#matt murdock dark

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

blank space - m. murdock

a/n: uhm... this one is dedicated to my friend arin who doesn't like daredevil but is encouraging me to be more unhinged. i hope you guys enjoy because i had a blast writing this. possible part two in the works, please like and reblog with comments and feedback <3 warnings: i cannot emphasize this enough-- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT there is so little comfort to all of this hurt. matt is abusive and mean and reader is tortured and quiet and readers dad is an addict and a gambler and also stabbing, cursing, talking about fucking, sub/dom dynamics, nicknames, fem reader, lmk if i missed any! word count: 3.5k summary: Your dad makes your life horrible. Matt can make it worse. paring: dark!matt murdock x reader now playing: blank space (taylor's version) - taylor swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain"

You never meant to get involved with him.

Really, it wasn’t anything you did.

 As usual, it came back around to your father, who had a bad gambling problem, as well as a substance issue, and would often be tempted to gamble big prizes for things like coke or heroin. He would bet money, college funds, heirlooms, your house.

But of course, he couldn’t pay these debts.

Your mom had been gone for quite some time, and you suspect this is where your fathers’ addictions stem from. But you’re trying to just make your way through your adult life. You had gone to a local college, unable to afford much else. Now, you worked in a dingy little office where they constantly abused your work ethic.

Between your grief, his constant betting on your lively hood, and your asshole boss, you felt your bones grow tired. Not the sort of tired that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep. The sort of tired that could be fixed by a new life, not that you had the means for that.

You think your mother would haunt you for the rest of your days if you abandoned your dad.

Friday night came, and you were ready to go home to the small apartment you shared with your father, and drink some wine, and get a nice sleep.

You had been told by your boss that you needed to stay late to translate paper files to the digital system. No, you would not be getting paid overtime.

It was dark by the time you finally left, your feet aching in your heels as you made your way through Hell’s Kitchen, wanting to get home so as not to start crying on the streets of New York.

You don’t make it home.

As you turn the corner by your block, you notice a van creeping up on you. How long had it been following you? If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would know.

But the van pulled up next to you, and you did the only thing you could in this situation. You started to run.

Only, you made it about ten feet before you twisted your ankle with these stupid fucking heels. As you fall, you let out a cry of pain, and before you can think, two men are outside the van. They grab you by the arms and pull you into the van, the whole time you struggle.

Someone puts a black hood over your head and wraps duct tape around your hands. Your ankle is fucking aching.

You aren’t sure how long you drive for, but someone is then pulling you out of the van and drags you along. They give you an opportunity to walk but your ankle hurts to the point where you can’t walk.

They drag you again, and your foot is dragging, and holy shit, you can’t believe that your biggest concern while being kidnapped is how much your ankle hurts.

Eventually, hood on your head still, you are sat in a chair. Your hands are untied, and you want to jump up and fight, but you know your ankle won’t help you here.

They quickly tie your hands back to the chair, with rope this time. Whoever ‘they’ are.

You’re starting to have trouble breathing, because you’re realizing what sort of situation, you’re in right now.

You’ve been kidnapped for something; you have to assume in some way that it’s to get back at your father.

The hood is pulled off your head, and your eyes take a moment to adjust.

The room you’re in is dark, dingy. You know there’s two people behind you, big enough to carry you. You can hear water outside the room, assuming you’re in an abandoned office by the docks. Then, there’s three people in front of you.

One is a man, with long blond hair. He wears a nice suit and is just standing in front of the door. Another is a woman, with even longer blond hair and she also dons rather luxurious apparel. Your dirty work clothes make you look meager next to her.

The last is a man with dark hair. He wears a simple, rather expensive suit, and red glasses.

If you weren’t on the verge of a meltdown, you’d probably realize how hot he is.

Oh, he also holds a knife.

The blond man talks first.

“So. Do you want to start, or should we?”

“What?” Your ankle throbs.

“I guess we should, then.” He hums. “Do you have five grand worth of heroin on you, dear?”

You could throw up.

“I—”

“No, of course you don’t. You and your boyfriend probably used it all.”

What is he talking about? Now, on top of being in pain and panicked, you’re confused.

“The man you live with?” The woman finally speaks. “I assume you two used all the heroin he stole.”

You realize she means your father. You realize that your father stole five grand worth of heroin. What else did he steal?

“What else does he owe?”

“No, darling,” she scoffs, “We ask, you answer.”

“I don’t do heroin.”

“So, how do you know he owes us more?”

“Took a wild fucking guess.” You spit. “Figured you wouldn’t kidnap someone over five grand, figure money is no object.”

The man with the knife steps out of the shadows. Your heartbeat races, and he chuckles. He crouches in front of you.

“You’re a spitfire. I like that. In fact, I love that in a woman, don’t I, Foggy?” He turns his head back slightly.

Foggy answers.

“That you do, man.”

His head turns back to you. But you get the impression by his glasses that he can’t see. So how is he looking right at you?

“If you give us some sort of sass like that again, I’ll stab you and make sure you feel every second of pain.” You whimper, and he laughs again. “Not so cocky anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He stands and goes behind you, his arms landing on the outside of your own, caging you in. He leans down and whispers in your hear, “Is this.. turning you on, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He whispers back, the knife gracing over your ear. He cuts your ear just enough to make it bleed, and tears slip down your face. He makes his way back to the front of you and crouches again. “I’ll ask you again. How do you know he owes me more?”

“I figured he would, when gamblers start, they don’t stop.”

“Not only did you lie to me again, you also just gave yourself away. Lie to me again and I hurt you worse.”

Your foot that isn’t hurt goes up and kicks him in the face. At least it tries, because his reaction is too quick, and he grabs your ankle.

“Bad, bad girl.” He tuts. He lets go of your leg and picks up your other leg, the one with the bruising, swollen ankle. You start to shake. His hand squeezes the wound and when you yell in pain, he just coos at you. “Aw, does that hurt, sweetheart?”

You’re busy crying.

“Answer me!” He demands. It shakes you to your core. You realize you do not know who you’re dealing with, and you’re even angrier at your father for jeopardizing you like this.

“Yes!” You sob, and this seems to satisfy him. He takes the knife in his other hand and slowly cuts open your stocking, loving the way you’re shaking with fear.

 “Keep moving and you’ll cut yourself.”

You try to calm yourself down, on the verge of a panic attack. The knife grazes your leg, and he starts to focus in on your thigh, twisting the knife around your skin.

“How do you know him?” he asks. And you aren’t sure why you try it. You don’t know how he knows when you lie.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, just let me go, I promise, I’ll tell you where he is, just—”

Then you feel it.

The knife pierces your thigh and is lodged into your leg. You scream in pain, gripping the arms of the chair. Fuck, it hurts. Your vision blurs, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or from your tears.

 He stands up in front of you, ignoring the stares from Karen and Foggy. He knows he might have gone a step too far for someone he’s pretty sure is innocent in all this. But he can’t help himself. He likes hearing you wither in pain, and he likes being the person administering the pain. He has all these things he’s in control of, but at this moment, no one else is in the room. It’s you and him, in a rather intimate moment.

He pats your chin, “C’mon, focus, right here, sweetheart. Tell me the truth and I make the pain go away.” He tells you, breaking through the wall of pain and fear that blocks your ability to think.

“He’s my father!” You finally cry out. It comes out as if you’re yelling in church, screaming to God a confession you can’t bear anymore. The only thing missing is your position on your knees, but being below this man like this is as close to an altar as you can see yourself being. “I know he has a gambling problem, and I know he has a drug problem but that’s it! I don’t know anything else, I just lost the parent roulette, okay?!” Your words come gasped out, in between sobs and when you’re not too distracted with your pain.

He seems to be satisfied with this. He gets back down, closer to the ground. Now he’s the one at the altar, but the devil has no place in a church, only between your thighs. He tilts his head and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“See? Good girls get rewards.” Bad girls get stabbed. He stands up, and with him, he pulls at the knife. Blood gushes as you cry out in pain again, sure he'll leave you to bleed out, to be fed on by rats.

He drops the knife at your feet and adjusts his tie.

“What should we do with her, boss?”

“Go get her father.” He says, “But don’t let her go just yet. I’d like to keep her a while.” You think you’ll be sick. “Knock her out though, we don’t want her knowing where she is.” That’s the last thing before the butt of a gun meets your head.

It’s a nice relief from the pain.  

• • •

You wake up on a bed with silk sheets. It’s almost nice enough for you to forget about the whole situation. Maybe your whole life has been a dream, and really, you’re a rich housewife for a man who loves you deeply and your mom is still alive.

But then you sit up, and your stockings are ripped, and your heels are gone.

A brace wraps around your hurt ankle. A bandage wraps around your thigh. The pain isn’t there anymore, you’re not sure what drugs have been given to you.

The room is rather barren, you realize, with little to no works of art or even photos, and it’s rather dark. It’s also freezing cold, a central air system whirling around you. You wonder, if you’re a prisoner, then why put you in a room like this?

What is happening?

The door opens and immediately you went to defend yourself, though there were no weapons around you.

The man from the night before steps into the room, and he looks... casual. He wears dark jeans and a tee shirt, his glasses discarded. Bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” You don’t respond, just stare at him. “I’m Matt.”

You stay quiet.

“You’re not being tortured anymore, honey. If you want, you can lie and be mean now, I don’t bite. Not anymore. Not unless you want me to.”

“I’m Matt.” You repeat, unable to believe it. “You stab me in the leg and kidnap me, and you go as casual as ‘I’m Matt’?” He grins.

“I told you; I love a woman with some fire.” You wonder how many times he’s used that line on people. “Telling them they’re beautiful just doesn’t hit the same way when you’re blind.” He says, going over to a door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s a closet.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“No?” He turns to you, and smiles. He says your name. How does he know it? “You went to college for Marketing, cute. No siblings. Your mom died a few years ago, after a long battle with cancer. I’m sorry.” This sounds sincere. “You were engaged once, but he cheated on you and is now married to the other woman.” And he goes back to stinging. “Your father, I know all about him. David is an addict and a gambler. Now, addict, I could deal with. Addiction runs deep but it can be managed. It’s the gambling that frustrates me, and Sweetheart, If I’m frustrated, you must be riled up. He gambles everything, I should know. He gambles it to Foggy, who shares it with me.” He hums. He picks clothes out of the closet and heads back to you, “The pants are your size, but the shirt is mine.” He tells you, laying the clothes out in front of you. “Don’t worry about me watching, or anything.” It’s almost enough to make you smile.

You get changed, the challenge of slipping into the slightly lose jeans the hardest part. The bandage fits right in there, but even whatever pain meds have been given to you, aren’t enough.

“So, your father,” You groan, your face in your hands. You get it, your father is awful, and he hates him, but you know that your father is awful, and you know that you hate him. Why must he keep involving you? “I know, sweetheart, you’re in pain, and you hate him, but just stay with me on this.” he says, a cooing tone to his voice. You don’t know why, but you’re compelled to listen to him. “Your father forces you to live in this small apartment, because you’re the only one who works, and he always manages to find your money to gamble away. But it’s not just the money, it’s your electronics, your nice shoes, any pills you have in the house. And really, by doing all this, he is gambling you. Because not only is he risking not being able to pay his debts and someone taking you, but you’re tired. Aching for absolution that will never come. But the worst part is that even though all this stems from his grief around your mom, he gambled her wedding and engagement rings, the one you were always told you’d be proposed with.”

Tears well your eyes.

“Please, stop.”

He sits next to you on the bed, and you don’t have the energy to move away from him. In fact, you lean against him ever so slightly. He must know it too, you figure, since he can tell when you’re lying and when your heartbeat races. He’s warmer than you imagined. He’s a beacon of warmth in this cold, dim room.

He takes something out of his pocket, and then drops it into your hands. It’s a necklace, just a simple chain. Three things hang on it. A silver charm with an ‘M’ on it, and two rings. Your mom’s engagement ring, and her wedding band. You thought you’d never see it again, not after you came home and went to your jewelry box only to find out from your dad that he had lost it in a poker match a few weeks before.

You clutch the necklace in your hands.

“M for Matt?”

“Or Murdock, whatever you’d like.”

“You’re in charge, right? Just how in charge are you?”

“I run everything. There isn’t a corner of this city that I don’t have men in.” So, he’s the kingpin. The boss. Matt Murdock, a man feared by all, gentle to only you. Only for this moment.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“Bun, I was never going to let you go. But I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

You stay quiet. You can’t run. He made sure of that. Was he always going to stab you? Had he decided that from the moment he heard you whimper or was it your reaction to his pet names that did you in?

His fingers come up to graze your ear gently, but you flinch, since it’s where he had cut you.

“Bunnies are always so sensitive to the ears. Fragile. It’s not like you can hop away. Besides, you need time to heal, and I could take away all the pain. No more mean fathers, no more mean bosses, and no more mean thoughts.” He says gently. “I could put you back together.”

His voice is soft, as if his intentions are as well, but you’re sure he’ll destroy you. He will not put you back together, only break you down, collecting tiny pieces of you for his collection.

You consider it. You would never have to work again. You would never have to do anything again. You would never have to see your father again.

You turn your head, and nod.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if you had a choice in the matter. But nonetheless, He grins, and takes the necklace from you, only to wrap it around your neck, and clasp it on.

Despite the rings being something you had longed for, the ‘M’ alone weighs on you like a boulder.

He tilts your head gently, his fingers brushing against your chin, and you look away, ashamed of what you have done. He grabs your chin and keeps you looking at him. He leans forward and for a moment you just stay, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Tears escape from your eyes and run down your cheeks. He tuts softly and kisses your cheeks where the tears lie.

“Sh, Sh.. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he comforts. His other hand trails down to your thigh, where two of his fingers find the stab wound, and push into it. You whimper in pain, grasping his wrist. He sighs deeply, “Pretty noises.” He hums. “I would never deny you anything, bun. But if you deny me what I ask, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”

You nod, but when you aren’t verbal, he pushes down harder, the bandage and his fingers soaking with blood.

“Tell me. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Matt.” You manage to whimper out. He takes his fingers away and kisses your cheek.

“Good. Good job, honey.” He says softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking your blood off them. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He leans forward and kisses you, and it’s full of a gentleness you weren’t sure he was capable of. You kiss back, afraid of what he’ll do if you deny him again.

He winds up kissing you to sleep, not mad at you for falling tired as you kiss. You lay with him in these silk sheets, freezing cold as you cuddle into him. He relishes being wanted. You accept that this is love. He feels you shivering and pulls you closer.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tickling the bottom of your torso. You whine when he does this, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He laughs, kissing your head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll buy you blankets. Blankets, Diamonds, anything you want.” He tells you. You’re tired. You just want to nap. You want him to give you more of the drugs that dull the pain of your thigh, and you want to eat something homemade that you didn’t cook yourself.

You want to give in and remain thoughtless. Just be happy with him since no one is looking for you anyways.

But as you drift off to sleep, feeling his hands crawl along your skin, you begin to plan. You’ll let him think you’re in love with him. You’ll let him love you, fuck you, put you back together. You’ll be his bunny, his arm candy, his toy to dress up and do whatever the fuck he wants. You’ll let him think he owns you.

He’ll know that he does.

And you’ll become close to his friends too. You’ll dress in pretty dresses, and he’ll pretend he’s oblivious to how much everyone wants you.

 And then, when your wounds heal, you’ll run.

You’ll flee the country, you’ll change your name, dye your hair.

But you don’t yet realize how relentless he is. How deeply enamored of you he is. By how determined he is to have you.

Escaping the devil will not be as easy as you think it might, not when he can hear your heartbeat, not when he can smell you, not when he wants you.

And it doesn’t help when he gives you the honor of killing your father.

That’s when you start to fall in love with him.

[lovelybucky1]

matt is such a fucking manipulator it’s insane. always brushing off your concerns, acting like you’re stupid and oblivious. he gives you so many bullshit excuses, but his lies sound so sweet

i’m sorry i’m late, sweetie, i got tied up at work. you know how these clients can be.

i just bumped into something, don’t worry about it. come kiss me, i had a long day.

scars? what scars? shhh, just keep riding my thigh, just like that.

what? sorry, i wasn’t listening. i was too busy thinking about how good your mouth feels

it must be your lipstick. you know there’s no one who could make me feel as good as you do

i know you’re tired but think about how i feel. all these late nights at the office… i could really blow off some steam

shh, baby, don’t cry. i’m sorry, daddy’s sorry, okay? let me make it up to you. you like my fingers, don’t you?

you’re always such a good girl for me. you never whine, never complain. i don’t deserve you

i would never lie to you, sweetheart. i love you.

[toupee-or-nottoupee]

my favorite ship dynamic is "I've had to watch you go into the path of no return and I love you" and its just blonde boys watching dark haired guys literally make the worst decisions known to man

[ravenclairee]

DAREDEVIL — 1.01 "Into the Ring"

[smollkittykat]

let me be REAL CLEAR here, okay?

The scene where Karen and Matt sit face to face, not touching each other - finally, finally talking about Foggy is gut-wrenching.

But then Karen reaches out and touches Matt, because Matt needs to be touched but doesn't allow himself to reach. Not after everything. Not after leaving her with Foggy's death alone, like he had.

And then she cups his face in her hands and tells him that he's known and loved, still. Even if Foggy is gone, because Karen is still here and Karen still loves him, despite knowing all of him.

Because to Matt, being known is the most terrifying thing to him. It's in every scene where he is with Heather. He's guarded, in-check, closed off and distant, manipulative when he needs something. Everything to use and then get away.

Karen knows this, she's seen it and loves him. like Foggy did.

So she kisses his forehead, and knows that Matt knows she means what she said, because her heart beats true.

[starspangledsteeve]

when frank is back, dishevelled and grumpy, still making fun of matts ‘costume’, has a little tit-for-tat banter, argues about what 'service' they should be doing for the city, rips into him and is hero bullshit, then gives him a speech on living life with a guilty conscience, forcing him to say foggy’s name, gets slapped in the face, matt immediately apologises, then frank says “what are you sorry for? the first honest thing you’ve done, red”, matt is trying to hold in tears, then frank asks 'he still talks to you, doesn't he?" then he talks about his son, they both bond over losing a loved one, then frank rips out the justice system and reminds matt that bullseye is still alive because of him, matt bursts out in anger and frustration “HE GOT LIFE!” And then frank replies “how about old foggy? He get life?”, matt then finally says his name out loud and proceeds to say “he was the kindest, purest soul I’ve ever met. and guys like you and me, we can work a lifetime and never measure up to his decency” and then they just say goodbye?!!— GUYS

[jayblackpanther]

Two Men, One Girl

Dom!Frank Castle x Dom!Matt Murdock x Bratty!Reader

WARNING: Orgasm denial, competition kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, possessiveness, dominance, praise/degradation, slight jealousy, edging, begging, submission.

You didn’t mean to challenge them.

Okay, maybe you did.

It started as a joke—teasing, bratty, a little buzzed from wine and the attention of two dangerous, beautiful men who wanted nothing more than to ruin you.

“Both of you?” you’d said, smirking, looking at Frank then Matt. “I could handle both of you at once. Easy.”

That was your first mistake.

Frank’s jaw clenched, eyes dark as coal. “You run that mouth too much.”

Matt tilted his head, sensing every twitch of your body. “You think you’re that good, sweetheart?”

You just smiled and said, “Wanna bet?”

Which led you here.

One hour.

Two rooms.

One girl.

You’re in Matt’s apartment—the lights low, the air tense.

Frank leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “We’re gonna see who makes you cum first, baby.”

Matt’s standing at the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You don’t make it to the end without begging? You lose.”

You’re already dripping.

Frank takes the living room. Matt claims the bedroom. You’re standing between them, wearing nothing but a little lace bralette and thigh-highs, heartbeat thudding in your throat.

“You’ve got five minutes with each of us,” Matt says, low and calm like he’s in court. “Then you switch.”

“First to make you cum wins,” Frank adds. “And you better pray it’s not me. I’m not gentle with sore little pussies.”

You swallow hard.

“Start with me,” Matt says. “Let’s see how long that smart mouth of yours lasts.”

Round 1: Matt

You step into the bedroom. Matt closes the door and kisses you without warning—deep, hungry, possessive. His hands grip your hips, walking you back until you’re pressed against the mattress.

“On your knees,” he murmurs. “Ass up. I want your face in the sheets.”

You scramble to obey. Matt wastes no time, tugging your panties to the side and sliding two fingers inside you with maddening slowness.

“So wet already,” he murmurs. “You like being passed between us like a prize?”

You moan, arching into his hand.

He curls his fingers just right and your vision whites out.

“Oh, she’s close already,” he purrs. “You’re going to be my little win, aren’t you?”

Your hips rock desperately. “Please—please, Matt—”

But he pulls away. You whine in protest, trembling.

“You don’t cum without permission,” he reminds you, licking his fingers slowly. “That would be cheating.”

Your body is burning, flushed and needy, but he helps you up and smacks your ass lightly as he says, “Time to switch.”

Round 2: Frank

Frank doesn’t waste time. The moment you step into the living room, he grabs your arm and yanks you into his lap on the couch, your legs straddling his thick thighs.

“Sit on my cock,” he orders. “Now.”

You fumble with his zipper, and he’s already hard, already thick and heavy. You sink down onto him with a moan, your walls clenching around him.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groans. “Like you were made for me.”

He grabs your ass, slamming you down harder as he grinds into you.

“You think he can fuck you like this?” Frank snarls. “He plays with your little pussy. I own it.”

Your head tips back, hands clawing at his chest as he fucks up into you, deep and punishing. You feel yourself teetering right on the edge again.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically.

He pulls you down hard, grinding against your clit. “Too bad. Time’s up.”

He lifts you off his cock like you weigh nothing and sets you down, legs shaking.

“Fuck,” you whisper, stumbling.

Frank smirks. “Tick tock.”

Rounds 3 & 4: Back and forth

Matt uses a toy on you in the third round—a little bullet vibrator pressed to your clit while he fingers you slow and deep.

“You’re already whimpering?” he asks, cocky. “We’re only halfway done.”

You dig your nails into the sheets, your body slick and overstimulated.

He kisses your shoulder. “Just say it. Say I’m better.”

“No—no—fuck—”

And again, he stops right before the edge.

Frank makes you ride his thigh in round four.

You grind like a needy little thing, clit catching on the hard muscle of his leg, moaning into his neck.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So desperate you’d cum on my fucking thigh?”

You try. God, you try.

But he flips you over before it happens and spanks your soaked cunt.

“One more round,” he says. “Let’s finish it.”

Final Round: No More Mercy

Matt lays you out on his bed, bound your wrists to the headboard. “You want to cum?” he asks softly.

You nod, tears in your eyes from the frustration.

“Then beg.”

You do. You sob for it. “Please, Matt, please, I’ll do anything—just let me cum—”

He kisses you sweetly and turns the vibrator on high.

“Then cum for me. Right now.”

You fall apart instantly, sobbing, legs shaking violently as the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Your back arches, thighs squeezing around the toy, vision going black for a moment.

You don’t even hear Frank enter the room.

But you feel him.

“Guess we have a winner,” he says, voice low. “Lucky for you, sweetheart—because I was about to break you in half.”

Matt smiles down at you, brushing hair from your face. “Think she can take both of us now?”

You whimper, too spent to form words.

Frank chuckles. “We’ll see.”

Aftermath: Bonus

They lay you between them after, each one of them stroking your body with slow, warm hands.

“You lost,” Matt whispers. “So now we really get to fuck you.”

You glance between them, eyes wide, completely fucked out.

And you smile. “Worth it.”

[fceriegifs]

Charlie Cox as Matt Murdock

Daredevil: Born Again | Heaven’s Half Hour | 1.01

[twilight-deviant]

Hannibal 3x13 | Daredevil: Born Again 1x01

[marvelsgirl616]

daredevil (2003) // x-men: last stand (2006)

daredevil (2003) // x-men (2000)

-> yes, daredevil (2003) is cringe but it is MY comfort cringe movie <3 || anyways, i love these silly boys in their very early 2000's red sunglasses. (and jen g. is mother. )

[lovelybucky1]

matt grips your jaw hard, fingers digging into the hinge and forcing it open a bit. his own is clenched tightly, head slightly tilted to the side. you’re unable to look anywhere but his face, which is partly obscured by the dark glasses he hadn’t yet taken off.

“i get up early, work hard to make money so you get to sit on your ass all day, and this is the thanks i get? no greeting at the door, no dinner on the table, nothing but backtalk.”

“i’m sorry, matt-”

“that’s not my goddamn name and you know it.”

“daddy. daddy, i’m sorry.”

“not as sorry as you’re gonna be. if you want to be a brat, i’ll fucking treat you like one.”

[weirdkidshere]

Peter Parker is so adoptable. “Oh you mean adaptable-“ NO.

First up we got the classic irondad/spiderson dynamic. ICONIC. Can have you punching wholes in the walls with the amount of FEELS and FLUFF and, of course, ANGST. 10/10, great way to get started. BUT. We’ve barely even scratched the surface.

My other personal favourite: Matt Murdock AKA Daredevil adopts Peter. Bonus points if it’s after No Way Home, the emotional hurt/comfort potential is IMMENSE. I just. I love that shit. I eat it up every time. GIMME!!!

Next up, one I did not think would work, but it ABSOLUTELY DOES: Bucky Barnes adopts Peter. Currently reading a fic called Anatomy In Reverse by pansley on ao3, and lemme tell ya im OBSESSED. I did not think there was potential there, BUT BOY WAS I WRONG. (Lovely fic, would 100% recommend it btw)

Oh and did you think Peters adoptableness only reached until the confinements of the MCU? THINK AGAIN. Cuz the Batfam is NOT ABOVE ADDING SPIDERS TO THE BATS AND BIRDS!! You think Batman has an adoption problem, you’ve clearly never seen the amount of fics of Nightwing adopting Peter. (I guess it runs in the family. Also, Dark Matter anyone??)

And these are just the ones I’ve come across! It’s like if you feel like writing parent-child dynamics in the mcu - or even outside of it, jesus! - you just get yourself a ready-to-adopt Peter Parker, maybe kill of some more of his parental figures i guess, and boom! You got yourself an adoptee!

[pastafossa]

I'm awake for some reason, here have this summary of me and Daredevil: Born Again news in the past few months that I made as I wait for meds to kick in.

[tvandfilmarvel]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN (2025) Heaven's Half Hour - 1.01 dir. Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead.

[daresplaining]

Kirsten: "Matt? Where are you?" Matt: "I remembered I had a haircut appointment." Kirsten: "Not a red underwear appointment?" Matt: "I prefer lace. Textural. Color's a bit lost on me, y'know...?"

Daredevil: Dark Nights #4 by David Lapham, Lee Loughridge, and Clayton Cowles

[siampie]

The Devil’s Bargain || Chapter 1: The Illusion of Freedom

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Snippets of Reader’s life as she worked for Wesley and Fisk.

Warnings/tags:, None in particular for this chapter. Canon typical violence. Mainly angst.

A/N: Reblogs are always welcome. As are comments and likes.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

I will never be free.

Those words echoed through your mind as you sat in the new CEO’s office, facing him and his right-hand woman. They had pushed a new contract in front of you and a pen in your hand.

“These are the new terms,” Octavia Turpin smirked down at you. Condescending. She knew she had the upper hand. She knew that you had no other choice but to agree.

You stare down at the pen in your hand.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Do we have an agreement?” James Wesley, Fisk’s right-hand man, asked you.

Your eyes snapped up at him, swallowing down your saliva. “You must understand—that your father has a debt that needs to be repaid.” You turned your gaze towards Wilson Fisk.

The man was impressive. Physically he was massive, you were convinced he could crush skulls with his hands. He probably already had. And his presence—his presence took all the air out of the room. You were suffocating at this very moment under the weight of his words. Under the weight of his lies. Under the weight of his barely veiled threat.

“I understand that I have no choice,” you replied almost too quietly.

Money wasn’t the problem. You weren’t fool enough to offer to pay off his debt with your own money. Wilson Fisk had all of money he needed. No, this wasn’t how your father’s debt was to be repaid. That much you knew to be true. Wesley had made it clear, his boss—Wilson Fisk was not interested in that small sum of money. He was interested in what you could do for him. Problem with that; was that you had no clue as to what that was.

This was just another sacrifice, you thought to yourself.

I will never be free.

From that moment on, you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were some sort of secretary to the man, working closely with him as he carried out his threats and managing Mr. Fisk’s affairs. The two things weren’t indissociable. You found James Wesley to be a cunning man, the smartest you’ve met in your life. His loyalty to Wilson Fisk knew no bounds. And Fisk repaid him with blind trust. If you didn’t know any better you would have even called them friends. Because they were; in their own twisted ways.

“Mr. Rance is on the line, sir,” you handed Wesley the phone you were holding.

“Have you arranged the meeting to Union Allied Construction, yet?”

“As you instructed, sir,” you nodded. “Should I let our employer know or this won’t be necessary?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Wesley replied shortly. “I won’t be needing you for a few hours, you are free to do as you please.”

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled at him.

“I’ll call you if I need anything,” he said before walking out of the office, answering the call.

If you were to be honest, working closely with James Wesley wasn’t so bad. The pay was good. Very good. Wesley was never cruel towards you. Neither was Wilson Fisk. They treated you surprisingly and fairly well. You weren’t stupid enough to believe that you were safe in any way working under them. But as long as you worked for and with them, you benefitted from their protection.

You put down the white porcelain teapot back on the tray, gave a slight a smile to Fisk before turning around and leaving his office.

“How’s our new addition acclimating to her functions?” Fisk raised the hot cup up to his lips.

“Very well,” Wesley crossed his legs. “She’s very efficient in what she does. I am surprised to see her adapting to her new condition so easily.”

“She is a survivor,” Fisk noted. “Adapting is key to live in these cruel times.”

“It is not in my nature to question you, sir,” Wesley started, crossing his legs under the desk. “But of what use is she to you?”

Fisk paused, his cup touching his lips, before taking a sip. “Our new employee has exceeded my expectations. I see her—potential. Her father’s bad life choices, instilled in her—qualities—that I believe to be of great use to us.” His left hand fidgeted, his thumb running along his fingers, “She is a dutiful daughter—even in her father’s death, she will do what it takes to protect her family.”

I will never be free

Financial freedom was bliss. Since Fisk didn’t rely on your money to pay back your father’s debt, you enjoyed your wages fully. Even putting some money on the side in case of emergency. Five years you worked for Fisk Industries. Five years you served under Wesley. Five years in which you didn’t have to worry about money. And it was bliss.

Working for these men had its perks but mainly it had drawbacks. You knew they were involved in criminal activities. The kind that was harder to uncover because they made sure of it. You knew their methods. You, yourself, was a victim of it. That was how they got you to sign the agreement. You weren’t entirely free but this—arrangement was better than nothing.

Five years you worked under Wesley’s supervision. You were no longer someone paying off debts, not to Fisk anyway. You were his loyal secretary, working alongside Wesley, ensuring that his affairs were running smoothly. Five years, during which, you became acquainted with Fisk closest—associates. People you thought to be as dangerous as he was.

The cold wind whipped at your face as you followed Wesley out the elevator. The building was still in construction and closed to the public for the night. You understood why Wesley wanted to arrange a meeting there. No one to overhear. No one to see.

“Oh please, tell me he’s right behind you,” Leland Owsley said as soon as he saw Wesley.

“Unfortunately, my employer is attending to other matters,” Wesley announced, coming to a stop, you halting besides him. “He apologizes—to you in particular, Madame Gao.”

One of the Ranskahov brothers cussed in Russian, under his breath. “We do not deal with lapdogs,” Valdimir, his brother, said moving to leave. “Tell Mister—”

“We don’t say his name.” Wesley cut him off. Valdimir and his brother, Anatoly wordlessly continued on their way. “He would like to know why you’re short on the cargo totals.”

“There was a problem on the docks,” Valdimir spoke.

“Barret and our men were attacked,” Anatoly continued. “Some moodak in a black mask.”

Leland laughed, “and you bought that?” Vladimir glared at him and bit back something in his native tongue. “Okay, calm down. Fine, we’ll go with the man-in-a-black-mask story.”

You couldn’t help but glared at Owsley, you despised him. He acted tough, provoked, condescended but deep down he was a small man. And you despised him for it.

“Our men would not lie,” Valdimir assured him.

“I said I’m on board.” Leland turned to Wesley, “I’m glad to hear there’s some new blood running out there. Heroes and their consequences are why we have our current opportunities. Now can we review the latest numbers and—”

“Tell me more about this man,” Wesley questioned the brothers.

“Took Barrett and our guys out while they were loading our container,” Anatoly told him.

Madame Gao interjected. She only spoke in Mandarin, words you did not understand, but loved to hear. You loved the way her voice dipped down and rose up as she spoke. Wesley laughed at her words.

“She wants to know if this man stole the shipment for himself,” he turned to the brothers.

“No,” Vladimir said, turning to Madame Gao. “He let the women go.”

Your eyes dropped to the ground, a spark of hope bursting through your chest at those words. You had almost forgotten what it felt like. It felt warm as its golden tendrils wrapped around your heart. But your heart was hardened. Impenetrable. Snuffing it all out.

“This is different. My employer will be—” you turned to look at Wesley, “—displeased for being inconvenienced by a lone vigilante.”

“Then he should tell me to my face,” Valdimir snapped back.

“This is on you,” Wesley gave a tight smile. “Deal with it. Quietly.”

“We must be quiet. Yes.” Anatoly agreed, “we would not want another Union Allied situation, would we? Big, loud, lot of questions.”

“We’re handling it.”

“Like you keep saying you’re handling Prohaszka?”

“We’re in the process of negotiating with Mr. Prohaszka,” Wesley said.

“Negotiating?” Anatoly repeated. “Maybe we handle our problem same way. Sit down with this man in black, break bread.”

“I think what Anatoly is trying to say is that it would be in our best interests for Union Allied to be tidied up as expeditiously as possible.” Leland intervened.

“As I said—we’re handling it.”

You could hear in his tone that Wesley was getting fed up with the Russians. Did they not know they couldn’t make demands? That Fisk did not answer to them. They answered to him. Weren’t they aware of that? Why did they keep provoking him?

The man in black became a problem for Fisk and his opportunities. Finding himself where he shouldn’t be. A thorn in Fisk’s side. Words were going around the city. Spreading like wildfire. The man in black was saving people, protecting Hell’s Kitchen. Doing what the police couldn’t do. Going after thugs, criminals, traffickers. Sparking hope in Hell’s Kitchen. Hope that had been long forgotten.

Despair and loneliness were your companions in this existence. Outside of your work life, you didn’t have a personal life. No friends. No boyfriends. Your family were mostly living out of state. And honestly, this was better for you. The farther away they were from Fisk, the better. You breathed better knowing they were safe outside of Hell’s Kitchen. You did not doubt that Fisk had ways to get to them but—you still felt they were safer outside of New York. And as long as you did what was expected of you, Fisk would not go after them.

They were safe.

Locking your door behind you, going to your right, you made your way to your bedroom. Dropping your purse and keys on the bed, you walked around the bed, into your walk-in closet. Dragging your step-stool in the corner in order to retrieve the large metal box you kept on the highest shelf. You grabbed the keys you kept in one of your shoes and opened it. You added a file about Nelson and Murdock to your already growing collection. Several files that you had put together about Wilson Fisk, James Wesley, and their different associates.

Why? Why did you go to the trouble?

You had no idea. One day, you just started to gather the information you were trusted with. Wilson Fisk and James Wesley used intel they gathered to pressure others. To force their hands. To get them to do what Fisk wanted. Needed. You would never dream to do such a thing. And yet, knowing more about them gave you some sort of power. Some sort of control back. Although looking through your files, you realized that you had more intel on Fisk than you would ever have on Wesley.

He was a mystery. You knew nothing about him. Except that he was loyal and he sincerely believed in Wilson Fisk’s vision for Hell’s Kitchen. Although, he didn’t care for this city. James Wesley was a mystery. And he made sure it remained so.

“I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector,” Wesley explained to the lawyers. You sat beside him, directly across Matthew Murdock. By his side was his partner, Franklin Nelson. And sitting at the very end of the table came Karen Page, their new secretary. “Both domestic and international. From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer.”

“Retainer?” Nelson repeated excitedly.

“Why are you approaching us? Why not a larger firm, Mr., uh—“ Murdock trailed off, waiting for Wesley to say his name.

“Confederated Global Investments is my employer.” Wesley said instead.

“It’s not what I was asking,” he smiled tightly back. The man was sharp and suspicious of him.

“It’s the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.” Your boss chuckled back.

“Oh,” he smirked. “So, why us?”

“Obviously, the larger firms aren’t able to provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson and Murdock,” Nelson tried to temper his partner’s hostility towards Wesley and yourself.

“It’s a fair question,” James assured him. “I’m here because my employer does extensive business in Hell’s Kitchen, and who knows it better than two local boys who graduated from Colombia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?”

“Uh, the ‘summa’ part is politics,” Nelson interjected.

Wesley laughed at him, “you set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that both of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where you interned.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Murdock noted.

“My employer expects no less.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt,” Murdock begun.

Nelson stammered, “’blunt’ is a strong word.”

“In my line of work, I find it refreshing.”

“What is that line of work exactly?”

“What my partner is trying to say is we’re still building a practice,” Nelson scrambled to come up with an excuse. Trying desperately to cover for his partner’s hostility. “So we’re very particular about our clientele.”

“I assure you, all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men—good lawyers. And for that, nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion—” Wesley looked down at you, and you pulled out an envelope. You pushed it towards Nelson, “—would be fairly compensated.”

Nelson opened the envelope and pulled out the check that was inside. As he was doing so, you observed his partner. He was stiff on his seat, tight with tension. His jaw clenched.

“Your partner doesn’t seem convinced,” you spoke for the first time since you entered their practice.

“Like Foggy said, we’re particular about our clientele,” Murdock replied, his head tilting in your direction.

“I’m curious about your—clientele,” Wesley started. “Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder or just the pretty ones?”

You kept your eyes trained on your hands as Wesley turned to Karen Page. “You, uh, give us a minute, please?” Murdock turned to her. She left the room closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.” He meant to do just that.   

“How did you know about Miss Page’s situation?” Murdock questioned him. “She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers.”

“I have friends on the force. I hear I’m not the only one,” Wesley pointed out.

“I think we might be veering off the subject,” Foggy tried to save the situation. Bringing it all back to the subject at hands.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Murdock. Perhaps—you should review one of our cases—before you make a decision? Peace of mind and whatnot.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Foggy agreed. “Matthew?”

“Yeah, what harm could it do?” He nodded. Still not convinced.

“Excellent,” Wesley exclaimed as you pulled out two folders. “You have—38 minutes to get to precinct 15.”

“What? Now? What’s the case?” Foggy asked quickly.

“Everything you need are in those files,” you pushed the folders towards both partners.

“Oh, he—” Foggy started to say.

“They are in braille,” you cut him off. “He can read them.”

“Thank you for your time.” Wesley buttoned his jacket, taking his leave.

“No. Thank you. Thank you very—” You followed Wesley out of the office, barely sparing a glance to Karen Page sitting behind her desk.

You threw your door open, rushing to your bathroom. Which thankfully faced your entry. Dropping purse and keys on the ground, your knees slammed on the ground as you curled over the porcelain bowl. All that you’d have eaten during the day coming back up.

You always knew what Wilson Fisk was capable of but you had never witnessed first-hand. Not until tonight. Anatoly had made the mistake to want to talk to him. Interrupting his date with Vanessa Marianna, an art dealer. Enraged, Fisk had pulled him out of the car and beat him to death. It took everything in you not to flinch. To keep the screams and shrieks you wanted to let out, inside your chest. It took everything in you to not react when Fisk decapitated Anatoly with his car door. You did not flinch when the blood splattered on your face and clothes. Your stomach was churning at the squelching sound of flesh as it was being hit repeatedly until nothing was left.  

You kept your eyes on the ground when you were outside of the car. And tried as you may, you could not ignore the headless body that you could see out of the corner of your eye. A sight that would haunt you within the following months.

The hot water hit your back washing off the grime and blood. Washing off the tears as you sobbed under the hot spray. This wasn’t the life you wanted. You wanted to fall in love, get married and have children. You wanted a good job, to never again struggle financially. You wanted a simple and easy life. You spent your entire life surviving. Now, you just wanted to live. To enjoy life. To be taken care of.

Working for Fisk. Witnessing brutal murders. Having blood splattered on your face. Ruining other people’s lives. Taking parts in criminal activities. None of those things were part of your plans. None of those things were supposed to be in your future.

This wasn’t fair.

Your wails filled your empty bathroom, bouncing off of the white tiles. Lost. Heartbroken. Hopeless.

And alone.

I will never be free.

You added a folder to your collection that night. Vanessa Marianna. Art dealer. Employed at the Scene Contempo Gallery. It was just a few lines that you’d scribbled down on a piece of paper and shoved into a folder. You would have to make further research to learn more about the woman that could attract Wilson Fisk’s attention.

You downed the shot glass of rhum you had poured yourself earlier, “thanks for the life you’ve given me, father.” You said to the empty room. “Was this what you envisioned for me? Your precious daughter. The one you’ve always wanted,” tears poured down your face. “Is this the life you had in mind when you imagined my future? Because if that’s the case then let me tell you—it sucks.”

The Beast had a heart, after all. At least, for one woman. His infatuation with Vanessa grew more and more each day. And so, did hers. You always thought that for a man like Wilson Fisk, love was a liability. Especially since the man had a tendency to use it as leverage against the people he used. The people he wanted to intimidate. But maybe, the Beast was more human than you thought. Even a man like Fisk couldn’t resist the appeal of a beautiful and smart woman. Even a man like him couldn’t resist the appeal of love.

And while his relationship with Vanessa grew into something beautiful and twisted, his circle of associates shrunk. Little by little. When Hell’s Kitchen went up into flames, as Fisk intended, Vladimir met his tragic end, joining his brother in death. The man in the mask was, of course, blamed for the chaos of that night. After Vladimir, Nobu was killed trying to eliminate the man in the mask. Going up into flames.

Fisk’s schemes to destroy and better rebuild Hell’s Kitchen were not going as he wished. The Man in the Mask had efficiently thrown a wrench into the, so far, well oiled machine. And Fisk was not too pleased with it. And tried as he may, it was hard for Fisk, or even Wesley to fix it.

None of that mattered, anyway. The night of the Benefits came, Vanessa, along with many others had been poisoned. Between life and death, she remained in a hospital bed with Fisk by her side.

“Sir, are you sure you should go alone?” You inquired following Wesley through the hospital hallway. He had just asked a bodyguard for his keys and gun.

“I need you here with him,” Wesley answered shortly coming to a stop. “You’re the only one I trust right now. Make sure no one’s get in or out of that room without being checked first, understood?”

“Understood,” you nodded quickly. “I really don’t think you should go alone, sir.”

“I’m touched by your concerns,” he said your name in a mocking way. “This is a matter I’d better deal with on my own. I won’t be long.”

And he left. This was the last you would see of James Wesley.

Fisk’s most loyal friend and henchman found death. Murdered.  Body cribbled with bullets.

Something strange happened when you heard the news. Something you had forgotten how to feel. Something you had chosen to ignore for your own survival. As you stared down at his dead body, a spark of hope. Once again, you chose to snuff it out.

Wesley was gone but Fisk was still in the picture. And without his most loyal ally, he seemed more dangerous.

Then, the spark burst into flames. Burning ablaze. You dared let hope settle in your chest when he was put away. You dared let it take root. Fisk was put away. In prison. And the shackles of your figurative imprisonment were taken off of you.

You were finally free.

A weight had been lifted off of your chest and your lungs could expand once more. Breathing came easier in the following days. You looked for a new job, wanting and needing nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between Fisk Industries and yourself. You would leave New York and Hell’s Kitchen behind. You would start anew.

You could see it. For the first time in forever, your future awaiting you.

You dared hope.

Hope.

It had been crushed under the sole of Harry Leblanc’s shoes. You should have known better than hoping, believing that you would finally be free. Man like Fisk always have back up plans. His empire was never to fall because he was gone. Prison was simply a minor inconvenience. Man like Fisk, and now Leblanc would never let you be free.

Harry Leblanc, accompanied by Octavia Turpin, was to take over North Star Holding; formerly named Fisk Industries. The name change was vital, no one would invest or trust a company that carries the name of a known criminal. So, Fisk Industries became North Star Holding.

I will never be free.

“You understand that a debt still needs to be paid,” Leblanc smiled down at you, sitting on the side of the desk.

“And your former employer seems to believe that you are an incredible asset,” Octavia said. “We would love to have you and—see it for ourselves.”

“Understand that your position won’t differ much from your former work under Mr. Fisk. You will complete the same sort of task with—some minor alterations to the previous terms.”

This was your fate, it seemed. Protesting would serve nothing. Only result in more threats. Threats against your siblings and their children, that you loved more than anything in the world. Offering money would also serve nothing, you knew better. It was not about the money. It was about what you could do for them.

You swallowed down your saliva, your chest grew tight with anxiety and sorrow. You tightened your hold around the pen and signed the new agreements. The shackles around your wrists and ankles clicked back into place, tighter than before. You did not care what the minor alterations were. All you could see was that the end of the tunnel became dark again.

You realized in that very moment, as the pen moved across the paper, that this “debt” could only be paid with your life.

Or theirs.

Your life was never your own. And it would never be again.

I will never be free.   

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