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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

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moon song - m. murdock

a/n: oh boy. uh. thanks for all the love on my last fic, so i decided to give you an incredibly angsty fic. this one is for all my male readers but honestly i want everyone to read it so. as always, reblogs, feedback and comments are always appreciated! warnings: internalized homophobia, cursing, infidelity, angst, hurt/no comfort, casual homophobia (teasing not anything insane) catholic guilt and symbolism, bisexual karen page, i'm not an elektra anti, making out, alcohol to cope, reader has a lot of coming out moments word count: 3.4k summary: you hate that elektra and matt are getting married. will you convince him not to go through with it? can you? pairing: matt murdock x male!reader now playing: moon song - phoebe bridgers "and if i could give you the moon/i would give you the moon/you are sick/ and you're married/and you might be dying/but you're holding me like water in your hands"

You’re in Josie’s when they realize. It’s like any other night, Foggy to your left, Karen to your right, as you watch Matt and Elektra play pool together. You take another swig of your whiskey, and tap your fingers on the glass, desperately attempting to try and listen to what Karen and Foggy were laughing about.

Two more weeks. That’s all you have to do.

In two weeks, Matt and Elektra will be married, and that’ll be that. They’ll live forever in their New York penthouse, fighting criminals and having beautiful children. That is their fate, and you’ll give your best man speech at their wedding.

All will be well, and you can bury your feelings deep down under alcohol and other women. No one will ever know what you really think of the happy couple.

You’re happy when Matt beats her at pool and they head back over to your table, where they absolutely hang over each other.

“We’re gonna head out.” Elektra says, a slightly drunken smile on her face. Matt hums and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Meeting with the florist tomorrow.” Matt tells you all.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” You announce, and look at them. “One for the road?” Matt smiles at you, and for a moment, you think he must know.

“I’ll come grab one with you.” He turns to Elektra to ask if she wants one, but she shakes her head.

“I have to finish this one.”

So, you and Matt head over to the bar, his hand on your arm. You wonder if he knows.

“You seem distracted,” he tells you, and you figure you’re caught.

“Just working on my best man speech. It’s all up here.” You tap your forehead. You order two shots for the pair of you and take them quickly with your best friend. “Getting excited?”

“Yeah, it’s just kind of crazy. I’m nervous, is all.. And she seems to be totally fine with the whole thing.”

You bite back a bitter comment about both of their commitment issues.

“I think she’s just as nervous as you are.”

“I can hear heartbeats. Trust me, she’s not.”

“But you’re in love with her, right?”

If you weren’t so drunk, maybe you would catch his moment of hesitation.

“Yeah.”

“Then what more do you need?”

“You’d marry someone just because you’re in love with her? That’s all you need?”

Not just someone. You know who you’d marry.

“That’s all I need, Matty. You think too much. Have another shot.” He laughs at this and pats your shoulder.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Says you, I’m a bachelor, still.”

“So am I—For the next two weeks.”

“And yet,” a voice says behind you, “You’re still accounted for.” Elektra says, approaching the pair of you at the bar.

You both turn to her. You’re drunk enough so you don’t tense.

She hands Matt his jacket, and they link arms. Jealousy fills your mouth, and it tastes like venom.

“Elektra.” You smile and nod to her.

She says your name before adding, “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight.. Get home safe, Matt.” You say, smiling at them as they leave.

You turn back to the bar, where your smile falters. You take a seat, resting your head in your hands. You’re not drunk. That’s not what this is. When you look up, Josie is there and hands you another whiskey on ice and sends you this knowing wink.

Your face burns, and you nurse your drink. What did she know about your life? You only spent every Friday and sometimes Saturdays here. You sit there in your pity for a while, thinking about it all. You’ll plan a vacation for when they get home from their honeymoon. You’ll fuck someone you’ll never see again and by the time you get back home, you’ll be over it.

You’ll be the godfather to their first child; Matt will be the best man at your own wedding. You’ll live the rest of your life with this deep dark secret that no one, not even your best friend, will ever know.

Except, you forget that Karen and Foggy are in the bar too. They slide into the seats next to you and just look at you for a while.

“I might be tipsy, and I might not have super senses, but I can tell you’re looking at me. What is it?” You finally pick your head up and look at them.

“I figured it out.” Karen says.

You’re too drunk for this.

“Figured what out, Miss Page?” You ask.

“Me too,” Foggy adds. “And to think, you almost had us.”

“What?”

“The bachelor life. The one-night stands. The constant rotating door of girlfriends because you can’t have the one you actually want.” She continues.

You feel sick. How did they know?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You say, as neutrally as possible but it comes out defensive.

Then Foggy says it.

“You’re in love with Elektra.”

And you stop. They think they have you. Then, you start laughing. Like a crazy person, like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. God, it’s so dumb. You’re just that good at hiding it.

“Nice try, guys.”

“We saw the way you were looking at her while they were playing pool! That’s why you’ve been acting so weird since they got engaged.” Foggy reasons. You know what it looks like.

You took another sip.

“That’s because I’m not in love with her,” Elektra is intelligent, beautiful, and funny. Anyone would be lucky to have her, you’re sure. But you hate that she’s happy for another reason. “It’s because I’m in love with Matt.”

• • •

You’re nineteen years old. You work at a pizza place between semesters, with Matt often coming to visit you. You’re best friends, and he likes to come in, grab a slice and a diet coke, have you take your break with him, and then leave.

One day, he’s late to do this routine and an older coworker says to you, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Your face burns.

“He’s not my boyfriend, asshole! I’m not gay, I wouldn’t ever dream of it!” You had said, a story you’ve told others and yourself so many times that it doesn’t feel like a lie anymore.

Matt walks in a few minutes later.

The truth is, if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had feelings for Matt for a long time. Ever since you met him at church one Sunday, you’ve felt this need to be closer to him, to be with him all the time.

You knew what it was then, just like you know now. And just like now, you hated yourself for it.

But it got worse over the years, in a way that you just couldn’t push down like you had done for so many other people.

You became a nurse and when Matt became Daredevil, he used this fact to his advantage. And for a long time before this, you were able to keep how you felt about him at bay. You were able to just be his best friend, and nothing more.

But he crawled into your window one night, drunk on pain and whimpered as he asked you to stitch him up. By the time you were done, he laid there half naked on your couch, and your hands were covered in his blood.

You felt guilty for wanting him while he lay there, wounded. But in another way, you felt baptized, relieved that you were allowing yourself to accept a truth that you had denied for so many years.

And it got worse from there.

After admitting to yourself that you had feelings for him, it became prevalent that there was no going back.

You stopped by the office for lunch this one time and you walked into his office to see him lounging casually at his desk, tie half undone, sleeves rolled up, and hair slightly disheveled. You scolded yourself for being so into him.

And then he got back together with Elektra.

For a while, you figured this was a good thing. A great thing, even. Matt would date Elektra and you could move on, maybe admit to yourself that you liked guys and start dating more of them.

And it worked, for a little bit. It was easier to not love him when he was around Elektra because of how obviously happy he was with her.

Then they got engaged.

You were so angry at yourself for letting it happen, so angry at yourself for not saying anything, angry at him for not noticing, angry at him for not wanting you.

So, you started to date other girls.

And this is how you lived for so long, dating women you didn’t like in favor of burying the immense love you felt for your best friend. Until last week, when you broke up with your girlfriend because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

There would be no telling Matt, sure, but there would be no telling anyone how in love with him you were, there would just be you, coming out and dating men that eased the longing for him.

Until that night at the bar, when Foggy and Karen catch you in this vulnerable state.

They walk you home from the bar that night, as you slip into a drunker and drunker mind. You won’t remember anything after that confession in the morning.

Karen hands you your pajamas and a glass of water. She helps you into bed and holds you as you cry.

“Will he ever know how much I love him?” You ask, drunk and in a different pain Matt was in that night you stitched him up.

Karen shushes you gently and tells you she’ll call you in the morning.

You don’t remember saying that in the morning. All you know is that you’ve made an immeasurably stupid mistake by telling them.

• • •

On Monday, you have off because you worked a 12-hour shift the night before.

Foggy sends you a text asking you to bring them dinner while they work on some cases.

You oblige, ready to push down your feelings until the next time you’re drunk.

But when you get there, you don’t see Matt. You assume he’s in another room, grabbing coffee. You hold up their dinner.

“Hey guys, I brought Chinese.” You tell them, sitting at the table after handing them the bag. You lean back in your seat, keeping your cool.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’re in love with Matt?”

You snap back up.

“I’m sorry, can you be a little more discrete, considering the man has super hearing?!”

Karen rolls her eyes.

“He’s not here. He left a little while ago to go pick up his tux.”

Your jaw clenches, jealousy sewing the hinges shut.

“I didn’t even realize you were into guys.” Foggy says.

“That was intentional. I never really.. developed feelings for any other guys. Matt is just..” You look down at the chopsticks you’ve been twirling in your fingers. “I just see him and there’s nothing I want more than to just have him, nothing more than to just beg him to want me.”

Karen and Foggy both know the feeling.

Because it’s no secret that Matt is this alluring force of nature especially when it comes to his charisma and determination. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him, and its why Elektra is so perfect for him. They’re similar people.

And who are you? Some nurse who can’t even admit when he’s got it bad for his friend.

“You should tell him before the wedding.”

You scoff at the idea.

“And ruin our friendship? Ruin his wedding day? I’d rather see him happy and oblivious than lose him completely.”

But Karen and Foggy know you well and can see how this is starting to wear on you. You’re losing yourself grieving something that could never have been.

“You owe it to him and to yourself.”

“I don’t. I know you guys’ care, and I appreciate it. But there isn’t anything to do. Matt and Elektra are going to get married because they love each other and that’ll be that.” You tell them. “Matt won’t ever know how I feel, and I’ve made peace with that. He wouldn’t want me and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“But how do you know—” Karen starts, but you cut her off.

“Matt’s never expressed any interest in men, and to my knowledge he’s never been with any.”

Then, Foggy says something that haunts you.

“That’s what we thought about you before Friday.”

And it rattles within you, all throughout your body and your brain.

It stays with you throughout the night, and into the next day.

You can’t get it out of your head.

Maybe you could tell him. Just tell him and add on if he doesn’t feel the same, to forget you ever said anything.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.

You lay in bed that night and fall asleep thinking about it. About if he’ll say yes, if he’ll kiss you like you wanted him to.

You spend days with this thought, with it rattling around. One day you wake up and are greeted by your calendar and see that the wedding is the next day.

You’re sick with nausea at the thought and realize how horrible of an idea it would be to tell him.

You pretty much spend all day, sick, staring at your suit and thinking about how horrible it would be to watch Matt get married to someone who isn’t you. In the church where you met. Not even knowing how much you want him.

You contemplate your options.

You could go to Elektra, beg her to call off the wedding and let you have him.

You could fake being sick, leave the country and block his number.

You could tell Matt the truth.

You opt to call Karen.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say, this vulnerability in your voice that you wouldn’t show normally.

“Oh..” She says your name softly. “Do you love him?” She asks.

“Karen..”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. You know I do.”

“Then tell him that.”

“What if he wants nothing to do with that?”

“Then at least you know.”

And then you ask her the real question that terrifies you.

“What if he does?”

“What?”

“What if he wants me like I want him? What do I do then?”

She wants to ask you, who cares? If Matt wants you just as desperately as you want him, what matters after that? But she felt this way towards Matt Murdock once, so she knows how horrible it is. And she’s fallen in love with women she can’t have before, so she understands.

“Then let yourself be happy.” Is her answer.

• • •

The day of the wedding comes.

You think you might be more nervous than either of them.

You sit with Foggy and Matt in the basement of the church, sipping a whiskey. Matt has his scotch, and Foggy has his rum. The lot of you have rather distinguished tastes.

Matt looks so fucking good. Your heart races. Foggy sees your nervous look and finishes his drink, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna go check in with Marci and see how everything’s going so far. We have to be up there in ten.” He reminds you. He turns and leaves.

You’re with Matt, alone in your feelings. He’s fixing his cuffs and tilts his head towards you.

“Why is your heart racing?” He grins. “I’m the one getting married.” You say nothing. You take another sip of your drink.

“You’re reading it all wrong.” You tell him. And that isn’t a lie. You’re on the verge of saying it.

“Whatever,” He chuckles. “Help me with my bowtie, please?” He hands you the untied bowtie and you take it. You take it and step towards him.

Your hands are shaking as you wrap the bowtie around his neck and tie it, with this gentleness reserved for only those who truly know you. You can feel his breath against your skin. It’s enough to make you lose your mind. Your fingers fumble with his bowtie, and when you’re done, you straighten it out a bit. He looks really good. He’s yet to close his suit jacket and put on his glasses, but he will soon.

“Matt..” You say softly. “You know I feel about you, right?”

He pauses.

“You’re my best friend.” He hums. “Of course, I do.”

Your hands rest on his shoulders. Your fingers twitch.

“No, It’s more than that.” You tell him. “I love yo—” You’re unable to finish your confession.

Because Matt is kissing you, his hands on your sides, and pushing you against the church basement wall. You melt into the kiss, your hands going up to cup his chin. You feel this swell inside of you, like your prayers have been answered.

Kissing this man you love; you’ve never felt closer to God.

He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips and pressing his body against yours, ruining your perfectly unwrinkled suit.

He kisses you for a few moments more.

Then, he pulls away, but you bring him back for another one by his collar, and he happily obliges. Your hand goes up to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. Then, he pulls away again.

“That was…”

He stands breathless before you.

“I know.” He finishes.

“What happens now?”

He has this confused look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do we do next?” To you, it’s so obvious. He should go find Elektra, call everything off, figure out what it would look like to be in a relationship with you. He should say I love you back.

“I’m going to go upstairs and get married.” He says, like it should be the obvious answer.

“What? But you just—”

“I know what I did, but… I can’t…”

“You can’t? You just did.” You defend.

He grabs his glasses where he set them on the coffee table earlier.

“I’m sorry, but we just.. We can’t.”

“No! Not we, there is no we, right now, You can’t! I have been waiting for that for years and you kiss me like that, and you decide you can’t?” You spit out.

He nods.

“You’re right.” For a moment, you live in a world where you’ve convinced him. “There is no we.” He says and turns to the door to leave. You follow him, and before he can open the door, you’re grabbing him, turning him around. Your lips are against his as if to beg him to change his mind. He lets you think you’ve convinced him.

When he pulls away from the kiss, you whisper it out.

“I love you.” You say. “Please, don’t…”

He wants you to ask him not to get married. You won’t. He’d say no anyways.

He steps away from you, buttons up his suit jacket, fixes his bowtie and puts on his glasses.

“Come on, we have to go.” He tells you. He turns and steps out, grabbing his cane on the way.

He leaves you longing for more.

He might not ever give it to you, you realize.

The ceremony is beautiful, and these two will be happy together. It kills you. You watch your best friend get married after kissing him, and something in you is breaking all the while. You were wrong. You should have told him earlier, you should have gotten over your fears, you should have kissed him so long ago.

You book a flight to the Bahamas for two weeks and take off work or as much time as you can. You just can’t watch the happy newlyweds. It’ll break you even more than it already is.

But at least you and Matt are still friends, right? That’s what this was all about? Keeping him in your life, even if it meant not having him in the way you wanted? You’re willing to give up your happiness if it means he’ll stay in your life.

You’re frustrated, too, especially because the kiss did nothing to deter your attraction, it just makes you want him in such a way that makes you sick.

You’re in love with Matt Murdock and he knows it.

It’s a shame his wife doesn’t.

#matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock hurt/no comfort #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock #netflix daredevil #daredevil #karen page #elektra natchios #foggy nelson #male!reader #no use of y/n

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dovelywind · 1 year

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you have such amazing art! I love the way you draw Jennifer and Matt. Wanted to tell you that you should defiantly keep up the good work!

ꕥ| My attorney’s at law

Aw shucks — thank you! I’m flattered.

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marvelgaynesstothemax · 1 year

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*shakes this post at you like a tennis ball before throwing it across an open field* GO FETCH!

—————————————

Peter, dejectedly looking at a news article: Hey, Mr. Punisher?

Frank: What do you want?

Peter: Has anyone ever told you that you’re a menace?

Frank: At least once a week.

————————————————————————

Matt: Hi Frank.

Frank:

Matt: So, you might be wondering why I’m taped to this ceiling.

————————————————————————

Matt: Frank, I screwed up. Big time.

Frank: Red, considering your daily life experiences, you’re gonna have to be more specific.

Matt:

Frank: Like, REALLY specific.

————————————————————————

Matt: I just heard Frank call the dog a “fucking liar” because he barked like someone was at the door and no one was there.

————————————————————————

Matt: If you don’t stay away from Frank, I’ll-

Jessica: Chill, I don’t want your man. I don’t even understand why you want your man!

————————————————————————

*on some random roof in NYC*

Frank: Hey, Red. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day or whatever.

Matt: *hands him a steaming cup* Thank you, Frank.

Frank: *takes cup and sips it*

Matt: Since it’s a holiday, I’ve decided to make you a coffee without salt in it.

Frank:

Frank: YOU’VE BEEN PUTTING SALT IN ALL MY COFFEES?!?!

————————————————————————

Employer, going over “Pete’s” resume: Okay, so right here it states that you’re creative.

Frank: Yes.

Employer: Okay. May I know what you are best at creating?

Frank: Problems.

————————————————————————

Elektra: I think I’m falling for you.

Matt: Then you should stand up.

————————————————————————

Frank: Can I bother you for a second?

Matt: You’re always bothering me, but go ahead.

#frank castle #matthew murdock #daredevil #the punisher #daredevil crack #incorrect quotes #multiple text posts #fratt #frank castle x matt murdock #funny #punisher #frankmatt #gayshipsareyayships #text post #i need a life #peter parker #elektra natchios #jessica jones #pete castiglione

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certifiedskywalker · 2 years

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A Set of Closing Statements - Matthew Murdock

If you had a nickel for every time you and Matt Murdock had to work on closing statements together but never finished, you would have two nickels. It isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice!

WARNINGS: swearing

You were nearly nose-to-nose. His breath caressed your cheeks, tantalizing and taunting. It felt purposeful, the proximity, the too-close-closeness. Yet, you let him wield his heat, let it lash against yours. You would allow it with no one else, no one but him.

With a shallow breath, his low voice reminded you of what little space remained. “The question at the heart of the matter is-”

“Is it just?” You finished for him.

“Exactly, and, philosophically, it is not.”

“That is quite a black-and-white perspective, Mr. Murdock.”

“Laws demand such objectivity,” he pressed, “they are, as Socrates says, a contract citizens of a given state agree to honor by continual habitation of said state.”

You leaned back, smiling to yourself. “However, then the question of justness shifts. Is it just to let a state remain if the citizens determine its application of the otherwise objective law is unjust? In this context and in his death sentence, Socrates is being singled out. The law has become a weapon to stunt the evolution of the state, its laws.”

“You’re over-elaborating Crito’s argument.”

“Or maybe you’re under-analyzing Crito’s argument.”

Matt leaned back in his seat, taking his heat with him. Though, you were much too preoccupied with how his mouth was opening and closing, trying to close his lips around the right words. All he caught was air and the silence of the classroom. Your smile widened. Before you could bask any further in the sunshine feel of victory, Dr. Drake cleared her throat.

“We will leave our debate on Plato’s Crito there for today. Come back to class on Thursday with your closing statements prepared for your respective perspectives.” Steely grey eyes seared your skin as the professor gave a pointed look in your and Matt’s direction.

You offered her a softer smile that was only slightly apologetic as your peers hurried out of the lecture hall. A rustling at your right averted your gaze. Matt was gathering his binder of translated-to-braille readings and shoving it in his shoulder bag. The opening of which was still half zipped-closed. Instinctually, you reached over.

“Here. It’s still caught.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said as you leaned in close. You felt his heat again, your shoulder brushing against his chest. At the almost touch, you felt your original smile return.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“It is,” Matt said as you unzipped his bag the rest of the way. When you leaned back, you saw he was smiling too. “You think I under-analyzed Crito?”

“I think you under-analyzed the need for a radical revolution.”

“I think you guys forgot that you were on the same side! Again!”

You turned around to face Foggy. His long blond hair was rattier than usual, likely from the party the night before. But his eyes were bright with a mischief that was fresh from this morning’s debate. You rolled your eyes and quickly packed up your own readings and notes.

“Not my fault Matt is so steadfast. Stuck in his ways.”

“Ouch,” Matt placed a hand to his chest, “attacking my character? Thought we agreed on no mudslinging this time?”

“I’m not attacking your character,” you said with a tilt in your voice as you pulled your bag over your shoulder. “I’m just…encouraging you to entertain other views.”

“I’m no revolutionary.”

“You’re no saint either,” you fired back, linking your arm in Matt’s.

“Ugh,” Foggy groaned, pressing his hands to his temples as he led you and Matt out of the lecture hall. “We get it: you’re smart. Too smart. Two smartasses, the both of you.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Dr. Drake did give us a look.”

“A look?”

“Everyone was giving you guys a look!” Foggy started as he darted down the stairs. You guided Matt’s first step with your own. Once he found a rhythm, the descent was smooth. “Barely anyone else had a chance to talk, you nerds.”

“I thought we were smartasses?” Matt asked and you could not help but catch the contagion of his wide, boyish grin.

“Yeah, you are.”

The warm air of Spring trickled along your skin as you and Matt followed Foggy outside of the Cooper Building. Foggy continued to spout on about what attributes constituted a smartass as you all walked across the quad towards the library. Your arm remained tightly linked with Matt’s. He could have switched to his cane, you realized. Though, you were glad he hadn’t. You liked his heat, the smell of coffee and birchwood that seemed to always stick to his clothes.

“I can’t argue against that evidence.” Matt’s voice broke you from your little reverie.

“Yup, and you won’t. ‘Cause you’re a smart…ass. Smart. But an ass. You’re stubborn but you know when you’re beaten and you admit it in that know-it-all tone-”

“He doesn’t know when he’s beaten,” you interjected and Foggy’s tirade fell quiet. “Why do you think he’s always arguing with me?”

You looked across the sidewalk, across Matt, and met Foggy’s gaze. His light eyes sparkled with a sudden, new-wave of eagerness. With a jester-like jump, he walked backwards before you and Matt so he could face you. Wide-eyed, you watched him nearly trip up the steps of the library. Passersby took in the scene frightfully before disappearing inside.

“Well, I mean…”

“Are we at library?”

“Can you smell the fear of people Foggy is scaring?”

Matt chuckled, the gravelly sound reverberating in his chest. You felt it in his arm, even as it slipped from yours. He fumbled with cane for a moment before it snapped open with an airy crack like a stiffened snake. A rattle came from the ball tip as Matt rolled it against the pavement tiles. He flicked his head to the left then the right. It was his ‘going somewhere’ dance.

“You’re not studying with us tonight?” You asked, peering into the dark lenses of Matt’s glasses.

“I actually promised to help someone with Spanish tonight.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Nance Tracy?”

“From the writing center?” Foggy gripped the library stair railing for support, the thought of Nance Tracy apparently weakening his knees.

“Turns out she struggles with grammar, just not English grammar.”

“So, I won’t be seeing you back in the room tonight?”

You shot Foggy a furrowed brow glance and he mouthed ‘What?!’ in a manner that made you scowl.

“Why? You having company over later tonight, Foggy?” Matt teased, leaning lightly on the handle of his cane.

“If by company you mean a bag of pizza rolls, then yes.”

“I’ll be sure to be quiet then,” Matt quipped back. “Happy studying.”

Your heart sank slightly at the sight of him walking off on his own. It felt far too reminiscent of last year. Desperate to alleviate the ache that accompanied the sight, you called out.

“Let me know if you want help with your closing statement!”

“Smartass!” Matt called back and your chest swelled with heat, a full, warm hope. A stretch of silence followed his departure, that was until Foggy spoke up.

“He seems better.”

You glanced over at him. “Yeah, but he’s still…”

“Yeah, I know. Elektra really fucked him up.”

“She did,” you agreed before pushing on his shoulder, “and cracking jokes about sleeping around might not be helping.”

Foggy didn’t miss a beat, it was why you always knew he would make an amazing lawyer. “Not helping Matt or not helping you?”

“Did you prep a closing statement?”

“I emailed you a text copy this morning.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

Panicked, your rustled through the papers splayed out on the table in a wild-whirl search for your laptop. With a collection of new paper cuts, you found it and cracked it up. The screen illuminated and, after a few sharp clicks, revealed your inbox. You scrolled but found only spam messages about discounts and deals.

“Subject line?”

“CS: Threat of Department of Damage Control.”

“I’m not seeing it, Matt. All I have is the email Foggy CC’d me in on about how to bill Spiderman. Speaking of, did you ever get paid for that?”

“Hard to bill someone when you don’t know their billing address…or name,” he sighed. “You can check my drafts. Maybe I just didn’t send it.”

You darted to Matt’s side of the desk and leaned over his shoulder. Heat kissed your skin, even through the button-up your wore. The warmth was followed by the familiar scents of Matt. Coffee. Birchwood. Copper, that tang of blood.

Quickly, you looked down at Matt, his shoulder. Through the white of his shirt there was a bloom of crimson. Quickly, you pulled back and rested a hand on the back of Matt’s head. “What?”

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured, tilting his head to the side. With your free hand, you fiddled at his collar, pulling it away enough for you to look beneath. “Matt.”

“I must’ve forgot to change the bandage before I left.”

You sighed and started towards the office kitchen of Nelson, Murdock, & Page. “Where are the-”

“Upper right cabinet. Second shelf, behind the granola bars.”

Reaching up, you rifled through the snacks and felt your finger find a Tupperware container filled to the brim with medical supplies. The first aid kit. Careful not to knock down Foggy’s array of Cheez-It boxes, you manuevered the container free from the cabinet. When you strode back into Matt’s office, he was already fiddling with the buttons at the collar of his shirt.

You forgot yourself for a moment, forgot that Matt, while blind, could see in other ways. Some part of you still believed in his need for his cane, that emblem of your shared college days. Some part of you still ached for him to see you how you had always seen him; still heard the echo of Foggy’s teasing questions. And that part of you let you linger in the doorway, watching.

The startings of chest hair were just entering your view when the spell broke. “LIke the show?”

“I-”

“I’m kidding,” Matt cooed, “but I am still bleeding.”

Hurriedly, you made your way to Matt’s side. The splotch on his shirt spread with a little trickle tracing down his back. You slowly peeled the material back from his skin. A blood-soaked bandage was slipping off his shoulder and you gently pulled it the rest of the way free.

You quickly tossed it in the little trash bin by Matt’s desk and reached, with your clean hand, for the first aid kit. Careful not to place your bloodied hand down anywhere, you pulled out a towel and pressed it to the wound. Matt hissed softly and you murmured an apology.

“Can you put pressure on it while I get the bandage?”

“Yeah,” Matt replied, and you guided his hand to his shoulder. With a light touch, you pressed on his fingers, denoting where he should press too. “Thank you, for this.”

“It’s no problem. Just hope you weren’t bleeding in front of clients. It’d stain your image.”

“Wow,” Matt chuckled, “if I wasn’t already in pain-”

“Laughter is the best medicine, right?”

“Not when you have broken ribs.” Matt’s tone dipped into the heaviness of a memory you did not share, into a haunted thing. Your own joy fell at the thought.

Instead of trying to save the feeling, you prodded at his hand. He lifted his fingers and you saw the wound once more. You wiped gently at the excess blood before you stuck the fresh bandage on. The crisp white pinkened at the contact, but did not immediately soak through. The bleeding was slowed.

“If it’s like that tomorrow, go to a clinic for stitches,” you said, pulling Matt’s sleeve back up. “I also think this shirt is essentially ruined.”

“I have one Hell of a dry-cleaner,” he quipped back, but the levity was gone. Matt saw it missing without seeing at all. “Are you alright? You’re…quieter.”

You shook your head. “Just, you’re hurt. Broken ribs. It’s nothing Foggy, Karen, and I haven’t said before. I want you to take care of yourself. I’m not saying stop, just help me by helping yourself not bleed out anywhere.”

As you spoke, you packed away the medical supplies and closed the lid on the container. The heat of Matt’s body emanated, pressed against your own in that wonderful way it always had. You nearly jumped when you felt it intensify, when his hand closed gently around your wrist and pulled you to face him.

His glasses were off then, brown eyes exposed and warm, flitting across the general shape of your face. “I’m going to be okay.”

“You’ve said that hundreds of times,” you sighed, “but the bruises get bluer and the worry gets worse. I think about you getting your ass kicked a lot, Matt, too much.”

He smiled, that charming grin. “Ya know, sometimes, I’m the one kicking asses.”

“I do know. I just wish…” you trailed off, pressing your lips in a thin line. The thought that haunted your senior year of college resurfaced in a eviler shape and Matt must have heard your heart pounding.

“What is it?” He squeezed your wrist softly, “tell me.”

“I blame her for this sometimes.”

“Who?”

“Elektra.”

Matt shifted in his seat, the unbuttoned portion of his shirt slipping open slightly. “I was already doing it. I was always going to find my way here, to the Devil.”

“I know, you stubborn smartass. I know it’s unfair, to you and to her. But she hurt you so bad, Matt and then this really picked up.”

“You and Foggy pulled me out of it the first time, just like you did the last time.” He stood then, hands cupping your elbows lightly as if to keep you standing in front of him.

“I was hard seeing you like that, both times.”

“But you saw me anyway,” his hands rested on your upper arms then, “and I’m…I’m sorry I put you through that, that I didn’t tell you everything. I wanted to but I thought you wouldn’t like what you saw.”

“Then you couldn’t see me, and you didn’t.”

There was a paused and Matt took a breath, one that tickled the skin of your neck with how close he was. “And it was a cycle.”

“Operating like a corruptive state.”

It was impossible to look at anything but Matt. He filled your vision and invaded your other sense. There was that heat again, stronger than ever before. It only burned brighter when he smiled again.

“You think we staged a revolution radical enough to break it?” “Did we?” Your question was a challenge, as your questions to Matt often were.

This was one he did not hesitate to accept.

His hands roamed up and cupped your jaw to pull you in. Plush lips met yours and the skin of your chin was scratched by scruff. Your hands clutched at his ruined shirt and pulled until his heat became yours. There would be time for closing statements later.

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cellophaine · 2 years

Note

hey! I absolutely love your series lingered affections, I was wondering if you could write something about meating Matt in college; then confessing love for each other. Maybe something dramatic;) Love you work!!<3

I Get Along Without You Very Well

Pairing: College!Matt Murdock x Reader (main focus), College!Matt Murdock x College!Elektra Natchios

Warnings: Very light angst. Reader is lowkey emotionally detached. Matt is lowkey clueless. Time jumps.

Author's Note: I'm very very sorry for the wait! 😭 I hope this would be worth it (?). If not, I really am sorry 🥲

As always, any likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! <3

GIF is not mine

You slumped in the uncomfortable seat, your hand absent-mindedly tapping on the smooth surface of the desk before you. All you wanted was for the class to begin already so it could end faster, which meant you could go back to your dorm and take a fat nap until your friend woke you up for a $5 greasy pizza slice in Harlem. You would argue with her that $5 was too much for a piece, to which she would reply that it was big enough to make the fattest rat in New York hesitate, to which you would counter going all the way to Harlem for a slice of pizza is ridiculous, to which she would deadpan "you're just lazy" which would be true to some extends. You couldn't bother going out on a Friday night after a brutal first week at Columbia. Who knew studying law would be this hard?

You were lost in the fast-forwarding of your night until someone cleared their throat somewhere behind you.

"I'm sorry, is this History and Philosophy of Law class?"

You lifted your gaze towards the giant blackboard at the end of the room, decorated with equally large and flowery letters that said: "Welcome to History and Philosophy of Law!" As if those little rays of sunshine drawn around the course's name magically made the class more interesting, you thought.

"... yeah. It's pretty obvious, don't you think?"

You turned in your seat, craning your head up to the source of the voice. The rest of your sentence died down to a whisper like water escaping through the drain in a quiet whoosh. You took in the rectangle glass and the more obvious indication of why he could not see the board, a white cane with a red accent at the end.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What is obvious?"

You diverted your lingering gaze away from the adorable side part of his hair and the innocent smile accompanying his clueless expression. You shook your head before letting out a sigh, resuming your position as before. Just a little straighter.

"Never mind. I was being stupid."

You went back to examining the blackboard when he spoke up again.

"Can I sit here with you?"

He pointed to the seat beside you. You shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yeah, go ahead. Feel free to practice your constitutional right."

That earned a lighthearted chuckle from him, and you found yourself … not disliking the sound. He felt around for the desk next to yours, and you sneaked a glance at him every so often. After settling in, he turned to you, extending a hand with a friendly smile.

"My name is Matt Murdock."

You let out a soft hum in response, making no move to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Matthew."

His lips flattened in a way you knew was a mix of amusement and faux displeasure.

"It's Matt. What's your name?"

You exhaled softly through your nose, mildly vexed at this stranger's attempt at making small talk with you, or worse, getting to know you. The thought made you shudder. You offered him an evasive answer instead.

"None of your business."

"Nice to meet you, None-of-your-business."

You snorted, too loud for the echo of the classroom, which drew some stares toward the pair of you. You didn't expect him to sass you back, especially in such a prompt manner. You bit back a laugh as the professor asked for everyone's attention and introduced herself. You glanced at him again to see a dopey smile on his face mirroring your own, making him look even more adorable than the side part of his hair. Your heart did a stupid, fluttering thing then.

After that day, Matt became an unexpected addition to your life. You sat together for every class you shared, and to which the two of you found out later that it was all of them, even the Spanish course. He introduced you to his roommate Foggy, widening your friend circle even though you had no desire to do so. Matt gradually coaxed you out of your shell, and before you knew it, you were hanging out with the duo every week with an occasional drop-in from your friend. You spent many late nights with Matt, with early cups of coffee and catching up meals in between. You took care of each other, which was something that came naturally. At first, you thought it was purely transactional. You did it because you didn't want to owe him a favour. But you slowly came to a realization that Matt did it for anyone he cared about. This tangible string between you became an iron thread, blurring the border between platonic admiration and all-consuming infatuation. You harboured a crush, and it was a little too late when your stubborn self came to accept that.

Elektra's appearance in Matt's life was like the last nail to your coffin of unrequited feelings. She was a mysterious force, pulling Matt with her. Study sessions were mostly you and Foggy cooping up in the library, and you rarely saw Matt these days. You told Foggy something you never told anyone in one of those hangouts when it was only the two of you. Little did you know, it only tangled the delicate web of sorrow that cast over your fate and Matt's.

It would appear that all it took was lots of alcohol and a convincing argument from Foggy at an end-of-semester celebration for you to drunkenly walked down the hall to Matt's dorm at two in the morning. They haven't made it official, Foggy said with so much conviction. Before going in, he gave you two thumbs up with a grin so bright it made his eyes squint shut. With your cheerleader just outside the door, you gathered courage, walking to his door with little stumbling, as you so proudly recalled. You composed a speech in your head, practicing with a barely-there whisper in the quiet hall. Most students had gone home for Christmas, with some exceptions.

Before his door, you took a deep breath, knocking with less assurance than you would have liked. He couldn't tell how nervous you were by the way you knocked, could he? All of your wandering thoughts evaporated as Matt opened the door, a flustered look on his face. He didn't have his glasses on, and it allowed you to look at his unsighted eyes. They were focused on a point on your shoulder; the usual vivid hazel was darkened in the dimly lit hallway. The light was off in his room, making you feel even more guilty about disturbing his peace.

His voice called out to you with husky touch to his undertone. Was it sleep? Was it something else?

"What are you doing here? It's very late. Are you okay?"

You adored the way his confusion turned into concern for you in the same breath.

"Oh! Uhm, yes, I'm fine, as fine as I can be. In my tip-top conditions."

You laughed nervously, internally cringing at your rambling. But you couldn't help yourself.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up. I know that it's late–"

"–that's okay. I was just–"

"–but I just want to tell you something."

You spoke simultaneously; words bounced off each other, woven in a jumble of sound with the message lost in between. You chuckled nervously, and Matt followed.

"Of course. What do you want to tell me?"

You took a deep breath, willing your voice to stay steady.

"I–"

"Matthew, who is it?"

Elektra's unmistakable silky voice rang out from the inside, making the confession die on the tip of your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow it down, burying the words of love with the haste of your shovel with each painful thud in your heart. The thumps in your chest felt like they rattled your ribcage, turning everything else into a soft blur. You blinked back the tears that welled along the rims of your eyes. Like a glass full, you were afraid you would spill and break in front of him. The least you could do was allow yourself the dignity from a faux composure.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Matt turned his sightless yet curious gaze to you, imploring you to continue. You shaped your lips into a forced smile, hoping it could mask your devastation.

"I just want to wish you a good night. And that I'll see you in class."

He stayed silent; the slight waver in your voice didn't convince him. You knew that because you knew him,

"Are you okay?"

The tenderness of his voice and the way he gently called your name caressed your fragile mind.

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine. I should get out of your hair."

Matt held his hands up, motioning you to wait for him. He went to take his coat off the hook on the wall, speaking out to you.

"I'll take you back to your dorm. You shouldn't be out by yourself this … late."

By the time he got to the door, you were already walking down the hall with the phantom of Matt's voice calling out your name close behind.

The Christmas break provided you with a much-needed space so you could coddle your broken heart. You kept in touch with Foggy, and responded to occasional messages with Matt. You tried to keep the contact with him at a minimum, enough not to arouse any suspicion. The break also gave you enough time to develop a foolproof plan to avoid Matt as much as you could. The second semester went on almost seamlessly with your diligent effort to commit to your plan. You came to class just before the lecture started, choosing a seat far away from Matt, and leaving before he could catch up with you. You found excuses not to hang out, study, or do anything in close quarters with them. While Foggy understood why, Matt didn't. Distancing yourself was the only way you knew how to soothe the ache in your chest every time you were struck with the thought of Matt. You knew your feelings would never be reciprocated. You lost your chance.

However, Foggy remained hopeful.

"I know Matt, and I know that he likes you. A lot."

"If he liked me that much, he wouldn't be with Elektra."

You said with resignation. Foggy stayed quiet, musing in the weight of your admission.

"I'm sorry."

You shrugged nonchalantly as if your action reflected how you truly felt.

"It is what it is. It was my fault for catching feelings."

You reached over the table, patting Foggy's hand.

"I'll be okay. I will get over it."

You never quite did, especially when Matt unexpectedly ambushed you on the way to your dorm.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

And when you kept your lips shut, refusing to provide him with an honest answer, Matt said with a broken edge to his voice.

"I miss my friend."

With a biting bitterness on your tongue, you spoke softly as if that could lessen the blow.

"I wish I could say the same."

More time passed as the last encounter drew a line between you and Matt. A part of you felt relief since you didn't have to find an excuse not to hang out anymore. Still, the other part of you felt guilty for what happened. You could have kept it together and still got to have him in your life. But, from deep down, you knew that you would rather have all of Matt than just bits and pieces you knew couldn't satisfy the bottomless greed when it came to him.

You carried on with your life without him, feeling the emptiness of the space that belonged to him. You finished the first semester better than you anticipated, waltzing into summer with a lightness to your steps. You took a part-time job at a coffee shop, enjoying what the New York summer had to offer. You went to the bookstores, museums, parks and vintage shops. You spent the summer in a comfortable solitude, and you found yourself enjoying it. You found yourself thinking about Matt all the time; not once did his voice fade in your head as you thought it should.

The second year kicked off, and like the last time, you still avoided Matt. It went on until you went back to your dorm after a long day of classes, only to find a sock on the doorknob. You went to the library after getting a measly cold sandwich from a bodega close by with a water bottle before heading to the library. You walked up the stairs, taking turns to the usual spot you took, finding Matt already sitting there, his hand splayed on the open book. You let out a small "oh shit" before walking backwards straight into the bookshelf, letting out a pained whimper at the sudden impact. Matt's head snapped up with a curious look. He called out your name, and you cursed yourself for not running fast enough.

"Sorry, I'll leave now."

Matt stood up almost immediately; the chair scraped back harshly on the marble floor.

"No! Please, stay here."

You exhaled nervously, slowly backing up with every word you said.

"That's alright. I don't think it's a good–"

"Please?"

You yielded at his pleading tone. You cursed yourself for giving in so easily as you sat down, pulling out your textbook.

"Just like the good old days, hm?"

Matt said with a bashful air in his tone and face. That drew a soft smile to your face, and you hummed softly in agreement. You cleared your throat after a few moments of silence.

"How's– Foggy?"

You had intended to ask about Elektra, but you were too much of a coward. Matt had a quizzical look on his face.

"He's fine. I thought you guys keep in touch? That's what he told me."

"Busted."

A brief silence fell over you. It didn't stay that way for longer than a minute as you went for it.

"How is … Elektra?"

You lifted your head from the textbook as Matt didn't answer your question. A hint of hurt embedded itself onto the furrow of his brows, in the slight tilt of his frown. He must know that you were looking as he cleared his throat.

"We broke up a while ago."

You went still at the news. Matt looked like a kicked puppy at this moment, and all you wanted was to pull him in for a hug.

"I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It just wasn't meant to be, you know? I thought she was the one, but she ... proved me wrong."

"I'm sorry. Breakups are never easy."

You ended up talking for the whole night, catching up with what you had missed in the other's life. Around 1 AM, you walked to a diner that opened late, ordering yourself some hot chocolate and food to share. When the conversation winded down, you didn't think twice when you reached across the table, placing your hand on top of his.

"I missed you."

Your heart did a stupid, fluttering thing again when Matt turned his palm up, threading his fingers with yours.

"I missed you, too."

Things started to be the way it was again. Yet, there was something different. You got meaningful, somewhat suggestive looks from Foggy, the way Matt seemed to get flustered around you more and more. You blamed it on the awkwardness when you rekindled your friendship. It could take a while for you to be comfortable around each other again. You could deal with that.

On a cloudy night that turned into the pouring rain, you walked Matt back to his dorm after spending some time at the library. You were soaking wet when you reached the building, and the rain only poured down harder. Matt invited you in for shelter. You shivered at the welcoming warmth of the room, taking in the layout. Foggy's side was a little messy, with no sign of him anywhere. Matt promptly informed you that Foggy was out with Marci, and he wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. Matt gave you a towel, letting you dry off while he rummaged through his drawer to find a change of clothes for the both of you. On the opposite side of the bed, with your backs turned to each other, you put on his sweatshirt, pulling on the sweatpants that were a little too big on you. You subtly took in a deep breath, smiling at the faint smell of his laundry detergent in the soft material.

Matt sat on the floor by his bed, and after putting on his clothes, you joined him. You fidgetted with the long sleeves; your thigh almost touched his. You could feel the heat his body radiated at this distance, pulling you towards him. But you stayed put.

After a while, Matt whispered into the space between you.

"What happened to us?"

You knew what he was talking about. It was something you thought would come eventually, and you hoped, when it did, you would be prepared for it.

Still, you thought this was something you could never prepare for. It wasn't a test. It was a gentle demand of the truth, and it wasn't easy even at that.

"I just felt like there wasn't any place for me in your life anymore. So I thought it was better to take myself out of the picture."

You picked at a fraction of the truth, for it was the easier part. Matt felt for your hand, clasping it between the warmth of his hands.

"You will always have a place in my life. You will always have my time."

You shook your head.

"No, that will not always be the case, and it's okay. There will be a time when I'm just somebody you knew."

You said matter-of-factly. The grasp of Matt's hands on yours tightened as the desperation in his voice convinced you to think otherwise.

"No, don't say that. You're breaking my heart."

You reached out with your hand, smoothing a few strands of his hair away from his forehead. When you pulled back, your fingers were damp with moisture.

"All broken hearts mend at some point, Matt. They don't stay broken forever. I know that all too well."

"What do you mean? Did something happen?"

You sighed deeply, finally feeling the courage you permitted yourself to let go of what you wanted to say to him that night.

"I loved you, Matt, in a way I knew I shouldn't. Then, Elektra came, and I knew I had lost my chance. I tried to get over you, I ... I tried to cope with my broken heart by staying away."

Matt's hand came up to rest on your jawline, angling your face so you could look at him. His voice was a husky, barely-there whisper, spoke with such raw tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Tell me that I'm not too late. Tell me that you still … love me."

You didn't dare to breathe; the air locked in your chest as you searched for the meaning behind his words.

"What are you saying?"

Matt licked his lips, releasing a slow and nervous sigh.

"I have loved you for so long. It's always been you. I was stupid not to realize that out of fear of losing you if you didn't feel the same. So I accepted that I could never have a chance with you."

Emotions rushed through you, making your head spin. You couldn't quite believe what he was saying. You wanted to cry tears of frustration and let your body sag to the floor with your head on Matt's thighs. Pure exhaustion from secrets, lost time, and misunderstanding caught up to you, rendering you silent. But, underneath it all was this blossoming happiness, growing at a dangerous pace. It spread through your body like wildfire, and you didn't want to put it out. You wanted to bask in the heat, in the feeling of being loved by someone you adored.

Matt brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender and tentative kiss to your knuckles, soliciting the most important thing –

"Please, tell me, am I too late?"

– the key to his heart ever since the day you met. You closed the distance, whispering in between.

"No, you are not."

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year

Text

Matt loved Elektra- like he loved her. And she loved him. She said she’d trade it all in for him.

But she wanted to throw glasses and break into houses and commit murder. They couldn’t meet in the middle.

And even though he understood her and she understood him, I feel like she wasn’t necessarily accepting of love. Cause she didn’t think she deserved it. And I think his goodness scared her and made her feel like she was a monster.

It crushed him when she left. And it hurt her too.

But when she comes back, he says he’ll throw it all away for her. he was willing to throw away his practice with Foggy, his budding relationship with Karen, his love for Hell’s Kitchen- all for her. And she says she’ll stop killing. She promises she’ll meet him in the middle- and then she kills a child in front of him. And it crushes Matt because he’s now lost the life he wanted with her twice. She destroyed their future twice. She knew what they could’ve had, but she self-sabotaged.

But I don’t think she knew how to be anything other than what she was raised to be. I think she was scared of resisting. And when she realized she was the Black Sky- it just confirmed her fear.

#ignore this #I am in my feelings #elektra #matt murdock #Matthew murdock #daredevil #matt x elektra

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sherry-babyforme · 2 years

Text

#matt murdock #matthew murdock #charlie cox #daredevil #netflix #matt murdock x elektra natchios #matt murdock x karen page #matt murdock x reader

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saintmurd0ck · 2 years

Note

another congratulations on 500 love you rhi <3!!

okay so we all know that pre/mid-elektra matt is most definitely a sub but post-elektra matt? i imagine you'd be fucking him for at least a few months at this point but he's so scared of connection because of what happened with elektra so even though you're friends otherwise, the more intimate part of the relationship is emotionally cold and distant; aftercare (cuddling, soft kisses) is rare (but matt is an inherently caring person so he'd definitely clean you up and make you breakfast if you end up staying the night) and the sex is harsh, degrading & angry and generally amazing.

i love you gabs! thank you so much for being one of my biggest supporters <3

also, once again, i feel like ive already said this twice today but WOW your thoughts and insights are incredible. i'm gonna answer this ask in a little bit of a different format than i have for the sleepover!!!!

thoughts (some smutty) after the cut!!!

you're completely right. after defenders (of which i haven't finished but i know what happens), matt murdock doesn't exist. we have a broken daredevil, someone who is absolutely completely broken to his core. even though he's not technically in love with elektra anymore, he still loved her, and her dying twice has ruined him to rock bottom.

at this point in time, matt isn't ready for a relationship. he needs to release his pent up emotions in one of the few ways he knows how, and that's through you. he's cold and distant, unsure if he can trust anyone again, and the healing process of his identity isn't an easy one.

matt's religion plays a little part here. as a catholic, sex without strings attached is inherently difficult, but he is so broken that you're right -- there's minimal aftercare, minimal attachment, just sex.

it's rough, raw, sometimes animalistic. all you hear are growls and guttural moans, and the sensation of his warmth spreading inside you as he cums is all too familiar. he likes feeling you kneel in front of him, lips parted as he stuffs himself in your mouth, words like "dirty girl, fucking me like this" echoing in your ears.

it's amazing for a while, but you can see it in the way he fucks you, in the way his internal struggle manifests in his face when you're intimate... after a while your "relationship" with him starts to feel off. so you begin to pay attention to him, learn about him, and not just his body. you don't want to pry because after all he's just a friend with benefits, but you're determined to try and help him, as subtle as possible.

for instance, on a few occasions, telling him that you want to be on top, that you want to be in charge. you want him to lay back and relax, just fully, completely relax, while you work him on top. and he does that, eyes squeezing shut at how good your hips feel grinding against his, the way you place his calloused hands over your boobs as you let him deeper inside you.

and he starts to let go a little. starts to loosen up, let go. and slowly, ever so slowly, matt murdock begins to return. his shoulders aren't so tight anymore, his smile lines crinkling at the jokes you make...

and he allows himself to finally feel, to finally make those connections he honestly, truly needs.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matthew murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #rhi's mutuals 💗#rhi responds 💌#saintmurd0ck 500 milestone celebration #as usual gabs hits it out of the park with the thoughts and asks!#this was amazing to answer #still not over elektra ruining him like this!#rhi writes 💻#x reader #the defenders #elektra natchios #nmcu

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silverflameataraxia · 2 years

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Karen never had a switch of feelings when she found out who Daredevil was. Her feelings towards Daredevil started to shift in season two, when she realized that Daredevil was probably what set the stage for other vigilantes like Frank Castle. She questioned whether there was a difference between saving lives (Daredevil) or preventing lives from needing to be saved at all (The Punisher).

She didn't judge Daredevil until season two, before she even found out Matt was Daredevil. She started questioning her support of Daredevil before she found out he was Matt. For the record, she's told Frank numerous times that she doesn't like what he does either.

Karen never had contempt towards Daredevil. Her contempt was always towards Matt. She confronted Matt about lying to her and cheating on her in season two, before she found out he was also Daredevil. Then she confronted Matt in The Defenders for lying to her about giving up Daredevil (and him saying he was glad he did) to resuming being Daredevil without telling her and putting her life in danger...again. Then in season three, she confronted Matt for lying to her and Foggy about being dead. She told Matt to his face that Matthew Michael Murdock, not Daredevil, was the problem. Now why does she have an issue with Matt? Because he keeps lying to her and Foggy and using them, while at the same time treating them like garbage. She paid Matt's rent for months, knowing full well that he was Daredevil. This is after he cheated on her and lied to her repeatedly.

Frank never lied to Karen. He never dated her just to cheat on her with his ex-girlfriend. Karen has said, many times, that she values honesty and that she likes Frank because he's honest with her - he never lies to her. Matt - not Daredevil - has lied to her repeatedly.

"Elektra's not the problem, Matt. You are." - Foggy

"I'm not so sure Daredevil's the problem." - Karen

Matt's a human disaster. I love him, but he has so much maturing to do. He's a horrible friend and an even worse boyfriend.

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thequeenofuselessinformation · 2 years

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Matt Murdock when Karen prayed for his return from the dead, where he went exclusively after chasing his batshit crazy, hot ex:

DP credit to Enstatia

Post base credit to Segamascot

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josephinekhawaja · 2 years

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Shows my shipping bias then that that pregnancy joke in the Abomination arc had me in a chokehold while seeing this headline had me going what in the world.🤣🤣 Rogue Theory and the like aside though, why would Jen need to be pregnant with anybody's baby, especially on such a feminist show. (...fan fiction is a different beast, of course. You could have anything in that and baby fic happens to be my weakness in life.)

#At the moment though would rather have Jack and Elsa baby fic if I could...#Have already read one smut for them and it is not enough.#This was like reading one of those supernatural tabloids back in the day.#But I am such a Matthew Murdock x Elektra Natchios shipper✌✌.#Emil Blonsky x Jennifer Walters #Emil x Jennifer #Emil x Jen #She-Hulk x Abomination

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petertingle-yipyip · 20 days

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DONT BE A FOOL - MATT MURDOCK

Pairing: matt x wife!reader

Word Count: 2, 156

Summary: After a very tense argument about a misused name, your apologetic husband ends up getting looped in by your students.

//follow-up to three empty words but can probably be read on its own//

The next morning, you refused to dilly dally your morning routine. Your shower was quick, your hair and makeup remained simple. Even your outfit was more or less the first thing you grabbed from your closet. You gathered all of your papers - which you hadn’t gotten around to grading the night before - and your laptop before Matt’s alarm had even gone off.

You skipped making breakfast, deciding to stop at a coffee shop on the way to work instead, and hustled out the door. You ignored the still sleeping figure of Elektra on your couch even though your brain wanted to soak her with cold water and kick her out. You did slam the door on your way out but that was just to satisfy your own anger.

You walked into your classroom and let out a loud sigh as you dropped into your deskchair. You were thankful to be out of the house, in your own space for the time being. As you began grading the papers and piling them according to the hours, your mind wandered back to the night before. You wondered if Elektra would be out of your apartment when you got back. You wondered if Matt would tell Foggy and Karen that you two got into a fight last night. You then found yourself wondering if Matt was actually going to go to work that morning.

You realized you were staring blankly at the student’s worksheet in front of you so you shook the thoughts and focused on the daunting stacks before you.

Most of the hours were business as usual. Your normal rowdy students were a bit extra, but that might’ve been due to your already grated nerves more than their own behaviors. It wasn’t until the hour before lunch that you found some of your students more huddled and secretive than usual.

“What are you doing in the corner?” You called, peaking over your computer at the small group. “There’s, what, five minutes till the bell?”

“Mrs. Murdock, what’s your husband’s name?” One of the girls, Liv, asked with an innocent expression. The same one she gave you when she explained her lacking assignments.

“Matthew.” You titled down your screen to see them better. “Why?”

“What does he do again?”

“Lawyer. Why?”

“Is he handsome?” Another girl, Nicole, asked with wiggling eyebrows.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes at your middle schoolers.

“Yes, very.” You smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.”

“And if he’s a lawyer, he’s gotta be smart, right?”

“Again, very. He went to Columbia.”

“So like… Is he why you’re so sad today?” Blake, the only boy in the group, chimed in with a nonchalant shrug.

“Guys.” You frowned slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I’m not sad. Me and Mr. Murdock are fine. We’re happily married. And you should be worried about your own relationship drama, not mine.”

“So you admit there’s drama?” Nicole countered quickly.

“Between Blake and Emmy? Yes.” You nodded and Emmy’s jaw dropped while her friends poked her teasingly. “Between me and Mr. Murdock, no.”

“Mhmm.. So why is the photo face down?”

“What?”

“The photo by your computer.” She came across the room and lifted the frame near your laptop that was in fact, face down. “You told us on the first day that this was one your favorite photos and you have it on it’s face… There’s drama, Mrs. Murdock.”

“You’re very observant, Nicole. Thank you.” You said flatly as you took the frame from her hands and set it in it’s rightful position. “I must’ve knocked it over when I was trying to find you and Liv’s missing portfolio project.” “You can’t deflect, Mrs. M.” Liv added from across the room. “It’s all over your face.”

“Y’know what.” You announced, standing from your desk. “The bell rings in less than two minutes. You guys can all go to lunch early.”

A chorus of questions arose while you heard the door being pushed open.

“They can’t write you all up.” You shrugged and dropped back in your chair while the meddling group made their way into the hall.

The girls continued to whisper to themselves and glanced back at you, to which you shooed them away. When you were finally alone in your classroom, you let out a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over your eyes.

Usually, you adored having open communication with your students because that meant they trusted you. But at the same time, that meant they felt entitled to know your life story whether you like it or not. The bell echoed in your ears so you spun your chair to the small fridge under your desk that held your lunch.

You clicked play on a playlist from your laptop and began eating your lunch, typing away to enter in grades. You knew you should just do nothing, scroll mindlessly on your social medias instead or maybe even call Foggy to ensure Matt made it to work, but the busy work for your eyes, head, and hands felt better. Plus, you weren’t exactly sure what you would’ve said that could’ve gotten your question answered without being a dead giveaway. So you kept working instead.

“MRS. MURDOCK!” Liv nearly yelled as she burst through your door, maybe halfway through the lunch hour. “OHMYGODYOULLNEVERBELIEVE-”

“Liv!” You said in shock, nearly dropping your water bottle. “What is going on? Is everything okay?”

“Look at this!” She hurried across and showed you her phone screen. Oddly enough, it was a photo of the back of a man exiting a taxi. What stood out to you was the white cane in his hand.

“It’s a guy getting out a cab.” You tried to reason, gently pushing her phone away. “That’s what you ran in here to tell me?”

“But he’s blind!”

“So it seems.”

“Don’t you know what this means?” She insisted with a small stomp.

You simply shrugged and raised your brows.

“It’s Mr. Murdock! He came to apologize!”

“Liv, I appreciate your concern for my marriage but we’re fine, okay? It’s not like he and I are heading towards a divorce. We’re just in a bit of an argument. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ve never seen you so…” She gestured vaguely to you.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now go back to your lunch, please. I have to finish these.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Mrs. M, just-”

“Liv, boundaries, please.”

“Just listen!”

“No.” You said firmly. “Go back to your lunch.”

She huffed slightly but retreated to the door. As she was heading out, she nearly ran into one of the monitors.

“Sorry to intrude, Y/N.” The monitor said as she popped her head in. “I have a visitor for you.”

“Another one of my kids being a problem?” You sighed and wheeled yourself a bit further from your desk. “Send ‘em in. They can sit in the corner till next class.”

“Actually, I think you’ll be glad to see this one.” She smiled knowingly and reached for something outside the doorframe.

Before you could voice another question, she ushered Matt through the door. He said his usual thanks for being guided and the monitor gave you an approving nod and thumbs up. She mouthed a very not subtle ‘He’s very handsome’. You smiled awkwardly in agreement but once the door closed, you rolled your eyes and went back to your gradebook.

“Could’ve called.” You said simply.

“I didn’t think you would answer.” Matt replied honestly.

“Probably wouldn’t have… Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I couldn’t focus.”

You heard the clicks of him folding his cane as he wandered around your classroom. You peaked up to watch him manueaver the desks with such ease that for a split second, you forgot he was blind. You watched him run his fingers along the bulletin board you had on one wall, leading into the standards and other required signage you had up.

“Did she leave?” You asked and returned to your prior task. You knew if you watched him for too long, he’d know and he’d show you that stupid lopsided smirk that he did.

“She was still pretty weak when I left.” He said and there was a slight sadness in his voice. Though if someone asked if it was for Elektra or your argument, you wouldn’t have been able to say. “But I did ask Stick to find somewhere else to take her to recover if she can’t leave on her own by the time someone gets home.”

“Chivalrous.” You made a face behind your computer screen. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to tell me that.”

He sighed slightly and you mumbled a short complaint to yourself before scooting away from your desk and spinning in your chair to face him, just as he appeared at your side. You folded your hands over your stomach and leaned back in your chair, giving an exaggerated sigh and nod for him to talk.

“Y/N, last night, I said something I shouldn’t have.” He began carefully, as if he was following a carefully rehearsed speech. For all you knew, he had rehearsed it with Foggy that morning before he showed up. “I let Stick push me and I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“But she shouldn’t be the first thing, right?” You said softly with a small shrug. “Stick shouldn’t be able to push you into saying that, whether you meant it or not.”

“You’re right.” He admitted and your brows went up slightly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You are the only woman that I want to be with. I married you, without any hesitation. I never had second thoughts or second thoughts or anything. You, Y/N Murdock, have my heart.”

You nodded slowly but said nothing as you stood. You crossed your arms and looked up at him, him offering a hopeful expression in return. You broke into a small smile and nudged him with your shoulder before moving past him. He followed you almost instantly and you took him to the wall on the other side of your desk near the window.

“The kids started calling this the Sweetheart’s Spotlight.” You said quietly with a small smile. “They keep a polaroid camera in one of the cubbies and every Friday, they rearrange the couples in order of their favorites… They made me put a photo of us on here, too.”

“Where do we rank?” He smiled slightly.

“We’ve been number one since it started.” You laughed. “They tell me that you’re the best by default since I’m their favorite teacher.”

“Lucky me.”

“You know I’m still upset, right?” You said carefully when the air was too light between you two.

“I know.” He nodded. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“But I also don’t want to hold onto this fight. So here’s an idea. Elektra’s out of the apartment today. You two finish whatever crusade you’re on. You make sure you don’t get yourself killed. She leaves New York and it’s all put to bed.”

“Consider it done.” He nodded. “And I know better than to get myself killed. I’ve got it too good to die.”

“Yeah because then I’m a widow and there’s not much life insurance to cash in on.” You joked as the lunch bell rang.

“I should get going.” He nodded before gently taking your hand. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too.” You said softly as your students started filing in.

“OHMYGOD.” One of your students yelled and you closed your eyes tightly, quietly groaning in embarrassment. “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?”

“Yes, Luna.” You said, feeling the blush across your cheeks. “This is Mr. Murdock and he’s leaving.”

You pulled Matt towards the door as he laughed. Your kids yelled questions that you tried to ignore until Matt stopped, pulling you to stop with him.

“It’s career week!” One of the boys yelled. More so a demand.

“I’m aware, Jack.” You nodded. “What does that have to do with this?”

“He’s not here to talk to us about lawyers?” The boy’s head cocked as he asked his question.

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” Matt grinned and you groaned again. “Let’s give Mrs. Murdock a break, right?”

“You’re so dead.” You threatened quietly with a laugh before heading back to your chair.

“Okay, kids.” You announced. “He’s blind and can’t write. I’m not getting up. Take your own notes and keep your questions relevant to his career, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murdock.” They all answered.

“All yours, Mr. Murdock.” You gestured before returning to grading and the personal questions started flying.

“How did you guys meet?!”

“What’s her favorite color?!”

“Did you see the wall?!” “He can’t see!”

“Are they always this rowdy?” He asked you with a slight laugh.

“You’re new and exciting.” You shrugged. “Take it as a compliment.”

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chvoswxtch · 2 years

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please don't be mad

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt’s run in with his ex has you questioning everything about your relationship, and he’s determined to prove himself to you.

warnings: cursing, lots of angst, fluffy ending, matty being a typical dumbass, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 7.2k

a/n: psa, I am not an elektra anti. I would happily fuck her too. this is once again purely selfish matty content I couldn’t get out of my head. a huge thank you to my darling @yourbucky084 for beta reading, helping edit & providing such helpful feedback. also a big thank you to @pleasurebuttonwrites for helping me figure out what the fuck is behind matty’s bed for this fic lmao. I appreciate you both so much! as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[part two]

It felt like I had been staring at the wall in the darkness for hours. My body was aching, begging me to move from my current position lying on my side that I had been stubbornly stuck in for the past forty five minutes, but under absolutely no circumstances would I turn over. I would deal with my body’s stiffness tomorrow. I had tried, and failed, several times to get my brain to just shut off. I silently pleaded for the sweet blanket of unconsciousness to wash over me so that I could get a break from all the noise in my head. Tonight was the worst night to be an insomniac.

“Angel?”

I squeezed my eyes shut when I heard his low voice cut through the silence. Asshole. He knew the effect that his voice had on me, especially at that volume. I tried my hardest to get my aggravated breathing under control to a slow, steady pace. My heart was the one that wouldn’t cooperate. It was still thudding angrily against my chest. I heard a deep sigh cut through the darkness and a rustling of sheets behind me.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re not asleep.”

I felt the bed dip beside me as he turned onto his side to face my back. Despite the coldness of the bedroom, I could feel the heat radiating off his body. Normally, we’d be tangled up together. I always slept best with my head on his chest, leg slung lazily over his hips, completely wrapped up in his arms and warmth. But tonight, I wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

“Honey, please.”

I grit my teeth and flung the covers off my body, shivering slightly as the awaiting cold nipped at my exposed skin and caused goosebumps to appear everywhere. I gripped onto my pillow and ripped it off the bed, hastily rounding the corner towards the refuge of the living room.

“Goodnight, Matthew.”

Before I had a chance to slide the door open, Matt was on his feet and in front of me in a flash. He gently wrapped his arm around my wrist to halt my movements and firmly grabbed onto my hip to hold me in place.

“Y/N…you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on.”

“Fine. You are.”

I shoved the pillow roughly against Matt’s bare chest, grabbing the handle on the door and sliding it back so hard into the track it nearly made the entire apartment shake. Matt winced at the sound, squinting his eyes and turning his head away from the door. Normally I would have felt bad about the noise considering his sensitive hearing, but tonight I didn’t really give a fuck about his comfort. He sighed deeply as he tossed the pillow onto the bed and took a step towards me.

“Sweetheart, I really don’t want to go to bed angry. Please.”

“Well maybe you should’ve thought of that earlier Matthew, before you hooked up with your ex at a fucking party and tried to lie about it.”

“Y/N that’s...that’s not what happened. I told you, we just kissed…and I explained why.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to just take your word for it? After you’ve told me how many lies tonight Matthew?”

“I didn’t-”

“You blew me and Foggy off because you said you had an ‘important meeting’ with your special ‘client’. And then you come through that door, wearing a disheveled tux, with the collar covered in red lipstick I might add, and I find out you actually went to a gala with her.”

“Because she had a lead about information that could help take down the Yakuza!”

I had been seeing violent shades of red ever since Matt walked through the front door. I was pissed when I saw that he was wearing a tux, which was not what he had left Foggy and I’s company in, but the second I spotted the lipstick on his collar, I was fucking livid. Matt must have sensed the shift in my emotions because he immediately pulled off his glasses and raised his hands up slowly in surrender, quickly spitting out an “I can explain”.

My blood only began to boil at the mention of her name. Elektra. Matt had reluctantly, and very briefly, told me about her one night when we had first started dating. The gaps that he left, Foggy unenthusiastically filled in later on. He very clearly had not been a fan of hers, and I grew to understand why.

The more I learned about her, the more my disdain grew for the way she treated Matt. The way she left him..and what she had tried to do to him..what she had tried to make him do before she disappeared. I couldn’t believe he would actually want to be around her again after everything she had put him through. She had almost ruined his life, and after that night, he said he never wanted to speak about her again. I didn’t press it. I didn’t want to upset him, and honestly I didn’t care if I ever heard her name again. All I wanted to do was make up for her faults, and show Matt how much he deserved to be loved. I promised him that I would always accept him for exactly who he was. I never once tried to change him. Not like her.

I was beyond incandescent when her name so easily rolled off his tongue. I had been seething all night since his earlier confession. I was pissed she’d had the audacity to show up after all these years just to torment him all over again. But mainly, I was outraged at Matt for letting her, and for lying to me about it. When he finally came clean about being Daredevil, he swore he would never lie again, no matter what. While anger coursed through my veins, there were hints of hurt and betrayal that made every rush sting even more.

“And that makes it all okay?”

“No, of course it doesn’t. I just..I need you to understand that’s all it was, okay? A mission. That’s it. The last thing I ever wanted was to see her again, but she had something I needed. Something that could help me actually get rid of them, for good this time. I couldn’t pass that up. They’re too dangerous.”

“Then why did you lie about it? If that’s all it was, why couldn’t you tell me the truth? Why couldn’t you tell Foggy the truth?”

Matt averted his head downwards, placing both of his hands on his hips as he stood there silently. His lips parted slightly, taking in a deep breath as if the words he was searching for would be laced within the oxygen hitting his lungs.

“I don’t know. I just..I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Please…don’t be mad.”

That rage that had been brewing inside me ever since he walked through that door was suddenly bubbling like molten lava, and I was about to fucking erupt. I grabbed the closest thing on the nightstand and flung it directly at Matt’s head. I knew it wouldn’t actually hit him, not that I really wanted to, but I couldn’t think straight through all my fury. He dodged the vase just in time as the ceramic shattered in cataclysmic pieces against the wall, shock written evidently all over his features by my uncharacteristic outburst.

“Mad? You think I’m mad? I’m fucking furious, Matthew! There aren’t words strong enough for how I feel right now. You lied. Again. And I’m supposed to, what, just be okay with it? Just be okay with the fact that you’re dressing up and running around New York with your ex to lavish galas because it’s for the greater fucking good?”

“Sweetheart, it was just for information, okay? I swear. Look by the time we found the ledger, they already knew we were there. We snuck a floor down and pretended to be a lost drunk couple so that we didn’t get shot. It was strictly a distraction. If they had found us and figured out what we were actually doing, they would’ve killed us.”

“Well if she’s so fucking impressive, why didn’t she go by herself? She didn’t need you there, she wanted you there. And you willingly went. You could have said no.”

Matt ran a hand through his messy brown hair, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t seeing things his way, and rubbed his palm across the stubble on his right cheek. He dropped his hands to place them on his hips once again and shook his head slowly, pointing his chin in my direction.

“You’re right. I should’ve said no. I should’ve let her go alone, and I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning. I just…I really didn’t want to start a fight.”

“I’m done fighting with you, Matthew.”

I felt completely drained, like all the life had been sucked out of me steadily ever since he walked through that door. Our fight earlier was explosive, definitely the worst one we’ve ever had. One of the only ones we’ve ever had. I thought it had depleted all of my energy, but the way he kept trying to justify his actions kept fueling the fire. I was tired of being lied to. I was tired of him disregarding my feelings about this whole situation, and not even trying to understand why I felt the way I did. I was tired of feeling like I had to fight to keep my place in his life. I don’t even remember why I agreed to stay over at his place tonight. I should’ve just gone home.

“Don’t...don’t say that. Please. Your voice makes it sound like you’re giving up.”

“Maybe I am Matthew. This was a mistake. I’m going home.”

“No…no no no. Don’t say things like that, please. Look don’t…don’t go. Please, Y/N. It’s late and you’re upset and I...I don’t want you out walking the streets alone right now-”

“I don’t really care what you want right now.”

Matt quickly snatched my overnight bag out of my hands as soon as I reached for it and tossed it across the room with annoying accuracy. I futilely shoved at his chest when he grabbed onto my arms and pulled me in close, but it was no use. He was a lot stronger than I was, and on top of that I was exhausted. I didn’t have any fight left in me for tonight, and there was no escaping the cage of his embrace.

“Please let go.”

“I can’t. I can’t, sweetheart. I need you, please. Look I fucked up, okay? I know that. I fucked up and I’m so sorry. I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say that, but I am. Just...please don’t leave. I love you, Y/N. Let me..let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I love you.”

My eyes widened as the words dripping with suggestion left his mouth. I tilted my head back and stared up at him dumbfounded, a humorless laugh leaving my lips as I managed to find a surge of strength to push as hard as I could at Matt’s chest and finally shove him backwards.

“Are you fucking joking? You have some goddamn balls, Matthew Murdock. Are you seriously asking me for sex right now? You think that’s gonna fix this?”

“I’m not asking, I’m offering. I know you need it.”

“You don’t know anything. What the hell makes you think I want anything to do with you right now? Why would I even want to kiss you, knowing all I’m going to be able to taste is her.”

Matthew Murdock was one cocky son of a bitch, and his audacity never ceased to amaze me. He clenched his jaw slightly as spite flowed from my lips, hands balling up into tight fists at his sides as he let out a controlled deep breath. His features morphed into an expression of distress as he took slow calculated steps closer towards me and inhaled, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. His eyes were a shade darker when they opened and his tongue quickly darted out to swipe across his bottom lip as he squared his shoulders. I knew that look, and it caused a shiver to cascade down my spine.

“Then why don’t you let me have a taste, hm? I don’t want you to taste anything else on my tongue except yourself. I don’t want to taste anything else but you.”

Matt tilted his head to the side slightly, his blank honey eyes fixated right in my direction, trying to sense anything that would give me away. He waited silently to taste the effect of his words in the air as they began to seep from my core, and feel the rise of heat that flushed across my chest and the tops of my cheeks. He waited for the anger to dissipate into desire. Matt Murdock was not a very patient man, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was when it came to outsmarting his prey. He set the trap, and waited for me to fall into it. He knew I would. It had been too long, and he knew me too damn well. Matt always knew how to melt the icy barrier I hid beneath, rendering me a needy puddle in his capable hands. The twitch of his jaw and fleeting uptick of his lips let me know he had gotten exactly what he was waiting for.

“I can smell you, sweetheart. Your need...your want. It’s palpable. I can feel it in my own veins. I can practically taste you from here. It’s been what…two weeks? Two weeks since I’ve touched you. I haven’t been paying attention to you like I should have been. I haven’t been very good to you lately. I’ve been neglecting you, and I’m so sorry for that. Please...let me make up for it. Use me.”

Use me.

My mouth suddenly felt dry as it clicked in my brain exactly what he meant. Matt knew what he was doing. I was a sucker for his voice, especially when he used his “devil” voice on me, and he never hesitated to use it to his advantage. He knew it would make me crumble. It always did. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted, how to win. He masked every single one of his sinful words behind that velvet voice, and I loved it. Matt took my silence as an invitation to move even closer, his voice becoming dangerously low as he spoke.

“You don’t have to touch me. You can have my fingers, my mouth, whatever you want. I can feel how frustrated you are. I know how badly you need this. So let me help. Take it all out on me. Use me, sweetheart.”

I felt like I was being pulled in a million different directions in my head. A tiny, logical piece of my brain wanted me to smack him. It was yelling at me to not give in. To instead tell him to fuck off, get my things, and just go. The other part of my brain wanted me to just call it a night. Just let go of all the anger, try to get some sleep, and discuss the future of our relationship in the morning when we were both level headed. But both of those thoughts were completely drowned out by the ache beginning to throb uncomfortably between my thighs.

I was just as sexually frustrated as I was...well...regularly frustrated. I couldn’t remember the last time Matt had kissed me, or touched me, or even told me he loved me. He had been so busy lately, I felt like we only saw each other in passing like forgotten ships in the night. My body yearned for him. He knew it better than anyone, sometimes even better than I did. He always knew what I needed.

My renegade eyes traveled over Matt’s exposed muscular chest as I got lost in my inner turmoil, paying extra attention to how his sweatpants and briefs hung treacherously low on his hips. I had spent so many moments mapping out every inch of his skin and every visible scar with my fingers and tongue. If I focused really hard, I could feel the tautness of his abs on my fingertips from whenever he got close to releasing in my mouth. I could hear the gravel in his voice as he whispered vivid dirty details of his plans for me into my ear. I could taste the tanginess of my own release on his lips as he kissed me after bringing me to climax with his skilled tongue.

I felt a warm rush of arousal pool between my thighs. The soft groan that exuded from Matt’s lips let me know he had noticed it. He always knew when I was wet for him. I could never hide from him. His tongue swiped along his bottom lip as he stared just above me, his fists tightening at his sides so hard his bruised knuckles were stark white. I know he wanted nothing more than to rush forward and take me, fuck it all out, and beg for forgiveness when he finally sent me over the edge...but he stayed still. Matt had always been the dominant one in our relationship, and I liked it that way. I never knew I could find so much freedom in completely giving myself over to someone. I trusted Matt. I loved when he took control. I craved being submissive to him, so much so that it would have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fucking satisfying. I didn’t know if I had it in me to be the one in control, especially not with the headspace I was in. I was desperately grasping at the frayed edges of my anger, but the way he was staring at me with those ravenous wild eyes had me letting go without a second thought.

“I..I don’t..I’m not sure if I..”

Matt reached out to gently take my hand into his, brushing his thumb over the back of my knuckles and giving it a soft squeeze. Somehow he always understood me, even when I couldn’t get the words out. He just knew.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. I got you, sweetheart.”

Matt slowly sunk down onto his knees in front of me, head tilted back to keep his gaze up towards my face. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he hooked his index fingers under the seam of my panties, pulling them down my legs carefully as he brushed his fingers tenderly along the back of my knee and the side of my calf. He turned his head slightly to place a chaste kiss to my inner thigh and I felt him smile against my skin when I let out an involuntary whine. He tapped my ankle lightly to signal for me to step out of my panties, balling them up into his hand and shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants.

Matt placed several more scorching kisses up the expanse of my legs and over my thighs as he slowly rose up from his knees, towering over me once he stood to his full height. He gestured his head towards the bed and began to walk backwards.

“Come here.”

I watched him in confusion as he took his place on the bed, glancing down at the spot on the floor in front of me where he had just been.

“What…what um...”

“You’re gonna ride my face.”

I nearly choked on my own spit, my eyes widening in shock as I watched Matt move to lay flat on his back on the mattress. Matt Murdock was no stranger to eating me out. Sometimes I think he enjoyed it almost as much as I did. There were times I had to practically pry him away, nearly in tears from overstimulation because he just kept going and going and going. He’d had his face buried between my thighs countless times, but never like that.

“W-What?”

“You’re gonna sit on my face, you’re gonna ride my tongue until you come, and you’re gonna keep going until you feel satisfied. If you wanna go all fucking night, we will. You don’t stop until you get what you need.”

Even though he was offering to let me take control, there was still a dominant edge to his voice that made my knees weak. Matt reached his hand out for me to take, his eyes blankly moving back and forth as he waited to sense my presence come near. I was frozen with apprehension. I wanted it, God did I want it, but I was nervous. I had seen a picture of Elektra once. We looked nothing alike, figure wise. I had a very curvy figure. I had wider hips and thick thighs, and while I knew Matt was very strong, I also knew I would die of embarrassment if I had to explain how I nearly suffocated my boyfriend from trying to ride his face for the first time.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

I blinked a few times as I stared over at Matt, taking a few cautious steps forward until I stood next to the bed. I reached out slowly to grab onto his hand and swallowed thickly when he tugged me closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to each of my knuckles.

“Don’t think so hard. Just come here and let me make you feel better, please.”

I tried to let go of all my trepidation with a deep exhale, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth as I climbed up onto the bed. I let go of Matt’s hand momentarily to pull my oversized sleep shirt over my head so that it wouldn’t get in the way. I swung my leg over Matt’s waist and straddled his chest. He quickly grabbed onto my hips and pulled me up further with impressive speed, causing me to gasp and brace my hands against the wall.

“Jesus, Matt. Slow down.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I just...fuck...can you get up here? Please, baby?”

I wasn’t used to Matt sounding so needy. That was usually my role. I was always the one begging for him…begging for more. Hearing how desperately he wanted to taste me sent a tidal wave of lust dripping down my thighs, and Matt growled lowly in his throat at that. His fingertips dug roughly into the soft flesh of my thighs and his hips bucked upwards slightly. I stared down at him in awe, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride and confidence from the way he was reacting.

“Sweetheart...please...I’m begging you. Let me make you come until you can’t walk. Come on angel...be a good girl for me and come ride my face, yeah? Let me show you how much I want you. Only want you.”

Between his strained begging and the way he moved his head to get closer to where I was soaked, I couldn’t take it anymore. My pussy seemed to have a mind of its own because before I could stop myself, I was settling my knees on either side of Matt’s head and bracing my hands onto the wall to steady myself, preparing to lower myself languidly. Matt however had other plans. In an instant, Matt had a bruising iron grip on my thighs and had roughly pulled my soaking cunt down on his face. One of my hands immediately flew down to grip at his hair as I moaned loudly when I felt his tongue slip inside me. Matthew Murdock was extremely talented with his mouth, which made him an exceptional lawyer, but an even more sensational lover.

His mouth was so warm as he ravaged me, and I felt myself already having a difficult time staying upright. Matt’s large hand came down hard against my ass and I cried out as it surged me forward, the action causing his nose to bump divinely against my clit as his tongue explored my pussy like it was the first time all over again. It took one more slap for me to get the hint and I slowly started to move my hips against his face. The muffled moan of approval that sounded beneath me only spurred me on to roll my hips back and forth delicately like an easy tide. I gripped tightly onto Matt’s hair and tugged hard which caused a groan to reverberate enticingly against my clit.

I could feel him moving slightly around on the bed behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see him rolling his hips upwards into the air in time with my own pace. I could see the perfect outline of his impressive cock as it strained against the barrier of his sweatpants. There was already a wet patch forming which drove me even more crazy. He was really fucking enjoying this. It never failed to turn me on even further seeing how much Matt got off to getting me off.

My breaths became more jagged and struggled to be released from my chest the closer I got to the edge. I should’ve felt pathetic about being so close to coming undone so quickly, but it had been weeks. I whined loudly as I began to grind my hips down back and forth on his tongue, welcoming the burn of his facial hair rubbing roughly against my inner thighs. I had gotten so used to his touch that I felt like I was completely starving after two weeks without it. I hadn’t even bothered trying to get myself off because I knew it would be no use. I couldn’t come without Matt, not since the first night I let him touch me and make himself at home between my thighs. Nothing compared to him.

“M-Matty...oh god...please...”

Matt clamped both of his large hands down on my thighs to hold me in place, wrapping his plump lips around my swollen clit to suck on it feverishly. I could feel him moaning against my core and it only brought me closer and closer to where I wanted to be. It was so close...so fucking close. My entire body felt tense with anticipation as I waited impatiently to be tossed over the edge into pure ecstasy. It felt like a rubber band within me was being stretched impossibly thin, and I just needed it to fucking snap already.

“Maaaatty…please please please..”

I don’t even know what I was asking for, but he knew. He always knew. Matt granted me mercy as he quickened the pace of his tongue, flickering over my clit like a flame trying to withstand the wind. He gently bit down on my sensitive nub, causing me to explode with pure bliss. I rocked my hips against his face messily as I kept my tight grip on his hair. A high pitched whine left my lips when I felt a growl rip through his chest as I finally came into his mouth. I glanced down just in time to see his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head from my taste hitting his tongue, a satisfied primal groan resonating against my core. Matt wouldn’t let me budge until he greedily lapped up every drop of nectar my body had to offer. My thighs shook aggressively as I tried to ride out one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had. My body felt entirely too heavy, and the only reason I hadn’t collapsed was because Matt was still holding me up. He detached his lips just for a split second, baring his teeth in menacing snarl.

“Go for another one, sweetheart. I told you…we can stay here all fucking night.”

I glanced down to see the lower half of Matt’s face completely coated in my glimmering wetness. His lips were swollen and red, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, panting as he tried desperately to catch his own breath. His hair was sticking up in odd directions from my hazardous gripping and his eyes were blown open so wide, I could see the devil in them, waiting for me to unlock his chains. I whimpered as I felt his tongue teasing at my folds, trying my hardest to pull away from his eager mouth.

“I..I c-can’t..ah fuck Matty…please…let me down...please...”

Matt grabbed onto my hips and lifted me up gently, helping me onto my back on the spot right beside him. My body was still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure when I felt the warm weight of his body on top of mine. His lips left a burning trail of kisses down the column of my neck, between the valley of my breasts, and along my lower stomach. I whined when I felt his warm breath wavering against my clit.

“Shh...let me take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll do all the work. Just lay back and let me make it better.”

“Matty...please. I just want you, please.”

I hadn’t forgiven him. I was still hurt and angry, and there was so much we needed to talk about. But right now, I just needed him. I needed to feel him. I needed to feel our bodies connected together, like they belonged to one another. I needed him to tell me everything would be okay as he held my hand and made love to me. I needed to know he was still mine.

I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he hovered over me and I grabbed onto his face to pull him down in a searing kiss. I could feel him sigh in content and relief against my mouth, sliding his hand under my back to pull me up closer so that could press our chests together. I could feel his heartbeat thundering against my own in a perfect symphony. As I pushed at the waistband of his sweatpants, he gently grabbed onto my wrist and broke the kiss to lean his forehead against mine.

“Sweetheart, I told you…you don’t have to touch me.”

“I need to, Matty. I need it, please. I need you.”

Matt stilled at my sobbing plea and brought one of his large hands up to brush the scattered tears away with his thumb, cupping my cheek in his hand as he gazed down at me in pure concern.

“Angel, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Was it too much? Do I need to stop?”

“No...no please don’t. I just...I need you, Matty. I need you here.”

“I am here, sweetheart.”

“I need you to stay here. You can’t...you can’t just ignore me for two weeks and then run off with someone else, Matt. You can’t do that to me...especially not with her. So...if this is it, then I want-”

“Hey, no. This is not it. Don’t talk like that. Listen to me...I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that again, I swear. You mean everything to me, alright? I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl. I’m right here. And I don’t want you to worry about her. She’s on the first flight out of New York in the morning, okay? She’s not coming back. It’s just you and me, my love. I’m right here. I love you.”

“Then show me.”

I didn’t wait for him as I braced my palms against his broad chest and pushed with all the strength I had left, rising up onto my knees as I pushed him down onto his back. I ignored his faint protests, grabbing at the waistband of his briefs and sweatpants to tug them down in one swift motion as quickly as possible. I pressed my palm hard against his chest to keep him down when he tried to sit up, climbing onto his lap and positioning myself over his impatient cock. The tip was swollen with lust and weeping with need, standing proudly at attention above his stomach, waiting for me. I didn’t take my time to slowly lower myself down like I normally did. No matter how many times Matt had been inside me, ruined me, I always had to adjust to his size.

We both cried out in unison when I sank down completely, and his hands flew up to seize my hips. Being on top always required the most accommodation, but I loved having him like this. I could feel him everywhere. All I wanted was to be completely filled to the brim and consumed entirely by him. I winced as the sting of my walls being stretched to their limits pierced through my lower half.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Easy easy…don’t hurt yourself. We can take it slow-fuck!”

I ignored every single one of Matt’s words as I sat up straight and began to swivel my hips in purposeful circles. It burned, God did it burn, but I wanted it. I wanted it all. I didn’t know if I believed Matt’s words. I didn’t know if the love he had for me would ever compare to what he had felt for her, what he might still feel for her. I didn’t know that I believed tonight wasn’t it for us. But all that I wanted was a reminder, that this had been real. That Matt had been real, and he had been mine. I would take the pain willingly if it meant I’d be able to feel him for the next few days. I’d happily be haunted by the ache he left between my thighs to remind myself that this was real.

Every drawn out moan of my name that rang in my ears, every breathless pant, every plea of oh my god and every praise of fuck sweetheart kept me moving even though I felt like my legs were seconds away from giving up. I threw my head back towards the heavens, hoping God would understand my prayers and what I needed through the form of Matt’s name. On my knees above him, I prayed. And I prayed and I prayed and I prayed.

I didn’t know if the tears falling freely down my cheeks were from being pushed to my limit physically, or mentally, but I cried out when Matt sat up fully to wipe them away from my cheeks, reaching farther inside me than I ever thought possible. I whined when I felt his hand wrap delicately around my throat, his thumb and index finger holding my chin in a firm grasp as he captured my lips.

“Shh…it’s alright sweetheart. I’m here. I’m right here. Doing so well for me, angel. Always so good to me. Let me take care of you.”

Matt brought my arms up to wrap around his neck, grabbing my hips gently to flip our bodies over and lay me down into the sanctuary of silk covered pillows. He pulled my legs tightly around his waist, locking his own hips in place against mine. One hand came up to intertwine our fingers together, squeezing my hand in reassurance as he placed his other forearm directly beside my head. Pressing our foreheads together, brushing his nose and lips against mine, Matt began to oscillate his hips at a tender speed, allowing me to feel every detailed stroke of him against my tight walls.

“My perfect girl. Can’t you feel how perfect we fit together, Y/N? Can’t you feel how perfect you are for me?”

I couldn’t handle the vulnerability in his featherlight whispers. It tugged so hard on the strings of my heart, I thought they might snap. I tried to whisper his name, respond with something coherent, but all I could manage was a needy whimper. Matt let go of my hand for just a second, slipping his own between our bodies to press down on the bulge in my lower stomach.

“You can feel me here, can’t you sweetheart?”

I grabbed onto the back of his neck urgently, digging my nails into the muscle of his upper back to anchor him in place. I tried to nod, tried to hide my face into the refuge of his neck to escape his inexorable gaze, but he wasn’t having any of that. Matt’s hand was quickly covering my throat again, his hold on my chin a little tighter this time, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“I am not going anywhere. Nothing could ever take me away from you. Not her, not Fisk, no one. Not even God himself could keep me from you.”

His caramel coated eyes were staring so hard down into mine, it knocked the breath out of me. For a second, I felt like Matt could actually see me. His stare only grew in intensity as his thrusts became more precise.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. You are mine. And I am yours. We belong to no one else, but each other. I’m gonna marry you someday, Y/N. Someday soon. I want nothing more than for you to be my wife, my perfect girl. My angel. There’s no one else I want by my side for the rest of my life. No one else who understands me better than you do. No one else that accepts me like you do. No one else that’s as good to me as you are. I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you. I will put a ring on your finger tomorrow. I will put a baby in you tonight.”

A sharp gasp mixed with a breathless moan echoed from my lips at Matt’s words. I knew Matt wanted to get married someday, and I always hoped it would be to me. We had very briefly had a conversation about kids once. He knew that I wanted them, and said that he did too. Someday. While marriage I knew we could make work, I wasn’t sure about the kids part. I didn’t know if I could handle having a child with him when he still needed the other side of him, and I didn’t know if he would ever know when he wouldn’t need that side of him anymore. It was a tricky conversation I wasn’t ready to try and navigate. I didn’t want to risk losing Matt, and I would never ask him to give up something that was so important to him. But the conviction in his voice, the certainty of his words, made me lightheaded. Matt tilted his head to the side slightly, a sense of recognition softening his gaze as a light smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“That what you want, sweetheart? Hm? That what you need? Taking my last name and growing our baby inside you to remind you every day that I’m yours?”

“Matty…”

“You want all of me, don’t you angel? C’mon, tell me. Tell me you want all of me.”

“I…God, Matty…want all of you, please.”

“I love you, Y/N. You love me, don’t you? C’mon baby, tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Matty. I, oh God, love you so much…”

“Say you’ll marry me. Gonna ask properly, I promise, but I need to hear you say it. Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes Matty…yes I’ll marry you.”

I knew Matt was listening intently to my heartbeat with every answer that spilled from me, searching for any falter in rhythm that would tell him I wasn’t telling the truth. That I was just obeying his orders. But I wasn’t lying. I meant every word. I knew that Matt knew that from the mouth splitting grin that took over his entire face.

“That’s my girl. My perfect girl. Now, tell me I can come inside. We can start our family tonight, sweetheart. C’mon, tell me you want it, and you’ll be pregnant before the sun comes up. Let me hear it, angel.”

“Please Matty, please. Please come inside me. I want our family. I want it all. Please Matty, make me yours.”

Matt tightened his grip slightly on my throat, silencing my cries of pleasure with his lips. His pace remained gentle and loving, but his thrusts were powerful and meticulous, relentlessly hitting that spot inside me that had me swimming in constellations that appeared behind my eyelids every single time. It didn’t take much longer for me to plunge from the peak of exhilaration, free falling into uninhibited gratification below that was completely and irrevocably Matt.

I felt tingles sparking throughout my extremities as my body spasmed in rolling blackouts of delectation, causing my walls to clench unforgivably around Matt’s cock. I could feel the rhythm of his hips stuttering into short, staccato bursts as he finally reached his own crescendo. The pure satisfaction entangled in the legato moans of his climax wrapped around me like a warm blanket, lulling me into a state of ease. For the first time all night, joy buzzed in my bloodstream, and I was able to silence the roaring of my insecurity.

Matt was here. Matt loved me. Matt was mine.

I hugged him as close and tightly to my chest as I could, refusing to unlock my legs from around his waist when I felt him start to pull back.

“Don’t, please. Just stay. Just wanna stay like this.”

Matt pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and allowed his lips to linger there for a moment before marking my nose, cheeks, and lips in his adoration. He nuzzled his head into my neck and I felt him inhale my scent deeply before sighing in content.

“Alright, sweetheart. We can stay like this.”

I basked in the comfortable silence for a moment, allowing my brain to process every single one of Matt’s words. I felt a childlike sense of giddiness, like when you were a kid and you knew you were getting the exact gift you wanted for Christmas. You had peeked, and spoiled it for yourself, but still felt unfiltered excitement anyway. The gift itself didn’t matter as much as the feeling of knowing that it was what you wanted and it was yours.

Matt Murdock was my gift. The one thing I always wanted, the only thing that mattered, that was all mine.

I threaded my fingers lightly through his hair, occasionally massaging at his scalp and smiling at the hums of gratitude that vibrated against my neck.

“Matty?”

“Hm?”

“You know I’m still on birth control, right?”

“I know, sweetheart. It doesn’t hurt to start practicing though, does it?”

I could feel his smile against my skin. If I closed my eyes, I could see it. I knew exactly which one it was. I couldn’t help but giggle at his response, tightening my arms around his back.

“Well, if that’s the case, then we’ve been practicing for over a year Matty. Sometimes several times a day.”

Matt pulled his head back just enough so that he could face me, bumping his nose against my own as a devilish grin stretched across his soft lips.

“I like to be prepared.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil smut #daredevil fic #elektra natchios #foggy nelson

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farfromstrange · 1 month

Text

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

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