Matt Murdock Fanfiction - Blog Posts

A birthday punishment and a birthday gift.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader

Summary: After your boyfriend comes back home after leaving his birthday party early to let the Devil out, you play with him in the shower.

Word count: 2017

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, sub!Matt, dom!reader, handjob, choking, edging, just a tiny bit of overstimulation, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, sunshine), spending too much time in the shower (guys c'mon save water). Afab reader but no pronouns used.

A/N: I wouldn't say this is a tall!reader fic but I wrote it as being roughly the same height as Matt. I don't think it matters that much anyway so... enjoy!

Please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed it <3

Masterlist

You were sound asleep when he came back from patrolling. As always, he made his way to the shower before getting in bed, careful not to make any sound that could wake you up.

Matt was being extra careful tonight, though. You tried to hide it but you were pissed at him for leaving his birthday party early to go devil around the Kitchen. And he understood, you were right to be angry and he'd try to make it up to you later when you woke up.

The sound of the shower ended up rousing you from your sleep. Normally, you would've gone back to sleep, knowing your boyfriend was back, but you had other plans tonight.

You had been a bit angry initially when you got home from the party and he went to put on the suit instead of spending the night with you, but at the same time, what were you expecting? You knew who you were dating and you ultimately couldn't be mad at him.

You stripped from your pajamas and made your way to the bathroom. Technically, it wasn't his birthday anymore and you knew he'd be tired, but you still wanted to do something for him.

Matt had his back to you, facing the wall as he scrubbed his hair clean. You stepped inside, your arms wrapping around his body from behind as you buried your face on the crook of his neck, leaving a kiss there.

"Sorry for waking you up." Matt said, placing his hand on top of yours on his chest.

"It's fine… We have unfinished business anyway." You nuzzled him below his ear, hugging him tighter and pressing your front against his broad back, your hands starting to roam across his torso.

Matt shuddered, leaning instinctively into your touch. He always craved your touch, especially now when he thought you would still be mad at him.

"I'm sorry for goi-" He started to apologize, intending to turn around, but you shushed him and kept him in place, your nails dragging down his sides to the tops of his thighs, making his breath hitch.

"Be a good boy and let me do what I want." You said against his skin, gently sucking on it but being careful enough to not leave a mark.

Matt let out an almost inaudible "Fuck", tilting his head to give you more space on his neck, feeling the rush of blood to his already hardening cock.

You smirked at his response before resuming your kisses, moving to his back. You kissed and gently bit his shoulders, your hands moving to his chest to rub his nipples before going down his abdomen, grazing his skin while your lips kissed down his spine until you kneel behind him.

Matt kept himself still by pressing his hands against the tiles, letting his head drop as his breath quickened.

"Please…" He breathed out. Your hands were now exploring the inside of his thighs. He was painfully hard and you had touch him everywhere except where he needed it the most, the feeling on his sensitive skin almost maddening.

"I know, baby, you just gotta be patient…" Your hands now leaving his front to grope his ass, playfully biting on one of his butt cheeks and making Matt huff, before getting back up.

You kissed your way up his spine again before resting your head on his shoulder, one of your hands moving down the trail of hair on his abdomen and finally wrapping around his cock, slowly starting to move up and down his length.

Matt's head tilted back as a moan went past his lips, the stream of water now hitting his chest, his mouth slacking when your hand focused on his tip, the precum coating your hand.

You nipped at his ear and suckled on his earlobe as you picked up the pace, pumping him both faster and harder, the nails of your other hand digging on his hip where you kept him from moving.

Matt's moans got louder and his hips tried to sloppily thrust against your hand. Even with the water and steam saturating the air and muffling his senses, he could smell your arousal, feel your hard nipples and the strong beat of your heart on his back making his go even faster.

You felt him tense up when your other hand went to fondle with his balls, making you smirk, the hand on his dick keeping a steady pace.

"I'm gonna-Fuck, sweetheart I'm gonna cum." Matt struggled to say in between breaths.

That was your cue to stop, making him whimper at the loss of contact when he thrusted into nothing.

"Sorry baby, you can't come now. I'm not done yet." You told him, kissing below his ear, his neck and shoulder as your hands rub his hips trying to soothe him.

"Is… is this my punishment for going out tonight?" Matt asked as he panted, his hands dropping to his sides as he came down from the edge.

"Mhmm…" You hummed, trailing kisses from one shoulder to the other to give it some attention.

"I guess I deserve it." He huffed a chuckle.

One of your hands traveled across his body to grab his jaw, making him turn his head so you could see his flushed beautiful face.

"Open." You ordered him, your index and middle finger brushing against his rosy lips, waiting for him to let them in.

Matt obeyed without hesitation, humming at the taste of your fingers as they slid over his tongue.

"That's it, baby. You look so beautiful like that." You praised on his ear, the encouragement making him thrust into the air again, needing to feel some friction again as he sucked on your fingers. "So needy." You cooed, leaving a kiss on his jaw as your other hand went to wrap his painfully hard cock, starting to jerk him off again.

You kept fucking Matt's mouth with your fingers as you allowed him to fuck himself with your fist, his hands holding onto your arms. You didn't have to tell him, he knew he couldn't touch you when he was at your mercy.

You felt his hips falter, his body tensing up again, so you quickly took your fingers from his mouth with a wet popping sound. His lips searched for them for a second but they were gone, your hand grabbing the column of his neck, keeping him firmly in place without choking him, the hand on his dick slowing down and stopping right before he could come.

Matt whined and turned his head towards your face. "Please, sunshine, I can't take it." He pleaded, the hot air of his panting hitting your face.

"Oh but you can, my love. I know you can take it." You nuzzled his nose, your lips hovering his but not touching.

Matt tried to kiss you but you moved away, making him whine again when you kissed his stubbled cheek instead. He almost cried in that moment, not being able to kiss you being arguably worse than not being allowed to cum. "God, please, Y/n…"

You decided it was enough punishment for today and sighed. "Okay, okay… I'll let you come next time. You know I love it when you beg for me." You said, your thumb lovingly caressing his throat.

You reached your free hand between your bodies to cover your fingers with the slick pooled between your folds before taking his throbbing, weeping cock on your hand once again, knowing you'd get a reaction from your boyfriend with heightened senses.

And you were right, Matt had been smelling the sweet, tangy scent of your arousal this whole time, but having it coat his cock and mix with his own fluids made his eyes roll back, his mouth going slack again as he breathed through it to get a better taste of you.

You moved your fist up and down his length, slow and hard at first, then picking up the pace as he got worked up again.

He was a moaning, panting mess in your arms, rutting into your tight fist almost desperately.

He wasn't going to last much longer, so you decided to finally squeeze the sides of his neck, just enough to make him dizzy.

"C'mon, come for me, I know you want to…" You mumbled against his shoulder, looking down so you wouldn't miss it and kissing whatever skin was available as you encouraged him.

The throbbing in his ears and the light-headed feeling was just what he needed to tip him over the edge, Matt's hips erratically moving as his cum covered your hand.

You squeezed him tighter, slowly milking him until the last drop. "Mmm… that's it, my love. You did so well…" You praised releasing your grip on his neck and soothing his throat, peppering kisses along his jaw.

Thinking he was done, you went to pull your cum-coated hand away, but Matt quickly grabbed you by the wrist to keep it in place, rubbing his oversensitive dick against your hand.

"More, please…" He breathed out in a whine, testing the waters by holding your hand in his, making you make a fist around his cock to keep thrusting.

"Okay, just 'cause it's your birthday." You chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder and your free arm wrapped around his waist to rest there with his. "Let me see how you fuck yourself with my fist."

The friction is so addictively painful, making Matt want more and more of it even if he had already cum.

It didn't take a lot more thrusts for another orgasm to wash over him, making him tremble and hiss at the pain, his knees almost giving up as a few more drops of cum came out of his spent cock.

You gave him a last, gentle pump that made him shake, slacking against your body as his threatened to give up.

You shushed him, holding him tightly and rubbing your hand on his abdomen to calm him down.

Matt took a moment to even his breath out before turning to face you, his nose nuzzling yours. "Are you gonna let me kiss you now?"

"Yeah, c'mere…" You raised a hand to the back of his neck to pull him in, your lips finally connecting with his in a slow, tender kiss, Matt's arms wrapping around your waist to hold you tight against him.

Without breaking the kiss, he placed both of you under the stream of water, his hands leaving your waist to gently grab your face, intending to break the kiss to say something, but ultimately being unable to do it, indulging in the feeling of your soft lips brushing against his for a bit more.

"Let me do something for you too…"

"I think we've wasted enough water, Matt." You chuckled and reached to stop the running water, now that it had already washed away the remnants of Matt's orgasm of your skin.

"In bed, then." He insisted, nuzzling your nose again as his hands left your face to trail down your body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the bruise on your ribs, Devil." It wasn't that you didn't want him to fuck you. In fact, that's all you had been wanting all night long. But he was hurt, and you knew he would not care if he made his injuries worse if that meant he satisfied you.

Matt sighed, rubbing your hip before smirking at you, leaning in. "I'll tell you what, we can go to sleep now or we can go to bed and you sit on my face. I don't have to move anything but my mouth." He said in a low, suggesting tone, the grip on your hip tightening at the thought of tasting you.

You bit your lower lip, your neglected pussy clench around nothing at his words. "Fuck, Matt… I can't argue with that."

Matt's smirk grew into a satisfied smile before kissing your lips again, more passionately this time. "Let's get out of here then, can't wait to taste my birthday gift."

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

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