So This Is The First Chapter In *hopefully* A Series! Let Me Know What You All Think!

So this is the first chapter in *hopefully* a series! Let me know what you all think!

**To Love in Silence**

{Matt Murdock × Gender neutral reader}

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

The fog clung to Hell’s Kitchen like a heavy coat, weighing the city down with the kind of damp chill that seeped into your bones. It was a suffocating mix of gasoline, rain, and something uniquely New York—garbage left too long in the summer heat, mingling with the faint, greasy scent of food vendors hustling to make a buck. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was home, in the way that Hell’s Kitchen was always home. It was rough around the edges, a place that constantly smelled like it was on the verge of either decay or rebirth.

Josie’s Bar was a testament to that. It was the kind of dive that hadn’t seen a proper cleaning in years, where the dim lights buzzed faintly overhead and everything seemed to be coated in a thin layer of cigarette smoke, even though smoking hadn’t been allowed in years. The booths were sticky, the red leather cracked and worn from years of use, and if you leaned back too far, you’d catch a whiff of something sour, like spilled beer that had soaked into the wood and never quite dried. The floors, perpetually grimy, clung to the soles of your shoes, and every step felt like a battle against the faint but ever-present stick of spilled liquor.

It was noisy, too—an endless hum of conversation underscored by the clink of glasses, the dull thud of pool balls colliding, and the occasional burst of laughter from the back corner where a group of regulars always seemed to be locked in an eternal argument. The jukebox played half-forgotten rock songs, muffled and distorted, as if the music itself was too tired to put up a fight against the constant chatter. Every sound echoed in the tight space, bouncing off the stained walls and low ceiling, creating a cacophony that somehow felt familiar, comforting even.

Foggy slid into the booth across from me, his usual smile in place but not quite reaching his eyes. He smelled like he always did—like cheap aftershave, something bright and sharp that clung to him even after a long day in court. There was a hint of fabric softener, too, a faint clean scent that contrasted with the mustiness of the bar, but underneath that was the smell of sweat and city grime, of long hours spent hustling through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. He looked tired, like all of us, his tie loosened and his hair slightly mussed from where he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said, flagging down Josie with a wave. I watched her shuffle over, wiping her hands on a dirty rag before slamming two beers down on the table. The glasses were slick with condensation, leaving damp rings on the worn wood.

“I could use a lot of things,” I muttered, staring into the foam as if it held answers I couldn’t find anywhere else.

Foggy leaned back, the leather squeaking under his weight. “What’s eating at you?”

“It’s Matt,” I said, unable to keep the frustration from bleeding into my voice. “He’s… different. Distant. I feel like I’m losing him.”

Foggy nodded, his expression darkening as he took a long sip of his beer. “He’s got a lot going on,” he said, but the words felt hollow, like he was tired of saying them. He smelled faintly of the cheeseburger he’d inhaled on the way over, greasy and comforting, mingling with the stale air of the bar.

“I just don’t understand,” I said, picking at the label on my bottle, my fingers sticky with beer residue. “He used to tell us everything.”

“Used to,” Foggy echoed, his eyes drifting to the empty spot beside me. “Matt’s always been good at keeping secrets, but lately… I don’t know. I don’t think even he knows what he’s doing.”

I glanced at the TV above the bar, where Wilson Fisk’s face loomed larger than life. The screen flickered, showing scenes of destruction—burned-out cars, crime scene tape flapping in the wind, cops huddled together like they were preparing for war. Fisk’s name was everywhere, a dark cloud that hung over the city, and behind it all, whispers of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen—the masked vigilante who’d been tearing through the crime rings, leaving chaos in his wake.

“You ever wonder who that guy is?” I asked, nodding toward the screen. “The Devil?”

Foggy followed my gaze, his brow furrowing. “Sometimes,” he said, a hint of unease creeping into his voice. “He’s out there every night, taking on Fisk’s men like he’s got nothing left to lose. You gotta be a special kind of messed up to do that.”

I thought about Matt then, about the bruises and the bandages, the way he winced when he thought no one was looking. There was a smell to him when he was hurt—like copper and antiseptic, sharp and medicinal. On his good days, though, he smelled clean, like the cedarwood soap he favored, mingling with the faintest hint of coffee and old books, something warm and familiar. It was a comforting scent, but lately, even that had been tinged with something darker, like smoke and sweat, as if he was constantly fighting battles I couldn’t see.

“Do you think…,” I started, but the thought died on my tongue. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, to voice the suspicion that had been clawing at my mind for weeks. That maybe Matt knew more about the Devil than he let on. That maybe he was closer to the danger than any of us realized.

“Do I think what?” Foggy asked, giving me a curious look.

“Nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just… nothing.”

But the doubt lingered, festering in the back of my mind as the night wore on.

It was late when I finally got home, the city quieting down to the dull roar of distant sirens and the occasional shout from a street corner. I fumbled with my keys, my fingers numb from the cold, and stepped inside my apartment, greeted by the faint, musty scent of old wood and the slightly metallic tang of the radiator that never quite worked right.

I had barely kicked off my shoes when I heard a knock—a soft, hesitant tap that sent my heart lurching. I opened the door, and there he was, leaning against the frame, looking every bit as battered as I felt. His suit was rumpled, the collar of his shirt stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood, and his hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles like he’d been running his hands through it all night.

“Matt,” I said, the surprise evident in my voice. He smelled like rain and the faint, acrid scent of city air, layered with something distinctly him—cedar, sweat, and a trace of something metallic and sharp. My throat tightened at the sight of him, all messy and undone, like he’d been fighting shadows I couldn’t see.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, like he’d been shouting over the noise of the world. “Can I come in?”

I stepped aside, and he brushed past me, his movements stiff and unsteady. I could smell the sweat on him, mingling with the faintest hint of blood, though he tried to hide it beneath a weak smile. He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, and for a long moment, we sat in silence, the air between us thick with everything we didn’t know how to say.

“You look awful,” I said, half-joking, trying to cut through the tension. But it was true. Up close, I could see the bruises blooming along his jaw, the cuts that hadn’t been there last week. He smelled like pain, like antiseptic and bandages, and something else—something darker, like smoke and gunpowder.

“Long day,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re never a bother, Matt,” I said, though the words felt fragile, like they might shatter if I looked at them too closely. I moved closer, hesitating before reaching out to touch his shoulder. He flinched, just barely, and I drew back, my hand hovering between us. “What’s going on with you? I feel like you’re a million miles away.”

He didn’t answer right away, his head dropping into his hands. I could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven, and the faintest catch of something like a sob caught in his throat. It was the first time I’d seen him this vulnerable, this… lost. And it scared me, more than I was willing to admit.

“It’s Fisk,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s getting worse, and I… I can’t fix it. Not the way I want to.”

“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.”

The way he wanted to. The words hung heavy, loaded with all the secrets he was too afraid to share. 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.

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 running from someone, or something..

Billy Hargrove X Male Reader ANGST.  {Flashing Lights} -Part 1-  ( Angst comes later, sorta writers block, let me know what you think so far?)

“Pain. What is pain without a little misery? What is pain without a little game of love? Love is not your friend, Love is your enemy..”, I read aloud to myself whilst whilst in a little cafe that was nestled between the arcade and store that nobody really used anymore, small childish hands gripping the book as he slowly grew engrossed into it he didn’t notice the bell chime, signaling there was a new customer, a short, red-headed girl that seemed to be about 12 or 13. “Hello there little girl, don’t think I’ve seen you around here before..?”, Y/N smiled sweetly as he, himself was only the age of 16, braces peeking out from behind his rose pink lips. “My name is Max Mayfield, I actually just moved here with my mom, stepdad, and stepbrother. We originally lived up in California before everything came tumbling down on us and forced us to move down here. I know this might sound weird, but would you mind showing me around? I only noticed this place because of the arcade.”, She said sheepishly as she rubbed the back of her neck, skateboard in hand as Y/n chuckled to himself, “She seems nice, it can be the only thing I can do right now, plus I can probably make a new friend?”, He nodded to himself as he closed his book and got up, only standing about 5 foot 3. “ Shall we be off Miss Max?”, He smiled up at here as he was just a big goofball sometimes. “We shall..?”, Confusion washed over her face as she struggled to recall a name. “My name is Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”, “That’s such a pretty name! I mean.. Cool name, dude.”, Y/n just chuckled before walking out before the red head, ‘Let us be off.” Y/N grabbed her hand and smiled happily, opening the door and allowing her out first, the bell chiming sweetly. “So what was your life while you lived in California? Was it nice, or do you not want to talk about it?” Max just shook her head, “It was alright, I suppose. It wasn’t as  nice as this place, or so I think? The people seem so nice.”, she looked up at the boy, his hands nervously messing  with his over-sized sweater, that seemed to be handmade, “Not everyone is as nice as you want them to be maxxie. Some people live to see others suffer and crash down.” He glanced at her as he just threw a sad smile. “Oh come on, you just had to ruin the mood ya big oaf.”, they just chuckled and continued the tour before stopping at a diner. “ Shall I get us something to eat? You might be famished after the walking? and don’t worry, it’s just as friends. I have to throw that in so others won’t be like, “Oh my god! you’re with her?! Like, I don’t even see females in that light.. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.” Max just grabs his hand,” It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me.” ( They ate in peace before paying and stepping outside, the sky a soft orange and pink) With a sad sigh Y/N turned around to face her, “And that my dear friend, sadly concludes our tour. I hope you can show your family around some time, and you can always find me at the cafe if you ever need someone, okay?” The young girl just nodded her head as she began walking back down the sidewalk, slightly taken aback as a navy blue camaro came speeding down the street before skidding to a halt beside the walkway, window rolled down as he glared out at Max, “ Where the fuck have you been?! I just got my ass chewed out because of you. Now get in we’re going home!”, Y/N stared wide eyed as he looked at Max, her whole demeanor changing as she slowly got in, he suddenly rushed up to her and smiled weakly, “I’ll see you tomorrow right? Now please be safe, for me??”, Max just nodded as she hated having him witness that.

  ( Billy’s Pov)

“So was that guy your boyfriend or something?”,Billy snickered as he glanced over at his stepsister. “ Maybe he is, plus he is 16, he can treat me better than those younger boys. dumbass.” Billy’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter as he just let out a low sigh, “ Watch your mouth with me little girl.” Max just scoffed to herself, hatred boiling in her blood as she glanced over at Billy, hands clutching her skateboard to her chest.    ( The drive home  was silent as well as long, the both of them just secretly wanting to escape the uncomfortable tension as her brother threw the car in-front of the house, turning off the engine and throwing himself angrily out of the car.  “What is your problem?! Why do you always have to be so anger with me all the time..! I have done nothing to you.”, Max was already close to tears, she was supposed to be used to this sort of torture, hands shaking as she struggled to hold a grip on her building wall of emotions. Billy just spared her a side glance as he scoffed softly to himself, grabbing his pack of ciggerates from his back pocket, taking one out and lighting it, “Just go inside.”  

{With Our Baby Y/N}

“Where the fuck were you all day?!”, a deep  voice boomed out, shaking the walls of the small house, hands gripping around Y/N’s throat as tears rolled down his soft rosy cheeks, hands gripping the ones that no other intention other than to hurt him badly. “Were you out with those other boys again? What did I tell you about going out with them, huh?!”, The man suddenly let go, causing Y/n to fall gasping for the sweet smoke filled air, small hands rubbing the now bruised area, “D-Dad.. I wasn’t with them..”, His voice was weak from the sudden strain.

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

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

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)

Fat girls are hot.

You agree. Reblog.

Matt Murdock and Frank Castle vibes 👀✨️

soap