back, you run your hands through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and you decide you’ll wait.
You’ll wait for him to tell you when he wants to.
Luckily, the next morning was your day off, and it’s a good thing too because you’re not sure you would have been able to find the willpower to climb out of the warm, strong arms that had pulled you tightly against his chest, anchored securely around your middle from behind.
The two of you spent a lazy morning together, basking in each other, loving the smile in his face every time you called him your boyfriend, as the warm light filtered through his bedroom.
You doted on him, unwilling to let him get up for any reason even though he fought and complained, insisting he’s okay and you don’t have to do all this for him.
That didn’t work as well when he’s still shirtless, full view of his agony on display.
Eventually you had to bribe him to let you take care of him with sitting on his face again, which he reluctantly agreed to, but he couldn’t say no to that. Now he’s had a taste, he can’t get enough, and honestly, neither can you.
You stay with him nearly every night while he’s hurt, unwilling to leave him alone for too long while he’s like this, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
A week passes, and Matt is finally okay enough to go back to work, somehow, but you have to admit the bruises looked a lot better. He must just be a fast healer, like a really fast one.
You hadn’t stayed at his since that night, though it’s not for lack of wanting on either sides. Matt just had a lot of catching up to do at work, he was swamped and he was at the office late every night.
He would apologise profusely for neglecting you, even bringing you treats like pastries or flowers when he could hear you were still awake on his way home. Sometimes, he’d even ordered a full meal to your flat once when he couldn’t make the dinner he said he would.
The man looked stressed again though. During his time off healing, Matt was as relaxed as you’d ever seen him.
Now that you’d had your revelation about him, every little detail screamed at you that it’s true. His reflexes were insane, you’re not even sure he really knows he’s doing all of it, like he’s moving before he thinks.
He’d gently guide you away from the corner of the counter you were about to bump into, then playing it off like he’s pulling you into a hug, or he’d pull you out of the way of some stranger who was about to push past you on the street, or how he caught you when you tripped going up the stairs.
Dropped a plate while you were cooking? He’s caught it before it hits the floor, not letting it shatter around your socked feet.
He didn’t even have a good excuse for that one, he moved before he could think, eventually saying he just heard it. He was a little surprised when you didn’t push it. Usually, people accuse him of faking his blindness eventually, especially after something like that.
You’re still not really sure how he’s Daredevil because he is definetly blind. You can’t fake the way his eyes are unresponsive to the light, but you’re beginning to think it’s for something to do with his other senses because what does he mean he heard the plate falling?
The way he tilts his head towards noises increases your suspicions that it’s got something to do with his hearing, at least.
By the second week of being buried in cases, some of them new because there was a sudden influx in people needing a lawyer for some reason, Matt’s getting frustrated.
He misses you. A lot.
The occasional shared meals in the evening where he would cook for you, or you would invite him over to yours, weren’t enough. He’d have to apologise and say he had more work to do and he felt so bad every time, even though you’d told him it’s okay, and that you understand.
And you do. You know how much his job means to him, and he’s helping people. You just wish he would slow down a bit, take a few less cases so he isn’t so stressed and overworked all the time.
He’s pretty much healed now, luckily but he hasn’t even had time to put the suit back on.
Occasionally, when he’s missing you, from his own office, he’d hone into you with his senses, able to do so now he knows your heartbeat so well.
Most of the time, you’re at work, listening to you mumble as you type, or talk to your coworkers. He doesn’t pay much attention to your actual words, he just likes hearing your voice, safe and happy. It calms him down.
And in hindsight, it’s a good fucking thing he did do that.
Today when he tunes in, the whole of The Daily Bugle building is eerily quiet, and then he hears it.
Someone screams. Shrill and terrified, before he hears the gunshot.
Matt’s already moving, pulling out the spare suit he kept in his desk drawer, before he’s jumping out the window.
Thank you so much for all the love on this series so far, and thank you for reading <3
This fic has been cross posted on AO3 • Masterlist
Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Explicit Sexual Content: Suggestive Language.
Canon-Typical depictions of violence and gun violence, attempted assault, crime, and injury, etc. There's also an age gap. See my AO3 for the full detailed warning list.
Summary: When you move into your new apartment, you don't run into your only direct neighbour straight away.
When you do finally meet him, he's certainly not what you expected, considering you'd heard him climbing up and down the fire escape in the dead of night before.
Word Count: 8,436 • Masterlist
In the morning, you don’t run into Matt like you had done the past couple of days, but then you remembered he said something about being in court today so he must have left earlier than usual.
You feel a little bad for keeping him up so late, and you hope he’s not too tired.
The first day back at work after your time off was pretty uneventful. You’d written a few small articles here and there about some petty crime, and started one about a new small vigilante named Blindspot who had been making an appearance.
On your lunch break, you decide to text Matt, and you blush when you read the text he sent you last night again.
4:23am
Unknown Number: Oh you’re going to be such a fucking problem for me sweetheart, I can already tell.
11:19am
You: Hey, I just wanted to say good luck on your court case today and that if you’re free at any point this week I owe you a coffee.
He texts back almost immediately which you weren’t expecting, maybe you caught him at a good time. It only took as long as you saving his contact information.
11:21am
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: It’s going better than expected actually, and don’t worry your pretty little head about me, you’re absolute worth the late night. You don’t owe me a thing.
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: I wouldn’t say no to seeing you though, so about that coffee, I’m actually free for a bit in about 20 minutes if you are?
After you text back that you are free, Matt sends you the address to a small little coffee shop around the corner from your office. You think it’s just a coincidence for a second before remember he obviously must know where The Daily Bugle is.
Taking another few minutes to tweak some of the lines and words in your article, you decide it’s okay to be a little bit early, before gathering your coat and bag and heading out into the city.
It takes you no time at all to find the coffee shop, but you hesitate before going in. It’s unlikely Matt would be here already if he’s in the court house you think he’s in, but you don’t want to order without him, you have no idea what coffee he likes.
If had to guess, you’d say he probably drinks it black, intimidating and broody as he is, not to mention a workaholic, but you never know. The intense butterflies in your stomach are making you feel a little sick.
Matt shows up only a few minutes later, the sound of his cane clacking down the street drawing your attention.
The usual red glasses adorned his face, and he’s dressed in the nicest suit you’d seen him in, black with a white shirt and a red tie. It fits him well, the fabric fitted just the right amount over his broad shoulders, and you can imagine him holding the whole room in his grip while he makes his cases. He looks powerful.
His soft hair is the only thing slightly out of place, a bit mussed like he’s been running his hands through it without really noticing he’s making it stick up.
His eyebrows furrow a little when you call his name from where you’re waiting outside the cafe, in the cold.
“Hey” he smiles, voice low as he stops right in front of you.
“Hi” you say back quietly, head dipping as your cheeks heat when you suddenly remember last night and it comes flooding back to you.
“Don’t get all shy on me now sweetheart” he mutters, voice dropping lower as he’s steps closer, and holds your chin with his curled finger, tilting your head to look up at him.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks gently.
“I told you, you can kiss me whenever you want” you reply, already a little breathless.
Leaning down in a much more controlled way than he did last night, slow enough for you to move away, which of course you don’t, his big hand moves to gently hold the side of your face, before he’s kissing you.
Short and sweet this time, though you feel the little sigh he lets out against your lips, the way his shoulders relax a fraction. It still makes your heart feel like it’s about to beat out of your chest regardless.
“Why are you waiting outside in the cold?” He almost scolds lightly as he pulls away.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, but I didn’t want to get something without you” you say, feeling a little silly now you said it out loud.
Matt shows no sign of thinking that though, he just smiles at you fondly while shaking his head a little, before nodding his head to the cafe.
“Come on, I don’t have that long really” Matt half laughs, before he’s holding the door open for you, before holding the crook of your elbow.
As suspected, Matt does in fact order a black coffee.
“So predictable” you pretend to mutter sarcastically under your breath, but you say it loud enough for him to hear on purpose.
Matt let’s out a genuine laugh.
“See? You would have been fine” he says, obviously amused.
Taking some free seats once your drinks are made, a cosy little corner table, you hum at the pleasant taste of the coffee on your tongue.
“Good?” Matt asks after hearing the sound, before he takes a sip of his own. He likes this coffee shop, they have a pretty basic menu so it’s not usually that busy, and they don’t do any crushed ice drinks either which means there’s no stupidly loud blenders going off every five minutes, so it’s convenient how close it is to your work.
“So good” you nearly moan as you take another sip, feeling the warm liquid fight off the cold weather.
Beside you, Matt freezes for just a second, taking a sharp intake of breath as his mind flashes back to last night, before snapping back to reality and sighing, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes as he sinks further into his seat.
“Tired?” You ask, feeling guilty again.
Leaning forward on his elbows, he half throws the glasses on the table so he can scrub his hands down his face.
“No I’m used to not sleeping, don’t worry, just… stressed” Matt confessed, palms digging into his eyes again briefly before he puts his glasses back on.
Leaning into his side slightly, you ask how his court case was going. He tells you what he can, that everything that could go wrong did, and he thinks he’s managed to pull it back but the days not over.
By the time he asks how your day was going, he’s leaning into you too.
You tell him about your articles.
“He’s a good kid” Matt surprises you by saying when you tell him about the Blindspot article, “though I suppose he’s not really a kid anymore” he huffs, not quite reaching amusement.
“You know him?” You ask, wide eyed.
“You’d be surprised how many people like that need legal help” Matt winks at you.
“Actually I don’t think I’d be surprised at all, if I had to guess, I’d say, all of them?” you laugh, which makes Matt smile when the sound reaches his ears.
“Then you’d be correct” he laughs along too, already feeling lighter from his stressful day.
“Does that mean you know Daredevil?” You ask suddenly, though there’s still amusement in your voice.
Matt hums in affirmative as he takes another sip of his drink before nodding.
“Why? Is he your favourite or something?” He teases.
“Well, he has saved my life twice now but that might make me biased” you joke back.
“Should I be jealous?” The older man says, though his tone is still light.
You laugh again, “oh god no” you start, “sure I may have a tiny little crush on him, but I heard he’s like the slut of the superhero world!” You confess.
Though your friends would disagree that your crush is ‘tiny’ when you came back to school after being saved by him, and he’s all you would talk about for months. The newspaper clippings of him on your childhood bedroom wall, and doodles in your teenage self’s notebook would also disagree.
Matt chokes a little on his drink at your words, before letting out a slightly more strained sound that was supposed to be a laugh.
The worst part is you’re not wrong either, though he’d calmed down a bit now he’s older.
He quickly recovers, before leaning in to whisper “that’s good then, because I was about to be jealous” in your ear, voice dropping in a way he has no business doing in public.
Hiding your face in your hands, you let out a nervous little laugh as your face heats up embarrassingly quickly, not that he can see it, but by the small pleased smirk on his face, he knows just what he’s doing to you.
The rest of your little coffee date passes way too quickly, and before you know it, you’re stood outside again saying goodbye before you go your opposite ways.
“Thank you for the second date” you tease, remembering his words of the first one supposedly not counting on account of his pride.
Matt rolls his eyes, “this wasn’t good enough for you either, I’m not counting a quick lunch break as our first or second date” he says before he dips down to press a soft kiss to your lips.
The beeping on Matt’s watch interrupts the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away while he feels it with the tips of his fingers.
When he does pull away, it’s with a deep sigh.
“I’ve got to go” he says mournfully, not making any moves to leave as he bumps his forehead against yours like he’s got all the time in the world, and you’re not both stood on a busy street in New York.
The expression on his handsome face is almost a pout, and it makes you giggle a little. The sight of this huge man pouting because he has to leave you makes your stomach swoop, but he straightens up anyway.
“Go be amazing and win” you encourage with a smile, standing on your tip toes to press another small kiss to his lips.
Matt can’t fight the smile spreading on his own face because you kissed him this time.
“Yes ma’am” he jokes as he starts to walk backwards again, which he seems to do a lot but you suppose he doesn’t exactly need to watch where he’s going, and gives you a mock salute with two fingers, before turning around to continue the tap, tap of his cane down the street.
The action is somehow so familiar somehow, you narrow your eyes in thought for a second as it pulls at something in your brain, but you can’t figure out what.
Releasing a big mournful sigh, you also turn away and return to your office.
Matt drops by later that evening, when you’re already ready to go to bed, dressed in just a big t-shirt and cute little shorts you can’t even see the top is so long.
When you open the door, he doesn’t speak straight away, he’s got his head tilted slightly, obviously listening to something, but what? You don’t know. You can’t hear anything.
As if the sound of door opening snapped him out of it, his eyes land in your general direction, before stepping closer to you.
“We won” Matt smiles, his tone genuinely happy, not bragging or anything like that. He smells faintly of beer, and you guess he must have been out celebrating.
“I wouldn’t expect any less from the Matthew Murdock” you tease before saying more genuinely, “congratulations Matt” with a smile, before you hook your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you.
He kisses you back with just as much enthusiasm, pulling you tightly against his warm body, as his hands explore the expanse of your waist. They go further down, over your hips, till they come to a stop at the hem of your t-shirt and his fingers brush the bare skin of your thighs.
The older man hums a noise of approval at the contact, lingering for a second longer before he moves them back to your waist.
“I can’t stay” Matt mumbles against your lips, “I somehow still have so much fucking work to do, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I should probably try and get an early night” you say, pulling back.
“I wanted to ask you, for our real date, is Saturday evening okay with you?” He asks, not moving away from you so his breath tickled your face. It’s Thursday now, so it’s only a day away.
“That sounds perfect” you smile, and then he’s kissing you again.
Breaking the kiss with one, then another briefer kiss like he can’t bring himself to stop, he starts to pull away properly.
“Is six okay?” He confirms, and when you agree, he gives you one last quick kiss before you’re saying goodnight.
Living this close to Matt might be a special kind of torture.
The next article you were writing was about the unsafe living conditions of one of the apartment complex’s in Hell’s Kitchen.
There had been an increase in violent assaults, robberies, and property damage in and around the building between some of tenants, and the landlords nor the police seem to care.
Friday evening, you were on your way to hopefully interview some of the residents there, to get their side of the story.
Lurking around outside for a while in the shadows, you simply watch for a while and take in the scene.
The building is run down, one or two shady looking characters coming and going, but there’s also toys on the grassy area in front, bikes and footballs, evidence of kids living here.
“This doesn’t look like you’re being very safe to me” a sudden deep voice from behind you states lowly, making you jump about a foot. He sounds a little pissed, honestly.
As you whirl round wide eyed, your surprise only grows because there stands Daredevil.
Again.
In all his intimidatingly large, leathered, horned glory, and he’s walking towards you.
“What are you doing here?” The vigilante almost seethes, his words still purposefully lower than his usual tone. You swear he didn’t do it this much last time.
“For my article” you rush out, “there’s been attacks here and there police won’t do anything! Families live here, kids!” You argue, doing your best to keep your voices quiet.
The expression on his face softens slightly, not that you can see much of it.
What you can see suddenly strikes you as very familiar somehow, but you can’t make out much in this low light, so you decide your brain must be playing tricks.
Daredevil sighs, and pinches the bridge of his mask with his left hand.
“It’s gang violence sw-“ the horned man cuts himself off with a cough, “it’s gang violence, I’ve been looking into it for a while. They’re using this building as a hub. I’ll handle it, you need to go home.”
“But my article!” You challenge again in a hushed voice, trying to hold your ground.
“But your life!” Daredevil argues back, whisper shouting, “Go! Now! Before it gets dark, and make sure no one sees you!”
And you can tell that’s the end of it. Sighing in defeat, you turn to start walking back the way you came, still hidden from the view of anyone around the building.
“Please help them, they deserve to feel safe in their own homes” you say, just before you leave, “and be careful” you mutter quietly after.
“I will” the vigilante says with a nod, before jerking his head in the direction you came from, “go.”
You hope he’s agreeing to both.
“Jesus fucking Christ” Matt mutters to himself once you’re out of earshot, pinching the bridge of his mask again. You’re going to make him go even more grey.
As he takes down the main culprits in the rising attacks, he’s half distracted because he’s following your specific movements and heartbeat till you get home safely, and some lowlife wannabe crime boss actually manages to hit him in the face.
He leaves them there in a half conscious heap for the police to find, after threatening them to stay the fuck away from this building and everyone in it.
Rolling out of bed in the morning, you feel half dead, already dreading work after worrying all night. The article you were trying to write didn’t work without any witnesses or direct quotes from residents, and you didn’t have time to go back.
The knock on the door a little while later surprised you, while you’re still in your sleepwear, only just taking the first sip of your coffee.
Confused, you opened your door to find Matt.
He’s already dressed for work, wearing his usual fitted suit, though it’s not as fancy as the one he had on a day ago when he was in court. He looks so god damn good.
Then you noticed it.
The purple bruise already dark on his cheekbone.
“Hey? Are you okay?” You ask, immediately concerned now.
“Hey, yeah I’m okay, are you okay?” Matt asks a little more accusingly, “because I had a certain apparently mutual friend drop in last night and ask me to give you this” he explains, before holding up a USB stick.
“Wait, what? What’s that?” You say perplexed, looking between the stick and Matt, momentarily distracted from his injury.
“What were you doing hanging around somewhere so dangerous you could accidentally run into Daredevil?” Matt says a little heated, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice. He knew all the details anyway so he kept going without giving you a chance to answer.
“What were you thinking sweetheart?” He continues, though his tone goes softer, revealing that he’s just annoyed because he actually cares about your wellbeing.
“It was for my article…” you mumble, feeling a little scolded by the older man.
Matt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s trying to school his reactions, before pushing the USB into your hand.
“Next time you want to do something so reckless to help people, for the love of god, come to me instead. I can help, fuck I’d rather help than have you running around like that, you scared the shit out of me” Matt pleads, and his wording doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for someone who wasn’t there, but you’re too distracted by the purple blooming on his cheek again.
Silently stepping closer, your free hand reaches up to take Matt’s glasses off, giving you an unobstructed view of the bruise.
“Matty, what happened?” You whispered, and the featherlike touch of your fingertips barely there against his irritated skin made him swallow before answering.
“I walked into a shelf, you know, blind” Matt tries to joke, but you don’t laugh.
“It looks like someone hit you” you mumble.
“Does it?” He says, playing dumb.
You brush your thumb over the mark, meaning to keep your touch as light as you can so you don’t hurt him, but almost unconsciously, Matt is leaning more heavily into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Does it hurt?” You ask quietly, and the man shakes his head.
“Nah, don’t worry about it” he tries to placate.
There’s practically no space between you both now, and Matt’s lowering his head fractionally every second your hand is on him, till he’s low enough to press a soft kiss to your lips.
He breaks the kiss for a second to mumble “you did say I could kiss you whenever I want” before his mouth is on yours again.
The hand on his face shifts to intertwine with his soft hair, which makes him release a pleased hum as his arm circles your waist, holding the small of your back, and you’re thoroughly distracted from the bruise.
Your full hands rest on the warm pecs of his chest, his glasses in one and the USB in the other, feeling the muscles jump under your touch slightly. God you’d love to just squeeze.
Matt felt the tiny subconscious twitch in your fingers as you had that thought, and he smiles into the kiss. He pulls back to say something, mouth parted slightly only to be interrupted.
Foggy Foggy Foggy
“Shit” Matt mumbles, moving his cane to his right hand behind your back without parting from you, while his other hand scrambles for his phone, before pressing answer.
This time, you can hear the disgruntled voice of who you assume must be Foggy.
“Matt, where the hell are you? Are you okay? You’re late, again. You better not have been out ridiculously lat-“ the man starts before Matt cuts him off.
“Jesus Fogs, I’m okay, I’m on my way, calm down, I’ll be there soon” Matt soothes his friend, though his tone is a little fed up and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you at the bickering of clearly very good friends.
“Ohh you’re with a girl” Foggys voice comes through the phone, “is it the cute one you were telling me abo-“
“Oh my god shut up, I’m leaving now.” Matt rushes out quickly before he’s hanging up.
“You talk about me?” You ask immediately, with a teasing smile.
“You can shut up too” Matt grumbles but there’s no heat in his voice, he’s actually smiling slightly as he leans down to press another quick peck to your lips, before pulling away again.
“The USB has statements from some of the families who live in that building, witnesses of the crimes and also some statements about Daredevil taking the main suspects down. They’ve all been arrested, and they’ve linked them to even more locations. It’s one of the biggest organised crime busts this year and you’re the first journalist to know all the details” Matt explains quickly.
They small USB suddenly feels very heavy in your hand, and you stare at him jaw dropped.
Daredevil not only all did that for you, but it means he got you an exclusive?
“Holy shit” you say ineloquently, looking wide eyed down at the little bit of plastic.
“I really do have to go now or I’ll never hear the end of it, so enjoy. I’ll see you later for our date” Matt winks, before continuing more seriously “please don’t do anything else like that again” while giving your waist a small squeeze, then taking his glasses out your hand before he’s walking away down the hall.
Closing your front door, you’re immediately pulling your laptop out and listening to what’s on the USB, making extensive notes.
At least you can work from home, you don’t even have to waste a second of valuable writing time commuting. Though you do call Ben, and he sounds thrilled, he tells you that you’ve done a good job and to send it to him the second you’re done.
So absorbed in your work, you’re amazed at the amount of content on the drive, and you only realise it’s already half four when you finally press send.
Shit, Matt said six and you still need to shower.
Matt knocks at twelve minutes past six, just as you’re finishing the final touches on your lipstick, before spraying on a little bit of light body spray.
Once, during one of your early talks stood in the entry way of the building, a lady who was wearing just sprayed, heavy perfume walked past you both, and out the front door.
You’d seen Matt’s face scrunch up ever so slightly, you’re not even sure he knows he did it but you cataloged away he maybe doesn’t like intense scents like that.
Matt had gotten home at about five, actually a normal time for once, and heard you still rushing around to get ready, so he gave you a little extra time so you wouldn’t feel bad. He’d be the late one, and he’s sure you’ve been busy writing all day.
Answering the door, you’re immediately pulled into Matt with a strength you’re quickly becoming infatuated with, before you can even get a good look at him.
“Hey beautiful” Matt says suavely with a smile before he’s dipping to kiss you. After a few seconds, he pulls away enough to reveal a bouquet of various types of flowers he’d hidden behind his back.
It’s primarily made up of roses and sunflowers, some smaller ones you didn’t know the names of, even a few deep pink flowers that you knew were called Hydrangea Daredevils which made you laugh a little, thinking back to your conversation in the cafe.
It looked expensive.
“Matt! Oh my god, they’re beautiful” you gush as you take them, holding them up to your nose to smell.
Turning around, you walk away to put the flowers in a vase, bringing them to your face again as you go, before rooting around in your cupboards to try and find the vase you hadn’t used since you moved here.
Nearly taking up the whole doorway, Matt leans against the frame with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly towards you, following the sounds you made as you crossed the space with a soft smile on his face.
Filling the vase up halfway with water, you carefully place the flowers inside, rearranging them a little after you put them on the middle of your kitchen table.
When you turn back around, you can’t help but stop and just stare at him for a second.
His hair is more tamed for once instead of looking like he’s ran his hands through it a thousand times, and his stubble is shorter than it was this morning, but still prominent. He’s wearing another suit you hadn’t seen.
The black shirt stretched obscenely over his chest and biceps, the top couple of buttons undone, forgoing a suit jacket, and the sleeves are rolled up, showing off the veins in his forearms. The well fitting black suit trousers that did nothing to hide the size of the muscles in his thighs. The only colour on him is the red of his glasses.
He looks unfairly dark, brooding and oh so sexy.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful, and you look really, really good too” you grin up at Matt as you come back to stand in front of him, reaching up to wrap your arms round his neck.
Matt’s hands move hold your waist again the second he can reach, and his fingers keep moving slightly against the fabric, you can tell he wants to touch.
You had your fill of checking him out, so it’s only fair that he has his turn.
“You can feel, if you want” you say, moving his hands further around your waist, over your back, encouraging him, and Matt swallows heavily.
He hesitates for just a second before he’s slowly running his large, rough hands up your back to the nape of your neck, over your bare shoulders, up to your hair, gently feeling the way you had it styled, then back down your spine.
The warmth of his skin seeps through the sink dress you’re wearing, and you can’t help the goose bumps that appear on your uncovered arms as his hands slowly go low enough to be dangerously close to your ass, before coming round your waist, over your hips, before moving to your stomach and ribs.
“What colour is it?” Matt asks, his voice deep and a little breathless as his touch turns lighter, using his fingertips as he tries to be more respectful at the front, instead of straight up groping you in the hallway as he feels the not so modest neckline of the soft fabric.
He swallows again as his fingers brush over where the silk meets the velvety soft skin of your breasts, feeling the slight swell where the edge of the dress digs into your chest a little.
“It’s a dark red” you answer, just as breathless as his fingers trace over the thin straps on your shoulders, before moving inwards, over your bare collarbones till he feels the pretty little necklace you’re wearing.
“You’re beautiful” he whispers, continuing his exploration, his finger trailing up your neck to feel your pulse quicken at his words.
Matt hums appreciatively, before his hands return to your waist and you think he’s about to kiss you again, until his head dips further and he presses a light kiss to your pulse point, taking in a deep breath of your scent. The actions make you shiver a little.
“You smell nice” he whispers, before moving back to actually kiss you now like he intended.
The kiss deepens slightly, as you feel his tongue on your lower lip, and his hands tighten as you let him in, the taste of his mouth, coffee and just pure him explodes on your tongue.
Abruptly pulling back, Matt rests his forehead against yours and you both catch your breath.
“We should go now, before I decide I’d rather keep you here all night instead” he says with a gravelly voice.
You can’t help but laugh at his reaction to you, feeling your confidence pick up a bit at having such an affect on such an older, more experienced, powerful man. Popping back inside, you double check your lipstick isn’t all over your face, and grab the jacket you nearly forgot and pull it on.
As he takes your arm like he usually does when you’re walking anywhere, he says “I left my cane, I figured you won’t let me bump into anything” in a light tone. You laugh again, putting your other hand over his, pulling him closer to you as you walk down the hallway.
“You’re safe with me Murdock” you smile, though your heart thuds a little at the fact he seems to trust you so much.
Just a a minute after you leave the building, with Matt holds the door open for you like the gentleman he is of course, the world suddenly blurs for a second.
Those strong arms suddenly pull you against him with inhuman speed, basically lifting you up as he span on the spot, getting you out the way just before a cyclist zoomed past on the path, right where you had just been stood.
With your heart thudding, you let out a little noise of surprise at the movement before he’s steadying you on your feet again.
“Sorry, are you okay?” Matt checks, not letting go of you yet.
“How- how did you do that?” You managed to get out, staring up at him in shock.
“I heard him coming” he says, like it explains everything, and you just blink at him.
“You know how people’s other senses get stronger when they lose one? My hearing’s pretty good” he continues further, able to physically feel your bewilderment.
“Oh, oh, yeah that makes sense” you say a little dumbly, before accepting his answer.
Matt presses a kiss to your hairline which makes your stomach do a little flip, before you’re walking down the street again arm in arm.
“So where are we going?” You ask him.
Your date gives you the address to the restaurant, and it’s somewhere you’ve never eaten at before but you know roughly where it is.
When you arrive, you’re pleasantly surprised. It’s a small restaurant, intimate, not too fancy but not exactly cheap either. It’s perfect and Matt smiles when you do, enjoying the fact he feels like he did a good job in choosing.
Making sure he holds the door for you, again, he talks to the host and says he booked a table under ‘Murdock’.
The restaurant is fairly busy, but small so it’s probably a good thing he did book, and you’re led to a table in the back.
Pulling your seat out for you, which is something no one’s ever done for you and your butterflies are back, you sit in the comfy seat and Matt sits opposite you, a small candle between you and the server sets the menus down.
You go to start reading yours, before hesitating, looking back at Matt.
“Do- do you need me to read the menu?” You ask gently.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, I chose what I want when I found the place online. Not a lot of places do braille menus” he explains.
“That must suck” you grumble, annoyed on his behalf.
Matt just shrugs.
“I’m used to it” he says dismissively, “go on, choose something, and don’t worry about any prices either, it’s my treat”
Doing as you’re told, you peruse the menu till you find something that catches your eye, settling on that dish.
The older man asks what you want, and orders it for you when the server comes back, along with a bottle of red wine to share, before you’re left alone again.
It quickly occurs to you that this does not feel like a first date. There’s no awkwardness, no second guessing everything you say and every action. You feel relaxed and comfortable, and the conversation flows between you both easily.
You tell him about how writing your article went, and about how thrilled Ben was when you told him what information you had.
“I’m really happy for you sweetheart” Matt smiles, genuinely meaning it.
The conversation naturally moves onto his job, about his last win in court now that he could tell you about the details.
“I knew you’d win” you laugh as you take a sip of your wine, “everything I’ve read says you’re a really good lawyer.”
“Careful sweetheart, I don’t need that going to my head. Foggy already can’t stand me.” Matt jokes, and you laugh again. Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.
As your food comes, the first bite makes you let out a little moan. The flavours are rich and perfect on your tongue, it’s really good.
Your date freezes with his own fork halfway to his mouth at the sound, before cleaning his throat and continuing the movement like it never happened, and luckily you’re too distracted to see it.
He just simply asks you if it’s nice, and you enthusiastically agree, and before you know it, you’re exchanging bites of each others food to try over the table in a disgustingly cute fashion.
The conversation shifts again, and you’re toying with your next question, wondering whether to ask or not.
“I can hear you overthinking” Matt says after swallowing his bite.
“I was just wondering…” you start, “you’re successful as a lawyer right?”
The man across from you huffs out a little laugh, before answering “you could say that, yeah.”
“So that means you must make quite a lot of money, right?” you continue.
“Go on” Matt prompts, not disagreeing.
“I just- I was just wondering why we’re even neighbours? Surely you can afford somewhere nicer?” you finally spill out the rest of your question.
“I do make… quite a lot” Matt answers, not boastful at all, more sheepish of anything, “but all that fancy shit just isn’t for me” he shrugs, “I tried it, for a while but it just made me feel uncomfortable. The apartment I have now is more than enough, I own it, and it’s the corner apartment so it’s probably bigger to be honest, but I’m a poor kid from Hell’s Kitchen at heart, and spending thousands on stuff I don’t need just seems… selfish. I usually donate most of my pay checks to charities.”
When he’s finished speaking, your jaw is hanging open.
“Are you sure you’re not, actually like sent from heaven?” You say, tone completely serious but it makes Matt bark out a surprised laugh anyway.
“I’m not kidding, you’re telling me you’re secretly filthy rich and you donate most of it to charity? Like you don’t already have the whole handsome, intelligent, tall, dark and broody thing going on, and you’re actually polite and nice without expecting something back, and you already treat me better than any man ever has, and you defend innocent people in court, and I know you do a lot of pro bono cases” you list off, “and you want me to sit here and not call you some kind of saint? Next you’re going to tell me you think that still isn’t enough for you and you fight the crime yourself at night!” You finish, a bewildered laugh tainting the last few words.
The man opposite you is grinning as you begin talk, enjoying basking in you praising him, but it falters a about halfway through your little speech.
“I’m definitely no saint darling” Matt disagrees.
Darling? This man is going to be the death of you.
“You might as well be” you insist, blushing at the new nickname, “you’ve ruined me for all men my age that’s for sure, maybe even all other men completely” you partially joke, and Matt flashes you a sinful smirk this time.
“Well that I do like the sound of” he flirts openly, as he nudges your ankle under the table with his.
“You getting all possessive over me Murdock?” You tease back.
“More than you know.” He mutters, before you’re interrupted by the server taking away your clean plates, and asking if you’d like the dessert menu.
Glancing at Matt, you’re unsure of your answer since he’s paying but before you can do anything, he notices your hesitation and tells them “yes please.”
“Are you sure?” You ask.
“Didn’t we just talk about how I don’t spend anywhere even close to all the money I make sweetheart? Let me treat you, I said anything you want, so get it” the older man immediately reassures you, moving to hold your hand over the table as his thumb strokes over your knuckles.
“Thank you” you say shyly, intertwining your fingers with his.
The dessert arrives, with two spoons, but Matt makes no move to have any until you push further inbetween you.
He asks if you’re sure, and takes a couple of bites, but leaves the rest for you.
“Not a fan of sweet stuff?” You ask, while you’re throughly enjoying your treat.
“Eh, not really” Matt says, taking a sip of the neat whiskey he ordered instead, “you go ahead and enjoy it angel.”
Angel? Is he actually trying to make you fall in love with him on the spot?
Every nickname he has for you makes your stomach swoop dramatically, intensifying that already giddy feeling you always got in his presence.
After asking for the bill once you’d finished your dessert and Matt had finished his whiskey, the pair of you continued to chat for a little bit, and you notice the way Matt keeps rubbing his right shoulder with his opposite hand, rolling the joint like he’s trying to stretch it out.
You mean to ask him if he’s okay, but the waiter interrupts your thought process with the bill which comes all too quickly.
Matt snatches it up before you can even look at it, and in no time at all, you’re both walking home. It’s already dark, the two of you had spent a good few of hours in the restaurant.
This time though, instead of having your arms linked, Matt’s big arm is around your shoulders, shielding you from the chilly breeze against his warm body.
The walk home was slow, peaceful, well as peaceful as New York can be, and being sheltered under Matt’s strong arm makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“I had a really nice time Matty, thank you” you smile, leaning further into him and his arm tightens around you at the nickname.
“I’m really glad sweetheart, I did too” Matt replies earnestly, “did I do well enough to get me a second date?” He teases as you both finally walk into your shared building.
You laugh, “you mean fourth date?”
Matt groans, “Okay, okay, fine, second official date?” He asks as you come to a stop in front of your door, standing in front of you.
Leaning up on your toes, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss that quickly gets heated.
“I’ll take that as a yes” he mumbles, pulling back ever so slightly before he’s on you again, and you nod into the kiss, his hands exploring the soft silk material of your dress around your waist.
Just as you nibble his lower lip lightly with your teeth, Matt pulls back again with a low, pained groan, bumping his forehead to yours.
“You said I was being nice to you earlier sweetie, so let me be nice” he breathes out, voice deep and gravelly.
“What if I don’t want you to be nice?” You tease quietly and Matt lets out another deep groan as he closes his eyes, his hands tightening around your waist as he fights with his self control.
“Not on the first date sweetheart” he replies eventually.
“So old fashioned” you tease again, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck and you feel him shiver minutely, “it’s not even the first date.”
“You said yourself I’m treating you better than any other man has so let me continue to do that, please” Matt almost begs, his restraint slipping by the second.
“Okay, okay big guy, I’ll let you be a gentleman” you placate, before leaning up to whisper in his ear “this time.”
The sharp inhale Matt makes tells you everything you need to know, and you giggle before reluctantly detaching yourself from his warm embrace, before turning to unlock your door.
“Goodnight angel, sweet dreams” Matt smiles at you as you turn back around in your door way to look at him again.
“Goodnight Matty” you smile back, before slipping inside your flat and closing your door.
Matt’s in serious trouble. He likes you, a lot, and his affection only grows with every second he’s with you.
You’re quickly becoming all he can think about, constantly distracted by the smell of you lingering on his clothes, or when he’s home, just listening to you exist next to him.
Maybe you’re both moving a bit too quick, but he can’t find it in himself to care much. He wants you, completely. More than he should.
Trying not to just walk back over to your flat as he listens to you get ready for bed after your date, humming softly to yourself, is actually torture.
So naturally, he decides to go out as The Devil to distract himself for a bit, he can’t just sit there all night driving himself crazy listening to you.
Matt is trying to slow down with the patrols, he swears he is, and he has, a little, but it’s nothing else scratches this itch.
Well, apart from maybe certain kinds of sex, but he’s not about to have that with you any time soon. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, or scare you. So that form of release is out of the question.
After he got over his initial shock, terror and mild anger at you endangering yourself last time you saw him as Daredevil, he found himself feeling a little proud of you.
Not even the police had suspected anything about that building, ignoring it simply because it was a run down area and crime ‘just happened there’ but you hadn’t ignored it, and while it wasn’t exactly what you thought, you were so close to cracking it.
If only you didn’t put your life in danger so carelessly like that.
Luckily, you decided to be kind, and didn’t try to torture him further with your sinful sounds like you did the other night, and you don’t notice his absence.
Unluckily, the night wasn’t kind to Matt, and he all but drags himself back home beaten and bloody, a lip split, and dark bruises already blooming that he knows he won’t be able to hide from you.
Two of his ribs are broken, another fractured, and he needs stitches. There’s blood dripping on the floor as he hauls himself to his sofa, collapsing into it heavily before dialing someone to help come and him.
The ache is already settling into his bones, his fucked shoulder is already twinging painfully from the recoil of the punches he threw, sending shooting pains up and down his arm, his well trained body slowing down to the point he can barely move from the pain.
Fuck I’m getting old, he thinks.
The article you wrote made the front page, and you maybe cried a few happy tears when Urich showed you, handing you a copy fresh off the press.
The rest of your day passes in a blur of praise and kind words, colleagues congratulating you on making headliner so fast.
Excitingly texting Matt, you promise you’ll read it to him later but you don’t get a reply, for the second day in a row.
It’s fine, you tell yourself, he’s probably just busy.
You hadn’t seen him since your date forty eight hours ago, but you told yourself it’s probably better to have a little distance anyway. It was so easy to want to spend every second with him when you lived so close, and you know he’s right there.
You’re falling for him fast.
When you make it home, you can’t help but glance down the hall at Matt’s door when you unlock yours, before forcing yourself to walk through it. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by being clingy so soon.
Evening falls, and you still haven’t heard anything from him, and you can’t help but start to feel a bit worried.
He always texts you back, at least once, even just to tell you he’s really busy. He’s never just ignored you.
He always acts so sure with the way he gets around, you sometimes forget he’s blind, but he is still blind. He even said he hit his face on something the other day.
Quickly deciding whether you would rather risk being that silly, clingy younger girl, or risk Matt being over there hurt or something, you’re knocking on his door only a minute later.
There’s a loud silence for a second, before you hear shuffling.
The sight that greets you when the door finally opens makes you swallow a gasp.
There stands a pretty, tall, blonde woman about his age. The exact type of woman you could see Matt actually being with.
She was wearing a robe and her hair was wet, a towel in her hand like she’d clearly just gotten out of the shower. Matt’s shower.
“Can I help you?” She asks, tone indifferent, maybe a little tired.
“Uh, I was looking for Matt?” You ask, trying to ignore the way that horrible feeling is settling in your stomach.
“He’s asleep” she answers not unkindly, “is there something you need?”
“Uh no, no I’m sorry to bother you” you force a smile, before you turn on the spot and walk back down the hall.
The sound of his door shutting again makes your eyes sting, and a wave of nausea passes over you as you burst through your own door, quickly locking it before you slide down the wood, bringing your knees to your chest on the floor.
You’re trying not to jump to conclusions, you really, really are, but this exact thing had happened with one of your exes.
A couple of years ago, it was supposed to be a surprise visit, but when you knocked on your exes door, a woman wearing his shirt answered. She was covered in hickeys, her hair was mussed and you could immediately tell what they’d been doing clearly not that long ago.
So how are you supposed to think anything else right now?
You knew he was too good to be true. Of course he doesn’t want a silly girl half his age, who’s already crying over him like she has any claim to him at all.
He’s not yours.
You don’t even have any right to be this upset, yet you can’t help the way the tears are falling heavy down your face as you let out a little sob.
As you sit on the floor for god knows how long, your crying slowly subsides until that numb feeling starts to creep in.
Harshly wiping your tears, you get up despite your stiffness and make you way into the shower, where the tears start to promptly fall again until you’re curled up in bed.
It’s still pretty early, it’s not even ten o’clock yet but you end up crying yourself to sleep anyway.
(1) Missed Call from Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥
The phone stops buzzing beside you, but you can’t even bring yourself to pick up, until it buzzes again a couple of minutes later.
9:43pm
Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥: Sweetheart, it’s not what you think. Please answer the phone x
Letting out a little scoff as you read his text, you nearly roll your eyes. He’s right there and he can’t even be bothered to just walk over to talk to you properly?
(2) Missed Calls from Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥
This time, you reject the call. Bitterness creeping up your throat. What’s he going to say?
Oh she’s just a friend, it’s not what it looks like, I’ve just been ignoring you while there’s been another woman in my home but it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.
You decide he can talk to you in person, or not at all, finally sick of waiting for a text for two days.
(3) Missed Calls from Sexy Lawyer❤️🔥
Turning your phone off, you roll over onto your other side, and try to will yourself back to sleep to stop this horrible ache in your heart.
If he wants to talk to you so badly, he can walk the few feet down the hall and do it himself.
Except he doesn’t.
It gets later and later, and there’s no one knocking at your door.
All the past insecurities that you tried so hard to heal from start to bubble up, feeling like you’re not good enough, not pretty enough, just not… enough for anyone, especially a man like Matthew Murdock.
Eventually, you fall asleep again, soft sobs staining your pillow until you succumb to a restless slumber.
Thank you so much for reading <3
I’m sorry okay?? I have to add a bit of angst T-T
I’m not very good at writing it either so I apologise if it’s not great, and I hope the dates make up for it T-T but we’re getting my favourite very soon, hurt!Matt <3
This fic has been cross posted on AO3 • Masterlist
Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Explicit Sexual Content: Auditory Voyeurism, Masturbation.
Canon-Typical depictions of violence and gun violence, attempted assault, crime, and injury, etc. There's also an age gap. See my AO3 for the full detailed warning list.
Summary: When you move into your new apartment, you don't run into your only direct neighbour straight away.
When you do finally meet him, he's certainly not what you expected, considering you'd heard him climbing up and down the fire escape in the dead of night before.
Word Count: 9,330 • Masterlist
Moving into your new apartment had gone just as smooth as any experience in moving house could go.
Half your stuff was still in badly labelled boxes, rummaging through them every day to find the clothes you wanted to wear, the charger for your laptop, a mug which wasn’t in the same box as the kettle for some reason, even though you thought you’d put them together.
You’d get to it eventually, you swore every morning that you’d make a start that day, but most of your time right now was spent frantically typing on your laptop, working towards the work deadline you hadn’t been allowed to push back more than a week.
The job hasn’t changed, only the apartment since your old shitty landlord suddenly decided he was selling the place.
As you settled into your new place, you bumped into your neighbours occasionally, making polite introductions, and everyone seemed nice, but you never saw the person who actually lived next to you.
At the end of the hall, they’re your only direct neighbour, your bedroom wall shared with their apartment. There was only your flat and theirs on this floor.
You knew someone lived there though, you could hear them.
Though you’d never seen them, you quickly noticed they kept kind of odd hours.
They’d be out the door at around six in the morning, sometimes earlier, only to come home late into the evening, but then they would go back out at like midnight?
The weirdest part was that you could hear them climbing up and down the fire escape instead of using the front door.
It wasn’t often, maybe a couple of times a week, but still. Not that it was any of your business.
As you listened to heavy boots thud up the rickety metal stairs again at four in the morning, you quickly decide it definetly wasn’t any of your business, and tried to focus on your work.
Your mind wanders though, you can’t help imagine outlandish scenario is about your neighbour, each one more ridiculous than the last.
Maybe their front door was stuck, or maybe they had an extremely active lifestyle and go out clubbing all night and they have to sneak in and out to avoid waking whoever they might live with, or maybe they’re some kind of criminal who’s trying to keep a low profile, or even a vigilante.
You can’t wander around apartment complexes in a superhero suit.
The thought makes you laugh, and shake your head, focusing on your work again.
How crazy would that be?
Finally pressing send on this painstakingly long arcticle the next day felt like a huge weight off your shoulders.
Your boss, Ben Urich had been insistent on your writing of an article about a crooked cop who’d managed to get a whole legal case thrown out, letting another cop who killed someone walk.
If the police didn’t hold their own accountable, The Daily Bugle would.
Sighing, you double check the document sent properly, and then shut your a laptop with a small snap.
Ben had kindly given you a week off starting now, as an apology for making you work through your move but he needed that article in this weeks paper.
You’re already lucky enough to be working under the legend of investigative journalism that is Ben, so you didn’t want to push it.
It was late by now, you should probably go to sleep but wine and shitty TV was calling your name so wrapped in a blanket, you sipped from your glass as the dumb sit-com jokes made you smile despite yourself.
Just as you finally decided it’s absolutely time to go to bed after your eyes start to slip shut every few seconds, you stand up and turn off the TV, only for a very loud, concerning crash to fill the brief second of silence, coming from next door.
The mystery neighbour.
You should check on them, right? What if they’re hurt or need help?
Still wrapped in your blanket to hide the small shorts and ragged pyjama top you were wearing, you unlocked your door and made your way down the long hall, knocking tentatively on their door at the end.
There’s more shuffling inside, followed by a hushed “shit” which you could barely hear.
“Uh, yeah?” The mystery neighbour said in a deep, kind of breathless voice, now stood behind their door. Okay, so it’s a man.
Feeling slightly awkward because the man is clearly making no moves to actually open the door, you open and close your mouth a couple of times before settling on your words.
“I uh, I heard a crash? Is everything okay?” You say loud enough for him to hear you, but quiet enough as to not disturb any of the other neighbours.
“I’m fine” the voice insists, “just uh, rearranging furniture and I dropped something.”
The crease in your brow deepens.
“You’re not like, robbing the place are you?” You ask, not entirely joking.
“No! No I’m fine, thanks for- shit- thanks for checking on me I’ll be okay” the deep voice says, more distractedly, before saying a surprisingly polite, but rushed “goodnight!” and you can hear him moving away from the door again.
You take that as your queue to leave, you guess.
Back in the safety of your own bed, you lay there feeling rather confused about the whole interaction.
The cold New York air nips at your skin as you try to walk home as quickly as possible. Your heels are clicking on the concrete in a way which seems to echo, making everyone around aware of your presence.
It’s late, too late to be out by yourself right now, independent feminism in you be damned, you know this is stupid.
You’d been out with some old friends from high school, and they’d all completely ditched you to go back with their one night stands, leaving you to make your way home by yourself. You’d love to say you weren’t upset, but you were, just a little.
I’m going to be really pissed if I get murdered tonight, you think, I’m definitely going to haunt them.
As though the universe can tell you’re taking the situation you’re in too lightly, you become increasingly aware of the sound of footsteps behind you.
Taking a shuddering breath, you try to reassure yourself they’re just going the same way as you, simple as that, but as you take a corner, so do they.
Cold fingers find the pepper spray nestled in your bag, and you pick up your pace even more.
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, you think repeatedly to yourself.
The sudden, loud wolf whistle coming from behind you makes your blood run cold, but you don’t turn around. You keep walking.
“Hey slut, don’t ignore me!” the slurred voice of a man shouts, and you can hear his footsteps getting closer.
You don’t stop, you can’t. Your feet pick up the pace even more, bringing the pepper spray out your bag now and holding it against your chest like a life line.
Suddenly, there’s an ominous heavy thud behind you, followed by a deeply pained grunt from who you can only assume is the man following you, and that finally makes you freeze in place. You still don’t dare turn around.
There’s people in New York who are much worse than drunken cat callers, though you doubt that’s all he wanted to do.
There’s more heavy footsteps coming behind you now, and you squeeze your eyes shut, uncapping the spray.
“Hey, you’re okay now” a different, much more gentle, but still deep voice says.
As though the spell you were under is broken by his words, you whirl round to face them, holding the pepper spray out in front of you, finger on the button, ready to scream at him to stay the fuck away from you.
Only, your resolve crumbles entirely when you turn to see the man who’s now holding his hands up in surrender, is Daredevil.
The red leather clad man adorned in a horned mask, built like a wall of muscle. Unmistakably Daredevil.
The same Daredevil who you’d even written articles about, the same Daredevil who is a legend in Hell’s Kitchen, the same vigilante who’d always been around, even when you were younger.
The same Daredevil who you had a not so secret, silly crush on that your friends (who wouldn’t leave you alone like this) would tease you for.
Out of all the hero’s and vigilantes in New York, he was always your favourite.
He’d even saved you once before, when you were a teenager who wasn’t looking where they were going, and you would have been hit by that car that swerved off the road if it wasn’t for the blurred mass of red swooping down and plucking you out of the way.
You knew you liked him.
Lowering your pepper spray, your shoulders sag and the adrenaline is already starting to leave your body and your eyes start to sting with tears of relief.
“Oh my god” you choke out, covering your mouth as it sinks in how close you’d come to something really bad happening to you.
Daredevil takes a small step towards you after rolling his neck enough that you hear the audible pop, and slowly reaches out to touch your arm with his left hand.
“You’re okay” he reassures gently, not seeming to mind you’re a blubbering mess.
His gloved thumb rubs against your cold skin in a comforting manner, the dress you’re wearing not doing anything to keep the heat inside your body, and you desperately try to swallow some air, trying to calm down.
Daredevil waits. He waits for your tears to stop, for your breathing to slow down. He doesn’t rush you, he just waits.
“I’ll take you home” the vigilante says a couple of minutes later, once you’re not actively sobbing, and it’s not a question. He simply starts to lead you down the street.
Nodding numbly, you walk along side him as you sniffle pitifully occasionally, your arms holding yourself in an effort of both warmth and comfort. There’s a silence that’s more comfortable than you expect.
You can’t help glancing at him as you walk. It’s definitely Daredevil, but he seems a bit different to the picture you’re used to seeing. Your eyes slide down his body in what you hope is a subtle way.
He’s bigger, not in a bad way, more in a bulky way that still screams pure strength, he’s just… older. Like his metabolism slowed down a little, like his body can’t handle the intense workouts it would take to achieve that kind of sculpted look anymore.
So just, older, which makes sense if he’s been doing this since you were a kid. You don’t doubt he’s still just as strong as ever though, maybe even stronger with his increased mass, looking at the way the muscles pop out under his suit when he shifts. Being punched by him probably feels like being hit by a truck.
Daredevil has been more under the radar lately, there’s not as many sightings of him anymore, less articles being written about him.
“Where do you live?” The masked man asks suddenly, almost like he only just remembered to ask and hadn’t been going the right way already.
You gave him your address, which in hindsight you probably gave up way to easily, but he’s a hero! He probably just saved your life. Again.
“So what do you do?” Daredevil asks rather casually, making conversation. You huff out a small surprised laugh, assuming he’s trying to take your mind off what just happened.
You clear your throat.
“I work for the Bugle, investigative journalism” you answer, nearly asking what about you? before you remember that he’s never going to answer that. You can’t imagine being a vigilante pays the bills.
“Oh, so you’ll know Ben Urich then? He’s a friend” he hums.
“He’s my boss” you laugh, and Daredevil actually smiles too. You can’t help but stare at his mouth, the only visible part of his face, before you catch yourself.
For a man who’s probably double your age, with half his face covered, he’s… hot. Your eyes linger on the way his suit strains over the curve of his bicep. The bicep that looks like it might be the size of your head.
He’s tall too, you’re not a villain but you can see why they’re all so scared of him, even now. Especially now.
And yet, out of all the crime bosses a big league New York hero like him could be taking down, instead he’s here, saving you from some drunk man and walking you home. If that’s not swoon worthy, you don’t know what is.
“You ever written anything about me?” Daredevil asks, and he’s got a slight smirk on his face that he can’t seem to keep off, like he somehow knows what you’re thinking about.
Oh god, what if he’s a telepath?
Everyone always says he has crazy reflexes, even holding his own against Spider-Man.
Shaking away your thoughts, you focus on his question, which only makes your cheeks heat up.
“Uh, yeah I have actually, here and there, nothing big. I didn’t start that long ago” you explain, feeling a little shy now you’ve admitted to writing articles about the man next to you.
“Good things I hope?” He teases, like he can tell you’re getting embarrassed.
“Of course!” You immediately gush, which only makes you want to sink into the floor even more, especially when he laughs.
The noise is followed by the movement of his arm, rolling his right shoulder as he rubs it with his other hand like it’s stiff and he’s trying to loosen it.
“Be careful though” the Devils voice goes more serious, “people get hurt doing work like Urich, don’t put your life at risk for some article”
“But what if it’s not just an article?” You argue, a little defensive because you’ve had this conversation so many times, “what if it’s a way to get justice? To help people? When the system or the police ignore a problem, they try to sweep it under the rug and we bring it out again” you say passionately.
Daredevil holds his hands up in mock surrender, but he’s smiling still.
“Hey, trust me I get it, I’m not dressed like this because I have complete faith in the system. I’m just doing what I can to help” he explains, actually agreeing with you.
Which, of course he does, he’s literally a vigilante.
“Sorry” you say immediately, “I’m just so used to people saying it’s a waste of time…” you trail off.
Daredevil stops and gently turns you towards him. You have to look up at him now.
“It’s not a waste of time” he states firmly, “Ben has helped put away some of the worse criminals I’ve ever faced, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just- people get hurt when they’re mixed up in this and you’re still young, you’ve still got a lot of life left to live” he says more gently.
Slowly, you nod your head, unsure of what to say from how kind of, intense he’s being about your safety. It’s not a bad feeling though.
The rest of the walk is a comfortable quiet again, and a few minutes later, you’re outside your apartment building.
“Thank you” you say abruptly as you turn towards the masked man, “for saving me, and I’m sorry that you had to…” you trail off, feeling bad for having to waste his time saving you from a situation you shouldn’t have been in.
Though you can’t see it, Daredevil’s eyebrows furrow at your words.
“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t your fault” he immediately reassures, “you should be able to walk home by yourself at night.”
“I know but, everyone left and I knew it was a bad idea but I did it anyway instead of calling a cab or a lift” you mutter, slowly looking back up at him.
He’s closer than you thought.
“Everyone left? People left you to walk home alone?” Daredevil says, more heated than you would expect.
You shrug.
“They’re old friends from high school, I’m not very close to them” you say noncommittally, like you can’t really blame them.
The horned man just stared at you for a second. For someone so passionate about justice for others, you really don’t have that same attitude towards yourself.
“They’re shitty friends” he states, which makes you crack a smile.
You look at him for a second longer, then thank the masked man again for saving you and walking you home.
“Anytime” he smiles, giving you a mock salute with two fingers, using his left hand again.
Turning, you walk towards your front door, fishing your key out your bag.
“Stay safe” Daredevil calls out, but by the time you’ve turned around again, he’s gone.
As you crawl into bed, dressed in the fluffiest, softest pyjamas you own, finally barefaced and clean from your makeup. Taking a couple of deep breaths to try and calm the remaining nerves in your stomach, eventually your thoughts return to the masked man again.
The exhaustion of the night caught up with you quickly though, and just when you’re already on the brink of falling asleep, you faintly hear your the telltale sound of your neighbours fire escape creaking, before their window is opening and shutting again.
A few days pass, and you’re thoroughly enjoying your time off. Well, trying too. Your journalist brain has been hooked on one thing with no articles to write to distract it, Daredevil.
Looking through old blogs and news articles online, you worked out that he’d been doing this since you were around fifteen, though you weren’t sure how old that made him. He’s always been someone you’d heard about.
From the photos you’d found, he looked like he started his vigilante lifestyle in his maybe, mid to late twenties if you had to guess. That would make him around forty now, which is a reasonable estimate for the masked man you met the other night.
You’re not even sure why you’re researching The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, you’re just kind of bored without anyone to snoop around.
Pulling yourself away from your little research spiral, you decide to go down to check your mailbox.
On the way back up, just as you’re turning the corner at the top of the stairs, something large and sturdy walks into you, or rather you walk into them since you’re reading the front of the letters you got, instead of looking where you’re going.
The force of the collision pushes you off kilter, but before you can actually fall down the stairs, a strong arm slips around your waist with frightening speed and steadies you, pulling you against the same warm chest you just face planted.
“Woah, steady” a deep voice rumbles, and you finally look up.
Only to be met with the sight of a blind man. Glasses and cane and all.
A huge, tall, handsome blind man, who has a few scars littered around his face, some hidden beneath the stubble that has flicks of grey in it. There’s also a faint, faded bruise on his cheekbone where his red lensed glasses sit. He’s definitely a good bit older than you.
The man has wide shoulders, his dress shirt straining against his arm that’s holding you in a way that promises his size isn’t just for show. He’s strong.
The professional looking suit he’s wearing, minus the jacket because it’s pretty warm today, fits him well. Too well.
You’re staring, wide eyed and open mouthed, immediately flustered by the attractive man holding you so close, you can’t help it.
Only, he hasn’t let you go yet either, and the way he’s nearly holding you off the ground with one arm isn’t helping.
It’s only when a door slams closed on the floor below you, that both of you suddenly become aware he’s still holding your waist.
Clearing his throat, he immediately lets you go, taking a step back as you steady yourself properly now the man isn’t holding some of your weight.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going, I’m sorry that was completely my fault!” You immediately start to apologise, remembering yourself now you’re not under some strange spell.
“Don’t be, it’s okay, me neither” he jokes with a smile, shrugging his shoulders a little. You relax a fraction, glad to see he’s not completely offended.
“I don’t think we’ve met properly yet, I’m Matt” the man says, holding his hand out in your general direction for you to shake.
Taking his hand, you introduce yourself too. The large hand in yours is warm, and way too calloused for a man who’s wearing a suit to work. His knuckles are scarred and rough.
Based off where he’s coming from, you realise this must be your mystery neighbour.
Your mystery neighbour who uses the fire escape in the dead of night is a blind man?
“I’ve got to get going” Matt says, fingers feeling his watch, “but it was nice to finally meet you” he continues while flashing you a charming smile that completely disarms you, before he’s practically jogging down the stairs with a confidence you didn’t expect, cane tapping away.
You don’t even manage to get out your reply, you’re left just standing there in the hallway, mouth gaping open like a fish.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel like he looks familiar.
It’s only later, while you’re doing another silly deep dive into Daredevil, that you come across a news article about Daredevil being witness in a trail, and then there was a picture of of the attorneys, a shorter, blonde man and Matt. Younger, a little less weathered but it’s undeniably him.
Matthew Murdock. The Matthew Murdock who was one of the best lawyers in the city. Maybe even the country.
He was your neighbour? How the fuck was he your neighbour?
It seems now that you ran into your attractive neighbour once, the seal was broken because you keep running into him.
Over the next few weeks, it happens again and again. He’d gotten home from work just as you got back from your food shop, and he’d very nicely helped you carry all your bags up the stairs even though you had insisted it’s okay.
Or he was in the entrance hall of the building checking his mail box when you were leaving for work, in the most casual clothes you’d seen him in, a tight black t shirt and grey sweatpants.
If he wasn’t blind, he would have absolutely caught you staring at the way his muscles strained against the fabric. You were beginning to crush on this man who’s probably old enough to be your dad alarmingly fast.
The both of you would talk in the few short minutes you had spare, but it was more than just polite small talk about the weather.
Once he found out you were a journalist, he would ask you how your current piece was going, asking questions and giving little bits of input that showed he is genuinely putting thought into his answers.
One day, he even asked you to read one of your full articles to him, from the paper you had tucked under your arm.
When your finished, you’d heard the fading half of a phone call with Matt saying “I’m literally leaving right now” which made you think he’d already been running late, and stayed to listen to you anyway.
You were still smiling by the time you got to your own front door.
Another time, you couldn’t help but notice the small blush on his cheeks when he was speaking to you, blooming across his cheeks when you took a sip your coffee and let out a little pleased hum at the taste.
Matt told you he was a lawyer, and you tried your best to pretend you didn’t already know who he was.
It’s not like you’d been internet stalking him anyway.
The worst part was that Matt was actually really nice. Not that you expected other wise but you get on well, and you’re able to tell even in the short time you’ve spent together through the fleeting conversations stitched together over days.
He’s easy to talk to, he jumps at the chance to help you with your bags, he holds the door open for you, and he makes you laugh. If you had a little bit more confidence in yourself, you’d probably say he’s even flirting with you.
It’s doing absolutely nothing to help calm the crush you have on him. He’s unfairly attractive, the way he talks and handles himself is so self-assured, like he’s used to having everyone in the room listening to his every word, but somehow it’s not in a cocky way.
He listens to your every word too. When you’re talking, even though always he has his red glasses on, you can tell you have his full undivided attention.
You’re honestly not sure what to make of the way Matt’s treating you, why he found you interesting enough to keep talking to at all, especially someone like him.
But you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy it.
Which is why one night, maybe a three or four weeks since the day you literally ran into him, as you’re downstairs collecting your take away from the delivery driver, Matt comes home from work a bit later than usual looking extra tired. Before you can over think it, you invite him to eat dinner with you, ending up half babbling about how you always order too much anyway.
Matt looks a little taken aback at first, and you nearly retract your offer out of embarrassment before you can be rejected, but then he smiles, and accepts.
“Oh, I’d love to” he says after his initial surprise.
“Yeah?” You ask, also a little surprised he accepted and he nods.
“Yeah sweetheart, lead the way” comes almost naturally off his tongue.
Sweetheart?
Your poor frantically pounding actual heart isn’t going to survive the night.
Matt holds the crook of your elbow, and you lead him to your apartment like he doesn’t live right next door, his cane tapping away in smaller swoops in his left hand, but neither of you mention it.
“So what are we having?” Matt asks as you climb up the last flight.
“Chinese, is that okay?” You answer, hoping he likes it.
“Sounds perfect” he smiles and your heart skips a beat again. You don’t see how his smile widens ever so slightly as it does.
Unlocking your door, you lead Matt in to your thankfully much tidier flat. You’d finally unpacked everything on your days off, and even decorated a little.
Taking Matt’s hand, you show him around your flat. You guide his hand to the back of the sofa as you pass, before moving to the kitchen counter. He left his cane near the door.
“Is it the same layout as yours?” You ask, when he seems to get his bearings rather quickly.
“Pretty much, or well it used to be. I had some renovations done a while ago” Matt explains.
In the kitchen again, you let go of his hand after putting it on the back of one of your chairs, inviting him to sit, and turn to grab utensils for the food, as well as open the bottle of wine you’d bought.
Once you’re both sat with plates in front of you, after lighting the little candle you had on your table, you list off the specific food dishes you got and take Matt’s hand again to show him which serving spoon is which, assuming he’d want to just serve himself. He mutters a soft but grateful thank you.
You found yourself being very conscious of that, trying to make sure you’re not babying him.
I mean he lives alone. At least you think he does.
Oh god, what if he’s married? An attractive older man like him? There’s no way he’s not married.
As if Matt can sense your inner turmoil, he asks “you’ve gone quiet, what are you thinking about?” While serving himself perfectly well like you’d assumed he would.
“Are you married?” You just blurt out ungracefully.
Matt has the audacity to huff out a little laugh at your question.
“No, I’m not married” he says in a playful tone, “why? Because you figured out we’re practically on a date?”
“Pretty much” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up. It seems to be your perpetual state around Matt.
“No I’m not married. I’m not divorced either, no kids, no secret families” he jokes, and you let out a relieved breath.
The conversation flows naturally after that, able loosen up a bit now from the wine and the fact he’d confessed that he also thought of this dinner as date-like.
At some point, Matt had loosened his tie, undone his shirts top button, rolled his sleeves up the length of his forearms in a way that’s truly unfair as well, and now he’s taking his glasses off.
“Pretty” you sigh quietly to yourself without thinking once you see his eyes properly for the first time, and you honestly hadn’t expected him to be able to hear you. You slap your hand over your mouth when you realise he did hear you.
Matt’s eyebrows raise slightly.
“Not the reaction I usually get” Matt huffs, but it’s light, laced with a laugh and he smiles. He’s obviously not offended by it.
“Just kill me now” you mutter in embarrassment from your little slip up, cheeks flaming but Matt just chuckles again.
“You’re cute” he says matter-of-factly, like that’s going to help your flustered state at all.
Somehow, after talking about some of your past articles, which Matt made you promise to show him sometime, Daredevil comes up.
Matt tries to stay neutral but you’re too observant, you can tell his interest is piqued slightly to hear what you have to say about the vigilante.
Matt’s probably friends with him, you think as you’re reminded of that article you found about them both.
“You know, he saved my life once” you say more quietly, a difference to your more animated talk about the articles you were passionate about, taking the time to swallowed your bite before you spoke again, “when I was fifteen, he saved me from being hit by a drunk driver.”
Matt chokes on the wine he’s sipping.
“How old are you?” He chokes out, coughing a little to try and clear his throat.
“I’m twenty-four?” You say but it sounds more like a question.
Matt’s mutters a small “Christ” as his eyes slip shut for a second like he’s contemplating something, before he opens them again.
“You know I’m old enough to be your dad right? I’m forty-three” Matt says like he’s confused as to why you’re even entertaining him.
You just shrug.
“I know” you say simply, “I don’t mind” you shrug, fliddling with your fork. It’s then that you decided to come clean.
“Actually, I swear I didn’t mean to but I found an article about you and Daredevil from when you worked in a court case together, so I’ve kind of known who you were the whole time… including your age” you confess, cheeks warming as you look down at your plate, suddenly very interested in paying with your food.
Matt huffs out an exasperated but amused sort of laugh.
“You really are a nosy journalist aren’t you?” He teases, smiling as you look up at him again from across the table.
“You’re not mad?” You ask, because you’d expected him to be at least a little annoyed you’d googled him, even by accident.
Matt just shrugs, and takes another bite of his food before answering.
“I mean, after I found out your profession, I was surprised you didn’t know who I was straight away to be honest.” He explains.
“I thought I sort of recognised you but I don’t exactly get very close to all the proper lawyer-y stuff” you joke, and he smiles at your phrasing.
“You really don’t mind that I’m so much older?” Matt asks again, looping back round.
“No I don’t mind, but do you?” You ask, sensing it was maybe bothering him a bit.
“I mean, I can’t say I don’t feel a little bit like a creep” Matt mutters, sighing a little.
“You’re not a creep!” You defend quickly, “I invited you to eat with me because I like your company. Our tiny conversations brighten my entire day, I enjoy talking to you, so no your age doesn’t bother me at all, and well… I don’t know if you’re aware but you’re like, hot as fuck. If anything, I’m the creep.” You state, getting a little embarrassed so you end up laughing awkwardly through your words towards the end.
Matt’s face has cheered up considerably during your little speech.
“Well then, since you feel so strongly about it, then it doesn’t bother me either” he decides, a teasing smile but sincerity in his words, truly, selfishly enjoying your company too much to actually do anything other than pursue you.
“Trust me, I’m definetly the fucking creep though” he mutters under his breath, low enough that you can’t hear it as you’re distracted by the food in front of you.
“Okay, so, about this being a date. I decided I don’t want you to count this one” Matt suddenly starts, and your face drops a little before he continues, reaching over the table to put his large hand over yours.
“Let me take you on a proper first date? Please?” He asks, tilting his head slightly and this is the first time you’ve heard something other than complete confidence in his voice.
You smile brightly at the man across from you.
“Of course I’ll go on a proper date with you Matt” you giggle, holding his hand in yours over the table, stroking over his scarred knuckles.
His smile hits you right in the stomach, he’s so unfairly pretty.
During your conversations, Matt asks your favourite colour and says “mine too” when your answer is red, which brings another question to the forefront of your mind.
“You can ask” he says gently like he’s somehow able to sense what’s on your mind.
“How did it happen?” You ask, voice soft.
“I was in an accident when I was a kid” he sighs, reciting the well practiced shpiel he’d told people hundreds of times before, but for you, he adds more details.
“There was this old man crossing the road, and I pushed him out of the way of this truck, but the truck was carrying some kind of acidic chemical and when it crashed… it was all over me, in my eyes” Matt explains, some of the well practiced ‘okayness’ leaving his voice as he recounts the traumatic event in more detail than he usually does.
“Does it still hurt?” You ask tentatively and that catches Matt off guard a little. Usually people try to give him sympathies, or tell him they’re sorry, or ask him what he can see.
“No, no it doesn’t hurt anymore. It did though, for a while” he sighs heavily.
The rest of your shared meal is spent having much lighter, easy conversation about everything and nothing, and before you know it, it’s really late.
“I should probably get going, early court date tomorrow” Matt sighs, though he makes no effort to actually start moving, only sitting back in his chair, rolling the joint of his shoulder briefly like he’s trying to get rid of some kind of ache.
The bottle of wine between you is empty now, the candle you’d lit earlier burned low.
“I mean it’s not like you have far to go” you tease and he smiles.
“I should though, before I don’t want to” he says like he’s trying to convince himself too.
You smile into your wine glass, finishing the last little bit before putting it back into the table.
“If you have to” you sigh dramatically, and you see his jaw tick.
“I absolutely do” he says firmly before standing up, beginning to take the plates to the sink before you’re up on your feet too, taking them out of his hands complaining that he’s a guest.
Matt throws his suit jacket over his left shoulders, and your eyes dart to his huge biceps straining his shirt again before you make yourself look away.
The large man closes his eyes for a second and sighs, like he somehow knows what you’re thinking, and he’s exercising the very last of his restraint.
“Would you be offended if I tried to give you money to pay for your food I ate?” Matt asks, already knowing the answer.
“Absolutely, don’t you dare” you say firmly, though the fact he even tried gives you butterflies. Every time he tries to make your life easier, he does it so effortlessly, like he enjoys doing it.
Then, you’re stood at your open front door, and Matt’s in the hallway. The distance between you is minimal, you can feel the heat radiating off his large body.
“Thank you for feeding me” he says sincerely, while you look up at him. He has his glasses on again, but his unfocused eyes are resting somewhere around your mouth.
“Thank you for keeping me company” you reply quietly, your own eyes flicking down to his lips.
“Oh, wait” Matt says as he straightens up from leaning into you too, jolted back to reality at the movement of your eyes, before pulling his phone out.
“Put your number in? Please?” He asks before handing the device to you.
The temporary disappointment of not getting to kiss him right then and there is quickly soothed by his sweet request.
Putting your number in, you save the contact and give him his phone back, and you look back up at him through your lashes.
“You need to stop looking at me like that” Matt nearly groans, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
“How can you even tell?” You laugh.
“I just can” he says lowly, voice dropping an octave as he leans down so his face is nearly close enough to brush your nose against his, feeling his breath on your lips, before he takes a deep sigh like it’s physically paining him, and pulls away.
“Let me take you on a date first, a proper one” he tries to explain, but the way you actually pout a little immediately breaks through his iron self control.
He tries, he really does but he can’t help the next words that come out his mouth.
“Fuck, can I kiss you?” He breathes out.
“Whenever you want” you whisper back, barely finishing your sentence before Matt’s lips are on yours.
The kiss is slow, but passionate, you can feel his stubble against your skin, smell his fresh aftershave on his clothes, and as his strong arms circle round your waist, his cane clattering to the floor, you can’t help the little hum of pleasure that escapes you when his tongue finds yours. You can feel the heat of his bare skin on your sides from where his sleeves are rolled up.
The large arms around you tense at the sound, and pull you even further against the wide plains of his body. His glasses press against your face, cold against your flushed skin and your own hands go to explore the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the pure muscle waiting to be released, hidden beneath his clothes.
Matt feels so large against you. He’s big in that way where he’s not completely chiseled like some kind of gym fanatic, the muscles partially hidden by a layer of softness, but the raw power of him is undeniable. You would pay good money to see him actually flex.
The deep groan Matt makes reverberates into your mouth when your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck.
One of his hands travels upwards, lightly tracing over your collarbones, up your neck with his fingers till his rough fingers are tracing over your jaw, your cheekbones, then tangling in your hair and cradling the back of your head with his palm.
He eventually pulls away and rests his forehead on yours, both trying to catch your breath. The older man looks just as affected as you feel, he’s even got a pretty blush that sits high on his cheeks bones.
“I need to go” Matt breaths out, before he’s actively walking backwards away from you, holding your hand until he’s out of reach.
“Forgetting something?” You tease, dipping to pick his cane up off the floor.
“Shit” he mumbles, stepping back towards you, his hand over yours on his cane before he’s pulling you into another kiss, his free hand cupping the side of your head. It’s just brief this one, like if he stays any longer he won’t be able to leave at all, before he’s walking away again.
“Goodnight sweetheart” Matt says with a grin after he’s unlocked the door, pushing it open with the back of his shoulder so he’s still facing you, before he’s gone, and the door shuts behind him.
Matt is the creep. Matt has been the creep since you moved in.
He’d been in the office that day, and when he came home, you were simply there. Existing in the apartment next to him.
The noise was a little irksome at first for Matt and he’s hyper hearing, the flat had been empty for a few years until the owner decided to sell it, and he’d gotten used to the joys of not having someone living right next to him that he could hear constantly.
Let’s just say his annoyance faded swiftly when he heard you on the phone that very evening, hearing your melodic voice ring out through the brick.
It’s not like he can help listening to you, not really, but he grew a little obsessed with the sounds coming from the flat next to him. He stopped trying to ignore them almost immediately.
He listened to way you hum as you make dinner, or talk to yourself in hushed whispers when you’re writing, nimble fingers playing with your hair as you think, or the way you laugh at the silly TV shows you’re watching like you’re trying to hold it in but you can’t.
First and foremost still a man though, he also appreciated the soft swish of short shorts you wear, or the way you stretched your back, arms high up above your head in a way that pushed your chest out.
God the noises you made that night, alone in your bedroom when you thought no one’s listening.
He’d not gone out as Daredevil for once, and he’d just been lying in bed trying to sleep when a soft moan flowed into his ears through the wall he shared with you.
He had immediately gotten up and gone out, beating up people particularly viciously that night, trying very hard to not be an actual pervert.
The time you came to check on him when he accidentally crashed into his table because he was hurt, still in his Daredevil suit and sent the contents flying, made his heart swell. He didn’t expect you to do that, nor even care, but you want to check the complete stranger was okay. Even if you did think he was a thief for a split second, and he couldn’t even open the door.
It was worse after he spoke to you for the first time, when he found out how sweet, and kind of awkward and shy, but passionate you were.
When you told him you’re an investigative journalist, it didn’t help his growing feelings for you at all, but he can’t say it doesn’t scare him a little too. He hopes you’re being careful…
That night he found you alone as Daredevil plays in his mind a lot, and the thought of him not being there makes him shudder. He also genuinely wants to beat the shit out of the people who let you walk home by yourself. The way you were crying made his heart ache, you were terrified.
Matt desperately wants to read the articles you’ve written about his alter ego, determined to find them somewhere.
You’d distracted him so much by checking him out constantly in what you probably thought was a subtle way, that he nearly forgot to ask where you lived to keep his cover.
Only, it’s hard to be subtle when the man can hear your pulse speeding up when your eyes glide over his arms.
It’s only after few small but meaningful conversations later that Matt finally breaks when he hears those sinful noises coming from your bedroom, and he finds himself moaning pathetically into his fist with his other hand wrapped around his impossibly hard cock.
He could hear how wet you were, the tempo in which you were moving your fingers, the way your heart beat was increasing the closer you get to your end.
Matt had spilled hot come all up his chest with a bitten back groan as your own orgasm made your walls flutter around your fingers, the moan you let out was loud enough that he could probably hear it without his super senses.
The next morning, he’d ran into you on your way out, and he couldn’t help the reaction his body made when you let out a little hum after sipping your coffee that sounded way to close to the sounds you were making the night before. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, and elsewhere.
Matt found himself quickly becoming enamoured with more than just those sounds though. He respected your intellect, he could have meaningful conversations with you, and the things you wrote about were always about injustices no matter how small, things other people wouldn’t even glance at.
As much as he hates to admit it, some of it was small stuff that maybe even Daredevil himself would ignore. You wrote to help people, and they usually do help. You didn’t give yourself enough credit, and the article you’d read out for him was good, really good.
He admired how kind you were, he had heard you giving the old woman in the apartment below him a hand with her pet cats, or with the technology she didn’t know how to use. In the short amount of time you’d been in the building, people already liked you.
You were funny too, your quips and jokes always made him laugh, and he found himself smiling throughout his day when he thought back to your small interaction that day, and you’re fierce when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. He can hear the emotion in your voice.
Yet you seemed so unsure of yourself sometimes, the way you’ll try to make yourself less, and Matt definitely wants to change that.
The age difference was something he also thought about, but it wasn’t until that impromptu date had he known exactly how much older he was. The question of eating with you had caught him a little bit off guard because he’d been flirting, just a little, but you didn’t seem to pick up on it much in a way of your replies.
Your body though, would react to him even without flirting. He liked how your heart was always beating a little frantically around him, like he makes you nervous.
Now he understands your reactions a little more, because he knows he’s a large, mostly intimidating man anyway, let alone being a big shot lawyer and a vigilante by night, but now he knows he’s old enough to be your father, it probably doesn’t help with your nerves.
He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t hear the excitement in your reactions too though, the way he makes your breath catch, or the way your eyes always seem to find their way to his arms when he moves them.
Until you invited him into your home, he had kind of just assumed you were just enjoying the attention of some older guy, before leaving him and actually flirting back with men your age.
Now he knows that he just makes you flustered, and he loves it.
Matt did feel a little guilty coming and eating all your food though, but he’s determined to make it up to you on your actual date, where he can treat you properly.
He also appreciates the way you simply treat him like normal, offering him help instead of just assuming he needs it, even if he is just playing along when he pretends to accept.
It took every last shred of his self control to walk through his door after he’d kissed you goodnight so he didn’t maul you like an animal.
Even after he shut the door, he doesn’t make it far as he leans back against it, still feeling like he’s stood there with you, your perfume and sweet natural scent sticking to his clothes, the taste of your mouth in his as he licks his bottom lip, chasing the leftover flavour of your mouth.
Unknowingly, you’re mirroring Matt’s position of leaning against your front door, smiling all giddy like you’re in a cheesy rom com.
Replaying the kiss in your mind, you can’t help the little giggle that escapes you from the butterflies intensifying in your stomach.
God you’re convinced you’re absolutely ruined for any men your own age now, you’re probably ruined for any other men at all if they don’t kiss you like that.
The heat from his body is still making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you can’t help the little sigh that escapes you when you squeeze your thighs together at the unmistakable ache between your legs, all from just a kiss.
With a newly found surge of confidence stemming from how much the older man seemed to want you just now, you decided you could maybe still have a little fun with him.
You settle on your bed, after you’d stripped out of all your clothes, leaving you naked on the sheets.
Leaning over to your bed side table, you grab your trusty vibrator and flick it on. It’s a decent size, not too big but enough to fill that ache inside you if you need it to.
In the apartment next door, Matt actually trips over his own feet at sudden buzzing sound that fills his ears.
Slowly, you run the toy down your body, stopping to tease your nipple as your other hand squeezed your breast, letting out a breathy sigh, before trailing it lower.
As the toy reaches your core, you let out a small moan when you make contact with your clit, the sensation intense even on this low setting.
You circle the vibrator a few times, before you dip it further down, teasing your entrance, making the tip of the toy wet before bringing it back up.
The whole time, you’re hoping Matt can hear what you’re doing.
And Matt absolutely can. He’s in his bedroom now too, stood in front of the wall you’re behind, while he palms his already hard cock through his trousers with his left hand while he listens to you. You must be doing this on purpose, right?
Feeling yourself get too close fast, you pull the vibrator away from your aching bud, and slowly push the silicone into yourself. More pleasures moans escape your lips as you flick the toy to a higher setting, before you start to move it.
In and out, slowly, while your free hand comes down from your gripping your breast to rub small circles around your sensitive clit with your fingers.
You can't help the way your hips grind upwards, the dual sensations making your thighs twitch as your sounds of pleasure start to get louder and louder.
"Matt" you moan out, purposefully raising the volume of the word to be high enough that if he is there, he'd undoubtedly be able to hear you.
The thud you hear against the shared wall immediately following your voice makes you grin, teeth biting into your lower lip at your shared depravity.
He is listening.
What you don’t know, is that Matt caused the sound because he suddenly had to catch himself against the wall when you’d said his name.
His knees went weak, and his cock throbbed painfully at the sound. He’s still fully clothed with just his trousers undone, fisting his impossibly hard cock in fast and tight motions because he can hear everything.
He can hear the rapid beat of your heart, the way it jumped when he revealed himself. He can hear how wet you are as you fuck your self with your toy, the pace you’re circling your clit with your fingers, he can hear every single pretty little moan or sigh and it’s driving him crazy.
God he could even smell your arousal, and he subconsciously darts his tongue out to see if he can taste you too. He swears he can.
Moving the vibrator up towards your clit again, you swap so your fingers are working their way inside you, feeling your own walls flutter as the strong vibrations on your clit bring your orgasm even closer. The moans escaping you now are louder and unrestrained now, feeling the pressure in your stomach coil.
After flicking up the vibrations one last time, you’re about to fall over the edge.
Matt can’t help the little growl of frustration he lets out as the stronger buzzing drowns out some of the other sounds he’s trying to listen to.
He can’t even be mad though because he’s not supposed to be able to hear those. Only the buzzing is supposed to give away what you’re doing, the moan of his name, that’s what you’re actually giving him.
The intense dual sensations brings your release quickly crashing over you, a loud moan of “oh fuck, Matt” turned needy whine escapes your mouth as you come around your own fingers.
There’s another heavier thud against the wall this time as you come, Matt clumsily dropping all his weight on the shared brick as he leans back against it, unable to hold himself up properly as he fucks his own fist in a rather aggressive manner, listening to you finish with his name on your lips.
The older man comes embarrassingly quickly, spilling onto his own floor, his hand, his trousers as he works himself through it. A deep groan rumbles out of his chest and he lets it, he lets himself be louder than he usually would be, because he wants to give you something back.
It works. You do hear it, you hear that faint, sexy, baritone sound reverberate through the wall, and it turns you on all over again.
But it’s late, and your eyes are already starting to slip shut.
Climbing under your covers, you put your toy to the side to wash it tomorrow and curl up on your side, facing the wall.
Just before you slip into unconsciousness, your phone vibrates and there sits a single text from an unknown number.
4:23am
Unknown Number: Oh you’re going to be such a fucking problem for me sweetheart, I can already tell.
Hiding your grin in your pillow, you actually kick your feet and giggle, all the nervous excited energy needing a way out. You fall asleep with a small smile on your face, feeling warm, sated and maybe a little bit in love.
Thank you so much for reading <3
This is the longest fic I’ve ever written, and it’s super self indulgent honestly but I hope everyone has enjoyed the first part and I’m sorry in advance for any inaccuracies about literally anything included in this, I’m just a humble writer <3
The next part will be out soon! <3
This fic has been cross posted on AO3 • Masterlist
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