#mid 20s

Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

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summary: After Daredevil saves you from a kidnapping, you bring the injured vigilante back to your tiny apartment to patch him up. Living with an abusive father in Hell‘s Kitchen has never been easy, but sharing one night with the man behind the mask might change more than either of you expected.

tags: second person pov, slow burn, secret identity, hurt/comfort, angst, protective matt, abusive father, trauma recovery, hell‘s kitchen, mutual pining, eventual romance, age gap, readers in her 20s

word count: 2.514k

a/n: ahhh this is chapter 7, I am grateful for every single comment and feedback!

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Three days.

Three long days had passed since you had last seen Matthew Murdock. 

At first, you hadn't thought much of it.

He was a layer.

Laywers were always busy.

You had told yourself he was probably buried beneath mountains of paperwork, sitting in some courtroom across the city while you stood behind the café counter making coffee for strangers. 

It wasn't unusual.  People came and went all the time. Customers found new places. Their routines changed. Life moved on. So why did it bother you?

You unlocked the café just as the sun began to rise over Hell’s Kitchen, the familiar bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped inside. The smell of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries welcomed you like it always did, wrapping around you with a comforting familiarity that usually made the early mornings a little easier.

Today, it didn’t.

You tied your apron around your waist before switching on the lights.

One by one, the café slowly came to life. The espresso machine hissed. The grinder whirred.

The first customers wandered in, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they ordered their usual drinks before rushing back out into the busy streets.

Everything was exactly the same.

Everything except…

Your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Not every time the bell rang. You had stopped doing that yesterday. Or at least, you thought you had. Now, it happened without you noticing. A customer walked in. Your heart lifted. Then immediately settled again. Not him.

You quietly sighed, reaching for another clean mug.

“This one’s for the gentleman with the cappuccino,” you murmured to yourself as you placed it onto a tray.

The morning continued much the same. Busy enough to keep your hands occupied. Quiet enough to leave your thoughts alone with you. You hated that. Thinking had become dangerous lately. Because every time your mind wandered, it found him. The way he smiled whenever you teased him. The soft laugh that escaped him when you caught him off guard. The calm way he listened, as though every word you said actually mattered.

You stopped yourself.

He was just a customer. A regular customer. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“You’re staring again.”

You blinked, looking over at your coworker.

“I am not.”

She didn’t even bother hiding her smile.

“You’ve looked at that door at least six times in the last ten minutes.”

“I was checking if anyone came in.”

“Mhm.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And was your lawyer behind any of those people?”

Heat crept into your cheeks. “He’s not my lawyer.”

“Then why do you look disappointed every time it isn’t him?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

You opened your mouth to argue before realizing you didn’t actually have an answer.

Instead, you busied yourself wiping down the counter.

Your coworker laughed quietly to herself.

“I’ve never seen you pay this much attention to a customer.”

“He’s just…” You paused. “…nice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just nice?”

You shrugged, pretending to focus on the cloth in your hand. “People are allowed to be nice.”

“They are.”

“And I’m allowed to appreciate that.”

She smiled knowingly. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. The conversation ended there. Thankfully. Because you weren’t ready to admit the truth. Not even to yourself. You didn’t miss having another customer. You missed having someone who made your day feel a little lighter.

And somehow…

That realization scared you more than you cared to admit.

—

The café stayed busy as the morning slowly turned into midday, but your attention never fully settled back into the rhythm of it. Every time the bell above the door chimed, your head lifted before you could stop it, your body reacting faster than your thoughts could correct.

And every time—

It wasn’t him.

You were starting to hate how quickly disappointment had become familiar.

At some point, you caught yourself reaching for a clean cup and automatically pouring the exact amount of coffee you always made for him. Dark. No sugar. No milk. Just the way he liked it.

You froze.

The cup sat there in your hand, steam curling up into the air, untouched.

For a moment, you just stared at it. Then, slowly, you exhaled and poured it down the sink.

“Right,” you muttered under your breath. “Of course.”

You rinsed the cup a little too carefully, as if that would fix the fact that your routine had already started bending around someone who wasn’t even here.

Someone who hadn’t been here in days. You told yourself it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But your hands didn’t seem to agree.

The bell above the door chimed again. You looked up automatically. This time, it wasn’t a regular customer.

It was Foggy.

You recognized him immediately, even before he fully stepped inside. There was something about the way he carried himself—slightly rushed, slightly distracted, like he was always halfway between two problems.

He spotted you almost instantly. And paused. Just for a second. Like he was confirming something in his head. Then he smiled.

“Hey,” he said, walking up to the counter. “You work here every day or is this just a very committed hobby?”

A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Unfortunately, it’s a job.”

“Unfortunate for you,” he said, leaning slightly on the counter. “Great for me. I need caffeine to survive legal hell.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bad day?”

He let out a long sigh. “Let’s just say if I never see another contract again, it’ll be too soon.”

You nodded knowingly. “That sounds about right for a lawyer.”

“Hey,” he said, pointing at you lightly. “Don’t stereotype me. I’m a fun lawyer.”

You hummed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

That made him laugh, and for a moment, the conversation felt easy. Normal. Like any other customer.

But then—

His eyes flicked around the café.

Not casually.

Searching.

You noticed.

“Can I get a coffee?” he asked after a beat, like he was only now remembering why he came in.

“Sure,” you said automatically. “Black?”

“Yeah.”

You turned to make it, your movements smooth, practiced.

But something about the silence behind you felt different now.

He was still there. Still watching. Not in a creepy way. In a careful way.Like he was trying to decide something.

You placed the cup in front of him a moment later. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he said, but didn’t pick it up right away.

Instead, he looked at you again.

“Hey,” he said more quietly this time. “You haven’t seen Matt around here lately, have you?”

The question landed heavier than it should have. Your hands paused on the counter. Just for a second. Then you shook your head. “No,” you said. “Not in a few days.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That sounds about right.”

You hesitated. “Is he… okay?”

Foggy looked up at that.

And for a moment, something shifted in his expression.

Like he noticed something in your voice.

Something you didn’t mean to show.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “He’s… fine. Just busy.”

You nodded, even though the answer didn’t really settle anything inside you.

“Good,” you said softly. “That’s good.”

Foggy studied you for a second longer than necessary.

Then he smiled again, but it was different now. A little more knowing. A little less casual.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his coffee. “I’ll tell him you asked.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh—no, I didn’t mean—”

But he was already shaking his head.

“I know,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

He took a sip, then added, almost under his breath:

“He’ll be around again.”

You weren’t sure why, but that made something in your chest tighten.

“Right,” you said quietly. “Of course.”

Foggy gave you a small nod, then turned toward the door. But just before he left, he glanced back once more. Like he was thinking about saying something else. Then he didn’t.

The bell chimed as he stepped out. And the café felt quieter than it had all morning. You stayed still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had been. Then you looked down at your hands. And realized you were still waiting for the door to open again. Even though you told yourself you weren’t.

—

Matt didn’t come back to the café the next day. Or the day after that. He told himself it was simple. He was busy. Work had piled up. Cases needed attention. People needed defending.

The city didn’t slow down just because he wanted it to.

So he stayed away.

At least… that was what he told himself.

But the truth was harder to ignore in the quiet moments. The ones between arguments in court. Between late-night patrols across the rooftops. Between silence that stretched just a little too long. Because every time he passed near that street. Every time he heard the faint echo of a café bell in the distance—

He thought of you.

And then he stopped thinking about you.

Or tried to.

Foggy noticed first. Of course he did.

“You’ve been off,” Foggy said one afternoon, dropping a file onto Matt’s desk a little harder than necessary.

“I’m fine,” Matt replied automatically.

“You’re always ‘fine’,” Foggy shot back. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Matt didn’t answer. He kept his focus on the papers in front of him, even though the words weren’t really registering anymore.

Foggy sighed, leaning against the desk.

“It’s that café girl, isn’t it?”

Matt’s hand paused for half a second. Then continued. “No.” It came out too fast. Too clean.

Foggy raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

Silence stretched between them. Matt could hear everything. The ticking clock. The distant traffic outside. Foggy’s steady breathing. And underneath it all—

The memory of your voice.

There might be someone.

The words replayed again.

And again.

And again.

Matt swallowed slightly, tightening his grip on the file.

Foggy watched him for a moment longer before speaking again, softer this time.

“Did she say something to you?”

Matt hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. Then shook his head. “No.”

But that wasn’t entirely true. Because she had said something. Just not to him. Not directly. Still, it had been enough. Enough to change the way she looked at him. Enough to change the way she spoke. Enough to make her step back without even realizing she was doing it. And Matt had noticed. Of course he had. He always noticed. He just hadn’t understood why.

Until now.

Until the pieces started forming in a way he didn’t like.

A laugh.

A name unspoken.

A “someone” that wasn’t him.

Foggy pushed off the desk. “Look,” he said carefully, “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you like her—”

“I don’t,” Matt interrupted quickly.

Foggy stopped.

Matt regretted the words immediately. Because they sounded like a lie. Even to him.

Foggy studied him for a long moment. Then sighed. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Then whatever this is… you’re still letting it mess you up.”

Matt didn’t respond. Because Foggy wasn’t wrong. And that was the problem.

Later that night, Matt stood alone on a rooftop overlooking Hell’s Kitchen. The city stretched out beneath him, alive and loud and endless. But he wasn’t listening to it. He was listening to something else. A memory. Your voice. Soft. Uncertain. There might be someone.

Matt exhaled slowly. His jaw tightened beneath the mask. So that was it. There was someone. Someone who made you smile like that. Someone who made your thoughts drift. Someone who stayed in your head long after the moment passed. He didn’t know who. He didn’t want to know. And yet—

The thought settled anyway.

Heavy.

Unwanted.

Unshakable.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he had no right to care. But as he stood there in the wind, listening to the city breathe beneath him… He realized something he didn’t want to admit. He had already started missing you. And you hadn’t even left.

Not really.

—

That night, you walk home expecting Daredevil.

He doesn’t appear.

For the first time since meeting him, you walk home alone.

The city feels louder than usual without his presence above you, like something familiar has been quietly removed and you’re only now noticing the space it left behind.

You keep glancing up at the rooftops out of habit, expecting movement, a shadow, the familiar sense of being followed at a safe distance. But there is nothing. Only empty brick, flickering fire escapes, and the distant glow of streetlights stretching across Hell’s Kitchen.

You try to tell yourself it’s normal.

That he’s just busy.

That he doesn’t owe you anything.

That you shouldn’t have gotten used to him being there in the first place. But none of those thoughts stop the quiet feeling settling in your chest. You miss him. And the realization comes too easily, too honestly, like it had been waiting for you to admit it.

Not just the way he appeared out of nowhere.

Not just the way he walked you home without ever asking for anything in return.

But the way you felt a little less alone when he was there. You slow your steps as you reach the middle of the street, the wind brushing softly against your face. For a moment, you stop completely. And you look up. The rooftops stretch above you, dark and silent, holding no answers.

“Where are you?” you think quietly, though you don’t say it out loud.

Somewhere far above, Matt stands on a rooftop ledge, completely still.

He has been there for a while.

Long enough to see you start your walk home.

Long enough to follow at a distance he knows you’ll never notice.

Long enough to hear the change in your heartbeat when you realized you were alone.

His jaw tightens slightly beneath the mask. He should leave. He told himself he would stay away tonight. He told himself it was better this way. But he didn’t. He never really does.

He watches as you look up at the rooftops again, your expression unreadable from this distance, but your silence louder than anything else in the city.

And for a moment, he wonders if you’re looking for him. The thought is immediately dismissed. It shouldn’t matter. It can’t matter. You have someone else in your mind now.

Someone who makes you smile like that.

Someone who isn’t him.

He exhales slowly, turning his head slightly as if to force himself to look away. But he doesn’t move. Not yet. Below him, you finally start walking again, disappearing further down the street, closer to home. And Matt remains where he is, watching until you’re gone from sight.

Only then does he move.

But even as he disappears into the night, he can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted.

Because for the first time…

Started the year with one of my closest friends getting married the first in our group. Can’t believe I’m at this point in life where people I personally know are getting married. So cringe, so surreal. Time actually flew by and I hate that it did. Bittersweet doesn’t even cover it.

A Detailed File about ~ Jane

Team Despair attack for Mod Casino Owner from @place-your-bahts on Team Hope ( @bah-fight )

Name: Jane Prentiss

Pronouns: she/her, they/them, buzz/buzzs

Age: Mid 20s

Gender: Corruptiongender

Orientation: Sapphic-leaning Bi

Role: Paranoia/Anxiety Holder, Self Harm Sponge, Intrusive Thoughts Sponge

Source: The Magnus Archives

Likes: Insects, White Noise (and variants), Old furniture, Dim lighting

Dislikes: Cleaning, Loud Noises, Bright Lights

Aesthetic: Corruption, Cottagegore

Music Taste: White Noise and variants or baroque

Hex code color: #814c20

Front Triggers: Insects, Anxiety/Paranoia, Overwhelming Self Harm/Intrusive Thoughts