#(the cooler daredevil) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellephlox · 2 years

Text

Strawberry Rhubarb

Summary: You get kidnapped by Fisk.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Warnings (please read this entire list before proceeding!): Violence, blood, forced nudity, physical assault, torture, feelings of inadequacy, torture with knife, strong profanity, burning, stabbing, concussion.

A/N: This is set sometime in S2 when Fisk doesn't know for certain that Matt is Daredevil, but he is suspicious of him and definitely doesn't like him.

Also, it's a bit long, so I skimmed it for mistakes, but that's it. I'm at the airport because I have to fly home for a family emergency and I'm too tired to bother reading through critically lol

Everything was pitch black, except for a thin band of light, directly in front of your eyes.

You squinted, thinking at first that it was light coming underneath the bedroom door; had you left the kitchen lights on? But it was too high up to be the floor. Your phone, then. Your phone must have lit up with a notification and you could just see the light underneath it.

And then you realized there was a cloth around your head. For one wild moment, you thought Matt had put his black mask on you, and that this was something intimate that he was initiating, but something about it didn't feel right. The cloth was wrapped too tightly, for one, and the slit of light that you could see suggested that it was ripped in the center, and Matt's mask had no tears in it. Vaguely you remembered walking into the post office to mail out a letter, and something hitting you hard in the back of the head, but everything else was blank.

A gruff voice spoke. "Is she awake, Hanson?"

"Vitals suggest she's conscious," a cool voice responded. "Should I proceed?"

"Yes. You got into her phone?"

"I had Underwood hack it within five minutes. Passcode has been disabled."

"Good. We'll send a warning to to him. From what I anticipate, he'll be willing to come here of his own accord."

Fisk. Dazedly, you placed the voice as Fisk, and the cooler voice as some unnamed assistant. Your heart lurched, thrumming so hard that you thought it might burst out from your ribcage. All rational thoughts had abandoned you; never had you and Matt discussed what to do if someone ever kidnapped you. Sure, you'd had conversations about self-defense and fighting techniques; there had been the random nights that Matt tried in vain to teach you had to send a proper roundhouse kick at an assailant. And of course you'd nagged him about what the plan was if he was to ever get kidnapped by someone he was trying to take down.

But this scenario? It had never even crossed your mind, and the panic of having no idea what to do was gnawing at you.

The person on your left, with the cooler voice — Hanson — stepped forward and ripped off the black mask that was wrapped around your head. You blinked at the blinding light, unable to see for a moment until your eyes adjusted.

Hanson, a wiry man with a receding hairline, was appraising you. He held your phone, and a thrill of fear flashed through you at what texts or photos might be incriminating on there. "Should I send a video, sir? Or would a phone call be more effective?" he asked.

"Underwood's search of Mr. Murdock's files suggest that he has no light perception, though we're still uncertain as to whether forged notes and doctor intervention could have fabricated those documents," Fisk said, his face twitching. "Send an audio message instead. A picture may be a worth a thousand words, but hearing, on the other hand... that's exponentially more powerful, is it not? To be on the safe side; we want to ensure that Mr. Murdock receives our message."

"Understood, sir."

You closed your eyes as your brain tried to catch up with what was happening. If Fisk kidnapped you, did that mean he knew Matt was Daredevil? You tried futilely to think of a way that he could have found out, but came up with nothing. Matt had pissed Fisk off recently; he'd told you that things had gone sideways when they spoke together, and it ended with fists flying.

But he couldn't know Matt was Daredevil. You told yourself this over and over again in an attempt to calm yourself down. Besides, you didn't have hardly any texts with Matt that they could read, you realized — you had mercifully cleaned out your phone to get more storage just the other day. That also meant you'd saved your photos to a different drive and deleted them off your phone. Hope burgeoned in your chest.

Matt's identity isn't entirely doomed because I was stupid enough to get kidnapped.

"You may begin, Hanson," Fisk said, folding his hands together, and the same lightning strike of panic went to your core.

"Wait." Your mouth was dry from disuse. Playing dumb had to be the best course of action; at least, it was the only plan you could think of in your muddled state. "I can give you money, I swear, I have cash in my wallet — you can take my credit cards, I don't care, please just let me go." The end of your sentence finished with a sob, and you didn't need to act at all for that to come out naturally.

"If Murdock comes on your behalf, then we'll let you go," Hanson said flatly. "You'd better hope that your boyfriend truly cares about you."

"Boyfriend?" You drew in your eyebrows. "I swear, I know of Murdock — friend of a friend, invited a few of us over to his place once or twice — but I have nothing to do with him! If he's involved in something illegal — or, I don't know, something with you folks — I don't know about it, please believe me — just let me go—"

Fisk sat down on the chair in front of you, settling himself in slowly. His eyes bored a hole into your skull and you couldn't help but look down at his shoes. "You think I do things lightly, Miss L/N?"

"I don't know. I don't know who you are or what you do."

"I've always found that those who are methodical will always win. Funny, really, that Aesop could articulate such a fundamental principle with a puerile story. When I was a boy, I wanted the hare to win. I didn't think it was fair that the tortoise should enjoy victory when it was the hare who seemingly had the predisposition, the potential, the skillset to win. But I learned. I discovered, through my own folly and mistakes, that it is not the person with the most resources who gets to the top. It's the one who strategizes, the one who is thorough."

"I don't understand." You were shaking where you sat; you could feel the muscles in your hands jumping as tension stretched taut through you.

"Let me spell it out for you, Miss L/N. When I want to win, I take my time. And I took my time in getting to know you. I've seen your family, your yearbook photos, the first job you had. I've read your college recommendations and seen your SAT scores. I've spoken to your therapist and friends. I know the exact day that you began seeing Matthew Murdock and I have footage of all the dates you've ever been on with him. So, when I suggest that you do not try lying to me, I am recommending it for your own sake, lest you want to lose your tongue."

Never had you felt so cornered in your life. Fisk sat in front of you like the opposite of light at the end of the tunnel — he was a black hole, sucking every bit of hope from the room, and in that moment you were certain you would not leave this room alive, and a silent voice within you begged that at least it wouldn't be messy, for Matt's sake.

"Start recording," Fisk ordered, and Hanson picked up your phone. Dread coiled in your stomach as it rang. Based on where the sun was in the sky, you'd been gone for awhile and it was unlikely that Matt was already wondering where you were. He'd receive and listen to any audio file sent to his phone almost immediately.

The way Fisk's eyes settled, calm and snakelike, on you made your heart freeze. "Y/N, say hello to Mr. Murdock."

You said nothing. Obeying him, putting your voice onto that audio message, felt like a betrayal of sorts. Maybe it was just the headache speaking, from where you'd been knocked out, but it felt all kinds of wrong to open your mouth and follow through with Fisk's intentions.

"Hanson, encourage her to speak," he said.

Hanson did not hesitate. He took out a knife and pressed it to the tip of your thumb. "Speak, or your thumb will be a centimeter shorter."

"Hello, Mr. Murdock," you parroted back, despising yourself with every word and shivering at what Matt would say when he heard the audio file. At what he would think of you. You knew he wouldn't blame you for getting kidnapped, but still, you hated that now you were just another burden for him — another person to save.

"Give me the phone, Hanson," Fisk said. He took your phone (if you made it out of this mess, you would definitely be sanitizing it) and spoke slowly. "I hope that this is enough of an incentive for you to stand down. You see, this is what you brought upon yourself when you decided to bring Vanessa into this. It was a mistake to say her name." He ended the recording and handed the phone back to Hanson. "Send that to Murdock, please."

"Yes, sir."

Once Fisk waved Hanson off, you felt even more apprehensive. You wanted to meet his eyes — to show that you were unafraid, to prove that he was making a mistake in holding you captive — but that was so far from the truth that you didn't dare make eye contact.

"We'll release you in soon," Fisk said, standing up. "I understand that this isn't pleasant for you, and I regret that you must be the way for me to make a point to Murdock."

"You're going to let me go?" you said, stunned.

"This is a long-term game plan, Miss L/N. This isn't like a movie, where we take people and behead them. No, I consider our tactics more mature than that. I intend to keep you long enough to show Murdock what I'm capable of, and to demonstrate to him that he should never again utter Vanessa's name."

"He's a lawyer," you said, your voice shaking. "And a damn good one. You'll be deep in legal trouble, so—"

Fisk laughed. "Do you know where you are right now, Miss L/N?"

You glanced around the room for the first time. Barren, cement walls, no windows. "A... lair of some kind?"

"As I said before, we are not children, playing out some movie," Fisk said. "No, this is a prison. A prison that I am in control of, as Murdock discovered when he visited to inquire about one Mr. Castle. You can rest assured that the extent of my control goes far beyond the walls of this prison, and the courtrooms are not exempt." He took a step forward and placed his hand on your head. You closed your eyes, trembling, as his palm brushed your hair, as though curious to know what the texture was.

"I apologize, Miss L/N, that you have been caught in this war between your boyfriend and myself." And then, without any warning, he swung a fist so hard into your abdomen that you choked aloud, all of the breath gone from your chest. There was no reprieve before he swung again, and you tried to curl up but the restraints around you made it impossible; you could only heave for breath.

That was only the beginning.

Once Fisk left, you didn't see him for a long time. He had said that you would be released "soon", but you quickly learned that was a subjective term; at least a few days passed with no word of him. You tried to tell time from when you were given food — which was sparing and meagre. Though you were no longer tied to the chair you had woken up in, the room was small enough that you still felt suffocated, and you could do nothing but sit on the corner, back aching, and wait.

At first, it wasn't that bad, as far as kidnappings went (at least, in your imagination). You were hungry, and not nearly enough water was provided, but that was the worst of it, aside from the discomfort of sleeping on a wooden bench. Your bones felt as though they were bruised all over and you were sore from shivering; your shoulders especially were taut from pain of being clenched for so long in the cold. The hunger, while throbbing at first, subsided to a dull feeling that you could attempt to ignore, and the headache gave you something to think about, at least, during the empty hours in the room.

Every thump that you heard, every shout... you couldn't help but hope that it was Matt, there to rescue you. There was a small part of you that began to doubt that he'd be able to make his way to you, let alone find you, as another few hours passed without anything happening.

Or maybe he'd cut his losses and was going to leave you there.

No, don't be dumb. That was ridiculous. Matt loved you. You loved him.

Oh, but what if you're just temporary for him? He could always go back to Elektra. Besides, Elektra at least wouldn't be weak enough to get kidnapped, you thought derisively. It would frankly be justified if Matt went back to her. He deserved someone who could keep up with him.

Maybe it was the dehydration that made your thoughts spiral even more, or maybe it was the exhaustion, because you only convinced yourself further that he wasn't coming, and that he had elected to leave you there.

I'm annoying. I'm always waiting for him, I'm always clinging to him, I'm like a leech that won't go away. He's probably realized how nice it is to have a break from me.

Or maybe he's met another lawyer. Someone really smart, someone who got a 180 on her LSAT and gives him a run for his money.

Karen, maybe. He always liked Karen. She's courageous, and passionate, and literally a model, and so much better for him than I am.

You were so lost in your own self-loathing that you didn't hear Hanson enter and started so violently that you gasped aloud when he spoke.

"Y/N, we're beginning a new recording."

"What?"

"Mr. Fisk would like a new recording to be sent to Mr. Murdock. Say hello."

This time, you kept your jaw firmly shut. It wasn't even out of a refusal to obey Hanson, but more out of your own reluctance to say anything to Matt, because you detested the idea of being even more of a burden on him.

This time, Hanson didn't wait for you to cooperate. He took out his knife and expertly swiped it near your upper arm, so quickly that at first you thought he missed, until a fiery sting flared, followed by the trickle of something warm.

Yet you remained silent.

"I might suggest you speak, Y/N. The quicker you talk, the less pain there will be, and Mr. Murdock won't have to receive quite as lengthy of a recording."

Feeling inspired, you spat at his feet. Hanson was quick to react — he flipped the knife up so that the tip was pressing into the back of your ear. "Did you hear me? Say hello to him."

When you said nothing, he applied pressure to the knife, and it began to cut through your skin; you couldn't help but gasp out loud, panic beginning to set in as red drips started to flow down your neck.

He's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear—

"Hello!" you cried out finally, wincing at the stinging residue left where the knife had been.

"Good." Hanson tucked the knife away. "It makes things easier, doesn't it?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment before switching back to the phone. "Mr. Murdock, I'm undressing your girlfriend now. Don't worry, we don't intend to violate her."

"What?" you demanded. "You're not undressing me!"

Hanson ignored you. He took his knife and ripped your shirt open, removing every bit of fabric from you — including undergarments — until you were shivering, goosebumps crawling up your flesh where you made contact with the cold wood of the chair. You tried to cover yourself to no avail; the cuffs made it nearly impossible to give yourself ample cover. With no other choice but to sit in the chair and wait for Hanson to leave, you closed your eyes as tears rose.

Do not cry in front of him. Distract yourself. Ask him a question, get him talking.

"Why undress me?" you asked finally. "What's your endgame here?"

"Mr. Fisk wants you to understand the power he holds," he said smoothly. "And he wants Mr. Murdock to stop interfering. A show of power, especially with humiliation, is apropos for that sort of message, isn't it?"

"Fuck you."

"That's not the kind of diplomacy we're looking for."

"I don't care. Fuck you and your stupid messages. You're torturing someone who's got nothing to do with any of your shit, and as far as I'm aware, Matt was only fulfilling a legal obligation to talk to Fisk. You're making a mistake."

"Was it his 'legal obligation' to mention Vanessa to Mr. Fisk? No? Then, I am sorry to say, we are justified in our actions." Hanson twirled the knife and drove it downwards, faster than the blink of an eye, into the top of your hand.

This time, you screamed. And it wasn't the only scream, either — when you glanced down, and saw the blade of the knife gouged straight through the top of your hand, staking your entire arm to the wooden chair, you screamed again, throat so raw that it felt as though it were tearing, because God, the pain, make it stop, there was no way that one little blade could make you feel as though you were being torn apart, atom-by-atom—

"Mr. Murdock, I hope you've made it to the end of this message, because Mr. Fisk has something he'd like to say to you," Hanson said, unconcernedly straightening his tie. "Never bring Vanessa into this again, ever. Good day."

He clicked the end button on your phone and typed a few buttons as he delivered the audio file.

And that was the last thing you saw. Your tunneling vision collapsed altogether and the wooziness of looking at the blood streaming down your fingers took your consciousness.

When you awoke next, everything was pitch black. The light that used to stream in from the hallway was gone. You couldn't see your hand, not that you particularly wanted to, but it felt hot and irritated, though the blood around it had clotted. That was the one good thing, you supposed, though you had a suspicious that the heat around it was not as good. But maybe heat was good. Like a fever — fevers meant that the cells were killing the bad cells, right? Perhaps the same principle applied to knives-in-hands.

Then again, you weren't sure how straight you were thinking at the moment.

Every so often Hanson would enter, leaving you squinting in the jarring yellow light that he brought with him. Best case scenario, he'd add a cut to your collection, taking the tip of a new knife he had to make you bleed. Worst case scenario he tried something new — choking you, grazing your foot with a lighter. Either way, you learned to be obedient, and whenever the recording started, you said hello to Matt, just as he wanted you to.

And then, as time blurred and warped into a funhouse kaleidoscope of nonsense, you were no longer in that room. You didn't even remember being taken out of it. One moment you were lying on the floor, trembling uncontrollably from the cold, and the next... you were being handled roughly, thrown down, and left alone. The roar of a vehicle beside you was loud enough that you opened your eyes.

Water. There was water near you. The Hudson? The wood beneath you was damp, like a dock.

And next to you, sitting silently, was your phone. Hands shaking, you reached out, wincing at the throb of pain and at the gaping dark wound where the knife had apparently been extracted from your hand.

It was your phone. You stared at it, unsure of what to do. Was this a test? Did Fisk leave you here as torture?

Or was this your chance to escape?

Which, at the moment, felt unlikely. Your legs weren't moving. You could hardly lift your head, for whatever reason, and you were so damn cold that it made you want to fall asleep where you were, no matter how damn uncomfortable the dock was.

Or... you could call Matt.

Matt. You wanted to cry at the thought of him. Why hadn't he come for you? He probably was tired of how needy you were, how incapable, how useless compared to Elektra. But you stared at the contacts in your phone, then at the various cuts on your body. There was no one else to call.

You clicked his name, unsure of whether he'd pick up, but on the very first ring his voice was there. It sounded like an ethereal tether, anchoring you back to a reality that you hadn't been to in days, not since before you had been kidnapped.

"Y/N?" Matt said, almost breathless.

God, you missed his voice. And being in his arms. Suddenly you wanted to sob, just at hearing him, because hearing him meant everything would be alright. Matt's voice was comfort, it was home.

"Y/N, are you there?" he said, this time more insistent.

Right. Answering him would be a good idea.

"Matt?" you said weakly, taken aback by the sound of your own voice. It sounded like someone had taken your voice box, air-fried it, left it in the desert, then thrown some shards of glass in for good measure.

"I'm here, I'm here, sweetie. Where are you? Are you okay? What can you see?"

"I..." Something was pulsing behind your eyes, and it was distracting. You closed them to alleviate the pressure. "I... what?"

"Sorry. One question at a time." Matt was speaking slower, now, and you were glad for it. "Are you hurt?"

"Mm. Probably. But I'll be okay." Worrying him seemed like the wrong thing to do. You'd be fine, of course you would be, because it would be embarrassing if you weren't fine. The thought of having to be rescued as well as being incapable of getting up and brushing off your knees was alarming.

"Y/N, I need you to look around and tell me what you see. I'm going to try to find you. Is that water I can hear in the back?"

"I'm... by the Hudson, I think." You tried lifting your head, but it sent electric bolts of pain down your neck. "Ow. I'm having a hard time looking."

"That's okay, sweetheart, you're doing great. What else can you see?"

"Streetlamps. Dock."

"Okay. Anything else?" There was rustling in the background of the call, then the telltale squeaking of Matt's apartment door. Was he headed to work? No, it was dark out, you reminded yourself. It was too late to go to work. He was headed for Josie's, maybe. Or to go see Elektra.

"Y/N, are you there? Don't fall asleep. Stay awake, listen to my voice."

You jolted upright, unaware that you'd been drifting. "Sorry. I'm here."

"The phone isn't picking up much of the audio, but I'm headed in your general direction. Keep talking to me, Y/N. I need you to stay awake."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protested.

Though sleep did sound really nice. You didn't even notice the cold anymore, and you were glad you were in the shadows of night, because if anyone found you, naked and laying there on the dock, you'd surely get arrested. Was it a felony to be naked in public? You couldn't remember.

And your hand, it hurt so much, it felt as though it were numb and on fire at the same time. You scratched at it, but it only made it throb more, and then you could feel the warm stickiness that suggested it was bleeding again, so you let it fall back down onto the wood and stared up at the few stars bright enough to penetrate the haze of New York City.

And then your eyes were shut, and you were reluctantly opening them as a sharp voice commanded something of you in the background.

"What?" you asked, trying to remember where you were. Right. The dock. Waiting for Matt, presumably. Was he coming? That didn't seem certain.

"Y/N, talk to me. You've got to stay awake. I think you've lost a lot of blood."

"Talk... 'bout what?"

"Tell me about the nearest building to you."

"Mm. Okay." You swung your gaze to the right. "Um, there's a bottle." And it was a big bottle. At first you weren't sure if you were hallucinating, but it was definitely there, and bottle-shaped. Art, you realized. A sculpture of some sort. "Big bottle. Big, big bottle."

"You're amazing, sweetheart. I know exactly where you are. I'll be there in five minutes, alright?" He didn't wait for your thoughts to drift. "Talk to me about your plans for Thanksgiving. You had plans for us, right?"

"Right." You struggled to think of Thanksgiving. It felt like eons ago that you'd been mapping out the holiday, like you were a different person entirely last you'd thought of it. "I want... homemade cranberry sauce. Not the jar stuff."

"Right. What's wrong with the jar stuff?"

You were exhausted; it was too tough of a question to answer coherently. You opted to ignore the question and moved on. "Mashed potatoes. With toppings."

"What kinds of toppings?"

"Um." Thinking was making your head hurt even more. "Butter? I don't know. Matt, it hurts." The admission slipped from your mouth before you could check it.

Stupid, you've got to keep him from worrying, he needs to think that you're alright, he can't know that it hurts.

"I know, I know it does, I'm going as fast as I can go," Matt said, and you assumed he must have been telling the truth — he sounded out of breath and his speech was punctuated with running footsteps.

It began to rain. It was a cold rain, the kind that felt as though it should be snow but the temperature wasn't quite low enough. It splattered across your skin and reminded you of the fact that you were naked. "Matt, I'm naked," you informed him, blinking as you looked down at your body. Blood was all over you; it was difficult to see where Hanson had targeted you. The burn on your foot was making itself known as it got wet in the rain, and you bit your tongue to keep from crying out.

But he didn't sound surprised. "I heard. In the audio file. I've got clothing for you."

Oh, yes. The audio files. How much of your kidnapping had Matt been privy to hear? You weren't sure if you wanted to know.

"What vegetable were you thinking?" he prompted.

Your eyes drifted open. "Well... that depends. What d'you want?"

"Whatever you want to have."

"Not fair," you objected, voice slurring slightly. It was annoying, trying to keep up with the conversation; you wanted nothing more than to sleep, even with the rain now pattering hard on your face. "I guess... peas are nice. Peas are Thanksgiving-y."

"I like peas. My dad used to make them all the time — he'd buy them frozen, heat the whole bag up at once, and melt butter in it. Then we'd keep it in the fridge for a week and it would be our sole source of a vegetable."

"Mm. Butter peas," you repeated. "I'll do that. What... what's your..." The word wouldn't come to your lips, and you paused for a few seconds. "Favorite pie?"

"Strawberry rhubarb," he said, but this time, the voice wasn't coming from the phone, but above you. Everything felt foggy, though, and for a moment all you could think was that there was a man above you, and that it had to be Hanson — Fisk must have wanted to take you back, and they were here to take you again, and please, you couldn't do this again—

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's me." The voice above you was Matt's, and his face came into focus as he kneeled next to you with a wavering smile. You drew in a breath, ignoring the stab of pain in your chest.

"Matt?"

"I've got you," he said, pulling you up into his arms. "I have you."

You couldn't help it; tears began to flow, because Matt's arms were so strong and safe, the exact thing you had longed for all that time in the cell. You could still feel your heart racing wildly and you tried to draw another breath to calm down.

Matt's head was tilted as he surveyed you. He must have left the apartment in a hurry, because he hadn't bothered to put on the red suit, or even the black outfit. He was still in his work pants, with an untucked collared button-down and a tie that was loose enough that it looked ready to fall off him. The only part of his ensemble that he'd put on was the black mask.

And, dammit, even lying in the rain naked and injured, you were still able to appreciate how good he looked.

"Okay." Matt's head was still tilted, and you realized he was appraising you. "Okay. We're going to be okay, sweetheart."

We. You felt a rush of affection for him, and reached outwards weakly with your uninjured hand. He took it, squeezing hard. "I'm here, Y/N." He took off a backpack that you hadn't noticed yet and helped you to sit up, slipping one of his larger tee shirts over your head as though you were a lifeless doll. You didn't mind the help; you wouldn't have had the energy to do it on your own.

He was exceedingly careful. His hands skated over the parts of your body that hurt the most, precisely aware of where he should and shouldn't touch in order to not aggravate the wounds. When it came time to putting on the pants, he practically lifted you up before putting your arm around his neck so that you wouldn't topple over as he pulled your pajama pants on you.

"Thanks," you murmured. "Sorry... sorry I'm useless."

He kissed your cheek gently, and then picked you up, carrying you away from the dock. "You're never useless. Never. I was..." He drew in a breath. "This past week has been hell. I tried to get into that prison dozens of times, but Fisk had it guarded so well that I couldn't — I'm sorry, sweetheart, I did everything I could — but it was a fortress. And the law couldn't help, the police couldn't help, because they've all been corrupted, and — well, I'll tell you when you're better."

You wiped roughly at your face with your good hand. "Can we go home? I'm... I'm scared he'll come back, that they'll try to take me again — I don't want to go back there. He knows I'm here, Matt, they dropped me off here, they know."

"We're going home," he promised, and then his face darkened. "If they ever even try to talk to you again, let alone touch you..." He broke off. "The point is, they won't. I will never let this happen again, do you hear me?" He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, a bit more roughly, as the anger broiling beneath the surface for Fisk crested slightly. "How are you feeling right now? Are you able to walk?"

"I'm fine." You shifted slightly. "I can walk." It was an ambitious offer, though. You were struggling to keep your head up and you weren't sure how long you could stay upright.

Matt exhaled. "I've already texted Claire. She's going to come to the apartment. You... you've been through a lot, sweetie. You've lost a lot of blood." He helped you to your feet, and you clutched at him, swaying uncertainly. It only took one step forward for you to yelp, as your burned foot seared in protest, and without another word Matt took you up in his arms.

"I'm fine," you insisted. "You don't have to carry me, really. I can walk."

Matt's face twisted. "No. You're... you're not in good shape, sweetheart. I can take it from here."

You didn't answer. His tone was more serious than you were anticipating, which suggested you'd underestimated your own injuries. The exhaustion that followed seemed to corroborate that. It was hard enough staying awake on the dock, but now, in the warmth of Matt's arms, and with the rhythmic jostling as he walked you away from the Hudson, it was enough to make the black start to descend on your vision again.

"Y/N, hey, stay awake. Don't fall asleep," Matt was saying, but as much as you wanted to listen to him, the heaviness won out, and you passed out, into a heavy blackness lined with the velvet curtains of dreamlessness.

Moments flickered in and out.

Claire's face. Determined, stoic, and at times, anxious. You wanted to say hello, or to say that you were fine, but your lips were lead and no sound emerged.

Then Foggy. Attempted smiles, cracked jokes that you couldn't hear or retain. Doughnuts, you noticed once, hazily drifting in and out.

Karen was there. Beautiful Karen, who you couldn't help but envy. Sitting beside you, reading beside you silently, glancing up at you.

And, of course, Matt's face. Constantly worried, constantly seeking out the sounds of your heart or wounds, fingers dancing over you to check for invisible damage. Sometimes he was sleeping in the chair next to you. Or he'd be pacing in the living room. Sometimes he had his work out with him, his fingers running over the braille keys as they popped up, but still his head was always slightly tilted towards you, keeping watch.

And then...

Hanson's voice.

You jolted upright, heart leaping into your chest as you glanced around wildly, certain that you'd see Hanson's polished shoes crossing the floor towards you.

"Shit, shit, sorry!" someone was saying, and you jarred your neck as you turned to face Foggy, who was guiltily setting down your phone. "I'm so sorry, Y/N!"

"Y/N?" Matt was next to you; how long had he been there? His face was anxious and he was holding your hand. "I'm sorry. Foggy and I were listening back through the audio files, trying to find clues as to where Hanson might be — if there's a chance we can go after him legally, Foggy thinks we should take it."

"He's... he's not here?" you said, uncertain, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline.

"No. No, he's not." Matt was looking at you sadly, his eyes almost locked onto your gaze but just a bit high on your forehead, and the near guise of eye contact made a rush of embarrassment flow through you.

"My bad," you said, struggling to sit up. "It just... took me by surprise, I guess, hearing his voice again."

"No one blames you," Foggy said automatically. "Jesus, slow down, Y/N — you nearly died of hypovolemia."

"Foggy's right." Matt settled onto the bed next to you. "Rest, stay laying down. You've been out for awhile."

"How long is awhile?"

"Awhile," was all he said.

"Did I... did I miss Thanksgiving?"

Matt's expression told you all that you needed to know. You groaned and flopped back onto your pillow, which was a mistake; your skull resounded with the impact and stars floated above you.

"You need to take it easy," Matt was saying, concern in his eyes. "You're not unbreakable, Y/N."

"Think I figured that out on my own," you muttered, shielding your eyes as the sun glinted off of the window. "Shit. I missed Thanksgiving."

"Not really," Foggy said. "We're postponing it. Homemade cranberry sauce and buttery peas will still be on."

His words tickled a faint memory in the back of your head, of lying in a dock and talking almost incoherently with Matt on the phone. "Aw. You two talked about... the plans? While I was out?"

"It was that or talk about the latest legal precedent issues that are making life hell for us at the office," Matt said, smiling. "But we would never do Thanksgiving without you." He rubbed his thumb gently against the top of your hand, avoiding the bandage where the skin was sensitive. You didn't even want to think about what that wound looked like.

"I'll have to run to the grocery store soon, then," you said. "And we have to buy a crock pot, Matt. And we need—"

"We need you to get better, first," he cut in. "Claire left some medication for you. You should take it now."

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"Matt, whenever I tell you to take your meds, you brush me off and say that you're fine." You tried to push yourself up onto your elbows. "I want to get ready, I want to get out of this bed — I feel like I've been out of commission for so long."

But Matt gently stopped you from getting up. "Sweetie, Foggy wasn't lying. You almost died. I need you to get better, okay? Rest, and heal. I'll be here."

"But—"

"Get some sleep," he whispered, and it wasn't really that unappealing an idea. You slowly lowered yourself back onto the pillow, this time avoiding the mistake of flopping backwards.

"Okay," you said finally, sleep already taking you. "But... I want to do two desserts, okay? One strawberry rhubarb."

"And the other?"

"Devil's food cake," you murmured, closing your eyes. "'Cause it'd be funny."

As you finally fell asleep, the last thing you heard was Matt's laugh.

#matt murdock x fem!reader #matt #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #mcu #marvel

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amberlynnmurdock · 5 months

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My Escape

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: The one time Matt is her escape in a loud situation, and she's his when he has a rough night as Daredevil.

From this lovely anon's request!

I hope I did your request justice, anon friend!

Warnings: anxiety symptoms described, gunshot sound

Words: Just under 2k

*not my gif, credit to owner*

Matt Murdock could take a beating—he could threaten a criminal over the edge of a roof without remorse and he could speak threats like they were prayers. One thing he couldn’t take? If she was feeling uncomfortable in any situation, in any way.

Matt was sitting across from her at Josie’s—they hadn’t reached that point in their relationship where there was a label and for that matter, if one saved the other one a seat at the table at Josie’s—and he was waiting for a moment to ask her if everything was okay. Foggy and Karen were playfully arguing about who should play winner at the pool table. Marci was taking a work call. But her?

She was anxiously drawing circles on the condensation of her beer bottle. She was looking around the bar, for nothing in particular, but for a sense of safety. She doesn’t need to worry about that, Matt thinks to himself. I’m here. Her knee was tapping at an incredible speed against her seat. No one else could feel it, but Matt could feel the vibrations through the floor up to his chair. Her heart was beating so fast it sounded like a loud thumping to Matt’s ears. She looked around again, biting her lip, flinching when she heard a group of men shout over at the TV.

Having enough of the environment, she excused herself from the table.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, barely at a volume anyone could hear her. Foggy and Karen didn’t acknowledge her exit and Marci stayed on the phone. Matt cocked his head to listen to where she was going—the bathroom.

She’d have to walk past a large group of bikers, ignoring their ogling glances and pushing past their rough leather jackets. Excuse me, Matt heard her politely say. His grip on his beer bottle tightened as he heard what some of them said under their breath. Immediately, Matt got out of his seat to follow her to the bathroom to make sure she was safe.

She closed the door behind her and stood back against it, eyes closed.

“Breathe,” she whispered to herself. She took a few deep breaths and felt her heart palpitating in her chest. Suddenly, she felt hot in her clothes and for moment thought she was going to pass out. Did I hydrate enough today? She placed a hand over her heart to calm herself down. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. Your friends are right outside.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Matt heard her whisper to herself. He was standing a few feet from the door, holding his cane in his hands, waiting for her.

After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and fixed her hair—the only thing she felt in control of.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Matt waiting for her.

“Matt,” she was startled. Relief washed over her like cold water, and suddenly she felt like she had come back down to reality.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, offering a smile. “You want to step outside for a sec?”

“I’d love that,” she breathed out.

It was much cooler outside than the dingy inside of the bar. The loud noises that came from the biker gang and other drunkards were nothing but muffled sounds as the door closed. Only the sounds of the city at night filled the space between them. Matt let her take a moment to herself as she leaned against the brick wall of the building and closed her eyes. He stood right next to her so his left shoulder was touching her right. He played with his cane in his hands, wondering when the right moment to speak would come. The last time it was the two of them, his hands had gotten lost in the tangles of her hair as they shared their first kiss. She had been so relaxed and carefree. Now, she was anxious and quiet. He wanted to show her that he could be the one she stole kisses from and the one who would be there for her when she wasn’t feeling herself.

Instead, Matt didn’t say anything. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed. He moved his cane to rest against the wall and gently trailed his fingers around her wrist until his hand was completely holding hers. She accepted it with gratitude, melting into his touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. Matt wanted to hide the smile on his face, but he couldn’t. Her head fit perfectly on his shoulder.

“I had a feeling something was wrong,” he mumbled. “Thought you could use a break from inside.”

“I just get overwhelmed,” she sighed. “Too much noise for my brain to comprehend all at once. And then I feel unsafe and like I’m going to pass out. Do you ever feel overwhelmed?”

Matt chuckled in irony—did he ever. She didn’t know about his heightened senses, but he could relate to her in so many ways. He’s learned to turn off certain sounds but sometimes, and especially at night, he could never have a completely quiet night.

“Yes,” was all he said. “I do. All the time.”

“Well,” she picked up her head, the warmth immediately disappearing from Matt’s shoulder. “If you ever get overwhelmed, don’t be afraid to come to me to escape.”

Matt doesn’t reply with words—instead, he places a kiss on her forehead. As long as she was his escape, he’d gladly be hers.

****

Matt hated guns.

He really hated guns.

Once a shot rang, the sound bounced against the walls and reverberated in his ears, throwing his whole balance off. Normally, he could shake it off, but tonight, the sound stayed. It stayed longer than when he left the alley it went off in. It stayed longer than it took to apprehend the gang member and throw him on the steps of the 15th Precinct. Now, as Matt patrolled the streets of Hell’s Kitchen in his Daredevil gear, he couldn’t control how loud the noises were in his ears.

Everything sounded sharp—high pitched in his ears, the kind that happened after attending a loud concert, the kind that stayed around for hours. Unfortunately for his case, it was ten times worse than the normal sound. Because his hearing was tuned up, it confused him when he smelt the different scents of the city—and believe him when he says they are the worst. Pungent garbage filled his nose, slick bitter pavement, rusting metal he can taste in the air.

It was hard to find his way to her apartment. Now that she knew his secret, she told him her apartment was his for free reign if he ever needed her. He tried not to burden her with his problems as Daredevil—knowing his secret was enough of a burden—so he saved his tickets to go to her apartment when he was desperately in need of her touch. Like he was tonight.

It was past midnight. He landed on her fire escape and tried his best to hear what she was doing through the windows of her apartment—dammit, the noises of the city were still too loud. He could barely hear anything coming from her apartment. Was she sleeping? Was she awake? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Suddenly, his cowl and mask felt too tight around his head, like it was squeezing him until he burst. Matt grunted in frustration as he placed his hands on his helmet.

“Hey, hey,” the sound of a sliding window filled his ears. Matt flinched from the noise but immediately relaxed when he realized it was her, awake. “Come in.”

She reached for him to grab her hands, and when she saw him struggle to find her touch, she knew it had been a rough night for him as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Her city’s protector. Her savior. She leaned out the window more and took hold of his strong hands, which now felt so delicate and weak in hers. She helped him step inside, careful not to knock her potted plants over.

Matt let her guide him to her soft velvet couch. He was too weak and distraught from the gunshot to be able to guide himself. She gently lowered him to sit down, still holding his hands. She placed them in her lap and caressed his calloused, bruised knuckles. She winced at the sight of how purple and red they were, but continued to caress them. She had to be the stronger one now.

“Rough night?” She whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed weakly. “Someone—had a gun,” he uttered, still hearing things all too loudly. She knew how much he hated guns—his sensitive hearing would be affected for hours. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was dealing with now, much worse than the bruises she saw on his hands.

His face was still beneath the red mask, only his nose and mouth visible. It was probably even worse to be constricted in his suit like this.

“Let’s get you out of this,” she hushed, knowing even the sound of her voice could make his sense feel worse. She slowly lifted his mask with her thumbs and popped it gently off his face. He looked dazed, now that his senseless eyes were visible. His hair was disheveled from the mask. She brushed her fingers through his chocolate brown locks and he closed his eyes.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Listen to my heart.”

Matt closed his eyes, using all his might to focus his hearing on hers. His ears were still ringing, but soon, after much concentration on the sound of her voice and steady heartbeat, the ringing finally began to fade. His senses went from feeling like a circus to a calm, still river. It was so quiet, that he could even hear his own breathing. And the smells… the smells of the city faded as her scent of lilies and marshmallows filled his nose in the most pleasant way. Everything was now overwhelmingly her.

She placed her forehead against his, the tips of their noses touching. She kept her hand on the back of his head and caressed his neck.

“Breathe with me,” she whispered. “Breathe with me.”

“I am,” Matt was finally able to hear his own voice, the sound of the gunshot ringing completely gone.

“You’re here with me,” she murmured, her lips brushing over his as she spoke. Matt nodded, foreheads still touching. Now that he was touching her, her entire being was encapsulating his senses. His world became her. His reality became her. An escape he never wanted to come back from.

“What do you hear?” She asked gently, nudging her nose on his cheek.

“You,” he breathed. “Just you.”

“Feel better?” She asked when she noticed his breathing had slowed down. He nodded.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

She kissed him in response, letting her lips linger on his. They tasted salty from his sweat, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care what state he was in—she’d always kiss him. Soon, she asked if he wanted to spend the night with her in her apartment. Matt never agreed to anything faster. After a few moments on the couch, trading touches and chasing kisses, they went to her bedroom, where Matt truly understood what it meant she said they could be each other’s escape.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #request #anon request #my escape #charlie cox

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sciderman · 4 months

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Decided to read Mark Waids Daredevil run, and I got to the Daredevil/Spider-Man/Black Cat two-parter "Devil and the details", starting with The Amazing Spider-man #677 and wow, you weren't kidding when you called Peter socialy inept and utterly sexless...

(For context he just got dumped)

im always right about peter unfortunately

(i always hope that 616 peter will prove me wrong but often he doesn’t)

i do like to think that 616 peter parker is actually cooler than this. i think sometimes he is. but a lot of writers like to have him be as incel as possible (it’s the projection) and i really think it isn’t true to his character because that boy has had girls falling at his feet since the 60s. fact is peter had SO much more rizz in the 60s than he has presently. I don’t think he’s ever been a casanova at all but he’s just kind of inexplicably had dumb luck when it comes to hot people wanting to date him. he’s never had to try that hard.

#sci speaks #sci talks comics

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daresplaining · 5 months

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hi! long time admirer of your blog! is there any particular reason why matt (specifically) pretends he's dead when something goes fucked up in his life? is it as a result of trauma or a past experience 'cause i have yet to figure it out myself. thanks in advance! hope you're having a wonderful day!

Hi, and thank you!

That's a really interesting question. To my memory, Matt has never psychoanalyzed himself on-panel about this, so I suppose it's up to us.

The short answer is that each faked death tends to be tied to the specific circumstances that surround it, as well as Matt's state of mind at the time, but there are noticeable patterns. (I'll do a quick run-through of The Deaths of Matt Murdock, but here's a more comprehensive (though not quite up-to-date) overview for anyone unfamiliar.)

His earliest faked deaths were more about pragmatism than anything, and had to do with protecting-- or simplifying-- his secret identity. His very first, of course, was "killing" Mike, which he presented as just being a matter of convenience. The Mike identity, while fun, had outlived its purpose and was starting to cause Matt trouble in his relationships with Karen and Foggy, in addition to just being a tiring logistical nightmare. (Also, Mike was cooler than Matt and that just wouldn't do.) There wasn't much forethought to his decision, he just encountered a situation in which Daredevil (Mike) would be in danger and suddenly thought, "Hey, what if he died?"

Matt (thinking): I just thought of something! ...The nuttiest idea I've ever had! But, if I can pull it off...it'll end my triple-identity bit...forever!" Daredevil vol. 1 #41 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, John Tartaglione, and Sam Rosen

Matt's second faked death came about when supervillain Starr Saxon discovered his secret identity. This threat to his double life brought out feelings of resentment that Matt had been harboring toward his civilian identity since issue 1. In these early years, in an effort to hide his powers and superheroics, Matt turned his mild-mannered alter ego into an exaggerated caricature of a blind person, played at being helpless, prevented himself from acting on his feelings toward Karen Page, and dialed down his personality. He believed that this was necessary, but he also hated it and found it stifling. Added to this was his overall bitterness toward the ableism he had experienced since his accident, and the sense that the world around him viewed him as helpless (Matt mentions in an issue shortly afterward that his least favorite sentiment is pity). Thus, at this point, he saw the Matt Murdock identity as a prison, and the Daredevil identity as liberation, and so he grasped at the idea of faking his (Matt Murdock's) death not just as a way to counter Starr Saxon's threats, but also as an opportunity to finally rid himself of an identity that he actively disliked.

Matt: "My problem isn't Daredevil--and never was! It was always Matt--the blind lawyer--the hapless, helpless invalid! He's been my plague...since the day I first donned a costume! Then, let Matt Murdock no longer exist!!" Daredevil vol. 1 #53 by Stan Lee, Roy Thomas, Gene Colin, George Klein, and Artie Simek

Fortunately, Matt largely got over this resentment after he stopped putting his different identities into such rigid boxes. He does occasionally give up one or the other of his identities from time to time, but we don't see him actively killing an identity out of hatred again. Which is...certainly a positive sign in regards to Matt's overall mental health.

Instead, in the decades since the Starr Saxon incident, Matt's faked deaths have tended to revolve around two vital needs: the need to escape from something horrible in his life, and the need to protect his loved ones. Sometimes it's more of one, sometimes it's more of the other. In the Nocenti/JRJR run, Matt screws up real bad by cheating on Karen Page (at this point still recovering from her drug addiction and very fragile) with Mary Walker. Matt gets nearly killed by Typhoid Mary, wakes up in the hospital and learns that Karen has discovered his treachery. He finds himself at a crossroads, hating himself for the betrayal, hating the violence in his life and the seeming futility of everything he does, and feeling unable to cope, he abandons his civilian identity, vanishes from the lives of the people who know him, holds a symbolic "funeral" for Matt Murdock, and runs off upstate.

In the Chichester/McDaniel run, Matt ends up with a convenient body double in the wake of a major secret identity scare and decides that it would be best to fake his death in order to protect his loved ones. The only person who knows he's still alive is Maggie, his mother, because Matt goes to her for name suggestions for his new civilian alter ego (she ends up suggesting "Jack").

Maggie: "Oh, Matt, thank god you're alive!" Matt: "No 'Matt', Maggie. Not anymore. That's become a dangerous name for anyone too near to me." Daredevil vol. 1 #325 by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Christie Scheele

After becoming a full-on supervillain in Shadowland, Matt again decides that it's "for the best" if his loved ones think he's dead, and he vanishes off to New Mexico. In this case, the only people he allows to know the truth are Elektra and Ben Urich. Then there's Matt's memorable, utterly bonkers deal with the Kingpin in the second volume of the Waid/Samnee run after his, Foggy's, and Kirsten's lives have been ravaged by one supervillain attack after another:

Matt: "My offer is this: You guarantee the safety of my people, and the identity bell gets unrung. Think of it as a perverse twist on witness protection. Everyone--Foggy, Kirsten, everyone--will be told I'm dead. Meanwhile, you'll give me a new name and identity known only to you. You'll get back the secret you paid for. You'll oversee the plastic surgery so that only you recognize the face. Hell, even I won't see it. Hell, graft the mask to my skin. I won't care." Fisk: "But you'll still be Daredevil." Matt: "That way, you'll always know where I am. How to use me even when I don't think I'm being used. And how to, at any time, take anyone or anything away from me that you don't want me to have." Daredevil vol. 4 #16 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Caramagna

And then, of course, we have our most recent example, in which Matt coped with the chaos of his recent life and the violent death of his brother by using Mike's corpse as a body double and fleeing the city to go fight ninjas with Elektra.

What's interesting about these faked deaths is the gap between the reasoning that Matt offers himself versus the actual reality of what he is doing. Each time, Matt is convinced that his loved ones will be better off, safer, even happier if they think he is dead. And of course, this is not based on nothing. Matt has suffered tremendous loss, and has brought great pain into the lives of the people in his orbit. He lost his father. He accidentally got Elektra's father killed, and then later had Elektra herself die in his arms. He contributed to the circumstances that led to Heather's suicide. One of his villains killed Glori. Another killed Karen Page, and nearly killed his mother. Yet another put Milla in a psychiatric hospital, possibly permanently. His brother just literally died in his place. Foggy's life has been in danger more times than I can list. Matt's story has a towering body count, and he carries that grief with him at all times--particularly in circumstances when his life is in shambles, when enemies are closing in, and when those around him are in the crosshairs or have just survived being there. Of course Matt would think that everyone would be "better off" without him around. In the purest, most practical sense, he's probably not wrong. And so, when he lets his loved ones think he is dead and tells himself it's for their own good, I do think he genuinely believes it.

But of course, that also isn't entirely true or realistic. Sending the people who care about him into mourning again and again is not protecting them. And when you really look closely, it's obvious that Matt's most frequent reason for faking his death is the same reason he clings so strongly to the Daredevil identity despite the pain it has caused him: escape. When Matt feels stressed, under pressure, unable to think, or powerless, he can always put on that suit and hop out the window. And when Matt's world is falling apart and he cannot cope at all and doesn't know what else to do, he abandons his life. He escapes into a different identity. He leaves. In his head it's for the people he loves, but it's clearly also for himself. And as frustrating as this coping mechanism can be as a long-term Daredevil reader, I also love it for how incredibly human it is.

With all of this said, though, I think the funniest answer is that Matt inherited some kind of when-in-doubt-fake-your-death gene from his mom.

#Long post #briefcasejuice #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Asks #Commentary #Adventures in Continuity #ID in alt text #I adore this question. Thank you for sending it!

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sgt-morgan · 2 years

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Angst related to season 2 with elektra coming back and current gf struggling with insecurities regarding her relationship with Matt

Deserving ❤️‍🩹

Summary: You and Matt are in a situationship, and Elektra seems to spell trouble for your budding romance.

Warnings:AFAB & Female identifying reader, angsty, hurt comfort. I am not super versed in the art of angst, and I don’t know what to tag. If you want a warning here it is.

A/N: I hope this satisfied your ask, I want more of them! I hope this is what you wanted!

Daredevil Masterlist

Jesus sweet Christ. She was back. Long black hair, Hot as the ninth level of hell, knows how to kick ass, clever, rich. Not a lot to compete with there, you supposed, she’s just… hotter? It just… didn’t make sense to you, if Matt had access to all… that. Why in the name of all hell was he choosing to date an obnoxious, mouthy, poor, accident prone lawyer with no notable features to mention. It made exactly no sense. You weren’t that serious you supposed, you sort of dated, three real dates, patching a lot of bruises, snuggles on couches, you supposed that you were considered his girlfriend. Maybe not though, I mean Jesus, she is both named and dressed like a mortal combat character. On a good day all you could compare yourself to was someone from street fighter two. How were you to compete? Someone was clearly winning here, and you didn’t feel like it was you.

They had totally fucked too. The body language, the smiles, the communication? They knew each others bodies. No denying chemistry. You were confused about all your feelings too. Was this jealousy? No, it felt more like… resignation? Like okay, hot boyfriend has a super, SUPER hot ex, there’s very obviously some unrequited feeling, you are a worm and they’re bald eagles. Eagles don’t date worms, they consume them then fly off to their hotter eagle-y girlfriends and sometimes maybe reminisce about how good the worm was, before remembering how much cooler their girlfriend was. God, this sucked. But, then again, you remembered them dating in college, and she made Matt miserable for a time. You remembered stories from college, you remembered how long putting Matt back together took for you and Foggy. You remembered how hard he fought being loved. Remembered his belief that he was a terrible person. Remembered the long road back to happiness. Surely, you thought, surely there was no love lost there. She just needed his help, Daredevil’s help. They didn’t want each other. They were like oil and water. It would be fine. You decided to give Matt the benefit of the doubt.

You two worked and acted as if nothing was wrong. However, while for you it was an act, for Matt, he saw it as a sign that he could lean in on what he was trying to accomplish with Elektra. It was taking its toll, but Matt was yet to notice. It was horrible, you felt miserable, and you had no other choice but to simply wait it out. You knew he would make the right choice eventually, but when?

Sometime in the middle of this you’re approached by Jeri Hogarth. It’s a good offer, smart, pays good, right in your wheelhouse, and with a shining endorsement from Jessica Jones. (Or as shining anything Jessica says can get.) It seems tempting, but you don’t accept. You can’t, not when you Foggy, and Matt have built so much. Then he doesn’t show to court.

“Mathew! You can’t just bail on this case! There’s no way we can do it if you’re not-“

“We’re sorry, you’ve run out of time.”

“Damn it!” You slammed your phone down and continued to pace, waiting for Matt but he never showed. You knew about the Roxxon Gala, but with him putting all of your necks on the line for Frank fucking castle, you expected him to show. Not only that, but he’s bailed on dates, she’s staying in his apartment, she looks at you like you’re garbage and Matt just… lets her. Jeri’s offer weighs. It gets more attractive by the hour.

“I’m here!” He cries, finally bursting through the first set of doors, you usher him in, and witness the whispered argument between him and Foggy and don’t really think much of it. One time mistake, he will do better, besides, we’re saving the world here.

Things keep spiraling though, and you’re having to do friendship triage. You have to take the brunt of his and Foggy’s headbutting. It’s obnoxious, when you built this practice, you did it to make your lives better, not ruin your friendships. It’s weighing on you. Matt can tell, and the guilt he feels is unmatched. He just can’t stop. This feels too big too… important. Then one ninja battle too far puts you over the edge.

“Matt! Are you here? We need your he-“ there she is. In his bed. In your clothing. “Oh.” Your voice comes out strained and small. Matt has never heard it that quiet. That defeated.

“Honey it’s not-“ but he doesn’t get that far. Your whole body just… deflates. He can hear the silent tears, feels the shuddering. You’re done. This was the last straw. He can tangibly feel you slipping through his fingers, hears the shatter of your heart and that’s when he knows he’s been a fool. “Oh. Oh my love.” He coos, reached for you, desperate to put back all that he’s broken, trying to stop the sand spilling out the hour glass. You flinch away. His whole heart shatters. Breaks to a million pieces and falls there at your feet.

“Matt I-“ you shrug, a mirthless laugh shudders through your tears. “I don’t even know what to say here.” He drops his head and nodded, properly scolded.

“No. I- I don’t blame you.” He nods, gesturing towards the bedroom. “She was stabbed, it was poison- I… It’s not about that though. I know.”

“Do you?” You sniffle. “I don’t think you do. Matt I-“ You sighed and gathered your things. “I had to help put you back together with my own two hands Matthew, she ruined you, and you’re letting her do it again. I don’t even recognize you anymore. That’s sad Matt, because I was just starting to love you. I’m… I’m done.”

Then, you were gone. Your letter of resignation was on their desks promptly by 7 am, you accepted the job with Jeri Hogarth, and that was it. Matt fucked it all up. He kept fighting, but there, all day every day was this immense pain. He has lost You. You, the woman who every day smiled at him, and made him a coffee, and joked about his night life, you who never once required him to give up a part of himself to save your friendship, you, who had loved him. Loved him completely. He’d lost it all. Then, he lost some more. Frank castle had disappeared, and they had lost the case. Foggy and Karen left, Elektra died. He was all alone.

Then like the warm sun after a long winter, you came. It was the day of Elektra’s funeral.

“You’ve gotta let ‘em all go Matty. It’s time. I’ve told you, over and over, going have to let go of your emotional ties. You’re weak with them.” Stick shrugged, “without them, you could accomplish so much more.”

Matt chuckled bitterly, “No. You’ve taken too much from me already, but you won’t take my heart. Elektra is dead, we defeated the hand for now, but I never would have even thought it was worth it if it weren’t for them. For Elektra, Karen, Foggy. They are worth it. My love for them is worth it.” He shook his head, and tears welled in his eyes. “Y/N was worth it too, and you took that from me, you and Elektra and your little games. You took it from me, and Y/N may hate me. God! I hope she does hate me! She was the one good thing I had Stick, she put back together all those little shattered bits, and built me back into the man I am today. Then, I repay her with this.” He gestures to Elektra’s grave, to the city at large, to himself. “She was beautiful, and kind, and perfect. She made me happy. She made me want to keep fighting for this stupid city, and now Elektra is dead, you’re still here ruining my life, and Y/N hates me. Even with all that, it was worth it. Because if for one second, she is safer than she was before I made this sacrifice. Then fighting to the death, for this city, for her, is worth it. I love her Stick, that’s the only thing that keeps me going. I love her, and now she’s safe. Safe from the hand, safe from Frank Castle, and she’s safe from me. Knowing that Y/N has a chance to flourish and grow, that’s what makes all this fighting, this pain, the devil. It makes it all worth while. If I give that up, what is it all for?” Then he sat in silence, and stick went away.

At first, sitting there at Elektra’s grave, he thought the smell of your perfume was a hallucination. Another stray temptation, another ghost of a memory come to haunt him. He treasured it though, even the idea of you was a beautiful thing. He embraced the memory, though it was painful. Then he was enveloped on it, the smell surrounded h, then he realized he was no longer alone. He froze. Then his senses started to catch up to his reeling mind. The smell, the faint taste of the sweat of your brow in the breeze, the sound of your breath. You were there. You were there, sitting and staring at Elektra’s grave, holding flowers. Then you reached out a hand, and stroked his cheek. He pushed his face into your palm, starving for your touch. He whimpered, the tears he was holding finally let loose. Then you were speaking.

“I don’t hate you Matt. I couldn’t if I tried.” You sighed and bundled him to you. Placing the flowers on the bench and holding him as he cried. You had heard everything.

“I never got the chance to tell you.” He cried, “you were gone- I let you go. But I never told you.” His sobs wracked his body, and you ached with their severity.

“Tell me what Matty?” You shushed, drying tears and attempting to coax him to an answer.

“I never told you I loved you.” He sighed and clutched your face in his hands. “It’s you, it’s always gonna be you. I love you, I love your humor, your laugh, your smell, the touch of your hands can cure my every wound. It’s always been you. I was just too stupid to see you slipping away. I never wanted to loose you. You’re my everything, I just never said anything because- because you deserve so much better than me. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Matthew,” you began to cry as well, “My sweet, imbecilic devil man. You always deserved me, every day you throw your life on the line for us, for this city. I always thought you deserved me, and I deserve you. I didn’t see that at first, and I should have fought for it. I left you when you needed me, and I’ll never forgive myself”

“No!” He cried, pressing your foreheads together frantically. “You will never take the blame for this. I was wrong you deserved the best of me, and I didn’t give it. I gave up? I was a fool.”

You laughed and nuzzled your noses closer. “Then let’s call it a draw and say we were both foolish. We can be fools together. We deserve each other.”

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

The Gifter (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Author’s Note: My brain’s thing lately is to not stick to whatever I’m working on creatively. So, instead of working on more Steven Grant and Marc Spector, I’ve been jumping back to Matt Murdock fics in my WIPs. So here’s a Matty fic with a title that I will admit isn’t my best and don’t @ me and my love of Shakespeare--all my fics are at least mildly self-serving. Enjoy! :)

Summary: You are the best gift giver around. And while Matt is alway appreciative of your gifts, he feels that he can never give you one of the same caliber. This year, he intends to try and do just that.

Warnings: Fluff, best friend butterflies, happy sweet booze buzz, idiot besties with crushes on one another but they don’t know it until they do

Other Characters: Karen Page

Word Count: 3,720

Every year since he has known you, it has always been the same.

“I don’t need anything, Matty.”

“C’mon, Matty. I’m being honest: I don’t want anything.”

“Matty, I’m telling you, I don’t need or want anything for my birthday. If you want to get me something, get me some cake.”

Under normal circumstances, he’d be okay with it. Of course he still gets you something, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what you do for him. Every year for his birthday, you get him these amazing gifts—a new braille watch with a braille-embossed leather strap that reads M. Murdock, better quality earbuds for listening to transcripts, and last year—the year that you found out he was Daredevil—you got him a special white cane.

“A . . . cane,” he said, confusion evident in his voice. “You know I can get these at Walgreens for like ten dollars, right?”

“Trust me, Matt, I know that—I’ve had to buy you replacements,” you said as you sat down next to him on the couch. “Use those super-senses of yours, Matty. How does this cane feel?”

He ran his fingers over the cane, this time noticing a cooler touch than the plastic he is used to. Metal. He lifted it up in his hands, feeling a difference in weight; it wasn’t so heavy where it’d be too different to use, but it was more than a plastic stick. He moved his fingers down and felt a slight, barely noticeable division and latch between the top and bottom half of the cane. Matt tested it’s function with his thumb, hearing a quiet click as the cane separates, remaining connected by a cord.

“It’s a billyclub,” you told him. “So, instead of littering your canes across the city and concerning passerbys when they see it abandoned in an alley, you can use this in your extracurricular activities. And then, if you ever need to, you can double click that button and the cord retracts, so you have two individual hitting sticks. Once it’s clicked back together, the cord is reattached. You might need to practice with it a bit, but it’s light enough and it can still do a lot of damage.”

“Did you make this?” Matt asked, completely astonished.

“In a way,” you hummed. “I had more design input than anything. A mutual friend of ours did the actual making and welding.”

Matt wrapped you into a hug, taking in a deep breath in of the smell of your shampoo in your tresses.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, kissing your temple.

You are one of the best things in his life, as a friend, an on-call situationally-required patch-up squad, an amazing sparring partner, and as the person that he loves the most in this world. The only issue is, you don’t know any of that. Sure, you know that you’re one of Matt’s closest friends, but you don’t know the depth of his affections. He keeps tinkering with the idea of telling you on your birthday, but he feels as if he would be turning a day that should be solely dedicated to you into something about him.

“If you keep pouting like that, it’s gonna become permanent,” you tease as you flip through some documents on the table. “I don’t think wrinkles would diminish your cuteness, but, still.”

“Hm?” Matt hums, only snapping out of his thoughts when he hears you say “cuteness” about him.

“Sorry, did I break your train of thought?” you ask, pausing as you write mid-sentence.

“No, no, nothing like that. I mean, you did, but it wasn’t case-related if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That does make me feel a little better. But that was your upset focused face.” You carefully poke his leg under the table with the tip of your shoe. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah,” he pouts with a shake of his head. “It’s just something I have to figure out.”

“Okay,” you nod, secretly a little dejected that Matt won’t share. Ever since you found out he was Daredevil, the only thing he kept from you was, well, nothing. “I’ll just be right here if you change your mind.”

Hearing the change in your heart rate and the slight dip in your tone, Matt silently curses himself for being the cause of it.

“Do you want to go out?” Matt blurts. Okay, he definitely could have handled that better.

“I mean, it’s a little late to grab food. I think there is a Chinese place for takeout—.”

“No,” he interrupts. “Well, that actually sounds really good, but, I meant for your birthday.” He is so nervous you’ll reject him, keep him in the friend zone, leave his feelings unrequited. Matt senses everything more he’s so nervous. His heart is racing, the cold sweat rushing over him feels like an ice bath, the fluttering of your heart sets him on edge, and the monotone hum of the overhead lamp remind him that this is all happening in real time even though it feels as if the moment is stuck in a vat of molasses.

“Oh,” you say, looking at him partially stunned. “I mean, we’re going to anyway for drinks. Do you want to grab a bite first? I mean, it’d probably be better so we don’t get too lost in the sauce, you know?”

All Matt can do is nod, slightly raising his eyebrows as he gives you a small smile. For a natural flirt like Matt Murdock, this is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. That did not go the way he expected it to. He’s not sure how he wanted it to go at all, but he had hoped better than that.

“How about I pick you up at 6:30?” he suggests. “It’ll give us plenty of time to eat before we’re supposed to be a Josie’s.”

You smile. “That sounds great, Matty.”

“It’s totally a date,” Karen says as she sits on your mattress.

“That’s not what you were supposed to say!” you whine as you pop your head out from the bathroom.

“(Y/N), the guy you have a crush on is taking you out to dinner on your birthday. It’s a date.”

“Or a friend taking a friend to dinner on her birthday!”

“Come on,” she says with a sassy tilt of her head. “Do you not see how he acts around you?”

“Yeah, like he doesn’t see me other than a friend.”

“No,” Karen says, drawing out the vowel. “The way he gazes after you, how he wipes the sweat off the palms of his hands, the fact that you make him blush. C’mon, he’s supposed to be the blind one in this, not you! Based on the story of how he asked you to dinner, he was nervous. Matt doesn’t get nervous like that.”

“Oh my God, this is a date, isn’t it?”

You rush to your closet, looking for a new outfit as you ignore the one laid next to Karen.

“(Y/N), what you have picked out is fine,” she assures you.

“No it’s not!” you say. “It’s way too casual. I don’t know where we’re going to dinner—what if it’s fancy and I’m under dressed? What if it’s causal and I’m over dressed?”

“It’ll be fine.”

You glance at the clock. “Okay, I still have some time to shave my legs,” you breathe as you rush back into the bathroom.

“Um, are you expecting to do something tonight?” she teases.

“No, but what if I wear a sundress?”

“(Y/N), it’s too cold for a dress.”

“But the dress I have in mind is perfect for casual or formal. I just have to put it with the right shoes,” you say as you expertly shave without nicking your skin—this isn’t the first time you’ve had to do a fast shave.

“(Y/N), what you have is fine.”

“You can’t tell me this is fine when it’s your fault! I wasn’t thinking of it as a date before hand, and then you go and tell me that it is, and I can’t help it. This is Matt we’re talking about.”

“And exactly because it’s Matt, you don’t need to work yourself up like this! You know Matt—it’s not like you’re trying to create a new relationship.”

“I really don’t want to mess this up, Kare,” you say as you clean up your legs.

“You won’t mess this up,” she says, throwing you your jeans. “Jeans and the shirt are perfect. Trust me.”

“Do you know where Matt is taking me?”

“Yes. But I have also been sworn to secrecy. All I can tell you is that the outfit you chose is perfect because you know Matt that well.”

You purse your lips before you concede to Karen, sliding on the jeans she threw at you, readily catching the shirt that you had planned to wear.

“See? Perfect. Now, you finish getting ready and I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

With a reassuring smile, Karen grabs her purse and leaves your apartment as you struggle to reach the shoes you want to wear in your closet. You just barely get them down without hurting yourself and slide them on your feet when you hear a gentle knock at the door.

He’s early.

There goes trying to do something with your hair.

Making your way to the front door, you undo the latches and see your best friend greet you with a smile and a bouquet of red roses.

“I couldn’t find any sunflowers, and I figured roses were a safe bet, aesthetically,” he smirks as he hands them to you.

“Matt, you didn’t have to,” you smile, sticking your nose into the blossoms to inhale their sweet scent before you usher him in. “They’re beautiful, thank you. They must’ve really killed your nose, though, on the way over.”

“Eh, it was only for a short amount of time.”

“Do you want anything to drink or snack on before we head out?” you ask as you find a vase for the flowers.

“And ruin the fun?” he teases, and you feel your cheeks grow hot. “I’m okay. But the roses weren’t the only gift.”

“Matt—.”

“C’mon,” he smirks as he lets a gift bag dangle from his fingertips. “Don’t say I shouldn’t have.”

You click your tongue against your cheek as you hold in a smile. Taking the bag from him, you pull out a beautiful clothbound hardcover of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

“I know you have all the plays, but I wasn’t sure if you had all the sonnets bound together. I mean, you probably do, but, the book felt nice to touch, so,” he adds with a small smirk.

“Matty, this is—,” you begin to thank, but stop when something on the inside cover catches your eye. Against the bright orange paper that covers the inner binding, you see a handwritten message from Matt. Matt hates his handwriting, he is always saying how he can’t tell how it looks, or if it’s slanted instead of in a straight line, if the letters are all the same size. You’re lucky you can get him to put his signature on documents. For someone so adamant against his handwriting—a part of himself—it moves you to tears to see that he wrote something for you.

Dear (Y/N),

Happy Birthday. I didn’t know what to get my best friend and best gift-giver for her birthday, because nothing could ever live up to what you deserve. Hopefully the book and the words inside are a good enough start.

Love,

Matt

You take in a sharp, shaky breath as you try not to cry or ruin your makeup.

He wrote something for you.

“(Y/N)?” he asks, concern laced in his voice, and you can see his beautiful, honey hazel eyes trying to hone in on your face behind his glasses.

“No, Matt, I’m okay,” you assure him as you close the book and hug it to your heart. “You . . . this is the best gift I have ever gotten.” You put the book on the island and wrap him in a tight hug, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you so much.”

You feel Matt nuzzle his head into yours as he rubs a hand down your back. His touch is comforting, and as you move out of the hug, you brush your nose against his, and you can feel his breath hitch in his chest. With your heart pounding in your chest, you bring your lips just above his, tentatively moving them closer before they press together. It’s a sweet enough kiss to begin with, but you feel something change in you when he weaves his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck. You pull back, the space between your lips filled with nothing but gasps.

“If I misread your words and that hug, I’m really hoping I can play the birthday girl card,” you say as you rest your forehead on his, trying to calm your racing heart.

“And what if I tell you you didn’t?” he whispers, the timbre of his voice doing nothing for your racing heart as he raises his eyebrows slightly, his beautiful brown eyes desperately doing what they can to get as close to your gaze as possible.

“Then I’d hope you’d let me kiss you again.”

Matt’s lips pull into a big, beautiful smile as his lips slot over yours once more, his hands holding you as close as possible against his body. You let out a small whimper as Matt leans in to deepen the embrace, which emits a deep growl from the base of his throat. What began as sweet and tender has now grown ravenous and needy as your body becomes trapped between him and the wall of your kitchen. You let out a melodic sigh into his mouth as you move your hands up is back and into his hair, your fingertips scratching his scalp and carding through his soft brown locks. Matt leans in, pressing impossibly close to you before he abruptly pulls back, your chests rising rapidly as you both try to catch your breath.

“We should, uh, we should go,” Matt pants, his nose still wantonly moving against yours, desperately urging to move back in for kiss after kiss. “I, um, I made us some reservations at that bistro you like. I wouldn’t want us to miss out.”

“Yeah, d-diner,” you stutter as you work to reorient your brain, taking in the smell of his skin and the cologne that lingers on it, how Matt’s hands hold onto you, wanting nothing more than to pull him back in for a kiss. “Sounds good.”

Letting out a reluctant sigh, Matt creates more space between you, adjusting his tie that got loosened and pushed off center while you straighten out your shirt.

“Oops,” you chuckle as you take a step closer to Matt, fixing his hair that you ruffled up. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he laughs. “Thank you for fixing it.”

“Of course. Can’t have you looking like a baby chicken out in the Kitchen, now, can I?”

“Harsh, but fair,” he says with a smile, looping his arm in yours. “Shall we?”

“Come on, please,” you pout as you start to walk out of Josie’s, feeling warm and tingly from the liquor. “Tonight was so much fun, Matty, and you did so much for me. The least I can do is walk you back to your place.”

“But then you’d be all alone on the way back to your place,” he says, opening the door for you.

“You really shouldn’t say no to the birthday girl,” you tease as the cold night air kisses your cheeks. “Please Matt?”

Matt sighs as he takes hold of your elbow. “Fine,” he reluctantly concedes, and you straighten your posture. “You’re too cocky for your own good.”

“Hi Kettle, it’s Pot, and boy do I have some news for you,” you laugh. He chuckles and pokes you in your sides, making you squeal in delight.

The walk back is short, but you truly don’t want it to come to a close, so you walk him up to his door.

“Will you at least stay?” he asks as he leans against his door.

You feel your cheeks grow hot, and you know Matt probably heard the skip in your heartbeat.

“I’ll take the couch,” he adds. “I just really don’t want you walking home alone.”

“Matty, I wouldn’t force you to sleep on the couch in your own apartment. No matter how comfy it is.”

“Well, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, no matter how comfy it is.”

You chuckle, taking a half step towards him and feeling the energy buzz between your bodies. “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to share the mattress like two grown adults.”

The muscles in his jaw flex as you see him swallow hard. He places his hands on the upper part of your arms, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your skin, sending electricity shooting through the places he touches.

“I have an incredible ability to destroy the best things in my life,” he whispers, his hot breath spreading across your cheeks. “Tonight has been perfect. One of the best nights of my life. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I don’t see how you could ruin it,” you respond, only wanting to melt into his touch.

“I . . . I don’t get nights like this. I want to remember it just like this. This one, perfect night.”

You swallow and nod, your nose brushing against his. “Okay,” you swallow. “Okay.” You lean in and rest your forehead on his. “But I’m still not letting you sleep on the couch. And I could keep this argument up all night.”

Matt lets out a soft chuckle.

“Fine.”

You feel Matt’s large, calloused hand spread wide across your stomach, having snaked underneath the fabric of the cotton shirt he let you borrow as pajamas. He holds your back flush against his bare chest, his nose buried in your hair, his face snuggled into the crook of your neck. Your heart would be racing faster if it wasn’t for how comfortable and relaxed you felt against him. His breathing is even, and the consistent pace sings a trance, begging you to close your eyes once more to fall asleep. You’re about to succumb to the comfort when you feel his hand flex, squeezing you closer to him momentarily before returning to a looser grip. Judging by the sharp inhale from his nose, he has just woken up. You feel his breathing catch in his chest as he becomes aware of the way his body holds onto yours and where his hand currently is. Carefully, he tries to move slowly not to wake you.

Oh, you gotta have some fun with this.

You let out a small, itty-bitty moan that verges on a whimper, rolling your back into him to try and stop him.

He stops mid-roll, and you can’t tell if he is going to continue on his journey out of bed or snuggle back in. To your delight, he rolls back in and holds you tight to him. What you don’t expect for him to do is brush hair away from the side of your neck and trace his fingers down the exposed skin of your arm as the tip of his nose and his plump lips brush against your neck. You swallow as his hot breath tickles your skin. You know he can hear your heart race as his lips move against the shell of your ear.

“Did you really think you could mess with me like that, sweetheart?” he teases.

You laugh and try to whack him, but even in the early hours of the morning, his reflexes are as sharp as ever, and his hand catches you before it can hit his side.

“You’re no fun,” you laugh as he rolls on top of you to give you a hug. “All that vigilantism has made you too serious.”

“Or you’re not as clever as you thought you were,” he says as he as his arms hold you tightly.

“It’s not my fault that you have super hearing.”

“But it is for trying to trick me.”

“And to think I was gonna make you breakfast as a thank you for your chivalry and letting me stay last night,” you sigh dramatically. “I mean, I still am, but you’re not getting the option of choosing what I make you.”

“You tyrant.”

“Suck it up,” you chuckle as you try to tame his thoroughly wild bedhead. “You’re gonna enjoy some scrambled eggs and bacon if it’s the last thing you do!”

Matt lets laughter out of his chest that harmonizes with yours. In the early morning light, his beautiful unfocused eyes sparkle like the best gems that the earth can offer.

“I like this,” he whispers, his voice raspy. “I like waking up and having you here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he hums, dropping his forehead on yours. “I do.”

“I like it, too.”

Matt rolls off from on top of you to his side, keeping you close under the silk sheets as his hands moves up and down your skin.

“So, would you want to make this a regular thing?”

“A regular thing?” you repeat with a little smile.

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

His knuckles move gently up your arm. “We hang out after we leave the office, maybe grab some dinner. I focus in on your heartbeat so we can fall asleep next to one another, and I get to wake up with you in my arms.”

“Nothing else, Mr. Murdock?”

“Well, maybe a few other things,” he grins.

“Okay. How about we eat some breakfast, go to the office, and then try again tonight. Maybe with some of those other things you mentioned? Just none that would require me to stitch you up on the couch.”

“I’d like that,” he says, moving in to close the space between your lips, languidly moving his mouth against yours, the tenderness mimicking the first kiss in your apartment. “It’s a date."

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader fluff #soft matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #daredevil netflix #daredevil disney+

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neonponders · 1 year

Text

Another small part two for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse ~

Part 1 here ~

(also I’m putting these on ao3 so they’re easy to find.)

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve never expected to be in a doll boutique, but his latest, high maintenance residents refused the stiff, itchy clothes that came on commercial dolls. So now he walked around with the two little ones hitching a ride in his shirt pocket.

It was odd, shopping for tiny and overpriced linen and stretchy knit fabrics. But clothes were clothes, and he kept looking around to make sure onlookers wouldn’t spot the tiny people in his pocket.

“See anything you like?” he whispered, but the replies were not helpful.

“Biwwy, is it scarwy in here?”

“The cwreeps aren’t wreal. But we’wre not tall enough for this.”

He had a point, there. These dolls were simply too big. Steve pivoted toward a section of the store which would arguably be worse: the porcelain harlequin section. But this boutique was organized by doll size, and unfortunately more clothing options went on larger dolls...

Steve sent a harmless smile to the shopkeeper, who eyeballed him suspiciously. His jacket easily covered small Billy and Steve, but their voices were not so easy to mask. Steve hoped the visible ear buds and cord hanging around his face would make anyone think the voices were from the radio.

“What the hell, Steve?”

He sighed. “Ignore the clowns. What about these overalls?”

“How do we piss in overwalls?” Billy retorted.

Steve sighed and continued along the shelves. “How about Grease lightning over here?”

“YEAH!”

“Shhhhhh, sh,” Steve panicked. “Quiet, all right? The owner already thinks I’m going to steal something.”

“Sounds fun,” Billy declared, wiggling in the pocket to get out.

Steve hastily cupped his hands around his shirtfront to catch the daredevils climbing - naked - from his pocket. He set them gently on the shelf and thankfully still had his hands up to catch the doll little Steve promptly knocked over. “Hold ‘im, Steve! I’ll get ‘is pants!”

“Guys, I can just buy the dolls and you can get dressed in the car.”

Tiny Steve paused to give that some thought, where as Billy had already removed a faux leather jacket and put it around his body. “This smells cheap.”

“It’s not real leather. Real would be too stiff with all the stitching. Is it comfy or not?”

“No,” Billy disregarded, throwing the jacket down. Then he pointed past Steve’s shoulder. “I want him.”

He glanced nervously at the shelf behind him, only to lift his eyebrows with relief. “Oh. Fighter pilot, huh?”

He brought the doll over, complete with tiny aviator sunglasses and...real rabbit fur on the bomber jacket collar. Steve groaned inwardly, Mom’s going to kill me.

But Billy’s little mouth dropped into an O of wonder when he touched the jacket. He couldn’t be bothered to take it off the doll, he just hugged the porcelain pilot tight, burying his face in the fur. “This one!”

“Okay, B. Back into the pocket. We gotta pay for it first. Steve? How you doin’?”

“I want this one,” his voice called, and Steve felt a spear of panic in his chest because he couldn’t see him. Then, right out of a horror movie, a doll shuffled across the shelf, knocking others out of the way as little Steve pushed its standing pedestal to the front.

The doll was another Grease model, but it was Danny from the beach scenes in the beginning: light blue jeans, white t-shirt, and pastel blue collared shirt.

From big Steve’s pocket, Billy critiqued, “The other one’s cooler.”

“Hey,” Steve chided softly. “You got the one you wanted. He can have the one he likes.” Then he added to little Steve as he took the doll and offered his other hand to magic carpet him back to his shirt pocket. “I think you have excellent taste.”

“Thank you, Stewie,” he sang, landing in the pocket with a solid tug on his shirt fibers.

Steve took a deep breath, his heart doing that painful pinch again. He tried to hang the discarded jacket on its doll’s shoulder before leaving, and made sure his own jacket hung over his pockets. “Miss? Do I bring the ones I want to the front or do you get them?”

The shopkeeper got a flash in her eye at the use of Miss instead of Ma’am, and came around to assist him. It didn’t get him a discount, though.

#let's get these boys dressed!#harringrove #wrecked-fuse #neonponders #smol squad #pocket!au #pocketverse #ficlet

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comicsiswild · 7 months

Text

Daredevil (2023) #1

#daredevil #and the cooler daredevil #matt murdock #elektra natchios #marvel #marvel comics

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year

Note

I love the request that anon did about Matt x adopted son. Could you rewrite the fic but with Matt and Reader celebrating the 12 or 13 birthday of his son? Just if you want to

hii! 🥹 thank you sm! sorry it’s taken so long. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

birthday boy

Matt Murdock x f reader (with their son)

wc || 0.6k

warnings || none

been so long since a Matt fic, really sorry!!

masterlist + rules

taglist

fort stories (in case you want to read the ‘first part’)

Micheal was turning thirteen and neither one of you could believe that your baby boy was about to become a teenager. Not long ago did it feel like Micheal would run around the backyard in his diaper, or when Matt would read a nightly bedtime story. It was all these tiny things that made it hard for you both to accept he was growing up. You were excited for the next step in your parental relationship, but you couldn’t but miss the way he’d fit so snuggly in your arms. Matt was also sad that his boy was growing up, but he was also excited for the next step, excited to develop a deeper connection with Mike.

You originally suggested a quaint backyard barbecue with all of your close loved ones; Maggie, Foggy, Marci and their twin girls. As well as Karen, Frank and their baby boy Ben. You and Matt wanted to share this special time with the people that meant the most, but that being said, it was Micheal’s birthday so you gave him his chance to choose. He had picked a quiet and fun day with his dad, at first you were a little upset but Micheal has always been a daddy’s boy so it wasn’t exactly a shock. Matt tried to persuade him to invite you, but he already had his mind set, just like his father.

To Matt’s displeasure, Michael has recently had a thing for another masked vigilante of New York, who just so happens to be Spider-Man. So you spent the day baking and decorating his birthday cake, working meticulously to get his webbed face mask as neat as possible while Matt played football with Micheal in the backyard. Tackling each other and laughing away.

They had already spent the better half of the day playing video games, using his birthday gifts and eating shitty pizza, so by now, they had plenty of energy to burn off.

You called Matt aside so you could both bring out the cake, singing happy birthday as you walked over to your smiling son sitting at the dining table. You two placed the red-masked face down in front of Micheal which immediately widened his grin. “Mom? Spider-Man?” He excitedly exclaimed, staring at the details.

“Spider-Man? Really?” Matt turns to face you, visibly displeased. Tone flat as he hid a smile. “I’m offended.”

“Don’t worry, I prefer Daredevil.” You grin, hugging his side. Turning to face Michael, your facial expressions are playful as you shake your head. Whispering. “Spider-Man is way cooler.”

“Hm.” Matt jokingly frowns, turning his attention to Micheal. “Make your wish buddy.”

After Micheal blows out his candles, you and Matt grin and clap, cheering him along. “What’d you wish for?” You ask.

“I can’t tell you, mom… it won’t come true.” He says matter of factly, looking at you as though you had just said the most inexcusable thing.

“Yeah, mom.” Matt adds, playfully mocking as he nudged Michael.

Eyes squinted as you jokingly glared at them both. “Oh, I see how it is… no cake for you guys.”

A few more hours went by and it was now bedtime. You and your boys spent the rest of the evening playing games and video-calling family to thank them for their gifts. Micheal was ready for bed, laying snug under the covers, clearly exhausted from his busy day. He pokes his head up just before you two leave his room. “Hey mom, dad?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” You softly question, turning around to face him.

“Can you read me a story?”

@mattymurdock1021 @she-bleeds-in-white-roses @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @redecoratestan @kpopgirlbtssvt @scarletsloveletter @princess-pebbles-things @messymissy @schneeflocky

#matt murdock #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock blurb #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock drabble #matt murdock comfort #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x you #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matthew murdock fanfiction #matthew michael murdock #marvel fan fiction

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miryum · 2 years

Text

The Witch and the Spirit (Newt x Reader)

Warnings: angst with happy ending, someone dies for a brief amount of time, witchyness, spells and magic, talk of death (cause, ya know, they’re ghosts), fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

I worked so hard on this fic and I hope you guys like it. It was requested (a while back,) by @the-bibliophile-public-library and here’s the summary: Reader is an eclectic witch that moves into a decrepit, Victorian Home, which is filled with spirits, while she befriends, and encounters love on the way with Newtie!!! Alongside Newt, Thomas, Minho, Teresa, Gally, Chuck, ect. are spirits that perished in the home throughout the century and have been roaming through its damp walls ever since.

“Are you sure this is the best decision?” Sonya asked, lugging a box in the house.

“Why not?” Y/n shrugged.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Brenda said sarcastically, “maybe it’s just that this house is haunted?”

“You really believe those stories?” Y/n asked. “It’s all folklore. There’s no evidence to back it up.”

“You of all people should believe it.” Brenda said, referring to Y/n’s practice of witchcraft.

“Well, maybe I do.” Y/n said, “but the best thing about this is that it came at a very low price.” She looked up into the large house, crying out, “I mean, look how big it is!”

“It was a good bargain,” Sonya agreed.

Brenda sighed, “just don’t come running to us when the lights start to flicker ominously.”

“Ooooooo!” Sonya moaned like a ghost, waving her fingers towards her friend.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n laughed, “If there are any ghosts, then I’ll befriend them!”

Chuck gasped. “Did you hear that?!” he grabbed at Thomas’s arm. “A new friend!”

“It’s not like she can see us,” Gally grumped. “And why would we be friends with a living? We’re so much cooler.”

Watching the three living friends move in were seven ghosts. True to the rumours, the old mansion was haunted. Thomas, Teresa, Minho, Newt, Alby, Gally, and Chuck were the resident spirits.

“At least she’s young.” Thomas said, shrugging. “Not like the other old grandpa we were all afraid was going to die and then we’d have to be around him forever.”

“She’s young?” Minho asked from his game of chess with Newt. His floating piece dropped to the ground.

“It’s a girl?” Newt looked up as well. The chess could wait; he was already beating Minho at the game and he wanted to see this girl.

Alby, Minho, and Newt joined their friends at the railing. “Wow.” Alby commented, “I’m surprised she has the guts to move in.”

“Probably just a daredevil college student,” Gally sighed. “She’ll be outta here in a week. Not before throwing a huge party and messing everything up.”

“Ooh, a party!” Chuck squealed, “that’ll be fun!”

“Do you remember the tricks I taught you to scare someone?” Minho grinned.

“Of course!” Chuck replied, “I could try them out on drunk college students!” Minho high- fived him.

“What bedroom are you gonna take?” Brenda asked Y/n, carrying in a heavy, clothed- filled box. “I’m gonna drop this soon.”

“Um, the one next to the library.” Y/n directed her.

“Are the books still there?” Sonya asked, following Brenda with another box.

“I think so. Won’t it be so cool to read books from a hundred years ago or something?” Y/n smiled widely. “I wonder what stories they have in them.”

“You nerd,” Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Newt,” Alby started, “isn’t that the room you use? Your study or reading room?”

“Uh, yeah.” Newt stifled a cough. “Guess I’ll have to move for the time being.”

The spirits followed the three girls into Newt’s study- now Y/n’s bedroom. Y/n opened the boxes and while Brenda and Sonya helped put away her clothes in the antique dressers, Y/n started pulling out crystals and candles by the dozen.

“Still don’t know why you collect those heavy- ass things,” Brenda muttered. “Being the one to carry them up, I have a deep hatred for them.”

“It helps calm me!” Y/n protested, meticulously setting them up.

“Are you sure you have enough stuff to fill this mansion?” Sonya asked.

Y/n shrugged. “I’m just glad it came with the furniture. I didn't have to go out shopping for like, eight dining tables.”

“Oh,” Chuck drifted closer to the crystals. “What are those?” He reached out to touch a swirling blue and green one, wanting to see his hand wave through it, and surprisingly, his hand didn’t wave through it. Chuck reeled backwards with a scream, knocking the crystal down with a clatter.

Y/n’s head whipped towards it, eyes narrowed. She hummed thoughtfully, gently setting the crystal upright.

“What was that?!” Chuck screamed out, backing into the other distressed ghosts.

“He touched that!” Minho yelled out, “he touched that!”

“Alby, what does that mean?” Gally asked hurriedly. Alby and Newt shared a glance. Teresa slowly approached the crystal and poked it with a finger, not using her ghost- powers. It wobbled at her contact, but she didn’t let it fall.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Alby whispered.

Newt wondered out loud, “could she be another of… magical descent?”

“Remember when Teresa died?” Alby said, mostly to Newt. The others listened in. “She spoke of people that called themselves witches. But not like my witches- kind ones. Ones that practised it for the better. They used crystals and candles and cards. There were different kinds too. Like, moon witches or garden witches.”

“Yeah,” Teresa inputted, “one of my friends was friends with someone who just used nature or plants to make themselves feel better. They talked a lot about appreciating Mother Earth.”

“Do you think this new girl would classify herself as a witch?” Newt asked.

“A modern one, maybe.” Teresa said, “but not like the ones the media portrays.”

“The media?” Gally was confused.

“Remember? I told you about TV’s, computers, and other things.”

“I’m sorry,” Gally held up his hands, “but all I had was the radio.”

“So if she’s a witch- but let’s not jump to conclusions,” Newt said, “then maybe we could contact her. Chuck’s already proven that we can touch her materials. Maybe she’ll call out to us with an Ouija board or something.”

Teresa muttered something about old souls. Newt frowned at her words but Thomas and Minho stifled laughter.

Y/n lit her candles, joking, “I need to cleanse this house. Who knows what evil spirits are here?” Sonya and Brenda laughed, but the ghosts were worried

“Evil spirits?” Chuck worried. “We’re spirits.”

“But we’re not evil,” Alby countered.

“Well, Gally is.” Thomas shrugged. Gally swung a punch at him, but Thomas just giggled as it connected with his transparent body, not harming him at all.

Y/n placed the lit candles around the room, softly humming to herself. The ghosts waited for a moment, but none of them disappeared. They all sighed in relief.

“Well,” Sonya said, “we’ll leave you to get settled in and come back in a couple days?” The last part was a question. Y/n nodded, showed the girls out with many hugs and cheek kisses, and then entered her room again, finalising the finishing touches.

Newt watched her curiously while the rest seemed kind of bored, rummaging through the new humans’ things. Y/n put up pictures of her family and friends, Newt following close behind. He saw a picture of her and a boy that seemed to be her age. Was that her brother or boyfriend? Something ugly stirred deep inside him.

Oddly, then Y/n sat cross legged on the floor, holding some smaller crystals in her hands. She started rocking back and forth slightly. Breathing steadily, she closed her eyes. Something had seemed off about this house, even before she bought it. Something called to her, so she knew she had to buy it. Taking in deep breaths, slightly unsure if it would work but desperately hoping, Y/n called to the spirits she knew were there. She had never tried such an intense spell before; usually her spells were simple things such as warding off evil spirits, bringing good luck, or willing the anxiety to leave her. Such a powerful spell such as seeing spirits or ghosts was something she had never considered.

When she felt the magic come to a calm, Y/n slowly opened her eyes. Sitting in front of her, mirroring her criss-crossed stance, was a fair haired translucent boy, staring at her inquisitively. Y/n screamed loudly, jumping backwards. Newt startled, standing up as well.

“Why is she screaming?” Thomas asked. Y/n whipped around and when she saw him poking at her boxes, screamed again.

“Wait,” Alby started towards her, “can you see us?”

“Who are you people?!” Y/n shrieked, backing up into a corner and answering Alby’s question. “How did you get in my house?”

“Your house?” Gally scoffed, “we’ve been living here far longer. Wait,” he stopped, “you can see us.”

“Yes I can see you!” Y/n cried, “What do you mean?! And how did you get in here!? Get out now!”

“We can’t,” Teresa said, “We’re tied to this house. How can you see us?”

“Are you ghosts?” Y/n asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Newt answered, examining her.

“Then I guess the spell I said made you visible to me?” Y/n shrugged, “I have no idea.” She sat down. “I can’t believe you guys are spirits!”

“We are,” Newt affirmed.

“How did that happen?”

New sat down on the bed next to her. “We don’t know. The first one to die on this property was Alby. He died right after the Salem Witch trials. Minho then bought this property and died when he got ran over by one of his bulls.”

“Really?!” Y/n snorted.

Minho rolled his eyes and said, “At least I didn’t die of being cold!” Chuck gaped at him. Thomas patted the boy's head reassuringly.

Newt elaborated, “Chuck died when he was young- younger than all of us. Of hypothermia, or as Minho calls it, ‘being a wuss to coldness’.”

Minho chuckled, ruffling Chuck’s hair. “Still love you, little bro.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chuck waved him away, smiling.

“Next, I died,” Newt continued, “and then Thomas by a gunshot wound. After five dead children, people began to suspect the property was haunted.”

“How did you die, if you don’t mind me asking?” Y/n cautiously ventured.

“Doesn't matter,” Newt evaded the question, waving her away. He felt bad for not telling the truth, but he would tell her later. “No one lived on if for a while, and that’s when the five of us became really close. Gally’s wealthy family were the ones to build this house around World War One. He was just a kid then, but died in World War Two of wounds after he came back home. His family lived out their days, but none of them died here. Other people came and went, but the rumours and suspicions still surrounded this place. It didn’t help that Thomas, Chuck, and Minho made it there goal to terrorise anyone who stepped foot in here. Teresa, around your age when she moved in, died a few months later of cancer. She would’ve been in the hospital, but she refused. And that’s how we got our final seventh member.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of information to take in.” Y/n said, running a hand through her hair. “So, what things can you guys do as ghosts?”

“We can’t really touch anything.” Thomas waves a hand through one of Y/n’s boxes of clothes, his limb travelling right through it.

“But it was you guys who knocked over my crystal?”

“Yeah…” Chuck looked guilty, “that was me.”

“It’s okay!” Y/n quickly said, picking up on his shift in mood. “I just wanna know how you did it.”

“Not sure.” Teresa said, “Usually we can touch things if we try really hard- or at least bend inanimate objects to our will. For example, we really like playing chess and can make the pieces float to where they need to go. However, if we’re not concentrating, then we kinda just pass through things.”

“So are you all concentrating on not falling though this floor?”

Alby explained, “Not really. At first, yes, a ghost has to learn how to work their new abilities, but after a while it becomes second- hand nature.”

Y/n nodded, finally getting a grasp on it all. “And you all just live here? Together?”

“Yep!” Minho said happily, “We’re like one big, happy, family!”

“You’re actually in Newt’s room right now.” Thomas offered, not helping in the slightest. Newt shot him a look.

“Oh my gosh!” Y/n stood, “I’m so sorry! I can pick another room or something if you’d like.”

“No no!” Newt was quick to reassure her, “It’s completely fine! I don’t sleep in this room- none of us need to sleep if we don’t want to. I just like to use it because it’s next to the library and it’s easier to read if Minho and Thomas aren’t rushing through it on their weird adventures or dares.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Newt smiled.

Y/n slowly sat back down, laughing sheepishly. “I actually chose this room because it’s next to the library. I would love it if you could give me recommendations.”

“I would love to!” Newt beamed, not telling her that he knew of her desire to choose this room as they had all been listening in before. “Teresa and I swap recommendations all the time, though she’s more into the non- fictions and I like fantasy, science- fiction books more.”

“He also likes romance.” Chuck added.

If Newt could blush, he would be. The boys all cackled at his embarrassed face, but Y/n simply smiled kindly. “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, “sometimes I like romance too.”

“Okay!” Newt was relieved. “Actually, I can show you some of my favourites now! Come on.” He bobbed up from the bed and slowly floated out of the door, showing Y/n to the library. He was considerate of not going through the walls as he normally did, instead showing her the way.

The rest of the ghosts stared after them.

“Is it possible,” Gally started, “that Newt has feelings for a living girl?”

“Um,” Teresa scrunched her eyebrows. “I think it’s very possible.”

“I would say a bad word,” Minho groaned, “but Chuck’s here.”

“I’m literally older than half the spirits here!” Chuck cried.

Meanwhile, Newt glided down the hall, showing Y/n to the massive library. Books covered the walls and ornate carvings on the shelves. Three stories high, it was an impressive sight to behold.

Y/n, after admiring the rows and rows of books, couldn’t stop staring at the space between Newt’s floating feet and the floor.

“Are you admiring my floating?” Newt chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Y/n hummed. “I’m also wondering if I should tell my friends about you and the others. I’m still half convinced I’m crazy and you’re all a hallucination.”

“I promise we’re not.” Newt said.

“Exactly what a hallucination would say.” Y/n countered.

“True,” Newt laughed at that.

“I’m also just really proud that I could summon you guys,” Y/n said, “that’s a pretty big step for a witch. And the fact that I can see you, talk to you, and you back, without some sort of interference is amazing!” Newt grinned at her excitedness. “So, what books would you recommend?” Y/n sucked in a breath filled with exhilarating nervousness.

“Well, what genres do you enjoy?”

“Just give me your favourite book.” Y/n said, “I like reading someone else’s favourite book as it weirdly makes me feel closer to them. Like I understand them better. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” Newt looked at her like she was the only thing in the whole world. “I completely understand.”

“So, what’s your favourite book?” Y/n prompted him after the slightly awkward silence.

“Well, I like anything Shakespeare has written. And there are so many classic fairy tales that people don’t appreciate anymore. I would recommend Romeo and Juliet if you haven’t read it already, but also The Time- Traveler’s Wife is fantastic.”

“Ooh, I would love to read both. Where are they?”

“I actually have a shelf that I like to keep all my favourites on,” Newt explained. “Unfortunately, Alby was cleaning a little while ago and had to move them. They're up on a higher shelf.”

“Is there a ladder that I could use?” Y/n looked around.

“Oh, no.” Newt scratched his neck. “You see, we don’t have a need for ladders cause we can… you know, float.” Newt flew up a couple feet to prove his point.

Y/n chuckled. “I guess so. Could you go get them? I wanna see your powers.”

Newt nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about his fear of heights. He hadn’t always been afraid of heights, but ever since his death, he had been avoiding them. “Yeah,” he swallowed his fear and said, “I can get them for you.” Newt drifted upwards towards the top shelf where Alby had stored his books until he was done cleaning. If Alby had known Newt wanted to reach them, he would’ve never put them up so high, but what can you do? New quickly plucked out Romeo and Juliet and The Time Traveler’s Wife for Y/n, before quickly floating back down. He handed them to Y/n, the tip of her finger brushing through his.

“Thanks,” Y/n’s smile made it all worth it. “I’ll get started on them right away.”

“Well, don’t you wanna explore your new house?” Newt asked, “Chuck and Minho know all the secret passageways. Alby can tell you the entire history behind this property. Thomas can help you decorate. Weirdly, he has a good eye for that kind of thing. Gally can fix anything that’s not working. He may need to get the shower up and running again. Teresa knows all the nooks and crannies. She can also whip up a couple of mean muffins.”

“You guys can eat?”

“We don’t have to, but it’s nice every once in a while to be reminded of what ice cream tastes like.”

“And what do you do in the house?”

Newt hesitated. “I guess I just make sure everything’s running smoothly. While Alby insists everyone needs a schedule to make sure we’re not bored as hell, I’m the person that makes sure people stay on their schedule and help them if need be.”

“So you’re a very important part of this house?” Y/n asked with a hint of a tease.

Newt breathed a laugh, waving her away. “No, not really.”

“You are,” Y/n insisted. “It sounds like you do the things no one else wants to do.”

“I guess.”

“Hey,” Y/n’s eyes lit up, “why don’t we celebrate my moving in and making several new apparition friends by having a movie night? I can help Teresa make cupcakes or something, we could pop a couple bags of popcorn, pick three movies and get to know each other better? I mean, I’m essentially becoming your guy’s roommate who just showed up. I didn’t ask for your permission to move here- I just did. This could be my ‘thank you’ for letting me stay.”

“That sounds awesome.” Newt said, “I’ll go tell the others.” He happily drifted through the wall before remembering Y/n couldn’t pass through solids, popping his head back out the wall, smiling sheepishly, and returning to her.

Y/n and her ghost friends had been getting along splendidly for the last few weeks. Teresa would make Y/n a nice breakfast in the morning, more if the others wanted some, before Y/n woke up. Then when Y/n went to work, the spirits did their Alby- mandated chores as always. Gally was busy human- proofing the house and Thomas had already helped Y/n unbox everything and decorate Newt’s study as her bedroom. Newt had graciously moved his reading room to the room right next to hers. When Y/n came home, Chuck greeted her with a strong hug and Minho with a ruffling of her hair. Newt always watched from the foyer. And Y/n always noticed him and pulled him into a long hug. While making dinner, Y/n and Teresa pulled everyone else into help. Chuck usually stirred something or snuck some unbaked food. Minho washed dishes while Gally dried them. Alby handled the oven and Thomas the chopping of fruits and vegetables. Y/n and Teresa worked on the main meal and Newt flittered around doing whatever else needed to be done, causally brushing up against Y/n.

After dinner they settled for either a game night or movie night if Y/n didn’t need to spend some more time working. When Y/n needed to work, Newt would sit by her and make sure she wasn’t overworking. However, sometimes Newt would find Y/n pacing her room, whispering away on her phone or pouring over a book. He would keep his findings to himself, although wondering what she was doing. Other times, Y/n would be found in her room, surrounded by candles meditating.

“Hey Y/n?” Newt approached her one night while she was on the phone.

“I’ll call you back,” Y/n said quickly. After a second, she softly rolled her eyes and said, “I love you too.”

Newt frowned but continued, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we were wondering if you wanted to come down?”

“Of course!” Y/n nodded.

“May I ask who you were calling?” Newt wondered as he walked her down the staircase.

“My grandma,” Y/n explained, “I was hoping to get some… counselling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Y/n looked around for any of the other ghosts before gesturing for Newt to follow her. She led him to an unused room and turned to him, excited. “I’ve been looking around and talking to my grandma, who’s also a witch, and reading some books. With a little magic,” the girl looked hesitant yet hopeful, “I may be able to bring you guys back.”

Newt reeled backwards. “What do you mean you can bring us back?!”

“Okay, well, it’s not a little magic,” Y/n conceded the truth, “it’s a lot of complicated magic. And some of it may be black magic. But it’s for the greater good! So it cancels out. My grandma warned me about it, but I think after I-”

“Y/n.” Newt steeled her. “No. You can’t do that. Trust me, it won’t work. Listen…” he took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. “You’re not the first witch to live here. Before Gally died, there was another who lived here. Her name was Ava Paige. As a young witch back then, she thought she could do anything. She was indeed powerful, but we got a little too close to her. We trusted her too much. She wanted to bring us back, like you, so she dipped into the dark arts. It- It didn’t turn out well. By just brushing into the darker arts, her soul was consumed and she be- became inhuman. It was terrible.” Newt ran a hand through his hair. It fluffed up because of it. “Thomas had to pick up a shotgun and kill her. You don’t see her here because something evil was inside of her. She didn’t return after she died. I don’t want that to happen to you, Y/n.” For the first time since he started talking, Newt looked into her eyes.

“Newt,” Y/n’s voice broke, “how did you die?”

“I killed myself.” Newt revealed. “I died by suicide. Alby and Minho kept trying to stop me but I couldn’t see them until it was too late. I woke up as a ghost with three boys I didn’t know staring down at me.”

“Oh, Newt.” Y/n lunges forward to hug him, but Newt, not expecting it, lets her tumble through him and put the other side. Y/n sighed, unable to comfort him. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. I wish I could hug you.”

“Just- please don’t try to bring us back.” Newt cautioned her, “I don’t want you disappearing into a blackness that only death could pull you out of. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I don’t want you to die.”

“But then I could be with you.” Y/n whispered, “Eternally.”

“Don’t you dare,” Newt shook his head. “I will not let you. Stay alive for as long as you can. Love your life to the fullest. I will not have that gift ripped away from you.”

“Newt,” Y/n’s voice trailed off as Newt hurridley floated away, once again running a hand through his hair, despair haunting his face. Y/n’s jaw tightened as she took out her phone and dialled her grandma. “Grandma,” she started, “hi. I was wondering if you could send me the book?” After quiet, urging words on the other end of the phone, Y/n said, “Then maybe we can come to a compromise. When’s the next full moon?”

With her Grandma’s book in hand, the full moon overhead, and surrounded by all her candles and crystals and plants, Y/n sat cross- legged. She had drawn a circle around herself and had gotten everything ready.

She only hoped that the ghosts wouldn’t figure out what was going on until it was too late.

Y/n started chanting slowly, fixating on the words from the book. Her chanting grew louder, the candles flickering and wind starting to howl outside. She called upon any deity she could think of, using all the different types of magic her grandma had taught her.

From downstairs, Newt glanced up from his book, something troubling him.

Y/n took a deep breath before chanting the second line of the spell. Then the third line, and back to the first. If she were to open her eyes or break her concentration, she would find the candles all blown out and the book laid closed before her. As Y/n repeated the first line, something bubbled from deep inside her. Something dangerous she instantly knew should never have been touched. However, she pushed through. Dark veins started crawling up her arms, the punishment for crossing the dark line of witchcraft. They climbed higher and higher eventually reaching her elbows before-

The door slammed open and Newt, along with the others rushed through. “Y/n!” Newt cried once he saw her state.

Y/n’s eyes flew open and for a second Newt swore they were pitch black. An animalistic rage buzzed with her glare. Then the spell broke and they turned back to her normal, e/c colour.

“What were you doing?!” he screamed. Alby, Thomas, Gally, and Minho rushed into the room, tossing out the candles, cleansing the crystals, and erasing the circle as Teresa held Chuck back.

“Why did you do that?!” Y/n yelled back. “I was so close! I would’ve done it!”

“Look at your arms!” Newt cried, rushing to her, “A few more seconds and you would’ve been gone!”

“I wasn’t completing the full spell!” Y/n argued, “I had everything prepared. I was doing it under the full moon and altering it so you guys would only be human again when the moon was at its most powerful! It wasn’t like Ava, I promise!”

The rest of the spirits froze at the name. “How does she know about that?” Alby asked, voice dangerously low.

“She told me about her plan so I told her of Ava to warn her,” Newt replied slowly.

Alby took a deep breath before saying, “Newt, I understand you feel for this human, but we have no control over them. We promised never to speak of Ava again.”

“I’m sorry, Alby,” Newt said, “but I couldn't let her do this. I just couldn’t.”

Y/n rubbed at her black veins. Why did they scar if the spell didn’t work?

“Newt,” Y/n whispered, “I think it might’ve worked.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, distracted.

“I completed the spell. But I told you, I didn’t go all the way. I modified it so you would only return to living humans under the full moon. Well, it’s the full moon and I think it worked.”

Chuck interrupted the conversation by jumping loudly up and down. “Oh my god,” he beamed, “I don’t go through the floor!”

“Chuck,” Teresa chastised, “you’ve been practising your whole life. Of course you don’t fall through the floor.”

“Yeah,” Gally said, “but Minho, Alby, Thomas, and I just picked everything up without having to think about it.”

Y/n looked hopefully at Newt. He glanced back at her, worried. Then, Y/n leapt forward and engulfed Newt in a hug. Newt stumbled back, surprised. “I caught you,” he whispered.

“It worked!” Thomas cried. The others started jumping around and shouting, overwhelmed by the newfound realisation. Teresa used a small knife to cut open her arm, eyes growing large when blood started to blink out. Minho and Thomas embraced, clapping each other on the back and Chuck flopped onto Y/n’s bed, feeling the comfort of a blanket once more. Alby stood in the middle of the room, tears brimming his eyes. Was he actually alive? Gally couldn’t stop yelling, grasping all his friends in a tight hug.

Newt and Y/n just kept hugging each other. Newt squeezed her tightly, afraid it was all a dream and she was going to disappear. Real tears, which he had not been able to conjure since death, slipped down his face and he took joy in feeling them. He gripped Y/n even tighter, her shirt bunching up underneath his fists. Y/n hugged him back, knowing that she shouldn’t let go. Overcome with so much emotion, Newt simply buried his face into the crook of her neck, quietly sobbing.

“Newt?” Y/n gently pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumb swiped away his tears. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay, love.” Newt’s voice broke. “I’m fantastic.”

“It’s only during the full moon,” Y/n looked ashamed, “I’m sorry I couldn’t extend it longer, but everyone will be spirits except for one day a month.”

“It’s perfect,” Newt swallowed. “Bloody perfect. You’re bloody perfect.”

Y/n scoffed and shook her head. “I could’ve done better. It’s not-” Newt cut off her worries with a kiss.

Y/n startled backwards and Newt immediately felt terrible. “I’m so sorry!” he started rambling, cheeks coating with an embarrassed blush. “I should’ve asked but I didn’t. I just messed everything up by not asking and I’m so sorry-”

Y/n didn’t say anything except pull him close and kiss him again. “Just caught me off guard,” she mumbled. Newt beamed before bending down and pressing his lips to hers.

Minho was first to notice, letting out a loud ‘whoop’ that gained everyone else’s attention. Thomas wolf- whistled which only made the lovers smile and deepen the kiss. Gally hid his blush at the display and Teresa grinned. Alby laughed out of pure delight for them and Chuck made a gagging noise, burying himself in the blanket.

Newt slowly pulled away, smiling wildly. Life was certainly going to change.

While life continued as normal in the ‘haunted mansion’, there was an air of happiness ever present that wasn’t there before. Teresa would hum to herself while baking and Alby was seen laughing more often. Even Gally was caught smirking whenever he found something amusing.

Y/n would come home from work as always, but it was Newt she greeted first and then Chuck and Minho.

In the days leading up to the full moon, the house got livelier and livelier. Thomas would chase Chuck around before Newt would call out in warning. Chuck would yell something about himself being indestructible and Minho would swoop in, lifting him high into the air.

When the fateful day came, the spirits did whatever came to mind. Gally challenged Ably to a duelling match, each poking and prodding each other with dull swords, oddly relishing in the fact that blood could be spilt. Teresa conducted experiments in the kitchen, excited to actually be able to smell the chemicals or accidentally cover herself in pink dye. Thomas and Minho would dare each other to complete life- defying stunts such as jumping out a window or drinking Teresa’s new concoction. Chuck always followed closely behind, a little scared that something may happen, but also willing himself to be brave enough to do what the older boys did.

Newt and Y/n would always disappear, either into the library or her room as the full moon declared their date night. The others knew not to disturb them, mostly out of kindness, but also Y/n’s strong glare whenever one brought it up teasingly. None of them really knew what they did (although Thomas jokingly thought they dramatically reenacted Shakespeare while Minho wiggled his eyebrows; though he couldn’t say his thoughts in front of Chuck. Chuck, however, made a point to not jump on Y/n’s bed anymore unless he was certain the sheets had been cleaned). Truth be told, the couple did whatever they pleased; whether it was calmly watch a movie, curl up and reading together, having an indoor picnic, or something else. Whatever it was, Newt would always absentmindedly stroke Y/n’s blacked veins, forever grateful of her sacrifice. Y/n woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, plagued with nightmares, but Newt was quick to comfort her. It was always worse the closer they got to the full moon. Nonetheless, everyone in the house, dead or alive, were content and happier than they had ever been.

However, people do get older. While Y/n grew up, the spirits stayed the same. Newt was always worried she would move on to another house, but she never did. She never got married, either. Sonya’s children would come over, along with Y/n’s nieces and nephews, begging to hear stories from their auntie. Y/n would sit them down, alcohol in hand (forever loving her and Brenda’s role as the wine aunts,) and tell them stories of witchery, spirits, monsters, and her still black veins. The children would watch with large eyes, terrified, yet enamoured. After each story was done, the never ending questions of “was it real?!” came forth. Y/n would simply laugh and raise a toast to her spirit friends watching from the kitchen. Newt would raise his glass back, smiling. But a small part of him felt guilty while watching his love be surrounded by kids. Did he take that away from her?

Yet, the tradition of dying young in that house didn’t stop. While in a heated discussion with Teresa one day, at the age of twenty- one, Y/n slipped on the stairs, tumbling down and hitting her head on the polished wood. Teresa let out a scream, signalling to the others that something was wrong. But they were too late. Y/n lay in a growing puddle of her blood.

If Newt could cry, he would’ve. A hollow scream left his lips as he stared at his beloved. He crashed to the ground next to Y/n, cursing every god he knew. Frantic, and not thinking clearly, his translucent hands swept through her, willing Y/n to just wake up. Minho gripped his shoulder firmly, reminding him it would be okay. It would all be okay. Alby slowly drifted towards the phone, a deep aching feeling of melancholy in his chest. He called the hospital.

When the paramedics came and found the body with no sight of who called, the police were called in. Pictures were taken with an invisible boy weeping over the body of his lost love.

Alby knelt down next to him. “It’ll be okay,” he reminded Newt, a sharp edge to his voice.

“I kept her from having a good life!” Newt cried out, his true thoughts coming through. “She stayed here because of me! I’ve cursed her to stay here for all eternity!”

“Newt.” Alby tried to talk sense into him. “Y/n loved it here. She loved you. She loves you. She’ll be back.”

“Look at her,” Newt whispered, gently running a hand over Y/n’s cold face. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, lifeless. The colour had drained from her body, leaving Y/n as white as the ghosts.

“She dabbled in black magic,” Gally said quietly so Newt couldn’t hear her. Even if he could, he was in his own little world. “Are we sure she’s going to come back?” Alby and Minho shot him a glare, telling him to shut up. Thomas shook his head.

Eventually, after crime scene photos for a forever-to-be-opened case were taken, the paramedics gently lifted Y/n’s body onto a stretcher, draped a white cloth over her, and took her away. In her place, laid a translucent outline of Y/n. Newt gasped in relief, pulling Y/n’s spirit up into a hug. Slowly, Y/n opened her eyes.

“What happened?” she groaned. “Why does my head hurt?”

“You died,” Minho said bluntly. After Teresa hit him over the head, Minho quietly apologised.

“What does he mean, Newt?” Y/n looked at the boy, only then realising that she could see through her hands. “Holy fu…” Her eyes widened and she started hyperventilating. “I died? I can’t die. I shouldn’t die. I’m a ghost? I- I- wait? Newt?” She turned to him for answers, but Newt was only grinning.

“I’m so happy you’re not dead!” He yanked her in for another hug, then elaborated, “I mean, you are dead, but I was worried you may not come back as a spirit. I’m sorry you died. It’ll take a lot of getting used to, but we’ll help you to adjust. I- I feel terrible though.”

“Why?” Y/n asked him, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

“I kept you in here for so long. You didn’t get to see the world. And now you’re trapped in this house forever. I’m so sorry.” Y/n wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying; she just kept running her hands through his hair. “What are you doing?” Newt asked, swatting her hands away.

“I can touch you.” Y/n laughed softly. “I can actually touch you. M- My hand doesn’t go through you anymore. I can touch you!” She laughed louder, and Newt, perplexed but just happy she was smiling, laughed along with her. “Newt,” Y/n reassured his concerns, “I don’t care about that. I saw the world before I moved here. And now, my world is you.”

Minho pretended to gag behind their backs. Thomas laughed but Teresa pushed the both of them over.

“I was just so worried you were gone.” Newt said softly. He swallowed, trying to keep everything at bay.

“I’m not,” Y/n reassured him, “I’m here. And everything will be okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

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