Matt Murdock Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

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

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. 

Wednesday Reblog Reminder

Anyone else orbit around their favorite fanfic author's blogs waiting for a new story, an update notification to a series, a blurb, a headcannon, etc?

I sure do! I love to see what the talented writers and artists across Tumblr are creating and reblogs are a great way to spread that love! Reblogs also introduce material, new and old, to users that may have missed it the first time or not be aware of its existence. This month alone, I have been reading fics in a fandom I'd never really been engaged with until a favorite author released a story in that different fandom, a mutual reblogged it with a few comments, and I gave it a try. It was awesome! Reblogging also gives others multiple fics from which to choose while they wait for chapter updates from their ongoing favorite authors because Tumblr writers are busy people! So please: REBLOG! It creates additional favorite authors!

Below is a shoutout/acknowledgement/encouragement no pressure tag for just some of the many authors I regularly enjoy/follow in several fandoms (*many of these write for the 18+ crowd so please read their bio to make sure you are not violating their consent if you are not 18).

Give them a try! Reblog if you read and enjoy one of their fics. Hopefully the authors will also reblog and spread the love across Tumblr. Reblogging is the fuel for the Tumblr engine!

@ficthotshots @withahappyrefrain @blooming-violets @liz-allyn @periprose @p3mybeloved @rancidpancakebatter @luvablehand @webslingingslasher @she-likesorchids @thursdaygxrls @reidslovely @helloheyhihowdyheya @loveroftoomanyfandoms @delicate-dorothea @jamespottersdaisy @backtothefanfiction @spider-stark

Here's my own blog for a few random works: @backupanddoitagain

Don't mind me, I'm trying to figure out my hiding place so I can spy at Fogwell's gym before the next chapter of @loveroftoomanyfandoms Cooking Up Love releases. At least I think that's where he's headed...

If you haven't read it, it's not too late! Come discover what Chef Matt can do for starters. Get it? Starters? Just go read it. It's great!

Cooking Up Love

Remember! If you enjoy something, reblog it and share the joy with others!

Alright, alright, alright!

*Rubs hands together excitedly*

I read this late last night but saved commenting so thoughts could percolate a little bit along with the morning java. Going to be long so here's the TLDR for those who hate lengthy essays:

READ THIS ENTIRE FIC, YOU WON'T REGRET IT!

It's got everything promised so far and this chapter delivered better than a box from Mendl's bakery (the iconic bakery from The Grand Budapest Hotel just in case readers haven't seen the film)

Here is the remaining commentary below a cut (for spoilers) and also length:

*Paces floor, muttering: where to start, where to start*

Sooo tempted to begin with the food but I'm going with the relationship because that is, after all, the main course. And what a course it is! The delectable Chef Matt giving off quite the show for Reader in the intimate confines of Fogwell's and they're all alone too. Not for nothing was I hearing Joe Jonas singing in the background, "...let's start living dangerously..." when all that cake was right there. RIGHT. THERE. Just a little squeeze Reader, try it go on...but no...she just thinks it. Great line btw, still giggling over the quarter.

Then again, when Reader reacts instinctively and thinks less, everything just flows. The hug of reassurance was quite sweet. Not sure I would have been brave enough for that, but that is my personality talking and I'm quite tickled that it was just the natural thing to do when observing someone reveal a deeper side of them.

Ditto for the scene where Reader is attempting to gain Matt's perspective and tries the punching bag. Very nicely done.

Now, let's talk about their footwork. Boxing? No! The verbal sparring and the mental dancing around the two of them keep doing. OH MY LORD. It's half adorable half tearing my hair out and half 'just bang already'-little Crazy Stupid Love ref there-Wait, that's three halves, so maybe it's a sum of the parts expression. Anyway, I loved it. "You think I'm cool?" Yeah, Matt, she does. And then not two minutes later Reader is right back to heart on the floor with "it's just a thank you" as she mentally tries to scrape it together with a dustpan. Matt is not helping matters either, thank you very much AUTHOR. (Not really scolding you, I"m smirking at you if you can't read tone in text.) All in all, I could write about the apartment scene for four more paragraphs but I cannot hold off any longer. I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE FOOD.

OH MY LORD. (for the second time no less). The food. Final four right there. National championship material. You had me at basil, but the guanciale mention...oh the savory seduction of guanciale. Sweatergawd, that stuff is amazing. I can understand why Matt used the pancetta though. I once grabbed a bestie for a road trip because the closest place I could buy guanciale w/o online ordering is two hours away. So, pancetta is what I use most often too.

But how she wasn't just simply 'take me I'm yours' after THAT meal is sheer torture for us readers AND YOU KNOW IT. It's raining, they've eaten a lovely meal, shared some wine, and THEY END WITH A HUG. Now, never mind Reader, you could scrape ME off the floor with a dustpan because that left me just weak from exhaustion. Matt better pour on the charm like melted butter because this reader wants to get served I'm telling you. I don't know what you have up your sleeve for the next chapter, but I've got my nose pressed to the glass window by the light of that neon sign waiting for these two knuckleheads to get out of their headspace and just react to what they feel.

I'm going to stop here, but well done all around. I love this series!

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 7

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Here 

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, idiots in love, pining... so much pining

Word Count: ~3800

A/N: As promised, here's the 2nd half of Chef Matt & Reader's Sunday afternoon together! Enjoy!

And thank you as always to @theradioactivespidergwen for the super cute divider she made for me!

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

Where the hell are we going? you wondered as you and Matt headed away from Clinton Church. 

It wasn't like you weren't afraid he was taking you off somewhere to murder you -- you truly did feel safe with Matt and hadn't been lying when you had said that you trusted him. "Any hint as to where we're going?"

Matt shook his head. "I know it sounds weird, but I'd rather just show you, if that's okay?"

You nodded. It seemed important to Matt that your destination remain a mystery, so you decided not to push. "Okay."

You continued walking past various shops and storefronts until finally Matt stopped. "Okay, we're here."

You peered at the faded letters on the door. 

Fogwell's Gym

You remembered Matt saying that he frequently worked out after service, but couldn't quite understand what was so special about the location that required the need for secrecy. Well, at least that explains the gym bag.

Matt pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door before stepping inside. "Come on in."

You followed him into the darkened gym and waited as he turned the lights on before looking around.

Cubbyholes lined the wall to the left of the door while several punching bags hung to the right. A large boxing ring was situated in the middle of the room, with wooden steps leading up to it. 

Matt gestured towards what you assumed was the locker room. "I'm going to go get changed into my workout clothes. Be right back."

You nodded. "Okay."

While Matt was in the locker room, you took the opportunity to look at the flyers advertising various past boxing matches tacked to the wall. Johnson vs Lewis, Conway vs Roberts, Creel vs Murdock…

You sucked in a breath, reaching out to touch the poster. Creel vs Murdock. Now it makes sense.

You heard Matt come out of the locker room and set his bag down. 

"This is where your dad trained, isn't it?" you asked, your eyes still on the poster.

You heard Matt sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

You turned towards him and froze. As handsome as he was while wearing his chef's coat and black slacks or a t-shirt and jeans, he was even more gorgeous in a black tank top, gray sweatpants, and tennis shoes.

Your gaze drifted up to his face. His glasses were gone, revealing beautiful hazel eyes that were fixed in your direction. 

Matt must've felt you staring at him, because he ducked his head and began rummaging through his gym bag. "I, uh, I started coming here back when I was in culinary school," he explained. "I was struggling during my first semester and thinking about dropping out, so I came to the one place I knew where I would feel close to my dad to see if I could figure out what he would say."

He took out a small bundle of what looked like Ace bandages and began to wrap his hands. "I was having a particularly bad day that day -- there was this one professor who had been giving me a hard time about my need for certain accommodations -- so I began to take my frustration out on a punching bag."

You had found when people started to open up it was better to just let them keep talking rather than interrupt with questions, so you remained silent.

"With each punch I could hear my dad telling me that he was proud of me," Matt continued as he finished wrapping one hand and started on the other. "And that Murdocks never give up no matter how hard things get. So I decided to stay in culinary school and work my ass off to prove that I have what it takes to be a great chef and make my dad proud of me."

Before you could second-guess yourself, you walked over to Matt and wrapped your arms around him in a hug.

You thought for a split second that you might have crossed a line, but before you could let go and apologize Matt relaxed into your embrace, circling his arms around you and tucking his face into your neck.

You held him briefly, then let go and stepped back. 

Matt began to redo the wrap that he had begun, keeping his face turned downward. "I've, uh, I've never actually told anybody about that before. Not even Foggy."

Your heart constricted. You couldn't even begin to imagine the hardship that Matt must have had to go through in order to prove himself as a chef. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

Matt paused. "I don't suppose I can ask you to keep that off the record, can I?"

You nodded. "I will, if that's what you want. It'll stay just between us."

Matt huffed out a breath. "Thank you."

You sat on the bench as Matt moved in front of the punching bag. "So, I suppose you're going to show me some moves, huh?"

Matt chuckled. "If you'd like."

You watched as Matt did a few stretches, appreciating the way his biceps flexed as he moved. And if your eyes drifted southward, well… you were only human. Cake, indeed. One could bounce a quarter off of that ass.

Your eyes snapped back to Matt's face, which bore a small smirk. 

He reached out and touched the punching bag, found the center, then adjusted his stance, raising his fists in front of his face.

You watched in fascination as he skillfully maneuvered his way around the bag, landing punches as if he was squaring off against one of the greatest fighters of all time. He certainly doesn't fight like a blind man.

Finally he paused, chest heaving.

He steadied the punching bag. "Would you mind handing me that towel, please?"

You resisted the urge to lick the sweat off of his neck. "Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

You handed the towel to him. "So are you sure you haven't had professional training?"

Matt grinned as he wiped his face and neck down with the towel. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He draped the towel around his neck and picked up his gym bag. "I'm going to go take a quick shower and change, but I'll be back in a minute, if that's okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, of course."

While you waited for him to return you checked your phone for messages, replying to an email from an artist you had featured a few weeks prior thanking you for your article.

You put your phone away and stood, glancing briefly over at the entrance to the locker room before walking in front of the punching bag.

You closed your eyes, curled your right hand into a fist, and swung, missing the bag completely. 

You opened your eyes, frowning. Maybe I wasn't close enough.

You moved a bit closer, then closed your eyes again.

You swung at the bag, this time barely connecting.

"...Your stance is off."

You gasped and whirled around, a hand flying over your chest. "Jesus, Matt, you scared me."

Matt stood next to the boxing ring, this time dressed in a dark blue t-shirt that clearly showed off his muscles and dark blue sweatpants.

He smiled softly at you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

You shook your head, trying to calm your racing heart. "It's alright. I was just… um… just…"

"Trying to figure out how a blind man can hit a punching bag so easily?" Matt nodded in understanding. "I probably should have told you, but I'm not actually completely blind."

"Oh," you replied, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I just assumed…"

Matt shook his head. "It's okay. The chemicals that got into my eyes basically fried my synapses, so whatever is directly in front of me looks like a black mass and the rest of my line of vision is what I can best describe as a 'world on fire'."

He tapped the side of his glasses, which you had belatedly realized were back on his face. "The red lenses help neutralize that part."

You huffed out a light laugh. "And here I thought you just wore them because they made you look cool."

Matt grinned. "You think they make me look cool?"

More like slightly mysterious and incredibly hot. Your face heated slightly. "Eh, maybe a little."

Matt shook his head with a chuckle. "Ready to head out?"

You nodded. "Mmhmm."

Matt gestured towards the door. "After you."

"So, where to next?" you asked as the two of you headed outside.

Matt shook his head. "Actually, that was my last errand." 

"Oh." You couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that you had to go your separate ways. "Okay, so I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, tomorrow." Matt bit his lip. "Um, that is… unless you'd like to have dinner with me tonight? My place? My apartment's not too far from here."

You nodded, unable to keep a smile off of your face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd actually really like that."

Matt unfolded his cane. "Great!  I mean, it's the least I could do after you helped me out this afternoon at the soup kitchen."

Your heart sank slightly. Of course he meant it as a thank-you, how else would he have meant it? "Oh. Um, it was no problem. I was happy to help."

Matt turned the opposite of the way you were facing. "This way, then."

As you headed down the street, you couldn't help but entertain the thought of Matt having invited you over for dinner not because he felt obligated to as a thank-you, but because he hadn't been ready for your time together to end either.

You mentally shook your head. It's just as a thank-you for helping him out at the church, that's it.

…You just wished it hadn't been.

Why the hell did I say that? Matt thought to himself as the two of you walked towards his apartment. He'd had every intention of asking you to have dinner with him as a (sort-of) date, but the second you had said yes he had second-guessed himself and blurted out the bit about it being as a thank-you for helping him out at Clinton Church. 

He mentally shook his head as the two of you stopped at a crosswalk. Maybe I can fix this.

Before he could say anything, you cleared your throat. "You know, I'm sure you're tired and I don't want to be an inconvenience, so I actually think I'll just head ho--"

"No!" Matt shook his head. "I mean, no, it's not an inconvenience. I was going to make something to eat when I got home anyway, so it's not a problem to make an extra serving."

He inwardly cringed. Way to make things worse. "Actually, what I meant was that I've really enjoyed your company today and would like to have dinner with you."

He could feel you relax. "I've enjoyed your company today too," you admitted softly. "If you're sure it's not a big deal…"

Matt nodded. "I'm sure."

"Then okay. I'd love to have dinner with you."

Matt smiled in relief. "Great. And actually now that I think about it, I do have one more stop before we get back to my apartment. I need to harvest some herbs from my plot at the community garden, but it'll only take a minute."

"Okay."

The two of you continued on as the crosswalk signal beeped and changed to walk .

"So what kind of herbs do you grow?" you asked.

"All sorts of culinary varieties," Matt replied. "Rosemary, thyme, basil, lavender, and mint."

"Oh, cool."

Matt nodded. "Unfortunately I have to outsource my herbs for the restaurant since I don't have the space to grow the amount that we would need, but this works for my own personal use."

He slowed as you reached the garden. "Welcome to the Hell's Kitchen Community Garden."

"Oh wow," you said. "I never even knew this was here."

Matt led you down the center path then to the right, following along the fence line to his plot in the back corner. "It hasn't been here too terribly long, maybe six months or so."

"And you said Claire from the farmer's market runs it?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. She petitioned the council to turn the property into a community space and keeps track of who has which plot and everything."

You hummed. "I might have to talk to my boss about covering the community garden for the paper too. This is really neat."

"That would be great. It definitely would raise more awareness and hopefully bring more funding for upkeep." Matt stopped in front of his plot. "This is mine."

He knelt down and felt his basil plants before picking a few leaves and placing them into a small storage container he kept in the side pocket of his gym bag. "All set."

He led you back out of the garden and down the street towards his apartment building, frowning at the distant rumble of thunder. Well, there goes my plan to have dinner on the roof. "Sounds like it's about to rain."

"Yeah, it does seem like it's getting a bit cloudy," you replied. "Is your place much farther?"

Matt shook his head. "No, it's just up ahead."

"Oh, okay."

You walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

"Okay, here we are," Matt said as you reached his apartment building.

He led you to the elevator and pressed the button for his floor, the sound of rain beginning to fall as the elevator began to ascend. "Sounds like we made it just in time." 

"Yeah, thank goodness," you replied. "I wasn't expecting it to rain so I didn't bring my umbrella with me."

You can always just stay the night… Matt shook his head. "I have one you can borrow if you need to, or I can call you a cab if it's still raining hard when you leave later."

He took his keys out of his pocket as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "This way."

He led you down the hall to his apartment and unlocked the door, then opened it and ushered you inside as another roll of thunder rumbled overhead.

He closed the door and dropped his keys into the bowl on the side table in the entryway before folding up his cane and setting it next to the bowl. "Come on in."

He tried to ignore his sudden nervousness. It had been a long time since he'd had someone who wasn't Foggy or Karen in his personal space and hoped you wouldn't judge how barren his apartment was.

He turned on the lights then headed to his refrigerator. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Oh, um, sure," you replied. "Whatever you're having is fine."

He heard you walk over to the large window in his living area as he pulled out 2 bottles of beer along with a block of pecorino cheese and some pancetta. He had gotten an incredible deal on his apartment because of the gigantic neon sign that was situated on the roof of the neighboring building, so he was sure that was what you were looking at.

He quickly washed the fresh basil he had picked and patted it dry, then set the cheese and pancetta down on the kitchen island before popping the tops off of the bottles and walking over to you. "Here you go."

Your fingers brushed his as he handed you the bottle, a now-familiar tingle coursing through Matt's veins. "Thank you."

Matt swallowed and took a sip of his beer. "Quite the view, huh?" he said, gesturing out the window.

You huffed out a laugh. "It's very, um… picturesque."

Matt shook his head with a grin. "Funny, that's exactly how the real estate agent that sold me this place described it." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I have a feeling she might not've been telling me the truth though." 

You laughed again. "Okay, it is a bit obnoxious."

Matt chuckled. "I really do keep meaning to get some blackout curtains, but since it's just me it's never really been a bother."

You hummed. "I honestly don't mind it. It gives your apartment an interesting glow."

Matt could imagine the two of you together on his sofa, the glow of the billboard the only light in the darkened room as he gently caressed your cheek, your lips inches from his own--

He mentally shook his head and gestured to his kitchen island. "Have a seat and I'll get started on dinner."

He heard you sit as he began to gather the rest of the ingredients, placing the eggs he had taken out of his refrigerator that morning into a bowl and setting it on the island before washing his hands and filling a pot about halfway with water.

He set the pot on the stove and seasoned it with some salt, then turned the burner on high to let the water boil.

He crossed back to the island and roughly chopped the fresh basil he had picked, then quickly whisked together 3 egg yolks and an entire egg before grating a generous amount of cheese into the mixture, giving it an additional stir before setting it aside.

He could feel you quietly watching him as he unwrapped the pancetta and began cutting it into small cubes, unable to help but wonder what you were thinking. You'd had the same focus the day before when he had made your crepes, but you had been recording your conversation then and had asked questions about his culinary process. This felt… different. More personal, like you were deep in thought.

He cleared his throat. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"What?" You startled slightly. "Oh, sorry, it's nothing. Just trying to figure out what we're having for dinner."

You were lying to him, but Matt couldn't figure out exactly why or what about. "Oh, I'm making spaghetti carbonara. It's traditionally made with guanciale, but my supplier was out, so pancetta will have to suffice for today."

"Your supplier… Oh, right, Frank, wasn't it?"

Matt shook his head then moved back to the stove, dropping the spaghetti into the pot of boiling water before moving the pancetta to the pan. "He doesn't do cured meats. I get those and other specialty items from Nelson's Meats."

You made a curious sound. "Nelson… as in Chef Nelson?"

Matt nodded as he stirred the pancetta around. "Foggy's family owns it. Best capicola in the tri-state area."

He finished cooking the pancetta and turned the skillet off, then scooped some of the pasta water into a measuring cup before draining the pasta and adding it to the pancetta. "Dinner's almost ready if you want to move to the table."

"Okay."

As you moved to Matt's dining table, he gave the egg mixture another stir before pouring it into the pan, adding a bit of the pasta water and using tongs to mix it all together.

Once it was a perfectly smooth consistency, he added some freshly-ground black pepper and separated it into two bowls before adding an extra sprinkle of cheese and some chopped basil on top of each serving. 

He placed a fork in each bowl, then brought them over to you, setting yours in front of you and his in front of his spot across from you. "Dinner is served."

You gave a slight gasp. "Oh my goodness, Matt, this looks amazing."

"Thanks." Matt quickly grabbed two wine glasses and gave them a quick rinse before taking a bottle of Pinot Gris out of his refrigerator and pouring you each a glass. 

He set your glass down before sitting across from you. "The beer we were drinking doesn't really go with carbonara so I've selected a wine pairing, if that's alright?"

You gave a hum of affirmation. "Of course it's alright."

Matt nodded. "Okay, well, enjoy."

He waited nervously as you took a bite.

You let out a pleased sound. "Oh my goodness, this is so good."

Matt grinned in relief. "Yeah?"

"Yes, absolutely. Everything you've made for me so far has been amazing." 

"I'm glad." Matt took a bite of his own carbonara, the silky smoothness of the sauce pairing perfectly with the crispy pancetta and al dente noodles. "It's not quite traditional carbonara but it's very close."

"Right, you said it's traditionally made with guanciale."

Matt nodded. "And no herbs are usually added, but I like the flavor a bit of fresh basil adds to the dish."

"Mmm. Mmhmm. Yeah, I like it too."

You both continued eating and once you were done, Matt stood. "Here, I'll get this for you."

"Thanks."

"I'm afraid I don't have any dessert prepared, but would you like another glass of wine?"

"Yeah, I'd love one."

Matt grabbed the bottle of Pinot Gris and refilled your glasses. "Care to go sit on the couch?"

"Sure."

You took a sip of wine as the two of you sat together on Matt's sofa. "I really like your apartment, by the way. It suits you."

Matt shook his head with a small smile. "It's not much, but it's home."

You huffed out a laugh. "It's not what I originally expected, but to be honest, neither were you."

"Oh?" Matt turned towards you. "And what did you expect?"

"About you or your apartment?"

"Mmm, both, I suppose."

"Well, had I based my idea of what your apartment would be like on my first impression of you it would've been cold and industrial with no heart."

Matt winced. "Ouch."

"However, having gotten to know you over the past few days I would say warm and inviting with a certain charm."

A smile spread across Matt's face. "You think I'm charming?"

"Your apartment? Very. You? Maybe a tiny bit."

Matt smirked at the teasing tone in your voice. "A tiny bit? I guess I'll just have to work harder on charming you then."

You let out a light laugh. "No need, I'll send you a copy of my article before publication anyway."

"Okay, thanks." Although that's not the reason I want to charm you.

You finished your glass of wine. "And speaking of my article, I should probably get going -- I have to be at the Bulletin early tomorrow for our weekly staff meeting."

Matt nodded and stood. "Here, I'll walk you out."

"Thanks for inviting me along today," you said softly as you reached the door. "I had a really great time." 

Matt nodded, unable to keep a smile off of his face. "I did too."

"I'll see you tomorrow evening?"

Matt nodded again. "Six o'clock?"

"Yeah, that sounds perfect."

"Okay, great."

The two of you stood there for a moment longer. Finally you reached out and gave Matt a brief hug. "Goodnight, Matt."

Matt hugged you back, committing what he could of you to memory. "Goodnight."

He waited as you let yourself out, an idea forming in his mind.

…He just hoped he was able to pull it off.

Why is this man smiling? Because it's Reblog Wednesday! Reblogs are as contagious as a smile for when you enjoy content and reblog it, it spreads across Tumblr so others can join in on the experience. Reblog stories, art, commentary, quotes; there is so much to share and learn!

Go on, reblog! I DARE(devil) you!

*For the new to Tumblr crowd: the reblog button is the loop of arrows adjacent to the heart (likes). Reblogging is the best way to keep Tumblr active and accessible.

Was I somewhat smug that Matt was not awakened by the soft cooing of doves or otherwise soothing sounds? Why yes, yes I was. No shame here. Little stinker he was and now he's realized he lit the bridge on fire and is frantically trying to race across before it all crashes into the river.

Good for the friends that support Reader and hold Matt accountable for his behavior. Look forward to discovering the way in which this is resolved because Matt may have excellent hearing but he needs to learn how to LISTEN.

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Three]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k

[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: This one is entirely in Matt's POV and I'm curious to see how y'all react to his side of things! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably@two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @thychuvaluswife @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this--is--music

The ear-splitting and repeated honking of car horns on the street below harshly woke Matt, the sound shrill and piercing first thing in the morning. Seconds later the continuing noise drew forth a pounding headache that reverberated painfully in his head. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he rolled onto his side with a groan, his entire body loudly protesting the movement. He could feel a few new bruises he'd added to the others already scattered around his body, the new ones violently throbbing along his lower back and his left shoulder as consciousness abruptly returned to him.

Matt had been out well into the early morning hours running around Hell’s Kitchen tracking a man by the name of Petrov. He was the man that Matt had recently come to learn was the current leader of the Russian mafia now settled in his city. All of last night he had been trying to figure out where the new shipment of drugs would be coming into Hell's Kitchen at, but he'd yet again come home without the information he'd wanted. In a sour mood, he'd taken his anger out on a mugger while returning to his apartment, leaving the man more battered than he probably should have. 

And his sour mood quickly returned when he realized he was alone in his bed again, the cold from the lack of you often curled under the sheets with him exceptionally noticeable this morning–more than it had been for the past few weeks. Because you had left him, deciding not to stay and wait for him to return the other night. Leaving him like everyone else always did, unable to accept that he and the Devil were the same man. That he needed to let that other side of himself out to protect Hell’s Kitchen.

He'd heard the way you'd slammed the door on your way out of his apartment that night. He knew how hurt and upset you’d been. But when you’d started crying because he had been planning to go out again, he'd wanted to comfort you– tried to–but you'd rejected him so easily instead. And that hurt him deeply. Because Matt had always thought you were different, that you understood him. That you loved him for who he was–you'd certainly always assured him that you did. 

But it sure as hell hadn’t felt like that to him the other night. Not with how quick you were to reject him and walk out on him. You’d never tried to reach out to him all of Friday, either. Whatever important thing you’d wanted to discuss with him the other night must’ve been what he’d initially suspected it to be. That you wanted to end the relationship. Truthfully he hadn’t wanted to hear you say the words out loud which was partially why he didn’t want to give you a chance to speak.

Matt knew he'd been canceling plans on you repeatedly, though he admittedly hadn't realized just for how long he'd been doing it with the way his days had been blurring together from his lack of proper sleep. But it hadn't been intentional. He hadn't meant to hurt you and he'd felt terrible every single time he had. It always nagged at him while he was out, the memory of the way your heart stuttered each and every time you saw him in his suit never far from his mind as he tried to focus on his late night task. 

And it wasn't like he was out cheating on you or ditching you for his friends. What he was doing was the equivalent of being needed at a job–because that's how he saw what he did. As a responsibility he had to the people of Hell’s Kitchen. He'd honestly thought he'd be able to make it up to you once he'd gotten the situation with the Russians under control, but apparently he wasn't important enough for you to wait for him. And sure, he had to admit that he'd been awful to you the other night with the way he'd spoken to you, but the judgment and rejection from you had really upset him, as did the fear of hearing you tell him you were done with him. So he'd closed himself off to you, hoping to lessen how much you leaving him would hurt.

But Matt didn’t want to think about that this morning. His head ached enough from all the physical exertion last night and from not getting enough sleep. Those damn cars honking had ruined whatever sleeping in he hoped he’d have this Saturday morning, the sound of the city far too loud for him to lay back down and fall asleep now. 

Though if you’d been here–

With a growl Matt tore the sheets off of himself, tossing his legs over the side of his bed and shoving all thoughts of you to the side. He didn’t want to think about you right now. He wanted coffee, desperately hoping that would wake him up and help the throbbing of his head.

Shuffling out of his bedroom, half limping in pain as he walked, he navigated his way through his living room and into the kitchen. He went straight for his coffee maker, turning it on and preparing a pot of coffee. He knew he was going to need a few cups already. 

As the coffee brewed, Matt leant his back against the kitchen counter. His eyes closed as he ran a hand over his tired face, aware that his apartment seemed noticeably quieter and lonelier without you here. He’d been noticing that for weeks now, and every time he did he felt his heart sink a bit in his chest. Though this morning he almost felt sick at the emptiness here, as if someone had punched him right in the gut when he realized you were never coming back.

But you’d made that choice, he reminded himself. You had walked out on him. That thought only had Matt grinding his teeth together, anger coursing through him.

You weren’t the woman he’d thought you were after all. And that hurt.

The coffee machine began to sputter out his coffee, the noise loud and irritating to his ears this morning. Matt turned around, reaching a hand up to grab a mug from the open shelf on the wall. But a round of knocks coming from his apartment door rang out and he hesitated, his hand hovering just before the row of coffee cups. Brows furrowing together, his head shifted over his shoulder as he wondered how he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized someone had approached his door. Though after a few seconds he soon realized that it was Foggy standing in the hallway and flipping through some paperwork that he’d brought with him.

Matt’s hand dropped to his side and he turned, a frown settling on his lips as he made his way through his kitchen and down his entryway hall. He unlocked the door, briskly swinging it open. It didn’t escape his notice how Foggy had startled in the hall at the abruptness.

“Fog,” Matt greeted flatly.

He could practically feel the way his friend’s eyes scanned over him, the sound of Foggy’s face shifting into a frown not lost on Matt. He imagined the bruises were quite visible, especially since he hadn’t managed to put a shirt on.

“You look like shit, Matt,” Foggy stated bluntly. “How long were you out last night?”

Matt turned, leaving the door open as he half-limped, half-shuffled his way back down the entryway hall. He listened as Foggy stepped inside, closing the door after himself before slipping out of his shoes. By the time Foggy had followed Matt into the kitchen, Matt had already managed to pour himself a cup of coffee, drinking a sip of it black.

“You want some coffee?” Matt asked him, avoiding the initial question.

“No, I’m good,” Foggy answered slowly, resting his arms on the kitchen counter and leaning over it. “I had some earlier before I left to come deliver the documents I told you I was bringing over this morning. Which I’m guessing…you forgot about, judging by the fact that it looks like you just rolled out of a dumpster that you used for a bed.”

Matt’s lips pursed together at Foggy as he drew his mug back up to his mouth, his eyes narrowing in obvious irritation. “Not a morning for jokes, Fog.”

“Is there ever with you lately?” Foggy grumbled. 

Matt drank down more of his coffee, the throbbing of his head not helped by the way Foggy was drumming his fingers along the countertop. He could hear the way his friend was looking around his apartment, probably noticing the way it had looked neater than usual. Which was due to the fact that neither of you had been in his apartment much for the past few weeks. The moment he heard Foggy’s mouth open, inhaling that small bit of breath, Matt knew what he was going to say. And it wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss.

“Where’s your other half?” Foggy asked, glancing back towards the closed bedroom door, entirely missing the way Matt had winced at the question. “Thought she usually spent the weekends with you. Is she still asleep?”

Matt ground his teeth together, roughly exhaling a sharp breath. He knew he’d ask about you.

“No, she’s not here,” Matt replied coldly.

He heard the way Foggy had stiffened against the counter at his words and the tone of his voice. Slowly, Foggy’s head turned back towards Matt. Matt’s lips thinned out in irritation, not liking the minute shift in Foggy’s posture.

“So the documents–”

“What’d you do, Matt?” Foggy asked sharply, cutting him off.

Matt’s hand gripped his coffee mug tighter in his fist, surprising even himself when it didn’t break in his grip. His jaw clenched at the question and the accusation from his best friend.

“What makes you think this was my fault?” he growled back, voice low and dangerous.

Foggy was nodding swiftly as if he’d known something had happened. He didn’t seem remotely affected by Matt’s obvious anger, clearly prepared to discuss this more. That only annoyed Matt further.

“So you two broke up? Karen and I thought as much with the way you’d been mopey and snippy around the office yesterday,” Foggy said. “What happened? Because one minute you’re telling me she’s the one, that she’s going to move in with you soon, and the next–” he waved a hand around the apartment, “–you’re a damn bachelor again. So what’d you do? Because I know damn well she didn’t end things, not with the way she always looked at you like the sun rises and falls out of your ass, Matt.”

“ She left me ,” Matt snarled back. “Why the hell is that so difficult for you to understand, Fog? Why must you always assume that I did something? Clearly she wasn’t who I thought she was because she couldn’t accept me and what I do. Who I am .”

“Ahh,” Foggy said, pushing off the counter. “This is because of Daredevil. I figured as much. So tell me what happened then, because I’m about to slap you upside the head and tell you you’re wrong.”

Matt stalked across the kitchen in aggravation, slamming his mug down onto the counter that separated him from Foggy. The hot liquid splashed over his hand as Foggy briefly jumped at his outburst. The faint scent of fear soon hitting his nose was what had Matt’s eyes snapping shut, aware he was getting too riled up at this topic. That his anger was finally starting to make Foggy nervous.

Because it was about you and it hurt.

“She said she had something she needed to tell me,” Matt replied through clenched teeth, trying to rein in his frustration and heartache. “But I needed to go out as Daredevil. I was planning to interrupt a meeting with the Russians. The ones I’d been telling you about.” He exhaled a sharp breath, his left hand clamping onto the kitchen counter as he continued, hoping to ground himself and control his rage. “She was upset that I was going out again when we’d had plans. Said she really needed to talk to me. So I told her she could tell me afterwards when I came back and she got upset.”

There was a brief silence following his explanation, Matt hearing the way Foggy’s head had shifted to the side.

“And you were…growly Devil when you were talking with her weren’t you?” Foggy asked, gesturing a hand at Matt. “Like you are now?”

Matt grunted, shame burning through him as his eyes once again fell shut. Yes. 

“Maybe,” he grumbled.

“Okay, so,” Foggy continued carefully, “if I’m understanding this right, you’ve been canceling plans on your girl for a while now and she’d been upset about that. And then she comes and says she really needs to talk to you, and you what? Bail on her again? Quite aggressively, I’m gathering?”

“That’s–that’s not exactly right,” Matt said, shaking his head. “I didn’t bail on her. The city needed me, Fog.”

“Sounds like she needed you more, buddy,” Foggy countered.

Matt’s eyes snapped open, his sightless gaze landing somewhere near Foggy in a glare. “I gave her the option to stay and wait for me to come back. To tell me what she needed to then. She chose to leave. I haven’t heard from her since, so I’m guessing her important talk was about her wanting to tell me that she wanted to end things. That she couldn’t handle me being Daredevil after all.”

Foggy scoffed, shaking his head at Matt. He could hear the way his friend’s mouth had yet again curved into a frown. Something like guilt twisted in Matt’s stomach at the way that night had played out but he quickly buried it under his anger and hurt. 

“Why do you do that?” Foggy asked softly.

“ What ?” Matt snapped.

“This,” Foggy answered, waving a hand frantically at Matt. “That self-sabotaging thing you do. Things were good with you both. Great, actually. You were happy , Matt. And then you go diving into your hero bullshit and push people away. Making assumptions about her wanting to end things like you know that’s exactly what she wanted to talk to you about.”

“I do not self-sabotage,” Matt shot back. 

“Then why’d you push her away?” Foggy countered.

“Because the city needs me!” Matt exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his hands on his hips. “You know that and she knew that!”

A glaring silence settled in Matt’s apartment after his loud outburst. Matt’s tongue slipped out, wetting his lips repeatedly in his agitation. He heard the very faint sigh Foggy emitted, even with the way his headache had worsened.

“I think you’re reading things entirely wrong, man,” Foggy said, tone softer. “I don’t think she was trying to break up with you. I think you fucked up. Big time. And judging by the way you’re incredibly defensive and angry, you really, really love her.”

Matt’s nostrils flared, his eyes still glaring sharply in the direction of his friend. Though a part of himself was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Foggy was onto something. At least, about him fucking up. He was still pretty certain you’d wanted to break up with him. Because he had been canceling plans on you for weeks now. And you’d been getting hurt by him doing that pretty quickly, too. And he’d noticed, but he kept on putting off making things up to you because he’d been too focused on prioritizing the Russians. He’d hurt you, too. Long before you’d hurt him.

That guilt and shame stirred in Matt’s stomach again, threatening to overtake his own rage and heartache. But he couldn’t have been wrong about what you’d wanted to talk to him about, right? Because what else could it possibly have been besides an ultimatum for him to quit being Daredevil and to choose you instead?

“I think,” Foggy continued slowly, “that you need to go call her up. Put your tail between your legs and go beg for her forgiveness, Matt. Because you fucked up, admit it. I can see that realization dawning on your face right now, buddy. Talk to her. Apologize on your goddamn knees every day until she takes you back. Because we both know she was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.”

“She was,” Matt whispered, his gaze dropping down to the floor. “She always was.”

“Then go get her!” Foggy exclaimed, slamming his fist onto Matt’s countertop. “Fix things!”

He stepped around the kitchen counter, reaching out to slap Matt good-naturedly on the shoulder. Matt winced at the gesture when Foggy’s hand landed on a bruise and Foggy quickly muttered out an apology. 

Rubbing his arm, Matt let out a sigh. “How am I supposed to fix things, Fog?” he asked. “What if she really doesn’t love the part of me that is Daredevil like she thought she did? I can’t give this up. I’m not going to.”

“There’s no way that bullshit is the reason,” Foggy told him. “Not with all the different ways she’s been there for you and your vigilante ass this whole time, Matt. She loves Daredevil just as much as you. But as for fixing things?” Foggy shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. I think your first step is to reach out to her, though. Try to get her to talk to you. Apologize and maybe find out what it was she needed to tell you. Because I’m guessing knowing what that was will tell you how royally you fucked up here.”

“Yeah,” Matt said with a sigh. “You’re probably right. Though I have a feeling she’s not going to want to talk to me.”

“You just keep trying until she does,” Foggy told him. “And if all else fails, maybe you can romantically show up on her fire escape and profess your love to her or something?”

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure Daredevil showing up on her fire escape would go over real well with her right now.”

Positivity Night Shout Out

This is for @withahappyrefrain 's Positivity Night. What a great idea! I hope I did this correctly Abby.

I follow a number of creators and some of them even follow me back! It's been a great experience and so here is some appreciation and good vibes...thanks Abby for doing this!

In no particular order and some with a lil blurb lagniappe as I've gotten to know them. This is long but ya know, I'm not at the Oscars on a time limit so read it or keep scrolling past. Your choice.

@blooming-violets aka @eatbrainsfordinner gave me some great advice when I first joined on how not to get blocked due to blog appearance and has an amazing library of fics that sent me down a rabbit hole. Plus in possession of a side-holding you will fall out of your chair sense of humor. Laughter can give us hope and I know that some of her comment/replies just put me in a better frame of mind.

@liz-allyn whose mob!peter fic Sugar and Vice (all of her work really) just blows me away. If you haven't got Honey, life just isn't sweet at all at all. All her content just radiates emotion. Depth. It's all there.

@webslingingslasher such a talent and so very very kind to everyone. Am enthralled with nerd!peter/frat!peter. I have no clue where the late night sleepover energy comes from though. I am in awe.

@sincericida no one tops her blog for Andrew Garfield content. No one. I check it more frequently than I do the daily news. Could get lost for days with the top tier content. A real sweetheart, too. Always answers asks.

@luvablehand a winsome writer with great imagination. Absolutely love that there is an updated list of WIPs on the blog so I know what is coming.

@periprose Nice blogger and her Peter Parker is adorable. Completed chapter fic Florence is great.

@theradioactivespidergwen aka @she-likesorchids great writer across multiple fandoms and great wit. We share a love of various sandwiches, know that dressing is superior to stuffing, and think sweater weather is amazing. It's glorious.

@reidslovely haunting haunting writing that stays with me. Love our interactions when I have questions about a story/plot/character. Has been writing more mob!peter and I am a member of the mob!peter fan club for life.

@loveroftoomanyfandoms I came for the Peter Parker fics and somehow acquired a Matt Murdock on the hot guy keyfob. Personality shines through on her blog and is such a joy. ((HUGS)) Always love interacting and living vicariously through the 'where is Charlie this week' adventures. (Couple more months and he's going to be eating some mighty fine food in NOLA) Our food chats have been awesome and when food found it's way as the theme in a story, well I cannot say enough about how enjoyable that's been.

@p3mybeloved another great Spider-man fandom creator. Read on here and AO3.

@ficthots writes for the fandom that is number one in my heart (TASM) and LIghtning Bugs makes me cry but it's that good kind of tears.

@delicate-dorothea sweet sweet writing that is addictive to read. Really looking forward to continuing to read and follow.

@backtothefanfiction someone I just started following but wow, am currently enthralled with a multi chapter mob!peter fic (The Angel In The Garden Of Evil) that has blown me away. Been a lot of fun to follow the character arcs and the twists and turns. Love writing essays for this creator when I reblog because the back and forth has been wonderful and enriching. I know the longer series can be so hard to write and maintain but they are a feast when you can find them. I've had a front row seat and am looking forward to more works in the future.

@helloheyhihowdyheya Love her works. Reading Rose Thorn Blues right now, and if asked to pick a fave out of the masterlist of Spider-man fics I'm not sure I could because they're all my babies.

@thursdaygxrls so much imagination in her writing, love it and love all the fics. Am currently following two: Thin Ice and Infrunami.

@withahappyrefrain Abby, whose Peter Parker won me over from the get go and then wrote TGM fics that added more hot male characters to the keyfob. Perfect sense of humor, never afraid to call out haters, and you just glow with sunshine and flowers right when I need it most. Big hugs and a shout out.

Other bloggers reblogging content is how I ran across many of you listed above so readers and content creators: reblog whatever you enjoy because it's really what keeps Tumblr active and engaging. When I'm not writing, I'm enjoying what others create and the inspiration and encouragement and words you share is wonderful and thank you for the effort you put into what you do!

'Scuse me, heading to Vegas to place a bet on whether that was Kelsie.

Hmmm, Matt. Ask yourself why someone working in a newsroom would be revealing that much information instead of asking YOU questions??

Doubters gonna doubt...and those two lovers love to second guess everything except what is right in front of them.

Kelsie's comeuppance is going to be juicy, right? Right? Pie to the face? Copier explosion? Roundhouse kick?

Worried about the upcoming angst...hope Reader gets a good nap in so she's ready for it...

Looking forward to finding out what happens!

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 11

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Here 

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, idiots in love, Kelsie is her own warning 😈

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: Super short but super important chapter here! This is setting up our Mega Angst for the story, which will be coming next! 👀

As always, thanks to @theradioactivespidergwen for the stellar divider! 🥰

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @roseslovedreams

Ugh, why isn't this coffee kicking in, you thought to yourself while you sat at your desk attempting to proofread several articles for the Thursday digital edition of the paper later that morning. I've read this same sentence no less than 5 times.

You shook your head, trying to clear it. The unusual quiet in the normally bustling office definitely wasn't helping your sleepiness. Maybe some stronger coffee will help.

You stood up and walked towards the break room.  Skyler had brought a bag of espresso roast coffee in the previous week and you were pretty sure there was some still left. 

You paused as you spotted Ellison at the Keurig. "Copier's on the fritz again," you said, walking over towards the cabinet that held the coffee mugs. "Thought you should know."

Ellison nodded as he waited for his coffee to finish. "Hopefully there'll be enough money in the budget to replace it next year. Damn thing's probably older than I am."

He looked over at you and squinted. "No offense, but you look like shit."

You huffed out a laugh. "Gee thanks, Mitch. You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

"Rough night?"

You shook your head. "Just tired. I only slept about an hour last night." 

Ellison studied you for a moment. "Look, why don't you take the rest of the day off? Go home and get some rest."

You opened your mouth to protest, then thought better of it. You were still exhausted and a nap honestly sounded wonderful at the moment. "Are you sure?" you asked instead. "I was just going to get some more coffee and try to power through the rest of the day."

Ellison nodded. "Absolutely. It's been a slow news day, and besides, you've been working your ass off lately and deserve a break."

You smiled. "Okay. Thanks, I appreciate it."

Ellison shrugged. "Eh, don't get all sappy on me. I just don't want you burning out on me, otherwise who else would tell me if my editorial column sucks or not?"

You grinned. "Oh I'm sure people would be lining up for that privilege."

Ellison chuckled. "Seriously, go get some rest."

You nodded. "I will. Thanks, Mitch. Really. I'll see you tomorrow."

You walked back out to your desk and gathered your things, then stopped by Skyler's desk. "Ellison gave me the rest of the day off, so I'm heading home. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"

Skyler nodded. "Okay. Get some rest."

As you headed down to the first floor and out the door, you considered stopping by Daredevil on your way home so you could apologize to Matt in person.

You headed towards your apartment building, sighing happily when you finally walked in the door.

You shook your head. You were so tired that you honestly weren't even sure if you could come up with a coherent apology. I'll talk to him after my article is turned in.

You peeked in your pantry and refrigerator, wrinkling your nose at the paltry options you had for dinner that evening. Instead of a choice between boxed pasta, instant ramen, or leftover Chinese takeout you wished you had Matt's spaghetti carbonara, pesto-parmesan linguine, and tiramisu. Maybe I could order something for delivery later, try something else on the menu.

You headed into your bedroom, changing into something more comfortable before climbing into bed. 

Your mind drifted to your article. You really didn't want to have to replay the last few minutes of the blind tasting yet again, but you needed to add a bit about it at the end so you could give it a quick read-through then send it to Ellison.

You sighed. You were a professional, dammit, and no matter your feelings, you were going to write a damn good article about Matt… Even if you never spoke to him again after it was all over.

I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night… No, take responsibility for your actions, Matthew. 

I'm sorry for trying to kiss you last night… Actually, no, I'm really not.

I apologize for my behavior last night. I must have misread the situation and… Ugh.

Matt sighed as he rode the elevator up to the Bulletin offices, wishing he would have had time to make a fresh tiramisu for you. 

He stepped off the elevator, unable to detect your now-familiar heartbeat among those of the rest of the Bulletin staff.

"Can I help you?" said a woman's voice to his left.

"Uh, yeah." Matt turned towards her and asked to speak to you.

"She's not here."

Matt sighed. Damn it. He probably wouldn't have time to come back later and based on what Foggy had said about you looking miserable he wasn't sure if you would be willing to come by the restaurant either. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Actually ," the woman continued, "she's out on assignment for the rest of the day. You know those investigative types, always looking for their next big scoop."

Matt furrowed his brow. That had been the exact opposite of the type of stories you had told him you were interested in writing. "I thought she was in Features."

"Oh, yeah, she is, but she really wants to be an investigative journalist, you know, digging up the dirt on people, finding out their deepest, darkest secrets and publishing them for the world to see." The woman paused. "Nothing nor no one is going to stand in the way of her and a good exposé… even if she has to make one up."

She made a dismissive sound. "Anyway, would you like to leave a message for her? I'll make sure that she gets it."

Matt shook his head. "Oh, uh, no, that's okay. I'll… catch up with her another time. Thank you."

"Sure thing. Have a nice day!"

Matt walked back to the elevator then headed down to the first floor. He had thought that he was getting to know you, but after that surprise revelation from your coworker he wasn't so sure.

He shook his head. Could you have been lying to him this whole time?

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase