I Loved The Seven Evil Exes !! M Kinda Curious As To What Happens When All 7 Meet Face To Face- It Would

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.

it's the Catholic guilt, Foggy, there's no stopping it.

The Things We Never Talk About

Synopsis: A health scare reveals to Peter the things she never talks about, and worse, the things she keeps hidden for fear of speaking them into being.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns); established relationship, angst, worry, fluff; Basically, if you’d like to suffer and then recover in 9k words, read this.

Warnings/Spoilers: health related concerns (spoiler warning: reproductive health is included), troubled family history, horrible mothers, mental illness, tragedies, mentions of other elements related to these issues. This is quite emotionally demanding, but ends on a positive note. Also, please note that the medical info in this is intentionally manipulated for the story’s convenience. For example, you cannot diagnose certain illnesses with a blood test, but one is used here. There aren’t any bogus claims or anything like that, but medical accuracy is sweked.

Words: 9.3K

————————————-

A half hour has passed since she received the call from Dr. Connely, and the same half hour has been spent staring at the wall farthest away from her work desk. No one has called her out for it yet, but then again, the office is mostly empty today. Few people choose to come in when the weather resembles the end times, but she happens to like torrential rain. It’s especially nice when you work on the first floor, rather than the 14th, but somehow not even the thundering of rain drops can distract her mind.

She doesn’t know what this means, for now or for the future.

She does, however, wish she hadn’t gone for that check-up. Yes, she would’ve been postponing the inevitable and embroiling both her and her partner in something entirely nebulous, but she just wishes she had more time.

Peter.

What kind of world is this, where at once you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, and then a six minute phone call severs the branch from under your feet?

Maybe she should’ve suspected something, or at least been more cautious, given the state of things. Family history being what it is for her, the likelihood of this outcome was sadly not that low.

And now it proves devastating.

Going home weighs heavy on both heart and mind, and ten blocks away the pitter-patter on the umbrella has become too much, so she puts it away. Not even two blocks later, she’s soaked to the bone but successfully distracted, at least temporarily. She knows Peter’s arrival isn’t that far away, and in a moment of fear, she considers not going inside and just meandering about in the storm.

Weiterlesen

Are You Okay? | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to hear is one question and one person to make your shitty day not so shitty anymore.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, fear of failure, not proofread (I put Grammarly over that bitch, but that's it), no y/n

A/n: I wrote this in an hour because I'm stressed as fuck and my state of mind is so complicated right now, I didn't know how else to explain it. Also, why is statistics such a bitch to study? And what do I care about fucking behaviorism? I'm already done with Freud and Piaget and those get on my last nerve already, I don't need Bandura to add to my emotional despair, but oh well, here we are. This is completely self-indulgent and I channeled what's happening in my school life into this one, so if it doesn't fit with the American school system, I'm sorry, but I didn't want to research.

Word Count: 2.7k

You’ve been locked in your room for the majority of the past week, the study notes of the past semester strewn around you, and you swore at the beginning of the week that you would revise every last note at least once. In the end, you panicked more than you studied, but you managed to summarize about half of your notes, which should fill you with glee, but as you stare down at your stack of cards, you’re filled with dread and the purest form of self-hatred. What did you do the entire week that you only got so far? You left your room once, but it was a short walk around the block to air your head, with still many hours of the day left to spare. You swore you would get everything you needed to be done, and you swore to yourself that the next five weeks of exam season were going to be your bitch, but looking at the calendar now you realize, those five weeks still lay ahead of you and you are not even nearly done with everything you swore you would get done. 

Your head screams, “Failure!” And you’re starting to think that maybe your head is right. Maybe you are lazy and that is why your grades have been dropping or your teachers are disappointed or you just can’t seem to get the information into your thick skull even though someone once told you, “You can do it!” You figure that was a lie too. There is no way you can manage to ace all your upcoming tests and the final exams, and part of you is starting to fear you might not be able to graduate. There is too much in your head, too much stress, and too much performance anxiety, but as you look around yourself you don’t realize why you’re so stressed - in your head, it appears as if you spent the entire week playing video games and did the bare minimum, and not even that did you manage. You really don’t understand how you can be stressed and not even halfway done with all of your schoolwork. You’re stressed about being stressed, and you’re stressed about studying so you try to study, but your head blacks out and the day suddenly doesn’t have enough hours for you to think about yourself and the work you have to do, so you just sit back and stare at an empty page in the hopes the words will come out and you can just memorize all of the fucking information on your study notes. You don’t want to be the best, you’ve given up on that, but you want to pass, you need to pass because damn, you want to get out, you want to move on and get out and get on with life, but the load keeps getting bigger and your grades keep swindling. How can the load get bigger when you haven’t left your room in a week, and how did you not manage to finish revising all of your notes even though you definitely had the time and the means? You don’t understand and at this point, you have resorted to watching trash tv to keep your mind from reeling, but even that seems not enough anymore. You can’t eat without upsetting your stomach and the thought of going back to class the next day, having to study more and revise more, and the end moves closer and closer, but never close enough, and the entire pile of documents, anxiety, and stress starts to bury you alive. You can’t remember a second you allowed yourself to properly breathe, to stop your thoughts from racing and focusing on something else. You can’t remember a time you allowed yourself a step away from studying or procrastinating and freeing your head so you can get back to work with newfound energy. All of that seems so… impossible now. You want to pass, but your head keeps telling you that you won’t. You won’t pass. You will fail and everyone will hate you because you will be the only one. You’re scared, you’re terrified even and you can’t do this anymore. You want out of your body, out of your mind, and out of this life just for a second, just until the worst is over and everything has resolved itself. 

You know that’s not possible. 

Your friends are emotionally unavailable, busy with themselves, mostly, and your family is as annoying as ever. No one’s asked about you, most of them have dodged your messages or answered with a clear, “Sorry, we can’t.” It feels as if no one can help you out of this hole you’ve dug for yourself, so you decide to sit in it and wait for the dirt to swallow you. 

Your skin tingles, you’re tired and there is this overwhelming urge to cry. You miss being touched, you miss being taken care of, but there is no time and you just can’t ask. The one person you can ask is across campus and has no idea what’s going on because you told him you’d need the week to study, so he told you he’d leave you alone until then. It’s Sunday now. He hasn’t called or texted and you’re starting to wonder if he’s sick of you as you are of yourself. 

Before the thoughts can turn any darker, and they have gotten significantly darker, there is a knock on your door. You probably smell disgusting, your room is a mess and you should have opened a window, but it’s significantly colder outside today, there is snow and you just hate the way everything but your blanket and the new episodes of America’s Next Top Model make you feel. You’ve driven yourself so far into loneliness, you’re starting to believe that this is actually just who you’re supposed to be. 

You get off the makeshift seating area among your study notes off the floor and walk to the door. You don’t bother checking who’s outside. If it is a murderer, at least you can miss your exams and not feel guilty, and the general heavy pain that drags your soul down to your feet and keeps it there would finally go away. 

Seeing Matt Murdock’s face at your door doesn’t surprise you, you simply step aside and let him in. doesn’t say anything, simply taps his can forward until he can find his way into your room. His nostrils flare, but either he doesn’t smell the bucket of untouched fries and garlic sauce on the counter and how you haven’t showered in four days or he’s being respectful about it. You kind of wish he would just flat-out tell you that you smell and probably look like shit, not that he could judge, but he could probably sense with the way everything feels like a mess around him, that would make your guilt and pain so much worse but at least you could feel something else for a change. You’d be hurt, but it would be a different kind of hurt, one that could distract you from the demons gnawing at your heart. 

“You want a drink?” you ask, your voice hoarse from both the lack and the overuse of sleep as a coping mechanism. 

He stands lost in the room, or maybe he’s waiting, you’re not sure. You get a beer for him from the fridge, but instead of drinking it, he takes it and places it back down on the counter. 

You stare at him, a little confused, and maybe your pride is also a little hurt that he would turn down your nice gesture. 

“Are you okay?”

The question confuses you, at first, and you’re not quite sure how to process it. Those three words sound so foreign, the week you’ve been through suddenly feeling like years without him, and as he’s standing before you now, his question awakening something in you, unscrewing the lid and popping the cork, you realize just how much you have missed him. How you have missed this. How you have missed being acknowledged and asked about, even if it was just a simple, “Are you okay?” 

It finally settles in and the question makes you feel a lot of things at once, but none of them are simple, and none of them you can explain, but you know how they make you feel and they definitely answer his question with something he can feel in the way you tense up. 

You bite your lip. “No,” you admit silently, although it feels wrong to say it because why are you not okay? You should be. You have to be.

But Matt isn’t like that. 

“Do you need a hug?” he asks. 

Fuck him, you think. He’s read you better than you could have read yourself. 

You nod again. “Yes.”

“Okay, c’mere.”

As it turns out, a hug is exactly what you needed and half of the uneasiness you have been feeling must have been a serious case of touch starvation.

He opens his arms and allows you to take the first step, and you do. You step forward to lazily drape your arms around him, but he soon wraps you up tightly in his and squeezes you in the way he knows you need. The physical decompression, his fresh smell, the sound of his heartbeat, and his hands roaming your back open the flood gates, and seconds after you are crying heavily into his chest. You unload all of the stress and all of the anxiety, clinging to him for dear life, but he doesn’t mind. He lets you cry, sob and whimper until you’re too weak to stand and even then he only carries you over to your couch and sits down with you in his lap, still holding you like you are a fragile little thing (which you are, now that you think of it) and he refuses to even think about letting you go. 

He kisses your head. You’re still shaking, but there are no more tears to cry. “Why didn’t you call?” he asks you. 

His voice sounds so soft and it makes you whimper again, wiping your eyes on his already wet shirt. “Why didn’t you call?” you bite back. 

“Because you said you wanted to study. I didn’t want to interrupt you, sweetheart. I know how caught up you get and I wanted to give you space. If I had known-”

You can’t help it. You are safe from the world in his arms so you allow yourself to voice the one thought that has been keeping you on edge, “I’m going to fail, Matty.”

He holds your face away from his, feeling your contorted features and the stress wrinkles on your forehead. “What?” 

You only then realize he took off his glasses and you can see his brown eyes perfectly like that. That only makes you shake harder because he cares so damn much and you never have needed him more than you do now.

“I’m going to fail,” you say again, “because I’m useless and dumb and I can’t get anything right. I can’t even get anything done. I’m such a failure and I am going to fail every goddamn test and I am going to fail my finals and I’m-”

Matt shushes you again by taking you in his arms, and a new wave of tears rattles you. “You are not going to fail,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “You’re not a failure, you’re not dumb and you are not useless. You made it this far. You passed all of your previous classes. You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he says, “so you are not going to fail now.”

“But what if I am?”

“Everything can happen, but you are not going to fail. I know you and that is not what you do.”

“I barely got anything done this week. I swore I’d study, but-”

“How much do you have left?”

You sniffle and look behind you. God, your floor is a mess. “A lot,” you admit. 

“Too much for one day?”

“Probably,” you break off with another sob. He keeps your head upright though. Instead of shushing you, he gets up, kneels on the floor, and touches your study notes. He can’t read them, they’re not in Braille, but he can smell the different highlighters you have used and he can separate the topics accordingly. “It’s the stack on the right, isn’t it?” 

You rub your eyes. “Yes.”

“And that’s what?”

“Statistics, behaviorism and, um… I don’t know, cognitive development, maybe. I can’t remember. God!” Thinking about it makes you nauseous. “I can’t even remember, Matt. I am so going to fail!”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips to shush you softly. His hand motions for you to join him on the floor. With some struggle, he finds the stack you’ve been talking about. He hands it to you. 

“You’re going to take these and spread them out,” he tells you, “While I take care of those you’ve already summarized, alright?”

You stammer, “What?”

“We’re gonna start with statistics. You are going to go through your notes at your speed while you tell me about them, and I’m gonna rub your back while you do. If you need a break,” he says, “We’re gonna take a break. If you wanna stop, we stop. And if you want me to stay until you’re done with both topics, I’ll stay for the boring behaviorism stuff, too.”

Somehow his readiness to help you without even knowing what he, ever the law student, is helping you with makes you cry even harder. He understands you in a way nobody can, and he never pressures you, not even when it comes to your classes. He knows you torture yourself enough and Matt being Matt, he can’t have you being sad. 

He stays true to his promise. He sits behind you, rubbing your back as you go over your notes, summarize them and tell him about them. Statistics are the bane of your existence, but psychology relies on them, so you’re forced to relive the worst module of your life. But with him by your side, telling you every so often, “You are doing such a good job,” and, “I know you can do it, baby,” it’s a lot easier. 

At around eight, your stomach growls, but you are long done with the statistics part and have decided, with some of Matt’s encouraging words, that there is still time tomorrow to get done with behaviorism and then when you’re done with both, he told you, he’d help you memorize. He hasn’t decided how yet, but he is determined and as the sun goes down and you lay in his arms, freshly showered and shaven on your bed, you can’t help but stare at his beautiful face. You would have lost your mind without him, you don’t doubt that, and he somehow always knows when to come and what to do. He knows when you feel down and when you need space. He knows you better than you know yourself and that is something no one but Matt Murdock has ever accomplished. 

Without him, you are pretty sure you would maybe not have failed your classes but you would have failed at life. Your mind would have failed you and you would have drowned. But with him, you’re a little more alive. 

“I love you,” you tell him sometime after he forced you to eat proper dinner, and he gently smiles against your hair. 

“I love you,” he says. “And you are going to do great, I just know it.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

“Well, one of us has to. Besides,” he flips you over so that he can hover over you, his brown hair falling from his face into yours and you giggle at his antics, “I am a good catholic boy. If I didn’t have faith in the divine, where would I be?”

His words leave you gasping, but nothing can match up to the force and passion he kisses you with. Psychology and messy room long forgotten, you melt into his touch and let his hands and lips speak a language only the two of you understand, and they always manage to pull you out of any hole with a symphony that has become your favorite music.

“Well, one of us has to. Besides,” he flips you over so that he can hover over you, his brown hair falling from his face into yours and you giggle at his antics, “I am a good catholic boy. If I didn’t have faith in the divine, where would I be?”

His words leave you gasping, but nothing can match up to the force and passion he kisses you with. Psychology and messy room long forgotten, you melt into his touch and let his hands and lips speak a language only the two of you understand, and they always manage to pull you out of any hole with a symphony that has become your favorite music.

the tension??! I actually have to catch my breath right now-

Yours with a Kiss

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word count: 5,800

Summary: Things with Matt are still pretty new, but that doesn't stop the rush you feel everytime he's near, and he absolutely takes advantage.

Trigger warning: just more Matt Murdock fluff, guys.

Written for this request

Masterlist

This thing with him is still…new.

Like, extremely new. 

Barely-acknowledged-feelings-but-maybe-this-could-be-something new.

There have been a few instances of hand holding, a few soft kisses pressed to your mouth, a few strokes of calloused fingers down your cheek. Matt knows you’re a little nervous, a little shy. Given the fact that there’s a tiny bit of an age gap and that he’s technically your boss, Matt is almost as hesitant as you are to push things full steam ahead, even though feelings have been admitted and found reciprocal.

But you notice the way he almost seems to track your movement when you’re near. You notice the way his head tilts in your direction even if you’re not the one who is speaking. You notice the way his body is usually angled towards yours if you’re in the room, as if he’s putting himself completely on display for you to do with what you wish.

Matt Murdock is the most intense man you’ve ever met, despite his easy and charming smile, and the way he always seems so in tune with you is intimidating, nerve-wracking, and thrilling.

He is exceedingly careful with you, as if you’re the most precious thing to him, as if he’s nervous he’ll scare you off. You appreciate the tenderness in which he treats you, a nice change from the other men you’ve dated who always ask for more than you’re willing to give, and quicker than you’re willing to give it. Matt makes you feel like he’s got all the time in the world to get to know you, like he’s got all the time in the world to ease into this thing with you, and the slow burn is more intimate than anything else you’ve ever felt before. 

He is willing to take his time, to make sure things are done right, and it means more than you’ll ever know how to articulate. This man has managed work his way under your skin, sliding in so effortlessly as if he’s always been there.

It's only been a few months since Nelson, Murdock & Page brought you on as a junior investigator, and you report mostly up to Karen. She is ruthless in her search for the truth, and she runs you all over Hell's Kitchen, eager to bring you into the journey of whatever story she's chasing next.

It's Karen that has you at the office early Monday morning, a hundred things ready for you to do to start off the week. A job like yours doesn't typically rest during the weekend, new parts of the story popping up at anytime, regardless of day or time, but she does her best to give you some sort of a work-life balance.

The door is unlocked when you arrive, so you step inside, closing it quietly behind you, unwilling to disturb the silence. You walk over to your desk and set your things down, about to turn around and walk towards the small break room when your phone beeps, signifying that you’ve received an email.

You take your phone out of your purse, reading through the email that Karen has just forwarded your way. She’s asked you to meet her at The Bulletin in an hour or so, hoping that the two of you can hunt down a few things with Ellison’s help. You had been expecting a full day at the office, but it’s not a big deal, and this case Karen has been following might just be a large one, depending on what you dig up. 

“Good morning.”

The voice startles you, despite knowing the fact that someone was bound to be in the office with you seeing as how the door was unlocked. You glance up from where you had been typing out a response to Karen’s email, unsurprised to see that it's Matt standing there, two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Hey,” you respond with a shy smile, setting your phone down on the desk once you hit send. He’s got his typical work suit on, though he’s not wearing the suit jacket, and the sleeves are already pushed up to his elbows. The man looks so effortlessly attractive, it’s ridiculous. 

“Coffee?” He takes a few steps forward, extending his arm out for you, your fingers brushing lightly against his. “I heard someone come in, so I figured I’d pour another cup.”

“Thank you,” you say before you take a small sip, the liquid burning your tongue slightly as you swallow. The coffee is sweeter than you had been expecting it, and you tilt your head curiously. You’re the only one in the office who doesn’t take it black. “How did you know to put cream in it? How did you know it was me who came in?”

Matt takes a sip of his own coffee, smiling as he lowers the mug back down. “Wishful thinking,” he says, and your heart briefly stutters. His smile widens, as if he knows the effect he has on you, and the look on his face doesn’t make things easier on you this morning. “That, and I heard your phone go off. You’re the only one I know who actually has a message tone rather than leaving it on vibrate. Myself excluded, of course.”

You let out a quiet laugh, leaning against your desk. You glance at the fading bruise on his jawline curiously as your eyes flitt over his face. “Old habit, I guess. I tend to get super wrapped up in things and get lost inside my head. The vibration doesn’t always get through to me, so the sound helps.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he says, stepping closer still, so that he’s only within a few feet now. He drums his fingers lightly on his mug, and your eyes drift down to the hand that had so easily held yours last week when he walked you home from work. “I can’t count how many times I’ve had to call your name more than three times to get you to look up.”

Your cheeks flush briefly at the teasing. “Well, consider yourself lucky that your employee is so invested in their work that they are almost immune to distractions.”

“Almost immune?” He asks with a smirk. “What sorts of things manage to get through the fog?”

Your ass. 

“That’s none of your business, Mr. Murdock,” you tell him, raising your chin in an act of fake defiance, thought you're completely unwilling to share that specific detail with him. The look is lost on him, you know, but it doesn't stop your body from following through with the motion. “It’s classified.”

His smile is absolutely wicked, and it sends a brief flash of hunger down through your skin, but you push it brutally away. “I’m sure I’ll get it out of you at some point.”

"You're welcome to try."

"I think you'll find I'm rather gifted at pulling all sorts of information out of people," he says matter of factly, expression still teasing, though it has some sort of sharp and self-deprecating edge to it. It's almost feels as if he's laughing at some sort of joke only he's privy to at the moment. "Consider yourself warned."

You’re not quite sure how to reply, mouth opening and closing awkwardly with nothing witty or charming to say, so when your phone beeps with a text message, you clear your throat and readily welcome the distraction.

It seems to knock Matt back into more of a professional mode, because his flirtatious smile mellows back into something softer. “Karen blowing up your phone again?”

You let out a sigh, one that is honestly more amused than anything. Karen was certainly up and at 'em this morning, which is absolutely unsurprising. Her sheer tenacity often demands a lot from you mentally, but you can't think of any other woman you'd rather be working for in this business. “Yeah,” you answer, typing out another quick reply. “I had five emails from her by 5am this morning. Does she ever sleep, do you know?”

Matt snorts into his coffee. “I think our entire office gets a total amount of ten hours of sleep a night collectively.”

The firm works long hours, full of early mornings that gradually fade into late evenings, and while your own work leads you on a chase over the island of Manhattan, you've never felt more at home than in this specific office suite in Hell's Kitchen. 

You tilt your head in thought. “Foggy strikes me as the type of person who has a semi-normal sleep schedule.”

Matt shakes his head, the expression on his face amused and unsympathetic for his friend. “Not with an infant at home.”

You throw your head back in an abrupt laugh, quickly retracting your statement and readily agreeing with him. “True enough. I think she’s teething, too. Can’t imagine that’s fun at the moment.”

“Hence the upgrade in the coffee machine.”

“Do I want to know what kind of machine you were using before you switched over?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him. Your eyes flicker over to the doorway to the break room before landing back on the mug that’s in your hands. You take another large sip and place it down on your desk.

“Probably not.”

“Well then my caffeine addiction salutes you,” you say, absentmindedly picking up the folder of documents Karen had requested you bring to your meeting with Ellison. You'd left it on your desk Friday afternoon. “I’m going to need all the coffee available the next few days.”

“Busy week ahead?” He asks casually, leaning into the wall behind him, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding on to his coffee cup. You force yourself to look away from the way his obviously well-toned body stretches in front of you, the long line of his form both sleek and somehow dangerous, which you find to be a devastating combination. Matt’s eyebrows raise slightly, as if he knows somehow where your thoughts have gone, so you snap your eyes towards the folder in your hand.

"Yeah, Karen has something she’s hunted down and needs my help on. She mentioned needing to get a few quotes from an outside source later this week, in addition to meeting up with Jessica for the information she’s gathered," you say, picking up another file and briefly glancing through a few papers. The images in the file, paired with the notes written in Karen’s flawless handwriting, are curious to you, and you tilt a specific page to the side to get a better look.

“I don’t envy you having to work with Jessica for the next few days,” Matt tells you with a laugh, and despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear the way his voice has changed lightly into something that sounds oddly fond of the woman who has been mentioned. The tone is interesting to you, having witnessed more than one of their spats.

“Nah,” you say with a shrug, still mildly distracted by the file in your hands. “As long as you promise a steady supply of liquor, she isn’t too bad. She managed to pull a few things up for us, which might cut down our work by a decent amount, and Karen said she–FUCK!” 

A thin slice of red trickles down your finger, accompanied by a sharp and sudden sting. 

Matt looks immediately alarmed, body pushing off of the wall he had been leaning against and stepping the rest of the way towards you. "What happened?"

"Paper cut," you hiss out, throwing the files onto your desk as you examine your pointer finger, careful not to get blood on them. "Nothing major, but these fuckers always hurt like hell, don't they?"

He seems to relax, though his face still shows more concern than warranted for the situation. He puts his coffee cup on your desk, hand immediately reaching out for yours. "Cold water should help, it might reduce the sting."

"I think it's fine," you reply in disagreement, reaching for a tissue to wipe off the blood. It's stopped sooner than it started, but it still leaves a dull ache behind. 

Damn it. That fucker will be a nuisance all day.

He's not deterred, and the reaction to your tiny amount of pain is almost amusing in how sweet it is. His palm remains outstretched and facing upwards, waiting on you to place your hand in his, and you easily give in as you take in the expectant look on his face. He's not backing down on this one, you're aware. 

He grabs your hand by the wrist and pulls you gently behind him into the small break room that really only houses an old fridge, a sink, and the coffee station. He’s not using his cane, which is unsurprising, given the way he has the office’s floorplan mapped out expertly by now, so you allow him to lead for once.

You humor him as he turns on the faucet and checks the temperature before he slides your hand under the water. “This isn’t necessary,” you say with a laugh. “It’s just a tiny cut.”

"Nothing wrong with rinsing it with soap and water," he says, sending you a quick grin, dimple flashing in his cheek. You're an absolute sucker for that smile. "Can never be too careful."

You can't tell if his being serious, or if he's just messing with you. You glance down at the finger that's currently under the water with amusement, internally laughing when you notice he's already put soap on the finger. "I could have cleaned it myself."

There's an entirely too innocent shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

“Maybe you don’t need an excuse to hold my hand,” you counter, and though you say it in amusement, you can’t help the way your own words cause your face to flush. 

The look on his face looks oddly satisfied. “Is that so?”

“It’s definitely so.”

“Good to know,” is all he says as he shuts off the water. He hands you a paper towel to dry off your finger and you watch as he opens the cabinet to his left, reaching in and grabbing the box of bandaids. He runs a light finger over it, no doubt confirming he’s pulled out the right box by reading the label that’s been printed in braille for him, before he opens it and takes out a bandaid.

“This is some A+ doctor treatment you’re giving me for such a tiny cut,” you say, taking the bandaid from him and unwrapping it. He takes the trash from you and puts it in the bin by the door. “Do all of your other coworkers get the same treatment?”

“Foggy and Karen can take care of themselves,” he tells you, walking the few feet back over to you. 

You let out a mock gasp, eyes widening in fake indignation. “Are you implying I can’t take care of myself?”

He laughs, shaking his head, red glasses glinting in the bright lights overhead. “I’m implying that maybe I like the idea of being the one to take care of you.”

The phrase, so innocently and matter-of-factly said, causes you to falter briefly as you finish wrapping the bandage around your finger. “Well,” you begin slowly, eyeing the way he is standing closer than he had been just a minute prior, “part of me wants to object again and tell you I am more than capable of taking care of myself. But the other part of me is okay with you having that…specific feeling towards me.”

A shit-eating grin settles across his face at the comment. “So you’re telling me that you’re okay with me holding your hand whenever I want to, and you’re okay with me wanting to make sure you’re safe and happy?"

You roll your eyes fondly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, running his hand down your arm. His fingers leave goosebumps in their wake. “I’m bound to get some ideas with you telling me these things.”

“Well if those ideas have anything to do with taking me to dinner sometime, then I’d say go for it.”

Matt’s mouth parts in another laugh, throwing his head lightly back, and you find yourself grinning widely along with him. “That can certainly be arranged. Any specific requests?”

“Requests? In terms of…?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

You hmmm quietly, tapping your finger against your chin as if in deep thought. You take a step back from him, running your eyes along the length of his body. “You have to greet me with a kiss.”

He smirks, leaning against the counter. “I was already planning on it.”

You find yourself blushing, but continue. “And I want you to take me somewhere you enjoy. Not somewhere that you think might impress me, or somewhere you think I’m expecting for a first date. Somewhere that means something to you that you want to share with me.”

He reaches out and grabs one of your hands in his, running a thumb over the inside of your wrist that has no business being as intimate as it is. “I can do that. Anything else?”

The words are out before you can take them back, the idea landing in your head in one second, leaving your mouth the next. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking.”

This request causes his eyebrows to rise on his forehead, and the thumb he has on your skin pauses. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to recover from the way you had just blurted out the sentence, “that I want to know what’s going on inside your head.”

He looks vaguely amused, and his ministrations on your wrist continues. “You may not like what’s in there.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tell him simply with a shrug, deciding it's too late to go back now. “Doesn’t have to be anything deep, just…share how you’re feeling, I guess? I can always tell there’s more you want to say than what you actually say, so maybe…let some of that filter go.”

“And is this only for dinner?” He questions, head tilting to the side as if in contemplation. “Or starting now?”

Despite the fact that it had been your request to know what was going on in his head, you suddenly feel shy, and you find yourself fidgeting with the bracelet on your wrist, shifting your weight from side to side. “Now, maybe? What are you thinking about right now?” 

There’s a short bout of silence, as he tilts his head at you, and you take in the way his breathing has stuttered slightly, a small flush on his own cheeks. 

“I’m thinking about how I like having you this close to me,” he eventually answers, and you note the way his tone has softened slightly, no longer as flirtatious but every bit as happy. 

Your breath catches briefly, but you recover with a quick shake of your head. 

“You…could come closer,” you tell him after a moment. You take another deep breath to steady yourself, observing the way the temperature in the room seems to have increased by a few degrees. Everything suddenly feels so hot. “If you want.”

His wide smile returns, and it almost sends a shock to the system. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a nod, angling your body so that it’s a little more aligned with his. “If that’s what you want.”

Matt doesn’t say anything, but instead takes it as an opportunity to push you lightly towards the wall, encouraging you to take small steps back until your back is pressed against it. He’s close, but not in a way that feels suffocating. The heat radiating off of him burns, and yet you can’t help but feel like you want to burn right there along with him.

“I’ve thought about you like this,” he admits with a sigh, one arm rising and bending so that he’s leaning over you, elbow and forearm resting against the wall above your head. “I’ve thought about this a lot, actually.”

“About me at your mercy?” You tease, watching in fascination as the beautiful flush rises in his cheeks. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the teasing words, or if he feels just as affected as you at the close proximity of your bodies. You hope it's both, longing to know it's not just you that has trouble thinking when he's near.

“No,” he says, before he laughs abruptly. “Well, yes, I have thought about that. But that’s not what I meant. I’ve thought about you pressed against me like this. I’ve thought about you maybe letting me kiss you like this.”

You swallow, hand suddenly reaching out to grasp his tie as if to settle yourself, ignoring the way your finger lets out a quiet, dull throb as it comes into contact with the fabric through the bandaid. “And how–how would you–”

“How would I kiss you?”

You're rooted to the spot, mouth suddenly too dry to really say anything, so you just nod shakily. You watch with rapt attention as he removes his red glasses, wide eyes trailing over the face that is now fully exposed to you. You’ve seen him without his glasses a few times now, but never this close, and the sight is one you know you’ll never get tired of seeing. 

This was not how you had imagined your Monday morning going, but you’ll be damned if you don't take advantage of it.

“Hmm,” he voices underneath his breath, appearing thoughtful, transferring his glasses to the hand that’s resting on the wall above you. “I think…I think I’d start with this.” His fingers reach up and trail lightly over your cheekbone before he hooks a piece of hair over your ear. You shiver, and the slight movement causes his lips to twitch into a small smile. 

“I think I’d want to touch every inch of skin that you’d let me,” he whispers, the sound floating down to your ears in a caress as soft as fingers. “And I’d start with this beautiful face of yours.”

“How can you possibly know I’m–”

“I don't need to see you to know that, sweetheart,” Matt interrupts you gently, and the term of endearment settles warmly across your skin. “Where was I?” The question is asked rhetorically, so you don’t say anything, simply waiting with bated breath as the pads of his fingers continue to stroke over your cheek. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and you can’t help but sigh at the touch.

His hand moves softly down from your face until it’s cupping your jaw, tilting your head up towards his, the angle perfect for him to lean down and press his lips to yours, but he keeps his mouth hovering over yours for a second. You try to nudge forward, wanting his lips on yours more than anything, but he pulls back enough so that you’d have to rise on to your tip toes to put your mouth on his. He chuckles quietly.

“I think I get the point, Matt,” you say breathlessly, and if it were anyone else, you might be ashamed of how quickly you’ve lost control of yourself.

Another quiet laugh escapes him. “Greedy, are we?” He leans down again and rubs his nose over the tip of yours, and you can’t help the way your other hand reaches up and slides into his hair at the back of his neck. 

“So are you.”

He takes a step forward so that now he’s completely pressed against you, no space left between your bodies. He is firm where you are soft, and the difference is intoxicating. “Yes, I am.”

And with that, his mouth is finally on yours. 

The pressure is light, almost light enough that you’d think he wasn’t actually kissing you if it weren’t for the heat that he was pressing on your lips. He doesn’t move for a steady moment, simply allowing you both to enjoy the way it feels to be so close and leaning into each other. The hand resting on your jaw slides down so that it’s gently cradling your throat. If it were anyone else, you’d probably jerk away, nervous to have someone holding such a delicate part of you in their grasp.

But Matt isn’t anyone else, he is the man you’re pretty sure you’re in love with, and you trust him with every square inch of your body he wishes to touch. 

The pressure on your lips increases, and you feel his mouth move against yours, gently coaxing it open. You follow his lead, allowing him to pull a lip slowly between his teeth, biting down lightly. Gasping, your grip on his tie tightens, and he takes advantage of the way your mouth has opened to let the sound out. He slides his tongue against yours for a brief moment, giving you a slight taste of the pure havoc he could wreak upon other parts of your body should you let him, before he pulls away.

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing just as heavily as you, much to your satisfaction. He sounds just as wrecked as you are at the moment. 

“Is this still okay?” he asks quietly after a moment, the hand that had been cradling your throat coming back up to cup your cheek, the fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You nod, unable to form words with him so close to you, and his mouth remains just a few inches away from yours. Your heart is pounding in your throat, and you haven’t quite managed yet to catch your breath.

With a small smile, one that seems far too knowing, he leans back in, no doubt feeling the way your skin is burning beneath his touch.

The door to the office suddenly opens, but when your head pulls away and instinctively turns to look and greet whoever is walking through the door, Matt’s finger and thumb on your chin quickly draws you back so that you’re still facing him. 

“It’s probably just Foggy,” he whispers, face still close enough to yours to feel his breath lightly caress your skin. Sure enough, there’s a loud exaggerated sigh before loud footsteps head down the small hallway, the door to Foggy’s office down the hall closing quietly without a word.

“How did you–”

His thumb moves from your cheek to brush lightly over your bottom lip, and you feel your cheeks flush again. “He called and said he would be here around 8am to work on the Erickson case. We have a conference call in a few minutes.”

“Ah,” you say, eyes flitting across his handsome face, admiring the way the morning sunlight makes his brown eyes look almost green. “That makes sense.”  

There’s a look on Matt’s face that somehow manages to be a mixture of amused and heated. His fingers trail down your neck an down to your chest, running over your collar bone, before they journey back upwards, grasping your jaw again. You watch him the whole time, your body thrumming with an energy you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

“How’s that for telling you what I’m thinking?” He asks, leaning forward again to brush his lips down your cheek. “Is this what you wanted?”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you to turn it into a moment where you kiss me breathless in the office, but I’m not going to complain.”

“And if I want to do it again?” He tilts your head to the side and does the same to your other cheek. “Would you let me?”

You gulp, hand tightening around the tie that’s still in your grasp. “I think I’d let you do whatever you wanted at this point.”

His expression darkens, but certainly not in a way that suggests anger. Instead, Matt almost looks like he’s two seconds away from hiking up your skirt, lifting you off your feet, and pinning you to the wall while he has his way with you.

Which…you'd totally be okay with.

“What a good girl,” he whispers, and the phrase sends another shock of blistering heat straight down your body. 

The words, paired with the look on his face, are unlike anything you’ve experienced with him before, and it seems to open up a whole new part of Matthew Murdock that you’re suddenly very eager and willing to explore.

You’ve been introduced to sweet Matthew. Wickedly smart Matthew. Gentle Matthew. But dark and hungry Matthew is a whole new ball game. You’ve loved taking your time with him, loved the way he seems to handle you with such affection and care and soft consideration, but you know that when you both finally reach the point of no return, you’ll be completely blown away and taken apart by the man in front of you.

His lips are on yours again, still a gentle press despite the sharp look of longing on his face, and you know you’ll never tire of the way they feel when they’re pressed against you.

“Matt,” Foggy’s voice rings out through the office, almost effectively ruining the moment, which is probably a good thing with the way you currently want to tear off Matt’s clothes just to feel his skin pressed to yours. You turn your head and see that the other man has walked into the break room's  line of sight, standing there with his hands on his hips as he takes in Matt pressing you into the wall. He flashes you a brief smile before rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Take your lips off of your girl and bring your shit into my office. We should run through a few things before we hop on that call.”

The comment causes your cheeks to flood, and you find yourself liking the sound of them, more and more with each passing millisecond.

Matt’s girl.

You don't really care about the rest of his sentence, to be honest, too hung up on those two specific words.

“Be right there, Fog.”

Foggy groans, and you can’t help but giggle despite the fact that he’s interrupted a very nice moment with Matt. “I was super nice and didn’t say anything when I walked in. Time to repay that kindness and do you fucking job.”

Matt laughs, still unaware of the words that are echoing in your head. Surely he must be able to feel the way your heart is pounding with him still so close to you. “One minute. I’ll be there in one minute.”

You see Foggy throw up his hands in exasperation before he turns and walks back into his office. Once the door is shut, your head turns and your eyes drift back up to Matt. The hunger has left his face, and has been replaced by the look of adoration he so often has when he’s focused on you. Sweet and gentle Matt is back, and you can’t help but smile.

“I’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he says, putting his glasses back on and taking a small step back, arm no longer resting against the wall. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be done in an hour or so. Will you still be here?”

You shake your head with a light, regretful sigh. “No, Karen needs me down at The Bulletin to look through some things with Ellison this morning. But we’re all doing happy hour later, right?”

He nods with a smile of his own, the laugh lines you love so much becoming clearer on his face. “I’ll see you later, then.” He squeezes your hand gently, turning to walk down towards his partner’s office.

You’re not quite sure what drives you to reach back out to him, but you do it anyway, using his tie to yank him into you. All you know is that you’re not quite ready for him to leave you, needing just a few more moments of his full attention and lips on yours. Matt turns with a light gasp, mouth parted in shock.

“What–”

Before he can finish his question, you pull his head down towards yours, standing up on your tip toes to meet him halfway. His shock only lasts for a second before he’s returning the kiss with another flare of sharp heat, his arms wrapping themselves around you seemingly without thought. Whereas the previous kisses had been slow and sweet and soothing, this one is full of fire.

You break away almost as quickly as you had pulled him in, shifting your weight back down fully onto your feet, hand still wrapped around his tie. He lets out a startled laugh.

“What was that?”

“Your girl," is all you say. It’s not a question, because you’re not asking if you are, in fact, his girl; you’re telling him you are.

Matt doesn’t need an explanation for what you’re referring to, his mouth splitting into a wide smile that’s so blinding it almost hurts. He doesn’t hesitate when he opens his mouth in reply.

“My girl,” he confirms, and your heart can’t help but skip a beat. “I think I could be okay with that.”

You let out a gasp of mock indignation. “You think?” 

“I’m still a bit undecided,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders that tries to appear nonchalant but fails. “It really just depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you kiss me like that again,” Matt tells you with a smirk that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

With a fond roll of your eyes, you pull him back into you again, hand still wrapped around his tie, the other on the back of his head. His lips are almost on yours when Foggy’s frustrated growl reverberates through the office.

“Matt! I’m about to fire you if you don’t get your ass in here right. this. second!”

"We are equal partners in this Foggy," Matt responds, voice carrying easily, his attention still never wavering from your. "You can't fire me."

"I slept for all of thirty minutes last night," the other man snaps, and you can't help but giggle at the tired frustration in his voice. "You do not want to mess with me right now."

The man still leaning against you hesitates for a brief moment before he continues his descent towards you anyway, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that could very easily lead to more if either one of you had the time, before laughing and pulling away. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off.

"MATT!"

With one last grin and peck on your lips, Matt turns around and walks away. “Coming!”

You're left staring after him, hand reaching up to brush the ghost of his kiss that he left behind. With an utterly lovesick sigh that you can't hold back, you walk back towards your desk, sweeping up your purse and files into your arms, ready to make your way towards where you're meeting up with Karen. 

You glance briefly at Foggy's office door, already missing the dark haired man inside, knowing that you'd willingly suffer a lifelong series of sharp and stinging paper cuts if it meant you'd always end up with his lips on yours. 

MATT MURDOCK and KAREN PAGE in DAREDEVIL

Season 2, Episode 5: Kinbaku