xxeycisxx

-22 she/her- mentally stuck in 2014, thats why i am still on tumblr

[xxeycisxx]

masterlist

hi everyone,

here is my work, i’ve recently re-discovered my passion for writing, so here we go:

Masterlist:

Just like that, sweetheart | Matt Murdock (18+)

Mission | Matt Murdock (18+)

Need | Matt Murdock (18+)

Ache | Matt Murdock

If you wanna be tagged under my work, here you can apply!

Have fun here!

[hornheadswhxre]

okay so you know how Matt's other senses are heightened cause he can't see?

Well like... what if his sense of touch is super heightened .. down there. Like he gets overstimulated in bed super easily and becomes a whimpering mess because he's so sensitive even through his own clothes.

Just an idea I thought was fun jjjjjj

♥️

Matt Murdock x fem!Reader • 18+ MDNI

𝒮𝑜 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Explicit Sexual Content: Oral Sex, Sexual Overstimulation.

•

Summary: For the first time, you explore just how sensitive Matt really is.

Word Count: 2,275 • Masterlist

You’d been dating Matthew Murdock for a while now.

He was nice. He was caring, thoughtful, sweet and definitely easy in the eyes.

He takes you on cute dates around the city, brings you lunch when he can, makes an effort to host you at his apartment, cooks for you.

You liked him. A lot.

One thing you noticed very quickly was that Matt was very receptive to touch.

It made sense, you supposed, the other senses start overcompensating for losing one, but something about the way Matt reacted was different.

You noticed it when you first started going on dates, how he’d always freeze a little when you accidentally brushed your skin to his, which would have maybe offended you, if it weren’t for the fact you felt him suppressing an actual shudder when you kissed him for the first time.

Then, one night, after a cozy night in with wine and take away, you ended up sat on his lap on his sofa.

Both of you were kissing deeply, tongues tangling and tensions rising, and your hands went up to curl in his hair. This time, Matt moaned. Just a small, deep sound he tried to hold back, but you heard it clear as day.

Matt froze, embarrassed and cleared his throat as though trying to pretend that was why he made such a noise, so you did it again. Lightly dragging your nails over his scalp this time.

He had nowhere to hide as his body involuntarily shuddered, eyes starting to roll back as he moaned again, louder this time.

He couldn’t hide the way his sensitive cock was rapidly filling out underneath you either.

The two of you had yet to do anything sexual together, but you could feel this was becoming the night you’d start to.

The pure tension between the two of you was rising and the fact you kept using his weakness of touch to your advantage didn’t seem to be helping.

“Fuck” Matt breathed out lowly as you softly bit his bottom lip between your teeth, the slight sting making him buck his hips up into you.

The movement pulled on his cock, exposing the sensitive head to his clothing as he got even harder.

The feeling of his rough underwear being pressed firmly against the leaking, flushed tip made him let out a little whine in the back of his throat.

“You’re so sensitive Matty” you whisper in a sultry voice, before starting to kiss along his stubbled jaw, and Matt bucks his hip again when you suck at his pulse point, already breathing hard.

All he can do is whine again at your words, and nod harshly in agreement as his head falls back against the couch.

Slowly, your fingertips dip underneath the hem of his shirt, featherlight touches gliding over the tensing abs, higher and higher till you took the shirt off completely.

Matt’s own hands were fisted tightly in your top, as if trying to ground himself while you attack his senses with pleasure.

Returning your hands to Matt’s chest, you explored his sculpted body with your fingers and lips, tracing along the scars and ridges of him. The supposedly intimidating man beneath you was openly panting now, hips rocking like he couldn’t help it in a slow steady rhythm against your rapidly warming core.

His sounds, god his noises. He’s so whiny, whimpering and moaning as you touch his perked nipples, letting out loud gasps when you rock your hips ever so slightly against the bulge between you both.

Suddenly, Matt’s hands fly to your waist to still you as you rock just once on his lap a little harder.

“Fuck- wait- I’m- I’m gonna come” Matt whimpers out, barely managing to get the words out between his heaving breaths.

You can’t hold back the little giggle that escaped your lips at the sight of him. He already looks wrecked.

“I’ve barely even touched you Matty” you tease gently, continuing your motions again anyway.

Matt whines again, loud and high pitched this time at the harsh friction on his ungodly sensitive erection. His hips are twitching at the sensation, half wanting to go towards it and half wanting to pull away, already overwhelmed. He’s gonna come in his fucking pants any second.

“I-I’m- fuck- I’m so sensitive baby- please” Matt whimpers, his hands dipping underneath your shirt to hold your waist tightly instead, so tight it makes your skin bulge between his fingers slightly. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for at this point.

At the same time, you pinch his nipple and rock your hips down hard into him, and your reward is wonderful.

Matt keens, mouth open wide as his orgasm rushes through him, a deep groan which tapers into a whine as you keep moving through it, even after he’s stopped filling his own underwear with his hot spend.

Even just the feeling the temperature of his own come against his overstimulated flesh makes his body jerk as it’s trapped against his skin, and he’s a complete mess now. You hadn’t even gotten naked yet.

As Matt’s chest heaved, trying to come down a little from his high, you strip your own top, and large, calloused, scarred hands waste no time slipping up your waist to play with your breasts. One grabbed a handful of your flesh, while the other teased your hardening nipple, making you hum in pleasure.

Leaning forward, you kiss Matt again, which he heatedly returns through his rough breathing, his hands exploring all the newly uncovered skin.

Pulling away, you duck to whisper in his ear.

“Bedroom Matty” you say, before pressing a kiss behind his lobe.

“Fuck- you’re gonna kill me sweetheart” Matt groans deeply as he drops his head to your shoulder, a contrast to the pretty high pitched whines he was just making.

Lifting you like it was absolutely nothing, Matt carries you to his bedroom, knowing the space well enough to navigate it seamlessly despite his lack of sight, at least that’s what you thought anyway.

He gasps slightly as the material of his boxers brushes against his still overly sensitive dick. He needs to take these fucking clothes off.

Gently laying you down on his soft, silk bed, Matt stands above you before pulling down the sleep shorts you had on, along with your underwear.

The way he drops to his knees makes your breath hitch, heat rushing to your face as you watch him inhale your scent right from the source.

“You smell so fucking good” Matt groans out roughly, his cock throbbing as you filled his senses.

“Matt-“ you start, before you cry out as he lurches forward, burying his face in your wet cunt like he can’t resist it anymore. Your back arches as your head slams down into the bed at the unexpected pleasure rushing through you.

His tongue is everywhere at first, tasting anything you’ll give him before he slowly starts to thrust the muscle into your core, his nose brushing against your clit. Deep groans are escaping him as he eats you like no man has ever done before.

Where you can’t see, Matt has shed his own trousers, finally freeing his raw cock from the confines of his underwear. Even the cold air feels like too much against his overstimulated length, steadily leaking pre come still, onto the floor between his knees.

Under Matt’s magic tongue, you come with his name on your lips in no time, hands gripping his hair harshly which makes him moan into your dripping cunt, the vibrations making your toes curl.

As you try to even your breathing, Matt eventually detaches himself from your heat and stands again, with the intent to crawl onto the bed over you, but you move towards him unexpectedly.

“Sit” you order as you spin him, before firmly pushing him backwards till the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he falls down onto it. You know you wouldn’t be able to move this brick house of a man without him wanting to go, even if you tried.

Matt swallows roughly as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest on your waist as you step between his legs.

“You’re driving me crazy” Matt all but whispers as his hands move up and down your body. Your own hands run through his hair again, tugging slightly to make him groan, before you drop to your knees.

As much as you were wanting to fuck him when you were sat on his sofa, now your only goal is to make him lose his mind. You’re so ungodly intrigued by his reactions and you want to see what else you can do to him.

The sight that greets you is sinful. Matt’s heavy cock is flushed dark, leaking obscenely, half covered in his previous release and is twitching under your attention.

“Baby you don’t have to-“ Matt starts but you cut him off with your hand wrapping round the base of his length. The breath catches in his throat at the sensation, before letting out a little moan. His head tilts ever so slightly to listen to your movements, finding it hard to focus properly right now.

“I want to” you say like it’s obvious, because it should be, before you press your warm tongue to his sensitive, leaking tip, tasting his musky pre on your tastebuds.

Matt’s whole body jerks immediately as he collapses fully onto the bed, with his back meeting the sheets, as another one of those pretty little whimpers escapes his mouth.

Wow, he really is so sensitive. You hadn’t even started yet and the way he’s throbbing in your hand makes you think he’s about to come again.

Just to test your theory a little, you pull back and gently blow cold air over the flushed head, and Matt chokes on his next sound, before his hand flies down to wrap around yours at the base of his cock and squeezes, hard.

“Baby, please” he outright whines, hips thrusting a little, despite the fact he was the one who cut off his own orgasm. He’s already sweaty, flushed down to his chest as he fists the bed sheets so hard with his free hand that his knuckles are white.

“Please what Matty?” You ask innocently, moving his hand away, which swiftly returns to the death grip on the sheets.

As he opens his mouth to answer, you press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, right against that bit that’s sensitive on most guys anyway, but it’s clearly even more intense for Matt.

His whole body goes tight, abs tensing, his back arching like he’s just had electricity running through him as a broken whimper comes from his lips unrestrained.

The rest of your mouth encloses over his leaking tip, tongue massaging the underside and within seconds, before he can even warn you, Matt moans roughly as he comes in your mouth. Warm spend coats your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you swallow it down, able to react quick enough to work him through his orgasm.

Matt breathes heavily at his release, but you don’t stop.

The prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard comes out of his mouth as you continue to move your mouth up and down his cock even after he came, taking him in deeper and deeper till he hits the back of your throat.

He’s trying so hard to stay still for you, to take it, but he can’t help the way his muscles are jerking and twitching at the intense, painful pleasure sensation of your mouth.

Noises are falling from his lips now in a way he can’t control, whining and whimpering as you assault his most sensitive part with your tongue.

The words fuck, please and your name are the only words you’re able to pick up from the sounds coming from him.

As you hollow your cheeks around his throbbing length, Matt starts to breath fast and heavy, whining high on every exhale.

“Fuck- fuck- fuckfuckfuckfuck- oh g-god” is all he manages to moan out before he’s filling your mouth once again, coming with loud, broken cry.

This time, you’re merciful and you pull off after working every drop from him, letting Matt relax into the bed again.

He’s breathing heavy, borderline hyperventilating as he tries to catch his breath. His entire muscled body is covered in sweat, and his face is flushed red. His hair is sticking to his forehead, heavy lidded eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling, and he still hasn’t let go of the intense grip he has on the sheets.

His cock spent slowly starts to soften against his stomach, still twitching occasionally, like the rest of him.

“I don’t- don’t think I can go again, ’m sorry” he pants out, swallowing between words as his voice cracks, mouth dry. You smile softly as you climb up the bed and lay next to him, hands playing with his hair but comfortingly this time.

“I know baby, you did so good, such a good boy for me, I wasn’t expecting you to keep going after that” you smile before pressing a sweet kiss to his warm cheek.

Matt hums at your words, before lifting his arm and pulling you against him. You lay there in the afterglow, listening to his breathing and heart beat even out, and before you know it, he’s already asleep.

Tomorrow night, you plan to having whimpering and whining again, but underneath you as you ride your good boy’s overstimulated cock till he cries.

This is my first request so thank you I hope it’s okay! 🫶🏻 this was not supposed to be this long lmao, I only meant to do a little drabble and it just kept going, and I meant to only focus on Matt in this but I fear it’s not Matt Murdock smut if he isn’t a munch 😌 Thank you anon for your idea, I love overstimulated Matt sm ❤️

AO3 • Masterlist

[weinthepitt]

frustration // m. murdock

hello y'all!

here's some matty smut for your evening <3 this one is whorish but also a little silly, and our bff frank castle makes a minor cameo. hope you like it :)

warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. unprotected p-in-v sex. lowkey pwp. swearing. yearning, horny matt. matt gonna GET you there, if ya know what i'm sayin. idk if scent kink is a thing?? oral, m receiving. fingering. light choking. use of 'angel' as a term of endearment. afab!reader.

Matt had been craving you all day; each second spent in the office, swamped by page-after-page of pointless statements that all led back to nothing, felt like hours. And to make everything worse, it was a cold and dreary day and the radiator had well-and-truly died. No matter how many times Foggy had given it a well-placed kick, it didn’t turn on. So when Matt got home, grumpy and shivering and needing you, only to find that you weren’t there?

He was more than pissed, especially when he could guess what you’d been doing before you left based on the scent of your arousal lingering in the air. He followed it to his bedroom, where he ran a hand across his bed, feeling the rumpled sheets beneath his fingers. Cursing his misfortune, and wanting you back here, in his bed, Matt let out a frustrated snarl and left the room. He could hardly focus when all he could think about, smell, and practically taste all around him, was you.

Out in the kitchen, he was practically wearing a divot into the floorboards as he paced back-and-forth, hands resting on his hips, head tilted back, as he counted each second that passed. One minute turned to two, then five, and Matt’s agitation grew with each tick of the clock. He’d tried calling twice but you hadn’t picked up.

He slammed his hands on the counter, delighting a little in the pain that jarred his wrists because, for a moment, it took his mind off you. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt halfway, because it was suddenly too warm in his apartment, he stalked across the room and dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide as he leaned back against the cushions. 

With his head tilted to the ceiling, eyes closed, he tried to calm himself down. It was ridiculous, the way he was acting, but it was always hard to think clearly when it came to you. He’d never known desire the way he felt it with you, like he’d never get enough. Never imagined his resolve could crumble so quickly under the slightest touch of your hand or brush of your lips. And he was so wickedly selfish about it, wanting you all to himself; in his apartment, in his bed, under him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His cock was straining so hard against the zipper of his pants that it had actually reached the point of being painful. Fiddling with the buckle of his belt, he lifted his hips a little so he could yank the strip of leather from the loops, letting it drop to the ground with a clatter.

It was then that he heard you. The stomp of your boots against the stairs, the thundering of your heart, and the curses you muttered under your breath.

"I swear to God, if he isn't in that fucking apartment."

Oh? The jingle of your keys set him into motion and he was at the door before you even had a chance to unlock it. Swinging it open, his hands found your waist and tugged you inside, slamming the door and pressing you up against it. 

"Matty, please," was all you could get out before he pounced. His lips were instantly on your neck, kissing, sucking, biting, and he was rutting his hips pathetically against yours. You whimpered, fingers in his hair, tugging at the root, as you arched into him, silently begging him to take, take, take.

"I could smell you," he moaned against your neck as you reached down to palm him through his pants. "So desperate. So riled. But you were gone."

You spun him around, tugging him toward the living room, his lips still trailing over your skin. Pushing him onto the couch, you knelt before him, fingers fumbling with the zipper on his pants.

"I went looking for you," you admitted, tugging his fly open and reaching into his boxers. His cock was achingly hard, practically throbbing in your hand, and the head was coated in a smear of pre-cum. 

"I tried so hard, Matty. To hold off until you got home. But I couldn't." You pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, down the shaft, pumping him a few times. Matt was already halfway to falling apart, chest heaving, head tilted to the ceiling, muttering an endless mantra of 'oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.'

"And then I couldn't make myself cum. Didn't feel as good on my own. No one does it like you, Matty." 

Flattening your tongue against the base, you dragged it all the way upwards, circling the tip until Matt was bucking his hips, hands white-knuckled as he gripped the couch cushions.

"But when I got to the office, you weren't fucking there-"

"Please, Angel. Stop teasing."

Matt let out a guttural groan as you finally, finally, took his cock into your mouth. Taking it as deep as you could, until the dark curls at the base tickled your nose, and you swallowed around him then pulled back to take a breath.

Matt's hand flew to the back of your head, gripping your hair, as he grunted your name over and over, slowly losing his mind over the warmth of your mouth on his cock.  Bobbing your head, you worked whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. Glancing up at Matt, the wave of power that rushed through you was intoxicating. Here he was, stern lawyer Matt Murdock, skilled vigilante, Daredevil; falling to pieces, a whimpering, moaning mess coming apart on your tongue.

His cock hit the back of your throat again, but then you were pulled away, Matt’s grip on your hair tightening.

“Get up here,” he growled. Matt moved out of the way so you could lay down, then climbed on top of you, caging you in. He tore at your blouse, not caring that he sent the buttons flying, he just needed you naked. Needed to feel your skin pebbled with goosebumps under his fingertips. 

“Lift your skirt, sweetheart,” he whispered, warm breath caressing the shell of your ear. You did as you were told, shimmying the fabric up your thighs until it was bunched around your middle. Bare to him now, thighs still sticky from when you’d try to get yourself off, Matt inhaled deeply and let out a low snarl.

“No underwear? Naughty.”

“Shut up, Murdock.” Grabbing his tie, you pulled him down to kiss you. Matt’s lips were soft against your own, slotting together like puzzle pieces, and he swallowed your moans as he slipped his fingers between your legs. 

“So wet for me,” he murmured, more to himself than you, and dipped two fingers inside you, testing the waters, placing his thumb against your clit. If there was one thing Matt loved more than anything in the world, it was the way you reacted to him; the little noises you made, the ones that got caught in your throat when he’d go down on you, or the way your heart would start to race if he wore button-ups with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or when he’d ask you to help him get ready for work and your fingers would linger a little too long on his tie or his belt. On those days, it was almost impossible for him to think straight, especially when all he wanted to do was take you over his knee and spank you, or shove his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucked you against the wall. Getting out the door and going to work was the hardest thing in the world.

“Matthew,” you groaned, pushing your hips up against his hand.

“Hm?” 

“I’m so close, keep going.”

Matt hadn’t even realised, but while he’d been lost in his thoughts, he’d been pumping his fingers inside you, drawing tight circles on your clit with his thumb. And now, your walls were fluttering around his fingers, your hips bucking, chasing the friction. At the last second, Matt pulled his fingers out and placed a quick slap on your clit. You shattered completely, crying out his name, thighs trapping Matt as you tried to press them together.

Matt didn’t even give you time to come down from your high, didn’t wait for the tremors to stop wracking your body, before positioning his cock at your entrance and sliding home in one brutal thrust that had you both moaning. Your head fell back against the armrest, leaving your neck exposed to Matt, and he wasted no time in peppering it with open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the hollow of your throat.

You raked your nails down his back, knowing there’d be red marks for him to remember you by, and grabbed at his ass, pulling him deeper as you rolled your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. He’d started off slow, but the frustration that had been building within him all day had started to rear its head, and he couldn’t help but get rough. Pistoning into you, his hand snaked up to curl around your throat.

“This okay?”

“I can handle it, Matty,” you groaned, arching your back, chest pressed flush against his. “Take whatever you need. Whatever you want.”

“Oh, my angel,” he ran his thumb over the seam of your lips and you opened obediently for him. “You’re too good to me.” 

The couch creaked and groaned as Matt thrust into you, seeming to hit deeper and deeper every time. In true Matt fashion, what he took, he gave back. So while he wrung his pleasure from your trembling body, one hand around your throat, the other braced on the armrest to hold himself up, he gave you all he had. As each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, you lifted your legs a little and crossed your ankles, using your heels to drive Matt deeper. If that was even possible.

“Fuck, Matty, baby, fucking hell, right there,” you threaded your hands in his hair, pressing his forehead against yours, and squeezed your eyes shut. And Matt would’ve loved to be paying attention to every little whimper, squeak, and gasp that dripped from your lips, but the heavy thud of boots coming up the stairs drew his attention. Matt slowed, not wanting to take your orgasm away from you when you’d already had trouble getting there earlier, but the footsteps got closer. 

Then the scent hit him. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he growled, pulling his hand away from your throat and sliding it down to rub at your clit. He was desperate to make you cum before Frank came through the door, because Matt knew the bastard wouldn’t knock, but he wanted to take his time with you. You had at least three more orgasms in you before it became too much, and Matt wanted to pull them all from you; one with his cock, another with his fingers, and the final one with his tongue. But there wasn’t any time.

Reaching over, he felt along the coffee table for something, anything he could use to his advantage.

“Matt, what is it? Please don’t stop,” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. 

“It’s alright, darling, it’s alright,” his hand closed around an empty mug that you must’ve left there. It wasn’t much, but it’d do. “It’s okay, I won’t stop. I won’t. I’ve got you.”

The door creaked open, swinging wide and slamming against the wall. “Red! You here?”

You tilted your head back over the armrest, searching for the source of the voice. Was that who you thought it was? “Matt—”

He thrust into you again, so deep that it made you dizzy. “Don’t worry about him, I want you to cum for me.”

“But—”

“Do as you’re told,” he grunted, rolling his hips. Just as Frank was about to reach the end of the hall, Matt drew back his arm and pegged the mug across the room. You were writhing under him, close to frustrated tears, but you came with a cry of his name, shuddering hard. The mug hit the wall right near Frank’s face and he stumbled back into the hall to avoid the shower of porcelain shards.

“Get out of my fucking apartment, Castle!” You’d never heard Matt yell like that before; it sent a thrill through you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to hold onto him as the aftershocks of your orgasm tore through your body. Each gasping breath you took, with Matt still chasing his own high, was like breathing in a shower of sparks. Your whole body was on fire, each of his thrusts left you jolting, trying to shift your hips away from the intensity of the skin-on-skin contact, but desperately wanting him to keep going.

“Matt, Matt, Matt” his name was a prayer from your lips. “It’s too much— I can’t—”

He pulled out instantly, despite reaching his peak. The warmth of his cum splattered across the plane of your stomach and he groaned out your name between great, heaving breaths. Then he collapsed, the full weight of him covered you, and you welcomed it. He was so warm, and so beautiful, and so yours when he was like this. For a moment, the two of you just laid there, spent, listening to each other breathe.

With his head resting on your chest, listening to your heart as it slowly returned to its normal rate, Matt let out a long, exhausted sigh as you stroked his hair.

“Are you gonna tell me why Frank was here?” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the throes of overstimulation when he’d come in, you probably would’ve been angrier that you’d been interrupted. But Matt had dealt with him and gotten him out before the moment was ruined, thank God, because if, after all that, Matt hadn’t gotten to cum… 

Well, you would’ve been tearing Frank a new one right about now.

“I don’t know, probably has information. He’s downstairs, out on the sidewalk, so it must be important, or he would’ve left.” Matt pushed himself up, lifting a hand to the mess smeared on his stomach. His mess. It was all over your torso, too. 

“Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.”

You couldn’t help but stare at Matt’s ass, at the red lines that marred the pale flesh, as he retreated to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. Once he returned, wiping the sticky substance off your skin with a tenderness that was the exact opposite to the roughness you’d just experienced, your lips lifted into a sleepy, blissed-out smile.

“I love you, Matty, so much,” you reached out to caress his cheek, despite the fact that your hands, your whole body, still shook. “But you need to get dressed and go down there and kick Frank’s ass for me.”

Matt huffed a laugh. “I thought you’d want to do the honours.”

“I would, but I honestly don’t think I can stand up. I just need a few minutes, that’s all. Maybe you can get started and I’ll join you a bit later.”

[weinthepitt]

too much ain't enough love // m. murdock

three-for-three y'all, the most active i've been on this site in MONTHS and i apologise for that, but i'm getting the ball rolling again. publishing old works and new works, across a range of fandoms, so hopefully y'all find a little something that floats your boat MWAH

matthew michael murdock i have missed you.

warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. unprotected p-in-v sex. swearing. teasing. oral m!receiving. cowgirl position. light bondage.

Beneath the flickering glow of delicate chandeliers, you glanced around the room, holding tight to your flute of champagne to hide the way your hands trembled. Despite being Matt’s plus-one to this gala, which you were beginning to think was just an excuse for the city’s court officials to get together and flash their money about in the form of fine suits and sparkling jewellery, you’d been avoiding him all night.

It hadn’t been easy, considering he could just follow the distinct scent of your perfume merged with the scent of him, and be at your side in seconds. For the most part, you’d spent your time cowering in the bathroom, texting Karen to soothe your nerves, even though she’d only been a few feet away.

Karen <3, 7:26pm: Is everything okay? Where are you?

Tapping away at the screen, you’d sent off a quick message, giving away your pathetic hiding place. In a matter of seconds, the stunning blonde had slipped through the bathroom door like a shadow, wrapped in a dress of glimmering, black silk that clung to her body like a second skin.

“I fucked up,” you admitted, biting down on your tongue to keep a nervous giggle from slipping out. Karen frowned, placing her hands on your shoulders.

“Did you and Matt have a fight? Is that why he’s out there clenching his jaw so hard he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel?”

Unable to contain your laugh, you hid your face in your hands as warmth crept up your cheeks. Chewing on a fingernail, you could barely look at Karen as you spoke.

“Not a fight… I may or may not have teased him to the point of cruelty before we got here.” 

The sound of Matt’s shallow breaths, bordering on whines, echoed in your mind as you recalled the way he’d practically shattered like porcelain in your hands as you trailed sinful kisses down his neck and along his collarbones, whispering filthy promises against his flushed skin. 

Tugging at his belt, you slipped your hand into his pants. His cock was heavy and hard in your hand, and Matt hissed through his teeth, hips bucking involuntarily, as you ran your thumb over the tip. 

But then you’d pulled away, glancing at the clock as you stood, smoothing down your dress.

“We’ve got to go now, we can’t be late.”

Karen’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, as her lips twisted into a knowing smile.

“Oh, honey, I can’t save you from this one,” the blonde held out her hand to you, red-painted nails gleaming at the end of her slender fingers, a silver bracelet dangling loosely at her wrist. “But I can guarantee a very, very good night is on the horizon.”

You grasped Karen’s hand, holding onto it as though it were a life-raft, and let her drag you back out into the glitz and glamour. Stumbling slightly, Karen pulled you to her side when you reached the table you’d been avoiding, she plucked her purse from the back of her chair. Matt was already facing you, head tilted slightly, red-tinted glasses hiding his sinfully beautiful eyes. A muscle flickered in his jaw and it sent a thrill through your body, sending a tendril of warmth straight to your core.

“I’m gonna call a cab, okay?” Karen was explaining to Matt and Foggy, “一just not feeling well.” You weren’t paying attention, not when Matt’s tongue had darted out to wet his lips and you somehow knew that he was doing it to taunt you, that he could somehow taste the change in your mood, in your body.

Matt stood slowly, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket, and grabbed his folded cane from the table. Adjusting his glasses, he came to your side, slipping his hand around your waist. “I can handle this, thanks, Karen. I’ll see you both at the office tomorrow.”

After bidding a few very important-looking people farewell, Matt led you outside. You flagged down a cab with a shaky hand, trying to keep your cool, even though the grip Matt had on your waist was burning through you. His hand brushed the curve of your ass as he helped you into the backseat and you swallowed a gasp. 

The ride back to Matt’s apartment was fifteen minutes of torture. Your thighs had started to hurt from how hard you were pressing them together, and Matt… God, he just kept that insufferably smug smirk on his face the whole way, his hands innocently resting in his lap. You weren’t sure which was affecting you more; him touching you or him not touching you. Either way, you were practically squirming in the seat, staring out the window to try and distract yourself.

This was only the beginning of the payback, you were sure of it. But you still had a little trick up your sleeve, well, under your dress… Immediately, you tried to picture Matt’s reaction when he discovered your little secret; a gift, of sorts, for him, that you’d bought on whim last week. Chewing on your bottom lip, you bit back a grin. 

Matt, sensing a change within you, the scent of your arousal heavier in the small space, so much so that it almost made his head spin, turned to you.

“What on earth are you thinking about, Angel?” His voice was a low rasp that set a flurry of hummingbirds free in your stomach.

“Oh, nothing. Just stuff.” Casually, you laid your hand over one of his where they laid in his lap, subtly brushing his crotch with your knuckles. Matt inhaled through gritted teeth, fighting the desire to pull you into his lap and have his way with you.

Only two more blocks, he thought, and then he could have you, taste you, fuck you. Ruin you.

But there was something you weren’t telling him, something you were hiding, and he was going to make it his mission to find out what it was. 

Finally, finally, the cab pulled up outside the familiar apartment complex, and you practically threw yourself out of the car. Even though Matt could’ve taken the stairs by twos and been at his door in seconds, he took it slow, dragging it out even though it was killing him. But it was killing you, too, and the barely audible whines you let out everytime he paused to adjust his coat or brush a speck of dust off his pants made it all worth it. He couldn’t wait to have you under him, or on top of him; he didn’t particularly care. As long as he was deep inside you.

When the door came into view you almost sighed in relief, snagging the keys from Matt’s pocket before he had a chance to stop you. Unlocking the door, you kicked it open and tugged Matt inside, not caring if he thought you were desperate. You were desperate, and the second the door shut, you shoved Matt against it and your lips found his neck.

Placing a line of frenzied kisses along his jawline, down his throat, you tugged at his tie until it came loose in your hands. Wrapping your hand in the strip of dark fabric, you pulled him closer and leaned up to kiss his lips. But he pulled away.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s cute that you think you’re going to run this,” he whispered, nipping at your nose. “But after the stunt you pulled earlier? I don’t think so.”

You might’ve whimpered, or groaned, or straight-up cried, if Matt hadn’t reached out and grabbed the straps of your dress. With the gentleness of a dove's feathers, he slid them down your arms, pushing the bodice down until you were bare from your stomach upwards, the tapered bodice clinging to your waist to keep the dress from pooling on the ground. You’d forgone a bra when you’d gotten dressed, and you were thankful for one less obstacle as Matt stepped closer, cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple. A shiver rocketed down your spine and you sighed, caving in to the touch. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Matt walked away, passing through the living room and into the bedroom without another word.

Leaving your shoes by the door, you hiked up the skirts of your dress and followed him like a hound on a scent, not caring that the nylon stockings you wore snagged a little on the floorboards. Jesus Christ, you wanted him, and he knew it. 

“Matty,” you whispered when you entered the room and found him by the window, haloed by orange light from the street below. He’d discarded his suit jacket and button-up, they were in a pile on the floor, and stood with his back to you. For a moment, you just watched him, gazing at the scars on his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath he took. It was a sight you’d never get sick of; Matt Murdock, in all his rugged glory, despite the weight of guilt and shame he always seemed to carry, despite convincing himself that he wasn’t worth anything at all to anybody, was truly a beautiful man. A man that you loved more than you’d ever loved anybody before.

When he turned to face you, glasses gone, you gulped; in his hands, still, was his tie. 

“Take off your dress” he said, footsteps silent as he approached you. You did as you were told without argument, shimmying the fabric down until it dropped to the floor in a puddle of soft silk and chiffon. He was close, so close that your bare chest brushed against his as you took a deep breath. Matt shuddered at the contact, his stern resolve slipping momentarily as the warmth of your body seeped into him. 

“Give me your hands,” he leaned in to mutter in your ear, letting the tie dangle from his hands.

You were about to hold up your wrists, but you paused. It was time, this was the perfect moment to drop the bomb, to show him what you’d been hiding all night.

“Wait.”

Matt’s head dipped to the side, gaze fixed just to the left of you. Noticing the quickening pace of your heart, he cupped your chin in his hands, tilting your head upwards as though to inspect you. “What is it? You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you?” His lips quirked up into a smile. “That’s why you acted the way you did, you had a plan.”

As usual, Matt saw straight through you, but he still didn’t know exactly what was going on. For a few seconds longer, you’d have the upper hand.

With a gentleness comparable to moth's wings, you grabbed his wrists. Matt resisted for a moment as the balance of who, exactly, was in control shifted, but gave in. Stepping back a little to allow room to move, the backs of your legs hit the bed, and you placed Matt’s hands on your waist so he could feel the intricate lace and little ruffles that clung to your figure.

Immediately, his nimble fingers skirted along the fabric, feeling each clasp and detail, snapping the waistband against your skin a few times. “What is this,” he practically hissed, lowering to his knees to further inspect the unfamiliar lingerie. He pressed a few kisses to the ridges of lace, slowly moving his hands lower, lower, to where thin strips of elastic attached to delicate clasps that, in turn, held up the dainty nylon stockings you were wearing.

“It’s a garter belt. Got it made special, just for you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to keep your breathing steady as Matt slipped his fingers beneath the belt to pull your underwear down your legs; a simple, black lace pair that paled in comparison to everything else. Matt had to unlatch the stockings to get them all the way down, but once they were off, he fixed the stockings again and stuffed your panties in his pocket.

“For me?” His voice soft as sin, and hands twice as gentle as he pushed you onto the bed and spread your thighs so he could kneel between them. 

“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out as Matt leaned forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, grazing his teeth over it. Your next words came out in a harried gasp as Matt slid a hand all the way up your thigh, beneath the lace, and pressed his thumb to your clit. “That’s not even the─ oh fuck─ the best part.”

“Pray tell,” he muttered, more focused on drawing tight circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb, revelling in the noises he coaxed from you and the way you tried to clamp your thighs together. His mouth placed a trail of kisses from the underside of your breast, over your ribcage, until Matt was practically leaning into your lap, nipping at your hip as he pressed a finger into you, pumping slowly. You were so wet for him, practically dripping, and Matt nearly groaned at the feeling.

“It’s the same colour─ Jesus Christ─”

“He won’t save you from this,” Matt absentmindedly chimed in, but you barely heard it.

“─same colour as your suit. I asked to have it made like that specifically, a garter belt and a lace bralette. Had to compare colour swatches and everything.” Unable to stop yourself from rambling, barely able to string two coherent thoughts together because Matt had slipped a second finger inside you, you bit down on your knuckle to shut yourself up.

At the same time, Matt’s head whipped up, unsure if he heard you right. “Really, Angel?”

So you could focus, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to suck the wetness off them as though that wouldn’t be equally as distracting. Cupping his jaw in your hands, you pulled his face toward you and pressed your lips to his. Matt’s tongue instantly swiped at the seam of your lips and you opened for him.

“Mhm,” you murmured against his lips. “Got my own little Daredevil suit, but you’re the only one I wear it for. I’ve been saving it for tonight.”

In Matt’s mind, everything clicked into place. That’s why you’d teased him so much earlier, leaving him achingly, embarrassingly hard, so he’d be wound up and flustered so you could reveal this, this magnificence, and he’d be completely at your mercy.

“Oh, you devilish thing,” he growled, slowly climbing onto the bed to allow you time to shuffle back. And then he was on top of you, straddling your hips but careful not to put his entire weight on you, his thighs strained against the tightness of his perfectly tailored pants. With Matt’s arms on either side of your head, his silver crucifix dangling only an inch from your lips, you were caged in. Matt was everywhere.

“I fell for your wicked, wicked games,” he was saying, and then he’d rolled to the side, hauling you with him, until you were on top. “So play them.”

The full meaning of words didn’t hit you until he held out his hand, tie hanging limply from his fingers. You hadn’t been brave enough before when Matt had looked ready to ruin you, and you’d been more than happy to sit back and let him, but part of you had wanted to call the shots. Now he was stepping back to let you take the reins. And the way he gripped your hips, slowly guiding you back-and-forth so you could feel the evidence of just how badly he wanted you pressing up against your bare core, it was driving you mad. 

The same confidence you’d had that afternoon, when you’d had Matt melting like butter in your hands, returned with a vengeance. Grinning, you grabbed the tie.

“Give me your hands, Matthew.”

He loved it when you said his name like that, and he did exactly as he was told.

“Good boy,” you whispered as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his wrists, securing it with a knot tight enough that he shouldn’t be able to get out of it easily. Without needing to be asked, Matt lifted his hands above his head and kept them there.

Leaning down, you captured his lips in a searing kiss that set your thundering, and from the way Matt smirked against your lips, he could hear it loud and clear. Pulling back to catch your breath, you began your descent, leaving a smattering of hickeys from his jaw to his chest, making sure to kiss each scar you came across, then shuffled back, continuing down his torso until you got to the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants. 

Matt’s chest was heaving and you’d barely touched him, so when you undid his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, he knew he was done for. And when you palmed him through his boxers before taking those off, too? His heart damn-near stopped beating. No matter how many times he’d take you to bed, he never got over the adrenaline rush, the overwhelming surge of lust that overtook him, consumed him.

Spitting into your palm, and then letting a bead drip from between your lips onto the head of Matt’s cock, you pumped him a few times before taking him into your mouth. Matt moaned loudly, head pressed back into the pillows, and his back arched at the warmth of your mouth, the way your throat constricted around his cock as you swallowed.

“Fucking hell.” He wanted nothing more than to cup the back of your neck and guide your movements, but he kept his hands above your head because he knew if he moved them that you’d stop. The muscles in his thighs twitched beneath your hands and you squeezed them, digging your nails into the corded flesh. If you had to pick a favourite body part of Matt’s, you would choose his thighs in a heartbeat. They were just so thick and warm and, God, you’d lost count of how many times you’d gotten yourself off on them, Matt spurring you on with filthy words, because he’d had work to do and couldn’t give you his full attention. And you especially loved that he always wore tight pants specifically tailored to his exact measurements.

When his cock was well and truly wet, and Matt was a hopeless, panting mess, you moved back up his body and straddled him. Dragging your core up his length, letting out a shattered breath as your clit brushed against the rounded tip, you braced your hands against his scarred chest. Then you reached down and lined up Matt’s cock at your entrance and sunk down onto him. A bolt of pleasure raced up your spine when he was fully sheathed inside you, and the stretch that you’d never get used to had your thighs clenching around his hips.

A strawberry-red flush dusted across Matt’s chest and crept up his neck, throat bobbing as he tried not to cum right then and there.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, veins in his neck tensing. “So fucking good, oh God.”

When you started rocking your hips, the sounds that came out of his mouth brought a devilish grin to your face. He was a whimpering mess, and it was so pathetic the way he squirmed, trying so hard to leave his hands up, but it was so… hot.

In the glow of the neon lights from the billboards outside, he looked purely heavenly.

Meanwhile, Matt was losing his fucking mind. Your pussy was so tight around him and he just wanted to touch you, grab your waist, your ass, and pound into you. But he was trying so hard to be good and he loved the way you had taken control. But Jesus Christ, he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to touch you, to hold you during sex, until you’d taken that privilege away. A broken whimper slipped past his lips.

“Oh, Matty, what’s wrong?” you crooned, enunciating your words with a roll of your hips that pushed his cock deeper, making you see stars. Leaning down until your chest was pressed flat against Matt’s, you nipped at his earlobe. “Is it too much for you, poor baby…”

Matt pressed his head back into the mattress, breathing hard through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still held obediently above his head, but his wrists strained against the fabric of his tie.  A bead of sweat slipped down his neck and, in the heat of the moment, you licked it away, dragging your tongue up the hollow of Matt’s throat. 

“Not enough─ oh God─ please, sweetheart, I need more.” Matt squirmed, bucking his hips to try and get more friction, chasing a high you’d yet to allow him to have. Cruelly, you evaded his movements, lifting off him slightly every time he tried to thrust up into you.

“Nuh-uh,” you tutted, gripping his chin, turning his head to the side so you could place another hickey to the underside of his jaw, digging your teeth in a little just to make him wince. “But I might reconsider if you beg for it again.”

Matt wasn’t even going to try and resist, he didn’t want to play that damn cat-and-mouse game. So he begged. And begged.

“Please, sweetheart. Fuck, I just need to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”

And though you told yourself you weren’t going to cave, that you were going to toy with him a little longer, just for the fun of it, you crumbled before he’d even said a word. You practically ripped the tie off his hands, tossing it in a ball into the corner to be found tomorrow. 

Matt didn’t waste a second, his hands instantly on your ass, guiding each gyration of your hips, doubling the already steady pace you’d set. Then they moved to the straps of the garter belt, snapping the elastic against your skin, and you moaned a little at the zing of pain. He panted and moaned, chasing his pleasure, using one hand to rub your clit to make sure you found your own. And when he sat up, one hand on your back, pressing you closer, and the other at your waist, he thrust into you, deeper and deeper. The bed creaked with each movement, but you were too busy clinging to Matt, face pressed into his neck as you fervently rocked your hips to meet each of his thrusts, to even notice.

Shattered moans and whines dripped from your lips like flower petals, and it was all Matt could hear; he’d zoned everything else out until all his senses were filled up with you, you, you. He didn’t care about anything else.

“Matty, I’m so close, fuck, I’m so close,” your voice was a breathless rasp. 

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Keep going. Just like that. Oh God.”

“Fuck, Angel.”

“Just like that, Matty, just like that.”

Everything came to an intense point as Matt groaned into your neck, spilling inside you, and that sensation on top of everything else pushed you straight over the edge. You cried out his name, voice breaking, and your thighs clenched so hard around his waist that you were sure it must have hurt. And then, just for a moment, you blacked out. 

You hadn’t realised your body was spasming, limbs trembling, until you came to and heard Matt whispering to you, stroking your back as he held you close.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, Angel. I’m here.”

—

Later that night, well, early the next morning, after you’d spent a good half-hour in the shower together, exchanging sleepy kisses under the hot water, you were wrapped in the sheets with Matt. Neither of you had bothered with clothes, and a seed of a thought was already planted in your mind of just how you’d wake Matt up. But for now, you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

You were tracing idle circles on Matt’s sternum, your head resting on his shoulder, when he said something you weren’t expecting at all.

“I love the way you fuck me.”

You almost choked on your own tongue, tilting your head to look up at him.

“Matthew Michael Murdock, such naughty words from that pretty mouth of yours.” You leaned up to press a kiss to that pretty mouth, tasting the faint mint of toothpaste on his tongue.

“I’m serious, sweetheart.”

“And what is it about the way I fuck you that you love so much, huh?”

“All of it, obviously, but you always know just what to say and do, and all your little surprises, and the sounds you make. It drives me crazy. I can never stop thinking about you.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, good.”

Silence fell once more, only to be broken a few minutes later when you thought Matt had fallen asleep.

“Is it bad that I want to be inside you again already?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your throat. “Do not make me kick you out of this bed, Matthew. I need to sleep.”

“Fine,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to snuggle you closer. “But I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m staying here, in this bed, with you.”

“You have to go to work, you’ve got that big case, remember?”

“But─”

“If you go, I’ll be sure to visit you on your lunch break and send Karen and Foggy on a food run at that Chinese place a few blocks away so they’ll be gone for a while…”

“Fine, I’ll go.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “But only if you promise to wear that garter belt again.”

“Deal.”

[hellskitchenswhore]

YALL THIS IS EMILY (FORMERLY MARVELSWH0RE) AND SHE IS ONE OF THE BEST FUCKING WRITERS OF FRANK AND MATT TO EVER EXIST

[miasvelvetvoid]

nobody’s son,

pairings: matt murdock x fem!reader series synopsis: “You broke up with me over a voicemail,” you snapped. “After I begged you to just be honest with me. After four years of half truths and disappearing acts. You don’t get to frame that as protection.”. mans best friend masterlist | part one warnings: mdni!!, frank saves the day, dead dove: do not eat, mention of attempted SA, mentions of murder, mentions of weapons (gun & knife), toxic relationship, reader gets her lick back, petty!reader, dark!matt murdock, possessive!matt, jealous!matt, smut (unprotected piv, momentarily dom!reader, dom!matt, masturbation fem, heavy choking kink, cumplay, pull out method, matt is kinda mean, squirting, matt has a filthy mouth lowkey.), reader uses a guy to make matt jealous. lmk if i’m missing anything!! total word count: 11k (not proofread) mia’s love note: ooooooo, part two!!! reader definitely gets her revenge on matt. she’s kinda bad ass. also frank mention bc he’s bae. i hope you guys love it sooooo much!!

“Hi uh, I hope you’re doing well. I think it’s time we took a break. ya know? So I can grow emotionally.”

The voicemail ended.

There was no follow up. No apology waiting behind it. No shaky breath, no hesitation. Just silence.

You let your phone drop from your ear as you stood outside the bar in shock.

The screen went dark in your hand and for a second you stared at it like it might light back up on its own, like Matt might suddenly realize what he had done and call back. Your chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left open to the cold night air.

You wiped angrily at your tears as you stood. Your fingers pressed too hard against your cheeks, skin already raw. Somehow you weren’t surprised that Matt was so fucked in the head that he would be the one to break your heart after your multiple attempts to leave him. You had tried to do it right. You had tried to end things face to face. You had tried honesty. He had always made it complicated. Always made it about his pain, his guilt, his need to disappear and then be forgiven for it.

It didn’t make you any less angry as you wiped your face once more before turning back into the bar.

The warmth inside felt wrong against your skin. Too loud. Too bright. Laughter hit your ears like static.

Marci and Karen both perked up when they saw you.

“Oh my god what happened?” marci asked you watching you grab your purse and coat.

You didn’t sit back down. Your body felt wired, tight with something sharp and restless.

“Oh nothing, just matt breaking up with me over a voicemail.” you said bitterly as you stand up.

Karen frowned immediately, pushing her chair back.

“Wait are you serious?” karen asks you “I mean you were just saying how you guys were good.”

You scoffed, the sound rough in your throat.

“It’s all a lie, it has been for awhile.” you scoffed “i’m sorry but i need to leave.” you said hugging them both and making your exit from the bar.

Marci hugged you tightly, whispering something about calling if you needed anything. Karen held onto your arm for an extra second, her eyes searching your face like she wanted to argue, to insist you stay. You shook your head and pulled away gently.

The door closed behind you and the night swallowed the sound.

You walked alone down the dark side walks of hell’s kitchen, sniffles leaving you as you held your phone tightly.

The city felt different now. Not hostile. Not yet. Just watchful. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead. Trash bags lined the curb like dark shapes crouched in the shadows. Somewhere far off, a train rattled through the tunnels beneath your feet.

You weren’t watching your surroundings, you never had to when you were out alone. Daredevil was always somewhere behind you keeping you safe. A presence you never saw but somehow trusted, like the city itself was keeping an eye on you.

You didn’t have that anymore.

The thought settled in slowly, sinking deeper with every step.

You couldn’t decide if you were happy or sad that you didn’t have to worry about that.

Your phone vibrated in your hand and you flinched before realizing it was nothing. You shoved it into your pocket, jaw tightening as you kept walking.

That was when you felt it.

Not heard. Felt.

Someone watching.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, glancing briefly at a darkened storefront window as you passed. Your reflection stared back at you and behind it, distorted in the glass, was a shape that did not belong to you.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. Unhurried.

“Hey.”

The voice was low. Too calm.

You didn’t respond.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.”

You kept walking, pulse beginning to thud in your ears.

You turned down a quieter street, one you had walked a hundred times before. The lights were farther apart here. The buildings older. The air colder.

The footsteps followed.

Closer now.

“You walk like you’re scared,” the man said. There was something wrong with the way he said it. Curious. Almost pleased. “That makes people notice.”

You stopped abruptly and turned around. “Leave me alone.”

He was closer than you expected. Too close. His face was half-lit by the streetlight, eyes dark and intent. He smiled slowly, like he was savoring the moment.

“Relax,” he said softly. “I just want to talk.”

“No you don’t.”

His smile widened. “Smart girl.”

Your stomach dropped.

He took a step forward. You stepped back.

“Don’t,” you warned.

He laughed quietly. “You think anyone would hear you out here?”

You hoped Matt would.

He moved fast.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Not fumbling. Not accidental. Possessive.

You screamed and twisted, panic exploding through you. “Let go of me!”

He tightened his grip, eyes bright now. “There it is. That fear. I like that.”

You kicked at him, managing to break free as his fingers scraped painfully down your arm leaving red scratches. One heel fell off as you kicked him, you quickly shed the other.

You ran.

Your lungs burned almost immediately. Your feet slipped on the uneven pavement. You could hear him behind you now, not running, just walking fast enough to keep up.

“Don’t run,” he called. “I don’t want to chase you too far.”

Your vision blurred as tears streamed down your face. Streetlights smeared into long, glowing streaks as you ran, breath tearing from your lungs in sharp, panicked gasps. Your feet slapped against the pavement, each step echoing too loudly in the empty streets. You turned corner after corner without really thinking, your mind screaming for somewhere, anywhere, a place with a door you could lock or a face you could trust. Your thoughts felt fractured, bouncing wildly between fear and disbelief, between the sting in your wrist and the humiliation burning in your chest.

You were too far from your apartment, and even further from Matt’s.

The realization made your stomach twist. Even if you screamed, even if he somehow heard you, even if he was close enough to come running, it wouldn’t be fast enough. You knew that in your bones.

And then you remembered.

Frank.

The thought came with a jolt of both relief and dread. It was most definitely a bad idea to show up to his hide out like this, dragging danger right to his door. You knew exactly what you would be doing. You were signing the man behind you’s death certificate the second you decided to run there.

But the longer you ran, the more you realized the truth pressing down on you with every burning breath. Even if Matt heard your screaming, he wouldn’t make it in time.

Your chest felt tight as panic spiked higher.

The metal door came into view like a lifeline.

The familiar alley. Narrow. Dim. Smelling faintly of rust and damp concrete. The place you had sworn you would never show up to like this.

Still, you didn’t hesitate.

You slammed into the door hard enough to rattle the frame and started pounding on it with both fists, pain flaring through your palms as metal met bone again and again.

“Frank!” you screamed. “Frank, please open the door!”

Your voice cracked on his name. You looked behind you before slamming both your palms onto the door again, fear spiking as your eyes searched the mouth of the alley.

Your hands shook violently as you banged again and again. The metal felt cold and unyielding beneath your skin. Every second stretched, unbearable.

Footsteps slowed behind you.

Not rushed. Not frantic.

Leisurely.

You felt him before you heard him stop, the air shifting, your skin prickling as if your body recognized danger before your mind could catch up.

“Well,” the man said pleasantly, like he was amused. “This is new.”

You turned just enough to see him leaning against the wall, completely at ease, one shoulder resting casually against the brick. His eyes dragged over you slowly, openly, like he was taking his time. Watching you like prey cornered. Your back pressed into the metal door as much as you could, your shoulders curling inward instinctively, nowhere left to retreat.

“Frank!” you sobbed. “Please!”

Your voice broke fully now, desperation spilling out with every syllable.

He raised his voice, calling out past you, his tone easy, almost friendly. “Hey buddy. Sorry about this. She’s a little dramatic. We’re together.”

Your heart slammed violently against your ribs.

Your eyes widened as he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward you, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you shrank back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, the metal catching the dim alley light as he held it out toward you, not rushed, not shaking.

“Seems like you’re having a rough night,” he said softly. “Think I could help you baby. Make you feel better.”

Your breath hitched painfully in your throat. You shook your head violently, tears blinding you.

“Please don’t.”

He shrugged, unconcerned, like you had asked him for something trivial. “Why not.”

His hand came up suddenly, the blade cold as it pressed against your skin. You gasped as he sliced through the neckline of your shirt, fabric tearing easily beneath the knife. The air hit your exposed skin as your bra was revealed to him, humiliation crashing over you in a suffocating wave.

Before you could scream again, the door behind you flew open.

You fell backward into Frank’s chest, the sudden loss of resistance making your legs buckle. His arms came up instantly, gripping your arms, steadying you, anchoring you. It felt like hours since you started banging on his door. In reality it had only taken him about three minutes to answer.

Frank filled the doorway, broad and immovable, his body blocking the alley behind you. His eyes immediately locked onto you. One look at your face, your shaking body, the angry scratch marks on your arm, the bruise already forming on your wrist, and something in him went still. Completely still. Like a switch had been flipped somewhere deep inside him.

The man froze infront of you when his eyes landed on frank. The knife dipped slightly in his hand. It wasn’t a secret who the punisher was.

“What the fuck are you doing.” Frank asked the man angrily.

The words were low, controlled, far more dangerous than shouting.

The man smiled nervously, trying to recover. “Nothing serious. Just a lovers’ spat.”

Frank didn’t look at him.

“Get inside,” Frank said softly to you.

The gentleness of it almost broke you.

You rushed past him, nearly stumbling as you crossed the threshold, hands shaking as you pulled your torn shirt together. The door closed behind you with a heavy metallic thud that echoed through the space.

Outside, the sounds were brief.

There was a scream. High. Panicked.

Then nothing.

Inside, you’re curled in on yourself on the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest, tears falling freely now. Your hands held your shirt together as you sobbed, shoulders shaking, breath coming in uneven bursts as shock finally caught up with you.

Frank came back inside slowly. There was blood on his hands, on his shirt, flecked across his jaw.

He knelt in front of you immediately, lowering himself so he was eye level, his presence steady and solid.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Frank said quietly. “Talk to me.”

Your body finally gave in. You covered your face with your hands and cried, shaking so hard your teeth chattered, everything you had been holding back spilling out all at once.

“It’s okay, did the right thing comin’ to me,” Frank said, though he was confused Matt wasn’t following you like he normally did. Still he didn’t push that as he rubbed your back in slow, grounding circles. “Lemme get you a new shirt.”

Frank stood up to grab you a new shirt. Your phone vibrated inside your pocket. The sound made you flinch. Lifting it up with trembling fingers, you saw two missed calls from Matt’s burner phone. A sob tore out of your throat as you flipped the phone over and dropped it beside you, unable to look at it anymore.

Frank came back with a new shirt and a cup of coffee for you.

“Here change into this,” he said handing you the shirt. “Got you some coffee, keep ya’ warm.” He turned around without being asked as you carefully shed your torn shirt, replacing them with the soft fabric of Frank’s shirt. It hung loose on you, warm and familiar.

“Thanks,” you said quietly as you sat on the corner of Frank’s bed.

Your eyes wandered over the room while you tried to steady your breathing. It was all one space. Concrete walls. Minimal furniture. The only places to sit were the bed or a scattered chair. A table nearby held the pieces of a gun, laid out neatly like Frank had been cleaning it before you knocked on his door.

Frank turned back around to hand you the coffee.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice hoarse, shame creeping in now that the danger had passed.

“Don’t be,” frank said. “No sweat off my back.” He sat on the chair, resuming cleaning the gun, though his attention never fully left you. “Red know where you are?” he asked you.

“No uh, we broke up,” you said, sniffling as you took a sip of the coffee. The warmth spread through your chest, grounding you. You needed that.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “M’ sorry.” He glanced at you again. “That why you came here?” he asked you. There was no judgment in his voice. You’d known Frank long enough to know he cared about you. He was your friend.

“I was scared,” you said, clearing your throat and pulling the sleeve of his shirt over your cold hands. “And I don’t exactly know where Matt hangs out when he’s the devil.” You shrugged weakly. “I know you told me not to come here—”

“See how worried I am about it?” frank said, stopping what he was doing and letting the gun rest back on the table.

The attempt at humor made your lips twitch despite everything.

“Is he dead?” you asked frank, already knowing the answer. You took the last sip of the coffee before standing up.

“Whaddya think?” he asked you.

You walked over to place the mug down with a nod of your head. “I should get going,” you said, reaching for your purse and clothes.

Frank let the taken apart gun snap into place before he flipped on the safety. “Take it,” he said. “Or else imma have to walk ya’ home.” He flipped it around for you to take.

“I don’t—” you started before holding your purse out for him. “Just put it in here please.”

Frank smiled faintly. “Scared of it?” he asked, showing you the safety. “Turn this off in case you need it.” He placed it carefully in your purse.

“If I end up dead and then you find my body with the gun still in my purse will you be mad?” you asked him.

“I’ll bring ya back myself,” he said, standing up to walk you to the door. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll swing by tomorrow. Make sure you got home safe.”

“Thank you Frank,” you said with a sad smile.

The door shut behind you with a dull echo that followed you down the steps and back out into the night.

The sound lingered longer than it should have, bouncing off concrete and brick, chasing you down the block like something trying to pull you back. You didn’t turn around. You kept walking, shoulders tight, breath shallow, forcing your legs to move even though every nerve in your body screamed to run.

Hell’s Kitchen felt colder than it had before. Not just the air, but the space itself. Quieter. Like the city itself was holding its breath now that the adrenaline had burned off and left you hollowed out in its wake. Frank’s long sleeve shirt kept you warm, the fabric soft against your skin, sleeves hanging past your wrists. It smelled like him. His soap. Metal. Gun powder. Safety. The scent wrapped around you, grounding and heavy, a reminder that someone had answered when you needed them to.

You adjusted the strap of your purse on your shoulder, fingers brushing against the weight inside it. The gun was heavier than you expected. It was proof. Proof of how close you had come to not making it home at all. Proof that someone had taken you seriously when you said you were scared.

Your footsteps were slower this time. Careful. Measured. Each step placed deliberately, like you were reminding yourself that you were still in control of your body.

You were alone again.

The realization sat heavy in your chest. Frank’s door felt impossibly far behind you now, like a boundary you had already crossed and could not step back over. The walk felt longer now. Every shadow seemed sharper, edges more defined. Every sound made your shoulders tense. A passing car. Laughter drifting from a nearby fire escape. The rattle of a loose trash can lid skittering across the pavement in the wind.

You kept your eyes forward, jaw clenched, refusing to let fear control your pace. You refused to look like prey.

You almost missed the sound.

Almost.

A heartbeat out of place. Too steady. Too close. Breath that didn’t belong to you, not ragged like yours, not panicked, just there.

Your arm was suddenly grabbed and you were yanked hard to the side, your back slamming against cold brick as the world narrowed into darkness and panic for a split second before you recognized the grip.

“Stop,” you snapped immediately, shoving at his chest. “Get off me.”

“Jesus,” Matt hissed, his hands coming up reflexively like he was trying to steady you and himself at the same time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t mean to scare me?” you said, voice sharp, heart pounding violently, the echo of the alley amplifying every word. “You don’t get to grab me like that. Not anymore.”

He froze at that.

The alley was narrow, barely lit by a flickering streetlight at the mouth of it. The light cut across his jaw and mouth, the rest of his face covered by his black mask. The brick pressed cold against your spine, seeping through your clothes. Matt stood too close, his jaw tight with something tangled between relief, fear, and anger that had nowhere to go.

“I heard you scream,” he said quietly. “I heard it blocks away.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp enough to hurt your own throat. “Funny how that works.”

Matt’s brow furrowed beneath the mask. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means where the hell were you?” you shot back. “Actually don’t answer that because it’s my fault for thinking you still cared.”

The words cut deep. You felt them land even before he reacted.

His jaw clenched. You heard his teeth grind together. He swallowed hard. “I was close. I came as fast as I could.”

“Not fast enough.”

The words landed hard between you, final and unforgiving.

Matt stepped closer, his voice lowering instinctively, his body angling toward yours like he was trying to shield you from threats that had already passed. “Are you hurt.”

You shook your head sharply. “Don’t.”

“Just… let me check,” he insisted, reaching out again, fingers hovering near your arm.

You slapped his hand away, shoving his chest. “I said don’t touch me.”

That stopped him completely.

His breathing shifted. Slower. More deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, listening now to everything. To your heart rate hammering against your ribs. To the uneven hitch in your breathing. To the faint tremor in your hands no matter how hard you tried to hide it. To the way your scent was wrong, layered with something else.

And then his expression changed.

“What happened,” he asked.

It wasn’t a question anymore. It was an accusation, sharp and immediate.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, fingers curling into the sleeves of Frank’s shirt like a shield. “You left me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” he said immediately. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

“You broke up with me over a voicemail,” you snapped. “After I begged you to just be honest with me. After four years of half truths and disappearing acts. You don’t get to frame that as protection.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Matt’s nostrils flared. His shoulders lifted with a sharp breath.

“And you didn’t go home,” he said slowly.

“No.”

“You went somewhere else.”

You didn’t answer.

His head tilted again. His face tightened, something dark and furious flickering behind his eyes as his senses put the pieces together long before you said a word.

“Frank,” he said.

Your stomach dropped.

“You smell like him.”

The words came out clipped. Controlled. Dangerous. Jealousy threaded through them whether he wanted it to or not.

Your lips pressed together. “So what.”

Matt laughed sharply, disbelief cracking through his composure, bitterness bleeding into the sound. “You ran to him.”

“I ran to someone who answered the door,” you shot back. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“That was reckless,” he snapped. “You have no idea what kind of danger that puts you in.”

“You don’t get to lecture me about danger,” you said, stepping closer now, fury eclipsing fear entirely. “I had a knife at my throat tonight, Matt. You weren’t there so save me, Frank was. Once again you come up short.”

That wiped the anger off his face instantly.

“What,” he breathed.

“A man followed me. He grabbed me. He cut my shirt open,” you said, your voice shaking now despite yourself, the memory burning fresh and vivid. “And you know what I thought about in that moment.”

Matt’s hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.

“I thought about how you weren’t there,” you said. “How you weren’t listening. How you didn’t choose me. How you left me.”

“I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely.

“That’s the problem,” you snapped. “You never know because you.”

His voice rose, frustration bleeding through, anger now tangled with guilt and something uglier. “I’m trying to protect you. To better for you.”

“Then just do what you do best.” you said. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Matt stepped closer again, his voice lowering, urgency creeping back in. “Did he hurt you.”

“No,” you said. “Because Frank killed him.”

The alley went dead silent.

Matt’s breathing spiked. His jaw tightened so hard you thought his teeth might crack beneath the mask.

“He did what,” Matt said quietly.

“You heard me.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near him.”

Matt’s voice changed. It was deeper now, rougher. That was how you knew the Devil was here and Matt was gone.

“You shouldn’t have left me with no one,” you fired back. “You don’t get to decide who I run to when I’m scared because it sure as hell isn’t going to be you.”

“I could have protected you,” he said, voice breaking just enough to make it hurt, jealousy bleeding through now unchecked.

“But you didn’t,” you said. “Frank did.”

That was the thing that finally snapped something in him.

“You smell like him,” Matt said. “And his gun powder.”

The words were sharp, possessive, unfair. He was jealous and you both knew it. He didn’t have any right to be jealous anymore.

Your laugh was sharp. “Congratulations. You still have great senses.”

His head tilted toward your purse. His hand reached out and grabbed it suddenly.

“Matt!” you gasped as he grabbed it.

“A gun?” Matt said. “He gave you a gun.”

You leaned in close enough that your lips almost touched. Your hands came out to rest on his abs you could feel through his black shirt. Matt’s breath shuttered, jealousy flaring hotter at the familiarity.

“If you don’t leave me alone Matthew, I’m going to turn around and walk back to Franks. Then i’m going to fuck him. Let him touch me all the ways you used to. Then i’ll come knock on your door so you can smell just how much of him is all over me.” you threatened. “I will make your life even more miserable than it is.”

You shoved him harshly, stepping around him, your shoulder clipping his as you passed.

“Don’t follow me,” you warned.

Matt stood frozen as you walked past him, your footsteps echoing out of the alley and back into the street, every step deliberate, every breath a declaration.

He stayed there long after you were gone, surrounded by the scent of Frank Castle, jealousy burning hot and useless in his chest, and the sound of a city that did not forgive hesitation.

Once you got home that night you shed your pants off before crawling into your bed.

You barely bothered turning on the light. Your apartment felt too big and too quiet, every sound amplified by the absence of another body. The sheets were cold when you slid under them, the fabric bunching awkwardly around your legs as you curled onto your side. You stared at the wall, eyes burning, mind refusing to slow.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the voicemail.

The tone of his voice. The careful distance in his words. The way he had made it sound like a mature decision instead of what it really was. Cowardice. Avoidance. Another disappearing act dressed up as self improvement.

Seeing Matt didn’t help you at all. It didn’t bring closure. It didn’t make you feel chosen. It made you angry in a way that sat heavy and sharp in your chest. You were sure you hated him. You wanted to hate him. You pressed your face into the pillow and cried anyway, quiet at first, then harder, sobs shaking your shoulders until your throat ached.

You laid in bed crying to yourself for hours.

Hours turned into days. Days where you woke up exhausted and went to sleep the same way. Franks shirt turned into one of matt’s, the fabric softer from years of washing, familiar in a way that hurt. Your spot in bed changed from one side to the other without you really realizing when it happened. Muscle memory betraying you. Rolling over in the night and reaching for nothing.

You gave frank his shirt and gun back when he came by to make sure you were alive.

He didn’t say much. Neither did you. He stood in your doorway, eyes scanning you like he was checking for bruises you might have missed. You handed him his things without ceremony. He nodded once, like that was all he needed to see.

That was the most human interaction you’d had all week.

Your phone kept lighting up with texts from Marci asking you to go out with her and Foggy. Each buzz felt louder than the last. Each notification a reminder that life was still moving forward whether you felt ready or not.

That only made you cry harder. You were officially a third wheel now, an extra seat at a table that used to feel like home.

What hurt you the most was that you were certain that there was nobody’s son left for you to believe in. No man you could put your faith in without flinching. No promise that didn’t feel hollow. The realization sat deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating.

So despite that, you decided that since Karen was also technically a third wheel, you put on that dress you loved. The one that made you feel like yourself again. You did your hair just right, careful and deliberate. You added your favorite perfume, the one that always made people lean in closer, and you were golden.

You met Marci and Foggy at Josie’s. You and Karen walked together, shoulders brushing as you made your way inside. She always made you laugh, even despite your broken heart. Even when you felt like you might crack open at any second.

You didn’t plan on getting as tipsy as you were, but when you started beating Foggy at pool and Marci suggested you make it a drinking game you couldn’t resist. Every win came with a cheer. Every loss came with laughter. The alcohol warmed your chest, loosened the tight knot that had been sitting there for days.

Tonight you were nobody’s girl. Nobody was in your head. In the end this was exactly what you needed. What you wanted.

You walked up to the bar, a lazy smile on your face as you asked Josie for another beer. The wood was sticky beneath your fingers. The lights were low. The music loud enough to blur the edges of everything.

A presence caught your attention.

You weren’t sure who he was other than the fact that he was handsome and tall, leaning casually against the bar like he belonged there. Mixed in with your fresh heartbreak, you found yourself loving the attention. The way his eyes lingered. The way he smiled like he already knew you.

“Hello there,” the guy said, making you smile.

“Hi.” you said, breaking out the eyes you only ever used for matt. The ones that lingered just a second longer. The ones that invited.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” he said, dropping a twenty on the counter when Josie brought back your beer.

The action shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. It was stupid. It was simple. Again, you were tipsy. Maybe that was what made you laugh and lean closer. Maybe that was what made you introduce yourself without thinking.

Maybe that was what made you bring Josh back over to the pool table with a large grin on your face.

Foggy’s eyes widened as he watched you come over. He turned to Marci and Karen, mumbling a “this isn’t going to be good.”

Matt straightened out his tie. He had just arrived.

You weren’t sure who at the bar he noticed first. The sound of your laugh. The unfamiliar heartbeat beside you. The way your perfume hit him like a punch to the chest. He didn’t see why the two of you couldn’t be friends. That was the lie he told himself as he stepped closer.

“Hey guys!” you said cheerfully. “This is Josh, we’ve known each other for about” you thought before letting out a giggle “five minutes. We’re planning a June wedding.” you gushed.

Josh laughed, looking down at you. “You’re cute.”

Matt’s beer dropped to the table harshly. The sound cut through the noise. Foggy gulped before saying, “By the way Matt is here.”

They waited for your reaction.

You just shrugged with a sneaky smile. “Hi Matt,” you purred. “Did you meet josh?”

Matt cleared his throat, turning to face you both. “No i haven’t.”

“Oh well! Matthew this is Josh.” you said, dragging Josh over to Matt. “Josh this is Matthew, great lawyer. Terrible boyfriend.” you laughed. “I mean horrible. That boy is corrupt. like the WORST!! He sure fucked me up, and it’s not even because he’s blind which is like so mind boggling.”

Karen stifled a laugh. Josh caught it and laughed nervously. “Matt, would you like to come to our June wedding?” he asked.

“Oh i’m in love.” you gushed.

That was how the whole night went.

You hung off of Josh all night. Your arm looped through his. Your hand resting casually on his thigh when you laughed too hard. Every touch deliberate. Every smile calculated just enough to sting.

Matt was miserable.

His hand tightened around his beer until the glass creaked faintly in protest. His jaw was set, teeth clenched so hard his temples ached. Every time Josh made a joke that sent you into another fit of laughter, Matt’s breathing went uneven. He could hear it all. Your laugh. Josh’s heartbeat spiking every time you leaned closer. The way your voice softened when you spoke to him.

You completely abandoned the game of pool. Foggy continued to play with Karen and Marci, both of them pretending very hard not to watch the slow emotional carnage unfolding at the table behind them.

You decided to sit across from Matt.

Josh sat on your right.

Close enough that his leg pressed into yours. Close enough that Matt could smell him on you already. Soap. Cheap cologne. The faint bite of beer. It made Matt’s stomach twist.

You kept asking Josh questions to get to know him.

“So what do you do?” you asked, tilting your head, chin resting in your palm.

Josh smiled. “Construction. Mostly residential.”

“Oh wow,” you said. “That’s hot. You build things.”

Matt scoffed quietly, lifting his beer again.

“Where are you from?” you asked next.

“Queens,” Josh said. “Born and raised.”

“You ever want to leave?” you asked.

Josh shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on who I’m with.”

You smiled at that, slow and deliberate.

Matt’s fingers twitched against the table.

“What about you?” Josh asked. “What do you do when you’re not beating your friends at pool?”

You laughed. “I have a job. I read too much. I make bad decisions.”

Josh grinned. “Those are usually the best kind.”

Matt couldn’t help it. “You don’t know her,” he said sharply.

You turned your head slowly toward him. “You don’t either,” you replied.

Josh shifted uncomfortably but stayed put.

You kept going.

“You have siblings?” you asked Josh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Older sister. Protective as hell.”

You smiled. “That tracks.”

“What about you?” Josh asked.

You shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Matt laughed bitterly. “That’s one way to put it.”

You leaned back in your chair, eyes never leaving Josh. “You believe in fate?” you asked.

“Sometimes,” Josh said. “Depends on the night.”

“And love?” you asked.

Matt’s grip tightened.

Josh smiled softly. “I think love is choosing someone. Every day.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Matt swallowed hard.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said. “That sounds right.”

Matt sat there listening to every word, every laugh, every brush of skin, jealousy rotting in his chest. He wanted to scream. He wanted to drag you away. He wanted to beg.

Instead, he sat there miserable, watching you give someone else the attention he had taken for granted for four years.

And you let him.

Josh glanced down at your empty bottle and smiled, easy and attentive in a way that felt foreign and intoxicating all at once.

“I’m gonna grab you another drink,” he said, already stepping away from the table. “Same thing?”

You nodded, flashing him a grin. “You’re a gem.”

He laughed and disappeared toward the bar, leaving his chair still warm beside you.

The second he was out of earshot, the air shifted.

Matt had been sitting rigidly still, shoulders locked, fingers wrapped too tightly around his beer. The second Josh’s footsteps faded, Matt turned his head fully toward you. His jaw flexed once. Twice.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

His voice was deceptively calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant he was barely holding himself together.

You didn’t look at him right away. You leaned back in your chair instead, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric of your dress ride up just enough to make a point.

“Loads of fun,” you said lightly. Then you tilted your head, eyes finally sliding over to him with a lazy smile. “I wonder if he’s as good in bed as Frank.”

The words hit him like a punch.

Matt sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. His heartbeat spiked instantly. You could practically feel it from across the table.

“That’s not funny,” he said tightly. He was so upset he didn’t bother listening to your heart.

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was joking?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he snapped.

“Wow,” you said, feigning surprise. “Four years together and you finally catch on.”

His hand slammed down on the table hard enough to make the bottles rattle. Foggy glanced over briefly, then very pointedly looked away.

“Don’t say his name like that,” Matt said. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it intimate. Dangerous.

“Like what,” you asked sweetly. “Like someone who showed up when I needed him? Like someone who didn’t leave me alone in the dark?”

Matt’s jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind.

“You’re trying to hurt me,” he said.

You smiled wider. “Is it working?”

His head tilted slightly, listening now, picking up every shift in your breathing, every smug little hitch of satisfaction you weren’t even trying to hide.

“This isn’t you,” he said. “You’re not like this.”

You laughed quietly. “No. I just finally stopped being good for you.”

Matt leaned closer, voice dropping. “You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

“Oh I absolutely do,” you said. “Frank touches me and I don’t feel like I’m waiting around to be chosen.”

His breath went uneven.

“You don’t know what you’re playing with,” he warned.

You leaned in too, close enough that he could feel the heat of your body, your perfume overwhelming every other scent in the room.

“I thought I told you I was going to make your life a living hell?” you said softly.

That did it.

Something in Matt cracked. You heard it in the way his breathing stuttered, the way his fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles popped.

Josh came back just then, blissfully unaware, carrying two beers.

“Sorry,” he said, setting one in front of you. “Crowded.”

You looked up at him like he was the only person in the room.

“It’s okay,” you said warmly. “Worth the wait.”

Matt sat frozen, every sense screaming as Josh leaned closer to you. He could smell the beer on his breath. The way your heart rate changed when Josh stood too close. The way your body angled toward him without thinking.

You stood suddenly, pushing your chair back.

Josh blinked. “Everything okay?”

You leaned in close, standing on your toes just enough to bring your mouth to his ear.

Matt heard everything.

Every breath. Every whisper. Every intention.

“Follow me,” you murmured softly into Josh’s ear.

Josh’s breath hitched audibly. His heartbeat spiked. “Uh,” he said, swallowing. “Yeah. Okay.”

You straightened, grabbed his hand, and started pulling him through the crowd without looking back.

Matt stayed seated.

He listened to your footsteps fade. Listened to Josh’s stumble as he followed you. Listened to the bathroom door open somewhere down the hall.

And then close.

The sound echoed in Matt’s chest like a gunshot.

He sat there, jealous, furious, miserable, surrounded by noise and laughter and the undeniable truth that you were no longer his to lose.

The bathroom door shut with a soft but unmistakable click.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

Matt heard it anyway.

The noise of the bar swallowed most things. Music. Laughter. Glass clinking. But his world narrowed the second that door closed, his focus locking onto the hallway like a vice. He tilted his head without realizing he was doing it, every sense stretching, sharpening, honing in.

At first there was only muffled movement. Shoes shifting. Fabric brushing against tile.

Then your laugh.

Soft. Breathless. Close.

Matt’s throat went dry.

Josh said something too quiet for the words to register, but Matt heard the smile in his voice. Heard the way his heartbeat sped up, erratic and eager. Heard the scrape of his back against the bathroom counter.

Then he heard you kiss him.

Not gentle. Not hesitant.

Intentional.

The sound was faint, swallowed by the walls, but Matt caught every second of it. The press of mouths. The sharp inhale Josh took like he hadn’t expected you to do that. The way your breathing changed, warmer, lower, familiar in a way that made Matt’s chest ache.

Someone whistled at the pool table. Someone laughed too loud.

Matt didn’t hear any of it.

He heard Josh’s hand slide to your waist. Heard the fabric of your dress shift. Heard you make a quiet sound against Josh’s mouth that you used to make against his.

Something shattered.

The bottle in Matt’s hand cracked with a sharp pop, glass biting into his palm as it gave way under the pressure of his grip. Beer spilled across the table, soaking his sleeve, dripping onto the floor.

Foggy startled. “Jesus Christ, Matt.”

Blood welled instantly, sliding between Matt’s fingers. He didn’t react. He didn’t feel it. His eyes were unfocused beneath the mask, head angled sharply toward the hallway.

In the bathroom, you laughed again.

Josh kissed you harder this time. Less tentative. More confident. Matt heard the sound of it, wet and desperate, heard Josh’s heart racing like he had already won something.

Matt stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Foggy was on his feet immediately, grabbing Matt’s arm. “Hey. Hey. Stop.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Matt said.

His voice was not loud. It didn’t shake. It was flat and absolute.

“That’s not happening,” Foggy said, tightening his grip. “You need to breathe.”

Matt yanked his arm free. “He’s touching her.”

Foggy stepped directly into his path. “She’s single.”

That word hit harder than anything else tonight.

Matt shook his head violently. “He’s taking advantage of her.”

“No,” Foggy said firmly. “She’s taking advantage of you.”

Matt’s jaw clenched. He could still hear it. Still hear your mouth on Josh’s. Still hear the way your breathing sped up when Josh pressed closer. Still smell you, even from across the room. Perfume. Beer. And underneath it all, the ghost of Frank Castle and the familiar ache of what used to be his.

In the bathroom, Josh laughed quietly. “Wow,” he said, breathless. “You don’t waste time.”

“Neither do you,” you murmured back.

Matt took a step toward the hallway.

Foggy blocked him again. “Matt. If you walk in there, you don’t come back from that.”

“She’s doing this to hurt me,” Matt snapped.

Foggy didn’t argue. “Yeah. And it’s working.”

Matt’s hands shook now, blood dripping steadily from his palm. His breathing was uneven, rage and jealousy clawing up his spine, the Devil screaming to be let loose.

Inside the bathroom, you pressed Josh back against the wall.

He hated that he knew exactly how your lips felt. Exactly how your hands moved when you wanted to make a point. Exactly how calculated you were being right now.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Josh muttered.

You smiled against his mouth. “You have no idea.”

Outside, Matt stood trembling, miserable and furious, held back only by the one truth Foggy had forced him to face.

You weren’t his anymore.

And you were making sure he knew it.

The bathroom door opened.

The sound cut through the bar sharper than the music, sharper than laughter, sharper than the clack of pool balls hitting felt. You stepped out first, cheeks flushed, hair slightly undone in a way that looked effortless but absolutely was not. Josh followed close behind you, his hand still hovering near your waist like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to put it anymore.

Matt heard you before he saw you.

Your breathing was different. Slower now. Satisfied. Josh’s heart was still racing, pounding loud and uneven like he had just been handed something he didn’t fully understand yet.

Conversation at the table stuttered when you came back into view.

Foggy went still. Karen’s eyes widened just a fraction. Marci sucked in a quiet breath.

Matt turned fully toward you.

You didn’t look at him right away.

You leaned into Josh instead, fingers curling loosely around the front of his shirt as you smiled up at him like the two of you shared a private joke.

Josh laughed under his breath, still a little dazed. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Then you raised your voice just enough for the table to hear.

“Hey guys,” you said brightly. “Josh and I are gonna head out.”

The words landed like a match dropped into gasoline.

Matt’s head snapped toward you, disbelief and fury crashing together in his chest. His heartbeat spiked violently, blood still dripping from his palm, his senses screaming at him to move, to stop this, to do something.

Foggy swore under his breath.

Karen’s mouth opened, then closed again.

Josh glanced around, suddenly aware of the tension, the way the air felt thick and wrong. “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. I mean. If you’re sure.”

You smiled at him, soft and reassuring, like you were smoothing things over for his benefit. “I’m sure.”

Matt pushed himself up from the table.

“Wait,” he said.

The word tore out of him before he could stop it.

You finally looked at him then.

Your expression was calm. Too calm. Your eyes were bright, sharp, unreadable.

“What,” you asked lightly.

Matt swallowed hard. His jaw worked like he was trying to find words that didn’t exist. He could smell Josh all over you now. Hear the echo of your heartbeat still settling back into something steady. Feel the ghost of your presence slipping further and further out of reach.

“You’re just leaving,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Yup.”

“With him.”

You glanced at Josh, then back at Matt. “That was the plan.”

Josh shifted awkwardly. “Look, man, if this is weird—”

“It’s not,” you said immediately, squeezing Josh’s hand. “We’re good.”

Matt laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You don’t even know him.”

You stepped closer to Matt, just enough to make the point sting.

“And you don’t know me anymore,” you said quietly.

Josh’s heartbeat jumped again. “So,” he said, forcing a grin. “I’ll grab my jacket.”

He started toward the door.

You watched him go.

The second he was out of sight, you exhaled slowly.

Then you turned back to the table.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you said casually. “Text me.”

Marci stared at you like she was trying to read between the lines. Karen searched your face, concern flickering there, but you just smiled at her and squeezed her arm.

Matt stepped closer again, voice low and tight. “You don’t have to do this.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and something like tired amusement crossed your face.

“I already did,” you said.

Josh reappeared by the door, jacket on, keys in hand. “Ready?”

You nodded, walking past Matt without another word.

He turned, following you with his eyes, every sense locked on the way your body moved, the sound of your steps, the absence he could already feel setting in.

Outside, the night air hit your face cool and grounding.

Josh stepped onto the sidewalk with you. “So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My place is—”

You stopped walking.

He stopped too, blinking. “Everything okay?”

You smiled at him, genuine this time, but final. “Yeah. I’m just not going home with you.”

“Oh,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said honestly. “You were great.”

He laughed softly. “Then why—”

“Because tonight wasn’t about that,” you said. “And I don’t actually want to take you home.”

Josh studied your face for a second, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

“I had fun,” you added.

“Me too,” he said. “No regrets.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. Quick. Clean. A full stop.

“Get home safe,” you told him.

“You too,” he replied.

He walked off in the opposite direction without argument.

You stood there alone for a moment, the city humming around you, heart steady, head clear.

Back inside the bar, Matt stood frozen, every sense screaming with the realization that hurt him most.

You hadn’t chosen Josh.

But you hadn’t chosen him either.

And that was somehow worse.

You got home alone.

The lock clicked behind you and the sound felt louder than it should have, final in a way that made your chest tighten for just a second before you forced yourself to breathe through it. Your apartment smelled like clean laundry and faint perfume, the quiet wrapping around you like a blanket you weren’t sure you deserved yet.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, letting the night catch up with you.

Josh was gone. The bar was gone. Matt’s eyes burning into your back as you walked away was gone too.

You dropped your purse onto the counter, the weight inside it shifting softly. You didn’t open it. You didn’t need to look at it to know it was there.

You moved through the apartment slowly, deliberately, peeling your dress off like it was another layer of the night you didn’t want clinging to you anymore. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, leaving it on the floor where it landed.

The bathroom light clicked on.

You turned the faucet, watching steam begin to rise as the tub filled. The sound was soothing, steady, something you could focus on. You stripped the rest of your clothes off and stepped into the bath once it was full, lowering yourself carefully until the water lapped at your shoulders.

The heat seeped into your skin, loosening muscles you hadn’t realized were clenched. You let your head fall back against the porcelain, eyes closing as you exhaled slowly.

You sank lower into the water, letting it cover your chest, your throat, everything but your face.

You hated that you still felt him.

You scrubbed at your skin like you could wash the memory off. Soap slick between your fingers. The smell of lavender filling the air. You stayed there until the water cooled, until your skin wrinkled, until your thoughts finally slowed.

That was when you heard it.

A knock.

Sharp. Heavy. Angry.

You froze.

Another knock followed immediately, harder this time, rattling the doorframe.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was.

“Open the fucking door.”

Matt’s voice carried through the apartment, tight and furious, the sound of someone barely holding themselves together.

You swallowed hard, sitting up in the tub, water sloshing softly around you.

“Go home,” you called back, your voice steady even though your pulse wasn’t.

“I’m not leaving,” he snapped. “We’re not done.”

You stood slowly, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself as you stepped out of the tub. Water dripped onto the tile, each drop loud in the silence.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, moving toward the door.

Another knock. Louder. His knuckles hit the wood hard enough to make you flinch.

“I heard everything,” he said. “Every second.”

You stopped a few feet from the door, your hand hovering uselessly at your side.

“That makes me happy,” you said quietly.

His breath was heavy on the other side. You could hear it through the door. The way he paced. The way his heartbeat refused to slow.

“You did that to hurt me,” he said.

“Yes,” you replied honestly.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, softer, rougher, “You don’t get to pretend you don’t feel this.”

You leaned your forehead against the door, eyes closing.

“You don’t get to show up at my place angry after breaking my heart over a voicemail,” you said. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to demand anything from me.”

His voice dropped, dangerous now. “Open the door.”

You exhaled slowly.

“I’m not dressed,” you said.

“I don’t give a shit,” he replied immediately.

Your fingers brushed the doorknob.

You didn’t turn it.

Not yet.

Matt leaned closer on the other side, his voice right against the wood now.

“If you don’t open it,” he said, “I swear to God I’m going to lose it.”

Your hand rested on the lock, your pulse loud in your ears, steam still clinging to your skin, anger and want and history tangled so tight you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You stared at the door.

The door creaked open Matt stood there, silhouette sharp against the hallway light, his jaw clenched so tight you could hear the grind of his teeth. His shirt clung to his broad shoulders, rumpled from whatever hellish night he'd clawed through, and those unseeing eyes, dark, furious, tilted toward you as if he could peel back your skin with a glance. The scent of rain and city grime hit you first, then the undercurrent of his cologne, familiar enough to twist your gut.

“You think you can just make out with another guy knowing I can hear you?” His voice was a low snarl, stepping inside without invitation, the door clicking shut behind him. He reached out, fingers brushing your arm wrapped in the damp towel, but you slapped his hand away, the crack echoing.

“Don't,” you hissed, backing up. Water dripped from your hair, soaking the towel's edge, your skin prickling under his proximity. Anger boiled in your veins, him showing up like this, out of anger and jealousy. But beneath it, that treacherous heat pooled low, the history between you a live wire. “You broke my heart. Get out.”

He didn't move, head tilting as he listened, the hitch in your breath, the subtle shift of your thighs pressing together. “Liar. I hear your pulse racing. You want this as bad as I do.” His lips curled into a smirk, but it didn't reach the storm in his expression.

You shoved him then, palms flat against his chest, guiding him back until his legs hit the couch and he dropped onto it with a grunt. Surprise flickered across his face, but you didn't give him time to recover. Straddling his lap, you pinned his wrists to the cushions, the towel loosening around your breasts as you leaned in close. “No. Tonight, you listen to me. You don't touch. You don't speak unless I say.” Your voice shook with the power you seized, even as your core throbbed at the hardness already stirring beneath you.

Matt's breath came sharper, his body tensing under yours, but he stayed still, sensing the command in your tone, the way your scent, lavender and arousal, filled his senses. “Fuck you,” he muttered, but there was an edge of restraint, his fingers flexing against the fabric.

You ignored him, grinding down once, just enough to feel his cock twitch through his pants, then pulled back. Your hand slipped under the towel, fingers finding your slick folds, already swollen from the adrenaline and unwanted want. A soft moan escaped you as you circled your clit, loud and deliberate, letting the wet sounds fill the room. “This is what you do to me,” you taunted, voice breathy, hips rolling in slow circles above him. “You show up, all pissed off, and I get soaked thinking about how much I hate you.”

His jaw ticked, nostrils flaring as he inhaled your arousal, the quiver in your thighs vibrating through to him. “Let me—”

“No.” You pinched your nipple with your free hand, arching your back, the towel slipping further to expose one breast. Your fingers plunged inside yourself now, two at once, thrusting with obscene squelches that made your cheeks burn even as you craved his reaction. Moans spilled from your lips, unrestrained, high and needy, your body undulating, breasts bouncing slightly as you fucked yourself harder. “God, it feels so good without you ruining it. I hate you, Matt. Hate how you make me this wet, hate that I still want to cum thinking of your stupid face.”

He growled low, hands straining against your hold, but you tightened your grip, riding the wave building inside you. You both knew he could break the hold if he wanted. Your thumb pressed your clit, fingers curling deep, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. Pleasure coiled tight, your cries growing louder, walls fluttering around your digits as you teetered on the brink. “Almost, fuck, I'm gonna come, and you can't do shit about it.” your voice reached that hitch pitch whine that Matt loved.

That's when he snapped. With a feral snarl, Matt wrenched his wrists free, his strength surging as he flipped you onto your back on the couch, the towel tearing away completely. Your hand was yanked from between your legs, slick fingers hovering as he loomed over you, chest heaving. “Enough of your games,” he rasped, voice dripping venom and hunger. His palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse thunder under his grip, stars dancing in your eyes. “You think you can tease me like that? Make yourself cum on my lap, then what? deny me? Pathetic.”

You gasped, legs spreading instinctively as he forced your thighs apart with his knee, his free hand grabbing you wrist and shoving your two fingers coated in your juices past your lips. “Suck them clean. Taste how desperate you are for me.” The intrusion gagged you slightly, salty tang flooding your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks, eyes watering. He thrust them deeper, mimicking a cock, before he pulled your fingers out and replaced them with his thumb pressing your tongue down. “That's it. You hate me? Prove it, bite. Cmon.”

But you didn't. You sucked harder, moaning around his fingers, submission flooding you as the fight drained away. He pulled it out with a wet pop, trailing saliva down your chin, then spat directly into your open mouth, the warm glob hitting your tongue. “Swallow. Every drop's mine.” You did, the act filthy and claiming, your pussy clenching emptily.

Matt's mouth crashed down next, not gentle, teeth nipping your lips, tongue invading roughly as he tasted the remnants of his spit and your essence. He didn't pull back to wipe, letting your slickness smear between you, marking the kiss nasty and raw. Breaking away, he trailed bites down your neck, sucking bruises into your collarbone while his hand tightened on your throat, choking off your air in pulses that made your head spin.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, shoving his pants down just enough to free his thick cock, already leaking pre-cum. He rubbed the head against your folds, coating himself in your wetness, but didn't enter, teasing now, payback for your torment.

“I hate you,” you whimpered, but your hips bucked up, chasing him. “I fucking hate you.”

He laughed darkly, choking you harder for a beat, then released just as you clawed at his arm. “Liar. You love being my little slut.” With that, he slammed inside, no warning, stretching you brutally around his girth. The burn made you cry out, walls gripping him like a vice as he set a punishing rhythm, deep, erratic thrusts that punched the air from your lungs.

The couch creaked under the force, his hips snapping against yours, balls slapping your ass with each plunge. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other returning to your throat, squeezing in time with his strokes, tighten on the withdraw, release on the drive in. “Feel that? That's me fucking the hate right out of you. Gonna fill this pussy until you can't walk, can't think of anyone else.”

Tears streamed down your face, pleasure and pain twisting as he ground deeper, hitting your cervix with brutal precision. He used his senses to wreck you, the flood of your arousal soaking his cock, the way your breaths came in choked sobs, the tremble in your limbs telling him you were unraveling. Leaning down, he spat on your clit, then rubbed it roughly with his thumb, the added slickness making everything filthier.

“Say it again,” he growled, pulling out almost fully before ramming back in, the angle shifting to drag along your g-spot. “Tell me you hate me while you cream on my dick.”

“I—I hate you,” you gasped, but it dissolved into a scream as he choked you silent, thrusting savagely. Your body betrayed you, clenching harder, the coil snapping without mercy. Orgasm tore through, gushing around him, your juices squirting onto his abdomen as you convulsed.

He didn't stop, fucking you through it, prolonging the waves until you were a sobbing mess. Only then did he pull out, fisting his cock, and come with a guttural groan, ropes of hot cum painting your stomach, your breasts, dripping down to mix with your release. But he wasn't done; scooping some up with his fingers, he shoved them back into your mouth, forcing you to taste the mingled mess. “Lick it up. That's us baby, nasty and stuck together.”

You sucked greedily, the salt and musk overwhelming, as he collapsed half on you, hand still loose around your throat. The hate lingered in the air, but so did the unbreakable pull, your bodies slick and spent in the aftermath.

Matt's weight pressed against you, his breath ragged and hot against your neck, the couch cushions dipping under your tangled bodies. Cum cooled on your skin, sticky trails mixing with sweat and your own release, the air thick with the musky scent of sex, raw, unfiltered, like the hate that still simmered between you. His hand lingered loose around your throat, thumb brushing idly over your pulse, not squeezing now, just holding, as if afraid you'd slip away if he let go entirely.

You shoved at his shoulder weakly, chest heaving, tears drying in salty tracks on your cheeks. "Get off," you muttered, voice hoarse from the screams and the choking, but there was no real fire left in it. Your body ached in the best-worst way, thighs trembling, pussy throbbing from the brutal pounding.

He shifted, rolling to the side just enough to give you space, but his arm draped across your waist, possessive even in the comedown. No soft words, no gentle wipes, just the barest acknowledgment as he grabbed the discarded towel from the floor, tossing it over your stomach in a half assed attempt to cover the mess. It smeared more than cleaned, the fabric rough against your sensitive skin, but you didn't protest. He wiped his cock roughly with the edge of it, then dropped it, pulling his pants back up with a grunt.

Silence stretched, broken only by your shared breaths slowing. You sat up slowly, ignoring the drip of cum down your breast, grabbing the towel to dab at yourself minimally, enough to stop the worst of it, but not caring about the rest. The sting between your legs made you wince, a reminder of how deep he'd gone, how roughly he'd claimed you despite everything.

"I didn't fuck Frank," you said finally, voice flat, staring at the wall as you pulled the towel around your shoulders like a shield. The words hung heavy, cutting through the post fuck haze. "Never did. It was just talk to piss you off, because you deserve to feel what it's like to lose control."

Matt's head turned toward you, unseeing eyes narrowing as he processed, his jaw tightening again. He sat up fully now, elbow propped on the couch back, close enough that his heat still invaded your space. "Then why the hell did you let me think—"

"Because you're a jealous asshole who ruins everything good," you cut in, meeting his blind gaze with your own glare, even if he couldn't see it. Your heart twisted, the vulnerability creeping in now that the anger had burned off. "I won't get back together with you, Matt. Not like this. Not until you fix yourself, stop with the possessiveness, the fights, the way you kiss everything out of me until I'm just... yours. I need more than this nasty hate-fuck cycle."

He exhaled sharply, fingers flexing on his knee, the stitches on his torso pulling taut under his shirt, he hadn't even bothered to fully undress, the bloodstains faint but there from earlier. For a beat, he was silent, the weight of your words sinking in, his heightened senses picking up the tremor in your voice, the way your scent shifted from arousal to something rawer, more fragile.

"Fine," he said at last, voice low and edged with reluctance, but there was a thread of sincerity woven in, unusual for him. "I'll work on it. Therapy, whatever the fuck it takes. But don't think this changes us, you're still mine, even if you're making me earn it."

You didn't respond, just stood on shaky legs, towel clutched tight as you headed toward the bedroom, leaving him on the couch in the dim light. The door clicked shut behind you, a small barrier, but the pull between you lingered, unresolved and electric.

© 2025 miasvelvetvoid | taglist: @okaytrashpanda @too-attached-to-fiction @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[hellskitchenswhore]

it is an absolute crime to me that this only has 12 reblogs because it is SOOOOOOOOO good. like.... i'm speechless, i'm breathless, i'm in awe of your grasp and recapitulation of the shittier sides of matt murdock's personality

[vigilantekisser]

let it be done unto me

pairing: husband!matt murdock x f!reader

18+ cw: breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—turns out all he had to do was ask. (wc: 7.5k)

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

By the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough, “want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star. He hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…,” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

a/n: i want his kids swimming in me

[eatommo]

[vigilantekisser]

the veins in his lower abdomen that go below his pants

[mewmurdock]

mellifluous

Summary: Your husband likes hearing you. Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Warnings: smut (18+ content), soft dom! Matt, lots of dirty talk A/N: Yeahh, I'm back. I'm sorry. This particular one shot was inspired by real conversations that I have had with my fiance. (Haha, I'm no longer an inexperienced, lonely schoolgirl. I am an experienced, indescribably happy woman. Y'know what that is? Growth.) So the dialogue and descriptions are ripped straight from car rides, living rooms, and a bedroom. This took me about a year and half, on and off, to write. I hope that you like it.

"So, Mrs. Murdock… how can I make things better?"

"Make what better?" you ask, coming into the living room with a pile of warm laundry - blacks this time. In this pile, you have a couple of shirts, a pair of yoga pants and some socks, while Matt has his old Man-in-the-Black-Mask outfit and a few pairs of boxers and some black dress pants for work. The pile is not too hot for Matt, it's just teetering on the edge of warm, and you drop it all on him.

He sighs contentedly, sinking lower onto the couch and into the clothes which have now almost completely engulfed him. "You're wearing…" His eyebrows scrunch up. "… that's a different perfume you're wearing, isn't it? White tea and sage?"

"I decided I wanted to switch things up. Do something different." You pause. "Why, do you not like it?"

"I do," he says, "but I think I like your usual vanilla, though. That one is more… you."

"Well, yeah, 'cause you've smelled it on me every day for the past five years. What were you going to say, though? You interrupted yourself."

"Hm?" It seems as if your husband has lost himself in you: your clothes, your scents, the sound of your voice. He's distracted, just a little bit.

"You were going to say something about… 'making things better'."

"Oh," he says with a slight chuckle, straightening up and beginning to fold the clothes with you. "Right."

Matt seems oddly charming like this. He reminds you - and truthfully, this side of him never left - of the sweet, shy man you fell in love with. The man who stutters sometimes when he gets nervous, the man who laughs at all your stupid little comments and quips, the man who sometimes gets caught staring at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world.

Two years ago, you married him, and it was the best decision you had ever made.

"How can I make things better?"

"Is this a general marriage question or is it something else?"

"Er… something else." His voice has gone quiet, but not in a bad way. He almost sounds like he's holding his tongue… or he wants you to guess.

"Is it a… a bedroom thing?"

"Very good. How'd you know?" he says with another smile. He puts a pair of his boxers to the side, and abruptly kneels down in front of you, and begins to kiss your clothed thighs, your hips.

"It's the way you look at me."

"How do I look at you, angel?"

"It's like…" Your mind quickly wanders. It's easy for you to get distracted by what he does to you. "Like how you looked at me when we first met, like you were going to propose in the middle of the coffee line. Like you just really wanted to kiss me… and…"

"And?"

"And… other things."

"Still going all shy on me after all these years, huh?" Matt's eyes have lit up in mischievousness and he grins. "How about we help you out with that?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, grinning just a little. His mischievousness is rubbing off on you already.

"I want to hear you talk."

"Well, that's nothing new. I'm a professional yapper. Ask me my thoughts on the 'Before' trilogy and I'll be here all day. Oh, that reminds me, I just ordered the box set from the Criterion Collection. They have a sale going on, and---"

"No, my love, I mean…" Matt smirks. "I want to hear you describe things to me. Tell me what you like, what you want me to do to you. In detail." He looks up at you from where he's kneeling down and - Oh, Lord, he looks heavenly. Drunk off of you already and he hasn't even undressed you. "I like hearing you. And I like when you get all flustered."

It takes you a moment to process what you've just heard. "O-Oh. Um."

He's well aware of your kinks. You don't quite know why he's asking you to tell him again, but you have a feeling, and that's enough to get you embarrassed.

Matt gets up and faces the laundry again. He starts folding his clothes, as if he had never spoken to you at all. But you already notice the way he grips the clothing just a bit tighter than normal. His wedding ring glints in the sunlight that's streaming through the windows. "Take your time," he says. "I'm in no hurry." He's not being sarcastic, and it helps ease your nerves a little.

Your voice is a low sound, a hesitant little whisper. "I like… I like giving up control. I... like feeling safe - with you... when you gently lead me and dominate me in a very loving and sweet and... encouraging way. It's like a praise kink but more… I don't know."

"More… reassuring?"

"Yeah, you could say that." There's a blush in your cheeks.

Matt hums, clearly enjoying what he senses from you. "What else?"

This next one is a bit of a ramble, but it's still not easy. "I like when you call me 'sweetheart' and 'honey' and 'good girl'. I like it when you compliment me and keep at it even when I get shy about it…"

Matt turns, leans over you, lifting your chin up with his hand so that you can look at him. "Yeah?" he asks, oh so softly.

You gulp.

"Use your words, my love."

"Yes. I - I do."

"That's my good girl. Keep talking." He swipes his thumb over your lips, his touch as soft as a brush of wind.

"I like how… um," you start. You stop yourself. Your brain has started to go fuzzy and it's hard to continue your thoughts, especially when your husband is being this sweet to you.

"C'mon," he murmurs gently. "You know I like the sound of your voice. Can you keep going for me?"

"I… I like how you tease me, like what you're doing now. It's… I don't know how to explain it, but…" You trail off, hoping he'll know what you mean. "It shows that you like seeing me like this."

"I do like seeing you this way," he says with another shit-eating grin. His voice is low, soft, just how you love. "How you blush so easily, how you stammer when you're all shy… it's cute… how you can't keep your grin off of your face even when you act all annoyed. I know you like it."

His hand comes to rest on your cheek and you sigh contentedly, leaning into his touch. Subspace is fully engulfing you now. Matt continues, "I also like how easily you give in… you said you like giving up control? Well, sweetheart, you know how much I like to have it, hm? I like having complete trust from you… the way you so easily and so willingly give yourself over to me is the hottest thing in the world." Matt leans forward so he can talk low into your ear. "And I know you like my voice too. When it gets low. You've told me that before… Was that a shiver I just felt in the air?"

You're practically panting, and you haven't realized until now. Your cunt is throbbing and your mind is fuzzy. Jesus Christ, it's -

"..so easy to turn you on, sweetheart."

You make a noise out of the back of your throat, somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Of course, he hears it.

"Did I mention how I also love when you're desperate?" Matt asks smugly. "You sound so pretty when you're whimpering and making all of your cute little noises." He is still close to your ear. This moment is purely between you and him - not that anyone else was in the room in the first place, but it's more intimate. "Telling me that you want it, that you need it, need my fingers, my tongue, my cock. That you crave it, there's an ache in your sweet pussy that only I can satisfy. When you beg me to touch you, to give you anything more than just teasing.

"And I also love when you're too overstimulated to even speak. When you're so overtaken by the pleasure that I so willingly give you, and all you can do is submit to it, let it completely take over. You feel so tight, you're entirely breathless, your noises are primal and raw. I've said that to you before, haven't I? It's the hottest thing in the world, angel."

"I thought -" you swallow, "I thought I was the one who'd talk today."

"But you can't, can you?" Matt coos softly, teasingly. "You've been silent, listening so well to me, but my poor baby can't even speak because she's so turned on. Well, remember how I said I want to hear you? I do. What I want to hear is you… when I make you come. You sound so pretty when you come, and you feel just as good. You're just…" For a moment, your husband is at a loss for words, looking at you with such a fond, loving expression that it makes your heart flutter. "You're so pretty, angel. Everything about you. And I love you. So much."

He pauses. "Can I tell you a secret? Come here."

You lean towards him -- and he's on you in an instant, but soft, his lips locking with yours, a hand coming to cup your jaw again. His thumb strokes your cheek and you sigh into the kiss. He knows what that little motion does to you: it screams tenderness, gentle care. I treasure you.

You break away. "You took that from 'Before Sunrise', you tease," you say with a smirk. "You sure you don't want me to yap about that again? I can. I can talk about the record store scene, Jesse and Celine's stolen glances at each other, the -"

He kisses you again, interrupting you.

"That was a 'shut up' kiss," Matt murmurs under his breath, his voice low and filled with need, a sly smile coming up. You know he doesn't mean that in a mean way.

It was not a very long time after your conversation that Matt has you on the bed, on your side, a leg hitched up over his shoulder. He's kneeling, straddling the leg that's still on the bed, thrusting into you. He has you practically squealing into the pillow, one of your arms holding your little pink vibrator over your clit. You've already come three times in this position. Your legs are jelly and your mind is mush, and all you can think about is how good you feel. Your moans and cries are muffled by your pillow, and it's getting a bit hard to breathe, he's fucking you so good.

"Christ, baby," he moans, "feel s'good on me."

"Nngh," is all you can respond back. Your orgasms are melting into each other - and you come again, without warning, gasping out a guttural sound as Matt moans at the feel of it. "Ack-"

"Good girl," he moans, "oh, I felt that one." You can hear the smile, the satisfaction in his voice.

"Baby." you slur. "'s too much… t-too much." Your body is on fire, electric. Your hand is getting numb from the vibrations and the toy itself is slipping out of your fingers. Your chest hurts from how tight it's gotten, and you gulp in any air you can.

"Oh, is it?" he says, mischevious now. "Good."

Your desperation heightens. You shut your eyes. "Ah - Breather -- breatherbreatherbre-"

"Okay." You hear his voice soften. He stops, and you cry out from the difference in sensation. "Okay, okay," he says quickly, coming down to lay beside you. "C'mere," he says, taking your limp body and holding you close to him while you shiver and quake. The vibrator lays, momentarily forgotten, on the bed beside you. "I gotcha, 's okay."

"Wh-" you pant, "what the fffuck, honey-" You're not mad, you're just very overwhelmed, in a good way.

"Deep breaths, now," he says lowly. "Slow. With me."

You breathe together. A few tears slip from your eyes. You're not sad, just overwhelmed.

"Oh," he whispers, "poor baby..." He kisses your shoulder, your hands, your fingers. "'s alright."

Some nights end like this. You're too overstimulated to continue, or else he loses his erection (through no fault of yours) due to tiredness, or you just stop. Both of you are okay with this.

"I got what I wanted already," he muses. "I just wanted to hear you."

[vigilantekisser]

mean!college matt is my ultimate guilty pleasure. :(

academic sadist matt murdock who secretly gets off on humiliating you during debates and wraps it up by finally shutting you up in bed. who's a sweetheart at first then starts ghosting you for weeks in favor of locking himself in the library and, later on, making up for it with belittling sex. being condescending in bed after you have the nerve to be upset with him ("that's it? that's all it takes to make you come?" "christ, you're acting like i hurt you. i made you come, didn't i?"). shoving your face into a pillow after midterms or maybe even between his legs, telling you to use that mouth for something you're actually good at.

mean!college matt who doesn't say i love you at all :) :) :)

[cvrnelians]

revolving door

yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: Your best friend confesses he has feelings for you. There’s more to it than you think. A lot more to it.

Warnings: obsessive behavior, mention of penetration, choking, violence, 18+ ONLY.

Matt figures he’ll give you your space. You’re like a skittish cat right now. 

He’s not stupid. Far from it. He knows he made you this way.

He has to let you come to him.

“I can’t let you get back together with him without saying anything. I love you,” he had said. “Christ. I love you so fucking much.”

You stumbled over your words as he heard you grabbing your things—your jacket, purse, your keys—as you got up to leave his apartment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I have to go.” 

“Go where? Please just wait, we can talk about this.” 

You pushed past him.

“I’m sorry, Matt. I just…I need a minute. I need to think.”

Matt knows you. The depth of your connection, your history together, his thoughts and feelings bubbling just under the surface—it had to have intrigued you. You might be one skittish cat, but you were a curious one, too. 

And yet, radio silence.

Embedded within his confession to you was something very real: he didn’t want to scare you. He had meant that. But this waiting thing was just excruciating. Letting you come to him. How long was this going to take?

And then, finally, finally, that Friday he received a voicemail from you.

“Hey, would you maybe want to go for coffee? Talk? Let me know.”

He laughs when he hears it. Audibly laughs. But his response is important. He needs to be careful. Would he maybe want to go for coffee with you? The first response he can think of is borderline mocking—Maybe want to? Are you kidding me?—and he quickly backtracks. He doesn’t want to make you feel stupid. Not ever. That’s not his style. The second one strikes him as too eager—When and where? And so, third time’s the charm. He picks up the phone and calls you. You answer on the first ring.

“Matt?”

“Any place in mind?” 

Luckily, you do have a place in mind. 

The cafe isn’t far from his apartment. It’s almost like you’re deliberately trying not to inconvenience him. Maybe part of you wants to please him. The thought is self-indulgent, beyond delusional, he knows that. But he likes to live in that space sometimes. 

He smiles when he hears your heartbeat, a reserved smile. It hides a lot. “Hey.” He stands up from the table—where he’s been waiting for you for quite some time now. He had arrived early—wrapping you in a hug. You laugh, and his breath hitches in his throat. He has to force the words out. “It’s good to see you.” 

“You too.” 

You mean it. He can tell.

You pull away, and his heart can’t help but sink a little. But he can feel the warmth he often feels when he’s in your presence, that feeling unlike anything else. It strips him of his shyness, calms his nerves. You have a knack for making him feel more at ease. You make things lighter, better, the feeling you get when you extract a splinter. You make his life easier somehow, just by being with him. You hurt him last week, you really did, but something about being with you now takes the sting out.

He needs more of it.

You sit down across from him. 

A server approaches and asks what you’d like to drink. You order a matcha, different from your usual coffee order. He takes note of that. He’ll bring you one sometime, maybe after a rough day at work, or some morning after you wake up in his apartment. 

He envisions things. Uses his imagination. He pictures what you look like. You're beautiful, that much he knows for certain. He can sense it.

You, smiling up at him from the floor as he sits in a chair just above you, your head in his lap. You, kissing him through his pants and toying with him and making him squirm. Making him laugh, but you’re sweet enough to indulge him when he feels like he can’t take it anymore. 

You, pulling him closer as you’re wrapped around him. As he reaches down to touch your face, he can feel tears rolling down your cheeks. Not from sadness, but maybe slight distress. It’s not exactly what he wants—he doesn’t want you to be hurt, he wants you to be able to handle him without issue—but it’s one of his more realistic fantasies. He’s big, he knows that. You would struggle to take him at first, and as much as he hates seeing you in pain, a part of him revels in it. He can fill you completely, like no one else has. No one else could ever compete, or compare. He wants to make you cry and beg and shake. He wants to witness a side of you that no one else gets to see. And he’ll talk you through it, comforting you, reassuring you, kissing you to distract you from the pain—“I know. You’re okay, I promise. You’re doing so good. I love you. I love you so much.”

You, whimpering facedown on the bed as he surrounds you completely, his chin in the crook of your neck, his stomach pressed against your back. His palm wraps around your throat, pressing into it gently, not enough to cut off your airway—he wants you safe—just enough to remind you how weak you are compared to him. He’s pounding into you relentlessly. He’s talking and asking you questions, he’s surprisingly vocal during sex. Needy for touch and comfort and reassurance. “Does that feel good? Are you okay, baby? Never going to leave me, right? Never going to leave…Are you going to come just from me choking you? Oh my god…You’re so fucking perfect, you know that? I wish you knew”—and you can just barely respond, your words unintelligible. Tired and overwhelmed and all fucked out. He’s knocking the wind out of you and making you see stars, and he knows it. But it’s nothing compared to the way you’re making him feel. His entire body hums with excitement, with contentment. Always having felt out of place, he feels completely at home with you, inside you. And when you tell him you love him, too…

He wonders if you’ve thought about it. He wonders if you’ve ever thought about him that way. You had to have, right? You were just so close.

“It’s miserable out,” you say, taking a seat across from him. He can hear it—you shed your jacket, your scarf, your gloves. You hang your purse on the chair. Hell’s Kitchen truly did live up to its name during the winter, if Hell was ice cold. 

“I know. Thanks for meeting up with me,” he says. “I know it’s hard to go out when it’s like this.”

“I’m the one who asked you, silly.”

Your words are flippant. Playful, like things are no different than they normally are. Like he hadn’t completely altered the course of your friendship less than one week ago. 

You’re both silent for a few moments, waiting for the other to speak. You both know that this is an inevitable conversation; akin to pulling a tooth, or ripping off a bandaid. He can feel what’s coming, and it hurts him—it hurts him more than you can possibly imagine—but he’s happy to be here with you, anyway. 

He suddenly realizes this might be the last time, at least for a while.

And so, he is the one to break the silence.

“You wanted to talk.”

It’s not a question. You said you wanted to talk, and so here he is, subjecting himself to further rejection. This rejection is softer than the last one. It involves more words, more context. You explain yourself, you say things you were too stunned to say the night he confessed his feelings to you. The night your boyfriend (the one you reallywanted to be with) broke up with you again. You say these things confidently, without stuttering. Your words are practiced, you’ve said them before, probably in the mirror before you came.

“I just care about you so much, Matty. I can’t risk losing you if we were to break up. I think we’re better off as friends. Do you understand what I mean?”

His smile is tight, his posture stiff. He understands perfectly.

If he doesn’t play his cards right, you are going to leave him—just like everyone else. 

You can’t leave. You can’t.

He won't let you.

His words are practiced, too. He’s said them before, in the quiet of his bedroom the night before. He didn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning.

“I totally get it. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You didn’t freak me out.”

He can hear your heartbeat speed up. He feels his chest tighten.

Liar.

“You don’t have to lie,” he snaps, sounding harsher than he intended.

You're quiet for a second. And then, you place your hand over his.

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

But that’s just it, isn’t it? 

You’re sorry, but not sorry enough. 

His hands start to shake when you break the news to him. You’re back together with that loser. Again. He changed his mind, begged for your forgiveness, and you fell for it. Why do you always fall for it?

Your little coffee "date" comes to an end, but on Matt's terms.

“So. Friends, then?” he asks.

You chuckle, reaching out to shake his hand. “Friends.”

Hours pass. Days. Things return to normal. You call, like you normally do. You stop by. You listen to music together, talk for hours. You carry on like nothing ever even happened.

But that’s just it, isn’t it?

Something did happen between the two of you. Something changed. Something shifted. And as far as Matt was concerned, there was no going back.

He had about enough of your boyfriend. That much was evident by how hard he began to hit him, how aggressive he was being. 

“You’re going to stay away, alright?” His voice is quiet as he hovers over your boyfriend, crumpled over on the ground. He’s calm, eerily so. “Far away. You’re not going to call her, or text her, or show up at her place. You’re going to act like you never even existed in her world. You’re going to completely disappear. Vanish. Do you understand?”

The next time he meets up with you, you’re apathetic. 

“So. How is what’s his name?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

You sigh. “He ghosted me…again.”

He tries his best to hide his smile. His words are practiced, like a hymn.

“His loss.”

Friend. You're just a friend.

He wants to laugh.

[hellskitchenswhore]

This is SO GOOD I think I drooled on my shirt a little

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

DAREDEVIL Aftermath | 3.07

[murdockdexx]

He looked so delicious in this scene I wanna eat him💔💔

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Rate My Professor (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt is an adjunct professor at Columbia - teaching a few legal classes a week between his pro-bono career and being Daredevil. You Karen, Marci, and Foggy read Matt's online reviews from students, most of whom are more interested in looking at him than actually learning. You're jealous about it. Professor Murdock assures you that you're the only one for him.

Notes: 18+. Smut with plot. No use of Y/N. Female reader (use of girlfriend and female anatomy.) Established relationship. Use of pet names (sweetheart.) Semi-public sex with a little exhibitionism, Unprotected sex, Very clothed sex, Oral (f receiving), P in V, Creampie, and Possessiveness from both Matt and Reader. Professor Murdock, which is a warning in itself.

WC: 3350

“I don’t think I really want to know.” Matt exclaimed

“Oh c’mon it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re a great teacher! I bet there’s not a single bad review on there!” Karen replied

How you all had ended up on the subject was innocent enough - Marci had mentioned a new intern had started that week at her firm. The intern in question had just graduated from Columbia and was a student of Matt’s last year. According to Marci the intern had “only great things to say” which led you all to talking about favorite professors, which had then subsequently led into the current topic. So now here the five of you were, in the living room of yours and Matt’s shared apartment on what was supposed to be a friend’s game night, looking him up on RateMyProfessors.com.

“I agree with Matt, this could be a bad idea. I really loved to dig into my professors on this site when I was in grad school and I was not kind.” you responded from your spot on the floor, full well knowing you were going to join the group in reading Matt all of his reviews anyway.

“We get feedback from the end of semester surveys, I really don’t think I need more!” Matt protested from beside you

“Yes, but your admin filters it out for you to keep it constructive! And you know the students know it’s not totally anonymous, so they hold back! I bet they’re way more honest on here.” Foggy argued back

The four of you scrolled through your phones, looking for Matt’s name on the long list of Columbia faculty.

“Oh wait, wait, I got it! Here we go…” Foggy said as he had all but jumped up from the sofa, his phone having loaded the review page first 

“Mr. Murdock is an excellent teacher - his lectures are succinct and to the point and give great insight on the real world arguments made for the law. His class is easy to pay attention to, though who is to say if that’s the subject or how easy Mr. Murdock is to look at.” Foggy’s voice trailed off as he got to the end, not realizing where the statement was going

There was a moment's silence where tension hung in the air before you, Karen, and Marci all burst into a fit of giggles and shrieks.

“It does not say that!” Matt replied

He grabbed for Foggy’s phone, even though he wouldn’t be able to see the screen that his best friend was reading.

“Um, it totally does, and it’s not the only one.” Karen said as she scrolled

 “I found Professor Murdock’s class really challenging - particularly his grading. But when your professor is as hot as he is, I find it hard to complain. I wonder if he goes as hard in the bedroom as he does with grading term papers.”

Marci’s jaw flew open in scandal as Matt just continued to shake his head.

“Care to confirm?” Foggy asked you

“Well I’ve never written him a term paper, so I’m not sure...” you teased

“Oh wait! I found a good one too!” Marci interjected 

“Mr. Murdock is unbelievably attractive - honestly just take his class even if you’re not pre-law. Just to look at him for two hours, twice a week.” 

“Tell me there’s at least one that doesn’t mention my appearance?!” Matt asked with a huff

“This one mentions how hot they think your voice is when you say ‘According to the First Amendment and the precedent laid out in Tinker v. Des Moines’ so technically no mention of your face or body, just your sexy man-voice.” you responded

Matt laid his head down on the coffee table and groaned. He was hoping the ever changing glow of the billboard outside would mask the pink tint inevitably creeping up his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He could feel the heat of his blush spreading and didn’t want to give you guys another thing to tease him about tonight.

“Okay okay. I think I found a real one.” Foggy reassured his friend 

“I really loved taking Mr. Murdock for Constitutional Law 101. He really knows what he’s talking about and facilitates really great discussions in class. I just wished he used more visual aids.”

“How am I supposed to use visual aids when, ya know?” Matt gestured towards the red tinted glasses, which covered his unseeing eyes.

“Oh no wait, I didn’t scroll enough, they then went on to say ‘But I guess when you look like that, you are the visual aid.”

“Okay. Can we please stop this? I pride myself on how hard I work to make an instructive and professional learning environment and I’m not loving that this…” he gestured to his face and down his body “Is what everyone is focusing on.”

“I mean, I might be biased, but I certainly don’t blame them Matty.” You teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek

As much fun as you were having with your friends at your boyfriend’s expense, there was a slight pang in your chest. The small bubble of nausea in your stomach wasn’t just because you were waiting on your take out delivery and hungry, but also at the thought of other people thinking about your boyfriend that way. Surely, he had mentioned that he had a serious, live-in girlfriend to his students? Certainly, he had toned down the charming smile and flirty banter (that made you fall so in love with him in the first place) while he was interacting with a bunch of young co-eds whose minds he was supposed to be shaping for the future?

Of course it’s all fine, you thought. Matt is an astute professional educator and lawyer. He’d never cross that boundary and he’d never even consider anyone else but me, let alone a student, you mentally spoke to yourself, trying to find some reassurance. 

But the feelings of insecurity still gnawed at the back of your mind.

Once dinner had arrived and more wine had been drunk, the conversation had moved on from Matt’s online admirers to other topics.

But even as you and Matt said your goodnights to your friends and got ready for bed, you couldn’t push down the feelings of insecurity and jealousy now planted in your thoughts.

_________________________

A few days later, you were sitting on the 1 train, traveling up to Columbia’s campus. You had just finished a long day of meetings at work. After you had lamented a little bit to Matt via a mid-morning phone catch up, he had suggested meeting up and grabbing dinner near campus when he was done with his Thursday evening class. 

“We can have a date night and you can vent.” he said

You shuffled your way through campus to one of the law school buildings, weaving down the carpeted halls until you made your way to Matt’s office. If one could even call it an office. As an adjunct, he got stuffed into a glorified broom closet in a quiet corner of the building.

The door was slightly ajar when you arrived and you pushed it open further, giving it a soft knock as you did.

“Matt?” you called out gently

You knew he could detect your scent and your heartbeat as soon as you stepped on campus, but still didn’t want to startle him in case he was too focused on something else.

Matt was sitting behind his desk with a rather serious look on his face. There were some papers scattered across it and the blueish glow of his computer screen illuminated his focused expression in the otherwise dim room. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his forearms and his hair was slightly disheveled after a long day of teaching. One headphone hung in his left ear as he listened to his computer dictate a term paper. His glasses rested on top of the papers, long ago discarded from his face.

“Hey sweetheart!” his expression softened as soon as you stepped into the room and shut the door behind you “I thought those were your heels I could hear down the hall.”

He stood from his chair and pulled the headphone out of his ear as he shuffled out from behind the desk, reaching to embrace you.

You returned the sentiment with a hug and a quick peck on his cheek.

“Hey, so I’ve got about 20 more minutes where I have to be here for my office hours, then we can head to dinner. Sound good?” he asked

“Yeah. I can go hang out somewhere else if you need me to.” you offered

“No, no.” he waved your statement off as he returned to his seat and gestured for you to sit as well

 “Most students don’t show up this late. I just get in trouble if someone comes by during my posted hours and I’m not here. Was just using this time to get a head start on grading, but we can start catching up on your day now if you want.”

You flopped down in the chair opposite him.

“You sure none of those girls who gave you glowing reviews aren’t gonna swing by for an evening chat?” you jested, bringing up the subject for the first time since that evening with friends

The statement came out more spiteful than you intended. 

Matt sighed and dragged a hand down his face to rub his chin.

“I knew that bothered you. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked

“Cause it’s not important.”

“That’s not true.” he argued

“I mean it’s not like you meant for it to hurt me. You didn’t even want to read them. And besides, it’s not like you can do anything about it. You can’t control what they write online about you and your damn sex appeal. Unless you’re being flirty with students and letting them think… ”

“Sweetheart, you know that I would never.” he reassured

“I know. I’m just worried. Like not a lot, but it’s just that little thought in the back of my mind. But it’s stupid. You know, just worried that someone comes to one of your classes and is smart and brilliant and younger and fitter and prettier…”

“No, no, no.” Matt brought his hand up and waved it, cutting you off

“You’re the only one for me. I promise. Look, I don’t give a damn what a bunch of random college girls think of me. You know how many times one of them hangs around after class and instead of asking questions, they try and stupidly flirt, and you know what I say to them?”

“What?”

“I lie and use you as an excuse to get away. I usually go with ‘sorry, I’m meeting my girlfriend for dinner,’ or ‘gotta run, my girlfriend is calling me.’”

“Do you really?” you giggled

In a much better mood, you rounded the desk to his side. You bent down, placing a hand on each armrest of the worn leather chair, caging him in. You rested your forehead against his.

“Yeah. I didn’t hear your review on that stupid site, and that’s all I care about - you and what you think of me. None of them will ever compare to what you and I have. I promise, I’m not going to ever let anything tear that apart.” he reassured

You leaned forward more and met your lips with his - softly, but with passion and intention behind the kiss. He lingered for a moment before you pulled back just enough to look into his unfocused eyes. 

“You know. Not many heartbeats in this building right now. None on this floor but ours.” He spoke lowly

Calloused fingers began to dance up your thigh, toying with the hem of your pencil skirt.

“What are you suggesting Professor Murdock?” you whispered back

“I’m suggesting that I use the next 18 or so minutes to prove to you that I’m yours and only yours.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst use of time. But you’ve gotta use your bat-hearing and make sure we don’t get caught.” you said

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” he replied with a smirk

This time it was he who kissed you, with much more fervor. He didn’t break the kiss as he stood and slowly pushed your shoulder so that your bottom met the hard edge of his desk. 

His tongue danced along your bottom lip, begging for you to allow the kiss to go deeper. And you did. You let him cup your face with both hands as his mouth moved from your lips, across your jaw and down your throat, then back up to your lips again.

Slotting himself between your thighs, he moved his hand back down to your skirt. You took the cue and stood a little, just enough that he could shimmy it up your body so all the material gathered at your waist. The rough wool material felt like sandpaper on his sensitive skin, but he knew the softness of your flesh would relieve that discomfort soon.

You sat back down on the desk edge, as Matt began to kneed at your thighs.

He worked his way up, until his thumb hovered over your clothed core. 

Four circles of his thumb on your clit was all it took to make your eyes snap shut and a feral moan to escape from you into his pouty lips that hovered over yours.

“Please Matthew, don’t tease.” you begged in a desperate prayer

He let out a huff in protesting agreement. He tugged at the waistband of your panties. You maneuvered yourself until he removed them and tossed them somewhere amongst the paperwork beside you.

He dropped to his knees, similarly to how he did every Sunday at mass, but today you were his sacred worship and your moans his hymns.

Patience was not a word in your vocabulary tonight, as your hand flew to his hair to give a quick tug as soon as he made contact with the floor. He began to lick and nip his way up your thighs, making sure to arrive at your opening quickly.

His tongue met your clit and he wasted no time, licking and sucking at your sensitivity. 

The soft exhale you released in sweet relief filled his ears. He chased after the sound, wanting to hear more breathy moans from your perfect lips. All caused by him. You bucked up into his mouth a little, a silent beg for more.

And he was happy to oblige. 

A softly whispered “Matthew” escaped your lips, though you were so lost in him, it didn’t even feel like you were the one who said it.

It was enough to break his resolve, as he pulled away from you and stood once more, wiping the remnants of you off his chin.

His breath caught behind his teeth as you reached out to toy with the buckle of his belt. 

He needed you. Now.

He fiddled with the top buttons of your blouse, opening it just enough so that he could reach in and massage at your breasts. Finally, you undid enough of his pants for him to free himself.

He kissed you, now more desperate than before. Tasting yourself on him only made you more incoherent.

“Lean back.” he managed to moan between teeth and tongue clashing

You did as instructed and propped yourself up on your elbows.

His mouth moved down to your neck, where he let out a hot breath as he pushed inside you.

The pace he began with was sinfuly slow, allowing you the time to take in every moment, every drag of his hips, every millimeter of him pushing slowly further inside you.

“Oh Matthew… oh fuck-” your words faultered as he finally picked up his pace

His tie tickled at your exposed sternum with every thrust. All you could do was wrap your arms around him and cling to him as he brought you to closer and closer to ecstasy. 

The intoxicating aroma of your sex filling his dingey and moth-ball scented office was bringing him near to the edge sooner than he’d like. But he could sense you were close too.

A few more thrusts and you’d both be there.

And then he heard it. 

The soft ding of the elevator. The familiar heartbeat of a particularly pushy student from his Civil Procedure class making her way down the hall towards his office. Then the smell hit his nose - oh god the smell - the cheap Victoria Secret body spray she doused herself and her assignments in. 

He had explained to her on multiple occasions that she didn’t need to go to the library and print her assignments in braille, that submitting them via the online platform was perfectly fine; but she insisted on invading his nostrils with that stench and making more work for him to get her grades in. All in a pitiful attempt to seduce him. She was still a few doors down and that damn terrible body spray nearly drowned out the heavenly scent of you that was right in front of him.

Any moment she would reach his door and catch the two of you in this very compromising position. 

He knew he should alert you, give you the time to make yourself at least look a little appropriate, but he couldn’t bear to pull himself from you. 

Then he had a thought.

Oh this was too perfect - to have you in such a sinful manner and an opportunity to set some very clear boundaries for her and (he assumed she’d spread the word via the grapevine to her gaggle of giggling friends) any other student who thought they stood a chance.

And if there was ever anything that would be concrete proof to you that he’d never be interested in a student, purposefully getting caught would do it. 

Fine. He was going to let this play out, he decided, not bothering to slow his pace as he continued to thrust inside you.

The footsteps got closer and he heard the distinct click and squeak of the door knob turning in it’s place.

His head was blocking your view of the door and he was pretty sure your eyes were closed as well. Anyway, you were too lost in fuck to notice as the door slowly open and the student peered into the room.

You didn’t notice her stand there for a moment and you didn’t notice her hands fly over her mouth in shock.

Matt couldn’t help but smirk into your neck. It was that moment that you chose to sink your teeth into his earlobe and growl in his ear.

“Say it, Matthew. Say that you’re mine.”

“Yours sweetheart. Only yours. Always.” he huffed in response

Oh she definitely heard that, he thought, picking up on the scurrying footsteps of his student making her way back down the hallway and disappearing into the night. 

You tugged the hair at the nape of his neck, still blissfully unaware of what just occurred. The action pulled him back into the moment.

“Yours.” he repeated once more in a barely audible whisper

That was all it took.

Waves of fire washed over you as you reached your end, with Matt not far behind. A few more thrusts had him grunting and moaning into your neck as he spilled himself inside you.

He slowed his hips to nearly nothing and brought his head up to press his forehead to yours.

You both lingered, reveling in the moment.

He pressed a kiss to your temple as he slowly slid himself from inside you.

There was little strength left in your wobbly legs as he took a step back to allow you the space to stand.

You fumbled around the desk and retrieved your panties, shimmying them up your body before sliding your skirt back into place.

Matt placed his glasses on his face and felt for the braille watch on his wrist.

“Office hours are over. Let’s go get some dinner.”

[hellskitchenswhore]

Bruh this slapped so hard and continues to every single time I read it.

[theautomattic]

So many thoughts on Matt Murdock's cross necklace peeking from his open shirt or dangling on his chest 🤤

[murkymurdock]

Nips popping, biceps bursting...get a bigger size shirt, jeez (don't)

[https-murdock]

matt murdock p-links

18+ MDNI - you will be blocked - this post contains links to 18+ videos be careful where you open them!

wanted to put together some stuff i’ve seen that reminded me of matt 😩 (can u tell im ovulating)

matt can’t stop thinking about eating your little pussy all day, so doesn’t miss a beat as soon as you walk in the door.

matt just can’t wait to knock you up.

matt loves holding your arms back and listening to how wet you are.

you’ve been misbehaving all day, now matt has to make you work do it.

matt doesn’t care if you cum, he just needs to fill you up before work.

matt wants to show you how good it is to be teased

matt has to work you open so you’re ready to take him

matt can’t wait till after breakfast

matt can’t stop himself after office hours

you didn’t realise how mad you had made matt by joking about his tie before work

[mattposting]

MATT MURDOCK BACK SHOTS