Daredevil - Blog Posts
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
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 :/
YYEEESSSSS FUCK YESS
@enstatia thanks for this magnificent fan art ✨💚
i’m gonna cry they’re so cute
avocados
pLEASE
Matt Murdock always understands the slut assignment!
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.
I need you to leave. I don’t want you here, Karen
Dragged me into this rinky-dink firm, Murdock, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it.
DAREDEVIL 1.09: Speak of the Devil DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN 1.06: Excessive Force
You should see the other guy😎👊
Muppet Aesthetic #4: Gonzo!
(To make everyone feel a bit happier due to all the horrible stuff happening rn, here’s a Gonzo aesthetic moodboard I made at the beginning of the month!)
(I’ll add descriptions for the images later)
You cross over to my side of the line, you don’t get to come back from that.