Matt Murdock X Gn!reader - Blog Posts

This this this this this 🥰

perhaps love

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: 5 times Matt didn’t realize he was in love with you + 1 time he did.

Warning: none!

Note: this is me indulging myself in a fic after listening to one (1) song for months over and over until i’m slowly getting sick of it. enjoy!

1.

Matt followed closely behind as you happily explored the ground beyond. He tilted his head over his shoulder nervously, silently listening to Foggy trail behind him, a little too slow for his liking. For once he was extremely grateful that his enhanced hearing gave him the upper ground.

“Matt! Foggy!” you hollered. Matt winced. Okay, maybe not that much. “I’m flying!”

“Holy fuck,” Foggy cursed underneath his breath. He slowly nudged him along to move faster. Matt rolled his eyes, at last. “What the hell are you doing? Get down!”

“What are they doing?” Matt asked warily. Having either one of his friends drunk always split into two possibilities; he never knew whether he was up for a laugh or a trip to the ER.

“Climbing the fucking flagpole,” Foggy grunted. He sounded both exasperated and amused, but his step was a little too slow from the drink he had earlier.

“Jesus.”

Keeping an eye on drunk you was one thing, but coaxing you to slowly climb down the flagpole was a whole another feast. Foggy yelled at you to climb down, which only earned him a snarky remark and a waterwork on your part. Matt was unable to hold back laughter after that, silently wondering what the hell did they put in the punch bowl back at the house party.

“Just climb down, please,” Foggy said exasperatedly. “We’re too broke for a trip to the ER.”

Matt shook his head, smiling. “Do you want chicken nuggets?” he hollered at you.

That seemed to catch your attention. You sniffed loudly, spreading and contaminating the air with your salty tears. “Chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I have a lot of chicken nuggets back at my dorm. But you have to carefully climb down, okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffed again. “Promise?”

“Promise. Be careful.”

You hummed, slowly making a tentative step to climb down from the flagpole. Foggy hovered nearby on the left, so Matt took the right side. His heart hammered his ribcage painfully, the air suddenly felt stale and stagnant as you took a painstakingly slow pace to climb down the flagpole.

Matt heard it a second too late—a slice in the air, split into the stagnant air as you lose your grip on the pole. Matt leaped without thinking, letting his cane fall to the ground to catch you before you were able to meet the same fate as his cane. He felt his heart jump out of its pants right into his throat, suffocating him.

“I told you to be careful!” he chided, suddenly angry at your clumsiness. He knew that was irrational, you probably won’t remember anything by the time the sun was out, but he was seeing red.

But that only made you laugh—no, giggling. Your hand clumsily patted his cheek. “I love your glasses.”

Matt huffed as he hoisted you up to your feet, hands shaky with how hard his heart was beating now. Foggy handed him his cane and probably gave him slight odd looks now. He prayed that he was also drunk enough to doubt this exact memory tomorrow or chalk it up to a very nice coincidence.

“I told you we’re too broke for a trip to the ER!” Foggy joined him to scold you. He shook his head. “That was terrifying and dangerous. Don’t do that again.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, but a wide smile on your face made the whole ordeal both felt insincere and ridiculous. “Matty,” you tugged his sleeve. “Have I told you I love your glasses?”

“Yes,” Matt mumbled, patting his chest to calm his erratic heartbeat. He pressed his lips to form a tense line, perplexed that his heart hadn’t calmed down yet from the rush of adrenaline. “Let’s get you back to your dorm.”

“But I love your glasses!”

“I know.”

Matt shook his head to snap him out of his stupor. He was just surprised. He was just scared—terrified of what just happened.

2.

You rushed into his dorm without knocking. Matt had heard you approaching before you were anywhere near his door, but he still had the decency to put a faux surprise on his face. He turned around from his chair, listening to you sauntering in like you owned the place, and sat on his bed.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Hello to you too.”

You grunted at him, pressing a pillow against your face.

“Knocking is polite, you know,” he teased. He frowned when it met with silence, and his frown deepened when he felt salt in the air, and then your quiet sob muffled by his pillow filled his every wall.

“Hey, hey,” he slowly approached you, sitting on the edge of his bed. “It’s okay. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

That only made you sob harder. Matt climbed his bed into the empty spot next to you, gently placed his hand on your back in a silent question about whether you wanted to be touched or not. You lifted your head in a silent answer, slowly melting into his embrace, and sobbed against his shoulder.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, stroking your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. He didn’t know who he did it for—to soothe you or him, distracting himself from the very sound he knew he hated the most in the whole wide world.

“I broke up,” you said hoarsely.

“What?”

“I broke up with James,” you repeated. Matt had to physically restrain himself from scowling at hearing the name he wasn’t exactly fond of. “It didn’t work. We didn’t work. No matter how hard I try we—” you inhaled sharply. “God. God I’m fucking hard to love, aren’t I?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. “Who said that?”

“It just… I don’t know. I spent so many times, so many things with him, you know?” you started to teared up again, voice shaky with tears. “I felt like I poured all of my soul into loving him but he didn’t even try to give the same thing. It almost felt like I was an afterthought—god, I actually felt so lonely when I’m with him, you know? Maybe I’m just too much.”

“Don’t say that. You’re never too much, not to me.”

Matt let you collapse your head into his shoulder again, absentmindedly making a circular pattern on your forearm. He couldn’t remember when was the last time that piece of shit actually made you happy instead of eliciting tears after tears. At one point he was convinced you were dating an onion.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sniffed. “God, I’m going to die alone with twenty cats! Nobody’s gonna love me besides my family,” you wailed loudly.

“We can die alone together with twenty cats if you want,” Matt said, rocking you gently back and forth. “I love you, okay? You’re not gonna die alone. Not while I’m here.”

“I want to retire to the countryside someday,” you said. “Will you join me live in the countryside, Murdock?”

Matt huffed a laugh. “As you said, I’m a city boy through and through. But I’ll visit you every weekend.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“That’s more than enough.”

Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. The tears hadn’t dried up completely, but you were no longer actively sobbing or wailing anymore. He rested his cheek atop your head, feeling the familiar feeling of your hair tickling his skin and the smell of your shampoo invading his senses.

The door creaked open and Foggy walked in. He opened his mouth to make a dry remark about how often you stayed in their room—as he always does—only to stop when his eyes caught the sight of you.

“Who do I need to fight?” he demanded.

“No one, Fogs.”

Foggy immediately took a seat on Matt’s bed, his hand silently reaching for you. You shifted slightly on your seat, adjusting so you were comfortably sandwiched between him and Matt. “Seriously, who do I need to fight? What happened to you?”

“I broke up with James,” you said, shaking your head.

“What did he do to you? Where is that bastard now?”

“It’s not worth it, Fogs,” you firmly said. Matt imagined that you furrowed your eyebrows tensely, and he suddenly got overcome with a huge desire to press his thumb between your eyebrows to smooth them out. “Let it be.”

“Fine. But if he does something stupid after this, it’s on sight,” Foggy sighed, pressing his back against the wall. “You can do a lot better, you know? He’s a bit of an ass anyway.”

He’s a major ass, Matt silently thought.

3.

Matt banged his fist against your door frantically. His throat was raw from calling your name behind your door, repeatedly trying to get your attention. It was a wonder none of your neighbors had tried to kick him out yet, but he couldn’t find himself to care anyway. You failed to show up at work today, and after he, Foggy, and Karen were unable to reach your phone repeatedly—all directed to voicemail—he made the decisive decision to sprint to your apartment.

The only salvation and reassurance you did not magically disappear from the earth was the sound of your heartbeat from behind the door.

Your door opened at last, and he immediately knew something was amiss as you croaked, “Matt?”

“Hey,” he breathed, suddenly feeling light. The anxiety that shot up through him suddenly dissipated, like a knife being pulled out from a stab wound. “You didn’t show up at work today. You didn’t answer any of our calls—”

“Oh, shit,” you slapped your forehead. “I’m sorry, I think my phone died.”

Matt extended his hand quietly, pressing the back of his hand into your forehead. He hissed when his skin met your balmy one, a frown found a place on his lips. “You’re burning up,” he said. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Despite your initial protest, you made little to no effort swatting him away. Not that any of them would work, anyway. Matt tucked you to bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“Are you cold?” he murmured softly, gently propping your leg up into his lap to put on a sock on your cold feet. You hummed half-heartedly, already slipping back into slumber. “Have you eaten anything today?”

His question met with another half-hearted answer, but Matt still made his way into your kitchen anyway. He was not exactly a stranger there; he burned the layout of your apartment into memory just well enough. He scrambled through your fridge, thankful that you went grocery shopping a few days back.

Matt roused you awake to feed you some of his chicken soup—a recipe his father left him, a legacy, a memento of a happier and simpler day. You were annoyed for being woken up from your sleep, made sure to make a few grunts and annoyed huffs all directed to him, subtlety was never your strongest suit. But you relent anyway when Matt stayed equally as stubborn, the smell of the soup eventually wins you over.

“Go back to sleep now,” he said softly, satisfied that you were warm and fed and had swallowed some medicines. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” you yawned, snuggling closer to your pillow.

Matt sighed, a small smile tugged his lips before he knew it. “Promise,” he brushed your hair gently.

“Okay,” you sighed loudly. “If I wake up and you’re not here, I’ll fight you.”

“Sure. If you can reach my neck.”

You shoved him gently as a response, too exhausted to verbally bite back from his teasing. Matt lingered until he was sure you were fast asleep before he made his way to your living room to ring Foggy.

“Matt?” you walked the length of the living room with your sock-clad feet. Matt jumped to his feet immediately, meeting you in the middle. “Matt, there’s a giant spider in my room.”

Matt gently grabbed your shoulders, slowly guiding you into his embrace in a protective stance. He tilted his head, a mindless attempt to hear better, and couldn’t find any living being aside from you and him.

Not that he ever paid any mind to bugs in the first place.

“There isn’t any spider,” he said softly. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You shook your head stubbornly, firmly gripping his sleeve. “There’s a giant spider in my room!”

Matt blinked. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t hear bugs crawling in your walls, or if this was your fever speaking. He sighed quietly, gently tugging you back to your room and back to your bed.

You didn’t voice out any protest, but your clutch on his sleeve was getting firmer and firmer the closer you were to your room. Matt wordlessly tucked you back to bed and laid down next to you.

“Matt?” you called. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m here,” he reassured you. “It’s okay, go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

“Fight the spider for me.”

Matt chuckled. “Always.”

Matt shut his eyes, the sound of your steady heartbeat slowly lulled him to sleep. He found himself silently wishing and praying to be able to stay here, protect you from countless giant spiders, for as long as he could.

4.

“Do you ever think about taking a fanny pack with you?”

Matt blinked. He slowly put down his fork, ingesting your question and dissecting it one by one until it made sense inside his brain. “A fanny pack?”

You hummed, completely ignoring his bewildered expression that he was sure painted as clear as the day on his face, or completely oblivious. Which was unlikely.

“I don’t think your funky suit has any pockets,” you said thoughtfully. Matt would find the whole thing funny that you were sincere and serious with your question if he wasn’t so surprised. “But of course, you ought to put horns on your helmet. Couldn’t say no to living up to your reputation.”

Matt huffed, a laugh escaped him before he could register it—more bewilderment than mirth. He had come clean to you about who he was a few days back. It only felt right after Foggy had found out, and leaving you in the dark, no matter how much the thought of you finding out and meddling in both of his lives terrified him to death, felt incredibly wrong.

You took the news with stride—if a prolonged silence could count as one. But Matt knew you enough to know that the truth had been slowly seeping into simmering water for a while. It was a matter of time before the kettle whistled, and he dreaded the day it happened.

“Why would I need a fanny pack?”

“So you can bring a water bottle with you. Some granola bars to snack,” your voice sounded far away. He hated it. “Dehydration is a serious thing, Matt.”

Matt pursed his lips, caught in between amusement and wariness. “You think about this a lot, don’t you?”

“Can’t get it out of my head.”

Matt toyed with his ramen quietly, the only sound that settled between you and him comfortably was the wind blowing from the rooftop. The kettle was coming into a whistle anytime now.

“I’ll be fine, I swear,” Matt said. “Don’t you worry about me.”

You threw your hands in the air. “That’s not the point Matt!” you yelled, voice cracking with upcoming tears. “What if—what if you hadn’t had time to eat some dinner before you go? What if you’re hungry during your patrol and couldn’t find anything to eat? What if you’re thirsty after leaping from building to building and fighting, I don’t know, some bank robbers?” you jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “No human can go longer than three days without water!”

Matt stayed silent, patiently listening to your rambling about the importance of proper hydration. He felt a smile slowly forming on his face despite himself, despite the tears that slowly ran down your face, and despite the fact that you were yelling at his face. The words of your ramble—slipped with fret and scolding here and there—made his heart sing, flutter with the wind.

He still had the decency not to chuckle and tried to take your words into his heart and put it in the highest consideration. The whole fanny pack idea was an instant no, but he ought to figure out how to stay properly hydrated from now on.

“Are you done?” Matt asked gently with a smile.

You must have thrown him the nastiest look you could muster. “Yes,” you said sulkily. He just knew there was a prominent pout appearing. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”

“I know, I know,” he coughed to masked a laughter slowly bubbling up. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried. But I can’t bring a fanny pack with me, stealth is my key and a fanny pack would defeat the whole purpose.”

“You still need to eat,” you sounded dejected, and it took everything inside him not to scoop you up to brush away all the sadness. “And most importantly to drink water regularly.”

Instead, he settled by grabbing your hand and squeezing it gently. “I promise to always eat some dinner before I go and drink plenty of water before and after patrol. How’s that sound?”

“You still need to drink after fighting too.”

“I’ll find a way. You know I’ll always find a way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Matt squeezed your hand again. He slowly crossed his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

And later that night, when he found a piece of granola bar right underneath his suit, he knew that perhaps your worry wouldn’t completely melt away—not even with the most sincere promise. Matt found himself smiling widely that his cheeks started to hurt, over a granola bar and no less, feeling his heart painfully blossoming a feeling he still yet to find the name.

But he knew, deep down, his heart was singing your name.

5.

Matt listened to the sound of your footsteps roaming around his kitchen. He stood silently, hovering on the furthest corner of his kitchen counter, waiting for his tea to steep into perfection. You had come knocking on his door first thing in the morning—he was sure the sun was barely out yet, he barely had a wink of sleep himself.

It was his birthday today. He barely even remembered his own birthday, long after he lost his father, the idea of celebrating had never been appealing. But here you were, roaming in his kitchen, rummaging through his fridge like you were the one who spent all the money that goes to all the stuff inside, chopping and staining his kitchen counter as if you owned it. You were determined to pull a birthday celebration for him, even though it only consisted of a small lunch get-together with Karen and Foggy.

Matt couldn’t find himself to mind.

He liked it even.

Little words had been exchanged between you and him. Matt had learned long ago that you have a distaste for talking when you were cooking and insisting on doing so only means inviting his own demise. The sound of your footsteps, the mumble of commentary about certain ingredients underneath your breath, and most of all your steady heartbeat were more than enough.

“Matt,” you called for him, breaking his train of thought. It was hard to get Matt startled, but again, he didn’t expect you’d start a conversation mid-cooking. “Matt!” you tried again.

“What?”

“I’m going to turn on the blender,” you said. The sound of the lid closing followed after. “You might want to put on your headphones.”

Matt pursed his lips. You had given him a noise-canceling headphone as a gift for Christmas a year ago. He didn’t hate it necessarily, on days when it was rough and everything was too loud it helped tremendously, but having himself relied on his hearing for years only to have it numbed out felt extremely jarring.

Not to mention it brought back certain memories he didn’t want to think about.

“Should I?” he asked, pulling his tea bag out of his cup. “I think I can manage.”

“It’s loud. You took a lot of beating last night, I don’t want to give you a headache.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Matt shook his head.

“But—”

“If it hurts my ear I’ll put it on, okay?”

“You tell me if it gives you a headache.”

“Okay,” Matt smiled. Always so stubborn, you are. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” you relented. You rarely dispute his claims when it comes to certain things, this included, and Matt was more than grateful. “Maybe don’t stay in the kitchen with me while I turn this thing on.”

Matt squeezed your shoulders as he walked past. A lot of words slowly pushed out of his mouth, a jumble of incoherent sentences bouncing inside his head yet nothing meaningful he could grasp. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he ended up settling with only, “Thanks for the heads up.”

+1

“Put this thing on when you go out,” you said as you draped something around his neck—scarf?—and patted his shoulder proudly. Matt practically could feel pride and happiness radiating off you from this close proximity, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s this?”

“Scarf,” you said, confirming his suspicion. You gently nudged him up to move within the queue for the new bakery that had just opened near your place. Matt had volunteered to come with you after Foggy and Karen both refused your request, not particularly fond of the long line.

He was grateful for the long line, though. Winter had started to give a little taste of its presence lately, the temperature had been dropping steadily this past week. The cold weather outside made this warm bakery a lot more hospitable, but Matt already dreaded the walk back from here.

“Is this an early Christmas gift?” Matt asked, running his hand through the soft fabric of the scarf. The smell of your perfume lingered on every inch of the fabric.

You hummed. “I planned to give it to you on Christmas, but I finished it early.”

“Finished?” Matt shot his eyebrows into his hairline. “You made this?”

“I did! Here, some cool stuff I did, something you won’t find anywhere else,” you eagerly grabbed his hand to trace his new scarf. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “Do you feel it?”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “Yes? What’s this?”

“I sew your name to your scarf, so if you ever happen to lose this somewhere, they can return it to you,” you said proudly, completely oblivious to the way the air knocked out of his lungs at once. “And this,” you brought his hand to trace a bump on his scarf. “I think you know this one better than I do.”

Matt gasped loudly, his fingers shakily traced the bumps you had directed him into. Matthew Murdock. You sew his name in braille on his scarf.

It felt like a punch in the gut, a sudden brute attack that made his lungs collapse all at once. Matt swayed slightly, feeling completely light at the way his stomach flipped out of nowhere. He kept tracing his name over and over, in awe at how perfectly it all assembled together.

“I love you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, the words now spilling out of him uncontrollably. Matt took a long shaky breath, completely drowned in the sea of feelings that flooded him without warning. He didn’t think he could stop now the words were out in the air. “I love you.”

He heard you inhale sharply. “I—”

“No, listen to me,” Matt shook his head. He gently cupped your face, relieved that you didn’t pull away, and aware of how warm your cheeks had become. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I always have, I don’t know. It’s always been there, for as long as I can remember,” he sighed. “I also don’t think I can stop now.”

Matt shut his eyes. You deserved a lot better than a makeshift love declaration. He needed to pluck the stars in the sky and lay them on your palms, swam entire oceans, and conquer every single mountaintop. But even then, even if he dragged the moon to your feet and showered you with good-smelling flowers, it wouldn’t be enough to show how much he loved you.

You let out a laugh, soft and fluttering gently in the air. “You’re an ass, Murdock. Are you seriously making a love declaration to me in the middle of a line in a new bakery?”

Matt huffed a surprised laugh. “I feel like you need to know.”

“You’re right, I do,” you covered his hands with your own and gently put them away from your cheeks. You entwined your fingers with his together and melted seamlessly. “But you’re being unfair right now. Because you’re totally kissable, and I can’t kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t like sharing,” you said, swinging your hand and his together gently. “I don’t want these people to see me kissing you. I’d rather kiss you alone.”

Matt felt a wide smile blossoming now. “We can always step out of the line and go somewhere quiet.”

“No, we’re already here. I want my cake,” you punched his arm playfully. “But I’ll kiss you as soon as we’re out.”

Matt was positive he was grinning widely right now. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you tiptoed to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, I love you too, by the way.”

And just like that, he was nothing but a goo that bore his name underneath your touch.