Broke My Heart And Mended It Back Together In The End

broke my heart and mended it back together in the end🥹

Green is the Color

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,200

Summary: Karen Page looks flawless next to Matt in a way that you don’t. Insecurities and jealousies were bound to pop up at some point.

Trigger warnings: None. Just some angst with a happy ending.

Masterlist

Weiterlesen

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════ 

"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════ 

You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════ 

In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════

AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

I loved the seven evil exes !! ‘M kinda curious as to what happens when all 7 meet face to face- it would be a train wreck.. - :[ anon

seven evil exes: reunited

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

frank castle x reader, matt murdock x reader, pietro maximoff x reader, loki x reader, druig x reader, tony stark x reader, doctor strange x reader

synopsis: your hospital stay pulls out all of your doting exes from the shadows, and a large argument insues with threats of flying limbs and stabbings with spoons

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“im fine, nat.” you moved from her reach as she tried to brush your hair over your stitches. you noticed that she had been tidying the room up and cleaning you up, even painting your toes which she must’ve done while you were unconscious because otherwise she would’ve never been able to hold you down.

“what’s going on?” you asked her as you saw an approaching figure that dawned a green cape with a large horned golden helmet that seemed all too familiar-

“natasha!” you yelled as the door swung open to reveal loki, standing before you with a frown of worry.

“my dove-“ he walked over to you and fussed, examining your injuries. you had a broken arm, fractures in your legs and a concussion that had taken you out for days.

“loki. what are you doing here?” you glared daggers at natasha who was stuffing the makeup brushes into her bag. natasha looked up and raised an eyebrow, “oh! i didn’t call him..”

you felt like you got slapped across the face, besides that, the drugs were working.

“well then..who did you call?”

natasha looked past you and towards the window to see a specific blind lawyer and a well dressed tony stark, behind each other and both unaware of the other as they rushed to your room.

“no!” you shoved loki off and tried to stand up, clawing at the wheels of your bed as you collapsed on the floor. you groaned, and loki tried to help you up.

“y/n!” a portal opened up from under you and suddenly stephen strange was holding you by the waist and pushing you back up onto the bed.

“goddamnit!” you felt defeated as the pain hit you like a shock wire. stephen chided you as he let you brace yourself on him. loki had stepped back to stare at stephen.

“what are you doing on her-“ he began but you waved a hand to shut him up.

just as you had finally gotten back onto the bed, matt who had been using his cane the entire time to make it seem like he was just your average blind lawyer, threw the cane onto the chair near the door and stepped up to the side without loki and stephen, who were both giving each other the most menacing glare.

“y/n? are you alright? i could hear your heart beat from the parking lot and it was thumping incredibly loud, like you’re scared or something-“ matt rambled on, his voice shaky.

“what in the fuck is this? disneyland?” tony strode into the room and took his sunglasses off as he glared at you. you looked at him in disbelief, “whatever head game you played on me, wore off. i remember everything now.”

you swallowed nervously as tony stayed in his place by the door, “we got the three blind mice,” he looked over at matt and smirked, “who was actually believable to be blind-“

“i am.” matt piped up but you squeezed his hand.

“reindeer games who if i last remember,” tony gave you a glance, “had faked his death and ran off into the distance.”

“clearly you needed to be caught up.” loki remarked.

“and then we have stephen, who out of this bunch, including my dashing self, seems to be the most normal.”

“can i add myself to that equation too?” pietro had appeared into the room and you wanted to at that moment, literally jump off a cliff. as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it was.

natasha stepped up from the background and peered behind matt, “this is the one i actually called. for being fast, you got here pretty late!” she scolded pietro and he shrugged, “i was doing some decorating for when she comes home.”

you rolled your eyes, “jesus christ.”

matt nudged you, “hey.” he chided and you waved a hand.

“so who’s actually the boyfriend?“ tony asked as he and the men just stood in place around your bed. any other situation, this many men surrounding you would’ve been the perfect wet dream, but considering it wasn’t dream, you made it to be your worst nightmare.

they all looked at each other before a collective, “me.”

“so leaving brazil lands you in a hospital bed?” another voice spoke from behind the men and you looked up to see the familiar gaze of druig.

“please, no more of you guys.” in the back of your mind you thought of your worst ex and how he would literally have a field day of your embarrassment, and you just prayed he wouldn’t show.

“there’s more of us?” stephen raised his eyebrows and you tugged on a robe, “you’ve been the most recent, so no.”

he nodded intently and looked to druig, “well, welcome to the “we’ve fucked y/n” club.” he gave a fake smile and druig glared at him, “speaking of her so disrespectfully is making me want to reject that invitation.”

you shrugged, “i don’t mind.”

“of course you don’t, draga.” pietro patted your head and you winced lightly.

“watch it. my dove doesn’t need to be dealing with this. asgard has all you need if you just come wit-“ loki was cut off by the stomping of large and familiar boots coming from the corridor.

“where is she?!” a shout rose from the hallway and all the men raised their eyebrows in surprise to see a scary looking man, shouting to find you.

if you could, you would’ve grabbed the pillow and tried to put yourself into a coma.

“this is just great.” you spoke.

frank looked at all the men in the room and laughed, “look at all of you. a circus of freaks.” he laughed again, “hey red, how’s life looking?” he teased matt who sat uncomfortable in his chair, “bleak.” he said bluntly and you could tell by his body language that matt wasn’t aware of you and frank castle.

“wow.” was all natasha said to break the silence. the men were now fully surrounding you in a circle. and you never wanted to hide your face more than this moment.

“i cannot believe you slept with tony stark.” pietro spoke.

“i cannot believe you actually care-“ tony defended himself and a mountain of voices created an argument and you yelled to get their attention.

“can everyone just stop?!” they all turned to look at you and you sighed, “loki. please leave, it’s been so long i don’t even think you had anything better to do today than to visit me. go beg for leadership elsewhere.” you waved a hand and before he could protest, loki was faded out.

“whoa.” was all that druig said as he looked at you, “and you.” you now fixated on him, “youre psychotic. get help.” druig scoffed and you waved him away.

“tony, god you embarrass me. literally get out of my room.” tony began to protest but you waved a hand, but you paused briefly, “remember that snitches get stitches.” and he faded out.

“we’ll talk later, i cant leave the sanctum alone for long.” stephen saw himself out with a portal and you turned to natasha and held a hand out, “exactly what i mean.”

natasha stifled a laugh. and then you were down to the remaining three men.

“you guys are kind of my favorites, the drugs will have me admit that.” the three men looked at each other and shrugged.

“pietro, you can take me home, just please go make yourself busy until nat gets me discharged.” pietro nodded a sped away.

matt turned to you as pietro left, “what’s left for me? ‘i hate blind guys so give me your cane so you can stumble out of here?’”

you laughed and nudged him, “of course not. im taking your glasses too.”

matt laughed and you smiled for a brief moment, forgetting of the looming figure standing near the sink.

“matthew, im really mad over how we left things, i would love to talk more but i don’t think this is the right setting.” matt nodded, “i understand. you know hell’s kitchen will always be your home.” he stood up and kissed your forehead.

he walked out and now you were left with the final man.

“frank.” you held your arms out to the marine who walked to hold you in his embrace.

“i missed you so much but you picked the worst time to see me.”

“worst time? my girl’s in the hospital having an argument with every one of her ex boyfriends and you say that’s a bad time? this was entertaining!” he laughed and you rolled your eyes, “whatever. just promise me that you’ll check in?”

frank nodded, kissing your cheek as he shoved a hat over his face, “yes ma’am.”

hours later and sleep came so easily as you you asked for it. pietro remained the only ex you kept around just for the sake of him scratching that itch every so often while being free of the responsibility that came with it.

but you decided to move back to hell’s kitchen to be closer to matt and frank, you saw a future with either of them.

but for now, you were tucked into your bed as you admired the basket of gifts sent by your lovers, natasha stealing the candy from every single one of them.

Show Me How You Sin

pairing: Priest!Matt x AFAB!Virgin!Reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! umm haha everything? blasphemy, heavy desecration of religion, virgin reader, oral (f receiving), guided masturbation, soft!dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, reader is in 20’s

synopsis: Father Matthew leads you through your confession and first orgasm

A/N: haha hey! don’t read this is sacrilegious themes offend you!

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/FEEDBACK/LIKES ARE VERY MUCH WELCOMED HEHE

DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION. I’LL SMITE YOU.

he has to know how good he looks, right?

honey, he’s blind.

your mother gives you a quick side eye partnered with a smirk as you mumble to each other from the pew, relishing in the sight in front of you.

black garments cling to Father Murdock’s body in just the right way as he preaches about something you’ve probably heard many times before. your focus is purely on the way his hands rest against the wooden pulpit, veins visible under the dim light, and you can’t help the way your thoughts wander.

his fingers tap into the wood as he emphasizes some point, …your Heavenly Father will also forgive you, practically teasing you to imagine the way they would feel against the inside of your thigh, pressing into the soft flesh as your dress rides up with his touch.

the vasculature of his hands becomes more prominent as he grips onto the pulpit, and you have to swallow away the question of what his hands would look like wrapped around your throat while your lips release sweet moans.

your cheeks flush as you watch the way his tongue darts from the corner of his mouth and wets his lip, the voice catching in your throat as you swear you saw him smirk. you could’ve sworn he caught you; the way you crossed your legs and clenched your thighs together to relieve some of the ache from your core, the way your bottom lip was lodged between your teeth to stifle any moan that threatened to slip, the way your own fingers grabbed onto your sides as you crossed your arms around your body to hold yourself together.

don’t be ridiculous, he’s blind.

a sea of bodies rises from the pews, indicating the end of service. you deflate like a balloon, comfortable disappearing into the crowd and looking forward to relieving your… stress… in the comfort of your own bedroom.

you know it’s wrong, he’s a priest! I have hid thy promise in my heart, that I might not sin against thee. he’s MY priest… but it feels so good to reach that sweet spot when you rub your clothed cunt against the pillow in just the right way, unknowing of what happens after the buildup, wishing it was some part of the man who lead your prayers to help you discover what comes next.

your cheeks burn from embarrassment as you stand, only to find remnants of your arousal and sweat on the pew below.

“Hi.” The voice catches you off guard, causing you to trip over the aisle carpet.

“Careful, there.” His smile is charming as two large hands catch your falling body, the touch lingering on your waist for a second too long.

“S-sorry, Father.” It’s barely a whisper, but he catches your apology, clearly noting the way your heartbeat thunders in your chest.

He can tell you’re blushing by the way your cheeks and ears grow warmer, your skin already slightly damp from the debauchery he had very much noticed before.

His ear turns towards your parents ever so slightly, noticing the quiet laugh your mother is trying to hush- she must be embarrassed or- nervous?

“No need to apologize. I just wanted to see how you all were doing? It’s rare I get a moment to talk to everyone around here!” His smile is radiant as he addresses your family, your breath faltering as he moves his hand to the small of your back.

“Good! We’re all great! Home from college from now,” your mother winks at you, “just enjoying all the ways the Lord has been blessing us!” She’s overly excited as she relishes in the priest’s attention.

“Amen to that.”

Electricity flows from Father Matthew’s fingertips as he lightly grazes the seam of your dress. Your vision seems to blur at the foreign touch, only to be spewed on by the throbbing ache from between your thighs. The conversation is incoherent, your only train of thought telling your body to relax. breathe in, breathe out.

“I’m glad to hear it, it was nice speaking with you!” You take his words as your cue to leave but are halted as your parents take a few steps away.

“Actually,” the way he says your name nearly stops your heart entirely. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in confession?” His lip is upturned in a seasoned smile, one you had recognized before.

“I- um,”

“There’s no pressure, of course. I could just always use the extra practice. Not many people come around anymore, if you can believe that!” You swear you could see the crinkles form around his eye through the red glasses, and you sigh as his hand finally leaves your back.

“Sure. I’m, uh, definitely guilty of that.” As quickly as you relaxed at the absence of his touch, another part of you craved it.

He senses your hesitation, his attuned ears catching the way you crane your neck to scout your parents, only to hide a smile as he can hear your hands flap, shooing away your parents.

“You first,” he motions towards the confessional, vacant gaze trained towards your figure, disappearing into the confines of secrecy.

The wooden bench chills the backside of your thighs as you sit. The silhouette of your priest altered through the grated partition causes your heartbeat to quicken, and you’re suddenly on trial for your sins.

“Bless me, Father Murdock, for I have sinned…” He catches the shakiness in your voice, and the mention of his name causes him to shift his legs in his private section.

“It’s been…” You have to think of how long you had been away at college to remember the last time you’d repeated the phrase. “Four months since my last confession.”

“I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Thank you, Father Murdock-”

“Matthew. You can call me Matthew, if you’d like.” Your cheeks flush at the invitation and he notices, of course he does. Father Matthew… If only he knew how many times that name left your lips in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I, um… I have been struggling lately, Father Matthew.” The weighted confession leaves your mouth causing the crotch of his pants to grow tighter in unholy temptation.

“I have these feelings,” you clear your throat.

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Feelings that sometimes, well,” You’re unsure of how much you’re willing to tell. Granted, the guilt had been eating you alive, but a part of you enjoyed it- enjoyed it the way you enjoyed the feel of him pressing into your back.

“Sometimes they actually turn physical and…” he can tell you’re nervous by the way your cheeks warm and you cross your legs, clenching your thighs together in the process.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed or nervous, God honors your honesty, and so do I.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, and eases you into your repentance.

“When do these feelings typically happen?“ he already knew the answer; it was as if he was baiting you, perhaps he was.

He could sense the way you purposefully rubbed your clothed core against the pews while the congregation stood- the hymns hiding the breathy moans that left your lips when you barely rocked forward. He felt the way your lips threatened to wrap around his finger when he placed the bread on your tongue, his attuned ears catching the shakiness of your prayer. He could smell your arousal through the wooden partition as you contemplated your answer.

“They happen often, Father. And I don’t understand them. I’m ashamed, I think.”

“Shame is a heavy burden, but the burden Christ gives us is-“

“Light.” you speak at the same time.

“Exactly. Good girl” Matt catches the breath that becomes lodged in your throat, your pulse beating rapidly as you brush the hair from your face, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. He wants nothing more than to press his lips to the spot behind your ear, helping you to create pretty sounds.

“Tell me, what makes you ashamed of these feelings?” You’re caught off guard at his sultry tone.

“They happen when I do unholy things” Your confession falls on sensitive ears.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Unholy things like…” You don’t even realize your eyes are closed as your fingers caress your thighs, your lower lip hiding a moan as your fingertips brush the hem of your cotton panties. What are you doing?

“Like what you’re doing right now?” Matt noticed the way your concentration had adjusted, and he could sense the pad of your fingertips rub against the thicker seam- your breath falters and your body tenses as you’re caught. His cock throbs in the confinement of his pants.

“None of us are without sin. But I am interested in something.” His voice is raspy.

“Why don’t you show me how you sin?” you feel faint but gasp audibly at his proposal, your core throbbing at the thought.

“Father… I don’t… I”

“Your heavenly father has already forgiven you. May I?” He leans his head closer to the partition, eager to sense your response. You whimper at the thought of pleasuring yourself, fully confessing and at the mercy of the priest, and your fingers brush against your warm cunt, causing you to whisper a moan as you graze the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, so obedient.” he clears his throat. “Do that again for me.”

The pad of your fingertips press into your clit and your eyes flutter shut.

“Good girl,” He notes the way you moan at the praise. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

“I feel, I feel dirty.” You do. You really, really do. But you also feel really, really good.

“Dirty is an interesting word to use… tell me where your hands are.”

“They’re on my thighs, Father.” He waits for a moment as he listens for the sound of your soft skin being kneaded, but he finds something else entirely.

“Angel, lying defeats the purpose of confession. Where are your hands?” It’s condescending and almost threatening, and you realize where you’re sitting and who you’re talking to.

It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. But neither of you are willing to stop.

“They’re on my… my…”

“Your pussy?” He growls as he finally palms his hard length while imagining your innocent body responding to his games.

“Yes.” You’re fully clothed but feel naked- exposed.

“Good girl. There’s no shame in pleasure. After all, God created it. Are your thighs spread open?” He knew the answer. He could practically taste the way you coated the booth.

“Yes.”

“I want to ask you something, is that alright?“

“Yes.”

“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” Your stomach lurches at the thought.

“No.”

“Such a shame.” You swear you hear him tsk in disapproval. “Would you like to?”

“Y-yes.”

The curtain of your booth is pulled away quickly, equally catching you off guard. You hadn’t even heard him remove himself from his side, and you certainly weren’t expecting to see the flushed face of your priest as your legs were spread wide open for anyone to see. Truthfully, though, you didn’t care if anyone saw. You were unable to form any other thought, fully surrendering to the desires of your flesh, whatever that meant.

It’s silent for a moment as he stands in front of you, his head turning to perceive your already wrecked state. Heavy breaths fill the small space as anticipation grows. Your back sinks against the hardwood, causing your thighs to spread even further, your clothed pussy peeking out from under your dress in silent invitation. Matt accepts gladly, wishing he could watch the way your eyes grew in size as he lowered himself in front of you.

His hands, the ones you had fantasized about so many times before, shakily greet your calves, the fingers gently teasing against the skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He smirks at the way you moan at the minimal touch, only then wondering how much you had been denying yourself.

“Angel,” his lips press into the inside of your knee. “Have you sinned like this before? With another person?”

You shake your head in response, and Matt can tell the answer by the way your arousal seeps from your panties, but you quickly correct yourself.

“N-no Father Matthew.”

“Such a good girl.” He places another kiss on the opposite knee.

“Oh, Christ!” You exhale as his hands travel further towards your core, his fingers dancing against your thighs, kisses littering wherever he touches. He smiles at your reactions.

Teeth lightly nip at the delicate flesh, and he inhales deeply as his nose practically nudges against where you crave him the most. He sighs into you, his warm breath against your sobbing pussy causing you to moan.

“So responsive,” his thumb traces the inside seam of your white cotton underwear, threatening to please you. “May I?” He faces you, desperately trying to find your eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, giving permission to something you’re not even sure he’s asking.

The heel of your foot, the hardness of a pew, the softness of a pillow, the texture of a stuffed animal was nothing compared to the way Matt’s thumb caressed your throbbing clit through your panties. You jolted, nearly hitting your head, at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Oh!” His fingers grabbed onto the plump flesh of your thighs just as they held onto the pew, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your bundle of nerves.

“F-father,” You call for him, failing to catch the amusement plastered on his face.

“Hm? How does this feel, sweetheart? You can’t form words to express how you were feeling.

“Good. S-so good. Thank you.” He moans at your gratitude, his member throbbing consequently. His fingers hook into the elastic, patience leaving his body as he desperately needs to taste you.

“Angel, let me make you feel good.” He pleads with a kiss to your panty-cladded cunt. An open mouth moan against your core causes you to reach for him as he denies himself the pleasure of lapping up your taste. “Please, will you let me make you feel good?”

You aren’t sure how it can feel much better than this, but you oblige with ease.

“Please, Father Matthew. Please make me feel good.”

Your underwear fall to your ankles with haste, the air against your wet pussy causing you to shiver. Matt shivers as your arousal floods the tiny space, taunting him to devour you.

“Sweetheart, you tell me if you’d like me to stop, okay?” His fingers find your hand and wrap around your wrist as you give your silent consent.

His warm breath greets you first as you sharply inhale, this will be fun, and he teases you with the flat of his tongue pressing against the entirety of your pussy.

“H-help.” Had he heard you correctly?

“Help? Is everything okay? Would you like me to stop?” His brows furrowed in concern and he loosened his grip.

“No!” You practically shout, the echo hurting his ear slightly. “No! Please. I just… I’ve never felt this and I…” You’re embarrassed to admit you aren’t sure how to feel.

“Relax, angel. I promise I’m going to take care of you, ” He places a small kiss on your thighs. “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore,” he quotes scripture before placing his lips to your clit. You relax into the feeling, unsure of whether it was the familiarity of the words or the satiation of your flesh.

The tip of his tongue runs through your wet folds, sucking lightly to taste every drop, before flicking and circling against your swollen clit. Your moans cause his cock to throb against his thigh as he relishes in your sweetness.

“Fuck,” The profanities surprise you as they’re murmured from below. “Taste so fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart.” Your cheeks flush at the compliment.

“So fuckin’ sweet, just like an angel. My little angel,” His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and he sucks lightly, the sound of spit audible to anyone who could pass by. He’s surprised by the way you respond and throw your hands against his head before quickly pulling back in regret.

“It’s okay,” he coos from below. “You can touch me.” You burn with temptation at his invitation and sink back into the wooden frame at an awkward angle, your fingers gently caressing the side of his head.

“Oh, Father.” You attempt to stifle your moan by catching part of your dress in your mouth, but he stops you before it passes your lips.

“Don’t be shy, kitten.” An outreached hand reaches to cup your face, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle into his touch. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking pleasure. Do you need me to help you?” you nod your head against his palm and he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer against him

“There you go, such a good girl. Just like that.” Your head falls back as he laps up your arousal from your leaking hole and places kitten licks against your clit, your moans falling freely.

“God,” you whimper, “that feels so good. I-I like that.”

He continues his ministrations, applying a steady pressure to your sensitive clit as your fingers grip into his hair and your hips lightly rut into him. He growls against your movements, and a wet spot grows visible against his trousers.

“That's it princess,” He moans into you. “Show me what you like. Show me how you like it.” you adjust your hips and lightly grind against his tongue. His grip onto you tightens, surely leaving bruises in return, as he encourages you to grow confident in your motions.

“Please please please” unsure of what you’re asking for as your thrusts grow quicker and more erratic. Matt mumbles a prayer and hums against your clit, causing you to force his face to press into you even more.

“Do that again, please.” you beg for more of the new sensations, his hums vibrating against your most sensitive area. He obliges with haste, silently praying and eager for a taste of your release.

An unfamiliar sensation bubbles within as your priest devours your pleasure. If the idea of the holiest man you knew moaning against your virgin cunt wasn’t enough to bring you to an orgasm, the sounds of your slick and his drool mixing and coating your clit was enough to do so.

“Father, what’s happening?” Your eyes attempt to open, but your lashes flutter at the pleasure. Your chest heaves as Matt brings you to the edge of your first orgasm.

“Just as the Father has washed you from iniquity, let this feeling wash over you, angel.” You’re sure you’ve reached Heaven. Your entire body tenses as you cling onto Matt, holding him against your clit as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

“Oh fuck! Oh Christ!” The muscles in your thighs tremble as they involuntarily close around the priest’s head; he moans as the sweetness of your taste and smell floods his senses. Your body shakes with pleasure and your abs contract with each wash of euphoria.

Your arousal drips from you like honey from a honeycomb, and Matt collects it with the tip of his tongue and spreads it over your clit before sucking gently, causing you to jolt from overstimulation.

“Ouch!” You flinch, “It hurts, Father.”

“If we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.” He recites the verse into your sopping cunt with a last lick, savoring your first sin. You’re surprised as he reaches for your face and brings you forward, your lips pressing into one another with a gentle kiss.

You moan into him, embarrassed that you’re enjoying the simple intimacy and the taste of you. He returns the pleasantry, his tongue tracing your swollen bottom lip before breathing into you a final time; his heart mirrors you at the slight ache.

His lips trail kisses from your face to your neck, stopping at your core while his fingers dip between your folds for good measure, before disappearing behind his lips. He continues his trail of kisses down the length of your legs before pulling your panties in their proper position.

Your legs groan as you finally stand at your full height and marvel at the sight below you. The priest's robes had been abandoned long ago, and he looked oddly human as he knelt below you. Your hand reaches towards him, reaching to hold his face, and he leans into your tender touch. He places an intimate kiss on your palm before standing, awkwardly adjusting the erection in his pants.

“I, um, I can-” He smiles at your offer.

“No, you don’t have to. It’s okay, angel. You did enough today.” You blush at his words, wishing you could run from the impending separation.

You’re surprised as he places a kiss to your forehead before running his hands against your figure, straightening the hem of your dress with precision and a kind smile, the sheen of your arousal still evident on his lip. You return the favor by gingerly adjusting the red tinted glasses and brushing a piece of his hair from his forehead. Your thumb rubs against his lips before disappearing into your mouth.

“Will I see you next Sunday?” He breaks the tender moment.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl.”

Now I feel like I’m wrapped up in that warm blanket with a Matt to scare all my worries away with a forehead kiss🥹

make amends

pairing: matt murdock x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: t+ (mugging, assault, canon-typical injury)

word count: 4,344

one-sentence synopsis: matt isn't there in time to stop you from getting hurt, but he has all the time left in the world to help ease your pain.

author's note: sweet matt....... i will manifest daredevil season 4 with my own fucking bare hands if i have to

read on ao3!

You’re still trembling by the time you arrive home.

You aren’t really entirely sure what to do first. For a while, you just stand inside the front door with it locked firmly behind you, doing nothing at all. It’s not until you hear a scrape in the hallway outside your apartment door that you jump, your heart skyrocketing into your throat in an instinctive, automatic fear response. Your terror is bubbling just under the surface, waiting for the moment of your collapse.

It could have been worse. You keep trying to tell yourself that mentally: it could have been so much worse.

The mugger found you walking home alone— even though you only had to walk two blocks from your bus stop to your building, even though you’ve walked it a million times before. Cornered in the darkness at the mouth of an alley you’d been passing by, you only had a moment to hope that Matt would be nearby, that somebody would hear, that this wasn’t really going to happen right now.

You had real fear, fear that you would actually lose your life at this person’s hands. You’ve been stolen from before, and even mugged twice, but this time was different. You’d watch this mugger brandish a knife, and your heart had galloped up into your throat, all thought and logic leaving you.

When the mugger had demanded you turn over your things, you hadn’t been able to make your body move fast enough. They had grabbed you, yanked you forward, knife held tight against the bones in your collar. The blade scraped your skin, and you’d cried out, and they’d grabbed for the bag you were carrying without hesitation.

You let it go, unthinking, and tried to throw a punch to fight them off, just like Matt taught you. You caught them under the chin, and they’d grabbed you up by the throat, tight under your jaw, before they shoved you back against the nearest wall. You could feel your skin split, scratched up on the brick, and your head hit the stone.

Though you lash out again, the blow you land doesn’t do much. You split your knuckles, and they kick your arm back. Finally, you covered your face, and they’d— sprinted away, taking up your bag and running with it.

For a while, you’d just sat there, shaking, trying to think. The only things left in your coat pocket were your keys and your phone, which, thank fuck, at least you had that much. Your wallet and your umbrella and the groceries you just got and the gift you had for Matt and the book you’re reading and— and all your things, your daily necessities, were in the bag, and that’s fucking gone, but you’re alive and you can get home.

You’d shoved upwards, then, and though you wanted to run, you’d only managed to shamble home. It was like your brain and body weren’t processing it properly.

When you’re home, though, and you’ve been standing stock-still for a while, and you finally hear that noise in the hallway, you jump. You end up snatching the nearest chair and wedging it up under the doorknob, just for the extra layer of protection the furniture affords.

It’s over. It’s over, and done, and it could have been so much worse, and there’s nothing you can do right now.

Your trembling becomes a full-body shaking, a teeth-chattering, constant shiver that feels like it’s leaking down into your bones. Your breath starts coming fast of its own accord, hyperventilation in a delayed panic response. Your heart thunders in your chest, its movement so fast it practically feels still.

Your phone rings. You hear the sound before you understand it, the sharp ringing before you actually think to reach for your pocket. You pull it up and out and see Matt’s face on the screen.

Matt.

He sees so much worse on a daily basis. He gets hurt all the time. He wasn’t there to save you when you needed him. He—

He’s calling again, when you didn’t answer the first one in time. You do manage to make yourself move, this time, reaching to swipe to answer, bringing the phone up to your ear. Your hand is shaking so badly the edge of the plastic keeps connecting with the corner of your jaw.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Matt says in a rush the second you pick up. “What’s happening? I started heading towards your place and I can hear your heart, are you okay? Is something happening?”

You shake your head. You don’t know why you are, or what it’s in answer to. He doesn’t know you’re doing it; he’s not even here, and he couldn’t see you if he was, even though he’d probably tease you anyway, say he could hear your hair or your muscles or something like that—

Matt repeats your name, and you try to focus, your mind bleary and constantly drifting as it tries desperately not to think about what just happened.

“Sorry,” you say softly. Your voice sounds strange, even to your own ears.

There’s a beat, and then Matt’s bewildered, concerned voice asks, “What’re you sorry for?”

“I should’ve—” you start to say, then exhale in a gust. You’re standing in the middle of your living room, and that’s where you sit, kneeling right there on the floor. You curl into yourself, pushing your knees into your chest, wanting to feel the solid gravity, the earth beneath you. Your eyes are finally burning over. Your voice breaks when you tell him, “I should’ve tried harder, I should’ve fought— I didn’t fight, I didn’t, I just gave up—”

“What are you talking about? What happened?” Matt demands again, a frantic edge starting to leak into his voice.

You’re turning yourself over to the rising hysteria in you, unable to fight it back now that Matt’s talking to you and you have no choice to acknowledge what’s happened. Your mind is whirling, struggling to process your terrified emotions. “Someone— Someone stopped me and took my stuff—”

“Where are you?” Matt asks. You can hear his breathing shift, changing into a heavier, steadier pace. He’s running, you realize.

“Home,” you whisper. You press the phone tight against your cheek and your ear, feeling the heat blazing off of it just for something to feel. “Matt, I need— I need—”

You can’t manage to get your plea out, begging cut off as your cries start to take you over in earnest, becoming full panicked sobs. Matt says something on the line, but you can’t hear him over the rush of blood in your ears.

You have this foreboding feeling that you just can’t shake, like you’re still being followed, like it’s somehow not over, and it’s making you feel frenzied, deranged, your body only now responding to a threat that’s long gone. You don’t know when you drop the phone; you only realize that you’re not holding it, that you’re holding onto your own hair instead, head bowed into your arms, trying to keep yourself together in one piece.

When Matt comes, it isn’t through the front door. You don’t know if he tried it and gave up or not, belatedly remembering the chair you’d wedged there— but, either way, he gets in anyway. He eases open the window in your living room, and then he’s kneeling next to you, his hand finding the center of your back.

You exhale all at once in a shuddering punch that bursts out of you. You try to say his name, to say, “Matt, I’m sorry,” but it doesn’t come out as anything more than incoherent sounds in the midst of your tears.

Matt just sits down on the floor and pulls you into his arms. You cling to him with numb fingers hooked in the joints of his Daredevil armor, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your back, clutching you close to his front. He’s taken his cowl off, the helmet abandoned nearby, one of the sharp horns leaving a small scratch on your floor.

You stare at that tiny scratch as you struggle to get a grip on yourself. Matt’s presence is helping in leagues, but you’re so far into your frenzy that it takes a while to come back out of it.

You make yourself focus on the even sweeps of Matt’s soft touch as he strokes your back; on the strong hold of his arms around you, keeping you safe; on the press of his lips to your hairline where he keeps murmuring reassuring echoes of the same thing; on the slowing thud of your own heart as you come back into yourself in fragmented pieces.

His hand moves to grip the back of your head, his cheek dragging along yours when he starts to pull back. Your heart kicks up, panic seizing you again, but Matt shushes you.

“I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay,” Matt tells you. “I can smell blood. Is it yours?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. Matt’s hold tightens, and you tell him, voice breaking once more, “I’m sorry—”

“No, no,” Matt cuts you off. He kisses your hair, says, “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t. Just— What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just— I got mugged, I think,” you tell him, embarrassed and terrified and hurt and upset, starting to fall apart. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking, I— I should— I should’ve fought b—”

“I should’ve been there,” Matt says firmly, his tone inviting no argument. “(Y/N), I am— I am so sorry—”

“Matt,” you start to interrupt him. You want to tell him not to be sorry, that he can’t be everywhere at once, that it was over so quickly he couldn’t have done anything.

You can’t make the words come. You just start to dissolve again, repeating, “Matt,” and he kisses your temple hard, letting his forehead drag along yours. The physical touch of him is grounding you, grounding him. He won’t stop touching you, hard presses to make sure you’re still here and alive and okay.

Matt reaches and lifts your hand. You can see him as he’s taking stock of you, cataloguing your injuries through touch and scent, tasting your blood in the air, hearing the tiny noises you make when his gloved fingertips brush an injury.

He removes one glove, then gently touches the edge of your split knuckles. You wince, and he brings the back of your hand to his mouth, kissing it softly.

“I’ll fix it,” Matt tells you.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to do, but it’s not for him to start pulling his glove on and separating himself from you. He’s moving to pick his horns back up; your breathing quickens instinctively, fear gripping your lungs all over again.

He must hear the changes in your body, because he pauses, head tilted to the side a bit before he inclines back towards you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you. Without waiting for an answer, he’s already saying, “I’ll call Claire, she can come while I’m gone and help you w—”

“No,” you finally get yourself to say. Matt’s brow furrows, frustration and confusion striking across his face. “Matt, n— No—”

“Would you rather I call Foggy?” he asks. “Or Karen? They would—”

“Don’t leave,” you beg him. You can’t stop the shattering of your voice as you speak. “Matt, please— Please don’t leave, I can’t— I can’t—”

The words won’t come out of your mouth before your breath is catching up in your throat again, choking off your next breaths. You fold into yourself again, trembling; Matt reaches for you, pulls you back into his lap. His hands have their gloves back on, the leather rough on your skin. You can’t bring yourself to let him go, clinging to him tightly, chest rattling apart.

Matt readjusts, leaning back against the coffee table behind himself so he can take your weight without tipping, focusing on you. His face comes back down to meet yours, cheek brushing yours, his hair soft against your skin.

“You’re okay,” Matt murmurs, voice soft. “Just breathe with me. I’m not going anywhere, you’re okay. In and out. Come on, in and out.”

You have to focus, and it takes pretty much all of your concentration to do it, but you start to steady and calm and slow again. There’s obvious tension roped through every muscle in his body, coiled and ready to spring into action to take down your attacker the second you give the word, but you can’t get yourself to give the word.

You barely saw them; you don’t know anything useful. All you know is that you were terrified, and hurt, and you needed Matt, and now he’s here. You don’t think you can let him go, not even for him to get revenge for you—

—or for himself, you realize, seeing how terrified he is, how angry he is, churning just beneath his surface as he struggles to keep the reins on himself. He grapples to hold his grip, determined not to make this worse for you than it already is by losing control of his emotions, but it’s— it’s fucking hard. You, you, are the person he loves most on this planet— and he dedicates himself daily to protecting people— and when you needed him, he wasn’t there, and you got hurt.

He can’t stop thinking about everything that could have happened. The things he witnesses on a daily basis are just— atrocities. If you were one of those people, he doesn’t think he could take it. If you had been unlucky enough to be one of those poor nameless, faceless fuckers that he’s not fast enough to save, one of those countless people who weigh on his soul, but more, worse, a million times worse, because none of them were you.

None of them are the reason he comes home at all, some days. None of them are the ones who take care of him when he’s hurt, and doesn’t think he needs help healing. None of them are his home, his heart, the person who consumes his every breath and still he wants to give them more.

None of them are you, and he couldn’t take it if it was. He couldn’t.

Matt’s hold on you is nearly tight enough to bruise, but you want it that way. You’d even ask him to hold you even tighter, if you didn’t know it would start to hurt your blossoming injuries.

“Matt,” comes out of your mouth, broken and harsh, jagged in your throat, catching on your tongue. “Matt—”

“I know,” he replies. You can feel it, goosebumps rising all over your arms. He does know, in his bones, coursing through his blood— he knows, what it feels like to hurt like this. It’s stabbing him in the chest, too, the pain of knowing you’re feeling what he tries so hard to protect you from. “I know. I know.”

When you can breathe again, Matt holding you and stroking your back while you press your face to his hard armor and cry until you’re exhausted and empty, you slump against him, letting him hold you up.

“Let me help,” Matt asks, voice low near your ear. Your hands shake, and he hurries to say, “No, I’m not leaving. Just—” He shifts, says, “Here,” and starts helping you to stand.

You let him guide you, assisting you in rising to your feet before he drops to scoop you up into his arms fully. You protest, about to argue that you’re not hurt so badly you can’t walk, but the look on Matt’s face stops you. It doesn’t matter if you can walk; right now, he wants to protect you, and take care of you— and you want to be protected, and cared for.

“You’re okay,” Matt repeats occasionally, when he hears your heart jump or your breath catch. “I got you. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t put you down until you’re in your bedroom with him. He lays you down in bed, then pauses a moment beside you, stroking your hair back from your face. His eyes settle somewhere near your throat as he listens— you don’t know to what.

After a beat, he straightens up and tells you, “I’ll be right back,” then adds before you can protest or even begin to feel the encroaching spike of panic, “I’m just getting the first aid kit. I’ll be one minute.”

He kisses the center of your palm, then vanishes from the room, moving impossibly quickly in his haste. You gather the covers around you, tugging them up, heedless of the fact that you’re still in the clothes you’d been wearing outside, shoes still on. You just want to be wrapped up, comforted, safe, protected.

When Matt returns, he’s shucked off most of his Daredevil armor, leaving him bare-chested and plain-faced, dark red armor covering only his legs now. He sets the first aid kit and a bowl on the side table before he returns his focus to you.

His hands find your hip, then skate up until he’s able to search out the edge of the covers. As he works, he doesn’t speak, though you can see from his expression that he appears to be seething with rage. You can feel it, working its way through his teeth into yours, metal-scrape-sharp, surging through you in jags.

“Here,” Matt murmurs, his tone with you easy even as his words come out hard. “Let me—”

He tugs the covers back, and his fingers drift down to your ankles. When he finds your boots on, still laced up, he nimbly unknots them, tugging them loose. One is removed, then the next; his bare hands, rough though they are, are soft and gentle as he removes one article of clothing from you at a time. He sets them aside in strips, a neat pile on the floor.

His hands seek out your wounds when he has you lying bare on top of the covers. He tilts his head, listening to the swell of your blood as it pools under your skin. He can taste in the air the places your blood rises and breaks the surface, beading with a heavy metal tang in the back of his throat.

You watch his face while he works, unable to look away. It’s so comforting, the familiar expressions that spread as he thinks. His eyes are so warm; you can see your own injuries and his hands reflected in them in the street lights from outside. You hadn’t even managed to turn a light on when you got here, and Matt hasn’t thought of it. Instead, you take comfort in the near-darkness, letting Matt envelop you in it.

He finds first the wound at the back of your head. A frown works its way onto his face, twisting down the corners of his pretty mouth in such a way that makes him seem both impossibly melancholy and incredibly enraged at the same time.

“Will you turn over for me?” Matt asks, his voice soft, low.

His hand finds your shoulder, and he helps you shift to turn onto your side, letting him see the back of your head. He brings the basin of warm water close; you can feel the heat and steam get nearer to your bare skin.

The corner of a warm, damp washcloth meets the very edge of the mark at the back of your head, and you flinch at the unexpected touch.

“I’m sorry,” Matt murmurs.

You close your eyes, saying, “It’s okay,” so low it’s little more than a whisper.

Matt’s fingers stroke through your hair before he takes hold of your shoulder. His other hand drifts up to start gently cleaning again, his touch even more delicate as he endeavors not to hurt you any further.

“No,” he tells you. “It’s not okay.”

Your eyes open again, and you stare at the darkness of the wall opposite, letting your vision swim in the shadows. The backs of them burn, your nose prickling; you take in a shaky breath, willing the tears not to fall.

They well up and start to spill anyways. Your hand drifts up to swipe at your face, but Matt can feel the pull of your muscles, can smell the salt in the air.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you whisper back. “I’m sorry, I’m just—” You don’t know what you mean to say. You don’t know what you’re feeling, really. “I’m sorry, I don’t know,” you repeat, your voice breaking.

“Don’t be sorry,” Matt says. He finishes cleaning the small injury at the back of your head, helps ease you into sitting up. His fingers drift up to graze your jaw before continuing up to cup your cheek. He hesitates, frowning, then lets his touch skim back down.

You can feel him exploring the swelling of the place just beneath your chin, below the strike of your jaw, where the mugger had grabbed you and forced you up against the wall.

Matt’s brow furrows and creases, his face crumpling as he tries to keep a hold of his emotions. You can feel your own composure splintering again, too, what you had managed to build back up so quickly falling to shreds.

“I should do— something,” Matt says, hands shaking. He traces down to the thin cut left behind by the blade, at the center of your throat, faint over your jugular. His breathing becomes something careful, measured. He keeps moving, hands skimming down over the scrapes cut into the backs of your arms and your calves, and further, the bruise where your arm was kicked, the bloody split skin of your knuckles where you’d landed the few punches you’d managed to throw at all.

He takes stock of you and your injuries before bringing the washcloth to your skin again. In tiny sweeps, he clears the blood away, removes any infinitesimal trace of dirt or germ or grit. Your arms come next, his face focused down.

As he works, barely keeping himself in check, he tells you again, “I should do something.”

“What would you do?” you ask him, voice shuddering a little. You’re not sure what to expect in response.

“I…” Matt starts, then stops. He has an answer ready, you can tell that much, but he’s considering whether or not it’s true— whether or not he wants to tell you about it. After a beat, he decides on honesty, violent though it is, confessing, “I’ll kill him.”

“Matt,” you breathe.

“He cut your throat,” Matt bites out, his jaw so tight you can see a muscle jumping in it as he’s trying to get a grip. “He could— He could have killed you. He w— One— If he had gone one inch deeper, right here,” he says, his fingertip against your pulse where it rabbits in your throat, “You would be d— You would— You would have died. I would have found you in that fucking alley—”

“Matt,” you repeat, voice breaking again.

“No,” he says quickly, then, “Fuck, no, I’m sorry, I fucking— I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t— Fuck,” he cuts out again. He draws his hands to his lap, tight around the washcloth as he wrings pink water out into the bowl again.

He reaches back out to take your hand in his. Gentle between his calloused fingers, he leads your hand down into the water, guiding it until your knuckles are submerged.

“I’m sorry,” Matt repeats to you. “That— I’m sorry.”

“I was so scared,” you admit to him tearfully. His thumb strokes along the back of your head, his head dropping in so he can press his forehead to yours, letting you breathe his air, letting you ground yourself in him. Your other hand flies up to grip his hair hard, threading at the back of his head, hanging on. A sob comes up and you confess, “Matt, I was so— I was so scared, I didn’t— I should have fought back and I know you’ve taught me better but I couldn’t think and I just let him do that and he could have killed me, you’re right, I don— You’re right, I just— I couldn’t—”

“Hey, shh.” Matt takes the dish of water away, setting it aside on the nightstand so it won’t spill. When he returns to you, he takes your wet hand in his, heedless of the water, guiding you up so he can press his lips to the center of your palm. Buried in your touch, he tells you, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should’ve—”

“No,” Matt cuts you off. “This is not your fault.”

You can hear the knife’s edge under his words, and you tell him, “It’s not yours, either,” voice vibrating just under the edge of noise.

Matt’s eyes prick with water, red starting to shoot through the feather-fine veins at the corners. You drag yourself in closer to him, and he wraps both arms around you, holding you tight in his strong grip.

You bury your face in Matt’s throat, and he kisses your temple in a hard press.

“Please don’t go,” you beg him, unable to stop yourself. “Please, d— Don’t.”

Matt reaches up to cup the back of your head in his hand, letting you be enveloped entirely by him, held close, embraced so fully you just fold into him.

“I won’t,” he promises you, and you believe him. He won’t— for now, anyway. He kisses the space beside your eye, your cheek, your jaw. You close your eyes and ignore the sting of pain when he does it; it feels better than it did before, better than when you were still alone. You’d rather have it this way, him here with you, holding you, keeping you safe, a protector who is as prepared to kill for you with his bare hands as he is ready to hold you close in those same hands and never let you go.

-

requests used:

"hello my dear heart I have thoughts and dark machinations that must be released into your inbox: im thinking thoughts of matt murdock and y/n being hurt physically by some random crime and just so down emotionally and matt coming to the house/apartment and having to try look after you and not leave you while wrestling with his need to find who hurt you. help me I need support I need matt cleaning wounds and hugging and his rage just under the surface" (@hellomrreaper)

peter, won’t you be the one i really need?

description. you gift peter a new camera for christmas, but what will be his gift to you?

pairing. tasm!peter parker x reader

genre. fluff, friends to lovers

warnings. slight insecurity

author’s notes. favorite spider-man <3 and im aware there wouldn’t be spider-man themed wrapping paper at the time of this fic but i dont care bc he deserves to have his face on presents. also they kinda make out lol

Peter curiously eyed the box in his hands. There was a noticeable weight to it as he held it. Peter stared at the horribly wrapped present, laughing to himself when he sees the Christmas Spider-Man themed paper. Images of you struggling to wrap a box floated through his mind. He could picture you groaning in your room after failing to replicate the tutorials you found on YouTube.

Your laugh joined his with an embarrassed explanation. “I, uh, I saw it at the store last week. I thought of you. I know it’s kinda stupid.”

“It’s perfect.” His head tilted to side and then up to you, a gaze filled with such intense curiosity that it plagued your thoughts. Peter’s intrigue came out in a whisper, giving the box a test shake near his ear. “What is it?”

Your chapped lips pursed, and your heart felt like it would explode out of your chest. He could hear that, couldn’t he? What if wasn’t the kind he wants? Maybe the lens was bad? Too long? Too short? Too heavy and impractical to carry around for long periods of time? “Uh, open it.”

The sound of ripping and crinkling filled Peter’s bedroom as he tore open your hard work. He tried to be careful, but even then his inhuman strength was just too much for the Spider-Mans (Spider-Men?) swinging through snowflakes. He opened the box, pulling out and examining the new item in his hands.

“I was gonna give it to during Christmas, uh, obviously,”—you nervously laughed—“but then Flash broke your camera, so I thought it’d be a better time to give it to you now and I finally scraped up enough money to buy it and I’m sorry if it’s not the kind you wanted and—“

“I love it. Thank you. But this is a little early. I haven’t gotten you anything yet.”

“Oh, no it’s fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Look, Parker, it’s a gift. I wanted you to have it. Don’t worry about it—what are you doing?”

Your eyes trailed towards your gift. Peter was looking through its lens with great focus.

“Testing out my gift.” The corners of his lips curled as he stared at the shot of you he just took.

“On me?” You scoffed. “That’s a waste. Delete that.”

Peter frowned. “Nothing is a waste with you.”

“Shut up.” You snorted.

“No, seriously.” Peter’s face suddenly became serious, and it reminded you of how he got after Uncle Ben had died. You never liked him like that. “You’ve never seen yourself the way I do.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not that great.”

“No.” His gaze was so intense, but you could never look away from him when he looked at you so earnestly. “You’re amazing.”

Your voice felt so small. “Is that… is that how you see me?”

He nodded.

When did he get so close to you?

You gulped at the close proximity. You always preferred your own space, but this closeness felt addictive—like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated and all you could do was grab onto the person closest to you for oxygen.

Peter was always gangly, but he seemed so small in front of your eyes. His typically caramel eyes that gleamed honey on his best days were almost black. “Can I?”

“Please.”

Peter Parker tasted like peppermint. Maybe candy cane? You weren’t sure who closed the gap first, being too dazed to really care anyway. His lips were so soft, and you figured you have Aunt May to thank for that. She had always reminded him to put on chapstick, especially when it got cold like now in December, so that his lips wouldn’t crack like they sometimes did. You knew how painful those could get. Maybe it’s just a habit now.

Your fingers gripped onto the nape of his neck, tugging his hair, and you could feel him shudder against you. Your grip tightened, and so did his on your hips. Peter stepped back until his legs hit his bed. He sat down, pulling you into his lap with ease. You melt into his embrace and his warm lips, and you wonder how a kiss could ever feel this good.

He pulled away, and your hands tried to bring him closer again. But you had forgotten how much stronger he was than you. His whisper against your lips was rushed, desperate even. “Can you do that again?”

You met him again eagerly, fingers tightening their grip. You were sure he could hear the heavy pounding of your heart, but you knew that he wouldn’t care because he seemed just as needy as you were if not more. His tongue prodded your mouth hesitantly before swiping over your lips. They parted, and you felt his clumsiness. He was a good kisser nonetheless.

“Was that my Christmas present?” you asked after you pulled away for air.

He let out a breathy laugh, the one that made your heart flutter all the time. “I can be your present.”

“I mean, I still have like, an entire roll of that wrapping paper left. You can wrap yourself and surprise me.”

“I don’t think that’d be much of a surprise.”

“It’s okay. I’m not too bad of an actor.”

“How about I just… kiss you again?”

“I’m okay with that.”

Peter Parker tasted like candy canes.