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Matt Murdock - Blog Posts
Why I’m Team Cap (and It Really Couldn’t Be Any Other Way)
#TeamCap and the big problem with the superhero genre #Arrow #Daredevil #CivilWar #MCU #DC
I recently started watching Arrow on Netflix; everyone on Tumblr seems to think “Olicity” is the greatest OTP since The One True Way or at least Destiel (neither Destiel nor Olicity reaching the heights of OTW obvi) and I wanted to understand (this is also how I ended up watching 9.5 seasons of Supernatural, but that is a story for another time). I also recently, like everyone else with a Netflix…
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Just 24 silent seconds of me showing you all the Marvel reads I have
Matt Murdock | Marvel | Not my gif | Requested
The sun was shining through the window, lighting up the room. Though Matt could not see it for himself, he could feel the heat of the sun warming up the bedroom. He knew that it would soon wake you and you would start running around the apartment getting ready for work. Next to you he laid, listening to everything around him.
There was the occasional honk of a car from the slowly growing Hell’s Kitchen traffic. The voices of bystanders on their way to various locations. A birds chirp here and there. The slight hum of a downstairs neighbor vaccum. The soft heartbeat of his girlfriend next to him. And right below hers’ was the soft heartbeat of his unborn child.
ba bump, ba bump, ba bump
This is not the first time he has heard it, the first being when you both went to your first check-up. You had cried and to be honest, so did he. Since then he likes to lay awake and listen to its’ heartbeat. It calms him in a way, he can’t believe that someone like him who has done so much bad, can make something so pure and innocent.
ba bump, ba bump, ba bump
It seems that he was so focused on the baby’s heartbeat that he had not noticed you were awake. Sleeping on your back is now a daily occurence, so when you opened your eyes Matt was the first thing you saw. You smiled as you noticed the concentrated look on his face and knew he was listening to the little one’s heartbeat. Raising your hand to his face, you softly caressed his cheek which snapped him out of his focused state.
He smiled and grabbed hold of your hand, kissing the side of it. “Did the sun finally wake you?”
You huff out a laugh, “Sadly, yes. I should really get some curtains soon.” Matt chuckles, you’ve been saying that for the past couple weeks. You sit up next to him, leaning back against the headboard. “ How’s the heartbeat?,” you ask him.
Matt grins as he quickly listens in, differentiating between your heart beat and the baby’s. ba bump, ba bump, ba bump. “Still as strong and healthy as always. Just like yours.” You smile and lean in, kissing his cheek as his hand lands on your pregnant belly and softly caresses it. “I have to admit something... When I first met you, I knew that it was a day I would never forget. The first time you told me you loved me, i’ll admit I was scared. Everything I do is dangerous and I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to you because of me. But you stayed, after everything and now you are giving me one of life’s greatest joys. This is the happiest I’ve ever been in a long time and i’m glad you’re the reason for it.”
There were tears running down your cheeks as Matt placed his hands on the side of your face and kissed you.
ba bump, ba bump, ba bump
Requests are OPEN!
Matt Murdock | Marvel | Not my gif
Requests are OPEN
The dude/bros: Daredevil doesn't make jokes! They Disneyfied Daredevil! If he's like this I don't want the reboot!
Matthew fucking Murdock:
Incorrect Daredevil quotes | inspired by incorrect quotes generator
Matt whispering to Karen: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.
Karen: Oh, you’ve been?
Matt in a serious manner: only once. In Monopoly.
i wonder how Karen felt hearing that Matt had been shot by bullseye, just like Foggy was… 🫥
i don’t really know much about American law, but there’s no way that matt is a good lawyer. That trial was a mess💀
lighting with matt
$5 (charlie) matt murdock for a friend
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.”
Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase
This is so good oh my gosh!! I love the sassy main character and Daredevils reaction!! If you ever want to write more for this, please feel free to tag me in it!!
THE DEVIL'S GAME
MATT MURDOCK X VIGILANTE!READER
Summary - Seeking retribution, you find yourself wandering into Hell's Kitchen, only to become ensnared by the Daredevil himself.
Warnings - 18+, broken bones, blood, flirty shit, vaguely suggestive
Word Count - 2.9k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t your neighborhood.
But you hadn’t thought twice about it before leaving the comfort of your home, abandoning Queens to fulfill a dream of paltry retribution.
Any other night and you might have considered the consequences of crossing into the Kitchen, but tonight your judgment had been clouded by an opportunity to finally lay your hands on the slippery brute that had gotten under your skin as of late.
And, by the time you realized that you had willingly traipsed into the Devil’s Realm, it had been far too late.
Farlin Costain was a particularly skilled pick-pocket, renowned amongst his fellow New York gutter rats—including petty thieves, drug dealers, and the likes—for his stealth and cunning. Typically, you wouldn’t have bothered with someone so low on the food chain, leaving him for some smaller vigilante to handle.
Unfortunately for Costain, he made a costly mistake when he had made a target of your sweet, innocent roommate last week. And while you once wouldn’t have spared Costain so much as a second glance, you now had every intention of making him regret the very day he was born.
“C’mon Farly! Already giving up?” You sang, patronizing him as you pressed your foot down harder against his breastbone. “I thought you wanted to play! Remember?”
Word spread like wildfire that you were looking for Costain as every back-alley criminal in New York gossiped about what he must’ve done to catch your eye. Because of this, it only took a few days for Costain to catch wind that you were on his trail—and, being an absolute moron, he spent an entire drunken night in Scruffy Duffy’s Saloon bragging to friends and strangers alike that, should you find him, he could easily take you in a fight.
Alas, the bartender at Duffy’s—an old informant of yours—was glad to send you a text detailing Costain’s visit. The pieces fell into place quickly after that, and soon you found out that the asshole was staying in a shitty mid-rise apartment just down the street from the bar.
He hadn’t heard you when you skillfully leapt from the neighboring building, landing atop his apartment to spy him and a few of his cut-purse buddies passing a joint. As soon as you stepped into the light, his friends scurried like roaches, darting for the door to the stairwell.
None of them were particularly recognizable, and since your vendetta wasn’t with them, you gladly let them escape.
But not Costain.
“Fucking cunt!” Costain wheezed beneath your weight, writhing on the gravel that lined the rooftop and spitting blood on your shiny black boots. You grimaced—disgusting.
“Is that the best you’ve got? Blood can be cleaned up—but it’s gonna take weeks for your nose to heal. Do you really want your friends to find out that you couldn’t take me? That you couldn’t even get a hit in?” You continued to chastise him, head cocking to the side as you examined the blood still gushing from his now crooked nose.
To Farlin’s credit, he had tried to fight back, having pulled a switchblade out as soon as you made a move for him. Unfortunately for him, the stealth needed to swipe wallets and watches was as far as his combat skills seemed to go, and it had taken you less than a few seconds to send the blade tumbling over the edge of the rooftop, clanking on the sidewalk below.
But what Costain lacked in skill, he certainly made up for in spirit.
“I can’t fucking breathe!” He rasped; his throat still raw from all the screaming he’d done after the nauseating crunch of his nasal bones. Thrashing beneath you, he lifted his hands to your ankle and began clawing and hitting and scratching, desperately trying to pry your foot off of his chest. “Get off!”
You didn’t so much as flinch as his fists whirled at your calf, nor did you relieve any of the pressure you were applying to his breast. Instead, you pressed even harder, giving him a wicked grin.
“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” You mused, noting the slight weakness of the punches coming from his right. “Are you ambidextrous?”
Gasping, Costain’s eyes lit with fury as a strangled sound ripped from his throat, growling at you.
“I’ll take that as a no,” You hummed, your cheshire grin growing wider now. “They say that anyone can learn, y’know. How to use both hands.”
Crouching down, you forced more of your weight onto him as you leaned over his face, your loose hair grazing his cheek. The fury in his eyes had already extinguished, replaced with an icy fear. His arms began to fall limp at his sides, his body too oxygen deprived to keep fighting you.
“If you wanna learn,” you droned, tracing a single digit along the curve of his plump, blue lips, “then I’d be glad to give you some encouragement.”
Faster than light, you slid your weight off his chest, rising above him. Farlin heaved at the loss of pressure, miserably trying to fill his aching lungs with air.
Too delirious to fight back, he didn’t even notice when you lunged for his wrist, grabbing hold and hastily yanking him to his feet. You pressed your other hand right above his elbow, giving it all your force as you snapped his arm at the joint, the bones splintering and giving a deeply satisfying CRUNCH!
Farlin had filled his greedy lungs with just enough oxygen to let out a gnarly scream as the pain washed over him like a tidal wave, sending him crumbling to his knees in front of you.
“Damn, my bad,” you huffed, frowning at the sight of him, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutched his right arm. “I was supposed to break the left one, wasn’t I? I can be such a ditz sometimes, huh? But no worries—I can fix this!”
You went to reach for his left arm, taking far too much pleasure in the terror that ignited in his glossy eyes, but the adrenaline now pumping in his veins gave him an edge. Using his newfound chemical courage to try and scramble away from your assault, he managed to just barely evade the quick swipe of your hand, only to then fall backwards onto his ass.
You snorted a laugh at him—useless.
Too terrified to try and make a second attempt at escape, Costain only looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to leave him alone. You considered it for a second—just one—scrounging deep within yourself for even a trace of pity for the thief.
Unfortunately, you came up empty-handed, as you often did when dealing with trash like Costain.
You went for his left arm a second time, but as soon as you took a single step, something stopped you.
No—scratch that—not something, but someone.
A muscular arm wrapped around your middle, trapping your arms at your sides. You went to make your escape, but before you could tense even a single muscle, another arm wrapped around your throat—not applying pressure, not yet, but effectively trapping you and leaving you incredibly vulnerable.
“I think he’s had enough for one night,” a luscious voice spoke in your ear, the warmth of their breath grazing along your neck, “Don’t you?”
You were as still as a doe in headlights, carefully flicking your gaze down to the arms wrapping around you. Noticing the all-black sleeves that covered them, you sunk your teeth into your cheek. As far as you could tell from your current position, there was nothing discernable about the mystery man holding you hostage.
“Not at all,” you admitted to him, cunning as ever. “I was just getting started.”
The man gave a disapproving grunt. “You’ve already terrified him. He can hardly breathe,” he pointed out as if you weren’t aware of the heaving mess lying on the ground in front of you.
“Even better,” you quipped, trying not to flinch when the arm around your waist suddenly tightened. “I like it when they’re afraid.”
His breath caressed your skin again as he scoffed, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t care what kind of sadistic game you like to play with these men, but keep it your own borough, got it? I’ve heard about what you’ve done in Queens—and my neighborhood isn’t open to being your new playground.”
The declaration gave you pause. Your breath caught in your throat as you suddenly remembered where you were and whose territory you had crossed into and made a mess in. His neighborhood–
Fuck—you swallowed, only to find that your mouth had gone dry—he’s the fucking Daredevil.
Costain seemed to put the pieces together at the same time as you. And, while still weeping over his shattered nose and broken arm, decided to crawl towards the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, hiding behind him and deciding to take his chances with him over you.
Fucking coward.
“I didn’t realize the Devil kept tabs on the rest of us,” you teased, trying to settle the pounding of your heart as you grappled with the dangerous fact that the Daredevil knew who you were. “You never bother coming to the annual vigilante sleepovers.”
He hummed, but there was no hint of amusement. “I only keep tabs on the one's worth knowing about—and you have been making quite a mess. Last I heard, you were leaving innocent men mangled and bloody on every street corner from Queens to Brooklyn.”
Irritation warmed your veins, blood thrumming in your ears as you howled, “Innocent?!” You gave a dry laugh, “The men I deal with are far from innocent, Devil-boy! The man you just saved is a fucking thief! And last I checked, you and I are supposed to be on the same team!”
“We aren’t even playing the same game, sweetheart.” Daredevil corrected, the endearment slipping from his tongue sounding more like an insult than anything else. “He’s a petty thief. If your only interest was in keeping the streets clean, then you could’ve easily taken him down and left him on the doorstep of the nearest police station.”
You cut your eyes, slumping in his hold. “And where’s the fun in that?”
“You really are hopeless,” He snorted, unimpressed. “One broken arm is more than enough retribution for a pick-pocket. Swear you won’t touch him, and I’ll let you go.”
“Or I could break your arm instead,” you suggested coyly, either in an attempt to flirt with or distract him.
You tried to wiggle your arms at your sides, assessing just how much you were able to move. His own muscled arm rested just above your elbows, leaving some limited motion in your wrists and forearms. You wouldn’t be able to do much with it—nothing spectacular—but maybe…
“If you thought you were strong enough to do that then you would’ve tried it already.” He countered.
“Well, physical strength isn’t the only way out of a sticky situation, Devil-boy,” you reminded him. “But I’m more than confident that I could kick your ass.”
The hold around your neck suddenly grew taut, his forearm lightly pressing against your windpipe in a subtle reminder that he was much stronger than you. “With a single move,” he purred, “I could snap your neck. Your life is in my hands.”
Your pulse throbbed, but you didn’t panic, even as every instinct you had was screaming at you to give in—to stop antagonizing him and vow to never lay another hand on Costain again.
But you were never very good at listening to that little voice in your head that told you what to do.
Taking a hefty bet on your life, you used what limited motion you had in your arms to wiggle them back and slide them around his hips. You felt his muscles tense, readying himself to fight you or choke you or something, but juvenile laughter was already spilling from your lips as you brazenly cupped his backside in your palms.
“My life might be in your hands,” you declared through a fit of giggles, “but your ass is in mine!”
Your confidence grew when you realized that he hadn’t yet choked you out for your insolence—too stunned to react at all—and so you took full advantage of his inability to move without releasing you. Using your newfound grip on him, you shoved his crotch against your ass, grinding back against him just enough to catch him further off-guard.
An involuntary groan slipped his lips at the rough contact, his voice gloriously low and hoarse and absolutely to die for.
Daredevil figured you would try to fight back, but he had been expecting something along the lines of hand-to-hand combat—and not once had he considered that your preferred method of fighting would be grinding your ass against his dick.
Shocked, unprepared, and a little horny, Daredevil took a step back to try and put space between your body’s, his grip turning lax as his blood rushed south. You took advantage of his single moment of weakness, managing to slip from his grasp with some ease now.
“See?” You boasted, holding your arms out dramatically as you stood in front of him, finally face to face. “I told you physical strength wasn’t the only way out.”
Daredevil was quick to regain his composure, and when you noticed a muscle feather in his jaw, you had the good sense to move swiftly into a ready position—just in case the Devil wanted to dance.
But he made no move towards you, even as your fists lifted in his direction. He stayed where he was, clicking his tongue as he said, “You fight dirty.”
A smirk played on your lips. “You don’t know the half of it. But don’t worry, I’m just as much a masochist as I am a sadist,” you teased, blatantly admiring the appearance of his toned muscles beneath the tight-fitting black shirt he wore, “so we can take turns, if you want.”
He laughed, actually laughed. “Never gonna happen.”
You stuck your bottom lip out, pouting at him, but he didn’t react.
“Why not? Looks to me like you enjoyed having me touch you,” you spared a glance to the now sizable bulge in his dark jeans. “Tell you what, Devil-boy, let me break his other arm and I’ll consider taking care of that for you.”
Costain gave a pathetic whimper at that, as if he too could sense the growing tension in the air and worried that Daredevil might be willing to sell-out in favor of getting off.
Ignoring his whining, Daredevil took a step closer to you, and then another. Your body reacted, muscles growing taut as you prepared yourself to strike him. But, when he halted less than a couple of inches from you, you felt as if your bones had all but turned to jelly.
He smelled of expensive cologne and cheap coffee, and even with the black mask covering the entire upper half of his face, you had no doubt that he was impossibly handsome. Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, and as if he could hear it, he gave you a satisfied grin.
“Your mouth is as filthy as your techniques,” he rebuked, though a hint of amusement and intrigue laced his tone. “Tell you what,” Daredevil mimicked you, “you’re gonna get out of my neighborhood—now. And, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stick to your side of the city from now on.” His breath fanned against your cheeks, and a warmth suddenly crept up your neck. “Got it?”
“And if I don’t?” You felt incredibly small beneath his impressive height, having bent your neck to look up at him.
The Devil seemed to stare down at you—no, he seemed to stare through you, though his eyes remained entirely hidden beneath the mask. You wondered what color they were, if they were as pretty as the rest of him, and how they might look rolling into the back of his head as you straddled his waist—but your fantasies were cut short as he stretched an arm towards you and roughly caught your jaw in his hand.
You grunted at the unexpected contact, the sound making his grin grow wider. His nails scraped lightly against your cheek as you tried to jerk away from the touch, but it was a futile attempt. “If you don’t,” he muttered, leaning in closer as his tongue glided across his lips, enticing you further, “then I’ll make sure that you regret it.”
A bit breathless, you tried your best to sound unaffected, only for the slight wobble in your voice to give you away, “Sounds like a challenge.”
His head tilted to the side, as if he were watching you, listening to the erratic pounding in your chest and the sound of blood rushing your veins. For a heartbeat you let your gaze fall to his chiseled jaw, to his mouth, calculating the risk of leaning in and catching his pouty bottom lip between your teeth.
“It’s not,” he assured you, his voice thick and gruff. “It’s a promise.”
You stifled a hiss as he released your jaw from his grip. He didn’t spare another word before turning away, the gravel crunching beneath his clunky combat boots as he went straight to Costain, heaving the thief off the ground by his non-broken arm.
If it were anyone else stealing away your target, you likely would’ve cut them down right alongside Costain.
But it hadn’t been just anyone—it was the Devil.
Dumbstruck and more than mildly infatuated with the alluring Daredevil, you knew that tonight would be the first of many visits to Hell’s Kitchen.
my brain is rotting because i've written 44+k words in a single month because i decided to rewrite infinitely you and while taking a small break from working on it i created this garbage fire of a matt murdock one shot.
thanks for reading
Omg please add me to the taglist!! I'm so excited to read more <33
WIP poll game
rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got
Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch
I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!
Ughh I love both of these mini fics so much!! But especially the little Bake x Frank addition, I'm a sucker for a sunshine character!
WIP poll game
rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got
Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch
I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!
First reblog is for you souliebird <3
The person I reblogged this from is someone I enjoy seeing on my dashboard.
like a fire
Charlie Cox is fucking hot.
That is all.
Digital drawing of Matt Murdock 🔥
Instagram | Redbubble
him <3
your daily dose of matt murdock ☺️
it’s true :/
i’m gonna cry they’re so cute
avocados
pLEASE
Matt Murdock always understands the slut assignment!
I just love Clint thinking Matt is a dick, and he's right, but not for the reason he's thinking.
clint barton being thrown into a dumpster only to find out that he is not the only one in that dumpster
matt murdock being slightly offended that someone else has been thrown into his dumpster
Happy New Year, Everyone!
This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I chose it to be about Matt Murdock 👉🏾👈🏾
Please do read it and comment on it, like it and support it. Thanks❤️
⚠️ Warnings: Some drunken abuse, a bit of beating (not mentioned), fluff, mention of alcohol, mention of kiss, new year's kiss, I guess that is it. Please let me know if I miss something.
A Momentous New Year's Eve!
It's intoxicating!
I didn't know it could feel this way until I stood at this spot. I lost the count of cups I had consumed of that inebriated drink. But it was the time of the year when people party and let themselves lose to the music, to the booze and maybe to some frivolous mistakes. Let's not talk about the mistakes because my life was already a mess. Partying with Columbia Law students as an outsider should be enough, for now, to think about anything else.
I might slightly be under the alcoholic influence, but one look at this black glasses guy made me sober in an instant. Could someone be this beautiful yet foolish at the same time? He was trying to perform tap dance. At least, that's what I could comprehend with my hazy mind while someone was trying to catch him in his miserable attempts. I didn't know that I was staring at him intensely when his friend looked at me once and said something in his ear.
Assuming that my party was over, I headed toward the door surreptitiously. Well, no one would mind anyway if I made my exit known to people. Moreover, my friend Stella, who studied at Columbia Law, could not be seen anywhere. And knowing her, she might be with her boyfriend and guessing their nature, both must be drowned in alcohol. Smiling at their childish behaviour, I looked at my watch, which stated 11:30 PM. Though not that late, but considering it was New Year's Eve, I should head home before some drunkard ruined my mood. I wore my coat and exited the door, ready to taste New York's winter air, but halted in my steps when somebody held my wrist a bit harshly.
"Excuse me, do I know you?" I couldn't comprehend whether he was a grown-up man or a college boy due to his drunk self. Besides, he was slurring.
"I saw you yesterday at the canteen with Stella. I wanna hangggg outtt with you."
"I am really sorry. I don't know you. Maybe we should talk tomorrow or the day after that. Sometimes later."
"Noooooo. I like you, and I want to kiss you. Right fucking now!!"
He wasn't leaving my wrist, and his grip was tightening with each passing second, which I was pretty sure would leave a mark.
"Listen, man, first of all, I don't know you, and second, leave my fucking hand! It HURTS!!"
I didn't know I was shouting until he winced and tried to cover his ears. He tugged my wrist and tried to kiss me.
As soon as I uttered a meek "no" the next moment, I saw him lying on the road, wincing in pain.
"The next time, when the lady says "NO" it means no, drunk or not. And I think you might have learned your lesson by now."
"Jesus, dude! I will not leave this matter here. Watch your back, Matt!"
"Sure, Brian. I can say the same to you."
"You fucking blind motherfucker!"
I might be a bit drunk, but that blind Matt guy (my apparent saviour) was throwing some awesome punches at Brian the asshole. I meant it was impossible for a blind man to do such things, but I could be imagining things too. God knows whatever was in New York's air. I was gawking at him intensely until someone cleared their throat.
"Oh, hi! I mean, I am sorry. I mean, thank you."
"Oh, it is okay. I mean, I am sorry you have to deal with that. But, you are safe. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I guess. I am. Pretty tipsy, a bruise on my wrist, but I'm okay. Thanks to you."
"I wish I could come here sooner." He whispered this to himself because it was nearly inaudible.
"Sorry, did you say something?"
"No, nothing. I know it's not my place, but are you two guys dating or what? I might be out of line, but I've never seen you before."
"Did you just say "seen me before"?"
"Ohh, I meant heard you before on the campus or lingered around here."
"Uhm, I'm not a student here, came here on a friend's invite."
"A friend? I hope you didn't mean Brian?"
"Oh, no! I never saw Brian before the mhmm incident. I am here or was here with Stella. She is studying law here." And all this while he held my bruised wrist, trying to create soothing circles.
"Stella Cunningham?"
"Yeah! Do you know her?"
"Not exactly! I know her, but her boyfriend, Winston, is kind of my friend."
"That's great, I guess."
"So, would you mind if I ask your name?"
"Yeah, I mean no, I am Y/N."
"Y/N. You have a nice name. I am Matt, by the way." My name never sounded better. I might be too drunk for my own good at that moment.
"You have a nice name too. And I think I should leave before the street filled with drunkards, mobsters and whatnot!"
"Really? I think it's rude to leave the place before giving New Year's kiss."
"WHAT?"
"Hahahaha...just pulling your leg. They have started the New Year's countdown. That's all I am saying."
Should I be kissing a complete stranger who just saved me from an asshole in the middle of the street?
"Hey, Y/N! I was just kidding. No need to think about it."
"Yeah, I know."
And then everyone's voices started reverberating in the atmosphere. All the people had started the countdown - 10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1.
And I kissed my saviour on the cheeks because I still needed two-three bottles worth of alcohol courage to kiss him on the lips.
"Happy New Year, Matt!" I nearly whispered this.
"Happy New Year, Y/N. Can I hug you?"
"Uh, I think, yes."
"Yes? Thank you."
And I never felt better before. It was heavenly. Could hugs always feel this magical, or was it the person that makes hugs better?
"Thank you, Matt, for saving me."
He did not say anything at the moment, just tightened his hold. As if he was telling me never to worry because he would always be there for me. And I never felt that safer in my entire life. I was at peace. Perhaps he was too.
Some years later...
"Are you serious, Matt?"
"No, I am not! I was trying to talk to you since the day Stella brought you on campus with her at Winston's welcoming party."
"OH MY GOD! I did not know that. I swear!"
"Oh, I know, sweetheart, trust me."
"Oh My God, Matthew, you are such an idiot! Why didn't you talk to me? I mean, we could have met earlier. In reality, we met at that horrible New Year's Eve party. May I remind you, it was two years after Winston's party!"
"But it's worth the wait."
"You are such a lovely idiot, Mathew Murdock."
"Only for you, Mrs Murdock."
"I love you, Matty. Too much."
"I love you too, Y/N. Way more than you can imagine."
All these years, I was thinking we met on that dreadful yet magical night. As it turns out, he is a sneaky man, who slipped his way into my heart with love, adoration, trust, and everything that comes with it.
And on this New Year's Eve, we are sitting together, drinking each others' company and hoping for peace and happiness in the upcoming years, forever and always.
With that thought in mind, I kissed him with all my love because I do not need alcohol's assistance anymore, and him kissing me back, pouring all his love fervently.
And this, right here, is our peace, our happiness, our celebration of togetherness.
@digwhatudug
Happy Birthday, Charlie Cox aka Daredevil❤️
*Credits to the respective owner. Saw this on Twitter.