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 Posting a reply to post #46370

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46370 No.46370

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Title: like chewing on pearls
Characters: Matt Murdock/Danny Rand
Rating: PWP
Word Count: ~700
Summary: There is no plot. I am a horrible person who wanted to write about sex on leather.

Danny is standing on Matt’s doorstep looking rumpled and lost. He smiles weakly, then spreads his arms wide.

“Misty’s a bitch. Take me now.”

Matt backs up a bit and he looks alarmed enough that Danny knows that he’s going to get exactly what he needs

“Don’t joke about things like that, Danny.”

There’s a hollow quality to Danny’s voice when he replies.

“It’s not a joke.”

Matt makes a little strangled noise, then lunges forward and to crush his mouth to Danny’s. Danny kisses back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Matt’s neck and arching into his touch. Clothes go flying all over the place as they stagger away from the door, trying to undress and keep kissing at the same time. Danny manages to trip when his pants catch around his knees and they fall backward onto Matt’s couch, naked and grinding against each other. It’s awkward and there’s cursing all around as elbows and knees go everywhere, but Matt is all heat and corded muscle, surrounding Danny in a way that he’s been craving ever since he found Misty in the arms of another man.

Eventually, Danny is bent over the back of Matt’s couch, knees skidding over the worn leather as he writhes. Matt’s hands are wrapped around his hips, huge and burning so hot that Danny thinks they might be branding marks onto his skin. Well, at least, he would if he could think straight. Right now it’s all he can do to scrabble at the back of the couch and moan helplessly as Matt thrusts into him at a desperate pace. He’s pulling Danny back onto his cock as he pushes into him and the sweet burn of it is driving Danny wild.

Danny whimpers Matt’s name brokenly, bucking helplessly into the air because he knows that he’s almost there but he can’t quite reach it. For once, Matt’s sense of timing is perfect, because at that exact moment he lets go of Danny’s hip to reach around. He smears the pre-cum leaking from Danny’s cock all over his palm, then wraps his hand around the shaft to pump in time with his thrusts. A long moan tears itself from Danny’s throat and his back arches as he tries to jerk into Matt’s hand and back onto his cock in time.

Matt is starting to grunt softly from the exertion, and the low noises send shivers down Danny’s spine. Heat curls in his belly, building and building until finally he bites his lip and lets out a shuddering moan, coming hard into Matt’s hand. A soft gasp escapes Matt’s mouth, and then he shivers and follows him over the edge.

For a moment, they just lie there panting, but Matt fell forward onto Danny when he came and he's heavy. His cheek feels nice pressed into Danny’s shoulder blade, so he holds out as long as he can, but eventually Danny wiggles a little and murmurs, “I can’t breathe, Matt.”

“Oh, um, sorry.”

Bonelessly, Matt pulls out and flops over onto the couch, obviously still basking in afterglow. Danny cracks his back, then curls up next to him, resting his head on Matt’s shoulder. As he pets Danny’s hair, Matt laughs softly. "I think you should have more fights with your girlfriend."

Danny smiles sheepishly. “Um... I don’t think she’s my girlfriend anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair and looks away, so Danny immediately jumps in to clarify. “No, don’t be! It’s, um, it’s okay.”

“Well, in that case...” Matt’s arm wraps around Danny’s shoulders and he presses a kiss to the top of Danny’s head. He smiles just a little smugly. “Wanna go out sometime?”

He looks good like this, rumpled all to hell and smiling in spite of it. Danny feels his heart skip a beat. “Sure.”

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foggy + matt
spoiler'd for maya's boobs

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Daredevil thread? Yes please very much.

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Daredevil talking about Bullseye. I chortled.

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I totally just covered the Dark Avengers thread with all my Bullseye/Daredevil, do I make reposts? I totally support DD getting his own thread. I remember we tried for one before, but there wasn't much active content. Writefag can offer to help change this? Who do people ship him with?

Picture related in my case. Lovely bondage.


I'm cool with reposts. And my fav people to ship Matt with are Foggy, Spiderman, and I've just started reading him with some Iron Fist.

Reposts are A-OK with me and I am in love with Daredevil/Bullseye followed by Matt/Foggy, DD/Iron Fist, and DD/Luke Cage. That boy gets around.

Tell Me Nothing
by aliccolo
Fandom: Marvel 616
Pairing: Peter/Matt
Rating: R
Disclaimers: Characters belong to Marvel, et al. Author makes no claims to them.
Synopsis: Peter doesn't ever shut up.
Notes: Started out as a kink meme response, but...yeah...I dunno...>.<
Completed: March 2010

He doesn't ever shut up. Ever. Not even when he's all alone, naked, bound and blindfolded, strapped to the bed, body spread out and vulnerable, on display for anyone with functioning eyes to see. He just keeps talking, babbling, saying and accomplishing nothing, just making noise, amusing himself at the top of his lungs, not pausing for a moment to breathe or shut up. Ten minutes pass, then thirty, then sixty, and he's still speaking, cracking wise to the invisible audience in the bedroom, and to his captor in his office a few doors down.

It is comforting, in a way, listening through the walls to Peter randomly discussing his favorite of the 'Police Academy' movies with himself, debating the merits of free range poultry, trying to keep himself occupied, waiting for Matt's return, waiting to be freed from his restraints. He occasionally muses about the length of time he has been held captive, occasionally bemoans his neglected state, loudly reminding Matt that if he really wanted to, he'd have freed himself by now. But he still keeps talking, busying himself enough that Matt is able to accomplish all the work he needed for court in the morning. And that in itself makes this little experiment worth it.

Peter doesn't even notice when the bedroom door opens again. He's too busy regaling himself with the tale of that one time he and Johnny encountered theGoom to hear the approaching footsteps, too entranced in his own tales of heroics to recognize how dangerously close Matt is until it is too late. Daredevil is straddling him, hand pressed firmly to his throat before Peter can even say hello.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Matt's voice is steady, deep, and without any emotion. It's so cold it almost makes Peter shiver.

"Aw come on now, Red, you know me better than that. The question you should be asking is--"

"Hush." Matt doesn't seem to appreciate the humor, and if he does, he's not inclined to admit it. Not now anyway, not when he's got Peter tied up and at his (relative) mercy. The hand at Peter's throat relaxes, fingers trail down his neck idly, slowly tracing along his collar bone, memorizing Peter's chest with his fingertips. His hand stills as it rests above Peter's heart, beating slow and steady, a signature beat that Matt can't ever forget. "No more talking."

Peter pouts a little, forgetting momentarily that the effort is wasted on Matt. He instead sighs dramatically, snorting out his nose for good measure, just to be certain Matt understands how very much he disagrees with that idea. "Matt. Matty. Be reasonable. Asking me to stop talking is like asking you to stop dating insane, murderous women. It's not gonna happen. So let's just, you know, start by untying me...then we can discuss something more--"

"That wasn't a request."

Peter blinks beneath the blindfold, genuinely startled by the sudden finality in Matt's tone. Startled, yes, but not enough to keep quiet for more than five seconds. He tried, he really did, but curiosity got the better of him, just enough to make him growl out a soft line of bait, "You gonna make me?"

Matt doesn't say anything at first, and Peter wonders if he should be worried. This lingering feeling is amplified by Matt's hand travelling slowly back up his chest, back past his collar bone, back to his throat. His breath catches, just barely, but loud enough for Matt to hear it and almost drop his tough-guy facade long enough to smile. "That depends. Do you want me to make you?"

"That depends." Peter caught the half-smirk in Matt's voice, but he's too busy being distracted by the moment to react properly. He pauses and takes a deep breath, pulse racing in his neck, no doubt quite a symphony for Matt's ears and a sensation for his fingertips. He has about a million clever answers on the tip of his tongue, but none of them seem especially cute with Daredevil looming over his bound and blinded body, hand pressed firmly to what Peter is sure must be some sort of insta-kill pressure point.

"On?" Matt shifts on top on him, sliding up his torso in a way that Peter is certain must look entirely obscene. It feels obscene anyway. Peter makes a face, laughing nervously, nearly tempted to muscle his way out of his restraints, if only so he could gain some ounce of control, even if it was just to brace himself on the headboard.

"Well, I gotta know, buddy. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Do I look like a psychic?" Matt mumbled, voice thick with something Peter might liken to lust. He might have likened it even more to lust if he could see Matt's expression right before he started sucking roughly on Peter's pulse.

"Hmm, yep, okay, we're on the same page. Keep doing that."

Matt laughs softly, whispering something inaudible against Peter's neck, inaudible to everyone but himself. Not that it especially mattered what he was saying, so long as he didn't stop. Peter doesn't want him to stop, not ever. Parker might be mouthy, but Murdock was the real silver tongued devil in this scenario. And he kept going lower, and harder, biting at his victim's flesh like a cannibal of some kind. Peter's back arched, and he smiled dreamily, content to let him gnaw on his hipbone and drag his teeth across his skin. He likes Matt's mouth. A lot.

"Stop humming."

Peter wrinkled his nose inquisitively, eyebrow raised pointlessly behind the blindfold. It took him a moment to get his tongue to function again, he'd been lulled into such a brilliant, peaceful silence, it was like he'd completely forgotten how to speak. "Huh?"

He stops that awesome teasing thing he was doing with his mouth to the skin just below Peter's navel. "You're humming 'Maneater'. It's kind of distracting." He sounds entirely unimpressed.

Was he really? Really? Peter makes a face and laughs sheepishly, shrugging against his restraints in a way the Matt could definitely feel. The shrug only elicits a warning noise from him, and before Peter could make a dazzlingly witty retort of any kind, his whole position had changed, and suddenly their roles are somewhat reversed. Matt is suddenly straddling the helpless little spider, crawled up his body with such stealth and speed that even if Peter hadn't been blindfolded, he would have been forced to remark on it.

Damn ninjas.

But as it was now, he finds himself unable to speak. No, no, his mouth is being forcefully occupied with something much more important. Namely Matt's erection. Peter almost laughs. This is almost comical. If he wasn't so busy sucking on Matt's cock, he surely would have commented on how strangely fitting this was, to be teased and coaxed into silence with the promise of an amazing blow job only to be tricked into giving one instead.

"That shut you up, didn't it?" Matt chuckles softly, tapping Peter's cheek lightly, tugging the blindfold off and tossing it randomly aside. Peter winced at the sudden intrusion of light, but he doesn't miss a beat, continuing dutifully at the task at hand. Or rather, at mouth. He's never minded giving head, and he can tell Matt likes it by the look on his face, by the desperate curve in his lips and the way his body arches toward Peter's mouth. "Hmm...Why didn't I think of this before?"

He's tempted to stop and jerk his head back and lecture that smug, self-satisfied, crazy sexy look right of Murdock's smarmy little face. But he is a better man than that. He wouldn't tease the man and lure him into a state of calm with sweet oral pleasures just to be pull away and snicker at him. Besides, Matt is a reasonable guy. Sometimes. Usually. And Peter knew full well this was a quid pro quo type situation. Spidey would get his payback. Someday.


Matt grunts something and suddenly Peter's back in the real world. Funny how sucking cock makes his mind wander to thoughts of revenge...

"What?" He tilts his head away, staring up at him with innocent Bambi eyes. A completely wasted expression, but totally necessary. Matt doesn't say a word. Again. Typical broody, sulky silence. Except Matt doesn't look like he was brooding or sulking. Nope, nope. From this angle, he looks positively evil. Peter can't stop shivering again for some reason, watching cautiously as one by one Matt removed the restraints and his limbs were suddenly freed.

"I said 'turn over and let me fuck you'."

He blinks, stretching his wrists and legs instinctively, daring to laugh at the command. But he makes no motion to move though, nope, he's content to expand across Matt's bed like a cat, taking up as much room as possible, grinning like a defiant little boy. "You didn't say the magic word, Matty."

"That wasn't a request."

Peter laughs again, ignoring the death glare being lobbed his way. He knows this game, he knows full well what Matt is capable of, and he isn't about to fall or any idle threats. Besides, he's in no hurry, he's not the one all hot and bothered here, whether or not Matt gets off is none of his concern. Okay, well, it might be. Except that Peter's a pretty good tease himself, when he wants to be. "You know how they say it takes two to tango? Well, what if I don't feel like dancing. Ever think of that, lawyer boy?"

Matt just stares at him in that vague, absent way that can sometimes be fucking unnerving. It's like he's looking through Peter, or intently studying his brain or something. It's weird. It weirds him out sometimes, he'll admit it. And it takes him a few seconds to tear his eyes from Matt's eyes and fully appreciate the look on the poor sap's face. Matt's always been an open book when it comes to expressions, but this look he's giving Peter right now is one for the record books. It's like if every bad romance novel cover ever produced somehow cross-bred with the music video for 'Wicked Game' and produced a facial expression. That is the level of longing radiating off Matt Murdock's face right now. It's radiating off his entire body, actually.

And it's really fucking hot.

"Don't lie to me. Just turn over. Now"

And his voice is cracking with need too. And Peter isn't sure he even wants to tease him anymore. And before he even realizes what he's done, he's obediently flipped over, their hips align, and without any further prelude or preamble, just a little saliva and a whole lot of need, Matt is inside of him.

Fucking him. Hard and fast and angry. It's like Matt's taking revenge or something, the way he moves, brutally, like he's taking everything out on him, like all the frustration he's been building up over the last however long is being channeled and released through this one act. He doesn't relent, he doesn't hold back, not even for a second. He just fucks Peter however he likes it, because he knows Peter can take it.

And take it he does, panting, moaning, gasping, but surprisingly, not speaking. There's no talking at all, nothing witty to be said, just animalistic sounds that both of them understand. That along with the motions of their bodies is enough to communicate everything either of them needs to know.

Wordlessly, Peter grabs Matt's hand off his hip and slips it over his cock, and then it's like perfection. Everything is in sync, and all the teasing from a few moments ago doesn't even matter.

It's not marathon sex or anything. In fact, it's as quick as it is rough and needy. Matt finishes first. He always does. It's probably something to do with the heightened senses, Peter doesn't know for sure. And he doesn't really care, not when the wave of pleasure hits him and he's finishing in Matt's hand, curling into a small, satisfied heap. Matt is sitting back on his heels, slumped, catching his breath and letting his senses catch up and calm down.

Peter is quiet for fifteen seconds. Fifteen blissful, silent seconds before, "Matty?"

"Shhh." A arm waved dismissively, and a mildly miffed glare.


A sharp growl, and this time, Daredevil covers his ears in vain. All the pleasure from the sex was forgotten and replaced by a long, drawn out sigh. Well, not all of it. But his ears were practically burning from the sound, from the pounding of both their hearts, so loud and familiar, from their breathing, from the radio blaring in a parked car two blocks away. It's all noise and chaos and commotion, and it's giving Matt a headache. "Don't you ever shut up?"

Several clever answers spring to Peter's mind, all of them cute and utterly hilarious. But he's a better man than that. Instead, he just laughs, reaching to pull Matt down onto the bed with him, grinning smugly as he claimed his victory. "Nope."

I love Matt with Foggy and Spidey too. Maybe it's because I'm so set on Danny/Luke, but I've never really made a connection to shipping either of them with Matt. What attracts you guys to that? I'm not disapproving at all! I'm curious and willing to be converted.

I'm really not one for spreading myself out since I know I'm not that great (I know, I know, what writer doesn't have low self esteem) but I really want this thread to live. I wrote this one for the kink meme, then shared it with the DA thread (since it's Bullseye), but it likely belongs here far much more.

Bullseye deserved the worst of all punishments.

He would not say that he deserved death, for that wasn't his place to say, that wasn't his decision to make, but after so long, it felt like it should have been justified.

It would be easy if Matt could make himself do it. He could do it now. Bullseye was pinned beneath him, winded and too beaten to fight back beyond stubborn struggling. It would be so easy, all it would take would be wrapping his hands around his neck, feeling the choked attempts at breath vibrating through his throat until the pulse beneath his palms faded into stillness... it would be easy, but it was not simple. Nothing was that simple.

He would never understand this, why Bullseye kept coming back, why he seemed to delight in this. Daredevil had beaten him, over and over, and would Bullseye keep counting that as encouragement until the day Matt finally snapped, until the line was finally crossed and he did seize him by the throat, squeezing until there was nothing left?

Bullseye was laughing beneath him, the sound crackling and broken when he didn't have enough air in his lungs to support it, and flecks of blood from recently loosened teeth scattered out from his mouth to hit Matt's, and he recoiled immediately, rubbing the back of his glove across his lips, but the motion was too late. Bullseye's blood was in his mouth. His taste was in Matt's mouth.

And why was it so enticing?

How distracted he was must have shown since, pitifully beaten or not, Bullseye tried to lunge forward, an attempt to unbalance him, but it was a futile effort. Daredevil grabbed him, slammed him back again, and Bullseye moaned when his head cracked against the floor.

Matt wet his lips, and there was more of that taste. Vile. Poisonous.

Bullseye was struggling again, but he didn't have the strength to thrash. He was squirming under Daredevil. He was writhing. And Matt could not understand why he hadn't knocked him out yet, and thrown him into a cage like he belonged.

Bullseye's taste was in his mouth. Bullseye's voice was moaning. Bullseye's body was moving underneath him.

Bullseye deserved the worst of all punishments.

Daredevil surged forward, driving his tongue past Bullseye's lips, and that poisonous taste filled his mouth, spilled down his throat and sunk into the pit of his stomach, churning and spinning. Bullseye jerked beneath him in utter shock, his heartbeat jumping as he thrashed underneath him, resisting, but the groan that vibrated through the kiss, up from Bullseye's throat and into Daredevil's, gave away the wanton lust that he struggled to disguise.

It was crude they way they rocked with each other, bodies grinding and thrashing, unable to decide if they were dragging each other close or trying to shove away. They bit more than kissed, clawed more than stroked, growled more than gasped, but beneath the anger, between the defensive reactions, there were slips of genuine little moans, soft laps at lips and trembling hands as spines arched. Matt couldn't decide which of the two was worse, and which he was more damned for relishing in with such utter abandon.

It took capturing both of Bullseye's hands in one of his, but Daredevil managed to work a hand between their tangled bodies, and Bullseye's adamantium laced skull cracked down against the floor again. "Don't fuckin' touch me," he hissed as his entire body arched, hips jerking wildly as Matt cupped his groin in a gloved hand and stroked.

Bullseye was as hard as Matt, he could feel it even with the clothing separating them. He could trace the outline of every inch of him, and Bullseye positively trembled underneath him when Matt squeezed down, letting out a sound that sent shivers up Matt's spine.

"Get the fuck off me," Bullseye demanded as he snaked a leg around Daredevil's hips, dragging him down closer and anchoring him in place. "Fucking -- faggot...!"

Those curses and countless more spilled from Bullseye's lips as he writhed, Daredevil grinding down against him in rough, abortive jerks. Matt didn't feel like he was breathing, every inhale coming full with the sharpness of Bullseye's smells and tastes, and it was intoxicating, like being drugged by something vile and sinful.

Matt came without a single noise to betray him, face twisted up in pleasure and lips parted in a soundless cry. Bullseye made enough sound for them both, moaning and cursing and twisting and bucking up against Daredevil like his body was seizing, until he at last went utterly and completely limp beneath him.

For a long moment, nothing broke the silence save for ragged gasps, and Matt knew he was taking far too long to recover himself and every second lingering betrayed more and more. Bullseye found his voice first, and he used it to laugh breathlessly.

"After all your women that I've killed," he sighed shakily. "I guess I owe you a good fuck, huh?"

Matt found the strength to move first, and he used it to strike Bullseye only once, and it was all he needed to render him unconscious.

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This is based on the attached picture, and is as close as I will ever come to writing a songfic. An amazing person on the DA thread drew art of this for me and it still gives me fluttery feelings. I'm not sure if they'd mind me posting it here or not... This was originally in two parts, but hey, why not post them together? I'll stop spamming now, seriously.

It's the pain that wakes him first, strain on his arms, stretched high above his head and aching from carrying the burden of all his weight. He twists, and the chains around his wrists clatter, sounding too loud to his extra-sensitive ears and pounding head. There's pain in the back of his skull - pain everywhere, but this one is proving easily to be the worst - the blow that was responsible for taking him down and bringing him here: trapped.

His stirring is loud enough to rouse another, and Matt detects the sound of footfalls first, and then the excited rhythm of a heartbeat he should have not have been so familiar with. Suddenly, everything is very clear.

At Osborn's whim, he has been taken down, beaten, and left to Bullseye.

He's still wearing the mask, still shielded as Daredevil, and it's a small comfort. Masks mean little between the two of them now, something he's sure infuriates Bullseye as much as it does himself. There's little to break the silence save from Matt's shallow breathing, and the creak of the chains supporting him where he hung.

It's disturbing to him that he can hear Bullseye smile, and Daredevil narrows his eyes in turn. He expects a jibe, some declaration of victory. He and Bullseye have fought so many times before, but he has never had Daredevil as vulnerable as this, and the idea does not sit well in Matt's stomach. It twists and it churns, but Matt stays still, betraying nothing.

There's footsteps again, and Matt can smell something. Richness - wood - the arrows Bullseye is so fond of using now that he'd stolen Clint Barton's name. Bullseye chuckles slightly, a short-lived little snort of a sound that Daredevil has decided he very much does not like, though it's nowhere near as unsettling as the noise that follows.

Bullseye hums.

Daredevil tenses, and his sore body sends a protesting ache through him that he ignores. He remembers the church - how could he not? - its high walls echoing with Bullseye's voice, taunting and singing, the night he took Karen from him.

Matt wants to strangle the sound from his throat, the urge sudden and violent, but he won't get the chance, not with his hands bound. His legs can still work. He can kick out if Lester dares come too close. Matt hopes he's stupid enough to grant him the opportunity.

"It's that ole devil called love again," Bullseye purrs more than sings, circling back around him. "Gets behind me..."

Bullseye's heartbeat jumps, and that rich wood arrow that Matt had smelled is lodged into his shoulder with almost unnatural force. Matt chokes out a cry of pain, his body writhing, and he can feel Bullseye tremble.

"And keeps givin' me that shock again..." he finishes, a laugh vibrating through his voice as he steps away.

Matt gasps for breath, his fingers twitching and clenching into fists in attempt to brace himself through the pain, but it's impossible. He's hanging by his arms, every pound of his weight straining against that spot, making it impossible to ignore.

Lester is still singing when he faces him again, and he can hear the smile in his voice. "Suppose I didn't stay - ran away, wouldn't play," he drawls, voice strange and sick. "The devil, what a potion he would brew..."

There's something else, something Matt's mind, dizzy with pain and exhaustion, is late to decipher. He's dragged something along the ground with him, and Matt's eyes widen behind the mask.

"He'd follow me around..."


"Build me up--"

The steel bat cracks up beneath his knee and Matt can hear bone snap, his voice breaking when he tried to shout.

"Tear me down--"

He comes down again and his right leg joins the other, and he hates rewarding Bullseye with a scream.

"'Til I'd be so bewildered," Lester almost sighs. "I wouldn't know what to do."

The pain is worse than being shot, strain on all the wrong places on his body, and the worst part, the very worst, is that Lester is moving closer to him, and Matt cannot lash out when clever fingers reach up to tug his mask away.

Matt is shaking, his breath sharp and strained. Agony is written on his face, and Matt knows it. Bullseye wants to see it, the sick bastard that he is. Matt clenches his jaw, narrows his unfocused, glassy eyes, and it's as much resistence as he can manage now. There's a noise he's very familiar with, one he's grown too used to associating with Bullseye, and he twists away when a playing card lightly brushes his cheek, but Lester stubbornly follows after him.

Matt wonders if it's an ace of spades, or a Jack.

"Might as well give up the fight again," Lester hums at him, his tone almost thoughtful, and it causes Matt to pause.

Bullseye's voice is lower now, something more darkly intimate, and it sends a sickly sensation creeping up his spine. Matt twitches and clenches his eyes shut when Lester slides the card across them. Harmless.

Bullseye would find pleasure in tearing out his eyes, wouldn't he.

Lester laughs slightly, and he's shaking his head from side to side. "I know darn well he'll convince me that he's right again."

Matt isn't thinking clearly through the pain. He cannot concentrate. The card slips down to his mouth, and Bullseye keeps it there, using enough pressure until he slices into the vulnerable flesh of his lower lip, and Daredevil hisses out.

"When he sings that sorry song," Lester whispers, a strange urgency in his hushed voice. "I just gotta tag along..."

That sick feeling in Daredevil's stomach twists when the card slips away, and Lester replaces it with his tongue, slowly, so slowly and so lightly, licking at the blood he'd drawn, and just barely catching his lower lip beneath his teeth. Matt can feel him tremble, hear his breathing hitch, smell his arousal spiking.

No. Not spades. He's holding hearts, isn't he?

Lester laughs, and it's unsteady, breathy and trembling as he leans his weight into Matt's suffering body, but he has to finish.

"With that ole devil called love."


Daredevil is a contradiction, and something about that fact irks Lester in a strange way. Matthew Murdock is a good little Catholic boy with a fucking nun for a mommy for God's (heh) sakes, so one has to wonder when he runs around dressed as the devil to do his works of 'good'. Lester likes it, make no mistake, but it was just as fucking absurd as the idea of Lester going around killing folk and calling himself Christ.

It's away from the point, of course. It's about fear - and what Catholic could ever imagine better to use for such a thing? Matt isn't wearing the mask now, and he certainly isn't terrifying, hanging from his wrists with every sharp breath laced with sounds from the pain Lester had put him in.

As he leans his weight into Matt's broken body, Lester wonders what pain feels like for someone like him. Daredevil is sensitive to everything, so much that his blessing (and he would call it that, wouldn't he, little altar boy) far too easily became a curse. He could probably hear a pin drop from across the whole goddamn city, and while that made sneaking up on him a damn near impossibility, it was far too easy to deafen him as well. Lester remembers the subway - though vaguely at best - and he scowls.

On the other hand, Lester wonders what pleasure feels like for him.

Lester's mind drifts as his hands slide down Daredevil's chest, feeling it rise and fall with the strain of his breaths. The sensitivity is spread in all ways, isn't it? Amplified beyond what any normal person can comprehend...

When Lester's hand snakes down and cups his groin through the material of his costume, he wonders if Matt can stop himself from getting hard.

Lester rubs and squeezes down, and the answer would seem to be no.

A soundless shout greets him and a clatter in the chains when he tries to struggle. His devil hasn't breathed a word since he found himself here, and Lester isn't entirely sure what to make of that. Stubbornness, he supposes, but that suits him fine. He can get even better noises from him. Words are vastly overrated.

He's trying to fight it, and Lester can see it. Daredevil won't plead. No, that isn't like him. He'll just resist. His features tighten, the lashes covering his sightless eyes fluttering. They're beautiful, those useless eyes of his, Lester reflects, in a sick, deranged way. Lester pictures doing away with them: cupping Daredevil's face in his palms, caressing lidded eyes with his thumbs before driving them into the sockets, and watching the blood spill down his cheeks like tears. The fantasy alone makes him shiver. Daredevil doesn't need them, after all.

The delicate little slice Lester left with his card is still bleeding, a slim little trail trickling down his chin as Daredevil's lips tremble under his short, sharp breaths, and Lester is torn between the urges of savoring the image of it, or lapping the blood away. Groaning, he gives in, just barely letting his tongue flick out against Daredevil's chin. Lester shudders and he feels Matt's attempt to struggle, his expression a tight grimace. Can't have that. Lester squeezes his hand down on that undeniable erection, reprimanding him, and he receives a choked gasp for his trouble.

Lester doesn't let up, his hand squeezing and stroking Daredevil beneath his hand, and the barrier of his costume wasn't enough to protect him. He can't quite tell which sounds from Daredevil are pain, and which are pleasure, and the strange, sick blend of the two riles Lester in a way he couldn't have possibly anticipated.

The tremors in Daredevil's body are building, and they both know what's coming next. The realization sends shivers down to Lester's core, and he presses closer, moving his hand faster, harder, determination urging him onward. Daredevil is struggling, and Lester watches as he tosses his head back, eyes fluttering and closing.

"No," shouts Lester, voice raising in his sudden urgency - the first words to break the silence in far too long. "Look at me."

The very command is absurd, and Daredevil seems to react more in shock than genuine compliance, his eyes snapping open and staring somewhere distant - but he holds it, even when his face twists up in pleasure, his jerking futilely up into Lester's palm as he cries out.

Lester shakes and shivers like he's the one rocking with aftershocks. Slowly, he moves his hands up, cupping Daredevil's now flushed face. Lester holds him there, thumb grazing those dark circles beneath his eyes, and his fantasy returned to him. How easy it would have been...

No. Lester stops himself. He likes his eyes like this. They're expressive, useless, helpless in a way that didn't suit him, staring somewhere too far left of Lester, unfocused and milky - and yes, very very beautiful, even when Matt's face is a mask of cold, bitter offense.

Lester smiles almost serenely as he leans in, hands keeping Daredevil still as he covers those bruised, torn lips with his own. Matt struggles, the chains clatter, but Lester's fingers clench inside his hair to force him still. He tastes his blood, tastes him and he groans deeply, shivers going up his spine as he smirks against Matt's lips.

It's the first victory Lester has had over Daredevil in years, and this is the one that's going to last.

"I win, red," Lester tells him, and drives his tongue into Daredevil's open mouth.

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For me, Luke Cage is one of the guys that stands up to Matt no matter what. During Bendis's run, Luke is sometimes Matt's bodyguard, but most importantly his friend. He rallied the troops together to snap Matt out of his crazy Kingpin phase and is always there when Matt needs a favor. I like their friendship.

As for Danny--Danny usually tailed Luke, but he really came to his own for Matt when he dressed up as Daredevil during Civil War. Danny has deep respect and admiration for Matt and, yanno, it's hot.

I ship Danny/Luke above everything else though I'm definitely not opposed to Danny/Matt/Luke.

And I love that fic, heyyy.

by Tartanshell

If there were any justice in the world, it would be possible to take a shower long enough and hot enough to wash the last year or so away. To wash the blood (literally) on his hands away, because God knows he's tried to get away from it all like that, too. Tried to escape with gloved knuckles cracking against jawbones, his elbow in someone's gut, grinning at a gun shoved in his face and praying---actually praying---for someone to be faster than him, for once.

Of course, true justice is in short supply, but Matt knew that long before he took the LSATs. Never was some starry-eyed kid with dreams of changing the world by taking pro bono cases. (Takes them, yes, but doesn't believe it will make a difference in the long run.) There's rarely any justice in the world unless you take matters into your own hands.

And doing that is what leads to nights in the shower, spitting blood, hot water stinging cuts and scrapes, pressure hard enough to bruise that still doesn't unknot his muscles and only makes the bruises he already has ache. Stepping out, feet slapping on tile, inhaling steam, feeling wet and squeaky from soap but still not clean.

Maybe all of that is just. What he deserves. You'd think Lady J. herself would cut him a break, some kind of blind solidarity, but she's probably pissed at him for not leaving everything in the courtroom in the first place. For that matter, God's probably not pleased with him, either. Vengeance isn't Matt Murdock's, after all. Vengeance isn't for him to deal out in a devil costume.

All of this just such a fucking mess. There is not enough hot water in the world. Plenty of cold, though, sluicing down in buckets tonight. Drops slithering down his neck like ice, thrown into his face in the wind, like drumbeats on the leather taut over his skull.

Halloween was last week, and here he is, crouched like some overgrown trick-or-treater on the edge of a roof. Sometimes, Matt thinks Foggy's got a point when he says you've gotta be crazy or stupid---or both---to do this thing. Stupid is one thing Matt knows he isn't, but it's the other one that. Well. There's normal-for-him, and then there's taking his mask off in public above a roaring sea of reporters. Shutting out his closest friends. Declaring himself Kingpin.

That sort of thing. Daring them to pull the trigger.

Matt smells him, hears footsteps that should be nearly silent on the roof behind him, but doesn't turn. Feels the corner of his lips twitch, though, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Another intervention?" he asks, still facing the street. "Or is it time for a pep talk? I lose track."

Danny's palms whisper against fabric as he smoothes his tights over his thighs, then crouches down beside Matt. "I just saw you. Thought I'd come say hey."

Matt nods, though he isn't sure he buys it. "Okay. Hey."


"Luke's not out tonight?"

And he doesn't need heightened senses to feel Danny's shoulders tense. "Luke's with Jessica."

"Right," Matt says quietly, and resists the urge to add an apology after it. He doesn't know Danny that well, for one thing. And he doesn't know this officially. It's just one of those things you know, if you know people. Like knowing about the Night Nurse. Like knowing which bars will give you a free beer if you come in in costume. Like how the X-Men are all sleeping together--who's with whom varies by week--and the Thing has a thing for the Invisible Woman...or her brother, depending on who you talk to. It's like that, knowing that Luke Cage and Danny Rand are more than just business partners. Or were, apparently.

Danny exhales, and Matt wonders if he is staring out at the lights or staring down at his hands. Probably the hands. It's that kind of sigh. "So," Danny says, "you want to grab a beer or something?"

"You're done for the night?"

"Nothing's going to go down, out in this. Besides, it's getting late."

"Is it?"

"You don't wear a watch?" Danny asks, sounding surprised.

Matt shrugs and lifts one hand. "A Braille one would kind of be a giveaway, don't you think?"

"Right. I keep forgetting that it's not--" He trails off. "Anyway. Do you?"

"Want a beer?" Matt shrugs again. It's not like he has a wife to go home to. Not anymore. "Sure. Why not?"

"Cool," Danny says as he stands. "Do you want to change and meet me somewhere, or...?"

The thought of changing into civvies and then voluntarily going back out to get soaked is enough to make Matt wince. "Actually, why don't we just go back to my place? It's nearby, and I've got a six-pack in the fridge."

"Great. Lead the way."


"This is it," Matt says with a gesture, once they've come in the back way. He rolls some of the tension out of his neck and feels--and hears--his vertebrae crack. "Make yourself at home. And hey," he adds as this occurs to him, "if you want a shower or something, that's fine, too."

"Nah. I wouldn't mind a towel, though. I'm dripping all over the place."

"No problem." Matt grabs two from the bathroom and tosses one towards where he can hear Danny breathing. "Here. I'm going to go change," he says as he heads for the bedroom.

It takes him a minute to peel himself out of the wet leather and towel off, another one to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt. As an afterthought, he brings an extra t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out into the living room. "Hey. Thought you might want something dry to wear," he says. "We're about the same size, right?"

"Looks like it."

To Matt's surprise, clothes rustle behind him on his way to the fridge. He hooks two bottle necks in his fingers, glass clinking, the scent of Danny's skin stronger now that he's half-naked. In the living room. Which makes sense, Matt guesses. Danny probably doesn't care about changing in front of a blind guy. Or maybe he's just not modest. Not everybody was raised Catholic.

Still, his smell is everywhere, and honestly, that makes Matt a little uncomfortable. He gives Danny a crooked smile on his way to join him on the couch. "You decent?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the clothes."

Matt settles back, trying not to hiss as the rib he cracked last week makes itself known. Hands one of the beers over and then opens his own. Takes a swig and only then realizes how thirsty he was. He closes his eyes and leans his head back. "This was a good idea."

"Yeah," Danny says again. There's a crack as he opens his beer. He swallows. And it's only when the bottom of the bottle catches on the edge of the table when Danny fumbles for it that Matt realizes and sits up straight again.

"Shit. I forgot the lights," he says, shaking his head. "I never forget the lights." Then he turns, frowning--for all the good that does. "How--? And why didn't you say something?"

Danny laughs. "Relax, it's fine. There's a streetlight, so it's not pitch dark in here. Almost, but not quite. And--" cotton brushes the back of the sofa as he shrugs. "In my training, I had to do a lot of stuff blindfolded. Serving tea, getting my ass kicked, stuff like that. I got used to it."

Matt nods and leans back. "Why'd you think it was an act, then?" he can't help asking, after a second. "I mean, if you--"

Danny snorts. "Tea I can handle. Judo, I can handle. But flipping off rooftops blind?"

"Well. It's not quite like that."

"Yeah, that's what Luke says," Danny says, shifting to turn to him. The couch dips as he leans over to retrieve his beer. "How does that work, anyway? You can hear my heartbeat? Smell me? What?"

Matt sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "My downstairs neighbor's heartbeat, if I concentrate. What you had for lunch on your breath. Pheromones. Can get a picture--it's hard to explain, sort of like sonar--of what you're doing from sounds, particularly that heavy bass across the street."

"Wow. That...must suck."

Matt smiles at the unexpected insight and hopes his expression isn't too bitter. "I got used to it." He gestures to Danny's hands. "What about you? Do they hurt, afterwards?"

"Not my fists, no. But using my power wipes me out. Thus, the beer."

"Beer's good."


The apartment is quiet for a couple of minutes. Probably silent, to Danny, except for his own swallowing.

"So. Milla left," Matt says at last, and probably unnecessarily. He can still smell jasmine, but other than that and a few stray Tampax in the bathroom cupboard, he knows there's no trace of her left here.

"I heard."

"And Foggy's pissed at me," Matt adds, figuring that as long as he's confessing...

"Yeah. I heard that, too."

And Matt can't help smiling, barely lifting his head off the back cushion to take a drink. "God. Is there any gossip lately--with us, I mean--that isn't about me? Not to sound conceited, but--"

"I know what you mean, man. And no. Not lately." Danny shrugs. "Everyone's been worried about you."

"I screwed up. I know." Matt scrubs a hand over his face. He's getting a headache between his eyes, and the sitcom reruns downstairs are not helping. "Everything is such a mess right now."

"Tell me about it." Muttered low, and there's something raw in Danny's voice that makes Matt look up. Danny takes a deep breath and taps his thumb against the side of his bottle. "You know, right?" he says after a second. "About me and Luke?"

Matt nods. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I mean, I figured. You okay?"

"Well." Danny snorts. "He could've handled it better. You know Luke. One minute, things were normal. And then next, it's, 'Yo, man. I don't think I'm into this anymore.'"

"That's Luke."


Quiet again, and Matt wasn't lying, before. He can hear Danny's heartbeat easily--this close, might as well be pounding in his own chest--can hear it speeding up. Can smell his damp hair, his sweat, can smell and feel and almost taste the warmth of his skin.

Matt swallows and would swear he can feel the considering, curious look Danny's giving him. Realizes he has no idea what color Danny's eyes are, or what he looks like, and wonders for a second if he should care. He opens his mouth to speak, but Danny beats him to it.

"I just wanted a beer," he says. "Honestly. This wasn't supposed to be--I mean, it wasn't about--"

Without hesitating, Matt reaches over and sets his hand on Danny's thigh, warm through the cotton of his sweatpants. Looks up, and is glad that at close range, it's easy to meet someone's eyes. For some reason, that does matter, right now. "Hey," he says quietly, voice rougher than usual, more like Daredevil's, "you want another? It's still raining out, and--"

Danny's hand comes to rest on top of Matt's. It's slimmer than he expected. Callused skin. Big knuckles. "I'll get 'em."

His bare feet pad toward the kitchen, and Matt smiles a little. Maybe the sound of escape, tonight, is as simple as two beers clinking in the dark.

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I like DD/IF due to the whole Hey Sure I'll Be You arc. Yeah Danny, you need to learn how to imitate Matt exactly~

Hee I remember this fic <3

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Huh. So apparently Bullseye's love of Billie Holiday songs is now a thing. Diggle, you have impressed me.

That page never ceases to make me smile, and that does make sense. I always loved those arcs. I've just never thought about it in a pairing sense before. An excuse to reread, I suppose!

And heyyy to you too. :3

Oh my gosh, I love your art. This is too adorable. I love their expressions. Would it sound strange to say their feet are cute? Because they totally are.

I noticed that too! Lester sings a lot in canon, but I was amused to actually see a reference to the Billie Holiday thing. I love tiny details like that (and I especially love that entire comic arc).

salkdjlkasd the arrrt <333 awww

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some Matt/Foggy c:

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Oh God yes, more Foggy is totally needed. Their relationship is the most adorable bromance, and totally underrated.

Image spoilered for Milla being involved and mostly not dressed.

>>46652 What issue is this from?

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It's from the first volume of DD, issue 284. It's a really fun story arc. Matt loses his memory, and Lester takes advantage of this and parades around as Daredevil. It eventually leads to them swapping personas and fighting.

>>47062 Thanks! Yeah, I remember that, awesome arc.

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Bumping with crack, because I can. I wish I knew what was being said, but it's kind of more amusing when left to the imagination.

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Who is excited for Shadowland next week? I know I sure the hell am.

I am excited as all fuck.
Though I'm sure Bulls will be disappointed that his romantic night with Daredevil is gonna be chaperoned by ninjas.

... now I just have the horrible visual of them sharing a candlelit dinner while being surrounded by a herd of angry, looming ninjas that won't let Lester touch the silverware.

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Bumping again with content that was on the DA thread, but likely belongs here more. Since I don't want this to die, are there things people want to see written, maybe?

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Whelp, I guess I'll post this.

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Cuuute! Is the brunette Fog?

And Shadowland, you guys, Shadowland. Lester being broken shouldn't hit my buttons.

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Bumping and restating my offer to write stuff here. I know activity for this thread is being slim, but we have a big event for DD going on so, I'm kind of being hopeful. I'm mostly good for DD/Bullseye, since I'm not confident with most of the other pairings (sorry) but throw ideas at me and I'll try to make something work?

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DD/Bullseye is like my favorite ever, so please. Go for it.

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Mine too, which concerns me when there's so little of it in both fic and art! Which I shall try to fix now. Is there a particular prompt you'd like to see?

Also, image related, for future reference: who do people prefer on top?

will accept writing prompts for pretty much anyone/Daredevil. DD/Iron Fist is my favourite, but anything goes.

Rec-ing one of my fav Daredevil/Spiderman fic series. It started as a claim for the unloveyou challenge over at LiveJournal (and continues to be). The series is predominantly Peter/Matt, though there are mentions of Peter's past with Mary Jane and Matt's with Karen.. Plenty of insight into the characters and plenty of porn.

they also have a story with Matt/Peter:

...Hm. Daredevil/Iron Fist. Prompts: adrenaline, rain, heat.

I need me some deliciously lithe street-level men in spandex. Street-level Marvel is sexiest Marvel.



Wrote that the other day, Spidey/DD

DD/Iron Fist, or DD/Spidey. I want a fic that focuses on Matt's heightened senses, mainly in a, uh, physical, fashion. Like he's super lots of places. Yep. That.

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