Matt Murdock X Y/n - Tumblr Posts
if i made a wattpad acc to write an OC fic would yall want the link or username 👀bc an idea for a daredevil x OC fic wont leave me alone and i think it’d fit wattpad better but i can always just post it here or both?? idk very open to suggestions :))
I would definitely want that link to the Wattpad story about Matt. Honestly the lack of mat fanfic out there is a crime
the lack of fanfics for matt really is criminal 😭im trying hard to make up the difference.
I made this on wattpad and it's a multi-chapter fic idea have and it is an OC bc im trying to get more comfortable creating my own characters. If you check this out, i really hope you like it :)) if anyone is interested, i'd be happy to upload it on tumblr too
https://www.wattpad.com/1170694507-nightmare-in-hell%27s-kitchen-chapter-one
48 hours - chapter one
a/n im almost done with my matt x ex black widow! fic, and i really wanted to have it done before my friends come visit for NYE but im not sure it'll happen and i really wanted to give you guys something before i disappear for my tiny reunion bc yall have been so supportive with the BW fic so here's a very mini series idea that came to me...
i wanted to write this bc this idea has been so soft in my head for the past couple of days and ive been binging jane the virgin again so im all over the ‘even when im pissed off, i’m going to show up bc that’s what family does’ trope bc it fits so well with matt bc of all the secrets he keeps lmaoo
also the timeline for the actual show was not my priority in making this and you can kinda tell lol so pls don’t dwell on the details on who knows matt’s identity and other stuff
summary: After finding out that Matt Murdock, the lawyer you’ve been working closely with and befriended faster than you thought possible, is actually Daredevil, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to trust him again. But that doesn’t mean you have the heart to leave him to face his demons on his own. So you agree to stay around for 48 hours, because that’s the only way to assure that he won’t do something stupid (which is extortion if you think about it, but what are you going to do) Too bad the main problem with being alone with him is that it makes ignoring those budding feelings you’d been fighting against that much harder to ignore.
trigger warnings: i cant write someone being mad without sounding kinda annoying bc i only know how to be petty lmao, emotional dependency (not the healthiest relationship take lowkey lol but it gets resolved by the end of the mini-series, i promise), matt lowkey being toxic 😳but that one's on me (it gets fixed and kinda justified lol it just doesn't look great without the context that you get at the end of the mini-series)
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Foggy and Karen left. Either my (not so) subtle jabs and dirty looks were too much or they came to the conclusion that the only person that should and could deal with the real fall out of what happened a few hours ago was Matt. What made them think it was a good idea to let such an injured man face the blunt of my anger, I have no idea. I guess it has to do with the fact that apparently Matt can take a lot more than he’s been letting on.
He’s still slumped on the couch, body wilted in on itself, broken and bruised. A strange combination of guilt and fury twist in me. I want to help him; I want to pick up the stupid vase on his ottoman and throw it at his head. How could I have been so stupid?
Matt shifts, a soft groan falling from his lips. Great, he’s awake. That’s part of the reason everyone left so quickly...they knew that I’d have stormed out of Matt’s apartment if anyone else was there to make sure that he didn’t bleed out to death on his couch. A very unlikely thing, but my conscience wouldn’t let me walk away until I saw him awake.
And now I’ve seen him awake, so there’s no point in still being here. He’s silent, and his face is turned away from me, so I can’t see if his eyes are open, but I know that he’s awake. Which apparently means he knows I’m standing here.
“I know you’re awake,” I mumble, “and that that means you know I’m here.” I scoff, crossing my arms in front of me. “Apparently.”
He twists his body against the couch. His movements are rigid, pained. I want to move. I want to help him, but all of my energy is going into staying together and not succumbing to the strangled feeling in my throat.
It’s choking me. The feeling of shock, of worry, of anger, and of--of betrayal. All of those sentiments swirl in my chest, pulsing through my body at a rate that’s nauseating.
And now he’s just staring at me--wide, brown eyes swirling with emotions I don’t understand. Emotions I don’t want to understand, because if I let myself think about it, about how alone he must feel right now, I’ll push aside everything I’m feeling.
He’s not a villain for this. He doesn’t owe you anything. The rational part of me reflects on these thoughts as he blinks at me, waiting for some kind of response. He’s in pain, that much is clear, and just standing here goes against all of my instincts. I’ve never seen him this broken before, but I guess I apparently have. I’ve helped Daredevil--I, I cleaned deep wounds for him at least three times, and I’ve aided Matt Murdock more than I can count. But apparently all of that was unnecessary.
“Can you tell what I’m thinking too or do you still need me to say that out loud?”
The corners of his mouth pull down, he’s practically wincing. “I can’t--I’ve never been able to read minds. Being able to hear someone’s breathing patterns isn’t exactly telepathy.”
I grind my teeth together. “You’re not actually trying to be funny right now.” He can’t brush this aside, smooth over this revelation with his soft little half smiles and heart torn eyes. “Because I’m not even sure if you’re actually blind or if that’s all a cover so that people don’t know that you’re--”
“I’m blind.” He moves like he wants to sit up, but the motion is never completed. Matt cuts himself off with a wince. My nails dig into my palms to stop myself from rushing towards him. “I can’t see the way other people see, but I can--there are things I sense, things I hear, things I smell.” He swallows once. “And I--I don’t tell people, obviously. But I--I’ll tell you everything, if you’ll listen, I’ll--”
“Don’t waste your breath.” I mean it, I mean it with my entire chest and a small part of me hates myself for it. And I--I resent him for making me feel this way about him. “I won’t believe any of it anyways, and to be honest, I don’t see the point in talking when I don’t even know who I’m talking to.” My voice almost wavers, his eyes turn into even deeper vats of emotion. Don’t look at them. Don’t fall for it. “So Matt Murdock, good guy lawyer, or the illusive Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, or whoever the hell you are--goodbye.”
The last word hurts the most. It’s an ending without a conclusion. A sore wound destined to never heal. I swallow the grief that lumps in my throat as I turn towards the door to his apartment.
“L/n.” My name is tired but not soft. Keep walking. I hear him shift against his couch, and once again the urge to help him is drowning me. He doesn’t need your help, if he’s capable of jumping over dumpsters and fighting crime bosses, he’s capable of walking in his own damn apartment. “Y--y/n, don’t go.” My nails dig even further into the palm of my skin. Go. “It’s not--this isn’t about me, there are people that want to hurt you and I--I can’t protect you right now.”
How hurt must he be for him to openly admit that he can’t do anything right now? My stomach knots. Stop caring. “Have you ever stopped for a second to consider that maybe I don’t want your protection? I’ve lived most of my life without you, placing myself in risky situations for my career, and I’ve managed. So just--stay here, try not to get anything infected, and leave me alone.”
“The people that you’ve written those articles about are nothing compared to the kinds of people I’m dealing with. And they’re going to go after you.”
The seriousness of his tone is enough to make me hesitate. I’m furious at him, but it’s not like I can dismiss facts. “What--what makes you think they’d go after me?”
He hesitates, expression still mortally wounded in a way that makes me desperate to comfort him. “They’ve seen you with me.”
“You mean they’ve seen me with your vigilante alter ego.” He’s silent, I cross my arms over my chest. “Who I’ve--cleaned wounds for and-and talked to about personal things, and the entire time it was actually you. And you let me come into the office the next day and you--you knew what I was thinking, what I had gone through the night before, and you didn’t--” This is such a stupid thing to dwell on. “And--and Foggy knew, and Karen knew, and--you all knew and you let me be such an idiot!” I clamp my mouth shut after those words. There it is, for both of us to see--the deepest part of my emotional wound.
Matt stills for a moment, and then all of his strength goes into him shifting into a sitting position. His expression remains hard, pained. I push down the instinct to do something, anything. “L/n.” I should run out of here. I should have run out of here the moment I realized he was still alive and my conscience was made clear by the fact that I didn’t let him bleed out on his couch. “That’s what this is about.”
“No, this is about the fact that you’re an untrustworthy liar that made me feel like I was going crazy.” My stomach knots, but its too late to back down. “And also, maybe, a little bit about the fact that I finally felt like I found people. My people, good people that I could trust.”
“You did. You have.” I scoff. “We just wanted to protect you.” The pleading behind his eyes is unbearable. “I just wanted to protect you, and I made them keep it from you.”
“You know my entire life I’ve always felt like I’ve cared more about other people than they do about me. I’ve had so many people use me for stories or my--my family, and I thought I finally found something more than that.” My voice is shaking, and I’m torn between running out of his apartment and punching him in the stomach or something else stupid and petty. “And you took that from me--and that--that really sucks.”
“I know.” He has no defense. There is no defense.
My shoulders fall. “I have an article due tomorrow night, so...” Not the ending I want, but maybe that’s for the best. I’m not in the headspace to get closure...nothing permanent will bring me peace right now. “I um--I don’t think I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”
He shifts again, with a little more force. I think he’s trying to stand. Don’t help. “L/n.” My last name again, what he’s called me most since the day I first met him. It no longer makes my stomach flutter the way it once did. Or, I guess it still kind of does, but these butterflies are different...these hurt. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Have a totally normal reaction to realizing that every important person in my life has been lying to me?” I shake my head, the irony of it all making me want to laugh. “You know I thought the biggest lie I’d have to deal with this year is finding out about all the criminal things my dad had been doing and the origin of our family money. But no, the biggest lie has to do with my dad’s enemy who happens--”
“It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t like that.” A lie is a lie. It doesn’t matter. “Your father lied to manipulate you into thinking he changed, I kept a secret so that you’d be safe.”
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. “I won’t be in tomorrow,” I repeat, voice a little more settled. Resigned. I wish I could say I never want to see him again. I wish I could feel like that--like I have the strength to not care about what happens to him. “If you could um--if you could text me or get someone to text me every day or every other day?” My face burns. I wipe my face with the back of my palm. “I don’t think I’ll text back, but I’ll be able to sleep, and I don’t know what you owe me, but I think it’s at least that much.”
I reach for the front door, finally pulling it open. The air in the hall feels a lot colder than it did before. Some sound I can’t name forces me to stop. It’s--it’s broken. I turn around despite myself...he’s...I think he’s crying, but there’s something more to the sound than tears. Something desperate and breathy. Is he hyperventilating?
“Matt?” My voice is smaller than I wanted it to be and my hand has yet to let go of the door to his apartment.
I turn on my heels, nervously looking behind me. He’s slumped forward, his back hunched in a way that makes it impossible to see his face. Is he--no, walk away. You don’t care. I will myself to move, to remember all the lying and the confusion I felt and...screw it, who am I kidding? I give into my instincts, rushing to his side on the couch.
My hand is on his shoulder before I can stop myself. “H-hey, you’re okay.”
He shakes his head. I catch more of the bruises on the left side of his face than I had before. Pity pulses through me. “Don’t go.” Now his voice is small. Smaller than I’ve ever heard it be. “Don’t--I don’t know what--”
“Matt...” Okay, I don’t have to be vindictive about the whole walking out on him thing right now. There will be plenty of time to be angry with him later, once he’s more stable and--and better. “This isn’t fair.” He says nothing, still too lost in his crisis. “You really hurt me, and I’m allowed to be mad at you. I should be able to be mad without feeling guilty.” I run my hand up and down his arm as gently as possible. He exhales lightly at the extended contact. I bite my tongue to avoid losing anymore self control. “I’m going to go, and you’re going to be okay.”
My fingers slowly detach themselves from him. I pull away with a patience I don’t feel. I move to stand, but at the last second his hand latches onto my arm. “Don’t go, I--I know what they’re planning.”
“Planning?”
He winces when I pull away from his touch. “They’re going to go after you because of me.” The guilt in his voice is another knife in my stomach. “You know it’s true.” My breath catches in my chest. Matt must sense it, or hear it, or whatever he does, because he shifts again. When he grabs my forearm, I let him. “Be as mad as you want, but be mad here.”
I swallow once, forcing my back to straighten. A clean, healthy break. We need it. “Matt--”
He moves again, his fingers tactfully pressing into my skin. “I need you.” The words hang there, as heavy as my heart. “And that’s not--that’s not something that I can just say.”
Oh my god...Okay, I have to get out of here. Now or never. Just stand up, just--ugh. Who the hell am I kidding? “You know you’re really good at laying on the guilt when you want to.”
“One of the many benefits of being a devoted Catholic.”
If things were any better, I’d laugh. But they’re not. “I um-I really appreciate what you said, I know that that’s not easy for you.”
His eyes are doing that terribly compelling, kicked puppy thing. How can I want to be away from him as badly as I want to be near him? He moves his hand slowly, cautiously. I let him intertwine our fingers. Matt drops his head slightly, lifting our joined hands to his forehead. I sigh, ignoring the sentiments that bubble in my chest. Okay, two minutes, I can sit here for two minutes--that won’t kill anyone. Probably.
He moves my hand again. I let him until I feel the brush of his lips against the back of my palm. Even before I was this angry, I was wary of soft gestures like that. “What are--” No, don’t ask what he’s doing, just make sure he stops it. “What you’re doing isn’t healthy and it’s not going to work.” I mean it--or at least, I want to mean it with every fiber of my being. “I can’t trust you anymore and that hurts and I--I need time to deal with that. Alone. And there’s nothing you can do or say to change that, to change what you did.”
Matt’s silence is not safe. It doesn’t feel like acceptance because that would be too easy. He’s plotting, he has to be. “Are you sure?” What kind of question is that? “I’ll do anything.” I stay still, ignoring the nerves swelling in my chest. “I’ll do anything you want, l/n. Just--just don’t go.”
I press my lips together into a hard line. His stupid, soft eyes and messy hair...and the-the needy look behind his eyes. I’m only human. I have weaknesses. Okay--I’ve hit my limit, if I don’t get out now, I may never follow through. “What I want is to feel like I can trust you.” I pull my hand away, creating the distance between us that I need to be capable of rational thought. “And to feel like you’re not going to do something stupid while all those ribs are still broken and your lung is partially collapsed or...”
“Okay.” His voice is so assured, so certain, my panic stalls.
“What do you mean okay?”
He still looks like a rejected puppy. “Stay and--and I’ll take the night off. I’ll focus on meditating and I’ll answer all of your questions if you want to ask, and--”
Is he really using the fact that I don’t want him hunting down dangerous criminals while he’s half dead to his advantage? “Are you seriously trying to extort me right now?” I sigh, anger and dread spiking in me all over again. “And--and meditating? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I heal faster when I meditate.”
Uneasy laughter cuts through me. The sound must be more nervous than I thought because Matt stalls. “I’m sorry--you heal faster when you meditate? Why did you never call Tony Stark? You have enough going on to be a freaking Avenger or something.”
His expression makes it clear that he doesn’t know whether or not I’m actually snapping. “It’d get in the way of the day job.”
“Right, the ever important separate worlds thing. That’s why you kept me around, right?” I scratch the back of my arm, discomfort settling in my stomach. “Everyone in your circle knew the truth and you wanted to feel normal and you met me and could tell how much I wanted to belong somewhere and--”
“No,” he tries to sit up further, but his body is too tired, “it wasn’t like that at all. You know that.”
“Do I?” I sit up a little straighter. “What um--what was real and what was fake?” My eyes focus on the wall in front of him. “About us, I mean, because I--I really cared about—I still care about you because I’m still sitting on this couch even though I should have left the second I was sure you weren’t going to bleed out.”
“All of it.”
“Even when you were comforting me over my father? Or were you just trying to get the information you needed to stop him?”
He frowns. “Y/n--”
“Forget it.” I wipe my hands on my jeans. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does.”
I shake my head once even though he can’t see it. “So you think people are after me?”
Matt hesitates. “...I know they are.”
His tone is clear--he’s not going to give me any details on how he’s so sure that I’m in danger. “And if--if I stay you’re not going to do anything stupid until you’re better?”
“I think Hell’s Kitchen will survive a night without me.”
Oh--he’s insane. I blink twice, shocked at how one person can be so deluded. “A night? No--I saw how much blood you lost.” He opens his mouth to protest, but he’s gotten his way enough today. “And keep in mind how angry I am and what you’re asking of me. You need a full recovery.”
“I’ll be honest about how I’m feeling in the morning.”
He is in no position to negotiate. “The only person in any position to make arguments here is me, and I saw you throw up blood, and--and Foggy had to say a lot to keep me from dragging your ass to a hospital.” I should have just left him outside of an ER. “72 hours--that’s standard for—“
“You don’t know what I need--”
“No, but I know that our entire friendship was based on lies.”
Now it’s his turn to press his lips together. “It wasn’t.”
“Tell that to my father, who you got arrested with information that you got from me when I thought you were just my friend.” I fold my hands on my lap. “You know I would have helped you if you had just told me the truth.”
Maybe my voice sounds just small enough to appeal to the part of him that’s decent enough to feel bad about all the lying. “48 hours. I’ll stay if you stay.”
I wipe my face with the palm of my hand, inhaling sharply in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Two days with him is the last thing I want right now. “Fine.” This doesn’t mean anything...he’s feeling panicky now, but that will pass, and then I’ll be able to walk away and deal with my own hurt. “But I’m not going to be nice to you, and I’m only doing it so that I don’t have to end up writing a news article about a dead body in a devil’s suit found in a dumpster.”
His expression is still tinged by that sad, innocent look. “The people here need me in that suit, I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“And I needed you.” Great, this is a level of vulnerability I didn’t want to reach here. “I needed you as a friend, as someone I trusted.” I grip the arm of his couch as I force myself to stand. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
These next 48 hours are going to be so much fun.
----
if youre interested in part 2 lmk :)) and if this is really bad bc i wrote this while very tired i am sorry!! im still getting used to writing matt and even though i love him very much im still working on his voice :)
yall i have to go to bed but MATT MURDOCK IS BACKKKK
I need to write for him and frank ASAP and to keep me on track and motivated i need to talk about my ideas:
1. matt x reader where the reader is younger than matt and has a promising journalism career so he’s super hesitant about getting involved with her and there’s a lot of snark bc she’s so sure she can get anything she wants and has been told how great she is all her life but then he learns she has a lead on a case that he’s invested in as both Matt Murdock the lawyer and Daredevil so he has to spend time with her and they can’t resist and it’s soft and extremely touchy
2. Reader developed super destructive powers so the government tries locking her up to study her/prevent her from accidentally damaging anything (kinda like Wanda in the civil war era) and Frank is risking it all to get her out of there
A Red Widow
a/n i’ve been teasing this fic for like a year oops, decided that if i kept coddling it it’d never get done so with very cursory editing i snapped and decided to post it, i could give it a part 2 as it was originally going to be longer but i decided that my original idea was too long for a one-shot
i’m scared to post this, part of the reason i didn’t want to post it is bc i felt too close to it,, throwing it out like a grenade and then logging off for the night
Summary: former black widow reader and matt, what can i say,, this is all about trauma lmao
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y/n’s POV
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Before the blip. Tangier, Morocco.
----
Nothing is enough to distract me from my goal, my mission. Not even the irritating humidity and the way it makes my suit cling to my skin. I’m going to need Yelena’s help pealing out of this suit when this all over.
“The target is passing.” Yelena’s voice rings through my ear piece, snapping me out of my thoughts. I adjust my grip on my weapon as I press my body further into the corner of the roof. “Are you in position, младенец вдова?”
Leaning forward, I frown at the nickname. “Baby widow? Seriously? I think I’m old enough for us to retire that nickname.”
“You don’t like малиновый цвет either.”
The nickname is almost enough to make me move from my position. Even though my black stealth suit completely covers my arms, the red scar that exists on the back of my left wrist begs for my attention. The mark has been there for practically as long as I can remember, and is the reason Yelena often tries calling me crimson.
I roll my eyes, leaning forward as the sound of footsteps echo around me. My mark is almost here. “I’m in position.” My finger is poised on the trigger. “They’re almost in my line of--”
My back hits the gravel of the roof so quickly I can’t even register how it happened. My rifle lands a few feet behind me and my assailant is standing over me. Great--our target has friends.
For support, I press my hands into the gravel. Creating momentum, I push myself upwards with all the strength in my body. My legs strike my attacker and I land in a crouched position. The person that attacked me is surprised, but not ruined. He lunges for me. I duck and strike the way I’ve been trained to. The attacker is persistent and I don’t have time for this. If I miss my mark...
No. I won’t. I let my assailant attempt to grab me. Instead, I latch onto his wrist, yanking him forward. I rotate his arm with all my strength, not stopping until I hear the sound of bone cracking. He winces and swings at me with his good arm. I kick him in the ribs. He stumbles.
“Y/n?”
Yelena. Has our target already passed? “Give me a second.”
“Do you need backup?”
The man kicks his leg forward, almost knocking me off balance. I spin, dragging him down by pulling on his broken arm. He lets out a low sound as he tries to use his size to his advantage. The man towers over me, so when he throws his weight at my center, I stumble slightly. He takes advantage, swinging his leg around my foreleg.
I fall onto my back. The man places his foot on my chest. Twisting to get on my side, I slam my heel into the back of his knee. The man’s leg buckles. With my other leg, I kick him down. I jump upwards before checking to see where he’s landed. I run towards my rifle, raising it on my shoulder the second my hand is on the cold metal. I can’t shoot my attacker because the noise could alert my target.
The stranger must know that because the moment he’s on his feet, he lunges towards me. I dodge at the last second, slamming part of my rifle into his temple. He grabs the end of the weapon, jabbing my rib with it in a way that makes me want to double over in pain. The man then throws the weapon behind him. I angle myself to the left, reaching for his broken arm. The man tries to punch me again, but I duck, moving one arm upwards. I wrap my arm around his neck and place a hand beneath his jaw. He tries one last kick of his legs, but it’s already over. I turn his head to the left as sharply as possible, snapping his neck.
He slumps, his legs going slack. I release him, letting his body fall limp onto the concrete. I run towards the rifle and get back to my position in record time. “I’m my own backup.”
“No, you’re ridiculous.”
Rolling my eyes again, I find my target in my scope. Taking a deep breath, I pull the trigger. And like always, my bullet finds my target perfectly. “The target is neutralized.”
“Alright, now come to the rendev--” My legs give out as pain rips through my body. My rifle falls as a pathetic sound falls from my lips. “Y/n?”
I’ve been shot. I crawl across the roof, ignoring the insatiable burning in my shoulder. Once I’m behind the apex of the roof, I slump against its wall. A shaky hand reaches forward, grazing where the pain is at its worst. My fingers come back bloody.
Yelena. I have to warn Yelena. “They have--they have people.”
“Did something happen?” My throat feels so dry and my limbs have become so heavy. “Y//n? Where are you?”
This wound puts me out of commission. My body knows what needs to be done. “Don’t come.”
My hand moves without me telling it to. I reach into the compartment on the thigh of my suit, pulling out a knife. My hand begins to move up, towards my throat. The edge of my blade presses into the side of my neck. I close my eyes, letting my hand fall prey to instinct.
Something strong clamps around my wrist. My eyes open in frustration as I try to free my arm. “No. Y/n, don’t do this. You’re fine--you’re going to be fine.” Yelena’s grip on me is insatiable, but my instinct is stronger. I continue to struggle against her. “Y/n, you’re not stronger than me.”
Pain rips through my shoulder as I try to hit her with my free arm. She catches the punch effortlessly. “Y/n, y/n, please.”
Everything in me wants to listen to her. I always want to listen to her. But I can’t. My body won’t let me. My leg kicks outwards in hopes of knocking her off of me. Yelena is faster than me, she always has been. She turns her leg and forces me to the ground in one move.
Yelena pins me down, ignoring the way that I struggle. My body won’t stop until the self termination protocol is completed. I kick her in the stomach. Yelena frowns, shifting so that she can pin down my leg. I take that as an opportunity to strike her forearm. The hand that’s still clinging to my knife twists in Yelena’s grasp. I blindly jab it in Yelena’s direction. She grabs my forearm and presses it into the ground with all her strength.
“Trained you a little too well.” She sighs as I continue to struggle against her. Yelena frowns, eyeing my wounded shoulder. “I’m sorry about this.”
She moves, placing one hand on the injury. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from screaming out in pain. Yelena then leans over, reaching for a case I’ve never seen. I continue to struggle despite the burning of my shoulder. My body is listening to a source outside of myself. Yelena holds a vile of something red above me.
I take a deep breath, relaxing for a moment before pulling my legs upwards. I push myself upwards with all my strength, knocking Yelena off of me. I run a few feet away from her, holding knife back up to my neck. Yelena is on me in a second, forcing me to turn around by grabbing my injured shoulder. I thrust my knife forward, cutting into Yelena’s arm. She lets out a pained noise and my stomach knots, but this is beyond me. I’m injured, my termination protocol is in motion. Yelena tries to kick my legs out beneath me and I try to twist her injured arm. She turns, grabbing my hurt arm and using it to give her the momentum she needs to flip me onto my back.
Yelena places a foot on my chest and cracks something over my head. I bend my arm, attempting to cut my neck again. Red powder floats in the air, falling over me as my blade reaches my skin. The powder dissipates and I have the will to let my arm fall slack.
What just happened? I-I fought Yelena. I cut her--I hurt her because she didn’t want me to hurt myself. As I lie there panting, Yelena removes the foot from my chest. She takes the knife from my weakly curled fingers. I let her. She wordlessly bends down, grabbing my leg and turning my thigh outwards. I wince when I feel the sting of the blade cutting through my skin. Yelena touches the wound and a moment later, she holds something out in front of me.
“Tracker.” I blink dumbly, sitting up slowly. What just happened? At least I’m with Yelena, and I trust her with all that I am. “You want to know what just happened?” She lets out a breath, casually moving to sit crosslegged right in front of me. “You want to know why your self termination protocol stopped before you hurt yourself?” I nod. “That red powder--it freed you from the control of the red room.” No. That has to be some kind of joke or fluke. That’s impossible. “Now, come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“We need to send a package to Natasha.”
Natasha. Our Natasha.
----
Hell’s Kitchen, New York.
Present day.
Post Blip.
----
The strangest part of life is the way that things change. Whether you want them to or not, whether you hold onto the past with all your strength or you attempt to push it away with all you have, you are not in control of that change. Things change by their own will, or by the will of the universe, I guess.
I think about this every time I do this. The widow uniform still fits, even after all these years. Don’t do this. It’s not your responsibility. My hands feel fragile as I adjust my braided ponytail. Braiding my own hair before going out like this feels wrong. It reminds me of how much has changed.
Natasha. Yelena. I haven’t seen them since the blip. I haven’t heard from them since the blip. I’m not sure I want to hear from Yelena again, but it would be a relief to know that she’s alive. And Natasha--I’d do anything to make her proud. Five years. For five years she made sure I had a safe place to sleep and that I always had enough to eat. She made me believe I could do anything. Natasha got me the paperwork I needed to start over as a normal person. She made Tony create school transcripts so that I could go to college and do something with my life.
Don’t think about this now. You can think about it after.
Turning from the mirror, I pace away from my bedroom mirror and approach the fire escape window. Taking a last look around my room, I sigh, pulling my mask over my face again. Another thing that’s different. When I was a widow, there were rarely masks. We knew we wouldn’t be seen by anyone that would survive and we had no other identities. Now, though, I have another version of myself to keep separate from this.
I shut the window behind me before throwing myself over the railing of my fire escape. I let myself drop two floors before swinging onto a lower level of the fire escape. Here, I can better make out the people beneath me. They walk around, happy to be lost in their own world. But things aren’t safe here, that’s part of the appeal of living in the city. I can try to be the kind of person Natasha would be proud of. Like that can make up for what you said to her before she left.
Sighing, I push down the negative thoughts like the poison they are. One day I’ll be reunited with Natasha, and she’ll see that I did good things, and she’ll be proud of me. And she’ll forgive me.
I jump down another floor. And then another. Soon enough, I’m on the sidewalk. There aren’t a bunch of people out at this hour, which I guess is a good thing. I walk down the streets, disappearing into an alley that I’ve stopped crimes in before.
Pulling myself onto a closed dumpster, I use it as a starting point to make it easier to throw my body onto the ladder of this building’s fire escape. I make my way upwards. I don’t stop until I’m high enough to blend into the night. To observe without being seen.
Someone’s approaching the alley. I hold my position, crouching a little further into the shadows. The person is alone, and walking with methodical patience. “I know you’re here.” My fingers ghost the pocket of my suit, preparing to pull out a throwing knife at a moment’s notice. “You’re not going to make me guess, are you?”
I swallow once, my body tensing even though I know no threat is near. I’ve run into this self-thought vigilante a number of times. I’m not exactly in the business of working with others, but I can’t exactly pretend to be unaware of the other masked person fighting in the same alleyways as me. It’s like sharing an office space, except our paperwork is crimefighting and instead of small talk he grills me about my intentions.
“Not behind the dumpster, because you like the arial advantage.” It wouldn’t be a big deal to respond. Some of our interactions have bordered on friendly, or as friendly as one can be to a stranger they only know through vigilante activities. “Not on the left fire escape because that’s still a residential building and you like to keep away from civilians.” I’m not in the mood for interactions tonight. The days have been harder than normal, and I don’t trust myself to be the person I want to be. I can feel myself being pulled somewhere dark, and the less people that witness that the better. “You’re on the fire escape of the building to the right of me.” He walks forward until he’s right beneath me. “I know you’re above me.”
Rolling my eyes, I grip the railing a little tighter, and not out of fear of losing balance. “I’m not in the mood for company tonight.” I’m being much shorter than usual, which is a fact he’ll pick up on. I need to add something lighthearted so that I can get left alone a little faster. “This is Hell’s Kitchen, I’m pretty sure you can find another alley to virtuously lurk in.”
“Virtuously lurk?” Normally, I’d make fun of him for making fun of me. Tonight isn’t normal. Not after what happened this morning. The flash back came out of nowhere and still lingers in me, a phantom desperate to take form. “You don’t want company, but what about a job?”
“You pay now?”
He tilts his head upwards, the corner of his lips turning upwards slightly. “It’s more of a community service opportunity. Which is, as I understand it, why you do what you do, Crimson Widow.” There’s something about the way he says my alter ego name, like there’s a joke he knows about that I don’t. “This involves teenage girls. Hurt and scared teenage girls, they won’t respond well to a man that seems violent, and they won’t be trusting.”
Hurt and scared teenage girls that don’t trust men. Guilt prods at that thing in my stomach that’s always asking: what would Natasha want me to do? I sigh, standing so that I can drop down. Before I know it, I’m on the top of the dumpster just like I was in the beginning. I slide off of it easily, landing right in front of the devil himself.
“I was right.”
He’s feeling easy going tonight. Or maybe he just feels the need to compensate for my unusual dryness. “Aren’t you always?”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate my victories.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s a particular mind set.” Crossing my arms in front of me, I watch him cautiously. Just because he’s given me no reason to be wary of him doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down. “That paired with the way you analyze things makes me wonder...does your day job involve you being a detective or something?”
He almost smiles, or at least I think he almost smiles. “Or something.”
I inhale, dismissing the partial kinship that something in me is desperate to cling to. “You said something about teenage girls in trouble?”
“Does that mean you’re trusting me?”
That word seems to be everywhere. “It means...you said something and I’m saying something in response to that. Which is how all conversations work, so I guess it just means that we’re having a conversation.” He’s quiet, but something about his body language tells me that my sarcasm isn’t as off putting as it should be. At moments like this, I find myself wishing that I could see his face. The fact that I care in any capacity makes me a little more wary of his presence. “You are aware that if this is some kind of trap, I’m capable of crushing your windpipe so quickly you won’t even have time to realize you’re suffocating let alone time to stop me, right?”
The corner of his mouth turns upwards. “You’re that sure you could take me?”
His voice is lower than it was earlier, more assured. I hold my ground, angling my chin upwards. I nod once, desperate and unwilling to break eye contact. “I’ve taken on scarier things.”
“So will you help?”
The less involved I am with other people when I’m this version of myself, the better. But there are children, little girls who are suffering in ways similar to the way I did. “As long as that’s the only question you ask me.”
I’m not sure if I like the fact that my tension doesn’t dissipate as we walk together. I should be content that the walls I’m building are standing, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel relieved by the silence. Walking without speaking, preparing for a secret fight in the night. It’s too familiar. Too close to what it was like to be a widow.
Daredevil turns with no warning. A part of me wants to ask questions. To ask how he knows about these types of situations and what made him think to ask me for help. His claim was logical, young girls in these situations won’t exactly want to trust him. They’re going to see his capacity for violence and they’ll already be wary of men. They’re likely to see my violence, too, but they’ll be more likely to listen to me. And I’ll know how to approach them. But does he have reason to believe that I’ve had experience with this kind of thing?
The longer we walk, the more unnerved I feel. It’s not the situation--though I am at a tactful disadvantage, considering I’m following a man I don’t know that well blindly--but the lack of...I don’t know. Natasha. Her absence, her unexplained silence, it’s starting to suffocate me. Could she still be mad about our fight? And Yelena--I sent her away. I told her I don’t want to see her, and I don’t, not after what she did to me. But that doesn’t mean my heart knows to let her go.
Five years. They could have disappeared with half of the universe. They could be back now, feeling completely displaced. Yelena freed me so that I could do what I want. Natasha helped me find a place in the modern world. Would this disappoint them? I’m trying to do something good--I’m trying to fight for the good, but would this disappoint them?
I’m still wearing the widow suit. I’m still staining my hands with blood. I’ve yet to consciously kill, and I’m not even sure if I’m okay with that. To take a life by choice, is that really so much different from killing because of Dreykov?
Something hard strikes the back of my legs. I stumble back, just barely managing to regain my momentum to turn my fall into a kick. My assailant is thrown off, but they recover quickly, moving to punch me. I catch their fist, twisting their arm until I hear something pop. I then flip them onto their back, the way I’ve done hundreds of other times.
I turn around. Daredevil is fighting off another attacker. He throws the man off of him and into a shipping container. The man is preparing to charge, I grab his arm before he can get more than a few steps away. He tries dismissing me by delivering a swift kick to my ribs. Yelena’s kicked me harder than that in training--this man is weak. I twist his arm, forcing him to bend down enough for me to deliver a swift kick to his chest. The man lunges for my leg, I twist before he can grab me, using the momentum to flip him onto his back.
“You’re welcome.”
“I was fine.”
“Tell that to your bloody no--” I’m forced onto the ground at a speed so fast my instincts don’t register the fact that someone touched me, let alone threw me. The explosive sound of a gunshot cuts through the air. A bullet hits the spot where I was just standing.
The bullet came from above the nearest shipping container. How did I not notice the other person’s presence before Daredevil? And more importantly--how did he move fast enough to tackle me before I could notice? Living a relatively normal life must be weakening me.
I inhale as calmly as possible, the last thing he needs to know is how much he’s surprised me. It’s been a long time since someone overpowered me. That’s a fact I wish I could keep secret, but something about the way he’s still on me, hands keeping my wrists pinned above my head, tells me he must know. His body is pressed against mine, steady and hard in case instinct takes over my senses.
“How--” One of his hands moves down in order to cover the lower side of my face. It takes him a moment to truly cover my mouth.
It’s clear that he wants me to be quiet. I get it, the person with the gun is still above us. They have the advantage I rely on most--arial. The seconds pass us in pure silence. He doesn’t move. I focus on the sounds around us instead of the feeling of his weight and the warmth of his body on me. Or at the very least, I’m trying to.
When two full minutes pass, and there is only silence, I realize that the only way we’re going to be productive is by devising some kind of plan. I gesture with a nod of my head that he should shift off of me. Daredevil doesn’t react. I try being a little less subtle, but he doesn’t move until I turn my head. Which is something he can feel because of where his hand is placed.
Wait...
Daredevil’s hand moves off of my face. I stay silent, shifting my free hand forward. He doesn’t react until my hand is near his face. He moves to catch my wrist and I let him. I don’t--I don’t think he can see. How did I not notice that before? How can he do all the things he does without being able to see anything?
After a moment, he releases my hand. I move slowly, as unthreateningly as possible. And then I grab his shoulder, squeezing it once. He takes the hint, shifting off of me as quietly as possible. Okay--our silent understanding is a good first step.
I keep my hand on his arm as I sit up. Our target is above us. I need to level the playing field. Squeezing his arm once more to signal that I’m about to move, I push myself into a standing position. Creeping forward, I make it to the side of one of the shipping containers. Without making a noise, I climb onto the lowest shipping container. I swing my body upwards, climbing until I’m right below the shipping container that the gunshot came from.
Crouching down, I let my vision adjust to the darkness. I can see the outline of someone large, a rifle hoisted onto their shoulder. In true spider fashion, I pull myself onto the same shipping container. They remain unaware of me, just like I planned. I grab the man by his forearm, throwing him back.
He panics, his fingers searching for the trigger of his rifle. One kick to his stomach and that’s no longer an option. The man loosens his grip on the rifle, I lunge for it. My assailant grabs my shoulder, rotating my arm at an unnatural angle. He tries flipping me, but I’m faster, hooking a leg behind his knee. He stumbles, adjusts his hold on his rifle, and slams the base of it against my head. I won’t let the pain stop me. I grab the weapon, yanking it forward to the man’s surprise. I push it back, forcing him to stumble. My leg comes out, sweeping forward and forcing the man to fall off of the container.
I’m still holding his rifle. I haven’t touched a gun since...well, since Natasha thought shooting practice would be a good way to get me to open up to her again. It worked in the moment, but holding this feels so much different. It’s similar to the types of weapons the widows used. The part of me that’s better wants to throw the weapon as far as possible. To have it away from me.
But the part of me that’s all muscle memory, the part of me that will always be hardwired for violence knows what letting go of the weapon would mean. The second you let go of a gun, you’re inviting someone to use it on you.
“Still up there?”
My hand ghosts the weapon, my finger inclines towards the trigger. I want it gone. I want this rifle in the ocean. Footsteps appear out of nowhere. In a single motion, I turn and expertly hoist the rifle onto my shoulder. My finger finds the trigger with the ease of the trained killer that I am.
Daredevil raises his hands, open and clear. “Just me.” My mind blurs the words into memories of the past. Time looses its linear quality. Before, after. Now, then. Am I really safe here? Is this now or then?
“It’s okay.” His voice is steady. Assured and solid. “You can set the gun down, Crimson.” The nickname is familiar, but not in the way the rest of this situation is. I inhale, fingers unwilling to let go of the weapon. “Just set it down.”
I don’t know why, but I trust him. Swallowing once, I find the strength to ease my pointer finger off of the trigger. I take a step forward, lifting the gun off of my shoulder. Something in the distance bangs. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it’s the sound of violence. A high pitched scream echoes around me. I turn on instinct, adjusting the weapon back into place. I find the trigger with no effort.
“Don’t.” My body is running on something else. Pure instinct and adrenaline rush through my body as I pull the trigger.
Daredevil is fast, but it’s already over. I shot the gun. He tries to tackle me, and i’m still lost to that bad part of myself. I jab at him with the hilt of the gun. He catches it easily. Indignation pulses through me, memories of Yelena and Natasha telling me to push myself ring in my ears. You were meant to be my greatest creation, but you are a disappointment, y/n. Dreykov’s voice floods all of my senses as I strike again. Harder and more brutal than before.
Daredevil staggers back after I hit him in the nose, but he doesn’t let go of me. It doesn’t matter how much I thrash, how much I kick and claw at him. He holds on, and he...he doesn’t try to hit me back. He blocks the punches as best as he can without letting go of my waist, but he makes no move to incapacitate me.
The confusion makes me want to fight even harder, but something else in me is tired, and it feels safe enough to take over. When my thrashing calms down, Daredevil reaches forward, taking the gun. I squeeze it until he places a hand over mine. He takes the rifle, and I let him place it to the side.
I’m panting and only some of it has to do with physical exertion. He’s still holding me down, but I’m okay with it now. “I’m--I’m sorry.” Swallowing once, I try to expel all of my thoughts. “Sometimes I’m not myself.” The honesty claws itself out of my throat.
His lips part like he’s going to say something, but all I can focus on is the blood trailing down his face. Guilt twists my stomach. I did that to him. My hand moves upwards instinctually, towards the gash on his lip. I stop when I’m halfway there...something’s shifted. And he knows that too, he’s moving, but he’s not going to be fast enough.
I know what I heard. Someone is preparing to shoot at us. I twist my body, throwing him off of the top of the shipping container. His body lands with a heavy thud at the same time a gunshot goes off. I stay on my stomach for a long minute. When nothing else happens, I jump to my feet, landing in a crouched position.
As silently as possible, I move from one storage crate to the next, heading in the direction of the shooter until I’m behind him. The advantage of surprise is needed. A part of me is surprised that Daredevil hasn’t come back. He doesn’t seem the type to stay put. So he’s either fighting someone or I threw him off of me a little too hard. Okay--focus, by getting rid of these threats, I’m helping him.
He was patient with me when I was out of control. Sure, I had a gun in my hand and got in a few good hits, but when he caught me by surprise we both realized that he has the ability to overpower me. Okay, there’s a chance he already thought that, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be a worthy opponent, but that if I made up my mind to beat him I’d be able to do it without issue. Yelena and Natasha could take him, and I’m supposed to be as good as them if not better. Dreykov designed me that way.
But that’s not the point. The point is he could have stopped me. He could have hurt me to save himself the energy and physical pain. It would have been easier to fight back, more efficient. But all he did was restrain me until I was no longer a risk. He’s a better person than I thought. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m not leaving him here.
The second man with a rifle is easier to take down. I don’t have another episode. A third assailant appears and I get rid of them just as swiftly. Daredevil has yet to appear. I climb to the top of a shipping crate and make my way back to where we were. Jumping off of the same crate I threw Daredevil off of, I land about three feet from where I suspect his body of having landed. He’s not there...that’s a good thing, right? It means he got up. Or that he got taken.
The sound of something slamming into the metal of the shipping crate behind me jars me out of my sense of peace. The fight’s not over. I brace myself, turning the corner as another ‘bang’ sound erupts. I’m ready to attack, but when I see what’s happening, I’m surprised enough to stall.
Daredevil is attacking another man in all black. And he’s spending a lot more time making sure the person he’s fighting will be out of commission than I did. With a final punch, he lets his opponent slump to the ground. Okay--so no guns, but beating someone within an inch of their life is perfectly acceptable. What an odd moral line he lives on. Still, I’m jealous that he knows where he stands on these kinds of things.
“What?”
I feel my posture straighten. “Nothing.”
He walks away from the unconscious stranger easily. He paces past me and towards the front of the shipping crate. I watch as he works on breaking off the lock on the crate.
“Mind if I...” He’s confused enough to pause. I grab the lock, and with two firm tugs, it breaks off. Being biologically modified has its perks. I let the rusting metal fall at our feet. “Don’t ask.”
Disgruntled squeals interrupt us. I pull on the door to the crate until it creaks open. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to what’s cowering in the dark, but once I do a wave of nausea runs through me. Girls, children, are cowering, huddled together in a way that’s much too familiar.
My eyes land on a girl whose wide eyes make me feel like I’m watching a ghost. “H-how old are you?”
She blinks, shying into the crowd of taller girls. “Nine.”
Something in my stomach spikes.
“Get out of here.” His voice is authoritative, unflinching. The youngest looking girl winces. “Now.”
I make a point of standing between them. The girls that are paralyzed in their fear watch me as the rest of them try to disappear into the back of the crate. Stepping forward as gently as possible, I approach them. They’re untrusting, and I get that.
“You’re okay now.” I hold my hands out in front of me. “It’s over--and I know you don’t believe me right now, but it is.” I take another step forward. “You’re going to be safe, but the sooner you’re out of here the better. So go, and I promise you’ll be okay.”
The girls are understandably hesitant. But then a girl who can’t be more than 14 steps forward. And then another girl follows her. The rest join in, spilling out of the crate and disappearing from the docks. The farther they get from here, the better. I stand to the side as they flee, my nails digging into my palms. This is a good thing. I did a good thing.
Even when they’re all gone, I still don’t feel what I thought I would. I’m just as directionless as before. I don’t feel the guidance of either of my sisters. The haunting feeling that I may never know who I am without them settles in my bones. I unclench my hands, forcing myself to look at my palms.
Blood coats my fingers again. I wonder if something happens frequently enough if there’s still a point in using tenses. My hands were bloody; my hands are bloody; my hands will be bloody. If it’s promised to happen again, was I ever really free of its stain?
The fighting is done. At least it is for now. Tonight was not particularly hard, in the physical sense. I’ve attacked people more prepared for someone of my skill level. I’ve attacked people with more dangerous weapons. I’ve been more violent, more brutal. But the people that lay near me, still breathing but broken, something about them sits with me incorrectly. They are a rib out of place in the chest.
Wow. I’m not making any sense, not even to myself. I look at my hands again, the blood of my knuckles has combined itself with the blood of those I hurt. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for them, but grief still burrows itself into me.
These men were hurting girls. Children. There was a time in which I was the frightened little girl, forced into a shipping crate with other frightened girls. Back then, all I had wanted was for it to be over. All I had wanted was for some kind of savior to break through the metal and fight off the monsters so that I could be anywhere else.
Tonight I was that savior for those girls. I should feel better. I did something good. Natasha...she’d smile at me if she was here. She’d look at me and tell me that I did good. That should make me feel content, more focused, like there’s some kind of direction I know to move in.
But it doesn’t. All I feel is her absence. I even feel the loss of Yelena, and I’m the one that told her to stay away. My fingers curl inwards, nails digging into the palms of my hands.
“That was efficient.” His voice is a reminder of why I can’t lose it here, on the abandoned side of the shipping docks.
Turning enough to look at him, I force myself to take a deep breath. A patient breath. There was something almost awkward about the way he said that. “You wanted my help.” I helped. I should feel better. “And I played by your rules. No one died.” The final word feels off. “I won’t apologize for my efficiency.”
He’s still, watching me like he sees right through me. The part of me that clings to a life beyond bloody hands wants to shrink away. To vanish until it’s morning. With daylight comes the promise of normality. The day will let me shed this mission suit and replace it with the business casual wear of an intern of a law firm. I like that version of me better...she’s whole.
“No apologies necessary.” I blink, fighting the urge to turn even more. He’s closer than I realized. “I’m just curious.”
Of course. That’s the problem with team ups or even just temporary mutual existence. The other person always wants to ask questions, and I can never offer them answers. I’m a former black widow assassin isn’t the kind of phrase that just rolls off the tongue. Especially not in front of him.
The devil of Hell’s Kitchen, someone that everyone here knows to fear, and yet he doesn’t...he doesn’t kill. If he knew all the blood that stains me, if he knew about all the red in my ledger...
“And I’m just reminding you that my one stipulation to this was no questions.”
I knew this was a bad idea. Even when we just happen to run into each other he expresses too much interest in who I am. Why I can do the things I can do. I know that he feels like he’s protecting his neighborhood by making sure that I don’t have any ill tensions. The false sense of security is a good thing, it means that we can both co-exist in peace. But tonight I’m not in the mood to play coy and skirt around the words I won’t say, revealing just enough to appease him. I’m also not in the mood to draw a line in the sand and make him think I’m a threat. He’s proven that he’s capable of overpowering me with the element of surprise, but surely I’d be able to defend myself and escape if I needed to. He’d be a worthy opponent, but not an unbeatable one. But maybe I don’t want to beat him. Maybe I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe I just want to put my widow suit on the top shelf of my apartment’s closet and never look at it again.
We should part ways. The bad guys have been taken care of. The girls have been freed, the way I could have been years ago. There’s no reason for both of us to still be here. There’s no reason fro him to be less than an arm’s length away. And yet, we both stay still.
“You’re normally more open to friendly conversation.” The words snap me back to reality. I’ve been playing too close to a line I can’t cross. The last time I trusted someone, I learned to never do risk that again.
I force my hands to ease at my side. “We’re friends now?”
“I don’t take down human trafficking rings with just anyone.” He’s joking. He’s just trying to ease me into our normal dynamic. But the words still strike me in the heart. Memories of the day I got Natasha back and the day I stopped seeing Yelena as my protector wash through me, a torrid, unforgiving current.
It’s been years now. Years of silence. I haven’t seen Nat since she told me what she was planning to do with the Avengers. I haven’t seen Yelena since she told me the truth of the day I became a true widow. The end of the red room was the first and last familial moment I got. “For the record, neither do I.”
“And I’ve never taken anything down that fast.” He pauses, testing the waters. “If you were always around, I’d have time to pick up a hobby.”
He’s trying to appeal to my usual attitude. I have to give him something. It’s not his fault that the memories are hitting me more frequently than usual. And if I don’t seem at least somewhat stable, he’ll start thinking I’m planning something. He may start seeing me as some kind of threat. “Is the mysterious day job followed by nights of crime fighting not fulfilling enough?”
“The day job isn’t as interesting as you’re making it seem.” There’s an easiness to his words. He’s taking my attempt to act normal.
I shift on my heels, almost relaxing. “I wouldn’t know because you won’t tell me what it is.”
“And you won’t tell me how you learned to...be so efficient.” He’s referencing the way I fight. I can’t blame him for pressing this issue so much. A random girl shows up in his city, his neighborhood, with brutal skills and strength that would better suit someone twice her size. Of course he feels the need to ask questions.
I inhale, wondering what my next move is. I could remind him that the less we know about the other, the better. That I know not to ask questions as long as he does the same. But the thing is, I don’t want to. Maybe it’s because he’s faceless. Maybe it’s because when I wear this suit I don’t feel like I’m me anymore. Or maybe it’s because I’m tired of pretending my past isn’t tearing into me more and more with each passing day.
“Would you believe me if I told you it’s a family thing?” The honesty threatens to leave my throat raw. I’m treading on a dangerous line. “That I learned everything I know from my sisters?”
He tilts his head slightly, exposing the side of his jaw--which is something I shouldn’t be as aware of as I am. “So an entire family of people like you? Fighting for the good?”
I don’t have it in me to think about the way he says that. The words are stomach twisting enough. Fighting for the good. Is that even a fair thing to say now? Natasha certainly started fighting for the good. I don’t know where Yelena is. And I--I’m just trying to make up for everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been forced to do.
“What if we weren’t always doing that?” My throat burns, the way it often did when I would tell Natasha about the memories. When I would tell her about being a ghost in my own body. “Fighting for the good?”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Dropping my head, I prepare to step back. To disappear in the shadows in the way I’m used to. He starts to move. To his credit, he’s faster than a normal person, so he does manage to place a hand on my shoulder, but not before my fingers wrap around his wrist. It’s his move next. I’m tense, expecting some kind of attack.
“I would say that you’re doing that now.” I watch him, he stays quiet. When nothing else is said...when nothing else is done, I find it in me to unclench my fingers and let my hand fall to my side. He still doesn’t move. “And that counts for something.”
Does it really? I guess it does if someone like him thinks so. Swallowing back the thought, I feel my body tense. Don’t think of him like that. If I think he’s good, I’ll find myself trusting him. “If--” A scream cuts me off. A high pitched, child-like scream.
The sound resonates in my chest and pulses through my bones. It cuts through all of my common sense and appeals to an instinct embedded deep in me. I take off, pushing past Daredevil. His hand extends outwards, but I’m no longer the version of myself capable of weakness. I pivot, forcing him to just barely miss me.
I make it to the source of the screaming in record time. Another man in all black...and a girl. The girl that spoke to me. She’s thrashing against him, the light of the moon catching her red hair. Her fear, her resistance, the look behind her eye. I’m with Natasha all over again.
I rip his arm off of the girl with a ferocity I haven’t felt in years. Something snaps, likely his bone. The man grunts. His good arm makes contact with my lower jaw. I step back instinctually before round kicking him in the throat. The man chokes, the sound is a lot more gratifying than I thought it’d be.
The man comes close to stumbling, but at the last second he lunges with all his force. I dodge, throwing my weight left. His hand remains clenched, like he doesn’t care about grabbing me. I don’t realize why until I feel it...a knife cutting through skin and flesh and striking bone.
I wince, hand moving to my side. My attacker grins, blood coating his cracked lips. He will not have the satisfaction of my pain or victory. I grab his broken arm, twisting the appendage at an angle so unnatural I’d be nauseated in any other setting.
His groan of pain brings me no anguish, no guilt. “What?” He’s panting. He knows what’s coming. I yank the knife out of my side before raising it to his eye line. “Surprised I didn’t say ‘ouch’?”
He inhales sharply. “I can feel your youth.” What does age matter when you’ve been training to be a killer since the age of 5? “Do you know what the problem is with young people?” My fingers squeeze the knife harder. The man shifts, I dig the point of the blade into his throat. The familiar sting of a knife wound takes over my senses. He stabbed me again. Where did he get the second knife? “Pride--that’s the problem with the idealistic youth.”
I bite back my pain, forcing myself to fight against the way the edges of my vision blurs. The knife in my hand is pried from me. I barely register the sound of metal falling to the ground. He’s trying to slip from my grasp. I knee him with all my force. The man nearly escapes, but I’m more determined than ever.
He reaches forward, but I’m ready for that. I knee him in the stomach, again and again until he’s forced to his knees. He’s holding his hands up in defense, but I’m nowhere near done with him. I punch and I kick and I scratch even though it’s beneath me. Any form of inflicting pain. Any method of attack. Russian curses fall from my lips. My fists ache. There will never be enough harm to cause.
The man coughs, blood splattering onto the fabric of my widow suit. I rip the knife out of my side and throw it to the ground. “I’d rather hear your neck snap.” One of my hands grips his jaw and the other holds his head in place. It’d be so easy to end it now.
Something touches my shoulder. My head snaps to the left. “Don’t.” There’s an understood urgency in Daredevil’s voice. I’m surprised I stopped myself from attacking him on instinct. “He’s done.” I don’t care if he’s done. I’m not. “He’s done and so are you.”
“Because you said so?”
“Because I know what you’re feeling.” Like he could ever know. This guilt and urge to do better and be better. It’s suffocating. “The adrenaline, the justice turned into blood lust.” I want to scream. I should end it. I’ve done it before...I’ve killed more than I’ll ever really know.
I grind my teeth together when I notice the shifting of the man’s head. Wait--he’s not moving by his own will. My hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? “He doesn’t--” The words are acid in my throat. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
The hand on my shoulder becomes a little more assured. “No, he doesn’t.” Daredevil lets the words hang there. “But you do.” The man’s face is starting to blur. All of my vision is starting to blur. My body feels wrong...I don’t know how to be in control of myself for as long as I have been. “You’re not a killer, and you deserve better than letting him make you one.”
I laugh, or maybe I choke on a sob, or maybe I do both at the same time. “You really don’t know me.” My grip on the man’s jaw tightens. Finish it. Terminate your target. “You don’t know what they made me do. Who they made me be.”
“What matters is who you are now.” His voice is harsh enough to cut through the wave of uncertainty I’m drowning in. What’s real and what’s false is still unknown, but I know that he’s here. “Let him go, Crimson.”
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. Why should he get to live? Why should his entire species get to thrive when all they do is hurt people? Break little girls and turn them into monsters? I can still see the hollow look in Natasha’s eyes after I came back from my first mission. I can feel Yelena patching up my scraped knees after training. I can hear her telling me to trust the men that wanted me to lay on the operating table.
My hand moves off the man’s jaw. My fist makes contact with his lower jaw. The punch is weak and pathetic but I don’t care. I hit him again and again. The blows lack structure and efficiency. I keep going, my body scared of what would happen if I stopped.
“Okay,” Daredevil catches my wrist before I can hit the stranger again. I push against him numbly. “You’ve done enough.”
I don’t care. I don’t care. There will never be an enough. “It’s not fair.” He says nothing. I’m too aware of how pathetic I am. My entire body is shaking, practically seething. I’m coated in blood and sweat and I gave up on keeping tears from falling from my eyes. “It’s not fair--she-she was just a kid.”
Exhaustion takes hold of me with no warning. I find myself struggling to not let my knees buckle. I stumble away from the criminal. The girl is gone now, but I can still see her. The terrified fear behind her eyes and the way the moonlight caught her red bob. She was Natasha. The ground feels less stable, like it’s trying to open up and swallow me whole. I take a sharp breath as my knees give out.
I never feel the scrape of gravel. Something strong latches onto my arms. Daredevil. He’s holding onto me, keeping me up. Normally, something like this would have my skin crawling with vulnerability. But now I just extend my hand gently squeezing his arm in a silent understanding. I move to a sitting position, pulling my knees upwards loosely once I’m given the space to. A part of me wants him to leave me here, to rust like the shipping containers surrounding us.
"And what were you?”
His voice is easy stone--not rough or callus, yet not soft either. He’s speaking to me with a smooth firmness characterized by a distant enough gentleness to ease me. I blink, the words washing something over me. “What?” My voice is coarse, the kind of thing rough enough to scrape skin and leave it bleeding.
I can make out the stiff line of his lip in the dark. “What you’re showing is more than empathy. She might have been a kid, but so were you.”
Swallowing, I stare at him for much longer than I’ve ever let myself. I know he can’t see me, but the strange sensation that he’s aware of my blatant analysis still cuts through me. There are a lot of things I don’t let myself think about. Easier that way, Yelena once said when we were still programmed killers, sometimes I wish they’d make us forget, like the Winter Soldier. Natasha didn’t like thinking about things either...she was strong and strong people leave weaknesses like that behind. And if they have to think about it, they don’t do it while extremely vulnerable to someone who is little more than a stranger.
I wipe my hands on the fabric of my stealth suit. “Well I’m not one anymore.” The words are muttered, sharper than they should be as I push myself to stand. Without checking to see if he’s stood, I turn. “I need to--I um I’m gonna--” Nausea spikes in my stomach, a chill that has nothing to do with the weather running through me. “I need to go.”
He lets me walk away. I move to jump onto a shipping container the way I normally would, but my body caves forward before I can. Falling to my knees, palms scrapping against the ground, I find myself thinking how much weaker I must be becoming.
“You pulled a knife out of yourself to attack someone.” A part of me is upset that he didn’t leave before my collapse. My pride is deeply, deeply wounded. “Which was resourceful, but not the best self preservation tactic.”
Something in me wants to laugh. Self preservation was the last thing the Red Room cared about. There was always another widow, another stolen girl to replace you. It’s strange to think about that now, as I struggle not to pant. My eyes don’t seem to want to stay open. Daredevil crouches towards me, one hand slowly extending towards me in the dark. He’s treating me akin to the way one would treat a wounded dog found in an alley. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
I should push him away. There’s nothing to be gained from this. "I’m fine.” That’s not something I’m completely sure of. I wasn’t trained to heal, I was trained to kill myself if I was put out of commission. “There’s no reason to go soft on me.”
He ignores my joke, moving his hand until he finds my cheek. “You’re cold.”
It takes me a moment to force out the words, “It’s November.”
Daredevil’s hand doesn’t move. My eyes flutter shut. “Crimson.” I barely manage to squint my eyes open. “Stay awake.” His voice feels farther now than ever. “Open your eyes.”
I manage to just barely listen. I see him for a brief moment before everything fades to black.
i neeeeed a part 2 of this
I Heard Love is Blind (Matt Murdock x f!Reader)
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A/N: Soooo sorry this took so long. I’ve taken the last week off from writing to travel for the holidays. As for this fic, I’m well aware that this isn’t how visual impairment typically works but being that I’m writing in a universe where superheroes exist, I’m asking y’all to suspend your beliefs for a few minutes. The end of this fic was just a little fun idea that I had as I was writing it. It's short and sweet (around 1.3k words). I hope y’all enjoy!
Request: Hello! So, the reader is becomes blind because of a disease or something... whatever... and she in hospital room with matt with her, then doctor comes and tells them she cannot be able to see ever again. She doesn't want to cry while matt is there because she thinks he can be offended or something, but she cannot help herself and matt tries to comfort her? What do you say?
Summary: Matt helps you sort through your feelings after you have an accident and lose your sight. You struggle with opening up to him fully because you don’t want to hurt him.
(Warnings: female!reader, references to (but no detail of) an accident, newly visually impaired reader, angst, soft!matty, protective!matty, references to a possible female daredevil towards the end)
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was an accident, really, but the overwhelming feeling of dread hadn’t left your system since you’d been hoisted into the ambulance that brought you to the hospital. Matt was right behind you, of course, arriving at the E.R. entrance at the same time you did, lurking in the corner of the hospital room as doctor after doctor examined you.
You couldn’t help but jump when a new set of hands began to poke and prod around your eyes. You couldn’t see them, hadn’t been able to see anything since the accident, and they didn’t announce themselves. Or maybe they did, and you weren’t listening. You didn’t know. The world around you had become a blur of noises, an overwhelming rush of sensory overload that you were too exhausted to try and figure out.
Your name had been murmured by countless doctors, but your ability to respond was muted by the pounding of your heart in your ears. A firm, warm hand rested on your shoulder, and Matt’s cologne wafted into your nose. The outside world once again became background noise as Matt lightly squeezed your shoulder. You had the sudden urge to giggle at how backwards this predicament was. Normally, it was you grounding him when the noise became too much to bear. Now, he was fulfilling your position – providing a distraction to focus on until everything – the world, it’s chaos – settled.
“No pupillary response.” One doctor muttered in a melancholy, but professional tone. The scribble of a pen on paper sent goosebumps down your spine.
When the words “possible permanent blindness” passed through hushed whispers around the room, you didn’t flinch, all too aware of the blind man you’d fallen in love with sensing your every move. Your lack of reaction was cause for concern from everyone in the room, most of all Matt, who hadn’t uttered a word since the accident.
“Can she have a second?” He murmured softly, ushering the nurses and doctors out of the room faster than should’ve been possible. He always did have a way of making people do what he wanted them to do, though you didn’t think he was aware of the effect he had on people. Not completely, at least.
The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in your ears, and you got the sense that every bad feeling you’d been ignoring since this began was about to force its way out of you. Matt’s sigh as he sat down next to you snapped you out of it, and you blinked away the tears that had begun forming.
It wasn’t fair to cry over this in front of him. You shouldn’t be mourning the loss of something he had lived without since he was a kid. Not in front of him, at least.
“You’re handling all this remarkably well. Better than I did.”
Matt didn’t say this with malice or malcontent. Rather, an astute observation on his part. Almost entirely lawyerly if you had to pinpoint his tone.
“You were nine, Matt, and we don’t know that it’s permanent.” You muttered, the first words you’d spoken since you’d lost the ability to see.
“Still.” You felt him shrug. You reached out your hand, feeling around the sheets until your fingers met the skin of his wrist. He didn’t miss a beat, intertwining his fingers with yours as soon as your skin met his. He lifted your hand, planting a small kiss on your knuckles.
“You’re allowed to be upset about this.” He mumbled against your hand. “I can feel the energy in you. Let it out, sweetheart.”
“Matty, I can’t just– It’s not fair to you that I– It wouldn’t be right.” You groaned, blinking back the fresh wave of tears trying to force their way out of your eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Even if it’s not permanent, this is still a big change for you. You’re allowed to mourn this.”
A few tears escaped as he spoke, and the only thing keeping you from furiously wiping them away was Matt’s hand, already there, softly stroking your cheek as you tried your hardest not to fall apart in his hands.
“What if it is?” You mumbled, sniffling.
“What if it’s what?” He asked, ghosting over your eyelids with his thumb.
“What if it’s permanent, Matty?” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Furious tears cascaded down your face, and you let out an ugly sob as you revealed the horrible thoughts you’d been trying so hard to hide.
Matt allowed you to sob into his chest, cradling you against him as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. His dress shirt, the one you loved so much, the one he wore to work today because you wanted to see him in it, was soaked with tears before he finally spoke.
“It’s not fair that you’re going through this, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could change it. But I know you can handle it, okay? You’re strong enough to do this, and you’ll have help. We’ll figure it out, baby.”
You nodded into his chest, unable to form a coherent sentence in response.
“Sweet girl,” Matt cooed, kissing your hair, “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me, ever, okay? I know it’s frustrating – trust me, I know better than anyone what you’re going through right now – but it does get easier. I promise.”
You wiped the tears from your face, careful to avoid your eyes. Goosebumps bristled on the back of your neck when the sound of a car horn loudly echoed in your ears. You couldn’t keep your hands from clamping over the sides of your head in response.
“The world is so loud, Matt. I don’t know how you handle it all the time.”
Matt lifted your hand to his face so you could feel the indents of his cheek as he smiled.
“You get used to the noises after a while. They become a sort of…white noise, I guess you could call it. Is the beeping of the heart monitor bothering you?”
“No, it’s the cars. This city is so loud.”
Matt stiffened, tightening his grip on your hand.
“What do you mean?” He asked, breathing into your palm.
Another loud honk blared in your head, and you couldn’t stop your body from cringing into a ball.
“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that.” You mumbled, shaking your head to try and rid the echo of the horns from your ears.
“No, I can hear it. How are you hearing it? We’re on the 18th floor.”
“What?”
It was your turn to stiffen. You didn’t quite understand the curiosity in Matt’s tone. You weren’t entirely sure you believed what he might be implying. You cocked your head to the side, mimicking the thing you’d seen Matt do a million times when he was trying to follow a specific noise, and focused your attention on Matt.
He was at least a foot away from you now, pacing across the floor. You couldn’t figure out how you knew he was pacing. You focused on the way his shoes tapped on the linoleum floor, the way his hands fiddled with his cane, tightening and untightening in a rhythmic dance, the way his heart was pounding in his chest, even though there was no possible way you could actually be hearing his heartbeat from this far away.
“Matty…” You murmured, lifting your hand from its place in your lap and reaching towards him.
“Yes, dove?” He asked, clearing his throat. He was closer to you now, and for the first time since your vision had gone, you weren’t surprised when his hand grasped yours. It was eerie, knowing where he was even though you couldn’t physically see him in front of you.
“What’s going on?” You asked, tightening your grip on his hand. He reached his other hand towards you, brushing his knuckles across your cheekbone in a soothing motion.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’re going to figure it out, okay?” You nodded, leaning your head into his hand. “Okay, Matty.”
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That last line??! It’s everything
Hiii
I LOVE your work, and I was wonderful if you could write something with hurt/comfort with Matt Murdock?
Like you were coming home late and someone was following you home, and Matt hears you heart beat and comes to find you juste before the creepy person makes a move on you? And the reader is like “I’m fine, I’m okay” even tho she crying very hard and can’t breathe and Matt is like “no you’re not, but it’s okay I’ll take care of you” and then he takes care of reader and it’s fluff and comfort?
Thank youuuuu
Savior (Matt Murdock x Reader)
A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for reading! It's a short ficlet, but I ended up really liking how it turned out! Also, Charlie Cox is so, so PRETTY. A special thank you to my beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great! <3 (Word Count: 1.0k)
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You didn’t fully comprehend the predicament you were in until it changed from sketchy to dangerous. Hell’s Kitchen was especially quiet that night, though the argument could be made that it never fully went to sleep. Bodegas, laundromats, and diners stayed open late into the night, and it was the light spilling from their fogged windows that lit your route home.
You knew Matt wouldn’t be happy with your decision to walk home alone. He’d warned you time and time again to wait for him, or get a taxi if he wasn’t around, but taxis were expensive, and he hadn’t answered your call earlier. Now, you cursed yourself for not waiting.
The man behind you had been following you for thirteen blocks – you'd counted in nervous breaths – and he was gaining on you. You walked at an increasingly rapid pace, heart thundering as you blindly dug through your bag for the pepper spray Foggy had gifted you when you’d moved to the city. It was big and a stark blue, with the words “I Heart NY” stamped around it, but your hands were shaking so badly that even if you could find it in the black hole that was your tote bag, you weren’t sure you’d be able to use it.
You turned the corner, nervously glancing at the stranger out of the corner of your eye, and almost yelped at the proximity he had gained. He was within ten feet of you, and you didn’t give yourself a chance to hesitate before you took off running.
“Hey!” He called.
You ignored him, pushing your legs to move faster. You could see the entrance to your building, a tiny speck in the distance, and you prayed Matt was close enough to hear your racing heart. The man’s feet pounded on the concrete behind you, and you let out a wild shriek that you hoped would alert someone nearby. If it was heard by anyone, they didn’t make it known. You were alone, and the man was so close to you now that you knew you’d be grabbed by him before you could make it to the safety of your building.
Arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you into an alley. You began shrieking at the top of your lungs, if only to make it harder for your attacker to get away with whatever he planned to do.
“Leave me alone! Stop!” You fought with all your might, swinging and kicking wildly in front of you in a last-ditch effort to get away. “Get off me, you fucking creep!”
Hands cradled your face.
“It’s me. It’s me, sweetheart.” Matt’s smooth voice coaxed your eyes open. You hadn’t even realized they were closed. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
You blinked up at him in relief. Your heart thundered in your chest, making it hard to breathe. He wasn’t in his Daredevil suit, but the way he clenched his jaw told you that the Devil was itching to come out and play.
“There was a man,” you started, voice scratchy from the screams you’d let out, “He was following me. I-I know I should’ve waited for you to come get me, but I didn’t want to bother you and then this guy showed up and I was trying to find the pepper spray but-” You were rambling now, gulping in air and waving your arms around as you explained.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked, softly caressing the curve of your cheekbone.
“Yeah.” You nodded. The lie tasted ashy on your tongue.
“You’re crying, sweetheart.”
“I-I’m fine.” You stuttered, attempting to blink the tears away. “I’m fine.” You tried again, but your voice wobbled as the words left your lips. You couldn’t tell if you were trying to convince him or yourself at that point. Matt nodded along with you, kissing your temple.
“Let’s get you home, okay? You’re safe now. No one will ever hurt you again, okay? I’ve got you.” He led you to the apartment you shared with him, only letting go when you sunk into the cushions of the couch. “I’m going to make you some tea, okay?”
“Okay.” Your voice was wispy, barely audible to anyone besides Matt, who had tuned himself to you so thoroughly that you sometimes felt like he could read your thoughts. Like right then, as the thought entered your brain, and he responded before you could even finish the thought. Some Chamomile tea would be grea-
“Is Chamomile alright?” He called, clinking the mug against the counter.
“Yeah, Matty. Thank you.” You breathed through your anxiety and wondered what happened to the man who’d been following you.
-
Later that evening, after he’d drawn you a bath and tucked you into bed, the Devil finally got what he wanted. Matt hadn’t mentioned it to you, but he’d been diligently tracking the stranger’s heartbeat since he’d intervened earlier that evening, and as soon as your heartbeat evened out, suggesting your deep slumber, Matt was jumping across rooftops towards the irregular heartbeat he’d been listening to all evening.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he got his hands on the guy who had followed you earlier. The blood curdling scream you’d let out was indication enough of your fear, and it echoed in Matt’s ears as he got closer to his target.
He wouldn’t kill the man. That wasn’t a line Matt was willing to cross, but the thought certainly crossed his mind. If he’d put his hands on you, touched you with his filthy awfulness, Matt might’ve been angry enough to do it, though, and that terrified him. He’d never been so close to murder before, besides maybe with Fisk, but no one fucked with you and got away with it. He wouldn’t kill the guy, but he’d hurt him. Badly.
Matt took a deep breath and let the Devil creep out. May God have mercy on the stranger’s soul, because the Devil surely wouldn’t.
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hands off | matt murdock
matt murdock x fem!reader
word count: 3.6k
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (mutual masturbation, mxf intercourse, dirty talk) swearing, established relationship
a/n: okay. OKAY! okay. be gentle with this one because it’s my first matt fic!!! also, i saw this video on tik tok about ppl doing this game thing, but idk who posted it first and i don’t have the videos, but that’s where the dies comes from. also this is literally just smut, don’t even look at me ITS BEEN A LONG WEEK. okay bye. literally posting this and running away to sleep bc i am afraid BYE.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Sooo? You like it?” You keep to your side of the couch as Matt brings the glass up to his mouth for a second time. He hums, swallowing and licking his lips, and you have to bite down on your own to control yourself.
Asshole.
“It’s…”
“What?”
“Sweet.” His voice rumbles. You think you should have tied yourself down or something, because there’s no way you can win this stupid bet if he was going to keep teasing you like this. He wasn’t even doing anything, really. Everything he did seemed to turn you on in some way or the other, especially now, as the alcohol starts to kick in, warmth spreading through your face, flowing all the way down.
Weiterlesen
Matt Murdock in love with Spiderwoman! reader
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Pov: Your camera roll if you're dating Matt Murdock
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You're camera roll if you're dating Matt Murdock: part 2
okay okay, so like Matt Murdock comes home after a long night of legal work. to help him unwind you do everything for him. undress him, kiss him, blow him, ride him even. but you're teasing him the entire time, while you're on top he can't take the teasing anymore, flips you two over and just uses you to take out his stress 🥴🥵🥴🥵
𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬
Pairings: Matt Murdock x (female) Reader
Summary: Matt’s had a long and stressful night at work, you decide to make him feel better
Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex (m+f), cockwarming, the tiniest mention of injuries, minors DNI
A/N: ummm not me reading this ask whilst I was in the middle of dinner with my parents and nearly choking on my lasagne, Abby are you trying to kill me??😮💨🥵💀 Umm so yeah I just had to turn this into a full oneshot bc omfg yes this is so hot! Everyone say thank you @mothdruid for the idea😌 hope you all like this, it’s my first time properly writing for Matt!!✨🖤💫
This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.
You’re woken up by the sound of keys rattling in the front door. You hear a deep sigh as Matt crosses the threshold of your shared apartment. You hear him toss his keys aside before slamming the door shut harshly and heading into the living room. He slumps on the sofa, loosening and removing his tie, letting his head fall to the back of the sofa. You come sleepily padding out from the bedroom wearing nothing but one of Matt’s shirts. Matt doesn’t even lift his head as you walk in.
“Hey” you greet him.
“Sorry,” he huffs, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You were used to him coming home at any hour of the morning, whether it be returning from work or from daredevil-ing around the city.
“It’s alright. You okay baby?” You ask as you move to sit next to him on the sofa.
Even from here you can feel the tension, the anger sitting in him, his muscles tensed and coiled despite his seemingly relaxed position. You reach an arm out to caress the back of his head, stroking his nape gently. He sighs again, but this time a little more contentedly as he revels in the feeling of your nails scratching at his scalp lightly, his body relaxing the slightest bit.
“Just been a long night” he mumbles. “A long, infuriating, and stressful night.”
You hum an acknowledgment as you continue to play with his hair. You knew he’d only tell you as much as he wanted to so there was never any real reason to keep prodding him. So you decided the best thing you could do was just to provide comfort and help him relax. You move your hand from his scalp to his face, gently brushing over his cheek with your knuckles. You trace the bruise on his cheekbone from a few nights ago. Your fingers trail over his face, to his lips, outlining them gently.
You then trail down his neck, you fingers moving in a haphazard swirling motion over his skin. You trace the skin exposed at the top of his loosened dress shirt.
You then shift on the sofa, swinging a leg over until you’re straddling Matt’s lap. His hands immediately find their way to your hips.
“What are you doing?” He grumbles.
“I’m just helping you relax a little” you shrug. “Helping get rid of some of that stress."
He just responds by squeezing your hips slightly, his thumb beginning to rub small circles on your hip bones. You reach up and gently take the red glasses from his face, carefully placing them aside. You then lean forwards and begin to cover every inch of Matt’s face with the softest of kisses. You kiss all over his forehead, his temples, his cheeks, his nose, your lips ghosting over his eyelids as they flutter shut. Your hands return to his hair as you comb your fingers through it softly, again scratching his scalp with your nails. He sighs, so quietly you almost miss it. You start to feel the tension in his body ease up slightly beneath your touch.
You continue to attack his face with kisses as you slide your hands down his neck, tucking in underneath the open collar of his shirt. Your hands glide over his collarbones before you reach the top button of his shirt. Your hands move swiftly but softly as you undo the buttons, opening his shirt. You rake your nails down his chest, a small groan. eliciting from him. He takes the opportunity to move his head so his lips are angled with yours, pushing them lightly against you. You kiss him back slowly. It’s a light and gentle kiss, your lips just barely brushing together.
But you don’t let him kiss you too long before you’re moving your lips back to kissing his skin again, this time moving to kiss along his jaw towards the skin beneath his ear. When you get to his pulse point, the point you know just makes him weak, you nip at the skin lightly, smoothing over your bite with your tongue. He groans again beneath you. You carry on kissing and nipping all over his neck as you push his open shirt and blazer off his shoulders. His arms leave your hips briefly as he manoeuvres himself out of his clothes, his hands quickly finding their way back to you, this time to push against your back, pulling you in closer to him.
He rubs up and down your back with his palms as you litter his skin with kisses. Your hips begin to rock ever so slightly against his. You can feel him getting semi-hard beneath you. Your hands are roaming all over his bare chest. A sharp inhale sounds from him as you brush over one of his most recent cuts just below his ribs on the left side.
“Oh shit, sorry” you whisper quickly whilst sitting up, your actions freezing whilst you assess if he’s okay. He just shakes his head, his grip on your back tightening again.
“No it’s okay, it’s fine” he reassures you, pulling you down towards him. His lips find yours again briefly. This kiss is more sure, still soft and slow, but not quite as gentle as before. Your hips start to grind into him again as he groans into your mouth.
Before long though you break the kiss again, this time to rid yourself of your, well his, shirt, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Your lips then return to their movement across his neck and collarbones. His hands find you again, roaming over your newly exposed skin, groping and squeezing at your breasts.
You sink lower, your lips ghosting across his chest, kissing along the scars that cover his pectoral muscles. You move your hips back, sliding yourself down and off his legs until you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him. You just keep kissing him, every single inch of his exposed torso making contact with your lips at one point or another. Your lips move across his chest, his stomach, kissing each ab as they flex with his ragged breathing. You kiss the lines on either side of his hips where they angle towards where you know he wanted you most.
You can see he’s fully hard now as his cock tents in his suit pants. You kiss just below his belly button and feel him rut his hips against you. You then spread his legs with your hands as they slide up his thighs. His head is thrown back again, his eyes squeezed shut in anticipation.
You undo his belt, swiftly followed by his pants buckle. He lifts his hips as you tug his pants and boxers off him, freeing his hardened cock and leaving him completely naked on the sofa. You kiss his thighs as you move upwards now. You can hear a groan mixed with a sigh leave Matt when you finally place a kiss to the tip of his dick.
You swirl your tongue around his head, flicking your tongue into his slit. He hisses and pushes his hips up again. You oblige his silent request and finally take him into your mouth. You feel satisfied at the loud moan that sounds from him as you push your head down as far as you can on his dick, his tip hitting the back of your throat. His body sinks into the sofa as you bob your head up and down, sucking as you go, your tongue flattening against the underside of his dick, swirling around the vein that runs along his length. His one hand finds its way to your hair, wrapping it in a makeshift ponytail in his hand as he guides your mouth up and down his dick.
You take your hand and stroke the base of him, any part that you couldn’t fit into your mouth you pumped with your hand. You hum as you increase your pace, Matt groaning in response, the vibrations from your mouth rolling through his body deliciously. You enjoy the way his stomach is pulled taught with every ragged breath he takes, his hips jerking up into your mouth as he fucks your face softly.
“Fuck baby” he sighs. “Uhh, you feel so good” he whines, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
You can tell he’s getting close, his hips jerking more haphazardly, his fist tightening in your hair. You suck him a few more times before you pull your mouth off him, leaving him on the precipice of release.
“Fuck” he swears harshly as he releases your head, his fists pounding into the sofa on either side of him. “Why’d you stop?” He whines.
“Shhhh” is all you whisper as you stand to pull your own panties off. You begin to kiss your way back up his body, settling yourself back in his lap. His aching cock digs into your inner thigh as you pepper his face with kisses again.
“Shhh baby, I’m gonna take care of you” you murmur against his skin. You reach down between your bodies and grab his dick in your hand. You gently guide him towards your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. The two of sigh in sync as he finally sheaths himself inside you.
But you don’t move, not yet. You simply sit with him inside you as you kiss him over and over and over again, all over any and every inch of skin that you could reach. He whines beneath your touch, his hips writhing under yours, desperate for you to move. But you don’t, not for a while, you just keep him sat inside you. You slowly start to feel the anger and frustration bubble up inside him again, the muscles of his chest going taught, his jaw tightening.
And that’s when you finally decide to let him have his way. You begin to rock against him the tiniest bit, just the slightest of movements, enough to feel pleasure, but not enough for it to actually get either of you anywhere. You then move your lips to his ear.
“Use me, baby. Take out your stress on me” you purr.
You feel the muscles in his neck go taught as he attempts to restrain himself, his fingers digging roughly into the flesh of your thighs.
“No” he says shortly. “I don’t want to hurt you."
You shake your head, trailing kisses over his neck again.
“It’s okay Matt, you can use me. Take out your frustrations, it’s okay” you encourage him, nipping at his neck a bit harder. He groans again, his hands tensing on your hips with the effort of restraint.
“Come on, it’s okay” your lips trail up to his ear again. “Just use me. Fuck me, Matty” you whisper huskily, biting and pulling at his earlobe.
And that’s all it takes for him to lose the last of his resolve. His hands grip you painfully tight as he flips you over, pinning you to the sofa. He towers above you as he slots himself back inside you in one fluid motion. You cry out as he begins to set a ruthless pace, his body dwarfing you, his hips colliding with yours over and over harshly. His grunts are loud in your ear as he fucks himself into you, letting out all the anger and stress of the night as he loses himself in your tight cunt.
He pulls your one leg up, hooking it over his back, angling himself even deeper inside your cunt. You gasp at the sensation of the new angle, his cock hitting that sweet spot hidden inside you. Now it’s his turn to have his lips all over your neck and throat. His kisses are sloppy and rushed, a clash of his teeth and tongue on your skin. Your nails are raking down his back, leaving long red marks in their wake. His hisses at the sting of air that whips over your fresh scratches.
His pace quickens even further as he starts to feel your walls tightening around him, knowing your climax wasn’t far off. He shoves a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing you as you’re pushed over the edge into pure bliss. He covers your mouth with his own just in time to swallow the moans that escape you as you clench over his cock. Your moaning and whimpering is like music to his sensitive ears, aiding him in reaching his own climax. He shudders above you as his pace finally comes to jerky halt as he spills inside you. His mouth hangs open just above yours, your breathes mixing as you both revel in your highs.
Matt has the faintest of smiles on his lips as he collapses on top of you, his head resting on your bare chest, his cock softening slowly where it still sat inside you. The two of you lay like this for a while, a fine layer of sweat on your bodies, your breathing heavy. Your hands are playing over his skin again, tracing swirls and patterns over his back, his face, your hands running through his hair again. Neither one of you daren’t move, both of you relishing the sheer softness and intimacy of the moment. You smile to yourself as you feel his entire body relax, you knew it wouldn’t be long until he was asleep. And honestly you’d let him, you’d let him fall asleep here, on the sofa, still on top of you, still inside of you.
“You feel better now?” You murmur after another short while. He twists his head upwards, humming into your neck, kissing you softly.
“Much” he confirms.
Masterlist
A/N: if I made a taglist specifically for Matt would anyone want to be on it?? Let me know!🥰 also oops this was much longer than I intended it to be but oh well, I hope you guys liked it🖤💫
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(General) Taglist: @ratcatcher2world @rosie-posie08 @dreamcatcher121 @justifymyfeelings @bookfrog242 @hybrid-in-progress @captainrexstan @nikkitc0703 @dopeqff @thelightinmyshadows @stardust-galaxies @wannabevampire @minxsblog
matt murdock will stumble into work with 5 stab wounds, a black eye and a cut lip and his excuse will be like “I got run over by a boeing 747 idk im blind shit happens”