Matt Murdock And Frank Castle Vibes

Matt Murdock and Frank Castle vibes 👀✨️

soap

Chapter Two: A love in the dark

Matt Murdock × Gender neutral reader

{Slow-burn/angst to comfort/ miscommunication/a slight pregnancy trope. Karen x Foggy}

I watched him, the faint tremble in his hands, the way his shoulders hunched like he was trying to hold the world together on his own. And maybe he was.

“Matt,” I said softly, trying to catch his gaze. But he was somewhere else, staring through me like he was seeing ghosts. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He lifted his head, and for a split second, I saw something break in him, something raw and real and utterly heartbreaking. He smelled like rain, sweat, and exhaustion—like a man who’d been fighting his own demons for so long he’d forgotten how to stop.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, the sudden ring of my phone cut through the quiet. The sound startled me, and I glanced at the screen, my heart stuttering when I saw Matt’s name.

I blinked, looking at the empty spot beside me on the couch where he’d just been. Only, he wasn’t there. The apartment was still, and suddenly, I felt every ounce of the emptiness pressing down on me. I picked up the phone, my voice wavering as I answered.

“Matt?”

“Hey,” came his voice, rough and low, the words distorted by static. There was something off about it—an edge that made my skin prickle, like the ghost of a snarl hidden beneath the surface. It was Matt, but it wasn’t. It was harsher, darker, tinged with an anger that wasn’t usually directed at me. “You home?”

“Yeah, I… I’m here,” I said, looking around the empty apartment, my confusion mounting. “Where are you?”

There was a pause, just the sound of his breathing crackling through the line. For a moment, I thought he might hang up, but then he spoke again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “I’m close. I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving me staring at the screen, the silence suddenly suffocating. I stood up, pacing the length of the room, my mind racing. Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time, and now it was right on the edge of boiling over.

Before I could think too hard about it, there was a soft knock at the door, so gentle I almost missed it. I opened it slowly, and there he was, drenched in rain and shadow, his cane folded neatly in his hand. He slipped inside without a word, his movements fluid and deliberate, like he already knew every corner of the room without needing to look.

Matt didn’t bother with his usual pleasantries. His steps were deliberate, purposeful as he walked further into my apartment, each footfall soft but assured, like he was gliding through the dark. The cane folded in his grip felt more like an afterthought, something he carried not out of necessity but routine. He knew the layout of my space better than anyone—better than me, even. He’d memorized every table leg, every uneven floorboard, every creak and groan of the old walls.

But tonight, he was different. He carried the weight of the city with him, the air around him heavy with the scent of rain, sweat, and something darker—something sharp and metallic, like the echo of a fight that hadn’t yet ended. His hair was wet, plastered against his forehead, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged, stripped of the warmth I’d come to know. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders, not asking questions.

“I’m sorry for calling like that,” he said, but it didn’t sound like an apology. His voice had an edge to it, something deeper, grittier, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was like he’d brought the city’s darkness with him, dragging it through the threshold and spilling it onto my worn carpet. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t. None of this was okay, and the way he was looking at me—like he was seeing something but not quite there—made my chest tighten. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, but I didn’t believe him. There were bruises creeping along his jaw, a faint trickle of dried blood near his ear that he hadn’t bothered to clean. Up close, I could smell it—the iron tang of fresh cuts mingling with the faint musk of leather and sweat. It was the scent of the city at its worst, of late nights and alleyways, of battles fought in places no one was meant to see. I reached out instinctively, my hand hovering just over his cheek, but he pulled back, stiffening at the contact.

“Matt,” I said, my voice breaking at the sight of him. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He turned away, his grip tightening around his cane, knuckles white against the dark wood. I watched as he leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped, a man teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t name. The air between us was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, and I felt like I was grasping at smoke, trying to catch hold of a man who was slipping further and further away.

“Fisk is getting bolder,” Matt said finally, his voice low and laced with something that bordered on a snarl. “He’s… He’s tearing this city apart.”

I flinched at the venom in his tone. I’d heard Matt angry before, but this was different—this was rage, pure and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t just come from frustration but from something deeper, something personal. I knew Fisk was bad news—he was on every channel, his smug face plastered across every screen in Hell’s Kitchen. But this… this was something else.

“What does that have to do with you?” I asked, my voice small in the dim room. “Why are you always in the middle of this?”

His silence was answer enough. Matt clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. I could see the conflict warring in his expression, the shadows under his eyes deepening as he struggled to keep his secrets buried. It was like he was on the brink of telling me something—something that could change everything—but fear held him back. Or maybe it was pride.

“I can’t tell you,” he said finally, each word dragged out like it hurt to say. “I want to. God, I want to tell you everything, but I can’t. Not yet.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, feeling the weight of his words settle like lead in my stomach. There was so much he wasn’t saying, so many cracks in the façade he’d spent years building, and I was terrified of what lay underneath. But more than that, I was scared of losing him—of watching him disappear into the darkness he’d been dancing with for far too long.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Matt,” I said, stepping closer, my hand reaching for his despite the chill between us. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re fighting, let me help you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw the mask slip, just a little. There was something broken in his eyes, something fragile and desperate that he couldn’t quite hide. He reached up, his fingers brushing mine in a touch so light it was almost a question, and for the first time that night, I thought he might actually let me in.

But then the mask was back, the walls slamming down as he pulled away, retreating into himself like he always did. “I can’t,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the rain against the window. “Not yet.”

And just like that, the distance between us stretched wide again, the unspoken things building a wall I couldn’t see over. Matt turned, folding his cane with a practiced flick of his wrist, and headed toward the door, his shoulders hunched against the weight of his own secrets.

I watched him go, feeling the ache of his absence before he’d even left the room. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to hear, but the words wouldn’t come. Matt paused at the door, his hand resting on the knob, and for a moment, I thought he might turn back, that he might finally tell me the truth.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, his face half-hidden in shadow. “Stay safe,” he said, his voice raw and jagged, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. And then he was gone, swallowed by the night and the storm outside, leaving me alone in the dim glow of my apartment, surrounded by questions that I didn’t have the answers to.

I stood there long after the door had closed, staring at the empty space where he’d been, my heart heavy with the weight of all the things we never said. Whatever was going on with Matt, it was bigger than me, bigger than both of us. And as much as I wanted to help, to fight alongside him, I knew that some battles he would have to face alone.

For now, all I could do was wait.

---

**Flashback:**

The first time he showed up like this, it was raining, too. I remember the soft patter against the window, the way the city seemed to hold its breath as he stumbled inside, dripping and bruised. I’d never seen him look so small, so utterly defeated, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if the man standing in front of me was Matt Murdock or the ghost of the vigilante he’d tried so hard to keep hidden. His suit was torn in places, blood seeping through the fabric, and his hair was a matted mess sticking to his forehead. There was a wild, desperate look in his eyes, like he’d been running from something that still had its claws in him.

“Matt?” I’d whispered, the question hanging heavy in the air between us. He didn’t answer, just stood there, water pooling at his feet, his hands trembling as he struggled to pull off his mask. I’d never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so raw. It was like watching a dam break, the weight of everything he’d been carrying spilling out all at once.

“Sorry,” he’d muttered, voice cracking as he finally let the mask fall to the floor. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I didn’t ask questions. Not then. I just took him by the arm, guiding him to the couch as he sagged against me, the strength in his legs giving way. He winced when I touched his side, the sharp intake of breath telling me more than words ever could. He was hurt—badly. And yet, he’d come here. To me. When he could barely stand, when his body was a map of pain and bruises, he’d chosen my door.

I’d gone to grab a first aid kit, but by the time I’d returned, he was already trying to clean his wounds, his movements stiff and shaky. I watched him struggle, stubbornly pushing through the pain like it was a challenge he couldn’t afford to lose. I sat beside him, taking the cloth from his hands, my touch gentle, careful not to push too hard.

“Let me help,” I’d said softly, and he’d nodded, too exhausted to argue.

.

As I wrapped his ribs, I couldn’t help but notice the faint tremor in his hands, the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding something back. He’d always been good at that—at hiding. But that night, in the dim light of my apartment, it was like the mask he wore had slipped, just a little, and I could see the man beneath. The one who bled, who hurt, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even when it was too much.

“Thank you,” he’d said quietly when I was done, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the kind of gratitude that came from a place of deep, unspoken pain, and it hit me harder than I expected. There was something in his eyes then, something vulnerable and raw that he rarely let anyone see. And in that moment, I’d realized just how much he was fighting—not just the criminals, the shadows of Hell’s Kitchen, but himself. His past, his guilt, the unrelenting need to do more, to be more than just the blind lawyer or the devil in the dark.

“I’m here,” I’d told him, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. “Whenever you need me.”

He’d nodded, but there was a sadness in his smile, a flicker of something that told me he didn’t believe it could be that simple. And maybe it wasn’t. But I’d meant every word. Because Matt was more than just the man who kept coming back bruised and battered. He was the one who fought for the voiceless, who stood up when no one else would. And even though he never said it, I knew that, in his own way, he was fighting for me too.

But as I watched him disappear into the night once more, a shadow among the rain-soaked streets, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were both losing a battle we didn’t know how to win. That no matter how many times he found his way back to my door, we were still trapped in this endless dance of secrets and silence.

Now, standing alone in the dim light of my apartment, I thought of that night—the first time he’d let his guard down, the first time he’d let me see the cracks in his armor. It was a memory that haunted me, one that lingered in the quiet moments when I was left to wonder if there would ever be a day when Matt didn’t feel the need to fight alone.

And as I stared at the door, hoping against hope that he might come back, I realized that all I could do was wait. To be here when he was ready. To love him in the silence, even if it meant loving a man who might never be able to love himself.

*flashback end*

*The next morning*

I stood there long after the door had closed, staring at the empty space where Matt had been. The silence was overwhelming, filled with questions that spun wildly in my head. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it all, but every thought led me back to the same place: Matt was in trouble, and whatever he was facing was bigger than anything I could handle alone.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts. Foggy’s name stared back at me, a small comfort in a sea of uncertainty. If anyone could make sense of this, it was Foggy. He was Matt’s best friend, his anchor, the one person who’d always managed to pull him back when the darkness threatened to consume him.

I hit call, pressing the phone to my ear, pacing anxiously around the apartment as it rang.

“Hey, what’s up?” Foggy’s voice was light, but there was a tiredness beneath it, the kind that came from too many late nights and too much worrying.

“It’s Matt,” I said, the words rushing out before I could stop them. “Something’s… something’s really wrong.”

There was a pause, and I could almost hear the shift in Foggy’s demeanor, the lightness gone in an instant. “What happened? Is he hurt?”

“He’s…” I hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “He showed up here, bruised and bleeding, and he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. He said Fisk is tearing the city apart, but it’s more than that. It’s like he’s… unraveling.”

“Shit,” Foggy muttered, his voice laced with a mix of anger and fear. “Where is he now?”

“He left. I tried to get him to stay, to talk, but he just—he wouldn’t let me in. He’s shutting everyone out, and I don’t know what to do.”

Foggy sighed heavily, and I could hear him moving, grabbing his things. “I’m on my way. I’ll call Karen too. Meet us at Josie’s in ten.”

He hung up before I could respond, and I was left staring at the phone, feeling the weight of what was happening settle even heavier on my shoulders. I knew this wasn’t the first time Matt had gone off the rails, but something about tonight felt different, like he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and there was no pulling him back. Not without help.

I grabbed my coat and headed out, the cold night air hitting me as I made my way to Josie’s. The streets were slick with rain, the city lights reflecting in the puddles like fractured stars. It felt fitting, somehow—everything just a little broken, a little off.

When I walked into the bar, Foggy was already there, pacing near the entrance. His expression was a mix of worry and frustration, the lines on his face deeper than I remembered. Karen was seated at a table nearby, her eyes flicking anxiously between her phone and the door. She looked up when she saw me, her expression softening, but the concern was still etched in every line of her face.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Karen said, her voice quiet but urgent. “What’s going on? What happened with Matt?”

I slid into the seat beside her, feeling the warmth of the bar’s dim lighting chase away the chill from outside. “He’s falling apart, Karen. He came to my place tonight, bruised and bloody, talking about Fisk, about the city tearing itself apart. But he wouldn’t tell me anything real. He wouldn’t let me help.”

Foggy sat down across from us, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s been pulling away for weeks now. Every time I try to get through to him, he shuts me out. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That maybe he’d get it together, that he’d let one of us in. But it’s like he’s on some kind of self-destruct path, and he won’t stop until he’s—”

He trailed off, the fear in his eyes saying more than his words ever could. I knew what he was thinking, what we were all thinking: that one day, Matt might not come back from whatever fight he’d thrown himself into.

Karen leaned forward, her voice a whisper as she tried to piece it all together. “Did he say anything about Fisk? About what’s going on?”

“Just that Fisk is getting bolder,” I said, the memory of Matt’s snarled words still fresh, still raw. “He’s acting like this is his fight, like he’s the only one who can stop it. But he’s not just angry, he’s… he’s scared. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Foggy slammed his fist on the table, startling both of us. “Goddammit, Matt. Why does he always think he has to do this alone? We’re his friends, for Christ’s sake. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

Karen placed a hand on Foggy’s arm, her touch gentle, but her voice firm. “We need to find him. Before he does something reckless.”

“But how?” I asked, feeling the weight of the question settle heavily between us. “He’s not exactly easy to track down, and even if we do find him, how do we get through to him?”

Foggy looked at me, his expression softening just a little. “We just… we keep trying. We keep showing up, no matter how many times he pushes us away. Matt’s stubborn, but he’s not invincible. He’s still human, and he needs us, whether he wants to admit it or not.”

Karen nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. “We start with what we know. We dig into Fisk, figure out what’s got Matt so spooked. And we keep reaching out, keep reminding him that he’s not alone in this.”

I glanced between them, feeling a surge of something close to hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to keep fighting, enough to keep believing that maybe, somehow, we could pull Matt back from the edge before it was too late.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “We’re in this together.”

And as we sat there, huddled in the dim light of Josie’s, I felt the faint stirrings of resolve, the beginning of a plan. We weren’t going to give up on Matt. Not now, not ever. Because no matter how far he fell, no matter how deep the darkness, we were his light. And we were going to find him, to stand by him, to love him through the silence.

Could...could you tag me if you find the holy grail?

Am I the only one that watched every X-men films after watching Deadpool and Wolverine, and then became extremely disappointed when I found almost no angst fanfic about Wolverine 9n Ao3 that wasn't set in the deadpool 3 movie? No just me? Okay...

(If you find wolvie angst fanfic, please put it in the comments or reblogs)

(Also, for a guy that is pretty much an imortal meat bag of angst, you would expect fanfics about his traumas but nooooo)

Hear me out. I'll give two:

(1) SFW - Reader is a sufferer of an invisible disability. Endometriosis/Dyspraxia/Autism/etc.

Would just love to see how Logan would be with that :>

(2) NSFW - How would Logan would be with the reader if they were ovulating *female/transmale*

Give me Logan Howlett ideas, the Window is going to WRITE again baybee

@fandomzwriterk

Balcony Tryst

A/N: I've had this idea for a while. Wrote this while listening to House of the Rising Sun by Lauren O'Connell. Summary: Remy LeBeau and you share a private suite overlooking Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Things get heated quickly ;) Tags: voyeurism, nsfw, public sex, handjob

The night air was thick with the heady scent of Bourbon Street and the distant hum of New Orleans' nightlife. The balcony of the private suite wrapped around them like a secret cocoon, shielding their passionate encounter from prying eyes below. Remy LeBeau, his lean body pressed against yours, his hands gripping the balustrade as he steadied himself, his breath hot against your neck.

"Y'feel s'good, chere," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. His Cajun accent was more pronounced in the quiet of your balcony, each word dripping with desire.

You could feel his hardness against your palm, the rhythm of your stroking matching the pounding of your heart. You moved your hand faster, relishing the way his body responded, the soft moans escaping him, the way he bit down gently on your shoulder, a mix of pain and pleasure sparking through you.

"Remy," you gasped, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze, "you're so... intense."

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he nuzzled your ear. "It's jus' you, ma chérie. Y'bring out dis side of me."

The city lights twinkled below, casting a soft glow over the balcony, highlighting the curves of his muscles as he moved with you. His free hand traveled up your back, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that made you shiver.

"Tell me what you want," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat as you felt his body tense with anticipation.

"Remy wan'chu," he breathed, his lips brushing against your cheek, "all of you, right here, right now."

You leaned into him, your body flush against his, feeling the heat between you rise. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the intoxicating thrill of the moment.

"Show me," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand still moving confidently up and down his length.

Remy's response was immediate. He turned you around, pressing you against the cool cast iron of the balcony, his body sheltering yours from the slight breeze. His hands found your hips, gripping them tightly as he positioned himself behind you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice firm yet tender. You obeyed, meeting his fiery gaze over your shoulder. The intensity in his eyes was palpable, a mix of passion and possession that made your breath hitch.

"You're mine tonight," he declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And Remy gon show you how good it be."

With that, he entered you slowly, deliberately, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. You bit your lip, holding back a moan as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Dat's it, ma chérie," he encouraged, his voice thick with emotion as he began to move, his thrusts steady and deep. "Take all of me."

You closed your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you. Each stroke of his body against yours was a promise, each touch a testament to the connection you shared. The world outside the balcony faded into insignificance, the noise of the bustling streets below nothing but a distant echo.

"Remy," you whimpered, the word torn from your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, "please..."

"What'cha need, chere?" he panted, his movements growing more urgent, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every curve, every dip.

You didn't have the words, not then, not when all you could focus on was the delicious friction, the way he made you feel alive, wanted, cherished.

"Just you," you managed, your voice cracking with emotion. "Always you."

Remy kissed your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin gently as he quickened his pace, his body slick with sweat, his breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"Lookit dem," he suddenly said, his voice husky as he nodded towards the street below. Your eyes followed his gesture, spotting a couple paused under a streetlight, their shadows entwined. "D'ey can't see us, but d'ey know we're here."

The idea of being watched, even indirectly, sent a thrill through you. It was taboo, dangerous, yet incredibly erotic. You could feel Remy's excitement grow, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you with renewed vigor.

"F-fuck yes," you gasped, your voice mingling with his in a symphony of desire. "Let them know."

Remy's laughter was wild, unrestrained, as he claimed you fully, his body a blur of motion, his emotions laid bare. "D'ey envy us, chere," he growled, his voice raw with passion. "D'ey wish d'ey were us."

The thought was heady, empowering. You arched your back, offering yourself to him completely, your fingers digging into the iron railing as you rode out the wave of pleasure building within you.

"Remy," you cried out, your voice carrying on the night air, "I'm close."

"D'en come for Remy. Unravel for me," he demanded, his own release imminent. "Let me feel it, cher."

With a final surge of energy, you let go, your body convulsing around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Remy followed soon after, his groan of completion mingling with yours, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, there was silence, save for your ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the city. Remy remained inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his body still humming with the aftermath of passion.

"Chere," he murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent, "dat was..."

You turned in his arms, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, his chest, still heaving with exertion. "Perfect," you finished for him, your smile gentle, loving.

Remy kissed you then, a slow, deep kiss that spoke of promises and possibilities, of nights like this and many more to come. When he pulled away, his eyes held a glimmer of mischief.

"Ready for another round, ma chérie?" he teased, his hand trailing down your spine, reigniting the fire within you.

You laughed, the sound light and carefree, as you pulled him closer, ready to explore the depths of your desires once more.

BRO PLS (tag me in one if you find em 👀)

I NEED a Remy Lebeau/Gambit fic with a breeding kink PLEASE