so the lion fell in love with the lamb…

Moving into your new apartment had gone just as smooth as any experience in moving house could go.

Half your stuff was still in badly labelled boxes, rummaging through them every day to find the clothes you wanted to wear, the charger for your laptop, a mug which wasn’t in the same box as the kettle for some reason, even though you thought you’d put them together.

You’d get to it eventually, you swore every morning that you’d make a start that day, but most of your time right now was spent frantically typing on your laptop, working towards the work deadline you hadn’t been allowed to push back more than a week.

The job hasn’t changed, only the apartment since your old shitty landlord suddenly decided he was selling the place.

As you settled into your new place, you bumped into your neighbours occasionally, making polite introductions, and everyone seemed nice, but you never saw the person who actually lived next to you.

At the end of the hall, they’re your only direct neighbour, your bedroom wall shared with their apartment. There was only your flat and theirs on this floor.

You knew someone lived there though, you could hear them.

Though you’d never seen them, you quickly noticed they kept kind of odd hours.

They’d be out the door at around six in the morning, sometimes earlier, only to come home late into the evening, but then they would go back out at like midnight?

The weirdest part was that you could hear them climbing up and down the fire escape instead of using the front door.

It wasn’t often, maybe a couple of times a week, but still. Not that it was any of your business.

As you listened to heavy boots thud up the rickety metal stairs again at four in the morning, you quickly decide it definetly wasn’t any of your business, and tried to focus on your work.

Your mind wanders though, you can’t help imagine outlandish scenario is about your neighbour, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Maybe their front door was stuck, or maybe they had an extremely active lifestyle and go out clubbing all night and they have to sneak in and out to avoid waking whoever they might live with, or maybe they’re some kind of criminal who’s trying to keep a low profile, or even a vigilante.

You can’t wander around apartment complexes in a superhero suit.

The thought makes you laugh, and shake your head, focusing on your work again.

How crazy would that be?

Finally pressing send on this painstakingly long arcticle the next day felt like a huge weight off your shoulders.

Your boss, Ben Urich had been insistent on your writing of an article about a crooked cop who’d managed to get a whole legal case thrown out, letting another cop who killed someone walk.

If the police didn’t hold their own accountable, The Daily Bugle would.

Sighing, you double check the document sent properly, and then shut your a laptop with a small snap.

Ben had kindly given you a week off starting now, as an apology for making you work through your move but he needed that article in this weeks paper.

You’re already lucky enough to be working under the legend of investigative journalism that is Ben, so you didn’t want to push it.

It was late by now, you should probably go to sleep but wine and shitty TV was calling your name so wrapped in a blanket, you sipped from your glass as the dumb sit-com jokes made you smile despite yourself.

Just as you finally decided it’s absolutely time to go to bed after your eyes start to slip shut every few seconds, you stand up and turn off the TV, only for a very loud, concerning crash to fill the brief second of silence, coming from next door.

The mystery neighbour.

You should check on them, right? What if they’re hurt or need help?

Still wrapped in your blanket to hide the small shorts and ragged pyjama top you were wearing, you unlocked your door and made your way down the long hall, knocking tentatively on their door at the end.

There’s more shuffling inside, followed by a hushed “shit” which you could barely hear.

“Uh, yeah?” The mystery neighbour said in a deep, kind of breathless voice, now stood behind their door. Okay, so it’s a man.

Feeling slightly awkward because the man is clearly making no moves to actually open the door, you open and close your mouth a couple of times before settling on your words.

“I uh, I heard a crash? Is everything okay?” You say loud enough for him to hear you, but quiet enough as to not disturb any of the other neighbours.

“I’m fine” the voice insists, “just uh, rearranging furniture and I dropped something.”

The crease in your brow deepens.

“You’re not like, robbing the place are you?” You ask, not entirely joking.

“No! No I’m fine, thanks for- shit- thanks for checking on me I’ll be okay” the deep voice says, more distractedly, before saying a surprisingly polite, but rushed “goodnight!” and you can hear him moving away from the door again.

You take that as your queue to leave, you guess.

Back in the safety of your own bed, you lay there feeling rather confused about the whole interaction.

The cold New York air nips at your skin as you try to walk home as quickly as possible. Your heels are clicking on the concrete in a way which seems to echo, making everyone around aware of your presence.

It’s late, too late to be out by yourself right now, independent feminism in you be damned, you know this is stupid.

You’d been out with some old friends from high school, and they’d all completely ditched you to go back with their one night stands, leaving you to make your way home by yourself. You’d love to say you weren’t upset, but you were, just a little.

I’m going to be really pissed if I get murdered tonight, you think, I’m definitely going to haunt them.

As though the universe can tell you’re taking the situation you’re in too lightly, you become increasingly aware of the sound of footsteps behind you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you try to reassure yourself they’re just going the same way as you, simple as that, but as you take a corner, so do they.

Cold fingers find the pepper spray nestled in your bag, and you pick up your pace even more.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, you think repeatedly to yourself.

The sudden, loud wolf whistle coming from behind you makes your blood run cold, but you don’t turn around. You keep walking.

“Hey slut, don’t ignore me!” the slurred voice of a man shouts, and you can hear his footsteps getting closer.

You don’t stop, you can’t. Your feet pick up the pace even more, bringing the pepper spray out your bag now and holding it against your chest like a life line.

Suddenly, there’s an ominous heavy thud behind you, followed by a deeply pained grunt from who you can only assume is the man following you, and that finally makes you freeze in place. You still don’t dare turn around.

There’s people in New York who are much worse than drunken cat callers, though you doubt that’s all he wanted to do.

There’s more heavy footsteps coming behind you now, and you squeeze your eyes shut, uncapping the spray.

“Hey, you’re okay now” a different, much more gentle, but still deep voice says.

As though the spell you were under is broken by his words, you whirl round to face them, holding the pepper spray out in front of you, finger on the button, ready to scream at him to stay the fuck away from you.

Only, your resolve crumbles entirely when you turn to see the man who’s now holding his hands up in surrender, is Daredevil.

The red leather clad man adorned in a horned mask, built like a wall of muscle. Unmistakably Daredevil.

The same Daredevil who you’d even written articles about, the same Daredevil who is a legend in Hell’s Kitchen, the same vigilante who’d always been around, even when you were younger.

The same Daredevil who you had a not so secret, silly crush on that your friends (who wouldn’t leave you alone like this) would tease you for.

Out of all the hero’s and vigilantes in New York, he was always your favourite.

He’d even saved you once before, when you were a teenager who wasn’t looking where they were going, and you would have been hit by that car that swerved off the road if it wasn’t for the blurred mass of red swooping down and plucking you out of the way.

You knew you liked him.

Lowering your pepper spray, your shoulders sag and the adrenaline is already starting to leave your body and your eyes start to sting with tears of relief.

“Oh my god” you choke out, covering your mouth as it sinks in how close you’d come to something really bad happening to you.

Daredevil takes a small step towards you after rolling his neck enough that you hear the audible pop, and slowly reaches out to touch your arm with his left hand.

“You’re okay” he reassures gently, not seeming to mind you’re a blubbering mess.

His gloved thumb rubs against your cold skin in a comforting manner, the dress you’re wearing not doing anything to keep the heat inside your body, and you desperately try to swallow some air, trying to calm down.

Daredevil waits. He waits for your tears to stop, for your breathing to slow down. He doesn’t rush you, he just waits.

“I’ll take you home” the vigilante says a couple of minutes later, once you’re not actively sobbing, and it’s not a question. He simply starts to lead you down the street.

Nodding numbly, you walk along side him as you sniffle pitifully occasionally, your arms holding yourself in an effort of both warmth and comfort. There’s a silence that’s more comfortable than you expect.

You can’t help glancing at him as you walk. It’s definitely Daredevil, but he seems a bit different to the picture you’re used to seeing. Your eyes slide down his body in what you hope is a subtle way.

He’s bigger, not in a bad way, more in a bulky way that still screams pure strength, he’s just… older. Like his metabolism slowed down a little, like his body can’t handle the intense workouts it would take to achieve that kind of sculpted look anymore.

So just, older, which makes sense if he’s been doing this since you were a kid. You don’t doubt he’s still just as strong as ever though, maybe even stronger with his increased mass, looking at the way the muscles pop out under his suit when he shifts. Being punched by him probably feels like being hit by a truck.

Daredevil has been more under the radar lately, there’s not as many sightings of him anymore, less articles being written about him.

“Where do you live?” The masked man asks suddenly, almost like he only just remembered to ask and hadn’t been going the right way already.

You gave him your address, which in hindsight you probably gave up way to easily, but he’s a hero! He probably just saved your life. Again.

“So what do you do?” Daredevil asks rather casually, making conversation. You huff out a small surprised laugh, assuming he’s trying to take your mind off what just happened.

You clear your throat.

“I work for the Bugle, investigative journalism” you answer, nearly asking what about you? before you remember that he’s never going to answer that. You can’t imagine being a vigilante pays the bills.

“Oh, so you’ll know Ben Urich then? He’s a friend” he hums.

“He’s my boss” you laugh, and Daredevil actually smiles too. You can’t help but stare at his mouth, the only visible part of his face, before you catch yourself.

For a man who’s probably double your age, with half his face covered, he’s… hot. Your eyes linger on the way his suit strains over the curve of his bicep. The bicep that looks like it might be the size of your head.

He’s tall too, you’re not a villain but you can see why they’re all so scared of him, even now. Especially now.

And yet, out of all the crime bosses a big league New York hero like him could be taking down, instead he’s here, saving you from some drunk man and walking you home. If that’s not swoon worthy, you don’t know what is.

“You ever written anything about me?” Daredevil asks, and he’s got a slight smirk on his face that he can’t seem to keep off, like he somehow knows what you’re thinking about.

Oh god, what if he’s a telepath?

Everyone always says he has crazy reflexes, even holding his own against Spider-Man.

Shaking away your thoughts, you focus on his question, which only makes your cheeks heat up.

“Uh, yeah I have actually, here and there, nothing big. I didn’t start that long ago” you explain, feeling a little shy now you’ve admitted to writing articles about the man next to you.

“Good things I hope?” He teases, like he can tell you’re getting embarrassed.

“Of course!” You immediately gush, which only makes you want to sink into the floor even more, especially when he laughs.

The noise is followed by the movement of his arm, rolling his right shoulder as he rubs it with his other hand like it’s stiff and he’s trying to loosen it.

“Be careful though” the Devils voice goes more serious, “people get hurt doing work like Urich, don’t put your life at risk for some article”

“But what if it’s not just an article?” You argue, a little defensive because you’ve had this conversation so many times, “what if it’s a way to get justice? To help people? When the system or the police ignore a problem, they try to sweep it under the rug and we bring it out again” you say passionately.

Daredevil holds his hands up in mock surrender, but he’s smiling still.

“Hey, trust me I get it, I’m not dressed like this because I have complete faith in the system. I’m just doing what I can to help” he explains, actually agreeing with you.

Which, of course he does, he’s literally a vigilante.

“Sorry” you say immediately, “I’m just so used to people saying it’s a waste of time…” you trail off.

Daredevil stops and gently turns you towards him. You have to look up at him now.

“It’s not a waste of time” he states firmly, “Ben has helped put away some of the worse criminals I’ve ever faced, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just- people get hurt when they’re mixed up in this and you’re still young, you’ve still got a lot of life left to live” he says more gently.

Slowly, you nod your head, unsure of what to say from how kind of, intense he’s being about your safety. It’s not a bad feeling though.

The rest of the walk is a comfortable quiet again, and a few minutes later, you’re outside your apartment building.

“Thank you” you say abruptly as you turn towards the masked man, “for saving me, and I’m sorry that you had to…” you trail off, feeling bad for having to waste his time saving you from a situation you shouldn’t have been in.

Though you can’t see it, Daredevil’s eyebrows furrow at your words.

“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t your fault” he immediately reassures, “you should be able to walk home by yourself at night.”

“I know but, everyone left and I knew it was a bad idea but I did it anyway instead of calling a cab or a lift” you mutter, slowly looking back up at him.

He’s closer than you thought.

“Everyone left? People left you to walk home alone?” Daredevil says, more heated than you would expect.

You shrug.

“They’re old friends from high school, I’m not very close to them” you say noncommittally, like you can’t really blame them.

The horned man just stared at you for a second. For someone so passionate about justice for others, you really don’t have that same attitude towards yourself.

“They’re shitty friends” he states, which makes you crack a smile.

You look at him for a second longer, then thank the masked man again for saving you and walking you home.

“Anytime” he smiles, giving you a mock salute with two fingers, using his left hand again.

Turning, you walk towards your front door, fishing your key out your bag.

“Stay safe” Daredevil calls out, but by the time you’ve turned around again, he’s gone.

As you crawl into bed, dressed in the fluffiest, softest pyjamas you own, finally barefaced and clean from your makeup. Taking a couple of deep breaths to try and calm the remaining nerves in your stomach, eventually your thoughts return to the masked man again.

The exhaustion of the night caught up with you quickly though, and just when you’re already on the brink of falling asleep, you faintly hear your the telltale sound of your neighbours fire escape creaking, before their window is opening and shutting again.

A few days pass, and you’re thoroughly enjoying your time off. Well, trying too. Your journalist brain has been hooked on one thing with no articles to write to distract it, Daredevil.

Looking through old blogs and news articles online, you worked out that he’d been doing this since you were around fifteen, though you weren’t sure how old that made him. He’s always been someone you’d heard about.

From the photos you’d found, he looked like he started his vigilante lifestyle in his maybe, mid to late twenties if you had to guess. That would make him around forty now, which is a reasonable estimate for the masked man you met the other night.

You’re not even sure why you’re researching The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, you’re just kind of bored without anyone to snoop around.

Pulling yourself away from your little research spiral, you decide to go down to check your mailbox.

On the way back up, just as you’re turning the corner at the top of the stairs, something large and sturdy walks into you, or rather you walk into them since you’re reading the front of the letters you got, instead of looking where you’re going.

The force of the collision pushes you off kilter, but before you can actually fall down the stairs, a strong arm slips around your waist with frightening speed and steadies you, pulling you against the same warm chest you just face planted.

“Woah, steady” a deep voice rumbles, and you finally look up.

Only to be met with the sight of a blind man. Glasses and cane and all.

A huge, tall, handsome blind man, who has a few scars littered around his face, some hidden beneath the stubble that has flicks of grey in it. There’s also a faint, faded bruise on his cheekbone where his red lensed glasses sit. He’s definitely a good bit older than you.

The man has wide shoulders, his dress shirt straining against his arm that’s holding you in a way that promises his size isn’t just for show. He’s strong.

The professional looking suit he’s wearing, minus the jacket because it’s pretty warm today, fits him well. Too well.

You’re staring, wide eyed and open mouthed, immediately flustered by the attractive man holding you so close, you can’t help it.

Only, he hasn’t let you go yet either, and the way he’s nearly holding you off the ground with one arm isn’t helping.

It’s only when a door slams closed on the floor below you, that both of you suddenly become aware he’s still holding your waist.

Clearing his throat, he immediately lets you go, taking a step back as you steady yourself properly now the man isn’t holding some of your weight.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going, I’m sorry that was completely my fault!” You immediately start to apologise, remembering yourself now you’re not under some strange spell.

“Don’t be, it’s okay, me neither” he jokes with a smile, shrugging his shoulders a little. You relax a fraction, glad to see he’s not completely offended.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly yet, I’m Matt” the man says, holding his hand out in your general direction for you to shake.

Taking his hand, you introduce yourself too. The large hand in yours is warm, and way too calloused for a man who’s wearing a suit to work. His knuckles are scarred and rough.

Based off where he’s coming from, you realise this must be your mystery neighbour.

Your mystery neighbour who uses the fire escape in the dead of night is a blind man?

“I’ve got to get going” Matt says, fingers feeling his watch, “but it was nice to finally meet you” he continues while flashing you a charming smile that completely disarms you, before he’s practically jogging down the stairs with a confidence you didn’t expect, cane tapping away.

You don’t even manage to get out your reply, you’re left just standing there in the hallway, mouth gaping open like a fish.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel like he looks familiar.

It’s only later, while you’re doing another silly deep dive into Daredevil, that you come across a news article about Daredevil being witness in a trail, and then there was a picture of of the attorneys, a shorter, blonde man and Matt. Younger, a little less weathered but it’s undeniably him.

Matthew Murdock. The Matthew Murdock who was one of the best lawyers in the city. Maybe even the country.

He was your neighbour? How the fuck was he your neighbour?

It seems now that you ran into your attractive neighbour once, the seal was broken because you keep running into him.

Over the next few weeks, it happens again and again. He’d gotten home from work just as you got back from your food shop, and he’d very nicely helped you carry all your bags up the stairs even though you had insisted it’s okay.

Or he was in the entrance hall of the building checking his mail box when you were leaving for work, in the most casual clothes you’d seen him in, a tight black t shirt and grey sweatpants.

If he wasn’t blind, he would have absolutely caught you staring at the way his muscles strained against the fabric. You were beginning to crush on this man who’s probably old enough to be your dad alarmingly fast.

The both of you would talk in the few short minutes you had spare, but it was more than just polite small talk about the weather.

Once he found out you were a journalist, he would ask you how your current piece was going, asking questions and giving little bits of input that showed he is genuinely putting thought into his answers.

One day, he even asked you to read one of your full articles to him, from the paper you had tucked under your arm.

When your finished, you’d heard the fading half of a phone call with Matt saying “I’m literally leaving right now” which made you think he’d already been running late, and stayed to listen to you anyway.

You were still smiling by the time you got to your own front door.

Another time, you couldn’t help but notice the small blush on his cheeks when he was speaking to you, blooming across his cheeks when you took a sip your coffee and let out a little pleased hum at the taste.

Matt told you he was a lawyer, and you tried your best to pretend you didn’t already know who he was.

It’s not like you’d been internet stalking him anyway.

The worst part was that Matt was actually really nice. Not that you expected other wise but you get on well, and you’re able to tell even in the short time you’ve spent together through the fleeting conversations stitched together over days.

He’s easy to talk to, he jumps at the chance to help you with your bags, he holds the door open for you, and he makes you laugh. If you had a little bit more confidence in yourself, you’d probably say he’s even flirting with you.

It’s doing absolutely nothing to help calm the crush you have on him. He’s unfairly attractive, the way he talks and handles himself is so self-assured, like he’s used to having everyone in the room listening to his every word, but somehow it’s not in a cocky way.

He listens to your every word too. When you’re talking, even though always he has his red glasses on, you can tell you have his full undivided attention.

You’re honestly not sure what to make of the way Matt’s treating you, why he found you interesting enough to keep talking to at all, especially someone like him.

But you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy it.

Which is why one night, maybe a three or four weeks since the day you literally ran into him, as you’re downstairs collecting your take away from the delivery driver, Matt comes home from work a bit later than usual looking extra tired. Before you can over think it, you invite him to eat dinner with you, ending up half babbling about how you always order too much anyway.

Matt looks a little taken aback at first, and you nearly retract your offer out of embarrassment before you can be rejected, but then he smiles, and accepts.

“Oh, I’d love to” he says after his initial surprise.

“Yeah?” You ask, also a little surprised he accepted and he nods.

“Yeah sweetheart, lead the way” comes almost naturally off his tongue.

Sweetheart?

Your poor frantically pounding actual heart isn’t going to survive the night.

Matt holds the crook of your elbow, and you lead him to your apartment like he doesn’t live right next door, his cane tapping away in smaller swoops in his left hand, but neither of you mention it.

“So what are we having?” Matt asks as you climb up the last flight.

“Chinese, is that okay?” You answer, hoping he likes it.

“Sounds perfect” he smiles and your heart skips a beat again. You don’t see how his smile widens ever so slightly as it does.

Unlocking your door, you lead Matt in to your thankfully much tidier flat. You’d finally unpacked everything on your days off, and even decorated a little.

Taking Matt’s hand, you show him around your flat. You guide his hand to the back of the sofa as you pass, before moving to the kitchen counter. He left his cane near the door.

“Is it the same layout as yours?” You ask, when he seems to get his bearings rather quickly.

“Pretty much, or well it used to be. I had some renovations done a while ago” Matt explains.

In the kitchen again, you let go of his hand after putting it on the back of one of your chairs, inviting him to sit, and turn to grab utensils for the food, as well as open the bottle of wine you’d bought.

Once you’re both sat with plates in front of you, after lighting the little candle you had on your table, you list off the specific food dishes you got and take Matt’s hand again to show him which serving spoon is which, assuming he’d want to just serve himself. He mutters a soft but grateful thank you.

You found yourself being very conscious of that, trying to make sure you’re not babying him.

I mean he lives alone. At least you think he does.

Oh god, what if he’s married? An attractive older man like him? There’s no way he’s not married.

As if Matt can sense your inner turmoil, he asks “you’ve gone quiet, what are you thinking about?” While serving himself perfectly well like you’d assumed he would.

“Are you married?” You just blurt out ungracefully.

Matt has the audacity to huff out a little laugh at your question.

“No, I’m not married” he says in a playful tone, “why? Because you figured out we’re practically on a date?”

“Pretty much” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up. It seems to be your perpetual state around Matt.

“No I’m not married. I’m not divorced either, no kids, no secret families” he jokes, and you let out a relieved breath.

The conversation flows naturally after that, able loosen up a bit now from the wine and the fact he’d confessed that he also thought of this dinner as date-like.

At some point, Matt had loosened his tie, undone his shirts top button, rolled his sleeves up the length of his forearms in a way that’s truly unfair as well, and now he’s taking his glasses off.

“Pretty” you sigh quietly to yourself without thinking once you see his eyes properly for the first time, and you honestly hadn’t expected him to be able to hear you. You slap your hand over your mouth when you realise he did hear you.

Matt’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“Not the reaction I usually get” Matt huffs, but it’s light, laced with a laugh and he smiles. He’s obviously not offended by it.

“Just kill me now” you mutter in embarrassment from your little slip up, cheeks flaming but Matt just chuckles again.

“You’re cute” he says matter-of-factly, like that’s going to help your flustered state at all.

Somehow, after talking about some of your past articles, which Matt made you promise to show him sometime, Daredevil comes up.

Matt tries to stay neutral but you’re too observant, you can tell his interest is piqued slightly to hear what you have to say about the vigilante.

Matt’s probably friends with him, you think as you’re reminded of that article you found about them both.

“You know, he saved my life once” you say more quietly, a difference to your more animated talk about the articles you were passionate about, taking the time to swallowed your bite before you spoke again, “when I was fifteen, he saved me from being hit by a drunk driver.”

Matt chokes on the wine he’s sipping.

“How old are you?” He chokes out, coughing a little to try and clear his throat.

“I’m twenty-four?” You say but it sounds more like a question.

Matt’s mutters a small “Christ” as his eyes slip shut for a second like he’s contemplating something, before he opens them again.

“You know I’m old enough to be your dad right? I’m forty-three” Matt says like he’s confused as to why you’re even entertaining him.

You just shrug.

“I know” you say simply, “I don’t mind” you shrug, fliddling with your fork. It’s then that you decided to come clean.

“Actually, I swear I didn’t mean to but I found an article about you and Daredevil from when you worked in a court case together, so I’ve kind of known who you were the whole time… including your age” you confess, cheeks warming as you look down at your plate, suddenly very interested in paying with your food.

Matt huffs out an exasperated but amused sort of laugh.

“You really are a nosy journalist aren’t you?” He teases, smiling as you look up at him again from across the table.

“You’re not mad?” You ask, because you’d expected him to be at least a little annoyed you’d googled him, even by accident.

Matt just shrugs, and takes another bite of his food before answering.

“I mean, after I found out your profession, I was surprised you didn’t know who I was straight away to be honest.” He explains.

“I thought I sort of recognised you but I don’t exactly get very close to all the proper lawyer-y stuff” you joke, and he smiles at your phrasing.

“You really don’t mind that I’m so much older?” Matt asks again, looping back round.

“No I don’t mind, but do you?” You ask, sensing it was maybe bothering him a bit.

“I mean, I can’t say I don’t feel a little bit like a creep” Matt mutters, sighing a little.

“You’re not a creep!” You defend quickly, “I invited you to eat with me because I like your company. Our tiny conversations brighten my entire day, I enjoy talking to you, so no your age doesn’t bother me at all, and well… I don’t know if you’re aware but you’re like, hot as fuck. If anything, I’m the creep.” You state, getting a little embarrassed so you end up laughing awkwardly through your words towards the end.

Matt’s face has cheered up considerably during your little speech.

“Well then, since you feel so strongly about it, then it doesn’t bother me either” he decides, a teasing smile but sincerity in his words, truly, selfishly enjoying your company too much to actually do anything other than pursue you.

“Trust me, I’m definetly the fucking creep though” he mutters under his breath, low enough that you can’t hear it as you’re distracted by the food in front of you.

“Okay, so, about this being a date. I decided I don’t want you to count this one” Matt suddenly starts, and your face drops a little before he continues, reaching over the table to put his large hand over yours.

“Let me take you on a proper first date? Please?” He asks, tilting his head slightly and this is the first time you’ve heard something other than complete confidence in his voice.

You smile brightly at the man across from you.

“Of course I’ll go on a proper date with you Matt” you giggle, holding his hand in yours over the table, stroking over his scarred knuckles.

His smile hits you right in the stomach, he’s so unfairly pretty.

During your conversations, Matt asks your favourite colour and says “mine too” when your answer is red, which brings another question to the forefront of your mind.

“You can ask” he says gently like he’s somehow able to sense what’s on your mind.

“How did it happen?” You ask, voice soft.

“I was in an accident when I was a kid” he sighs, reciting the well practiced shpiel he’d told people hundreds of times before, but for you, he adds more details.

“There was this old man crossing the road, and I pushed him out of the way of this truck, but the truck was carrying some kind of acidic chemical and when it crashed… it was all over me, in my eyes” Matt explains, some of the well practiced ‘okayness’ leaving his voice as he recounts the traumatic event in more detail than he usually does.

“Does it still hurt?” You ask tentatively and that catches Matt off guard a little. Usually people try to give him sympathies, or tell him they’re sorry, or ask him what he can see.

“No, no it doesn’t hurt anymore. It did though, for a while” he sighs heavily.

The rest of your shared meal is spent having much lighter, easy conversation about everything and nothing, and before you know it, it’s really late.

“I should probably get going, early court date tomorrow” Matt sighs, though he makes no effort to actually start moving, only sitting back in his chair, rolling the joint of his shoulder briefly like he’s trying to get rid of some kind of ache.

The bottle of wine between you is empty now, the candle you’d lit earlier burned low.

“I mean it’s not like you have far to go” you tease and he smiles.

“I should though, before I don’t want to” he says like he’s trying to convince himself too.

You smile into your wine glass, finishing the last little bit before putting it back into the table.

“If you have to” you sigh dramatically, and you see his jaw tick.

“I absolutely do” he says firmly before standing up, beginning to take the plates to the sink before you’re up on your feet too, taking them out of his hands complaining that he’s a guest.

Matt throws his suit jacket over his left shoulders, and your eyes dart to his huge biceps straining his shirt again before you make yourself look away.

The large man closes his eyes for a second and sighs, like he somehow knows what you’re thinking, and he’s exercising the very last of his restraint.

“Would you be offended if I tried to give you money to pay for your food I ate?” Matt asks, already knowing the answer.

“Absolutely, don’t you dare” you say firmly, though the fact he even tried gives you butterflies. Every time he tries to make your life easier, he does it so effortlessly, like he enjoys doing it.

Then, you’re stood at your open front door, and Matt’s in the hallway. The distance between you is minimal, you can feel the heat radiating off his large body.

“Thank you for feeding me” he says sincerely, while you look up at him. He has his glasses on again, but his unfocused eyes are resting somewhere around your mouth.

“Thank you for keeping me company” you reply quietly, your own eyes flicking down to his lips.

“Oh, wait” Matt says as he straightens up from leaning into you too, jolted back to reality at the movement of your eyes, before pulling his phone out.

“Put your number in? Please?” He asks before handing the device to you.

The temporary disappointment of not getting to kiss him right then and there is quickly soothed by his sweet request.

Putting your number in, you save the contact and give him his phone back, and you look back up at him through your lashes.

“You need to stop looking at me like that” Matt nearly groans, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

“How can you even tell?” You laugh.

“I just can” he says lowly, voice dropping an octave as he leans down so his face is nearly close enough to brush your nose against his, feeling his breath on your lips, before he takes a deep sigh like it’s physically paining him, and pulls away.

“Let me take you on a date first, a proper one” he tries to explain, but the way you actually pout a little immediately breaks through his iron self control.

He tries, he really does but he can’t help the next words that come out his mouth.

“Fuck, can I kiss you?” He breathes out.

“Whenever you want” you whisper back, barely finishing your sentence before Matt’s lips are on yours.

The kiss is slow, but passionate, you can feel his stubble against your skin, smell his fresh aftershave on his clothes, and as his strong arms circle round your waist, his cane clattering to the floor, you can’t help the little hum of pleasure that escapes you when his tongue finds yours. You can feel the heat of his bare skin on your sides from where his sleeves are rolled up.

The large arms around you tense at the sound, and pull you even further against the wide plains of his body. His glasses press against your face, cold against your flushed skin and your own hands go to explore the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the pure muscle waiting to be released, hidden beneath his clothes.

Matt feels so large against you. He’s big in that way where he’s not completely chiseled like some kind of gym fanatic, the muscles partially hidden by a layer of softness, but the raw power of him is undeniable. You would pay good money to see him actually flex.

The deep groan Matt makes reverberates into your mouth when your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck.

One of his hands travels upwards, lightly tracing over your collarbones, up your neck with his fingers till his rough fingers are tracing over your jaw, your cheekbones, then tangling in your hair and cradling the back of your head with his palm.

He eventually pulls away and rests his forehead on yours, both trying to catch your breath. The older man looks just as affected as you feel, he’s even got a pretty blush that sits high on his cheeks bones.

“I need to go” Matt breaths out, before he’s actively walking backwards away from you, holding your hand until he’s out of reach.

“Forgetting something?” You tease, dipping to pick his cane up off the floor.

“Shit” he mumbles, stepping back towards you, his hand over yours on his cane before he’s pulling you into another kiss, his free hand cupping the side of your head. It’s just brief this one, like if he stays any longer he won’t be able to leave at all, before he’s walking away again.

“Goodnight sweetheart” Matt says with a grin after he’s unlocked the door, pushing it open with the back of his shoulder so he’s still facing you, before he’s gone, and the door shuts behind him.

Matt is the creep. Matt has been the creep since you moved in.

He’d been in the office that day, and when he came home, you were simply there. Existing in the apartment next to him.

The noise was a little irksome at first for Matt and he’s hyper hearing, the flat had been empty for a few years until the owner decided to sell it, and he’d gotten used to the joys of not having someone living right next to him that he could hear constantly.

Let’s just say his annoyance faded swiftly when he heard you on the phone that very evening, hearing your melodic voice ring out through the brick.

It’s not like he can help listening to you, not really, but he grew a little obsessed with the sounds coming from the flat next to him. He stopped trying to ignore them almost immediately.

He listened to way you hum as you make dinner, or talk to yourself in hushed whispers when you’re writing, nimble fingers playing with your hair as you think, or the way you laugh at the silly TV shows you’re watching like you’re trying to hold it in but you can’t.

First and foremost still a man though, he also appreciated the soft swish of short shorts you wear, or the way you stretched your back, arms high up above your head in a way that pushed your chest out.

God the noises you made that night, alone in your bedroom when you thought no one’s listening.

He’d not gone out as Daredevil for once, and he’d just been lying in bed trying to sleep when a soft moan flowed into his ears through the wall he shared with you.

He had immediately gotten up and gone out, beating up people particularly viciously that night, trying very hard to not be an actual pervert.

The time you came to check on him when he accidentally crashed into his table because he was hurt, still in his Daredevil suit and sent the contents flying, made his heart swell. He didn’t expect you to do that, nor even care, but you want to check the complete stranger was okay. Even if you did think he was a thief for a split second, and he couldn’t even open the door.

It was worse after he spoke to you for the first time, when he found out how sweet, and kind of awkward and shy, but passionate you were.

When you told him you’re an investigative journalist, it didn’t help his growing feelings for you at all, but he can’t say it doesn’t scare him a little too. He hopes you’re being careful…

That night he found you alone as Daredevil plays in his mind a lot, and the thought of him not being there makes him shudder. He also genuinely wants to beat the shit out of the people who let you walk home by yourself. The way you were crying made his heart ache, you were terrified.

Matt desperately wants to read the articles you’ve written about his alter ego, determined to find them somewhere.

You’d distracted him so much by checking him out constantly in what you probably thought was a subtle way, that he nearly forgot to ask where you lived to keep his cover.

Only, it’s hard to be subtle when the man can hear your pulse speeding up when your eyes glide over his arms.

It’s only after few small but meaningful conversations later that Matt finally breaks when he hears those sinful noises coming from your bedroom, and he finds himself moaning pathetically into his fist with his other hand wrapped around his impossibly hard cock.

He could hear how wet you were, the tempo in which you were moving your fingers, the way your heart beat was increasing the closer you get to your end.

Matt had spilled hot come all up his chest with a bitten back groan as your own orgasm made your walls flutter around your fingers, the moan you let out was loud enough that he could probably hear it without his super senses.

The next morning, he’d ran into you on your way out, and he couldn’t help the reaction his body made when you let out a little hum after sipping your coffee that sounded way to close to the sounds you were making the night before. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, and elsewhere.

Matt found himself quickly becoming enamoured with more than just those sounds though. He respected your intellect, he could have meaningful conversations with you, and the things you wrote about were always about injustices no matter how small, things other people wouldn’t even glance at.

As much as he hates to admit it, some of it was small stuff that maybe even Daredevil himself would ignore. You wrote to help people, and they usually do help. You didn’t give yourself enough credit, and the article you’d read out for him was good, really good.

He admired how kind you were, he had heard you giving the old woman in the apartment below him a hand with her pet cats, or with the technology she didn’t know how to use. In the short amount of time you’d been in the building, people already liked you.

You were funny too, your quips and jokes always made him laugh, and he found himself smiling throughout his day when he thought back to your small interaction that day, and you’re fierce when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. He can hear the emotion in your voice.

Yet you seemed so unsure of yourself sometimes, the way you’ll try to make yourself less, and Matt definitely wants to change that.

The age difference was something he also thought about, but it wasn’t until that impromptu date had he known exactly how much older he was. The question of eating with you had caught him a little bit off guard because he’d been flirting, just a little, but you didn’t seem to pick up on it much in a way of your replies.

Your body though, would react to him even without flirting. He liked how your heart was always beating a little frantically around him, like he makes you nervous.

Now he understands your reactions a little more, because he knows he’s a large, mostly intimidating man anyway, let alone being a big shot lawyer and a vigilante by night, but now he knows he’s old enough to be your father, it probably doesn’t help with your nerves.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t hear the excitement in your reactions too though, the way he makes your breath catch, or the way your eyes always seem to find their way to his arms when he moves them.

Until you invited him into your home, he had kind of just assumed you were just enjoying the attention of some older guy, before leaving him and actually flirting back with men your age.

Now he knows that he just makes you flustered, and he loves it.

Matt did feel a little guilty coming and eating all your food though, but he’s determined to make it up to you on your actual date, where he can treat you properly.

He also appreciates the way you simply treat him like normal, offering him help instead of just assuming he needs it, even if he is just playing along when he pretends to accept.

It took every last shred of his self control to walk through his door after he’d kissed you goodnight so he didn’t maul you like an animal.

Even after he shut the door, he doesn’t make it far as he leans back against it, still feeling like he’s stood there with you, your perfume and sweet natural scent sticking to his clothes, the taste of your mouth in his as he licks his bottom lip, chasing the leftover flavour of your mouth.

Unknowingly, you’re mirroring Matt’s position of leaning against your front door, smiling all giddy like you’re in a cheesy rom com.

Replaying the kiss in your mind, you can’t help the little giggle that escapes you from the butterflies intensifying in your stomach.

God you’re convinced you’re absolutely ruined for any men your own age now, you’re probably ruined for any other men at all if they don’t kiss you like that.

The heat from his body is still making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you can’t help the little sigh that escapes you when you squeeze your thighs together at the unmistakable ache between your legs, all from just a kiss.

With a newly found surge of confidence stemming from how much the older man seemed to want you just now, you decided you could maybe still have a little fun with him.

You settle on your bed, after you’d stripped out of all your clothes, leaving you naked on the sheets.

Leaning over to your bed side table, you grab your trusty vibrator and flick it on. It’s a decent size, not too big but enough to fill that ache inside you if you need it to.

In the apartment next door, Matt actually trips over his own feet at sudden buzzing sound that fills his ears.

Slowly, you run the toy down your body, stopping to tease your nipple as your other hand squeezed your breast, letting out a breathy sigh, before trailing it lower.

As the toy reaches your core, you let out a small moan when you make contact with your clit, the sensation intense even on this low setting.

You circle the vibrator a few times, before you dip it further down, teasing your entrance, making the tip of the toy wet before bringing it back up.

The whole time, you’re hoping Matt can hear what you’re doing.

And Matt absolutely can. He’s in his bedroom now too, stood in front of the wall you’re behind, while he palms his already hard cock through his trousers with his left hand while he listens to you. You must be doing this on purpose, right?

Feeling yourself get too close fast, you pull the vibrator away from your aching bud, and slowly push the silicone into yourself. More pleasures moans escape your lips as you flick the toy to a higher setting, before you start to move it.

In and out, slowly, while your free hand comes down from your gripping your breast to rub small circles around your sensitive clit with your fingers.

You can't help the way your hips grind upwards, the dual sensations making your thighs twitch as your sounds of pleasure start to get louder and louder.

"Matt" you moan out, purposefully raising the volume of the word to be high enough that if he is there, he'd undoubtedly be able to hear you.

The thud you hear against the shared wall immediately following your voice makes you grin, teeth biting into your lower lip at your shared depravity.

He is listening.

What you don’t know, is that Matt caused the sound because he suddenly had to catch himself against the wall when you’d said his name.

His knees went weak, and his cock throbbed painfully at the sound. He’s still fully clothed with just his trousers undone, fisting his impossibly hard cock in fast and tight motions because he can hear everything.

He can hear the rapid beat of your heart, the way it jumped when he revealed himself. He can hear how wet you are as you fuck your self with your toy, the pace you’re circling your clit with your fingers, he can hear every single pretty little moan or sigh and it’s driving him crazy.

God he could even smell your arousal, and he subconsciously darts his tongue out to see if he can taste you too. He swears he can.

Moving the vibrator up towards your clit again, you swap so your fingers are working their way inside you, feeling your own walls flutter as the strong vibrations on your clit bring your orgasm even closer. The moans escaping you now are louder and unrestrained now, feeling the pressure in your stomach coil.

After flicking up the vibrations one last time, you’re about to fall over the edge.

Matt can’t help the little growl of frustration he lets out as the stronger buzzing drowns out some of the other sounds he’s trying to listen to.

He can’t even be mad though because he’s not supposed to be able to hear those. Only the buzzing is supposed to give away what you’re doing, the moan of his name, that’s what you’re actually giving him.

The intense dual sensations brings your release quickly crashing over you, a loud moan of “oh fuck, Matt” turned needy whine escapes your mouth as you come around your own fingers.

There’s another heavier thud against the wall this time as you come, Matt clumsily dropping all his weight on the shared brick as he leans back against it, unable to hold himself up properly as he fucks his own fist in a rather aggressive manner, listening to you finish with his name on your lips.

The older man comes embarrassingly quickly, spilling onto his own floor, his hand, his trousers as he works himself through it. A deep groan rumbles out of his chest and he lets it, he lets himself be louder than he usually would be, because he wants to give you something back.

It works. You do hear it, you hear that faint, sexy, baritone sound reverberate through the wall, and it turns you on all over again.

But it’s late, and your eyes are already starting to slip shut.

Climbing under your covers, you put your toy to the side to wash it tomorrow and curl up on your side, facing the wall.

Just before you slip into unconsciousness, your phone vibrates and there sits a single text from an unknown number.

4:23am

Unknown Number: Oh you’re going to be such a fucking problem for me sweetheart, I can already tell.

Hiding your grin in your pillow, you actually kick your feet and giggle, all the nervous excited energy needing a way out. You fall asleep with a small smile on your face, feeling warm, sated and maybe a little bit in love.

Thank you so much for reading <3

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written, and it’s super self indulgent honestly but I hope everyone has enjoyed the first part and I’m sorry in advance for any inaccuracies about literally anything included in this, I’m just a humble writer <3

The next part will be out soon! <3

This fic has been cross posted on AO3 • Masterlist