#daredevil reader insert

"Yelena," you introduced yourself, an instinct to shield your true name and a comfort to borrow a sister's. You hoped Lena doesn't mind — you didn't expect much to grow out of what may possibly be just a one night stand. (You've never been more wrong.)

"Matt," he chuckled. He had a wry smile on his face, as if he knew something you didn't. "Can I get you a beer?"

You shrugged carelessly. It was a weak moment for you; waking up from what had been chemical subjugation only to have to relearn what your true wants are aside from what Dreykov had programmed in you could leave a girl a little vulnerable, after all. "Sure. Rough day?" You tapped his briefcase that he settled on the counter before boldly reaching up to gently tap the circles that hung beneath his red tinted glasses.

If it wasn't for his senses dialed up to eleven, he might've flinched at your touch. "You could say that."

He heard you hum quietly. "… Corporate douche or martyr lawyer?"

Matt barked out a laugh, pleasantly surprised. "You might've hit it on the money there on the second."

Josie approached with two bottles and placed it between you two, a knowing glint in her eye. You grabbed yours by the neck and took a sharp swig. "I've been told I'm pretty observant."

When Matt reached for his, you clocked the injuries on his knuckles, stirring the intrigue in your gut about the odd lawyer that might've stolen your attention. Conversation flowed easily between you both and one thing led to another and you were waking up at his apartment.

It was stupid to get so attached but you were trained for extraction, whether it was for a target or for yourself, and you packed whatever you left behind from Matt's apartment before he got home.

The darkness of the evening provided cover as you walked briskly in Hell's Kitchen, not out of fear but rather urgency. There were signs of Widow involvement near this particular borough and you wanted out before Dreykov caught a whiff of you or the kind lawyer that burrowed himself into a heart you didn't know you still had.

Unfortunately, you found yourself pinned in an alley by a few thugs with the sole intent of attacking for the hell of it. You caught a shadow above the rooftop but you didn't let yourself dwell on it; you wouldn't be who you are now if you expected anyone to save you. Instead, you sighed dramatically and dropped your bag by the dumpster, rolling your neck casually.

"Listen, boys, I've got a flight to catch. I don't have time to play."

They sneered at what they assumed to be false bravado. "Just hand over your bag, sweetheart, we don't gotta hurt you."

The old nickname had been Matt's, the easy affection he drowned you in always leaving you offguard, and the frustration comes to a peak inside you. With a low curse in Russian, you disarmed and knocked out all three men with fast and hard jabs to their gut and trachea before hooking your legs around the tallest one to bring down in a quick swoop.

You landed silently back onto your feet without even a hint of breathlessness, grabbed your bag and walked off to hail a taxi. You were completely unaware that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had witnessed it all.

—

"Matt, your ex is back."

Karen lifts her head up from her desk in immediate curiosity as Foggy enters the office with a box of donuts. Matt groans silently, rubbing his eyes from beneath his glasses.

"Which ex?" Karen asks as she plucks a donut from the box and Matt senses the playful grin on her lips.

Foggy leans against the table with a shrug. "Matt never got her real name. She called herself Yelena."

"What, you never learned her real name and you dated her? Matthew," she scolds lightly before wiping away at her lower lip. "What happened? Did she… learn about your nightly activities?"

"Don't say that, you make him sound like a stripper," Foggy groans as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"No, but I might've found out about hers, the night before she left."

"Wait, so she's the stripper? You never shared this, Matt."

Matt sighs heavily and Foggy raises his hands in silent surrender. "I saw her… take down three thugs from the Dogs of Hell, on her own." The severity of his words settle in like a leaden weight. Vigilante. Mercenary.

"Jeeze, Matt, you sure know how to pick 'em."

—

The threat of your presence hangs above him like a guillotine.

You had been an anomaly, something that he's yet to experience in his time as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Your lies flowed smoothly from your tongue without a change of your heartrate and it had terrified him the first time around.

It should've been his first red flag; why stay with a woman that lives her lies as easily as truth?

And yet he stayed, not just because the sex was good, but because there had been an undercurrent of truth that even you didn't seem to be aware of. He remembers the way your heartrate skips a beat when he would catch you by surprise, kissing your shoulder. He remembers the way your smile would feel pressed against his skin when you indulge him in cuddles. He remembers the way your tone lilts in that teasing way whenever you called him 'sweetheart'.

You were allowed to have secrets — maybe that had been why he turned his head away from your blatant lies when he had one of his own.

Now you're back and he isn't sure how to see you again.

However, maybe the Devil might have better luck than Matt Murdock when it comes to you.

—

"I didn't know I'd be meeting the Devil so early. Come to collect my soul?"

He had landed silently on the rooftop but you didn't look up from where you're leaning against the lip of the brick parapet that has a view of the city. The scent of gunpowder and gunoil lingers on you and he finds himself hating it, hates the way he can't smell you beneath the violence you wear like armor.

"That depends. Have you done anything that deserves damnation?"

You snort and your head drops lightly before peering over your shoulder. There's a tinge of amusement that he recognizes, something he had heard from his couch when you'd tease him about something stupid and irrelevant.

"Plenty. Although I figured it'd be God that would smite me down Himself. But you can relax, Mr. Devil… I'm not here to cause trouble."

Truth.

In fact, it's the most truthful you've sounded since he's known you.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Cleaning up a few messes I left behind. Maybe stop a few messes that might've followed me here…" Something settles into your tone that he can't quite draw out. Regret? Repentance? Before he can pick it out, dissect it the best he can, he hears your footsteps bring you closer to him. He instinctively stiffens, chin dipping slightly to give an approximation of meeting your gaze.

Beyond the gunpowder scent that clings, he catches the perfume you had worn that first night he met you. "Is someone after you?" The gruffness breaks away into something quieter although there's a heat that never goes away, not when the Devil in him senses the need to obliterate whoever could've made you run in the place.

To his surprise, you release a humorless laugh, a hand settling on his jaw where your fingertips trace the edge of the mask where it meets his chin. "Always a hero, aren't you? My favorite martyr…" He stiffens but before he can pull his face away, you sweep your thumb across his cheek, the same way you've done all those years ago.

"You—"

The rest of the day was a blur. Matt only stayed for one hour and left. Your other classes complained that they didn’t get a special guest speaker, and while you wanted to explain it to them so they weren’t upset, something wasn’t sitting right in your stomach.

You were still upset with Matt. The idea of Elektra being in your shared apartment made you feel like the other woman, even though you were the wife. You wanted to burn down the building, throw Matt’s things into the dumpster, knock Elektra’s perfect teeth in, punch Stick in the nose. You were still so angry.

The reconciliation was supposed to be enough. That’s what your mother had always told you about marriage. Nothing was too big for you two to get over if you loved each other. Sometimes someone had to swallow their pride and forgive a fight before you lost the other. But why were you letting him off the hook without knowing that he’d do anything you asked? And what was to keep Elektra from making moves on him?

Once your kids were finally out and dismissal was done, you dropped back into your work chair. The photo was still face down, and maybe that was the indiciation you really needed that nothing was really settled.

You picked up your phone.

“Foggy Nelson.” Foggy answered.

“Hey, Fog… Did Matt make it back?” You asked, filing assignments into folders and sliding them into your bag to grade later.

“No, he said there was something he needed to take care of before you got home. Why?”

“Can I come by the office then? I need to talk to you.”

“Sure? Is everything okay, Y/N?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You sighed. “I thought it would be a ‘sweep under the rug’ instance but it’s just… not.”

“Okay, yeah, come on by. You want me to have some food delivered?”

“You’d be a lifesaver if you did.”

“Pizza will be ready when you get here.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit.”

You ended the call and finished packing up your classroom. By the time you were done, nothing made any more sense than it did before. You were frustrated walking to your car because talking about things was supposed to help.

But you and Matt hadn’t really talked about it, had you?

You told him how to resolve the physical part of the issue. Get Elektra out of your apartment and finish whatever mission he was on as Daredevil. The latter you only added because you knew he wouldn’t leave well enough alone, stubborn bastard. But it didn’t get to the heart of the issue.

Just answer the question!

Elektra!

The understanding settled in your stomach like a rock. Despite your marriage, despite everything she had done to Matt, he said her name. He knew you were in the next room. He knew you had been restless, unable to sleep without him beside you. He knew there were nights you had stayed awake until you heard him come in just to know he didn’t die out there. He knew you would’ve dropped everything if he had called you from an alley and needed your help to get home. But maybe, all of that, he’d still do for her.

You walked into the building, smiled politely to Karen, and walked into Foggy’s office. He smiled widely and brandished the still steaming pizza. You closed the door behind you.

“I think I need a divorce.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What happened to ‘hello’? ‘How are you’?” He replied, setting the pizza down. You almost laughed. “What’s going on?”

You sat at the table and he sat across from you. You spoke quickly, giving every detail you thought relevant. He listened quietly, probably comparing it to what Matt had told him about the situation. When you finished, he sighed heavily.

“I thought it’d be enough to just hear him say he didn’t mean it.” You sniffled. At some point during your story, you began crying. “But I can’t stop thinking. Is she friends with his friends? Does he think about her? Is she less controlling? Easy-going? Well-traveled? Well read? God, she makes me so upset!”

“Okay, let’s slow down a little.” Foggy offered.

“She’s beautiful.” You laughed bitterly. “And he loved her. She’s been on the other side of his bed.”

“They haven’t even talked before whatever came up.”

“I know it’s crazy, but I can’t stop thinking that he’s been thinking of her when he’s talking about me.”

He was quiet for a minute, taking it all in. You took the time to eat some of your pizza. So many thoughts were running through your mind.

Did you want the divorce? Did you need the divorce? Would Matt agree or would he drag it out in court? Would you be about to convince Foggy to help with your side or would he remain loyal to his friend? Whose side would Karen take? How long with Elektra wait before stepping in?

The questions were so loud you didn’t even realize Matt had shown up. Your eyes went wide when he sat beside you, then you immediately turned your glare towards Foggy. Your friend put his hands up in surrender and offered a nervous smile. When your stare didn’t lighten, he ducked out of the room.

“Y/N…” Matt began and your heated gaze turned on your husband. “I thought-“

“You know, it’s a real coincidence.” You cut in sharply. “Without her even being here - Well without me knowing she was here - she was back in your life. It was like she just knew. Now her name comes up once, comes up twice, comes up every goddamn minute since I saw her.”

“You know I don’t feel that way about her.” He insisted.

“But she’s in the same damn city every damn night. And wow, what a coincidence that you’ve lost all your common sense now, huh?”

“Seriously?” Matt scoffed and you crossed your arms. “I’m the one that’s lost it?”

“Last week, we were perfectly fine. We were normal. Now, it’s like you’ve been holding space for her in your life, and now she’s right there to fill it.”

“There’s no space! It’s only you!”

“Is it?” You laughed in disbelief. “It’s not someone trying to turn the past into the present tense?”

“No!”

“If she wasn’t here, would you be going after the Yakuza?”

His mouth opened then shut. He clearly thought better of whatever his initial answer was going to be, so he took a moment to decide on a better answer. “Not immediately, I don’t think so.”

“I’m surprised she’s not trying to suck up to ask your friends.”

“Y/N, sweetheart-“

“Don’t sweetheart me, Matthew.” You said sharply, maybe sharper than intended. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t.” He defended.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. You told me the truth, minus seven percent. Which just so happened to be the important seven percent.”

“This isn’t about Elektra.” He shook his head.

“It’s about you, you fucking idiot! She’s the girl you outgrew. That’s what you told me! Isn’t that what you told me?”

He nodded quietly.

“Then what the fuck was that when Stick got you to say her name?” You screamed.

There it was. Your admittance to what truly started it all. When he had said it, your heart sank. It fell into a hole so deep in your chest, you still didn’t feel it beat in your chest. You went through your day as normal as you could, but everything in your body felt numb. You felt hollow and you thought you could blame it on Elektra’s general presence.

But you were wrong. When it came down to it, when it was just you and Matt locked in a room, the truth came out. It wasn’t completely Elektra’s fault.

It was Matt’s.

“What was that, Matt?” You asked quietly, hot anger shifting to betrayal.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I want to say that I was just caught up in the moment.”

“You were defending our marriage two seconds before.” You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie to the woman that loves you. I can do that myself.”

“I never meant for this to happen.”

“That doesn’t change that it did. That doesn’t change that you hurt me, Matthew. Why can’t you admit to that?”

He reached for you, to feel your body whether it be your leg or your arm. Without thinking, you scooted your chair back. He froze immediately and his brows furrowed behind his glasses. You tensed in your seat when you realized.

You had never shied away from Matt’s touch before. You never avoided him.

“So you meant it…” Matt said quietly. You didn’t need his super senses to hear the heartbreak. “You want a divorce.”

“You said you’d pick Elektra.” You confessed quietly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I’ve already picked, Y/N.” He leaned forward in his chair. It was as close as he dared to get to you. “I know what I said. I know that you heard it and I know that it broke your heart. If I could take it back and just think about that goddamn question, I would.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Hell’s Kitchen is nice, but who do you really want by your side?” You pressed. “And when you and Elektra inevitably break up again, would it be a coincidence then too? Would it be worth it?”

“I can’t lose you.” He nearly whispered.

“I’m going to stay at a hotel for a little while.” You decided. “I won’t draw up divorce papers just yet, but I am considering it… Call me when you can actually have this conversation with me.”

“Y/N..”

“No, Matt, just don’t. I love you so much, but I… I can’t just pretend this will go away. I thought when we talked earlier it was enough, and I was able to forget for a little while. But once the kids were gone… Fuck, it hurts. I’m so confused.”

“I’m not.” He looked at you hopefully. “I love you, Y/N. I want you. I would marry you again and again. I choose you, always.”

“Not always… What might be the only time it truly mattered, you chose Elektra. I get the whole notion of having soft spots for first loves, and I know Elektra was different for you. I accepted that when I fell for you. But look at what she’s done, what she’s put you in the middle of.”

“I chose to get involved.”

“Yeah… And it might’ve cost our marriage.” You stood. “Was it worth it?”

“No.”

“Good. Sit with that regret for a little while. When you can stand in front of Stick, with Elektra in full health, and honestly tell him you pick me, you can come find me.”

“I’ll do it right now.” He stood quickly and took a step to block your path to the door. “I care about Elektra, but not the way I need you. Please…”

“What am I supposed to do, Matt, just let it go?”

“No… Please, just give me a chance.”

“I am, but I need to think and so do you.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“And I need you to need me, just me.”

“I do.”

You smiled slightly to yourself, thinking for a brief moment of your wedding. You knew it’d be a lot of rebuilding to get your marriage back to what it was, and it wouldn’t really start until Elektra was gone. You didn’t know her true motives with Matt but you could take a guess. Regardless, he was trying to convince you and you so badly wanted to believe him.

So you took the chance.

“I’ll be at the Presidential for the rest of the week. Figure it out, Matt, or I’ll do it for you.”

You didn’t return to your shared apartment until that Sunday. When you did, Matt was waiting for you. No sign of Elektra’s presence was a relief. No sign of Stick either.

Rather, your favorite flowers were on the coffee table, the newest book from your favorite author and a stuffed animal were beside them.

You stared at them in appreciation.

Well, what was the point in catching a ride all the way out here in the middle of the night only to chicken out when you got there? This would not be the first time you ate crow, nor did you suspect it would be last. You tried not to anticipate the taste too much as you took a deep breath and forced yourself to face the shadowed entrance to the offices of Nelson & Murdock.

You wavered for a moment with your arm outstretched, hand nearly grasping the bar across the door. Yes, it was dark inside. Not a single light on in the entire building as far as you could tell. And why should you think anyone would be here at 2:00 in the morning? Just because you'd been stuck at your office this late didn't mean the same for everyone else working the case.

No. No excuses. You'd just steeled your resolved to press forward when you heard a commotion above your head: the clang of something hitting metal, followed by rapid footsteps. You grabbed at once for the canister of pepper spray in your purse, but when you looked in the direction of the sound, you saw nothing that might have caused it.

Probably just a stray cat.

This time, you really did force yourself to push on the door. It opened easily. Damn. Now you had to go through with this, or at least check for signs of a break-in—not that you were likely to see any in the pitch-black you now stood in.

Your call of "Hello?" broke in two after its first syllable, interrupted by a series of thumps issuing from the ceiling.

What it was was absolutely too big to be a cat.

You should have called the police. Obviously! What could you do to stop someone with the balls to rob a defense attorney's office? Your pepper spray wouldn't do a thing to stop someone like that. But your feet took you up the stairs before you could reach for your cell phone instead. Somehow, someway, you managed to bound all the way up the incline without tripping on something in the unfamiliar territory.

There. The nearest door. You could hear beyond it. With as much force as you could muster, you slammed the door open. At least if you could startle the intruder, that would give you the chance to —

"Counselor. What an unexpected surprise."

—the chance to look like a complete buffoon. Matt Murdock sat at Matt Murdock's desk in Matt Murdock's office, looking entirely unruffled in the light coming from the window behind him. Well, maybe not entirely unruffled. It looked as though he had hat hair, although your jobs being what they were, you'd never actually seen him wear a hat.

You must have waited too long to speak, because Matt cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uh," you said, in a desperate bid for time. But the second it took you to say that didn't give you any grand ideas for answers. "I was in the neighborhood."

"This neighborhood? Really?"

How did this man always manage to sound so polite and so condescending at the same damn time? You stalked up to his desk and slammed your palms into its surface. Matt didn't even flinch. "Listen, Murdock. I was nearby, I heard something up here, and I rushed in to help at risk of my life. And this is the thanks I get?"

"I take it by your attitude that you were not 'nearby' to offer apologies for your earlier conduct," he observed in that same infuriatingly mild tone.

"What I was nearby for isn't the point!"

"On the contrary, Counselor. I think what you're doing breaking into my office when you didn't believe anyone would be here is the point."

"I—" You bristled, cutting yourself off as you realized Matt had you dead to rights. After your performance that morning, people weren't likely to believe you had good intentions being where you were when you were. You wouldn't believe it, had the roles been reversed. So you forced yourself to inhale slowly and step away from his desk.

"I only lied about why I was here. I did come to see you. But I didn't break in. The door was unlocked."

"And you decided to keep going even though all the lights were turned off."

"I told you I heard something up here!"

There was just something about Matt's demeanor that pushed all your buttons, and you weren't known for your even temper to begin with. Then it dawned on you:

"And you are here. Why are you here sitting in the dark?"

One corner of Matt's lips twitched up. "Well, it isn't as though I need a lamp. It keeps the bills down, which in turn keeps Foggy's blood pressure down."

"Do you often say here in a completely dark building so late after closing?"

"No. Our discussion today raised some questions for me. After all this time, I'd hate to see my client in chains over a technicality." He tapped on the thick, hard cover of a tome sitting closed in front of him. "And you're lucky I did tonight and that I have no plans to press charges."

"And if you did, I'd never try to prevent someone from stealing from you again."

"I'll be more careful to lock the door when I'm here alone late. At any rate, I'm afraid all you heard was my fumbling through my case files. I'm sorry for causing you concern."

"Are you sure? I swear I heard someone on the fire escape before I came in."

"Must have been a stray cat," he said as he moved to switch on his desk lamp. Doing so could only be for your benefit. You took the hint and collapsed into the chair across from him. God, even just talking to this man made you tired. "Not that I don't appreciate a purely social call from a person of your caliber, but I do have a lot of reading to do before I file in the morning. Why don't you just tell me what brought you here to begin with," he said.

Your hackles raised automatically. It took some willpower to lower them—willpower and a reminder that you'd already admitted to wanting to see him. The fight left you as you sighed.

"I came to say...I'm sorry," you said.

A long paused followed your statement. Matt appeared frozen in place. "Excuse me?"

A spark of frustration seared inside your chest, but you stifled it before it could grow. You'd spent most of the day consumed by that fire. Time to let it go.

"I'm sorry for my behavior in court this morning. The judge should have held me in contempt. I was out of line."

There was more, and Matt must have known that. He said nothing while you mentally prepared to continue.

"We've both been on this case for a long time. It's been my life for months now. And the suggestion we might be on the wrong track..."

"Stung?" Matt offered pleasantly.

"It's ludicrous! My investigator couldn't be that wrong. All my witnesses can't be lying. The evidence leads us directly to your client. But..."

Matt's eyebrows folded into one long line above the frames of his glasses. "But?"

"You were right," you said softly. "Maybe I've been living this too long. Maybe I want this to be over more than I want the truth."

It was a difficult thing to admit. The implications of doing so would have far-reaching consequences. But as long as you said it out loud, one of those consequences wouldn't have to be losing your soul in the slow-grinding wheels of justice.

"Thank you for saying that," Matt said, and oh no. You recognized that note in his voice. If you let him go on in it, you'd regret it. "I—"

"Which is why tomorrow I'm going to request to be withdrawn from the case."

"What?"

"It'll be better for everyone involved. We can get some fresh eyes on it, let someone new take a look."

"You getting taken off the case is the last thing I wanted."

"Why? It's not as though you've invoked your right to a speedy trial."

"You know the case. You know my client is innocent!"

"I don't know that, Matt!"

"But you admit it's a possibility."

Your hesitation to disagree answered for you. Matt half-rose from behind his desk, leaning across it to whisper, "Don't you want to know? Don't you want to find out why they've all been lying to you?"

You shook your head. "I think all I really want is to be done."

The unasked question of done with what? rang in the air. An unexpected lump in your throat made it impossible for you to speak. Then Matt opened a drawer, and the sudden noise of it made you jump in your seat.

"You know what we both need?" That strangely impish smile of his had returned.

"A straitjacket and a white room?"

"A break." He stood with his briefcase in his hand. "You said it yourself. We've been working this case a long time. A few hours of time to ourselves won't ruin it."

You nodded again as you dragged yourself up out of his chair. That was all you had the energy for. "I'll get out of your hair. I should probably try to get some sleep before I talk to my boss anyway."

A faint touch on your elbow kept you from moving very far. When you glanced back, you found Matt's hand grasping you there. "Come with me," he said.

Great. Now you'd been mulling things over so much you were hallucinating. You jab about the straitjackets sharpened into a nearing reality. In an effort to save the miniscule amount of dignity remaining to you, you laughed a little hysterically during your attempt to shake him off.

"I'm not going to your house with you, Murdock."

"You wound me, Counselor. What sort of cad do you take me for?"

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"The bars are still open for another or so. Let me buy you a drink. We can talk."

You recoiled far enough to get his arm to drop. "And what will people think of us out colluding in public?"

Matt shrugged. "We won't talk about the case, so we won't be colluding."

"We can claim that all we want. The judge will be concerned with what the witness thinks they saw."

"If someone accuses us of colluding, what's the big deal?" Here, he looked over his red lenses directly into your eyes; you felt goosebumps prickle up your arms at the feeling Matt could actually see you. "You're already talking about stepping back. I happen to know a defense firm that might be interested in someone of your talents if you get forced out."

He shifted his cane and his case to offer you his arm in silence, the obvious ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. You paused. His offer sounded good—better than it should have, considering all your bombastic meetings in court up until then. Then, before you could change your mind, you bent over to switch off Matt's lamp. Your arms hooked together, and his smile widened before he tugged you gently in the direction of the exit.

Things had been sweet at first; he was a weathered lawyer who needed some light in his life. Somebody to come home to; somebody to properly love for the first time in his fucking life. It wasn't like the high he was chasing with Eletkra Natchios, or the familiarity he'd sought out with Karen Page. He got both things from your relationship, but you were...different. You gave him highs; you could make him feel like he was home and on a rollercoaster all at once. It was a feeling Matthew wanted to keep for the rest of his life. He would have been stupid not to. But wasn't that the thing about Matt? He was incredibly smart, but also incredibly fucking stupid. Almost bound to take someone for granted. He'd done it with Foggy, hadn't he? 

Five years. That was how long you made it before cracks began to appear in your foundations. You'd loved Matt for his Daredevil side at first; maybe he could go too far, but he'd always known when to stop (right?) and you admired him for it. For his bravery, for his candor, for the way he protected the city. It was like a dark and sexy secret that you prided yourself on keeping. It tied you together. You were part of it now. You were the person that Matt could come to about his darkest fears and worst nights. You were the person whose side he would curl up into during the night, craving someone to protect him for once. There was always the worry that he would go into deep and truly lose himself, but every time Matt found himself on the precipice of doing so, you would be there to hold him back - to keep him sane and to stop him letting Matt Murdock and Daredevil blur into one person. 

You were only a human being, though. So was he. Matt could save the city and everything in it but you couldn't save him from himself. Save him from coming home at 6AM - your agreement had always been 3AM at the latest - and sliding into bed beside you without a word, or save him from waking up in a bad mood and refusing to talk to you about it. No matter how many times you begged him to just spend one night in, or to not leave himself three hours to sleep before work. It all fell on empty ears and that hurt when he had fucking super hearing. Comforting cuddles at night turned into whispered touches and soon, those touches became backs turned to one another. Long conversations turned into polite niceties than eventually faded into silence. The happy relationship - breakfast together in the morning at the table and takeouts on the sofa at night - became a burden. A horse you were both flogging because staying together in silence was slightly less terrifying than whatever the alternative that left you alone was. Soon, you were the only one flogging said horse. Matt had dropped his stick a long time ago and turned away. He'd walked into the depths of Hell's Kitchen and you weren't sure he was ever coming back. 

This wasn't your fault. Maybe it wasn't his fault either but hell it was his burden to bear. You'd done nothing but love and support him and what did you get in return? Silence. Iciness. Long, tense moments of forced conversations. 

You got used to it eventually. Every night, he'd come stumbling in at 4,5,6AM, skin littered with bruises and wounds; some from that night and others reopened. Matt's skin was thick with scars now. They were forming a new Daredevil suit across his arms and legs and back and there was no taking it off. It was always there. Always a reminder. 

Matt was laying with his back to you; you watched with open eyes, as his breathing went from shallow and tense, to something a little deeper and softer. He was falling asleep. Tough fucking luck, Murdock, you thought, it's time to talk. 

You brushed a hand down his back - Matt arched like a cat, suddenly waking.

"Hey, Matty."

He sighed heavily. "I was sleeping."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see how you were-"

"- I'm tired," Matt huffed. "Go to sleep."

"I'm tired too," you murmured. Tired of this. Tired of this silence. Tired of you.

"Sleep too, then."

"I will," you whispered. "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'm working all day. Probably late."

"Okay, goodnight," you said. "I love you."

Silence. 

The morning came and still, Matt barely spoke to you. He ghosted past you in the morning, hands fumbling for a clean shirt and pants. His shoes were pulled on and coffee made, and he was out the door before you'd even risen for work. That was purposeful. He never left earlier than 8AM and it wasn't even gone 7:30. Maybe he didn't want to talk. Maybe he just wanted to talk to anyone that wasn't you - which was funny, because you'd barely had a conversation in weeks. 

You had lunch with Karen later that day, about four doors down from the Nelson & Murdock office. Whatever dalliance she'd had with Matt was in the past - you two were good friends. She was level-headed and candid. You needed that in a friend. She always said what you needed to hear, even if you didn't want to. 

"So, I'm gonna see this guy for a second date, I think," Karen was saying something. You were gone, eyes blankly staring past her. "But I'm not sure, because - hey, are you listening to me?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm sorry. I had a really shitty night."

Her face fell with concern. "What's going on?"

"Matt's losing himself to his night job," you admitted. "I haven't had a proper talk with him in fucking months. I don't think he's touched me since people liked James Corden, Karen. Do you know what a long time that is?"

"Jesus," she muttered. Without another word, she pulled out her diary and flicked through it. "Look, it says he's got his whole afternoon wide open today. He went home at midday I think."

You faltered slightly. Either Karen was mistaken or Matt was a fucking liar and had fed you bullshit about being busy this afternoon. The worst part was that you knew Karen never made mistakes when it came to her secretary job. She had a Pinterest board for everything and her Google calendar synced up to ten different devices. She probably wasn't wrong and lying to you, although a new development, was pretty in line with how Matt had been lately. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. The thing that sealed your relationship's fate.

"I..." you muttered. "Okay. Will you hate me if I ditch early to go and talk to him?"

Karen shook her head. "No. Go."

That subway ride was the longest of your ride. It felt like every stop was twice as long; like every red signal lasted ten years. Had the walk from the platform to the barriers always been this long? Had the street from the station to your apartment been this stretched out? Your feet had never hurt more as you sprinted up the stairs from the lobby to your apartment. The door was on the latch - Karen was right, he had been home - and you booted it down with ease. Matt jumped up from the sofa as you did.

"What are you-"

"- you're a fucking liar!" you snapped. 

There was a lingering silence for a moment. Matt was a man of few words but he had very rarely found himself speechless.

"I'm done," you muttered.

"Done with what?"

"I'm done with you," you said. "I'm done with us. With this shitty relationship. Do you know how long I've been trying? How long I've been begging you to give me some kind of attention? Months, Matt. I've been dying for MONTHS and you haven't cared."

"I haven't been ignoring you-"

"- please don't lie to me," you cut him off again. 

The silence returned. You might have been half way out the door for months but Matt had been the one holding it open. The worst part was that you loved him to your very core and if he just said the words then - stay, don't go - or even any fucking word in the human language that hinted at a glimmer of hope, you would have thought twice. Maybe your apartment was a ghost town now but it was haunted with what used to be. Maybe there was a chance to go back to that. Just maybe. You would take maybe. 

The seconds passed. One, two, three. You counted them as they went, right up until you hit sixty. The dreaded one minute mark. That was more than enough time to beg. You could have done it in thirty. But he'd said nothing. The silence now said more to you than Matt had in the last three months. 

"Do you have nothing to say?" you quietly asked. 

"Right," you murmured. "I'm really done then."

"Just...think about this?" Matt said. His voice wavered slightly. There it was. The thing you'd been wanting to hear. It was just one minute too late. 

With the day off from watching that idiot, Fisk, Dex decided to spend it with you. He picks you up from work most days, with today not being any different. He would rant about how dangerous the subway can be without him there to keep you safe. 

You would place your hand on his cheek, stroke his cheek with your thumb, and tell him how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like him who cared so much about you.

Swerving carelessly through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, Dex constantly checks the time, making sure you’re not waiting too long for him to come get you. He arrives at your workplace in record time, surprised that no cop tried to pull him over. 

Dex finds parking in front of the building before pulling out his phone to let you know he has arrived.

Oɴ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ!✨

He looks down at his phone, at your response, and reflects on how good everything is in his life. 

Hattley met with him this morning and complimented him on the most recent case he successfully closed, as well as his speed and efficiency. There was no one quite like him in this line of work, and he took pride in that.

Once in a while, Dex still listens to his Dr. Mercer tapes, hearing how she advised him to find someone new with a good heart who he could look up to, and that is where you entered his life.

Perfect you, altering his whole point of view. When he first saw you, you took his breath away. It took several attempts to work up the courage to approach you and speak with you. Those first few times, it was just Dex staring at you from a distance or watching you from his van through his binoculars. Once he got the nerve to talk to you, everything went smoothly, and it did not take him long to fall for you.

He looked over the building's main doors and noticed you power-walking to his car, a big smile on your face. Dex could not help but mirror the expression; you always bring out his playful, romantic side. Your outfit swayed in the spring breeze, making you look that much more beautiful.

"Hey, honey," you say as you open the passenger door and get in, "thank you for picking me up. I know you're probably busy with work."

Butterflies flutter around his rib cage in response to your voice. He adores everything about you. 

“It’s no problem, seriously. I can’t have my girlfriend take the subway or, worse, walk all the way home by herself. " What type of boyfriend would I be?" Dex chuckles.

You lean over and peck his cheek with your warm, soft, and plush mouth before kissing him on the tip of his nose. His eyes close, and his smile grows. Heat rises along his cheekbones, and the blush spreads down his neck. He loves how much attention and care you have for him. He’s never had anything like it.

"I'm just so lucky to have you, Dex. I couldn't ask for a better boyfriend," you say with a grin.

You’ve known Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson for two whole years, having met them when they were still in law school and you were completing your own course, just trying to get by. You’d met when you’d all been the last people to leave the library one cold morning in January at four am. They’d insisted they walk you back to your place and from that moment on you’d been friends. It had been so easy to fall into their little duo at times, Foggy especially made it easy to feel included. 

Your relationship with Matt, however, has always been different. A sort of tension in the air whenever you were together, more prominent when you were alone. He was handsome, but what made him truly beautiful was the way he shined as a person. He had a magnetism to him that drew you in. That drew a lot of people in. Despite this, your relationship had always remained friendly, a barrier in place as Matt took different girls back to his dorm and you pretended you didn’t wish it was you instead. You’d always assumed that this barrier, this weird tension between the two of you was why you’d never seen Matt’s eyes. Even after two years, you only ever saw him with his glasses on, and you knew he took them off around others. Foggy had seen his eyes. You knew more recently that Karen had as well. It was this weird distance that made you doubt your friendship, let alone the possibility that one day Matt might return your feelings. 

Sometimes you wondered if that tension was something less sweet. Maybe you weren’t his friend after all, maybe Matthew didn’t feel comfortable enough around you, maybe he didn’t like you. Those were nasty thoughts though, ones that had very little basis in truth, in evidence. You did your best to brush them aside. To not let that little doubting voice convince you of something that was quite possibly all in your head.

You know Matt doesn’t dislike you, if he did...if he did he wouldn’t have invited you into his apartment after a night out at Josie’s and he wouldn’t have ordered you your favourite Thai food from down the street and he certainly wouldn’t have been sat so incredibly close to you on his couch, your thighs touching, his arm over the backrest, finger tips grazing your shoulder. He was so close you could smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his leg on your own. Your heart beating a mile a minute, like it always seemed to do when he was this close to you. 

Maybe it’s the warm lighting in Matt’s apartment, the deep yellow bulbs that are so dimly lit and that cast a soft glow onto everything or maybe it’s that one drink you had tonight, just an ounce of liquid courage, but you find yourself asking for one of the few things you’ve always wanted. One of the few things you’ve been most curious about your entire friendship.

“Let me see your eyes, Matt…” Your voice is soft, a whisper in his big apartment. You sound as though you’re smiling, he can almost imagine your eyes crinkling at the corners as you say it, his image of you so rock solid in his mind from years of your presence and fingertips against your skin. Matt has half a mind to say yes, but he can’t. He can’t live with the thought of hearing the disappointment in your voice, the way your heart would drop from that excited beat like a siren in his ears. He valued you so much and he’d built up an illusion of you, a belief that you might want him too, he didn’t want to find out that that wasn’t possible. To know you were disappointed like so many others, that he wasn’t what you imagined.

“You don’t want to see my eyes, sweetheart. Trust me.” He tries to play it off, a little laugh at the end, that pet name that has a tendency to distract you when it comes from him falling from his lips with ease. You love his voice all the time, whether it’s hard and logical in court or soft and gentle or bright and amused, but you especially love it when he calls you that. The deep gravel of his voice is like honey in your ears, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve never seen them...Matt, why won’t you let me look into your eyes?” Two years is such a long time to never see someone’s eyes. To never know the softness around the corners of them when he smiles or the way light shines across them. If he’s being honest with himself he had expected you to ask to see his eyes sooner, years sooner. Two years was a very long time to hide part of yourself from anyone. It was a long time to be patient.

“I just like my glasses more. I look cooler with them, don’t you think, sweetheart?” He’s trying to avoid it and while you won’t force Matt to show you his eyes, something he knows acutely about you, you want to know why he won’t take those damn glasses off around you. You want to be sure it isn’t because he doesn’t trust you or like you enough. That it’s not because there’s something wrong with you and your relationship.

“Matthew…”

“Uh…” Matt looks away from you and even though he can’t see that look on your face,  he knows you’re probably scrunching up your eyebrows and pursing your lips. It takes him a surprising amount of time to gain the courage to answer your question, it’s scarier than any fight he’s ever been in. The possibility of opening himself up to your judgement and scrutiny scares him. ”People don’t...people don’t like my eyes. That...that’s why I wear these…I don’t...I don’t have pretty eyes like you want.”

Fuck, it strikes a cord within you. You, Foggy and Matt at a bar in the early days, barely a few weeks into knowing each other. Foggy had asked what you looked for in a guy and in a joke comment you said something about how you always had a thing for a guy with pretty eyes. That you’d probably end up marrying a guy with pretty eyes one day. Whatever pretty eyes really meant. Foggy had joked about his own eyes, how they were so bright and blue. You’d all laughed. It was stupid, an off hand comment because you always loved to stare into the eyes of men you were crushing on or dating, something always drew you there. But, fuck, it seems so bizarre for Matt to have fixed on that off hand comment for two whole years, through the end of college and through their intership, through the two of them starting their own law practice. It was a comment you hadn’t even thought about since. 

“How do you know?” Matt feels your hand on his cheek after a beat of silence, thumb stroking the skin just below his glasses, the very height of his cheekbone underneath your fingertips. You scoot yourself closer, legs overlapping his own, your scent, perfume mixing with shampoo and the Thai food you’ve eaten, washing over him. So overwhelming combined with the warmth of you that the question doesn’t land in his mind right, confused by a simple four letter sentence. 

“What?” His face tilts towards your own and he can feel the warmth of your breath across his face. Those dark glasses stare back at you, reflection obscuring the eyes behind and you are so close, so close to seeing the man behind them that you feel almost desperate. 

“How do you know that you don’t have pretty eyes? Like I want in a man.” Your fingers strong across his cheekbones, a steady rhythm and your presence is both reassuring and painful. So close, so present, close enough to feel your future disappointment.

“...People tend to get...uncomfortable when I take them off, not sure that would happen if they were pretty, sweetheart.” How many people had Matt felt stiffen across from him when he finally removed his glasses to look at them? How many people had made off hand comments, in the Orphanage and later on, about how odd his gaze was? How they wished he wouldn’t look at them because it made them uncomfortable? How many women had backed out of a second date after he removed his glasses to try to connect with them without a barrier in the way? He knew his gaze was unfocused, he couldn’t truly look at someone and...and he knew that people didn’t tend to react well to him. With most people he just didn’t care what they thought, but you? Fuck, he just wanted you to find him handsome, he never wanted to make you uncomfortable...and the thought of showing you his eyes had anxiety seizing his heart in his chest ever since he’d met you. So worried that that little sliver of hope would be crushed in its infancy. That sliver of hope that maybe your fast heartbeat around him showed your interest, that the warmth that radiated off your skin was because of him. So terrified that whatever feelings you might have for him would be crushed the moment he took those glasses off. They were his last barrier, the last defence that his heart had against being broken by you. 

“Matt…it’s me. I’ve known you for two years and…” He can feel the way your breath stops, stuck in your throat for a moment while you consider your words. The way you try to scoot closer as if that’s even possible, trying to reassure him with your presence. “You’ve always been…one of the prettiest men I know. I doubt any part of you isn’t pretty, Mattie.”

“Sweetheart…”

“You don’t have to…I'm…I'm not going to force you to, but I…I wish you would trust me not to push you away.” You start to rise, untangling your legs from his and standing just in front of him before Matt reaches out with both hands to find your hips and pull you back to him gently. You’re practically sitting in his lap this time, his arms wrapping around your hips to anchor you to him. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him in the two years you’ve known him, that distance not just metaphorical but physical. A barrier he has always put in place. A barrier he’s only now willing to risk pulling down. 

Matt’s tongue brushes across his bottom lip, quick, subtle, but a motion you’ve seen so many times, a habit of his that always catches your eye time and time again. There are very few things about Matthew Murdock that don’t capture your attention.

You hold your breath, he can hear it, how you stop breathing, your heart seeming to still for those few moments when his hands reach for his glasses. The way your entire body seems to freeze like someone has pressed pause on a stereo.  

You reach for his hands, fingertips grazing across the back of his fingers, holding them in place. You’re stopping his fingers from curling around the edges of his glasses and sliding them off. “You..you don’t have to, Mattie…I…” You don’t want him to do it to appease you, don’t want the pressure from you to force him to do something he doesn’t want to. No matter how curious you might be. You’ve waited two years and if you need to you can wait even longer.

“I want to.” You pull your hands back then, they’re shaking. Matt can hear the tremble in your breath, the way your legs bounce in his lap, jittery and anxious, matching the fast pace of your heart. You’ve gone from still and quiet to quaking, shivering with a nervous energy that you can’t seem to expend. 

It’s bizarre you think, how something so mundane, so normal, as seeing someone’s eyes can feel so intimate and nerve-wrecking at the same time. Time feels slow as you sit in Matt’s lap and watch as he glides his glasses off of his features, his eyes closed beneath them, eyelids fluttering as he swallows harshly around a lump in his throat. 

For a moment he feels as if he’s lost his ability to hear, a rumbling din in his ears from the nervous rush of blood to his head at the thought of opening his eyes for the first time and you seeing him without the barrier of his lenses. And then he opens his eyes and for the first time you see him as he is without a wall between you. 

“Jesus Christ…”

“Language.” He gives that half-smile of his, the one he always has whenever you blaspheme and he corrects you. A sort of humorous admonishment even as he admits that he is a terrible Catholic time and time again. His smile is also part relief at the realisation that your heart hasn’t dropped, that you’ve not pulled away from him yet. If anything your heart seems to pick up the pace, beating rapidly as warmth fills your skin. It’s hard for him to truly accept, but you’re not disappointed. You’re not unhappy to meet his unfocused gaze, eyes that can’t truly see you. 

“Sorry, I…it’s just…You’re beautiful, Matt. Your eyes are beautiful.” Your voice is breathy and quiet, you don’t understand how anyone could think anything differently. It’s true that Matt's deep brown eyes do not focus on you the way your own focus back on him, but, God, his eyes are beautiful. 

They’re so wide and bright, there’s a shine to them, a sort of gleam in the warm light that feels almost magical. The crinkles around the corners of his eyes are there even when he’s not smiling widely and you know they must be something special when he smiles. Instead Matt turns his face away from you at your compliments, cheeks red with warmth.

“You…you don’t think they’re weird?” You cup his cheeks between your hands at his question, drawing him closer and pressing your forehead to his own. Your noses knock gently, a playful press against each other. It’s as if with that last visual barrier gone those boundaries you two had so carefully curated began to fall. The two years of dancing around each other, playful and flirtatious at times yet distant, unable to make any leaps to cross the gap, seem to fall away. Suddenly, you are not two friends who refuse to admit otherwise, but two people who want each other more than anything else. 

“Why would I ever think your eyes are weird, Mattie? You’ve…you’ve always been beautiful and I’m sorry, that…I’m sorry that anyone has ever made you doubt that.” You can’t imagine doubting something so fundamental about yourself, something you can’t even see. How are you supposed to reassure yourself, to self-soothe when people respond like that to you and you have no means of checking for yourself? You don’t understand it. There’s nothing about Matt that you find off putting, he’s utterly charming to you. You’ve never felt happier than being allowed to see his eyes, the way they crinkle, the shine to them, the softness of his blinks. Seeing someone’s eyes is so mundane, so typical and so easy to to take for granted. You hope desperately it’s not the last time that you see them.

“You were always the one person I didn’t want to scare away.” Matt slides his hands over your shoulder blades, one cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing just below your jaw, while the other twists into your hair securely at the back of your skull. Like everything tonight Matt is gentle with those touches, they are firm enough to be present but oh so careful with you, like you might just disappear if he makes a sudden movement. He can hear your heart beating rapidly against your rib cage, can feel your pulse fast beneath his finger tips, blood rushing through your veins like water through a drain pipe in a storm.

“I could never be scared of you…” You take a deep shuddering breath that seems to shake your very bones, as your back straightens and you steel yourself for the words you’re about to say. You lean back just a little, enough to look Matt in the eyes even as his own stare slightly off from yours. You watch his tongue flick out again, a nervous press across his lips. 

“I love you, Matthew Murdock…I’ve loved you since you walked me home that night in college…and I was so worried….”

“Worried?” Matt can easily hear the shake your voice as your arms slide around the back of his neck and hold him close. His brow furrows, a frown deepening the wrinkles across his forehead and the crinkles beneath his eyes. 

“Worried that…that the reason you’d never take the glasses off was because you…because you didn’t really like me or trust me at all. I was…” All those doubts feel distant now, silly, because here you are sat on Matthew’s lap while his thumb caresses your neck. Here you are having confessed how much you love him while his face softens and falls into a gentle sort of look.

“The reason I never took them off was because I was worried that the one person I really loved would be disappointed and turn away.” It’s a pivotal moment, a breath of relief at the understanding between you both. That you love him, that he loves you, and that this entire time you’ve both been absolutely dimwitted about the entire thing. 

You can’t help but laugh, it’s a tearfilled one, choked. “We’re both idiots aren’t we?” You shift in his lap, arms pulling him closer, and hands running over his shoulders as if to reassure yourself that this is real. This isn’t one of those daydreams where you imagine the perfect scenario in which your love is returned. This is real life and Matt is so solid and real beneath you.

“Yeah…yeah, sweetheart, probably me more than you.” 

“Oh no you don’t, Mattie. I think we should have equal blame in this department. It’s only fair, considering we both wasted so much time.” God, two years, it’s a long time to not say a word about feelings. A long time for them to grow deeper and more meaningful, a long time to feel is wasted. 

“Maybe we should make up for lost time.” The smirk that tugs at Matt’s lip disappears the moment he kisses you, that hand on your throat tightening just so as he feels your pulse beneath his fingers. 

It’s like a hummingbird, fast and gentle, spurred on by the nervous butterflies of love and lust combined into one heedy intimate moment. His stubble scraps across your skin and rather than an irritation it is a delight to feel grounded by it as his lips open against your own and his tongue meets yours. Matt kisses with a gentle sort of passion, it’s fiery and covetous but oh so soft that there is no doubting that his feelings are truly genuine. He loves you. This isn’t some quick fling, a fuck after a night out, this is something much more permanent and life altering. 

You swallowed hard as you froze in place. Matt could feel the way your heart surged by his mere touch. His fingertip grazed southward to your chin then along your jawline, savoring the feeling of the softness beneath his fingertips. 

Trails of goosebumps followed in the wake of his touches. Heat crawled up to your face and all the way to the tip of your ears. The sound of your heartbeat was deafening as your vision slowed. Perhaps you've never noticed it before or perhaps you were just really bad with your memories, but you've never realized how plump and pillowy his lips are. They looked so soft and so inviting, which made your ordeal more tempting.

Being a wallflower all your life, you were so used to observed and watching things from afar. Never in your life, you'd think that you will be the center of his attention at least. You were surprised when Matt came up to you and asked you for notes of all people. 

Your first reaction was to ask why, but you stopped yourself because you realized it was probably the only chance to get to know him. He proposed a study session in the library of course. You tried not to think much of it because well, you learned not to have your hopes up. 

However, you were caught by a surprise of your own. 

When you showed up at the set spot in the library, he had already had two cups of coffee and a small box of baked goodies set up on the table for you. You were surprised and most of all touched but his gesture. You tried very hard to not think about it too much and failed at it miserably. 

Who could blame you when the boy sat beside you smelled so delightedly oh so good?

You caught yourself looking at him more often time than a normal person should be. As it was in cue, Matt’s head snapped up in your direction, making you feel like you’ve been caught red-handed or something. The close proximity only fueled the fire that was simmering inside you further.

Matt continued to trace his fingers down to the column of your neck. Chill ran down your spine to the space that sat between the juncture of your thighs, making it throb to your own heartbeat.  You swallowed hard, and Matt could feel your body tremble slightly under his touch. A surge of pride coursed through him.

“You’re going to guide me through this,” he said softly, his hand is now behind your neck, fingertips still dancing on your skin, making your nerves hummed with excitement and anticipation. 

You licked your lips, watching him first before you leaned in slowly till your lips pressed against his softly one. Heat flooded your face, down to your chest your head filled with nothing but the sound of your heartbeat. The anticipation for him to return your kiss was dreadful on its own as you sat there with your lips just pressed against him.  That uncertainty soon melt way when Matt pulled you in by the nape of your neck and began to kiss you back with an eagerness that made your heart soar. You gasped beneath his touch, and Matt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in. 

The sensation was strange at first. It was so new and so intimate that you couldn’t help yourself but to take his face in your hand and returned the gesture. The kiss became erratic. Your tongue twisted and slides with his. Matt seemed to get lost in himself as your scent filled his head, lulling him into a haze that he’d never wanted to get out of. Every lick and kiss made his heart soar and fluttered in a way that he had never experienced before, and at this moment he knew he was in trouble. 

 Your heavy breathing and your soft mewling cut through the quiet stillness of the library. Occasionally, Matt would grunt or groan. The noise was so deep and primal that it sent your nerve into a frenzy. The ache between your thighs was insatiable, and you wanted nothing more than for him to pick you up and slammed you right into the bookshelf while he buried his cock right inside you. 

You caught yourself of course as you gently pulled away from him, breathing heavily as you stared wildly at Matt, who was as disheveled as you are. His face flushed, his lips swollen and lushed with a deep shade of pink. The color made your brain goes to unholy places, imagining what his member would look like.

“Jesus,” you muttered as you tried to fan yourself. The library felt hot and stuffy so suddenly.

“Language,” he chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair. A smile lingered on his lips though as he tried very hard to conceal that grin on his face. How long had he wanted to do that? And honestly, it was better than he imagined.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he reassured you, reaching to touch your face again. “That was amazing.”

“Y-yeah, you can say that again,” you managed to let out a chuckle. God, you’ve never been this flustered before, but somehow Matt Murdock managed to turn you into a giggling school girl. 

Matt’s hand drifted down to find yours, and he held it so firmly. He counted in his head to five, trying to calm his own nerve. “So how about dinner at my place tonight?”

You grab the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink, before catching him stumbling through the hallway – he places one arm around your shoulder for balance, slightly grunting as you make your way towards your room. You make sure he’s seated on the edge of your bed, as he catches his breath – your scent entering his lungs, and he’s glad you took him to your room instead of the living room this time. Matt would take whatever aid he could get, sure, but being surrounded by an ambience that makes his senses scream your name made him a bit calmer.

Placing a couple of aspirin pills on one of his hands and a glass of water – that was previously on your bedside table – on the other, you start to scan him with your eyes. Matt takes the medicine, that you liked to call morphine for Catholics, and hands you the glass with a small “thanks”.

You take his helmet off, proceeding to check the bruises underneath it: a cut on his lip, one above his left eyebrow and a black eye. Matt hisses once you start taking his suit off, in search for more wounds that need assistance, and once the fabric hits the ground you’re met with a few bruises on his ribs. He hears you opening the first aid kit, seeking for the materials to use on him, before putting plastic gloves on your hands.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen looks like a lost puppy, with a pout blooming on his lips. You can’t read people like he can, but you can bet all your money he’s beating himself up for tangling you in his problems.

“I’m sorry for making you take care of me.” He breaks the silence, feeling the weight of the world fall off his shoulders. Matt smells you pouring alcohol against a cloth, in order to clean him up.

“Matthew, we’re past this.” You huff, while cleaning the bruise above his eyebrows. “You’re not making me do shit. I like to save you as much as you like to save this city.”

Your words make him smile, with a shy spark of pride on his unfocused eyes. He truly appreciates you. The mutual saving feels like a good dynamic.

“Fair enough.” He replies, feeling you patch him up. Your hands are careful against his rough skin, softness against harshness. Yin and yang.

“Who was it this time? Russians? Drug cartels? A wizard from another world?”

Matt chuckles at your words – laughs, even. Slowly, awfully slowly, he starts to let his guard down. The post-battle care consisted in a lot of talking, as you attempted to relax him after all the chaos, dirt and blood.

“No, no. Human trafficking.”

There’s a hint of darkness in his voice, a drop of poison – Matt may not kill people, but you know he gives them just the appropriate treatment. You don’t push for more information, as it’s part of your untold agreement: you don’t seek for gore details of the crimes he prevents, and he makes sure to not get involved in anything – well, at least he attempts to do so.

“Hope you ruined them.” You say, and he hears a smile on your voice – you finish the first bruise, following with the next one. “Cause they sure roughed you pretty bad, Murdock.”

He laughs, shrugging with a classic:

“You should’ve seen the other guys.”

His reply is brief, given the fact you’re taking care of the bruise on his lip. You clean it, paying close attention to the wound. An infection is the last thing he’d want right now.

Matt places his palms on your waist, feeling the heat coming from your body, bringing you closer to his frame. It isn’t until he places his forehead against your abdomen that you understand what he wants – needs, maybe.

“Matt, I need to clean you up-”

“Please, just wanna feel you close to me.”

How can you say no? How can you reject those pleading hazel eyes?

You sigh, doing what he wanted you to anyway. You sit on his lap, still working on his bruises. He wraps his arms around you, feeling your warmth against his body, making him melt into ease bit by bit. You hum while patching him up, checking for any more hidden wounds. You chuckle upon realising Matt is playing with your hair, trying to catch your attention like a little kid – look at me, not at my bruises!

Placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, you pull away from him, putting the first aid kit on its original place. Opening Matt’s designated drawer in your closet, you search for comfortable clothes or any other things he might need for the night.

“C’mere, please. I’m good, I promise.” His husky voice begs, wanting your attention so bad. “Don’t need anything else, just wanna be close to you.”

You shut the drawer, giving up – there was no way of trying to convince him maybe he should wear pajamas or eat something before going to bed. No, this is Matt Murdock: Hell’s Kitchen most stubborn son of a bitch.

But you try to, anyway.

“Are you sure, Matt? I can make you something–”

“I’m sure sweetheart, I promise. No need to worry about me.”

You approach him in bed, straddling his lap as you do so. He looks in your general direction, a tired smile blossoming on his face. With a feather-light kiss on his bruised lips, you say:

“You know Matthew, you lie a lot for a man of God.”

He chuckles, knowing this isn’t, by any means, his worst sin tonight.