Matt Murdock X You - Blog Posts

Lollipop🍭

matt murdock x you + a daughter, mini blurb

———

it was friday evening and matt had spent his evening channeling his anger from the whole week to punching the punch bag to its oblivion. you were just hanging out watching tv, cooking weird snacks, and playing with your 3 year old. when she got tired of playing and decided to read books on her own, is when you finally get to check up on matt.

he was covered in layers of sweat that darkens the edges of that tank top he wears which shows his large biceps. with that sight a few feet away from you, your eyes are locked in and mouth hanging open while watching him take a big gulp of water from his tumbler

"sweetheart you gotta close that mouth or a fly will go inside it" matt says with a smirk. that left you very speechless for a while until you find your voice again "i... um can i lick you like a lollipop?" your blurted out, which makes matt chuckles lightly. but unfortunately, you said that last word a bit too loud because your daughter suddenly comes into the room and said "mommy has lollipop?" which brings matt into a full laughter and leaves you with a flushed face.

"oh sorry honey i don't" you said with a bit of a pout

"then why did you say you want to lick a lollipop, mommy?"

matt laughs even harder, and this makes you smile but also stressed to try and find the best answer to give to you and matt's precious one

thinking about booping matt murdock's nose and his face just scrunched up and his eyes is now invisible bcs how wide his smile is and he just chuckles and says "did you just... boop my nose?" GODDDD I AM SO IN LOVE WITH MY OWN IMAGINATION

DUDEEE IMAGINE y/n, matt, foggy, and karen are about to go to a halloween party and they are running out of ideas on what costumes they're gonna wear then y/n suddenly smirks and says the most absurd idea ever

y/n: matt...

matt: no. i know what you're gonna say. no!

foggy: what

y/n: 😏😏 you should wear the daredevil suit

matt: absolutely not! people will know!

y/n: matt, absolutely NO ONE will know! it'll be so funny!

matt: y/n no!! it's dangerous!

karen: i like your style y/n 🤣

obviously they didn't go with the idea but it was funny

headcanon: matt's favorite movie before he lost his sight was top gun, and he was so obsessed with it that he wanted to be a pilot. but of course it changed and especially after his father's death that he wanted to be a lawyer. present day, now hanging out with foggy, karen, and you, the live musician played great balls of fire and you've never seen him this happy jamming to his childhood jam

AND I MEAN LIKE IMAGINE HIS EARS PERKED UP WHEN HE HEARD THE FIRST PIANO NOTES AND HE IMMEDIATELY JUMPED BEING SO EXCITED AND joined the singer to sing and dances with his whole heart and you're just sitting there amazed with a big smile on your face thinking this is the man you love and then he asks you to join dance with him and you said yes and soon the whole bar dances to the song and it just became the best day ever oh my god

have we, as a fandom, like collectively agree on matt's birthday? or is there already a canonical date on matt's birthday? BCS WHEN ARE WE GOING TO CELEBRATE HIS BIRTHDAY?? 😭😭😭

A birthday punishment and a birthday gift.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader

Summary: After your boyfriend comes back home after leaving his birthday party early to let the Devil out, you play with him in the shower.

Word count: 2017

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, sub!Matt, dom!reader, handjob, choking, edging, just a tiny bit of overstimulation, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, sunshine), spending too much time in the shower (guys c'mon save water). Afab reader but no pronouns used.

A/N: I wouldn't say this is a tall!reader fic but I wrote it as being roughly the same height as Matt. I don't think it matters that much anyway so... enjoy!

Please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed it <3

Masterlist

You were sound asleep when he came back from patrolling. As always, he made his way to the shower before getting in bed, careful not to make any sound that could wake you up.

Matt was being extra careful tonight, though. You tried to hide it but you were pissed at him for leaving his birthday party early to go devil around the Kitchen. And he understood, you were right to be angry and he'd try to make it up to you later when you woke up.

The sound of the shower ended up rousing you from your sleep. Normally, you would've gone back to sleep, knowing your boyfriend was back, but you had other plans tonight.

You had been a bit angry initially when you got home from the party and he went to put on the suit instead of spending the night with you, but at the same time, what were you expecting? You knew who you were dating and you ultimately couldn't be mad at him.

You stripped from your pajamas and made your way to the bathroom. Technically, it wasn't his birthday anymore and you knew he'd be tired, but you still wanted to do something for him.

Matt had his back to you, facing the wall as he scrubbed his hair clean. You stepped inside, your arms wrapping around his body from behind as you buried your face on the crook of his neck, leaving a kiss there.

"Sorry for waking you up." Matt said, placing his hand on top of yours on his chest.

"It's fine… We have unfinished business anyway." You nuzzled him below his ear, hugging him tighter and pressing your front against his broad back, your hands starting to roam across his torso.

Matt shuddered, leaning instinctively into your touch. He always craved your touch, especially now when he thought you would still be mad at him.

"I'm sorry for goi-" He started to apologize, intending to turn around, but you shushed him and kept him in place, your nails dragging down his sides to the tops of his thighs, making his breath hitch.

"Be a good boy and let me do what I want." You said against his skin, gently sucking on it but being careful enough to not leave a mark.

Matt let out an almost inaudible "Fuck", tilting his head to give you more space on his neck, feeling the rush of blood to his already hardening cock.

You smirked at his response before resuming your kisses, moving to his back. You kissed and gently bit his shoulders, your hands moving to his chest to rub his nipples before going down his abdomen, grazing his skin while your lips kissed down his spine until you kneel behind him.

Matt kept himself still by pressing his hands against the tiles, letting his head drop as his breath quickened.

"Please…" He breathed out. Your hands were now exploring the inside of his thighs. He was painfully hard and you had touch him everywhere except where he needed it the most, the feeling on his sensitive skin almost maddening.

"I know, baby, you just gotta be patient…" Your hands now leaving his front to grope his ass, playfully biting on one of his butt cheeks and making Matt huff, before getting back up.

You kissed your way up his spine again before resting your head on his shoulder, one of your hands moving down the trail of hair on his abdomen and finally wrapping around his cock, slowly starting to move up and down his length.

Matt's head tilted back as a moan went past his lips, the stream of water now hitting his chest, his mouth slacking when your hand focused on his tip, the precum coating your hand.

You nipped at his ear and suckled on his earlobe as you picked up the pace, pumping him both faster and harder, the nails of your other hand digging on his hip where you kept him from moving.

Matt's moans got louder and his hips tried to sloppily thrust against your hand. Even with the water and steam saturating the air and muffling his senses, he could smell your arousal, feel your hard nipples and the strong beat of your heart on his back making his go even faster.

You felt him tense up when your other hand went to fondle with his balls, making you smirk, the hand on his dick keeping a steady pace.

"I'm gonna-Fuck, sweetheart I'm gonna cum." Matt struggled to say in between breaths.

That was your cue to stop, making him whimper at the loss of contact when he thrusted into nothing.

"Sorry baby, you can't come now. I'm not done yet." You told him, kissing below his ear, his neck and shoulder as your hands rub his hips trying to soothe him.

"Is… is this my punishment for going out tonight?" Matt asked as he panted, his hands dropping to his sides as he came down from the edge.

"Mhmm…" You hummed, trailing kisses from one shoulder to the other to give it some attention.

"I guess I deserve it." He huffed a chuckle.

One of your hands traveled across his body to grab his jaw, making him turn his head so you could see his flushed beautiful face.

"Open." You ordered him, your index and middle finger brushing against his rosy lips, waiting for him to let them in.

Matt obeyed without hesitation, humming at the taste of your fingers as they slid over his tongue.

"That's it, baby. You look so beautiful like that." You praised on his ear, the encouragement making him thrust into the air again, needing to feel some friction again as he sucked on your fingers. "So needy." You cooed, leaving a kiss on his jaw as your other hand went to wrap his painfully hard cock, starting to jerk him off again.

You kept fucking Matt's mouth with your fingers as you allowed him to fuck himself with your fist, his hands holding onto your arms. You didn't have to tell him, he knew he couldn't touch you when he was at your mercy.

You felt his hips falter, his body tensing up again, so you quickly took your fingers from his mouth with a wet popping sound. His lips searched for them for a second but they were gone, your hand grabbing the column of his neck, keeping him firmly in place without choking him, the hand on his dick slowing down and stopping right before he could come.

Matt whined and turned his head towards your face. "Please, sunshine, I can't take it." He pleaded, the hot air of his panting hitting your face.

"Oh but you can, my love. I know you can take it." You nuzzled his nose, your lips hovering his but not touching.

Matt tried to kiss you but you moved away, making him whine again when you kissed his stubbled cheek instead. He almost cried in that moment, not being able to kiss you being arguably worse than not being allowed to cum. "God, please, Y/n…"

You decided it was enough punishment for today and sighed. "Okay, okay… I'll let you come next time. You know I love it when you beg for me." You said, your thumb lovingly caressing his throat.

You reached your free hand between your bodies to cover your fingers with the slick pooled between your folds before taking his throbbing, weeping cock on your hand once again, knowing you'd get a reaction from your boyfriend with heightened senses.

And you were right, Matt had been smelling the sweet, tangy scent of your arousal this whole time, but having it coat his cock and mix with his own fluids made his eyes roll back, his mouth going slack again as he breathed through it to get a better taste of you.

You moved your fist up and down his length, slow and hard at first, then picking up the pace as he got worked up again.

He was a moaning, panting mess in your arms, rutting into your tight fist almost desperately.

He wasn't going to last much longer, so you decided to finally squeeze the sides of his neck, just enough to make him dizzy.

"C'mon, come for me, I know you want to…" You mumbled against his shoulder, looking down so you wouldn't miss it and kissing whatever skin was available as you encouraged him.

The throbbing in his ears and the light-headed feeling was just what he needed to tip him over the edge, Matt's hips erratically moving as his cum covered your hand.

You squeezed him tighter, slowly milking him until the last drop. "Mmm… that's it, my love. You did so well…" You praised releasing your grip on his neck and soothing his throat, peppering kisses along his jaw.

Thinking he was done, you went to pull your cum-coated hand away, but Matt quickly grabbed you by the wrist to keep it in place, rubbing his oversensitive dick against your hand.

"More, please…" He breathed out in a whine, testing the waters by holding your hand in his, making you make a fist around his cock to keep thrusting.

"Okay, just 'cause it's your birthday." You chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder and your free arm wrapped around his waist to rest there with his. "Let me see how you fuck yourself with my fist."

The friction is so addictively painful, making Matt want more and more of it even if he had already cum.

It didn't take a lot more thrusts for another orgasm to wash over him, making him tremble and hiss at the pain, his knees almost giving up as a few more drops of cum came out of his spent cock.

You gave him a last, gentle pump that made him shake, slacking against your body as his threatened to give up.

You shushed him, holding him tightly and rubbing your hand on his abdomen to calm him down.

Matt took a moment to even his breath out before turning to face you, his nose nuzzling yours. "Are you gonna let me kiss you now?"

"Yeah, c'mere…" You raised a hand to the back of his neck to pull him in, your lips finally connecting with his in a slow, tender kiss, Matt's arms wrapping around your waist to hold you tight against him.

Without breaking the kiss, he placed both of you under the stream of water, his hands leaving your waist to gently grab your face, intending to break the kiss to say something, but ultimately being unable to do it, indulging in the feeling of your soft lips brushing against his for a bit more.

"Let me do something for you too…"

"I think we've wasted enough water, Matt." You chuckled and reached to stop the running water, now that it had already washed away the remnants of Matt's orgasm of your skin.

"In bed, then." He insisted, nuzzling your nose again as his hands left your face to trail down your body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the bruise on your ribs, Devil." It wasn't that you didn't want him to fuck you. In fact, that's all you had been wanting all night long. But he was hurt, and you knew he would not care if he made his injuries worse if that meant he satisfied you.

Matt sighed, rubbing your hip before smirking at you, leaning in. "I'll tell you what, we can go to sleep now or we can go to bed and you sit on my face. I don't have to move anything but my mouth." He said in a low, suggesting tone, the grip on your hip tightening at the thought of tasting you.

You bit your lower lip, your neglected pussy clench around nothing at his words. "Fuck, Matt… I can't argue with that."

Matt's smirk grew into a satisfied smile before kissing your lips again, more passionately this time. "Let's get out of here then, can't wait to taste my birthday gift."

I LOVE THIS SO SO SO MUCHHHH AAAAA

She said, "What's on your mind?"// I said, "Your skin"

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Implied smut, Established relationship, Mirror stuff, like pussy worship if you squint

Author’s Note: I just think we should all be more comfortable looking at ourselves and getting to know our bodies and I like to image Matt would want that too. I really need to wash my hair but I also just ate so I wrote this while I waited for my stomach to settle

Post-orgasm Matt was clingy and soft but he claimed that was only for you. After a round of morning sex, you and him were on top of the covers. You were leaning against the headboard. His head was on your mound with his right ear pressed against your crotch while you played with his hair. You weren’t sure if he was listening to his cum moving around in your uterus or the pulse that was still throbbing in your loins.

There was a mirror parallel to where you and Matt were laying, giving the perfect view of your post-orgasmic state. Even though you knew he wasn’t, the way Matt’s head was resting it was almost like he was looking directly at your body in the mirror. “Tell me what you look like”

You rolled your eyes. “Matt you know what I look like.” You went on to give a very utilitarian description of the colour of your hair, your eyes, your height, your body type all the standard stuff that would show up if you got roped into more of Matt’s shenanigans and ended up as a fugitive on Unsolved Mysteries.

“That’s not what I mean.” Matt hooks his hands underneath the flesh of your thighs and spreads your legs as far as they would go, having your plush, dewy folds completely exposed in the reflection of the mirror. You had never really seen yourself like this.

“Every time I think I’ve got your body mapped and figured out there’s always something new that I find that takes my breath away.” You smiled thinking about the other night when Matt shifted the angle of his thrust. He found a new spot inside of you that made his breath hitch and you moan so pretty around his cock.

Matt’s fingers parted your labia using two fingers to hold the puffy lips apart to expose your glistening flesh. “So tell me, gorgeous, what do you look like?”

Part 2

Warmth of You (Matt Murdock x GN! Reader)

Summary: You're cold, and Matt is warm. That's it.

Warnings: Pure tooth rotting fluff.

Author's note: My house being cold AF this morning and my bestie @what-the-hell from the Horny Hive inspired this lil drabble 😘

New York winters were something you were going to have to get used to. This particular night it was positively frigid, and no amount of blankets, socks, and flannel pajamas could save you from the bitter cold. Your boyfriend Matt was fast asleep next to you, but you were wide awake and shivering.

You felt the bed shift, and then a warm hand on your arm. Matt slowly rolled you over so that you were facing him. Little did you know, he could feel you shivering.

"Sweetheart, c'mere." He whispered as he hugged you to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Matt. It's just so cold. I'm not used to this."

"Shhhhhh. It's alright. You should have told me you were cold." He said before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You're never, ever disturbing me, sweetheart. I'll always keep you warm."

He caressed your cheek and placed a soft kiss there. You snuggled into his embrace and he petted your hair until you fell asleep. Once he heard your heartbeat even out, he finally fell asleep. You were warm and safe in his arms, right where you belonged.

Taglist: @rashnuhere @faery-god @matt-erialgirl

@catholicdaredevil @star-spangled-man

@sobachka-korol

This this this this this 🥰

perhaps love

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: 5 times Matt didn’t realize he was in love with you + 1 time he did.

Warning: none!

Note: this is me indulging myself in a fic after listening to one (1) song for months over and over until i’m slowly getting sick of it. enjoy!

1.

Matt followed closely behind as you happily explored the ground beyond. He tilted his head over his shoulder nervously, silently listening to Foggy trail behind him, a little too slow for his liking. For once he was extremely grateful that his enhanced hearing gave him the upper ground.

“Matt! Foggy!” you hollered. Matt winced. Okay, maybe not that much. “I’m flying!”

“Holy fuck,” Foggy cursed underneath his breath. He slowly nudged him along to move faster. Matt rolled his eyes, at last. “What the hell are you doing? Get down!”

“What are they doing?” Matt asked warily. Having either one of his friends drunk always split into two possibilities; he never knew whether he was up for a laugh or a trip to the ER.

“Climbing the fucking flagpole,” Foggy grunted. He sounded both exasperated and amused, but his step was a little too slow from the drink he had earlier.

“Jesus.”

Keeping an eye on drunk you was one thing, but coaxing you to slowly climb down the flagpole was a whole another feast. Foggy yelled at you to climb down, which only earned him a snarky remark and a waterwork on your part. Matt was unable to hold back laughter after that, silently wondering what the hell did they put in the punch bowl back at the house party.

“Just climb down, please,” Foggy said exasperatedly. “We’re too broke for a trip to the ER.”

Matt shook his head, smiling. “Do you want chicken nuggets?” he hollered at you.

That seemed to catch your attention. You sniffed loudly, spreading and contaminating the air with your salty tears. “Chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I have a lot of chicken nuggets back at my dorm. But you have to carefully climb down, okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffed again. “Promise?”

“Promise. Be careful.”

You hummed, slowly making a tentative step to climb down from the flagpole. Foggy hovered nearby on the left, so Matt took the right side. His heart hammered his ribcage painfully, the air suddenly felt stale and stagnant as you took a painstakingly slow pace to climb down the flagpole.

Matt heard it a second too late—a slice in the air, split into the stagnant air as you lose your grip on the pole. Matt leaped without thinking, letting his cane fall to the ground to catch you before you were able to meet the same fate as his cane. He felt his heart jump out of its pants right into his throat, suffocating him.

“I told you to be careful!” he chided, suddenly angry at your clumsiness. He knew that was irrational, you probably won’t remember anything by the time the sun was out, but he was seeing red.

But that only made you laugh—no, giggling. Your hand clumsily patted his cheek. “I love your glasses.”

Matt huffed as he hoisted you up to your feet, hands shaky with how hard his heart was beating now. Foggy handed him his cane and probably gave him slight odd looks now. He prayed that he was also drunk enough to doubt this exact memory tomorrow or chalk it up to a very nice coincidence.

“I told you we’re too broke for a trip to the ER!” Foggy joined him to scold you. He shook his head. “That was terrifying and dangerous. Don’t do that again.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, but a wide smile on your face made the whole ordeal both felt insincere and ridiculous. “Matty,” you tugged his sleeve. “Have I told you I love your glasses?”

“Yes,” Matt mumbled, patting his chest to calm his erratic heartbeat. He pressed his lips to form a tense line, perplexed that his heart hadn’t calmed down yet from the rush of adrenaline. “Let’s get you back to your dorm.”

“But I love your glasses!”

“I know.”

Matt shook his head to snap him out of his stupor. He was just surprised. He was just scared—terrified of what just happened.

2.

You rushed into his dorm without knocking. Matt had heard you approaching before you were anywhere near his door, but he still had the decency to put a faux surprise on his face. He turned around from his chair, listening to you sauntering in like you owned the place, and sat on his bed.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Hello to you too.”

You grunted at him, pressing a pillow against your face.

“Knocking is polite, you know,” he teased. He frowned when it met with silence, and his frown deepened when he felt salt in the air, and then your quiet sob muffled by his pillow filled his every wall.

“Hey, hey,” he slowly approached you, sitting on the edge of his bed. “It’s okay. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

That only made you sob harder. Matt climbed his bed into the empty spot next to you, gently placed his hand on your back in a silent question about whether you wanted to be touched or not. You lifted your head in a silent answer, slowly melting into his embrace, and sobbed against his shoulder.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, stroking your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. He didn’t know who he did it for—to soothe you or him, distracting himself from the very sound he knew he hated the most in the whole wide world.

“I broke up,” you said hoarsely.

“What?”

“I broke up with James,” you repeated. Matt had to physically restrain himself from scowling at hearing the name he wasn’t exactly fond of. “It didn’t work. We didn’t work. No matter how hard I try we—” you inhaled sharply. “God. God I’m fucking hard to love, aren’t I?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. “Who said that?”

“It just… I don’t know. I spent so many times, so many things with him, you know?” you started to teared up again, voice shaky with tears. “I felt like I poured all of my soul into loving him but he didn’t even try to give the same thing. It almost felt like I was an afterthought—god, I actually felt so lonely when I’m with him, you know? Maybe I’m just too much.”

“Don’t say that. You’re never too much, not to me.”

Matt let you collapse your head into his shoulder again, absentmindedly making a circular pattern on your forearm. He couldn’t remember when was the last time that piece of shit actually made you happy instead of eliciting tears after tears. At one point he was convinced you were dating an onion.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sniffed. “God, I’m going to die alone with twenty cats! Nobody’s gonna love me besides my family,” you wailed loudly.

“We can die alone together with twenty cats if you want,” Matt said, rocking you gently back and forth. “I love you, okay? You’re not gonna die alone. Not while I’m here.”

“I want to retire to the countryside someday,” you said. “Will you join me live in the countryside, Murdock?”

Matt huffed a laugh. “As you said, I’m a city boy through and through. But I’ll visit you every weekend.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“That’s more than enough.”

Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. The tears hadn’t dried up completely, but you were no longer actively sobbing or wailing anymore. He rested his cheek atop your head, feeling the familiar feeling of your hair tickling his skin and the smell of your shampoo invading his senses.

The door creaked open and Foggy walked in. He opened his mouth to make a dry remark about how often you stayed in their room—as he always does—only to stop when his eyes caught the sight of you.

“Who do I need to fight?” he demanded.

“No one, Fogs.”

Foggy immediately took a seat on Matt’s bed, his hand silently reaching for you. You shifted slightly on your seat, adjusting so you were comfortably sandwiched between him and Matt. “Seriously, who do I need to fight? What happened to you?”

“I broke up with James,” you said, shaking your head.

“What did he do to you? Where is that bastard now?”

“It’s not worth it, Fogs,” you firmly said. Matt imagined that you furrowed your eyebrows tensely, and he suddenly got overcome with a huge desire to press his thumb between your eyebrows to smooth them out. “Let it be.”

“Fine. But if he does something stupid after this, it’s on sight,” Foggy sighed, pressing his back against the wall. “You can do a lot better, you know? He’s a bit of an ass anyway.”

He’s a major ass, Matt silently thought.

3.

Matt banged his fist against your door frantically. His throat was raw from calling your name behind your door, repeatedly trying to get your attention. It was a wonder none of your neighbors had tried to kick him out yet, but he couldn’t find himself to care anyway. You failed to show up at work today, and after he, Foggy, and Karen were unable to reach your phone repeatedly—all directed to voicemail—he made the decisive decision to sprint to your apartment.

The only salvation and reassurance you did not magically disappear from the earth was the sound of your heartbeat from behind the door.

Your door opened at last, and he immediately knew something was amiss as you croaked, “Matt?”

“Hey,” he breathed, suddenly feeling light. The anxiety that shot up through him suddenly dissipated, like a knife being pulled out from a stab wound. “You didn’t show up at work today. You didn’t answer any of our calls—”

“Oh, shit,” you slapped your forehead. “I’m sorry, I think my phone died.”

Matt extended his hand quietly, pressing the back of his hand into your forehead. He hissed when his skin met your balmy one, a frown found a place on his lips. “You’re burning up,” he said. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Despite your initial protest, you made little to no effort swatting him away. Not that any of them would work, anyway. Matt tucked you to bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“Are you cold?” he murmured softly, gently propping your leg up into his lap to put on a sock on your cold feet. You hummed half-heartedly, already slipping back into slumber. “Have you eaten anything today?”

His question met with another half-hearted answer, but Matt still made his way into your kitchen anyway. He was not exactly a stranger there; he burned the layout of your apartment into memory just well enough. He scrambled through your fridge, thankful that you went grocery shopping a few days back.

Matt roused you awake to feed you some of his chicken soup—a recipe his father left him, a legacy, a memento of a happier and simpler day. You were annoyed for being woken up from your sleep, made sure to make a few grunts and annoyed huffs all directed to him, subtlety was never your strongest suit. But you relent anyway when Matt stayed equally as stubborn, the smell of the soup eventually wins you over.

“Go back to sleep now,” he said softly, satisfied that you were warm and fed and had swallowed some medicines. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” you yawned, snuggling closer to your pillow.

Matt sighed, a small smile tugged his lips before he knew it. “Promise,” he brushed your hair gently.

“Okay,” you sighed loudly. “If I wake up and you’re not here, I’ll fight you.”

“Sure. If you can reach my neck.”

You shoved him gently as a response, too exhausted to verbally bite back from his teasing. Matt lingered until he was sure you were fast asleep before he made his way to your living room to ring Foggy.

“Matt?” you walked the length of the living room with your sock-clad feet. Matt jumped to his feet immediately, meeting you in the middle. “Matt, there’s a giant spider in my room.”

Matt gently grabbed your shoulders, slowly guiding you into his embrace in a protective stance. He tilted his head, a mindless attempt to hear better, and couldn’t find any living being aside from you and him.

Not that he ever paid any mind to bugs in the first place.

“There isn’t any spider,” he said softly. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You shook your head stubbornly, firmly gripping his sleeve. “There’s a giant spider in my room!”

Matt blinked. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t hear bugs crawling in your walls, or if this was your fever speaking. He sighed quietly, gently tugging you back to your room and back to your bed.

You didn’t voice out any protest, but your clutch on his sleeve was getting firmer and firmer the closer you were to your room. Matt wordlessly tucked you back to bed and laid down next to you.

“Matt?” you called. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m here,” he reassured you. “It’s okay, go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

“Fight the spider for me.”

Matt chuckled. “Always.”

Matt shut his eyes, the sound of your steady heartbeat slowly lulled him to sleep. He found himself silently wishing and praying to be able to stay here, protect you from countless giant spiders, for as long as he could.

4.

“Do you ever think about taking a fanny pack with you?”

Matt blinked. He slowly put down his fork, ingesting your question and dissecting it one by one until it made sense inside his brain. “A fanny pack?”

You hummed, completely ignoring his bewildered expression that he was sure painted as clear as the day on his face, or completely oblivious. Which was unlikely.

“I don’t think your funky suit has any pockets,” you said thoughtfully. Matt would find the whole thing funny that you were sincere and serious with your question if he wasn’t so surprised. “But of course, you ought to put horns on your helmet. Couldn’t say no to living up to your reputation.”

Matt huffed, a laugh escaped him before he could register it—more bewilderment than mirth. He had come clean to you about who he was a few days back. It only felt right after Foggy had found out, and leaving you in the dark, no matter how much the thought of you finding out and meddling in both of his lives terrified him to death, felt incredibly wrong.

You took the news with stride—if a prolonged silence could count as one. But Matt knew you enough to know that the truth had been slowly seeping into simmering water for a while. It was a matter of time before the kettle whistled, and he dreaded the day it happened.

“Why would I need a fanny pack?”

“So you can bring a water bottle with you. Some granola bars to snack,” your voice sounded far away. He hated it. “Dehydration is a serious thing, Matt.”

Matt pursed his lips, caught in between amusement and wariness. “You think about this a lot, don’t you?”

“Can’t get it out of my head.”

Matt toyed with his ramen quietly, the only sound that settled between you and him comfortably was the wind blowing from the rooftop. The kettle was coming into a whistle anytime now.

“I’ll be fine, I swear,” Matt said. “Don’t you worry about me.”

You threw your hands in the air. “That’s not the point Matt!” you yelled, voice cracking with upcoming tears. “What if—what if you hadn’t had time to eat some dinner before you go? What if you’re hungry during your patrol and couldn’t find anything to eat? What if you’re thirsty after leaping from building to building and fighting, I don’t know, some bank robbers?” you jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “No human can go longer than three days without water!”

Matt stayed silent, patiently listening to your rambling about the importance of proper hydration. He felt a smile slowly forming on his face despite himself, despite the tears that slowly ran down your face, and despite the fact that you were yelling at his face. The words of your ramble—slipped with fret and scolding here and there—made his heart sing, flutter with the wind.

He still had the decency not to chuckle and tried to take your words into his heart and put it in the highest consideration. The whole fanny pack idea was an instant no, but he ought to figure out how to stay properly hydrated from now on.

“Are you done?” Matt asked gently with a smile.

You must have thrown him the nastiest look you could muster. “Yes,” you said sulkily. He just knew there was a prominent pout appearing. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”

“I know, I know,” he coughed to masked a laughter slowly bubbling up. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried. But I can’t bring a fanny pack with me, stealth is my key and a fanny pack would defeat the whole purpose.”

“You still need to eat,” you sounded dejected, and it took everything inside him not to scoop you up to brush away all the sadness. “And most importantly to drink water regularly.”

Instead, he settled by grabbing your hand and squeezing it gently. “I promise to always eat some dinner before I go and drink plenty of water before and after patrol. How’s that sound?”

“You still need to drink after fighting too.”

“I’ll find a way. You know I’ll always find a way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Matt squeezed your hand again. He slowly crossed his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

And later that night, when he found a piece of granola bar right underneath his suit, he knew that perhaps your worry wouldn’t completely melt away—not even with the most sincere promise. Matt found himself smiling widely that his cheeks started to hurt, over a granola bar and no less, feeling his heart painfully blossoming a feeling he still yet to find the name.

But he knew, deep down, his heart was singing your name.

5.

Matt listened to the sound of your footsteps roaming around his kitchen. He stood silently, hovering on the furthest corner of his kitchen counter, waiting for his tea to steep into perfection. You had come knocking on his door first thing in the morning—he was sure the sun was barely out yet, he barely had a wink of sleep himself.

It was his birthday today. He barely even remembered his own birthday, long after he lost his father, the idea of celebrating had never been appealing. But here you were, roaming in his kitchen, rummaging through his fridge like you were the one who spent all the money that goes to all the stuff inside, chopping and staining his kitchen counter as if you owned it. You were determined to pull a birthday celebration for him, even though it only consisted of a small lunch get-together with Karen and Foggy.

Matt couldn’t find himself to mind.

He liked it even.

Little words had been exchanged between you and him. Matt had learned long ago that you have a distaste for talking when you were cooking and insisting on doing so only means inviting his own demise. The sound of your footsteps, the mumble of commentary about certain ingredients underneath your breath, and most of all your steady heartbeat were more than enough.

“Matt,” you called for him, breaking his train of thought. It was hard to get Matt startled, but again, he didn’t expect you’d start a conversation mid-cooking. “Matt!” you tried again.

“What?”

“I’m going to turn on the blender,” you said. The sound of the lid closing followed after. “You might want to put on your headphones.”

Matt pursed his lips. You had given him a noise-canceling headphone as a gift for Christmas a year ago. He didn’t hate it necessarily, on days when it was rough and everything was too loud it helped tremendously, but having himself relied on his hearing for years only to have it numbed out felt extremely jarring.

Not to mention it brought back certain memories he didn’t want to think about.

“Should I?” he asked, pulling his tea bag out of his cup. “I think I can manage.”

“It’s loud. You took a lot of beating last night, I don’t want to give you a headache.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Matt shook his head.

“But—”

“If it hurts my ear I’ll put it on, okay?”

“You tell me if it gives you a headache.”

“Okay,” Matt smiled. Always so stubborn, you are. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” you relented. You rarely dispute his claims when it comes to certain things, this included, and Matt was more than grateful. “Maybe don’t stay in the kitchen with me while I turn this thing on.”

Matt squeezed your shoulders as he walked past. A lot of words slowly pushed out of his mouth, a jumble of incoherent sentences bouncing inside his head yet nothing meaningful he could grasp. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he ended up settling with only, “Thanks for the heads up.”

+1

“Put this thing on when you go out,” you said as you draped something around his neck—scarf?—and patted his shoulder proudly. Matt practically could feel pride and happiness radiating off you from this close proximity, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s this?”

“Scarf,” you said, confirming his suspicion. You gently nudged him up to move within the queue for the new bakery that had just opened near your place. Matt had volunteered to come with you after Foggy and Karen both refused your request, not particularly fond of the long line.

He was grateful for the long line, though. Winter had started to give a little taste of its presence lately, the temperature had been dropping steadily this past week. The cold weather outside made this warm bakery a lot more hospitable, but Matt already dreaded the walk back from here.

“Is this an early Christmas gift?” Matt asked, running his hand through the soft fabric of the scarf. The smell of your perfume lingered on every inch of the fabric.

You hummed. “I planned to give it to you on Christmas, but I finished it early.”

“Finished?” Matt shot his eyebrows into his hairline. “You made this?”

“I did! Here, some cool stuff I did, something you won’t find anywhere else,” you eagerly grabbed his hand to trace his new scarf. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “Do you feel it?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “Yes? What’s this?”

“I sew your name to your scarf, so if you ever happen to lose this somewhere, they can return it to you,” you said proudly, completely oblivious to the way the air knocked out of his lungs at once. “And this,” you brought his hand to trace a bump on his scarf. “I think you know this one better than I do.”

Matt gasped loudly, his fingers shakily traced the bumps you had directed him into. Matthew Murdock. You sew his name in braille on his scarf.

It felt like a punch in the gut, a sudden brute attack that made his lungs collapse all at once. Matt swayed slightly, feeling completely light at the way his stomach flipped out of nowhere. He kept tracing his name over and over, in awe at how perfectly it all assembled together.

“I love you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, the words now spilling out of him uncontrollably. Matt took a long shaky breath, completely drowned in the sea of feelings that flooded him without warning. He didn’t think he could stop now the words were out in the air. “I love you.”

He heard you inhale sharply. “I—”

“No, listen to me,” Matt shook his head. He gently cupped your face, relieved that you didn’t pull away, and aware of how warm your cheeks had become. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I always have, I don’t know. It’s always been there, for as long as I can remember,” he sighed. “I also don’t think I can stop now.”

Matt shut his eyes. You deserved a lot better than a makeshift love declaration. He needed to pluck the stars in the sky and lay them on your palms, swam entire oceans, and conquer every single mountaintop. But even then, even if he dragged the moon to your feet and showered you with good-smelling flowers, it wouldn’t be enough to show how much he loved you.

You let out a laugh, soft and fluttering gently in the air. “You’re an ass, Murdock. Are you seriously making a love declaration to me in the middle of a line in a new bakery?”

Matt huffed a surprised laugh. “I feel like you need to know.”

“You’re right, I do,” you covered his hands with your own and gently put them away from your cheeks. You entwined your fingers with his together and melted seamlessly. “But you’re being unfair right now. Because you’re totally kissable, and I can’t kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t like sharing,” you said, swinging your hand and his together gently. “I don’t want these people to see me kissing you. I’d rather kiss you alone.”

Matt felt a wide smile blossoming now. “We can always step out of the line and go somewhere quiet.”

“No, we’re already here. I want my cake,” you punched his arm playfully. “But I’ll kiss you as soon as we’re out.”

Matt was positive he was grinning widely right now. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you tiptoed to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, I love you too, by the way.”

And just like that, he was nothing but a goo that bore his name underneath your touch.

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

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

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

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

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

w/c: 4.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time for Plan B.

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

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

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

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

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

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

If he boxed up the suit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was only amusing for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touching the Devil felt like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year, Everyone!

This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I chose it to be about Matt Murdock 👉🏾👈🏾

Please do read it and comment on it, like it and support it. Thanks❤️

⚠️ Warnings: Some drunken abuse, a bit of beating (not mentioned), fluff, mention of alcohol, mention of kiss, new year's kiss, I guess that is it. Please let me know if I miss something.

A Momentous New Year's Eve!

It's intoxicating!

I didn't know it could feel this way until I stood at this spot. I lost the count of cups I had consumed of that inebriated drink. But it was the time of the year when people party and let themselves lose to the music, to the booze and maybe to some frivolous mistakes. Let's not talk about the mistakes because my life was already a mess. Partying with Columbia Law students as an outsider should be enough, for now, to think about anything else.

I might slightly be under the alcoholic influence, but one look at this black glasses guy made me sober in an instant. Could someone be this beautiful yet foolish at the same time? He was trying to perform tap dance. At least, that's what I could comprehend with my hazy mind while someone was trying to catch him in his miserable attempts. I didn't know that I was staring at him intensely when his friend looked at me once and said something in his ear.

Assuming that my party was over, I headed toward the door surreptitiously. Well, no one would mind anyway if I made my exit known to people. Moreover, my friend Stella, who studied at Columbia Law, could not be seen anywhere. And knowing her, she might be with her boyfriend and guessing their nature, both must be drowned in alcohol. Smiling at their childish behaviour, I looked at my watch, which stated 11:30 PM. Though not that late, but considering it was New Year's Eve, I should head home before some drunkard ruined my mood. I wore my coat and exited the door, ready to taste New York's winter air, but halted in my steps when somebody held my wrist a bit harshly.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" I couldn't comprehend whether he was a grown-up man or a college boy due to his drunk self. Besides, he was slurring.

"I saw you yesterday at the canteen with Stella. I wanna hangggg outtt with you."

"I am really sorry. I don't know you. Maybe we should talk tomorrow or the day after that. Sometimes later."

"Noooooo. I like you, and I want to kiss you. Right fucking now!!"

He wasn't leaving my wrist, and his grip was tightening with each passing second, which I was pretty sure would leave a mark.

"Listen, man, first of all, I don't know you, and second, leave my fucking hand! It HURTS!!"

I didn't know I was shouting until he winced and tried to cover his ears. He tugged my wrist and tried to kiss me.

As soon as I uttered a meek "no" the next moment, I saw him lying on the road, wincing in pain.

"The next time, when the lady says "NO" it means no, drunk or not. And I think you might have learned your lesson by now."

"Jesus, dude! I will not leave this matter here. Watch your back, Matt!"

"Sure, Brian. I can say the same to you."

"You fucking blind motherfucker!"

I might be a bit drunk, but that blind Matt guy (my apparent saviour) was throwing some awesome punches at Brian the asshole. I meant it was impossible for a blind man to do such things, but I could be imagining things too. God knows whatever was in New York's air. I was gawking at him intensely until someone cleared their throat.

"Oh, hi! I mean, I am sorry. I mean, thank you."

"Oh, it is okay. I mean, I am sorry you have to deal with that. But, you are safe. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. I am. Pretty tipsy, a bruise on my wrist, but I'm okay. Thanks to you."

"I wish I could come here sooner." He whispered this to himself because it was nearly inaudible.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"No, nothing. I know it's not my place, but are you two guys dating or what? I might be out of line, but I've never seen you before."

"Did you just say "seen me before"?"

"Ohh, I meant heard you before on the campus or lingered around here."

"Uhm, I'm not a student here, came here on a friend's invite."

"A friend? I hope you didn't mean Brian?"

"Oh, no! I never saw Brian before the mhmm incident. I am here or was here with Stella. She is studying law here." And all this while he held my bruised wrist, trying to create soothing circles.

"Stella Cunningham?"

"Yeah! Do you know her?"

"Not exactly! I know her, but her boyfriend, Winston, is kind of my friend."

"That's great, I guess."

"So, would you mind if I ask your name?"

"Yeah, I mean no, I am Y/N."

"Y/N. You have a nice name. I am Matt, by the way." My name never sounded better. I might be too drunk for my own good at that moment.

"You have a nice name too. And I think I should leave before the street filled with drunkards, mobsters and whatnot!"

"Really? I think it's rude to leave the place before giving New Year's kiss."

"WHAT?"

"Hahahaha...just pulling your leg. They have started the New Year's countdown. That's all I am saying."

Should I be kissing a complete stranger who just saved me from an asshole in the middle of the street?

"Hey, Y/N! I was just kidding. No need to think about it."

"Yeah, I know."

And then everyone's voices started reverberating in the atmosphere. All the people had started the countdown - 10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1.

And I kissed my saviour on the cheeks because I still needed two-three bottles worth of alcohol courage to kiss him on the lips.

"Happy New Year, Matt!" I nearly whispered this.

"Happy New Year, Y/N. Can I hug you?"

"Uh, I think, yes."

"Yes? Thank you."

And I never felt better before. It was heavenly. Could hugs always feel this magical, or was it the person that makes hugs better?

"Thank you, Matt, for saving me."

He did not say anything at the moment, just tightened his hold. As if he was telling me never to worry because he would always be there for me. And I never felt that safer in my entire life. I was at peace. Perhaps he was too.

Some years later...

"Are you serious, Matt?"

"No, I am not! I was trying to talk to you since the day Stella brought you on campus with her at Winston's welcoming party."

"OH MY GOD! I did not know that. I swear!"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart, trust me."

"Oh My God, Matthew, you are such an idiot! Why didn't you talk to me? I mean, we could have met earlier. In reality, we met at that horrible New Year's Eve party. May I remind you, it was two years after Winston's party!"

"But it's worth the wait."

"You are such a lovely idiot, Mathew Murdock."

"Only for you, Mrs Murdock."

"I love you, Matty. Too much."

"I love you too, Y/N. Way more than you can imagine."

All these years, I was thinking we met on that dreadful yet magical night. As it turns out, he is a sneaky man, who slipped his way into my heart with love, adoration, trust, and everything that comes with it.

And on this New Year's Eve, we are sitting together, drinking each others' company and hoping for peace and happiness in the upcoming years, forever and always.

With that thought in mind, I kissed him with all my love because I do not need alcohol's assistance anymore, and him kissing me back, pouring all his love fervently.

And this, right here, is our peace, our happiness, our celebration of togetherness.

@digwhatudug